#blackstede fanfiction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happyandticklish · 1 year

Text

His Attention

Notes: FINALLY finished this Izzy Hands fic that has been sitting in my drafts since July, that I’ve been procrastinating for literally no reason. I’ve been wanting a fic with lee!Izzy in it forever now, but I wanted to accurately portray how it would work, because Izzy is not exactly,,,,, lee material, and this is definitely the closest I’ve come to it in my attempts lol. As a result, it does end on a rather sad note as he is a rather sad little guy, but regardless, I hope you enjoy the hard work of endless months of putting this off~

Summary: Edward is itching to test this supposed new ‘torture method’ Stede keeps advertising, and Izzy is unfortunately left to be his guinea pig.

Laughter, unmistakably, bounced across the ship, invading the sacred space of Izzy’s cabin. Not an unusual thing to hear, at least not in recent days, not since that fancy idiot had invaded all of their lives. This kind was different than usual though, frantic and pitched, with words scrambling to be heard throughout it.

Izzy pinched his brow together, staring harder at the map before him and forcing himself to focus. He didn’t need to be distracted by whatever stunt Bonnet had pulled now. Maybe they had invited the enemy upon the ship to discuss fine dining, or perhaps they were playing dress-up and putting on a little show—inevitably something inane and not worth his time.

They had gotten lost, as was the usual case with this lot, and Izzy was painstakingly attempting to track their path once more—not that their path was very clear in the first place. Their current ‘plan’ thus far was merely a hobbled together collection of vague promises and ideas. All of which had been stamped for approval by Edward’s stupidly charming grin. It was hard to doubt him when you were met with a face like that.

Izzy had fallen for it one too many times and he didn’t intend to do so again.

There was a shriek from outside his door, and Izzy started in alarm. That was Edward’s voice. He pushed the map aside, staggering to his feet and slamming open the door, ready to take on any opponents that had dared try to attack his captain.

“Captain, is everything a—”

His words stumbled to a halt as he entered into the broad daylight of the ship. What he found was not a group of attackers, but instead, endlessly annoying Stede Bonnet with his hands gripped over the exposed hips of none other than Blackbeard himself. Edward was curled partially in half as more shrieks slipped out in that choked, gruff manner of his.

Tickling. Fucking tickling.

“Ah, Mr. Hands, how nice of you to join us,” Stede said, tone perfectly casual as though he didn’t have the world’s most feared pirate giggling under his hands. “I was just showing Ed here how we more gentle-natured folks engage in combat. Not with swords and threats, but instead, with fingers and laughter!”

“I-Ihit’s not vehery effehective, m-mate!” Edward had his hands gripped around his wrists and was attempting to tug Stede’s hands away, though he didn’t seem as determined as he could be. “T-Thihis is n-nohothing!”

“Nothing, is it? Well then, you wouldn’t mind if I moved back to your ribs then, would you? That seemed to be a pretty effective spot earlier, if I remember correctly. Specifically, if I vibrate my fingers like this—”

The two seemed entirely lost in their own world, Stede staring down at Ed like the sight of him snorting and bucking in his hands was the most incredible thing he had ever seen. The whole thing felt so intimate and childish at the same time, and Izzy couldn’t help but avert his gaze, like he’d walked into something far more risqué than just tickling.

The rest of the crew didn’t seem to have the same problem with it. A couple of them smiled over at the scene, but they seemed otherwise entirely unfazed.

Fucking useless.

“Are these…” Izzy gestured vaguely at the scene. “Childish antics the ‘cutting edge new strategy’ you had to show the Captain, Bonnet? I hardly see the merit in tickling.”

The word was strange on his tongue, one he hadn’t used for many years now. It felt out of place considering the setting. Tickling was for children and lovers, a silly, frivolous thing that had no right gracing the ship.

“Now, that’s what Ed said at first.” Carefully, Stede pulled his hands away, leaving Edward to sag against the side of the ship with an exhausted grin on his face. Izzy tried hard not to stare at the sight. “However, let me put you in a scenario. Let’s say you have a prisoner, or a hostage of sorts, and you’re trying to get information out of him. You could torture him with pain and mutilation—”

“Always a fan of that myself,” Ed chimed in.

“But I’ve found that a gentler approach can work wonders, if done correctly. No blood, no mess, and no visible wounds or injuries if you were to ransom him back. Not to mention, no one wants to admit that they’ve fallen victim to a bit of tickling—not when you have your reputation to uphold.”

Stede beamed back at Izzy as though he wasn’t rambling nonsense. Izzy’s brow narrowed just slightly.

“I didn’t believe him at first either,” Edward said, noticing the look on Izzy’s face. He flushed just a tad at the memory, scratching the back of his neck. “But it’s actually pretty effective. When in the right hands.”

Ed and Stede exchanged smiling glances dripping with not-so-subtle affection and Izzy barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

It had been like this for the past several weeks, all jokes and touching and secret looks exchanged in-between words. Izzy would have said something by now if it weren’t for the look in Edward’s eyes when he stared at Stede, like he’d been sailing in a storm all his life and now the clouds had finally parted to reveal perfectly blue skies. He was happy, or at least whatever version of happy he could grasp for himself after so many years of hardship. Izzy didn’t want to take that from him—not yet, anyway. No matter how much Izzy’s heart tugged with a feral jealousy that threatened to destroy him.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone neutral as he said, “Well, if you’re quite finished playing, I need to borrow Blackbeard to look over our route. I’ve managed to get us back on track, but—”

“Yes, yes, yes, all of that,” Edward interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll look at it, no need to get your knickers in a twist, mate. Thanks for the lesson, Stede—although don’t think I won’t be trying it out myself once I get back. After all, we should make sure it works on all pirates, wouldn’t you agree?”

A bright crimson swept across Stede’s face, and he stammered out an unintelligible reply, before nodding back quickly. The bastard looked excited about the threat, of course. Izzy stalked off towards his cabin before the writhing in his gut could get any worse. Edward trailed behind him lazily, humming a low, grumbly tune that was reminiscent of a variety of different sea shanties all smushed together into a chaotic medley—clearly unbothered at having been seen in such an intimate state, as though it were nothing for the great Blackbeard to be ticklish.

The door swung shut behind him with a resounding thud, and Izzy exhaled, grateful to be left alone at last, and finally get to work on something useful for once—

“You know, he has a point.”

—or not.

Edward was staring at him in that intense way of his, the stare that said his all-encompassing attention had focused directly on you. Izzy would have given up several limbs to have that stare on him for even a moment normally, but now it sent prickly, uncomfortable heat shooting down his spine. Still, he didn’t dare look away.

“How do you mean, sir?”

“You know, we always rely on torture, stabbing, slicing, burning, water-boarding—it gets boring after a while.” Edward hopped onto Izzy’s desk, knocking over a bottle of ink in the process. Izzy’s hand twitched in brief annoyance, but he kept quiet in the interest of peace. “And nothing like that would ever break a real pirate. Certainly you could handle anything I put those shmucks through and still be kicking.”

Pride shot through Izzy like a bullet at the words, but he quickly shoved it down before it could surface too clearly on his face. “Of course. I wouldn’t call myself Blackbeard’s first mate if I couldn’t.”

“But there’s something to be said for this ‘tickle torture’ as he called it.” Edward’s gaze was distant and glowing with ideas. “So simple to do, and it leaves no marks, so there’s hardly any evidence. Plus, there’d be no risk of injuring the body.”

It was clear he wasn’t going to let this go until it had run its course, so Izzy sighed and decided to indulge the concept, if only to secure Edward’s attention later. “Sure, but could it really be classified as torture? I mean, it’s a child’s game. Nothing as innocent as that could truly break someone.”

“So you’re saying you could resist it?” Edward continued, leaning forward on the desk, his interest piqued. “I mean, think about it Iz, really think about it. All vulnerable, tied up, not a chance of escape, having to endure hours upon hours of fingers and feathers scouring every inch of your exposed skin, nothing to do but take it?”

His words raced with a strange urgency, and Izzy couldn’t help but find himself drawn in as he imagined it. He could almost feel it, the bubbly, electric sensation crawling across his nerves and sending goosebumps scattering over his skin. He resisted the urge to shudder and brush away the imaginary touch. Instead, he settled on a compromise, crossing his arms and subtly covering up said vulnerable spots.

“Of course I could,” he replied sharply, hating the way his ears tinged pink at the question. He refused to believe it was due to embarrassment, and blamed it on the summer heat instead. “It’s only tickling.”

“Willing to make a bet out of it?”

Izzy’s heart stopped and it took him a second to respond as he tried to jumpstart it back into motion. Eventually he managed to stutter out a weak, “A bet?”

“Ten minutes. I get to tickle you for ten minutes, and if you can resist, I’ll admit it’s stupid and you’ll never have to hear about it again.”

