Archive of Our Own

Stede has asked Ed to marry him four times.

Ed keeps saying no.

Ed has nearly asked Stede to marry him a dozen times, maybe two.

Ed keeps biting his tongue.

It isn’t that Stede hasn’t swept Ed entirely off his feet. It isn’t that Ed doesn’t desperately want to marry him. It isn’t that he doesn’t burrow under the covers at night and tuck himself against Stede and whisper “I love you” between soft and heated kisses.

It isn’t any of that at all.

It’s that Ed is still hurting.

Six months have passed since they put their feet firmly on the ground, together. Somehow the sun-soaked days, their white-washed home nestled on the hillside, and Stede’s touch haven’t fully beaten back the guilt or the nightmares. Ed wishes he were a different person, could shuck years of his life like a mask and stamp it to ruins on the ground.

They had a honeymoon period for a while, swept up entirely in each other and the renovations to the house and figuring out their routines. But with the house mostly done, Ed’s got more time to be up in his head. He wakes in the night more often than not, slips into his robe, and sits by the fire or on the porch and waits for blue dawn to break before returning to the warmth of Stede’s arms to sleep a few more hours. The whetū overhead and the embers in the grate don’t talk to him, but still he hears things—the screams of men dying on the ships he raided, Izzy’s voice, Jim’s hissed invectives, his own sobs echoing in an empty cabin. He curls his knees under his chin and waits for those sounds to ebb.

Izzy’s voice tends to be the loudest. At first, hysterically, he thought his former first mate was calling to him from his grave just down the path, but—no, it’s Ed’s own mind replaying and inventing conversations. If he’s honest, the Izzy in his head is usually more the man he was becoming before some upstart prince dick shot him. (Ed also feels guilty for that, for agreeing to kill the guy who did this to him, then—after Lucius and Pete’s wedding—rowing back to shore instead with Stede’s boot pressed to his.) He replays the last conversation they ever had, the one where a part of him wanted to chase his oldest friend into the darkness but Iz pushed him away, pushed him toward Stede and the others instead.

They love you. Just be Ed.

As if Ed hadn’t just put back on his leathers, hadn’t just re-donned Blackbeard and plumbed the depths of himself that had nearly destroyed the Revenge—he just turned it on the British instead, that day—to find Stede.

He argues with Izzy a lot, but sometimes it’s an iteration of Hornigold, or different members of the crew, once the old cabin boy Felix. The Fang in his mind tries to get him to be soft. He’s trying, he is, but the pieces of himself that cracked apart over the last few months and years still have jagged edges.

“I’m not loveable,” Ed says to the waning quarter moon.

In daylight he knows that isn’t true, but the void calls as dusk slips into night and Ed’s mind spins out like a comet barreling through its neverending orbit.

The sound of Stede’s soft snores come through the open window. He smiles, listening for a few minutes before he wraps the robe around himself a little tighter. The temperature is dropping as dawn approaches.

Stede loves him. He loves Stede. But he wonders if he’s enough, when he has a cavern in his chest worn away by years of men and seawater and his own self-flagellations. He wants to be worthy of this life they’ve set out to build together. Gone is the ephemera of Blackbeard—he’s put all his jewelry except for the pearl necklace in a pāua-inlaid box and he keeps his beard trimmed short, or sometimes nothing at all. He is just trying to be Ed, but who is that?

Abstractly he knows he should try to figure out who Ed is apart from Stede, but he likes where he is and how he feels with Stede. It’s been like that from the moment Stede opened his pretty fucking eyes in his bed nook and found Ed’s looking back. And Ed would very much like to say to him, you are my person, my everything, would you make me the happiest person in the world and call me your husband? I know it's just a word, it doesn’t mean anything really, just a scrap of paper with our names on it, not when we’re joined together, our fates intertwined, but I was hoping I could kiss you surrounded by your favorite flowers and our favorite people, and say exactly what you mean to me, because you are everything.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He can’t do it.

He should be able to. He is (was) fucking Blackbeard. He can do anything, right? He can talk about other things with Stede, most of the time. He can usually talk anything through now.

Most of it.

But not this.

It does his head in because he has everything he wanted; he has Stede back, he’s no longer a pirate, they’re happy—but still Ed falters.