Izzy scoffed, rolling his eyes and trying not to let his nerves show too obviously. “Edward, please. We’re not kids anymore.”

“Fine.” Edward shrugged. “I’ll just know it’s because you can’t do it, because deep down, you know I’m right, Izzy. Which, if you’re still as ticklish as you used to be, I can’t blame you for.”

Izzy fought back another blush at the memory, wiggling fingers and restrained smiles dissolving into frantic laughter that seemed to echo for miles. There was a playful glimmer in Edward’s smile, and it reminded Izzy of a simpler time, years ago back when the former’s beard was merely a thought and hope still shone in his eyes—hope that maybe they could do something with their lives instead of just waste away in a nothing town for the rest of time.

Many times before had Izzy attempted to bring that look back, each of which had failed until now. Of course, he had a feeling that Stede was most of the reason for it. It was undeniable that the strange, slightly eccentric man brought him joy for reasons Izzy would never understand. Still, it was nice to see him happy again—happy enough to tease Izzy like he used to, anyway.

He decided to blame it on that when he answered. “If I agree,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes and emphasizing the if. “Not only do you admit that tickling is a fool's game, but I get your attention for the rest of the day. No antics, no silly gimmicks, no children’s stories. Just you, me and a map.”

“Done.”

“And you have to make sure the crew is actually working, too.”

“Done.”

“And you’ll actually help me come up with a plan this time, not some crazed idea that you pull out your ass and decide to share with no one—”

“Done, done, done, and done,” Edward interrupted, waving one hand. “All of that and more. The ship will be in tip-top shape by the time we’re done with it. If you agree. So? What’s it gonna be, mate?”

Izzy hesitated for a second too long before he nodded. He told himself his reluctance was caused by annoyance at the stupid idea. He wouldn’t allow for the possibility that it was due to any kind of repressed anxiety. It was just tickling—nothing more. Besides, there was no evidence to suggest he even was ticklish anymore. Perhaps it had faded with time.

Izzy desperately clung onto that hope as Edward approached him. His walk was almost cat-like as he backed Izzy against the wall, like a lion stalking their prey—all smooth movements and assured glances.

“Arms up, Mr. Hands.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather Israel?”

Izzy exhaled in resigned irritation, raising his arms with little preamble. That was when Edward’s hand closed about his wrists. Without thinking, Izzy tugged, trying to pull his hands down.

They didn’t budge.

He swallowed audibly.

“You seem nervous,” Edward noted. He was making a point to catch Izzy’s gaze, holding it until Izzy was forced to look away. It was humiliating. And something else. Something he didn’t want to think about. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you nervous before. It’s a nice look—humbles your normally obstinate face.”

In defiance, Izzy shifted his features into something undeniably obstinate. “Of course you have, Edward,” he replied tiredly. “I’m always nervous. It’s impossible not to be when you have a maniac for a captain.”

“Oh, exasperated, sure,” Edward admitted. “Deeply concerned, almost every day. But not nervous.”

Izzy huffed, shifting underneath him. He was too close, and Izzy could smell the sea on him—and that twat’s perfume. “Just get it over with already. I don’t have all day.”

“Always so impatient,” Edward hummed. Despite this, he complied with his wishes. Izzy tensed when he felt Edward’s free hand come to rest on his hip, toying with the hem of his vest. And then all at once slipping under it.

“What are you—!?”

“Relax.” Edward’s hand was warm against his skin, and Izzy hated how nice it felt. “You’re not gonna feel a thing through all that leather. You want to win fairly, don’t you? I’d be the last one to peg Izzy Hands as a cheater.”

The implication sent a spark of defiance through him and he tilted his chin up subconsciously. “Of course not. I just want our intentions to be clear. I’m not like him.”

Edward’s eyes crinkled up in amusement, the gesture far too much like pity. “I know, Izzy. You never were.”

Before Izzy had time to parse through his words, Edward’s hand twitched and his mouth clamped shut in quick defense. It was barely a movement, barely anything really, but it was enough to set Izzy’s nerves on edge.

Gently, Edward’s fingers wiggled against the soft skin of his hip, curling against the bone. Izzy inhaled sharply, unable to help it. It didn’t tickle, exactly. It was more of an itch, and Izzy had the inexplicable urge to swat him away.

Not that he could do that with his hands out of the way.

For almost a minute it was just that, light, quick touches that made him tense, but nothing he wasn’t able to handle. At first, Izzy had assumed he wasn’t taking this seriously. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or grateful for that.

By the second minute, however, he caught onto Edward’s game. What had started as an itch was turning into something far more… well, something. Something that made Izzy’s arm tug against his grip. He hadn’t upped his pace once, but the repetition of it all was getting to Izzy. He found himself jerking back before Edward had even touched him, glaring at the smirk he was greeted with every time.

“Is this really your plan?”

“What do you mean?” Edward’s hand slipped and fingers were exchanged for nails, gliding over the bump of skin. A shudder coursed its way down Izzy’s back. “Is this not effective?”

Izzy shifted slightly, trying his best to be subtle about it and failing. “If this is how you plan on winning, you’re doing a miserable job of it. What would you like to start on first tonight—navigation or the rations that have, at least as far as I’m aware of, never been stocked since this new crew of yours boarded the ship?”

“Ah, ah, ah, Izzy, ye of little faith.”

The fingers tempo sped up just slightly and Izzy coughed to cover up the startled noise that had just escaped him. The whole act was bordering on the edge of being genuinely ticklish—something Izzy absolutely could not allow if he was to get through this. In theory, provided Edward did not move past this stage, Izzy could hold out for a mere ten minutes. However, the threat of him going further was making him jumpy, which could be bad.

“You know, laughing doesn’t disqualify you.” His voice was barely even a whisper, but each word rang clear to Izzy, settling a knot of unease at the base of his spine. “Nor does all this twitching you keep doing. So if I were you, I would stop wasting all my energy on that and save some for when I start to get really serious.”

Izzy had plans to ignore the offer stubbornly, but a sudden squeeze to his hips let out a choked noise that was almost, almost, a giggle. Not enough that he would ever in a million life times admit to it though. The flush already present on his face spread out further, till it felt like his whole body was burning up with some strange new form of fever.

You’re not ticklish, that isn’t you, he told himself, useless words of affirmation to try to bear through the flurry of soft pinches he was being assaulted with. He knew he was smiling, a wobbly, giddy thing that he tried and failed to mask. Maybe he could get through this by smiling. Just one smile, and that was the last of what he would allow himself.

The touch scribbled around his hips to the base of his lower back and Izzy jerked forward, nearly knocking Edward aside. The latter let out a low, grumbly chuckle; it was the same one he greeted his opponent with when he knew he had bested them. “Ah mate, I think you’ve revealed a little bit too much there. I was worried that maybe the same spots wouldn’t work, but it seems like you haven’t grown out of anything.”

Each glide of Edward’s fingers sent his stomach pitching, squeezing tighter and tighter till he felt as though he would burst if he didn’t laugh or scream or cry or something really soon. A build-up of kinetic energy with no outlet, all rearing to escape. Goosebumps rippled out from one another, making Izzy unbearably area of each new sensation. Fingers scuttled patiently over that same spot, lazy, crawling circles in the dip of his back that made his face scrunch up in protest. It was awful and pleasant all at the same time and Izzy found himself edging closer to giving in with each second that drifted by.

“Ed, c-c’mon—”

“Are you giving in?”

Scratching that same fucking spot. “N—ahA, mhmm n-no. No.”

“Good. I would hate to think you would give up the game so early. We still have a whole seven minutes left to go and I intend to spend my time with it.”

Seven minutes. Even ten minutes hadn’t seemed like that long of a time when they had started, but now even the threat of those seven minutes made him feel like throwing in the towel in right then and there. He had forgotten how much things could tickle, how sensitive skin could be, how helpless it was to be pinned like this.

And how wonderful. Pride might have let him surrender by now, but Edward’s attention, Edward’s touch, Edward’s smile directed at him, delighting in him, was too good a promise to give up now.

It wasn’t anything big that broke him, just that same ever light touch on that same ever sensitive spot on his back, but finally Izzy’s lips crackled up into a full grin, a series of huffy breaths and giggles slipping out.

“F-Fuhuck ohof Edward, c’mohohon.”

“Tickle, Iz?”

Izzy couldn’t even fight off the tease, too much of him melting into how nice it felt. He had spent so many weeks now watching Edward’s attention become entirely captivated by that idiot and now, finally, had found something to divert it back to him. Even if it meant giving up his pride. Even if it meant letting himself giggle in front of fucking Blackbeard.

He couldn’t risk a protest ending this just yet.

So instead, he let out a growl to indicate that yes, it very much tickled, thank you, and squeezed his eyes shut to try to bear his way through this. Edward’s hand was moving up now, edging towards the back of his ribs, and Izzy arched forward with a noise that was in no way, shape, or form a whine, trying to avoid its path.

“Now this,” Edward commented, a note of awe in his voice. “This is almost worth it, even if you don’t give in. I should thank Stede for reminding me of this method, I had nearly forgotten how effective it is on you. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a genuine smile on your face, let alone heard you laugh. You should consider yourself lucky I can’t reach your feet in this position, or I’m sure the sounds you’d make would make me inclined to keep you here forever.”

Izzy’s toes curled in his boots at the mere threat and he thanked any deity that might be out there for that small mercy at least. This was already bad enough as is. Edward was slowly climbing up his ribs in an ascent that sent his nerves on high alert about their end destination. It was strange; it had been so long since he’d been tickled that he couldn’t actively remember where he was ticklish, but instinct provided him with a pretty good radar for it. Each step that Edward’s fingers took sent a bolt of energy through him and he found himself jerking at his trapped arms with increasing desperation.

Worse yet was the anticipation that sent laughter tumbling freely out of his mouth, silly and frantic and bubbly in a way that Izzy Hands, First Mate, Blackbeard’s righthand man, simply wasn’t. He couldn’t even attempt to stop it either, so focused was he on doing anything to keep those hands away from under his arms.

“Ehehehedward, yohohou dohohon’t—gahhAHA w-wahait, you dohon’t—shihit lihihisten to mehehe!”

Edward cocked a brow, deliberately teasing the spaces in-between his topmost ribs. “Yeah? I don’t want? I’m really trying to listen mate, but I can’t hear you through all that whimpering.”

Izzy was going to bash his head in when he got out of this, tear out his fingers piece by piece so they could never do the world anymore damage. Quite possibly he was going to pin Edward down and show him just how much this shit fucking tickled so he would think twice before doing this to anyone else—because there was no way he would still be going if he knew just how badly Izzy needed him to stop.

Even more possibly, Izzy was going to lock himself up in his quarters when this was done and spend the rest of the day trying to wipe the stupid smile off of his face and convince himself he hadn’t enjoyed it in the slightest.

When Edward’s fingers finally reached their goal, Izzy thought it was probable he had ascended to another plane. A shriek slipped out, followed by a snort and finally a round of tumbling cackles that shook his whole frame. He knew better than to try to fight his way out so instead he threw his head back and gave into the laughter and the helplessness and the pleasant embarrassment radiating throughout his form.

Had he always been this ticklish? It hardly seemed likely as he was sure he would have gone mad from all the times Edward had pinned him down just like this back in the day.

And yet, for some reason, he didn’t hate it.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

A thumb digging into just the right spot was what did him in. One thumb, and a yelp of pure panic slipped out as Izzy thumped back against the wall giggling out a plea for mercy. Edward let go of him so fast Izzy was sure he must have imagined the whole thing from his now casual stance a couple feet away. Izzy sunk to the ground gratefully, gulping in air greedily as the last of his laughter slowly receded. His arms were wrapped around himself in a hug that he knew must have looked stupid, but he couldn’t help it. Phantom sensations crawled up and down his sides, making him twitchy and jittery as he tried to calm his nervous system.

“Torturous, isn’t it?”

Izzy scoffed, which was as much admittance as Edward was going to be getting out of him anytime soon. He nearly found himself hoping that Edward would demand a better answer, that he would insist he hadn’t ‘fulfilled his end of the bargain’, and pin him down for a flailing round two.

Instead, Edward merely rolled his eyes fondly, strolling over to the desk and calmly righting the spilled ink container, as though no time had passed since their earlier conversation.

“I’ll have to let Stede know that his methods work even on the most reputable and feared of pirates,” Edward mused, tossing a glance back at his flustered state. “I thought I was bad, but you looked like you would have bit off my head if I had let you.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t,” Izzy hissed, perhaps with more venom than he needed to. The introduction of Stede’s name made him prickly. Even now, seconds after Edward had just finished turning Izzy into a pile of goop on the ground, he still couldn’t take his mind off of Stede. He wanted to stand up and grab Edward’s chin, force his wistful eyes away from the door where they had strayed and back towards him. “That was a pity win at best, something to get you to shut up about it so I don’t have to spend the whole day hearing about the Amazing Stede and his wonderful tickling know-how.”

“A pity win.” And Edward did look at him then, but with a skepticism that made Izzy’s shoulders creep in defensively. “You mean to tell me you put yourself through all that just for my sake?”

“I didn’t say that—!”

“I’m touched, Iz, I really am. But next time, all you have to do is ask, no need to be so roundabout with it.”

Izzy gaped at him as Edward shot him a sly wink, pushing open the door and pausing with an endeared chuckle as he went to rejoin Stede and the others across the ship. Hardly a minute later, laughter echoed across the ship, sending a pang of envy through the former that he didn’t have the strength to lie to himself about.

Eight minutes. The first time Edward had really touched him with any kind of affection in nearly five years, and it had lasted eight minutes. The memory of the tickling had faded into a distant ache now, a mere imprint of what it had felt like to have Edward’s hands on him, to have his fingers wrapped securely around his wrists.

The hands that were taking their revenge on Stede at that very moment if the boisterous, desperate laughter booming across the ship was anything to go off of.

Izzy leaned his head against the back of the wall with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair to fix the mess it had become. “Get a hold of yourself, Israel.”

He stayed there for an additional five minutes before finally forcing himself up to work on the leftover paperwork sitting on his desk.

Alone, as always.

#tickle fic #izzy hands #edizzy #our flag means death #edward teach #tickling #fanfiction #stede bonnet #blackstede

81 notes · View notes

oatflatwhite · 6 months

Text

another episode tag fic (now with canon divergence!)

#....................anyway #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death #edward teach #ed teach #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #blackstede #oatflatwrites #ofmd fic #ofmd fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

sandinthepipes · 2 years

Text

Me, an ace, reading the tags of a fanfiction that look more like every single section of a subreddit about kinks, trying to discern if there's gonna be any sort of plot going on and the author is just concerned about warning the audience, just because they didn't tag the "porn without plot" that I could easily avoid

#fanfiction #ff #fanfic #the witcher netflix #the witcher #ofmd #our flag means death #merlin #bbc sherlock #merthur #johnlock #geraskier #blackstede #blackbonnet #hannigram #idk tag your otp i guess #no I don't actually know how reddit works #inthepipes

210 notes · View notes

nandorisms · 7 months

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Our Flag Means Death (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet Characters: Stede Bonnet, Blackbeard | Edward Teach Additional Tags: Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Blind Date, Bad Puns, Flirting, Swing Dancing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Happy Ending, Ed Teach follows the Mean Girls girl world rule for Halloween Summary:

Ed had been set up for a blind date at a Halloween party, expecting to meet a man in a Moth Man costume. However, what he found was that his date was a lot more colourful than he had anticipated.

#our flag means death #ofmd #stede bonnet #blackbeard #edward teach #blackstede #gentlebeard #blackbeard x stede bonnet #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #ao3 fic

8 notes · View notes

wistfulcynic · 2 years

Text

Some Travellers Return

In which Ed does his best to get himself killed and believes he’s succeeded, only to discover to his surprise that Hell looks remarkably like the cabin of the Revenge and Stede is there. It’s probably a demon-Stede but Ed doesn’t care--he’s damned already, he may as well enjoy himself.

He does. They both do. And when Ed realises that all may not be as he thinks it is, they finally talk it through.

Blackbonnet, rated E, 6k words.

AO3

When the sword pierced his gut, not missing the important bits this time, all Blackbeard could think was thank fuck.

This one would surely kill him. Fucking finally. For what felt like ages now he’d been all but begging for death, and absolutely no one would oblige him. Not Izzy, of fucking course. Not Jim either, which was more surprising. Not even the rum he consumed in such copious amounts that it would have felled a dray horse. Hardly made a dent in Blackbeard, though. A bottle barely even dulled his senses. Two, and he slurred his words a bit. After three he could still stand upright, under his own power. Drinking the stuff was hardly even worth the bother of pissing it out.

He’d begun to think he was un-killable.

Battle raged around them, smoke and flames and the screams of dying men. Blackbeard didn’t scream, not even as the Spaniard twisted the blade then ripped it from his guts. Instead he laughed, as blood spurted from the wound and pain bloomed alongside it, pain that he could feel despite the dampening influence of the otherwise-useless bloody rum. He laughed as his legs gave way beneath him and he collapsed onto the ship’s deck.

He laughed because he’d soon be dead. At last.

At fucking last.

His laugh became a wheeze as the breath left his lungs and darkness began to close in around him, blurring his vision at the edges. He didn’t fight it. Laid his head on the deck as his eyes fell closed. Stede was there, of course, behind the lids as he always was, his precious, treacherous face graven onto Blackbeard’s brain. Stede.