Stede’s proposals have come a variety of ways. After dinner one night, Ed’s head pillowed in his lap, he took off a ring and put it on Ed’s hand instead, kissed his knuckles and said, “I love you.” Another time he dropped to one knee to lace Ed’s boots as they took a walk in the bush, and looked up at Ed with the most adoring expression Ed has ever seen on another human being. The third time, Stede said “‘til death do us part” when Ed asked if they’d ever stop having to wash dishes. The fourth time, Stede was petting Ed’s hair and thought Ed was asleep when he whispered marry me into the darkness of their bedroom.

So maybe Stede hasn’t really asked Ed to marry him, directly. And Ed is an admittedly unreliable narrator of his own story, so he didn’t say no either. Not really.

But he heard the words anyway and couldn’t reply, couldn’t name them out loud. He hoped Stede heard the not yet stuck in his throat, but worried Stede heard no instead. Stede isn’t going anywhere; he’s promised he’ll never leave again. Ed believes him. Ed’s promised not to run away again, either. A wedding ring or a ceremony isn’t going to change the things they’ve told each other, or the love that has grown between them like a tree reaching skyward. But Ed’s throat clogs with emotion when he looks at this wonderful man and thinks about calling him his husband.

It had been Ed’s idea for them to become innkeepers, and they’ve fixed the house, even have two fully furnished guest rooms, but they’ve only hosted the crew a couple times and didn’t charge them. Ed’s the one holding them back, always and seemingly forever. He’s shit at being an innkeeper, isn’t sure he’s doing the boyfriend thing all that well, so how could he possibly be a decent husband? Plus Stede’s been married before and that didn’t work out so well.

Fuck, that’s the spiral into ineffable darkness. Not good, not good.

It isn’t dawn yet but Ed gets up from the chair and goes inside, lets the velvet robe fall from his shoulders to the floor before he crawls into bed and curls into Stede’s side. The movement startles Stede, his limbs spasming outward like a seastar and nearly whacking Ed in the nose. He wraps an arm around Stede’s broad chest, traps his arms and mutters soothing words into the curve of his neck. Stede calms, tips his head back on Ed’s shoulder.

“Ed,” he murmurs drowsily. “What time is it?”

“Too fucking early,” Ed says, shifting closer so his hips nestle against Stede’s, slinks an arm under his neck to cuddle close from behind. His frilly nightshirt has hiked up to the tops of his thighs and Ed can feel sleepy warmth radiating off him. Ed curls his leg around Stede’s, hooks their ankles.

Stede yelps, “Oh, darling, you’re freezing!” But instead of pushing Ed away, like others might have done, Stede reaches behind him to drag Ed closer.

Simple things like this make the bad memories a bit easier to turn over, when he remembers he has this—warmth, good food, orgasms. Love.

They stay like this for a while, spooning half-awake. Their legs shift together, Stede’s foot moving pensively over Ed’s. Ed idly pets his side, the barely-there curve of his ass. Dawn light creeps through the curtains as Stede draws gentle circles on his arm. Ed scoots closer. His cock is hard between them, and the lazy roll of his hips makes it catch in the nightshirt, drags it up. He roams his hand over Stede’s belly, stifles a yawn between his shoulder blades, then kisses the space behind Stede’s ear. When he moves his hand lower his palm bumps Stede’s cock, heavy and leaking under his shirt. Heat spikes through him, lightning quick. He walks his fingers along Stede’s full mast, scrapes his teeth along his neck and bites down on his earlobe.

“I need you,” Stede gasps, urgent.

“Take this off,” Ed growls, tugging at the fabric.

While Stede rushes to comply, Ed finds the little pot of oil on the night table behind him, slicks himself up, and kisses Stede fiercely before pushing him onto his side again. He plasters himself to Stede’s back. He moves slowly, strokes his slippery fingers over Stede’s entrance, still loose from the night before. Stede spreads his legs just enough for Ed to slide his cock between them, nudging himself against Stede’s hole. They both groan as Ed’s cock presses just past the furl of muscle. He stays there a moment, holding Stede open on the head of his cock, whispering praise into freckled skin, before he inches forward. Stede arches his neck for a kiss when Ed is fully buried inside him.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Stede whimpers. His hands flutter over his chest until Ed grabs them. He guides one down to Stede’s cock and wraps his fingers around it. Then he grabs Stede’s hip, pulls out without warning, and slams back into his love.

Ed tries his fucking damndest to go slow, but it’s impossible—not with Stede squeezing his eyes shut and his mouth dropped open, a constant stream of soft curses and stuttered breaths falling from his lips, not with how he keens in Ed’s arms or how he pulses around Ed’s cock. Ed adjusts them to push Stede’s knees forward, slides his hand down the back of Stede’s firm thigh while he fucks into him. The blanket gets kicked off the bed as Ed’s thrusts become more frantic. The space between them is hot and sweaty, Ed’s forehead pressed to the back of Stede’s neck. Stede cries out with each brutal rock of Ed’s hips against him.

“So good for me, Stede. Perfect, gorgeous, everything I need,” Ed says.

“Ed, you can’t just—you can’t—hhnngh—”

Ed cups Stede’s pec in his hand, rolling a rosy nipple between his thumb and forefinger. When he closes his fingers, tugs at the pert nub, Stede cries out. His whole body trembles as his orgasm ripples through him. Ed barely manages to hold back his own release, Stede spasming on his cock. Just as Stede gets his breath back, still stroking himself, Ed starts again. He moves slowly, feeling hazy and liquid. Stede is soft, too, pliant. He moans when Ed’s rhythm picks up again. They’ve been together long enough now that Ed knows Stede likes riding the edge of overstimulation, and he can take his time if he wants, but not today, not right now. Stede turns in Ed’s arms as best he can, presses kisses to Ed’s jaw, nuzzles their noses together.

“I love you,” says Stede, “I love you.”

The friction between them borders on too much, hurtling toward fever pitch. Stede lifts his leg, hand tucked under his knee, and suddenly Ed is pistoning even deeper inside him. He slams his eyes shut. “I’m close. Fuck, Stede, I—”

“I know, I know.” Stede’s lips press to his between his words. “Please, I need you, I always need you, Ed. Come for me, darling, that’s it, inside me pl—”

Ed falls apart with a shout. He wraps his arm around Stede, biting more than kissing his lips and trying to somehow drag him closer still. His hips shudder as he comes down, his heart hammering in his ribcage. Stede sighs against his mouth. Ed can barely open his eyes, but he laughs when Stede hums happily despite the mess they’ve surely made of the bed. When inevitably Ed slips out, Stede rolls over—far more elegant than a man of his age who just got fucked should be able to manage—and tips his head for yet another kiss. Ed melts into him. He has never, ever had time and space with another person like this, and definitely not someone he’s head over heels in love with.

“Good morning,” Stede says with a gentle peck to Ed’s nose.

Ed opens his eyes, finally, and sees Stede awash in golden sunlight streaming in from the window. His eyes reflect the light like some sort of precious gemstones, and his hair fucking glows. Ed’s heart skips. Every part of him is abuzz with love and the rightness of them, and he wants nothing more than to propose on the spot and never let Stede out of this bed again, but—

Stede scrunches his nose. “I should clean up. I’m quite wet and sticky. Again.”

Ed lets out a long breath, then raises his eyebrows. “Are you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest,” Stede replies primly. He tuts when Ed tries to follow him out of bed. “Stay. I’ll make you breakfast.”

Ed stretches, admiring Stede’s naked, freckled backside as he gingerly pads across the room to the small ensuite. “Well, if you insist.”

He wipes himself off with a bit of the bedding, then curls himself around Stede’s pillow that smells like lavender and the earthy, deeper smell of Stede’s sweat. He listens to the splashes of the wash basin in the next room, but he must doze off because the next thing he knows is the bed dipping. Half a year ago he might have leapt from the bed with his dirk already in hand, but now he just cracks one eye open. Stede beams down at him, fully dressed but with Ed’s velvet robe draped over his shoulders. He sets the tea tray aside, then runs his broad hand over Ed’s shoulder and down his bare side. Ed feels like a spoiled house cat and nearly purrs into his pillow.

“I cannot believe I get to wake up to you every morning for the rest of my life,” Stede murmurs. He smooths Ed’s hair back from his face, fingers tracing the auricle of his ear.

Ed’s heart leaps into his throat. He reaches out to lace their fingers together. “Yeah. Me too.”

A silence stretches between them. Stede looks down at their joined hands. Ed looks at Stede’s face. All he wants is to call this man his husband and grow old beside him. But he still can’t say the first piece, because a part of him thinks he doesn’t deserve to ask, is afraid that laying himself utterly, irreversibly bare could fracture the peace they’ve built together. Stede squeezes his hand eventually, says he needs to feed the chickens, and tells Ed to take his time getting up.

Later, Ed watches from their kitchen window as Stede gardens, chatting away to the vegetables and the tiny native bees. He wonders what’s the fuck’s wrong with him for not putting a ring on this man’s hand in front of the gods or their friends or just the ocean and calling him mine forever.