“Stede,” he moaned, and he could swear he heard his own name murmured in reply.

“Edward. Oh, my love, what have you done?”

“Died,” muttered Ed, then proceeded to do just that.

Hell was… not as he’d expected. Less fire, for a start. Fewer devils. Hardly any brimstone. And Stede was there.

What the fuck was Stede doing in Hell?

Ed knew Stede was dead. He’d heard the tales. They all contradicted each other, each more ludicrous than the last, but the legendary Blackbeard knew from lengthy personal experience just how wildly tales could grow beyond the origins of their telling, and so he had visited the small churchyard in Barbados and seen the stone there with his own eyes.

Stede Bonnet. Born 1688. Died 1717.

Ed wasn’t much of a reader but there were some words he knew. These ones, etched onto Stede’s gravestone, seemed to stare back at him, ringing in his mind with an inescapable finality.

Died. 1717.

Stede was dead.

And Ed wished more than anything to join him.

Not join him join him, of course not. Stede may not be meant for doggy heaven but he would surely not end up wherever Ed was destined to go. Only the deepest pits of Satan’s arsehole for Blackbeard, of that there could be no doubt. Well-deserved too, not even Ed could argue that. But Stede didn’t belong there. He’d been far from perfect but his sins were surely nothing a short stint in purgatory couldn’t sort out. Ed’s theology was pretty shaky—though he had his own notions of it that made more sense to him than anything from the mouth of any preacher—but he was fairly certain such a thing was possible. Purgatory, to atone for his sins. Then, maybe, heaven.

No chance of heaven for Blackbeard, though, yet here he was in what must surely be hell but which bore a remarkable resemblance to the cabin of the Revenge, with Stede there hovering hazily above him and looking terribly concerned.

“What’re you… doing… here…” Ed managed, with effort, to grunt.

“I came back for you.” Stede brushed Ed’s hair from his forehead as his other hand curled gently over Ed’s where it rested on his belly, and gave his fingers a squeeze. “Shh, now, darling, don’t try to speak. You’re badly wounded. You need rest.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Ed chuckled, recalling all the times he’d said something similar to Izzy, every time he’d pushed his crew beyond their limits in pursuit of something, anything that might hold his interest. We can sleep when we’re dead, Iz. Well, he was dead now so he might as well take his own advice. And Stede’s fingers were so warm and comforting in his, soothing as they stroked through his hair, the short-clipped nails scraping along his scalp. Ed sighed and let his eyes drift shut.

Odd sort of hell, this, was his last thought before oblivion claimed him again.

His consciousness drifted, shifted, from places that he knew were dreamscapes to ones he almost believed were real. Stede was there in all of them, sometimes holding Ed, sometimes fighting him. Sometimes fucking him. In some scenes they were alone and in others surrounded, by Izzy’s vicious sneer or Calico Jack’s mocking laughter. In those Ed tried to pull away, to run before Stede could see who he really was. But Stede would never let him go.

“Don’t pay them any mind, my love,” he’d say, each time. “They’re nothing to us. They don’t matter.”

“They don’t matter,” muttered Ed.

“Who doesn’t matter, dearest?”

Ed blinked his eyes open. Stede was there beside him, in somewhat clearer focus now. He had a glass in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Your fever’s broken,” he said. “At last. Drink this.”

He held the glass to Ed’s lips and cradled the back of his head as he drank. Cool, sweet liquid sharp with citrus. Ed gulped it gratefully until the glass was empty then Stede lowered his head back down to the pillow.

Pillows, in hell, Ed mused. Unexpected. He tried to say so but his tongue felt thick and his eyelids heavy. He closed them, just for a moment’s rest, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

This time he did not dream.

When he opened his eyes again the cabin was in darkness. Outside the window he could see stars and the faint glow of the waning moon. He tried to sit up, to get a better look at the lay of things in this unconventional hell of his, but found himself unable to move, pinned beneath an unfamiliar weight.

Stede’s body, draped over his, one arm flung across Ed’s chest and their legs entwined. Stede’s head was nestled into Ed’s shoulder and he snored gently as he slept, breath whistling softly over Ed’s cheek.

Ed’s cock went instantly hard. However unorthodox this hell may be, he reflected, its methods of torment were damned effective.

He shifted himself carefully so as not to wake this sleeping demon-Stede, adjusted him until they both lay on their sides, arms and legs wrapped round each other, pressed together from the midriff down. Stabbing pains shot through Ed’s belly every time he moved but he paid them no mind. Trifling twinges they were, he’d had far worse, and anyway it was worth it to lie here like this, with him.

First with his eyes and then the tips of his fingers he traced the familiar lines of the face that haunted him, still beloved despite how much it hurt Ed’s heart to look upon. The arch of the eyebrows, the slope of the nose, the line of the jaw, rough with stubble. The bow of the lips, soft and irresistible.

Ed didn’t bother so much as attempting to resist. He was damned already, he may as well enjoy it. He pressed his lips to Stede’s, firmer than he had on the beach, more insistently, until Stede’s eyes fluttered open.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice rough and sleepy. “I—”

Ed cut him off with another kiss, pulled him close and let his hand drift lower, from jaw to shoulder to chest then lower still, all the way down to where Stede’s cock was twitching to life, hardening against Ed’s own.

In life he never would have dared to be so brashly bold with Stede, of whose inexperience with men Ed was all too painfully aware. But this was a demon-Stede or a vision perhaps—a hallucination, a test by temptation. Ed didn’t fucking know, nor did he care. All that mattered was that the man he loved was here beside him, albeit in some infernal form and bearing with him what would likely be dire consequences for this moment of intimacy. But Ed had been a damn-the-consequences kind of guy while alive and he saw no reason to abandon that principle now that he was dead. Whatever fiery torments might await him as a punishment for debauching this man, he’d more than happily accept them in exchange for the chance to experience it.

It wasn’t as though the opportunity was likely to present itself again.

He opened Stede’s breeches and took his cock in hand, stroking it firmly as he nudged Stede’s lips apart and demonstrated how to kiss with tongue. Stede, fully awake now, released a breathless moan, gripped Ed’s shoulders with fingers that dug into his skin and returned the kiss, awkwardly but with keen enthusiasm. Ed gave his cock a firm stroke and a squeeze and Stede groaned.

“Darling,” he murmured, pulling back enough that the word was breathed against Ed’s lips. “Are you sure you’re—oh, I say—er, are you sure you’re well enough for, um. This.”

“Very sure,” growled Ed, who then forestalled any further protests with another deep kiss. This distraction worked for several long, delightful minutes, until Stede pulled back again.

“It’s just that you’re… still recovering,” he gasped. His eyes were wide and dark, his cheeks flushed and lips bruised. He looked positively edible, delicious, and Ed fully intended to consume him. He leaned in to begin the feast but Stede braced both hands on his chest and held him off.

“When I had my gut wound,” he said, “that first one that definitely didn’t miss the important bits, I would not have been up for such strenuous activity as this, not so soon.” His eyes and fingers both caressed Ed’s face. “You’re looking so peaky, my love. Perhaps a nice cup of tea?”

“No.” Ed gave the cock in his hand such a squeeze that Stede’s eyes rolled back in his head. “I don’t want tea, I want to fuck. I’m fucking Blackbeard, love, do you think I’ve never fucked with a gut wound before?”

“Yes, but the important bits—”

“Fuck the important bits, and fuck me.” He kissed demon-Stede, hard and deep, wet and rough. “I dare you.”

Stede’s brow furrowed. “You think I won’t,” he said.

On the contrary, thought Ed. He fully expected demon-Stede to take him up on his challenge. He was counting on it, in fact. Hell’s minions may think they knew how to torment, but they had yet to grapple with Blackbeard.

Stede cupped Ed’s face and kissed him. “You truly want me to fuck you, darling?” he murmured. “I’d be delighted to. It will be my privilege.” He smiled, eyes lit with the eagerness he normally reserved for silk moths and foliage. “I’ve been reading up on the principles and techniques, you know, and I believe I have all the necessary accoutrements.” He gave Ed’s cheek a pat. “You just lie back now, love, and let me take care of you.”

Ha, thought Ed, as demon-Stede extracted himself from their embrace and bent to rifle through a small sea-chest next to the bed. The demon was showing his hand. No way would the real Stede have any idea what he was doing when it came to buggery. Although… if he did want to learn how it was done, books would be the first place he’d turn. Were there books that gave instructions on how to fuck? Ed frowned. If there were, he wouldn’t be in any way surprised to learn that Stede had unearthed every last one and read them all, carefully, cover to cover.

Hell, he’d probably even taken notes.

Ed watched demon-Stede suspiciously as he retrieved from the chest a brown glass bottle and a length of fabric in a deep purple hue, with a subtle tonal pattern in its weave. These both he held up proudly for Ed to see.

“Lavender,” he said, indicating the bottle. “I know it’s your favourite. And this is some lovely silk jacquard. I know how you enjoy the touch of silk against your skin. I thought it might… enhance the experience.”

“I—” Ed began, but whatever he intended to stay stuck in his throat when Stede set both bottle and cloth down on the bed and began to remove his clothing. First the loose linen shirt which he quickly unbuttoned and shrugged off, then the trousers Ed had already opened. Finally, he rolled his stockings down his calves and kicked them away.

Ed’s mouth had gone dry but when naked demon-Stede straightened up and met his eyes with a shy but confident smile it began to water. God, this man. This delightful, unpredictable, bloody mind-fuck of a man. He’d be the death of Ed, if that Spaniard’s blade hadn’t already done the deed quite effectively.

“Shall I help you with yours?” inquired Stede, casually, as though he were offering Ed another pour from the teapot. Ed nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak, and Stede set to undoing Ed’s leathers with a look on his face that on any other man Ed would have described as lecherous.

“I confess I’ve thought about doing this many times,” remarked Stede, still in that conversational tone he used to discuss all his interests. “Even before I understood how I felt about you. I thought I was just interested in learning more about your clothes!” He chuckled as he tugged Ed’s trousers down and off. Ed wasn’t wearing a shirt, which left him in only some linen underthings that Stede made quick work of, then stood back to let his eyes travel slowly down Ed’s form.

“You’re beautiful, did you know that.” It was phrased as a question but inflected as a statement, breathed in an almost worshipful tone. Stede reached out to trail the tips of his fingers down Ed’s chest, over the bandage wrapped around his midsection and beyond, to where his cock stood hard and flushed and aching. “Magnificent,” murmured Stede, as he traced up the underside and across the tip of it. “Breathtaking.”

Ed’s own breath was short and shallow, his guts twisted in a way that had nothing to do with that Spanish blade. “Stede,” he groaned, and it was a plea. A wrenching, desperate one. He’d never been so aroused.

Fuck, he thought, maybe these demons did know what they were about when it came to torture.

Stede picked up the bottle and uncorked it. The soothing smell of lavender oil filled the air. “Now, as I said I’ve read up on this,” he remarked, tipping some into his palm. “But I’ve also learned the hard way that there’s no substitute for firsthand experience. So if I get anything wrong or do something you don’t like you must tell me.”

Ed was pretty sure it would be impossible for Stede to do anything he didn’t like. He gave a frantic nod and Stede smiled.

“So, am I being the top, as I’m told the expression is, or the bottom?”

“Top,” Ed choked. “Fuck me. Please, God, Stede please just fuck me.”

“Righto.”

Stede closed his oiled palm around his cock and gave it a few good strokes. His face wore a studious frown, as though he’d never really examined his own dick before—and wasn’t that a hell of a notion, Ed thought wildly—and he spent far too long for Ed’s comfort ensuring, with slow and careful diligence, that it was thoroughly coated. He then tipped another dollop of oil onto his fingers and approached Ed with his eyebrows raised.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Memories of a moonlit night and tatty red silk so carefully folded, choked Ed with a rush of emotion and left him speechless. He could only nod to give his assent, but when Stede’s slick fingers made tentative contact with his arsehole he let out a groan that felt ripped from the very depths of him. Stede’s fingers faltered briefly at the sound then recommenced their attentions with even more vigour, as though encouraged by it. Ed moaned again as Stede massaged him gently and then pressed inside, first one finger then two, cautiously at the start but with increasing confidence as he went on.

“Is this all right?” he asked. His voice sounded breathless. “Am I doing it right?”

He was a bit awkward still and clearly inexperienced but Ed truly could not have cared less. It still felt better than anything he’d ever known and so he nodded again and managed to growl. “Perfect. But I’m… ready now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Ed was near frantic to feel Stede’s cock inside him. “Please.”

“Ah, um. Okay.” Stede got on his knees on the bed, where he attempted to position himself between Ed’s legs. “Er, where should I—is there a good way to—I must say, the diagrams did not make this clear at all!”

Ed stifled a laugh as he pulled Stede down for a wet, sloppy kiss, shifted them both slightly to align their bodies and growled “Just do what feels right. We’ll adjust if we need to.”

Stede nodded but his eyes were troubled. “I just want this to be good for you.”

“It will be. It already is. I—” need you, love you, have to have you “trust you.”

Stede’s smile broke across his face like the dawn. “Good,” he whispered, then Ed felt him take himself in hand again, felt the tip of his cock press against his entrance, so good but just not quite enough.

“You’ve gotta… be more forceful than that, love,” he groaned. Stede pressed harder. “Ugh, yeah. Bit more.” Stede rocked back then thrust in with force. “Oh, fuck, yes. One more like that.” Stede obeyed, and with that was buried in Ed to the hilt.

The look on his face was rapturous. It made Ed’s heart leap with joy at the sight of it, and ache with the loss of what might have been.

“Oh, this feels…” Stede breathed. “It’s so… God.”

Ed allowed him a moment to adjust to the sensations, then gave his arse a nudge with the heel of his foot. “You’re gonna need to move,” he rasped.

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Stede began to rock his hips, hesitantly at first but quickly picking up speed as he found a comfortable position and a rhythm that soon had them both gasping.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” was all that Ed could think to say and so he said it, again and again, as Stede’s thrusts grew more powerful and more controlled. He tried to hold out, to make this last, but all too soon he found himself teetering at the cliff’s edge, ready to fall.

“Stede, I’m—” he grunted. “I’m gonna—”

“Yes, love, do,” said Stede, and that soft command sent Ed hurtling, shattering, clenching helplessly around the cock thrust deep within him. He heard Stede gasp then groan as he found his own release, and forced his eyes open so he could witness the pleasure break across those beloved features.

Stede laid his hands on either side of Ed’s head and leaned his weight on them as he fought to catch his breath. His face was flushed and his eyes bright as they met Ed’s.

“That was far better than the books led me to believe,” he observed. “Far better. Words actually fail me.”

“Must be the first time ever for that,” Ed teased.

“Probably.” Stede eased himself down to the bed and settled snugly against Ed’s side. “Though I forgot about the silk, blast it all!” Ed began to chuckle. “Don’t laugh, I had plans for that silk!”

Ed was laughing, though. He couldn’t not. It was just such an utterly Stede thing to say, and here in the blissed-out aftermath of the greatest sexual encounter of his life all he could do was laugh, take Stede’s face in his hands and kiss him.

“I love you,” he said.

Immediately, he cursed his foolishness. He’d forgotten where he was and who this was and what situation he was in. He’d opened himself up and bared his heart—to a demon. Stupid, stupid, amateur mistake. He froze and kept his eyes on demon-Stede, warily, waiting to see what he would do.

His face lit up. Like the fucking sun, thought Ed. Or was it the bright lamp of a lighthouse, warning him away?

“Oh, my darling,” he breathed. “My dearest Edward, I love you too.”

Despite himself, Ed’s heart leapt at those words. Words he’d craved from this man for longer than he cared to admit.

No. Not this man. This was a demon. He’d wanted those words from Stede, the real Stede. The one who’d left him alone on a dock then went and fucking died. That was the Stede Ed’s idiotic heart still loved and craved enough to make him not just accept this infernal impostor but actually welcome him.

Demon-Stede kissed Ed, softly and with all apparent adoration. “I’m so happy,” he murmured, “I never expected—what with everything that happened, you know, I was so worried that you would... well. Never mind about that now. Now, you really need to rest. You are still mid-recovery after all.”

He got up from the bed and Ed watched him disappear into the little bathing-room then emerge again, bearing a washbowl and cloth. This he used to wipe Ed clean, then checked the bandage around his wound, fussed with the knots holding it in place for a bit, and pulled a soft blanket up to his chin.

Ed relaxed into this tender care, let his eyes fall shut and his consciousness grow hazy. You win this round, demon, he thought, bring on the next.

“Sleep now, dearest,” he heard Stede murmur, and Ed obliged.

Ed slept deeply but fitfully; long stretches of dreamless slumber broken by moments in which consciousness seemed to hover just within his grasp. When he reached for it, though, it slipped through his fingers and danced away like dust in a sunbeam, and Ed would tumble back into the depths again.

He did wake once, with the sun shining brightly through the cabin windows and Stede there beside him with another glass of the cool, lemony drink. Ed gulped it gladly but the stuff was clearly stronger than it tasted because he immediately felt drowsy again, too much to talk or even keep his eyes open for longer than a few blinks.

“That’s it.” Stede’s smiling face swam in his vision. Twisted, as though underwater or in a nightmare. “Just go back to sleep.”