Maybe Ed is what’s wrong.

#

Another month passes. Ed feels a little better in his own skin. The night doesn’t call him so viciously. Sometimes he just gets up to look at the stars rather than his sins.

Stede tries to grow a beard and it looks terrible, but Ed kisses him about it anyway before Stede shaves it off. He whispers, “I love your chin, naked or otherwise,” against the smooth, razor-peach skin and they get so distracted that Stede bears a mustache for another two days before he shaves that off too. Ed forgets for a while why he’s been so lost.

They’re happy. They are.

The vegetable garden’s exploded, the chickens give them eggs every day, and they’ve made a few friends in the village halfway across the island (it was not uninhabited, no matter what Stede or the rest of the crew insisted). They take hikes and make love like they’re teenagers instead of middle-aged men with middle-aged joints. Stede puts wildflowers in vases, Ed reads. They ignore the fact they’ve never had a real inn guest because they’ve not exactly advertised, and they’re happy.

The crew drops by for another visit. They spill across the grass below the house for three days, sails and hammocks and stolen bolts of fabric that Stede hasn’t seized for himself strung up on poles to make tents. Roach cooks, Frenchie and Zheng sing, Oluwande and Pete tell ghost stories. Lanterns from Calypso’s birthday cast rainbow light over the festivities, and every night Stede spins him around on the makeshift dance floor.

He should ask Stede to marry him.

The morning that the Revenge is due to hoist anchor, Ed pads out of his warm bedroom just past dawn. The porch is cool under his bare feet when he goes outside. Fog wraps around the quiet tents, its tentacles slowly receding back toward the beach. He doesn’t think anyone’s awake yet until he spots a figure sitting by Izzy’s grave. He walks slowly, unsure he’s welcome, but Jim nods when he sits.

Ed leans his arms on his knees and looks at the gravemarker. Stede and Ed took Izzy’s ring inside when they decided to come back to the island instead of following Zheng, Frenchie, and the others. But the cravat is still there, a bit sunbleached, along with a string of flowers that someone’s draped over the top. The hoof has been repainted, too. Jim’s twisting a twig in their hands.

“Nice to see you haven’t burned down the place,” they say eventually. 

They wear Izzy’s old glove on their right hand. Fang told him that Izzy and Jim used to spar, when Ed was passed out in the captain’s cabin, even as Izzy steadily lost toes. He wishes he’d seen that.

“He’d be proud of you,” Ed says without realizing what he’s going to say before it’s out.

“Fuck off,” Jim replies without any real heat. They roll their eyes, toss the twig away. “I hear his voice in my head, sometimes. Usually telling me off.”

Ed groans, nodding. “Same.” They sit there for a while. Someone stirs in a tent. The world around them slowly gets lighter. “How’s it—how’s it going with Zheng, Olu, and Snake Cult?”

“Archie,” Jim corrects drily. “Good. Really good. Was just telling Iz here we decided to make it official.”

“Oh.” Ed tries to digest that, glances back at the house where lamplight illuminates his bedroom window. “Congrats, mate. If we’re not invited, Stede will murder you.”

“I’d like to see him try,” growls Jim, cutting a hand across their throat. “You two gonna do the thing?”

“What thing?” Ed asks, feigning ignorance. “Anyway, looks like Stede’s up, I’ll let you get back to your chinwag with the dead guy—”

“Not that it’s any of my business,” Jim interrupts, “but your man is completely obsessed with you. Over the moon. Smitten. On cloud seventeen or whatever. Fucking gnawing his own arm off that you’re his boyfriend.” They make a face. “It’s gross.”

Ed knocks their shoulder then gets up, brushing himself off. “Yeah, well, you should see what your partners look like when they see you coming.”

“You’re scared,” Jim says, like they can see right through Ed—and yeah, Jim’s always been able to do that. And since Ed’s trying to be more honest with himself, with Stede, with their friends—

“Always scared, mate.”

Jim’s jaw works. They draw their knees to their chest. “Sorry to hear that.”

Ed shrugs. “Trying to sit with it, you know? See you in a bit.”

He goes back to the house and finds Stede in the kitchen puttering over the kettle. Lucius and Pete have one of the guestrooms, Auntie in another, but they’re all still asleep even as the makeshift camp outside starts to wake. Ed laces their fingers together and pulls Stede back into their room. As quietly as he can—but not so quietly that they don’t hear about it an hour later from Lucius—he brings Stede to hardness and sinks himself down. The stretch mixed with Stede’s panting moans curl his toes, make his head all fuzzy, narrow the world from big questions to singular ohs passed between their lips. He spills over Stede’s chest when Stede plants his feet and drives himself with precision into Ed’s body.

He half-dozes against Stede’s chest, and that’s when the worries he put aside for the last few nights slither back. Stede sniffs his hair, kisses the top of his head, traces the shell of Ed’s ear like he likes. His mind doesn’t let him rest for long; it never has. Ed thinks about Stede’s marriage that didn’t work, the one he ran from. He thinks about his parents, the way they hated each other. Stede had everything before he turned to pirating: a wife, children, wealth, land, a whole library instead of the paltry little bookshelf Ed built in their front room. Ed knows he isn’t some prized bride draped in sky blue gossamer; his veil is a curtain of greying hair. He’s trying to be emotionally available, but it isn’t a linear path. No one told him that self-examination would occasionally make him want to claw off his own skin. Stede dropped his whole comfortable life to be with Ed, and Ed’s still haunted by guilt and unsettling dreams.  

He thinks he’s not made to be a proper husband, not the kind Stede needs anyway. If he doesn’t offer, Stede can’t say no. If he doesn’t make vows, then those can’t be broken. They can grow old together without a piece of paper. The burning love that simmers beneath his skin doesn’t start or end because of I do, but what if, what if—

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Stede observes, wrapping a long tress of Ed’s hair around his fingers. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“The foursome’s gonna get hitched,” Ed blurts.

Stede’s hand stills in his hair. “Oh?” he says lightly.

Ed shifts, flexing the muscles of his thighs four times to calm himself. “Yeah. Jim said. Not sure when it is, but I told them if we don’t get an invite I’ll kick their asses.”

“You said no such thing,” Stede scolds. They’re both quiet for slightly too long, and Ed is about fill the void with something when Stede taps his arm. He gently lifts Ed’s shoulders so he can scooch out from under him. His neck looks pink from behind as he searches, back turned, for his clothes. “Oh, we’ll have to get them all a wedding present, won’t we? Have you seen anything in the village…”

#

Stede oversees the camp clean up, using his captain’s voice to get the lot off their lawn. They all end up having lunch on the Revenge. The captain’s quarters have been made into three separate rooms, which is weird because usually pirates break down walls below decks instead of erect them, but the Revenge has always done things differently. Ed points out to Stede, quietly, that no one seems to have found the auxiliary wardrobe yet. Stede urges him in there to kiss him for a while, and then the secret’s blown, but that’s all right.

Stede leans against Ed while Fang rows them back to shore, nose tucked into the curve of his shoulder. Ed thinks he’s dozed off in the ten minute trip, until suddenly Stede leaps from the dinghy and starts trying to pull it up the beach. Ed indulges him for a while, content to watch Stede’s arms flex and admire his broad chest through the now sopping wet, see-through shirt.

“You seem happy, Captain,” Fang says.

Stede falls to his knees when a wave crashes over him and comes up spluttering, “I’m all right! Damn!”

A smile tugs at Ed’s lips. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m fuckin’ great.” He levers himself over the side of the boat, swearing when seawater fills his boots.

Fang giggles. “He’s a keeper, huh?”

Ed trudges through the water to Stede’s side and takes the mooring line out of his hands. Stede looks gobsmacked when Ed reminds him that Fang doesn’t need to come ashore.

“Gotta get back to the boat, Captain,” Fang calls apologetically as Stede stands there, buffeted by the waves, water dripping from his hair, Ed’s ultimate dream of a dashing romantic hero. He looks between them with clear distress about the wasted effort—or maybe about not being able to offer Fang a thank you cup of tea up at the house.

“But I got all wet!” he whines.

Ed is so fucking gone for him. He slings an arm around his waist and they wave goodbye to Fang. They watch from the beach as the Revenge’s sails unfurl, the shouts of their friends and former crew echoing over the cove. The sails catch in the breeze and the ship begins to pull away, onto other adventures. Zheng thinks she knows where Prince Dick has gone, and they’re going to scope it out. Frenchie said they’ll come pick up Stede and Ed for the quad’s matelotage, if they don’t all die before then; Stede very sternly told them not to die or seriously maim themselves before the wedding (or before bringing them their monthly order of flour).

“Do you miss it?” Ed asks softly, when it’s just them and the tide sloshing over their boots. “Pirating, I mean.”