Perhaps this was the demons’ game, Ed thought, just before he drifted off again. Keep him either drugged up or shagged out, or possibly both.

On the whole, it was far from the worst hell he could imagine.

He woke again and again in sunlight, the angle of which now suggested late afternoon. There was no drink this time, though; the cabin was empty. Ed attempted to sit up and discovered he could, with ease. The wound in his gut twinged but no longer felt as if it might burst open when he moved. Gingerly, he peeled back the bandage—clean and fresh-smelling, he observed—and was surprised to find the gash already healed over, sealed with tender, pink skin. A new scar to add to his collection.

How bloody long had he been out?

And what, perhaps more importantly, the fuck?

The cabin door opened and Stede appeared, carrying a tray laden with things that smelled delicious.

“Ah!” he said brightly. “You’re awake. Excellent. Feeling equal to getting up and sitting at the table to eat?”

Ed’s stomach rumbled. “Think so,” he replied.

“I managed to get some broth down you while you were out,” Stede informed him. “And bits of bread softened in it. But that’s not nearly enough nourishment and I’m concerned about the weight you’ve lost. The witch we consulted in Tortuga did say that that was to be expected and you’d recover your strength quickly once the course of potions was completed and you could eat normally again. Still, it doesn’t stop me being concerned.”

He set the tray down on the table and began to unload it. There was fresh bread, still warm and fragrant, and some of that runny French cheese; paper-thin Spanish ham; what looked like an egg pie; peeled oranges and sliced mangoes; little golden cakes covered in cream; pots of butter and marmalade and honey. Ed’s stomach rumbled.

“Roach really outdid himself with this,” Stede remarked. “The little cakes are excellent, and he’s been practising his quiches lately so you must eat some of that or his feelings will be hurt. Jamón and bread to start, though, I think, with maybe a bit of cheese. Here, let me pour you a cup of tea.”

Ed sat at the table and watched bemusedly as Stede prepared his tea and then a plate for him. He sipped the tea—perfect, of course it was—then took a bite of bread piled high with ham and cheese and chewed it slowly, feeling increasingly disgruntled as he watched Stede sip his own tea and nibble on a cake.

“What is this?” he growled.

“Hmm? What’s what, dear?”

“This.” Ed gestured at himself and the food and then at Stede. “C’mon, cards on the table, mate. What’s really going on here? I’d rather just know.”

“Well… we’re having breakfast,” said Stede. “Though this time of day, it’s probably better referred to as a brunch or even a linner. Lupper. Dipper? I never can keep the terms straight—”

“No, this.” Ed interrupted, with a more emphatic gesture. “Why did you heal me, why are we eating? I’m dead! What kind of eternal torment involves marmalade and little cakes? And what the fuck’s a quiche?”

“Eternal torment?” echoed Stede in a baffled tone, but Ed barrelled on.

“Where’s the brimstone? I mean, I don’t fuckin’ know what brimstone is but the way the preachers talk you figure it must be flame-y or some shit and you don’t even have your crazy fireplaces lit in here—”

“Ed.”

“—so it’s not even hot! The very bloody least I expected of damnation was a bit of fuckin’ heat. It’s all wrong here. I’ve been ready for Hell for a long time but I was not prepared for this.”

“Edward.”

“So what the fuck, man?” Ed’s voice broke. “Just please tell me what the fuck this is.”

“My love,” said Stede, frowning at him. “Why do you think you’re dead?”

“I was stabbed in the gut.” Ed pointed at the wound. “Right square in the important bits, you said so yourself. That killed me, didn’t it? Had to have.”

“Er, no.” Stede gave his head a small shake. “It didn’t.”

“What?”

“Ed.” Stede reached across the table and took his hand. “You’ve recovered.”

Ed stared at him, and Stede continued. “It was quite a serious wound you had, that’s true. It’s why we consulted the witch. Frenchie nearly had a conniption at the prospect, but aside from that it was a very successful excursion. She did come highly recommended.”

Ed continued to stare.

“She gave us some powders and a potion or two, said they would keep you asleep and encourage healing. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the best part of two weeks now, barring an—er—inadvisable if highly enjoyable bout of physical exertion, and it’s worked. You’re healed. You’re going to be fine.”

Ed blinked slowly. “I’m alive,” he muttered.

“Of course you are.”

“Then that means… you’re really here. You’re not a demon.”

Stede smiled. “Decidedly not.”

“But…” Ed attempted to process this. “You’re dead.”

“Ah.”

“You’ve got a gravestone.”

“Yes, about that.”

“‘About that?’ Stede, I saw your name on it!”

“No, no,” said Stede soothingly. His thumb stroked the back of Ed’s hand. “It was all a fuckery.”

“A fuckery?”

“Yes. All fake. Including the stone, an unfortunate wedding gift which I presume Mary had engraved with the date of my contrived death, to support our story.”

Ed took this notion and examined it, from every angle he could find. All of them led to the same conclusion, an inescapable one which made his gut ache with a dull pain that had nothing to do with any important bits, except for his heart. “But then that means you left me,” he said in a low voice. “You didn’t come meet me on the dock and then even after you ‘died’ you didn’t come back to the ship—”

“I did!” protested Stede. “As soon as I could. But I had to rescue the crew first and find us a ship, then figure out where you were and catch up to you. I got here as fast as I was able and it was almost too late.” His voice dropped low and he stared at his plate, though his fingers clung tight to Ed’s. “I boarded the ship just in time to see you fall. God, Ed, I never want to see anything like that again. You are not allowed to be stabbed anymore, unless you’re certain it’s nowhere near the important bits. I can��t go through that again.”

“You can’t go through it?” Ed snarled. “What about me? What about what I bloody went through?” He sucked in his breath through his teeth. “I thought you were dead, Stede, and I wanted to die too. You left me, abandoned me, and still I couldn’t face living in a world that didn’t have you in it.”

Stede’s eyes went wide and horrified, then his face crumpled. “Oh, my darling. I’m so sorry. I’ve hurt you so terribly, and then I just carried on like nothing had changed.” He gripped Ed’s hand tighter. “No wonder you felt confused. But you see, I thought—I thought when you and I made lo—er, when we…” He gestured vaguely.

“Fucked,” Ed supplied, spitting the word.

Stede blanched. “Er, yes,” he said. “I thought that meant you’d forgiven me. But it wasn’t that at all, was it. It was because you thought that you were dead and that this was Hell and that I—I was—”

“A demon, yeah.”

“A demon.” There was hurt in Stede’s eyes now, though Ed could see he was attempting not to let it out. “You were angry with me but still eager to fuck this demon-me,” he said in a small voice. “Because it wasn’t actually me, in your mind, I presume?”

Ed allowed the silence to stretch for a long, uncomfortable moment as he considered what to say. He could lie. He could push Stede away, reject him. Hurt him. He could punish Stede for his abandonment, for his faked death, for every bloody bit of agony he’d put Ed through since they’d met, and then some.

He could do all this and there would be satisfaction in it. For Blackbeard. For Ed’s pride.

But punishing Stede would punish Ed too. He’d be no happier for it. He’d still be miserable and alone, just with the added pain of having hurt someone he cared about. Someone he loved, with every fragment of his heart, despite everything.

And when it came right down to it, he was just so tired. Tired of Blackbeard, tired of pretence. Tired of being alone.

“I was happy to fuck what I thought was a demon, because it wore your face.” He turned his hand beneath Stede’s and adjusted them both until their fingers linked together. Stede’s hand flexed. “I thought I was damned, that I’d never see you again, and I knew it wasn’t real but I just wanted a chance to know what it was like to be with you.” He swallowed hard and met Stede’s eyes. “Because I love you.”

“Oh, Edward.”

“Which doesn’t mean I’m not still seriously fucking pissed with you,” snapped Ed.

Stede shook his head. “Of course not.”

“You left me.”

“I did. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“I was alone.” Ed’s voice cracked. “You left me alone, Stede.”

Stede leapt from his chair so quickly it tipped over behind him and ran around the table where he hesitated, wringing his hands.

“Darling, I’m so sorry.” He stood there for another beat then seemed to come to a decision. Slowly and rather gingerly he seated himself in Ed’s lap and when Ed made no protest released a heavy breath and relaxed against him. Ed felt his hands come up to grip Stede’s waist and thigh as Stede draped his arms around Ed’s shoulders and snuggled into him. “I wish I had something better to say than I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish there was something I could do to take away the hurt I caused you, or to make up for it, or... but I know there isn’t. Someday I hope you’ll understand why I did it, possibly even forgive me, but I doubt I’ll ever forgive myself.”