“Oh.” Stede lowers his arm and looks at Ed. “Sometimes. I miss the crew more than the actual swashbuckling and all the gore. But I’m happy here with you, if that’s what you’re asking me.” Stede’s fingers flutter along Ed’s side. “I became a pirate because I was looking for something else. I didn’t know I was looking for a person, my forever person, until I met you.”

Ed’s trousers are cold and clammy, but that’s a top ten devastatingly romantic line from one Stede Bonnet to his boyfriend Edward Teach, and he’s probably gonna cry about it later. Stede bumps his hip to Ed’s when the Revenge moves out of sight past the rock berm.

“I’m glad they deign to come to see us,” Stede sighs.

“They come to see you, babe,” Ed laughs, wiping the corners of his eyes.

Stede frowns. “Us,” he says. “They come to see us. They love you. So much. Same as me. Always.”

Ed feints, because he’s good at that, because it’s still a knee-jerk reaction when emotions swirl in his belly and his head and make him feel like he’s freefalling into the stars. “Hopefully not the same as you,” he purrs, squeezing Stede’s ass through his soaked leather pants. “Otherwise that might get weird. Here, let’s get you out of these clothes…”

He steers Stede back to the house and does as promised: peels him out of his clothes, and distracts him with needy hands and his tongue. He doesn’t think about what Jim said or how each brush of Stede’s lips on his skin feels like a promise.

#

Draco’s bright tonight, striking its celestial path toward Hercules.

Men who don’t look anything like him looked up at the stars and gave them these names. Pleiades for Ngā Mata o te Ariki, a scorpion instead of a fish hook. Ed keeps a mental catalogue of constellations, like he does with many things: the ones his mum taught him, the stars Fang recognizes, the stellar figures Stede knows by heart. He can see them overlaid upon each other, the glittering outlines shape-shifting in the dark night.

Hercules—what a fucking dick. The dragon deserved better. Ed’s glad it looks like it’s trying to bite the supposed hero. Hercules was the monster from the dragon’s perspective, wasn’t he? The people who hold power in the world always look good in the stories, and they get to decide who’s the monster in a tale. Ed has never liked that.

It’s taken so, so much time to believe what Izzy said before he died in Ed’s arms, what Stede tells him every day with words or an act or a kiss. He is loved. He has friends. He has family. He isn’t a monster. He has been forgiven, mostly, for his monstrous behavior. The crew will be back in a couple weeks; they’ll celebrate together, and the wounds will continue to fade.

It’s been almost eight months since the Republic burned. Ed thought he might hate being away from the sea, but he feels better with his feet on land and a view of the ocean instead. The tempestuous voices in his head have gone a little quieter, too.

He glances down at the fading snakehead on the back of his hand, barely visible in the dark, then he huddles down under the blanket he found waiting on his deck chair. He would like to go back to bed, but something woke him up and it will be a while before sleep tugs once more at his eyes.

Stede knows Ed often gets up in the middle of the night to think. Sometimes he joins Ed on the porch if he stirs. Ed can tell Stede is worried about him. As much as their relationship and leaving piracy and being safe for once in his life has helped Ed let down his guard, his heart is still on the mend. He’s still healing from heartbreak, recent fears and loss and choices, and beyond all that stretches out years of bland, aching misery. It’s hard to describe even to himself without his throat closing. So Ed tries to explain with his body instead; Stede loves to be touched, like he’s been starved for it his whole life. Ed hugs him close, wraps himself around Stede like he’s a jellyfish, makes him tea and dinner and plays footsie with him under their tiny table, memorizes all the ways he can make Stede come undone.

He hopes Stede doesn’t worry about them, even if Ed still occasionally chases ghosts at night.

They talk all the time. Ed knows they’re both holding back some things—many things, to be honest—but he’s never been closer to another person. They match each other’s energies. Stede likes Ed’s ideas, isn’t just going along with them because Blackbeard told him to. Half the time Stede’s already with him on something, or vice-versa. They’re from such disparate beginnings, but they aren’t actually all that different.

Stede is the only person that has listened to Ed—and truly heard him—in years. He’s the only person Ed has trusted with his heart and the darkness that he carries still. Ed knows he shouldn’t put all of his grief and his guilt on Stede, so he doesn’t. But it helps so much being with someone who doesn’t judge him, who takes him as he is and brings him tea and remembers his exact favorite shade of purple. He’s so desperately glad that the two of them found each other. Ed had been so, so lonely, and Stede had changed everything. Ed stopped wanting to be someone else, and started wanting to be himself—and while that’s still hard to completely define, he’s figuring it out. With Stede at his side.

That’s really what matters, in the end.

When he goes back to bed, Stede snuggles up behind him, warm and sweet. His strong arms wrap around Ed. “Hello, beloved,” he murmurs.

Us, Ed thinks in the cocoon of their love. We are what really matters.

#

That evening they take a picnic to their favorite meadow on the island, like they’ve done dozens of times now. Ed’s got a blanket tucked under one arm and Stede carries the basket loaded with far more food than they need for dinner. Typical behavior for them, and it’s one of Ed’s favorite things.

They sit together in the meadow as the sun sets. They have a flagon of tea cut with brandy and sandwiches Ed made while watching Stede again from the window overlooking the garden. They laugh about the wedding gift they picked in the village, and Stede tries to compare Ed to a summer’s day, and Ed kisses him soundly about it. The world itself feels golden, dust motes floating around them as the sun sinks toward the horizon.

After they polish off the sandwiches, Stede very shyly asks to braid Ed’s hair. It’s now a thick plait over Ed’s shoulder, purple and white wildflowers woven into it. Ed lays his head in Stede’s lap and looks up into his face. The sky behind him is a riot of colors—clouds limned in pink, orange, scarlet—and the evening star has started to sparkle, but Ed only has eyes for Stede. His golden hair looks almost copper in the light, and he’s humming a sea shanty as he fiddles with a few loose flowers.

“I love you,” Ed says.

“I love you, too, darling.” Stede traces the shell of his ear, his expression soft. He fiddles with a few of the flowers in Ed’s plait, gently brushing wisps of hair from Ed’s forehead and arranging the braid so it sits over his heart. “There. That’s perfect.”

“Thanks.” Ed catches his hand and kisses the back of it.

Stede fucking blushes. Ed curls his fingers against Stede’s palm, then lets him go. Stede shakes his head then turns to reach behind him, trying hard not to jostle Ed resting on his thigh. Ed winces when he hears Stede accidentally knock the flagon over, spilling the contents.

“Damn! Oh, the blanket!”

He struggles to wipe up the mess but refuses Ed’s help. Ed scoots off, tucks his arms under his head, and watches Stede mop up. His back flexes under the cream shirt he wears, and his sleeves are rolled up his suntanned arms. He’s muttering something mutinous about more laundry, but then he exclaims over a little beetle that scrampers across the blanket and gets completely distracted saying hello to it. Ed’s heart can’t take the sight, and words that have failed to form suddenly find their shape.

“Marry me,” he says.

Stede freezes, back still turned. He doesn’t say anything. Anxiety claws up Ed’s throat. But he waits, because no matter what he needs to hear Stede’s answer. When Stede finally turns around, his cheeks are streaked with tears.

Ed sits up so fast his neck hurts. He puts his arm around Stede, half pulling the man into his lap, getting a face full of lavender-scented hair that he talks into, because he isn’t sure he’s strong enough to look anywhere else.

“No, no, mate, sorry, listen, I didn’t mean, well, of course I mean it, but you don’t—fuck, sorry, I knew it was a mist—”

“Oh, Ed, that’s not it at all,” Stede sobs. He’s fully crying now, and Ed doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to feel. So he sits there, holding his love, until he slowly calms down. Their heartbeats fall into sync. Stede snuffles, wipes his nose with a handkerchief, then takes Ed’s hands even as he untangles their bodies. Ed shifts back to give him some space.

“It’s okay if the answer’s no,” he offers, because it is, even if he wants to cry too, because even if Stede won’t call him husband Ed knows, with every fibre of his meaning, that they are written on each other in permanent ink.

Stede’s eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks ready to sob again, but instead he laughs wetly. “Ridiculous as this may sound, I—I’ve thought I wasn’t cut out for marriage. How could someone like you want to marry me, when I’ve so thoroughly failed at the job? I’ve wanted to ask you to marry me for months, but I…” His voice cracks. “We’re together in every way that matters, aren’t we? A piece of paper doesn’t mean anything, not really. It’s ephemera, isn’t it?”

As Stede talks, Ed realizes that he is an absolute idiot. Because he thought he wasn’t a good enough partner for Stede, when Stede thought that of himself. They’re both idiots. They’re both still hurting and they’ve talked about so much, but not this. He’s—he’s messed this up.

“I always hoped I’d marry for love,” Stede continues, miserably. “But it wasn’t up to me, was it? I wasn’t the kind of person who could have that.”