Tears welled in Ed’s eyes. Not the raw, agonised ones he’d cried alone in this very cabin, the ones that cut trails through the black on his cheeks and felt ripped straight from the gash through his heart. These were softer, gentler, larger, and his face was clean. They rolled from his eyes and then poured from them, drenching the thick stubble of his beard and dripping from his chin onto the soft linen of Stede’s shirt.

Stede said nothing. Did nothing. Just held Ed as he cried, his fingers tracing meaningless patterns on the skin of Ed’s neck and arms. He smelled like lavender soap and sea air, and a muskiness that Ed recalled from their night together. A rougher version of his Stede, this was, albeit not a demon. A rich man stripped of his wealth, without his books and his fine fabrics. Without even, really, his ship.

Yet here he was with Ed in this barren cabin, having just saved his fucking life. Bringing him tea and marmalade and little cakes and fucking quiche, whatever that was. Sitting on his lap and holding him while he cried. How was he supposed to resist a man like that? He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t going to.

And yet. “I don’t know where to go from here,” he said. Everything he’d believed to be true was, as it turned out, not. He wasn’t dead. This wasn’t Hell. Stede was alive and they were together again, only now they had somehow to figure out how to regain the lives they’d lost. If that was possible. If it was even what they wanted. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” Stede leaned back enough to look at him, then gently brushed away the dampness on his cheeks. But I think perhaps we should start by just doing what feels right. Then we can adjust if we need to.”

Ed smiled to hear his words quoted back to him in such a way. “That’s a good plan,” he said.

“It is. Someone very wise and clever and handsome and sexy once proposed it.” Stede stumbled a bit on the last word and flushed slightly. Ed’s heart skipped a beat. There was simply no way he would ever find this man less than a pure joy to be with. No way he could.

“Sounds like a great guy,” he observed.

“Oh, he is,” said Stede. “The best. He’s the love of my life.”

“Is he?”

“Oh yes. And I hope he’ll let me spend the rest of my life proving that.” His eyes caressed Ed’s face. “Do you suppose he might?”

Somewhere deep within his chest the jagged shards of Ed’s broken heart clicked back into place again, and began the slow process of healing. “Yeah,” he rumbled. He sank his fingers into Stede’s hair, stroked a thumb across his cheek. “I reckon he just might.”

#ofmd #our flag means death #our flag means death fanfiction #our flag means death fanfic #ofmd fanfiction #ofmd fanfic #blackbonnet #blackbonnet fanfic #blackstede #gentlebeard #ed x stede #in which no one goes to heaven doggy or otherwise #no one goes to hell either ed's just a bit confused #some travellers return #profdanglaisstuff

41 notes · View notes

stedesbonnets · 1 year

Photo

Three months before the divorce, Stede, the owner of a three years old cafe called "The Revenge", reserved a table for him and Mary at the most famous restaurant of their city, "Blackbeard's Bar and Grill". After Mary asks for divorce, Stede is forced to go alone.

Chapter 1: Working for Blackbeard

Three months before the divorce, Stede had reserved a table for him and Mary at one of their city’s most talked about restaurants. It was supposed to be a surprise—one would have thought the Bonnet family, seemingly happy and well-established, ought to have visited such the honored, Michelin star awarded restaurant, but the truth was that life often got in the way, and the years became busier as they passed, and so Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill & Other Delicacies drifted further and further away into the horizon, like the last shining star. It was the beginning of spring, when Stede had the intention of securing a nice evening for him and Mary.

Like the reservation, the divorce had also been a surprise. Stede had been browsing through photos of the restaurant again, admiring the contrast between the blazing lights and the dark walls and flooring. The bar was a lengthy one, perhaps three times the size of his own bar at the café, although alcoholic drinks were rarely ordered there. At Blackbeard’s, the shelves containing dozens of half-transparent bottles rose so high they didn’t fit in the picture. Dozens of round tables spotted the hall, covered in white cloths. The picture alone had nearly made Stede tremble with excitement.

#our flag means death #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbonnet #blackstede #gentlebeard #ofmd fics #ofmd fanfiction #I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S OUT

12 notes · View notes

i-used-to-wear-the-fedora · 2 years

Text

OFMD Arranged Marriage AU, An Act of Grace

"By the king's Act of Grace, you Edward Teach renounce your pirating says and agree to become a part of upstanding society. Is this true Mr. Teach?"

The situation was not ideal. By all means, Blackbeard if he had lived up to his reputation would have gone down with his ship fighting. But Edward Teach was not Blackbeard. He hadn't been for quite some time. Instead he was just a husk of a great man who had a death wish but couldn't even bring himself to end it all like most of his ilk. He claimed an Act of Grace. His crew were all aghast, especially his first mate Izzy.

"You can't fucking do this." The man hissed to his captain. "You're Blackbeard." But Edward just shook his head.

"Mr. Teach, are you listening to me?" The judge asked, snapping the now former pirate back to the present.

"Er yes of of course. I agree with all that stuff." He'd only been paying half attention during the whole process. They'd brought him back to the Barbados to process his claim. The judge and all of the other naval men around him stared at the man, eyes barring into the former legend. Just like Izzy and everyone else he met they were disappointed by the man who couldn't possibly live up to the stories about him.

"Now you have two choices. Either you will join the naval academy and hunt down your own kind."

Edward almost scoffed. So basically a pirate for the state but with more paperwork and white wigs?

"Or you can marry into better society and pursue a stable job under the eye of the government."

That...actually sounded kind of nice. Not the government watching you but the settling down and getting married. Something he could have only hoped to do in the past. Technically he had been married once before but they were both teenagers and it had been annulled by the end of the next year.

"Well when you phrase it like that, I'll have to go with the latter."

Now the man had to wonder who would be stuck marrying him.

#arranged marriage au #stedebeard #blackstede #gentlebeard #edward teach #blackbeard #stede bonnet #fanfiction #israel hands #izzy is not a happy camper in this au #our flag means death #ofmd au

34 notes · View notes

cheers-mdears · 2 years

Text

How to Live Laugh Love when you fucking hate that phrase (blackbonnet, ch 8/10)

Chapter 8: The Bomb –Just two friends hanging out, maybe feeling things out like a prelude to a date at most; nothing to be nervous about. This is Stede, after all.

Fic summary:

Ed is dying for a change of pace when Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill and Other Delicacies and Delights gets a new neighbor: someone batshit crazy enough to open a fancy clothes store in a rundown neighborhood. Turns out there’s “a change of pace,” and then there’s whatever the fuck Stede Bonnet is, in the best possible way. (I put canon in a shredder and used it to paper mache a modern au with like twice the unintentional seduction and a fraction of the angst.)

This fic has (almost) everything

Fluff, fun, hurt/comfort, light angst, attempts at humor, romcom beats

Ed falling hard y'all

Unhinged Stede

Fancy clothes

Ed is Jewish and disabled! (semi-observant and hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, respectively)

Izzy faces a Consequence for being such a dick

Ed with nail polish, flowers, a cane, and a bath bomb!!

Come check it out on AO3 💖

#our flag means death #blackbonnet fanfiction #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd fic #jewish edward teach #disabled edward teach #blackstede #indrid writes #indrid talks

13 notes · View notes

ramsaybaggins · 2 years

Text

A soft Stede and Ed are neurodivergent fic. In my hc Stede is autistic and Ed is AuDHD. This is a 700 word conversation where they chat sensory issues as they're shopping. Rated G. Brief mentions of parental reactions to sensory issues. Very soft and accepting.

I'm AuDHD myself and honestly the rep I feel from these two characters makes me want to quietly cry in happiness.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #neurodivergent #austim #autistic stede bonnet #ADHD Blackbeard #Autistic Blackbeard #stede bonnet #blackbeard #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #blackstede #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #AuDHD #ADHD

25 notes · View notes

adhduck · 1 year

Text

There is Love That Doesn’t Have a Place To Rest

A missing scene between the act of grace and getting to the island, wherein Ed and Stede are in love but only one of them knows it, and neither realizes what the other is truly thinking.

Read on AO3

The British had not planned for both Ed and Stede to be alive.

This is already made clear by the whole “putting Stede in front of a firing squad” ordeal, but it’s obvious just how unexpected this turn of events was when one of the officers tells them that, for the first night at least, they’ll be sleeping on the Revenge instead of the navy ship.

“We need to prepare our ship for Blackbeard,” the officer tells them as he pats Stede down for weapons in the jam-room-turned-brig. “You understand.”

So Ed and Stede are sharing a room again. They’ve done it a few times before, technically; Ed sprawled across the settee while Stede lay in bed and listened to him breathe. There’s no settee in the jam room, though, and no bed, and Ed isn’t here because he wants to be.

“Eat,” Ed tells him, ripping off a chunk of bread and offering it. Stede takes it gratefully – he hasn’t actually eaten since yesterday – but he’s mostly focused on how their fingers nearly brush.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, too quiet.