We’re just not those kind of people.

Ed’s heart fucking breaks in his chest. He doesn’t know much about Stede’s childhood—they’ve just started scratching the surface of those old scars—but he knows it was shit. He wishes he could reach across space and time to hug that little boy, to look that younger man in the eye and tell him that they’ll find each other one day, that he won’t be lonely anymore. He tightens his hold on Stede’s fingers. Stede looks up at him with bright, shining eyes.

“I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, Stede Bonnet,” says Ed, softly.

Stede’s face nearly crumples. “I didn’t know how much I needed you before I lost you,” he whispers.

“I’m here,” Ed says, fervently. “We are those kind of people. You deserve to marry someone you love.”

“So do you, Ed. You deserve every fine thing that you’ve ever wanted.”

“I’ve got him,” Ed says, because it’s that simple.

Stede sniffles, nods, gives Ed a wobbly smile. “We came back to each other.”

“Yeah, love. We sure fucking did.” Ed rubs his nose with his shoulder, because he doesn’t want to let go of Stede’s hands but he also doesn’t want to be all nose-drippy for this and his throat is tight with emotion: “Stede Bonnet, I want to marry you under a fuckton of lanterns and flowers in front of our friends. I want to tell them and you why you’re the man of my dreams. I want to sign my whole name to a piece of paper beside yours. And I vow I’ll only leave your side to feed the chickens because I genuinely fear for our lives when they get hangry.”

Stede makes a strangled sort of laugh in his throat. “But—”

“No buts. You are my people. The person I’m spending the rest of my life with. The two of us might be fucking messes, but we’re each other’s fucking messes. And I think that’s worth fucking celebrating, don’t you?”

Stede takes a long, deep breath and lets it out in a whoosh. He gently untangles their fingers to wipe his nose again, then picks up one of the stray flowers that didn’t make it into Ed’s hair or get soaked with tea. It’s tiny, purple, star-shaped. He holds it out to Ed between his fingertips. “Edward Teach, will you be my husband?”

Ed’s eyes sting. “If you’ll be mine.”

Stede beams. “That’s a yes, then?”

“Yes, you fucking menace,” Ed says, crawling into Stede’s lap to kiss him senseless, middle-aged joints be damned.

Sometime later, they pull apart and eat the rest of their food as the light fades. Stede insists on feeding his future husband, which sends Ed’s heart into a furious flurry. He takes out one of the flowers from his hair, ties the stem into a little circle, and slides it onto Stede’s ring finger as a promise.

“What do we do now?” Stede asks after a few more tears are shed between them. He lifts an eyebrow, which is both entirely suggestive and genuinely curious.

“Hm.” Ed looks around. The sun has set below the hill, and darkness is settling over the meadow. “For starters, if we don’t head home now, you might have to carry me so I don’t break my leg.”

“Could… could we stay?”

“Out here? Overnight?”

“I think it’s romantic! We’ll greet the new day as fiancés!”

He’s an absolute force of nature, and Ed loves him so much. Still— “Really? With no lantern? And a wet blanket?”

“It’s just the edge!” Stede scoffs, then he brightens. “Oh, we can cuddle for warmth!”

Ed thinks about it. It’s been fairly temperate the last few nights, and he doesn’t expect tonight to be cold. The stars are bright enough that they could walk back, carefully, if one or both of them decides their bed is a better choice than a blanket settled over grass. It doesn’t take much more convincing for Ed to allow Stede to tug him down onto the slightly damp blanket.

Stede falls asleep with Ed’s arm around him, the sides of the blanket half-covering them. He snores lightly against Ed’s chest. Ed pulls the blanket over his shoulder when it slips down, presses his nose to Stede’s soft hair and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, it’s full dark.

Stede’s hand is under the hem of his shirt, warm and reassuring against his ribs. There’s a gentle breeze rustling the grass around their little nest in the meadow, and Te Ikaroa streaks across the sky above them. Ed used to imagine taking a sloop and sailing it through the pearly spray of stars. He was always alone in those dreams. He sought escape with no destination in mind, running from hardship and masks and himself. He’s still running scared, but it’s changing. His fears are shifting away from the past, to the future. Now can see his co-captain beside him in the imaginary ship, exploring what the universe has to offer, something they’re making together.

Ed’s worries aren’t solved, not by a longshot, but the gaping cavern in his chest feels less hollow. He still has work to do, but he is loveable and is loved. With Stede as his anchor, his home, the man he’ll soon call husband, he can do anything.