Ed looks at him. He really is always doing that, isn’t he? “You’re welcome.”

His eyes linger on Stede like he’s looking for something, but he doesn’t say anything else, and eventually his gaze skips away. Stede breathes again.

For a while after that, they eat bread and gruel in silence, knees brushing together, and it’s so comforting it makes Stede’s jaw ache. He thought he’d lost this after everything with Jack—the companionship, the familiarity, the ability to stop performing and not expect punishment to follow swiftly after. To know it’s not just salvageable but strong, never even broken, makes Stede feel unsteady with gratitude. He wants to shake and shout with it, would probably excuse himself into the auxiliary closet to do just that if they weren’t currently locked in the brig.

The reminder of their situation sparks something cold and squirming in Stede’s gut, but he bites it down. Ed hates being told he shouldn’t have done something, and if caught in the wrong mood he hates apologies even more. Stede will just have to wait until after the brilliant plan Ed’s doubtlessly cooking up, then; maybe when Ed’s edges are softened around a glass of brandy on the settee and that smile he gets when he and Stede are alone.

“Do you think they’ll let me bring some of my own outfits?” Stede asks instead. “I’ve seen what some of those academy types wear, and I look dreadful in beige.”

Ed laughs and leans back on his hands, looking Stede over like he’s trying to imagine it. “Haven’t seen you in an outfit you look dreadful in yet. Besides maybe that treasure hunting one.”

“That was beige!”

Ed laughs even harder at that and Stede huffs, trying to focus on his wounded pride instead of the crinkle of Ed’s eyes. “Besides,” he argues, “it was all I had that fit the theme. I couldn’t very well go searching for treasure in summer linens, could I?”

“Course not,” agrees Ed, who Stede distinctly remembers grousing that it doesn’t fucking matter, mate, why did you even need to change at all, let’s just go. “It wasn’t that bad, anyway. Just a bit...muted, is all. Not your usual style.”

Stede snorts. “If you think that was muted, you should’ve seen me in Barbados! Hardly a drop of color in any of my outfits then, or style for that matter. Pirate life has suited me much better in that regard.”

"That it has, mate,” Ed says, and he sounds genuine, except his gaze also slides to some distant spot over Stede’s shoulder, and the crinkles have disappeared with his smile, and instinct has Stede rushing to patch whatever mistake he’s made.

“It’s a bit much sometimes, I know,” he says quickly. “The...well, the everything about me, I suppose.”

“Fuck off,” Ed says instantly, gaze locking back to Stede with a scowl. There’s still a flash of something in his eyes, something like sadness, but it's gone before Stede can pin it down. “And anyway, I’m a little much, too, yeah?”

“Just a little,” Stede teases, pleased when Ed brightens again. “I like it about you.”

Ed nods like they’ve come to a very important agreement, all puffed up in that frankly adorable way that makes Stede want to squeeze him, then shifts to lean against the wall. “C’mere.”

Stede, who is about a foot and a half away from Ed, blinks. “Hm?”

“I need a nap,” Ed explains, “and you’ve spoiled me with that settee of yours. Takes me ages to sleep now if I don’t have anything comfy to lay on. So c’mere.”

Stede obeys, still only half processing the words, and then Ed’s head is on his shoulder, body pressed casually against Stede’s own, and it’s—god, it’s familiar, somehow, even though this has never happened before. How does every new, incredible thing Ed shows him feel like it’s already his, like he’s held it so many times It's molded to the shape of his hand?

“I can be the pillow later,” Ed mumbles, “if you want. But I call dibs first.”

“Well, if you call dibs,” Stede says, instead of anything you want. Ed’s beard tickles his neck, breath warm and, yes, familiar against his collar, and Stede aches, suddenly, with the desire to have this as long as possible.

Whatever Ed asks of him, Stede decides, he’ll do it. If their escape puts Stede in danger, if it requires him to maim or kill, if it means he has to throw every last one of his beloved possessions overboard, he’ll do it. Better that than losing this beloved familiarity between them, this thing that looms so large Stede cannot begin to comprehend its shape.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, laying his head against Ed’s as his first act of devotion. Whatever it takes, he vows to himself. He will not let Ed lose everything.

The first day headed for the academy was nice—way nicer than any time locked up in the jam room as a sort of prisoner should be. Stede seemed to be holding together all right, even ate the shit food they were given, and though Ed hadn’t woken up from his nap to Stede’s hands running delicately through his hair or his lips on Ed’s brow or any of the other romantic scenarios Ed has definitely not been fantasizing about, he did wake up to Stede smiling down at him, and that was enough.

He always knew, of course, that the British would fuck them both over to make up for this bit of decent treatment, but falling asleep to Stede’s breathing had made Ed soft and he thought it would just be some shittier food, or maybe they’d beat Ed up a bit or something. He certainly didn’t expect for them to get belowdecks on the navy ship and be directed to different fucking cells.

Ed fights against it for exactly as long as it takes for Stede to grab his shoulders, and then he allows himself to be pulled away, grumbling like his body isn’t already putty in Stede’s hands.

“It’s not worth it, Ed,” Stede tells him, brows furrowed and serious. “It’s just one day, and they’ll punish you for lashing out.” His thumb presses into Ed’s arm, and he adds quieter, “Besides, you should save your strength for...later.”

Ed’s not sure what the fuck that means, but he’s absolute shit at saying no to Stede, so he nods and lets them be separated again. Even if seeing the flickering fear behind Stede’s eyes as he’s led away makes Ed feel like a wild, untethered thing.

So now Ed’s in this ugly, barren cell by himself – apparently “preparing for Blackbeard” just means getting rid of everything except the grime – and he misses Stede so much it’s like taking a blade through the lung. He didn’t sign a bloody Act of Grace just to be separated from Stede, all right? Staying with him was sort of the whole fucking point.

They don’t bring Ed any food, which he expected, but he worries they didn’t bring Stede any food, either. He worries about if Stede is cold, if they’ve given him a cot or expect him to sleep on the floor, if he’s scared, if he wishes Ed had held him or told him it would be okay. He feels mad with it, the worrying; he hasn’t thought so much about every little thing someone might need since his mum, and he can’t even do anything right now.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. They can’t separate us at the academy, at least. Maybe they’ll even share a cot, or at least a bunk, and Ed will have Stede within arm’s reach all the time, satisfy the gnawing thing in his chest that wants and wants and wants, all of it Stede.

He thinks, sometimes, he can see that same hunger in Stede, though it looks softer reflected in those bright hazel eyes. Maybe Ed will get the balls to tell Stede how he feels properly when they’re reunited, even though he thinks the whole “sacrificing everything for Stede” thing should be enough of a fucking blue. But it’s also Stede, who took his ‘run me through’ bit at face value, so probably not. Ed doesn’t actually care right now. As long as he knows Ed cares about him. That’s all that matters.

Another wave of wanting swells high in his throat, low in his belly. Fuck, Ed loves that man so much. Can hardly look at him about it, hardly form words; he just remembers Stede’s blinding joy when Ed crawled onto the ship like a drowned rat, the way their feet touched while they got tied up, fuck, and he’s gone. Wants to kiss the corners of Stede’s eyes and press him into a too-soft mattress as he shivers apart with ungentlemanly pleasure, curl around him afterwards and wake up next to him and eat so much marmalade they’re sick with it and fucking– fucking fold socks with him, anything he wants, anything at all, as long as he’ll do it with Ed.

The things he wants are Blackbeard shit, though, his brain reminds him, like a dick. He ran away from a quiet life, not towards it.

Ed makes a face and turns over where he’s laying on the floor. It’s not like he doesn’t know he and Stede have been yearning for different things – Stede for piracy, Ed for anything else – but he refuses to take that as a sign they can’t work out at all. There’s got to be something they both love, right? Something with just enough adventure for Stede without all the dreaded fucking weight of plans and leadership for Ed?

Hell, he’d be willing to stay at sea if that would keep Stede; be a merchant, or the ineffective sort of pirate Stede imagined being when he first started out. Just as long as he doesn't have to be Blackbeard anymore, he’ll be fine—that's the bit that makes things so fucking dull. No challenge, no novelty, no marmalade or forty-orange cakes that barely taste of orange.

Ed has wondered before, usually a bottle in or too many hours into the dark, whether Stede will miss Blackbeard; if he’ll come to resent Ed for not being him the way Izzy does. If Stede would only stay if Blackbeard stayed, too...Ed’s honestly not sure what he’d do.

But it doesn’t matter, he tells himself, because he doesn’t have to choose anymore. Blackbeard’s dead, signed away to the crown. Ed’s the only one left for Stede to choose.

He hopes that’s enough.

#ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd fic #ofmd fanfiction #our flag means death fanfiction #ed/stede #blackstede #edstede #duck writes fanfic #my fic

5 notes · View notes