writesbycandlelight

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Only Fair

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Explicit Words: 593 Part: 31/31 Summary: Even pirates can be playful. A/N: Last one. Hope people enjoyed these.

The room was warm when Edward stirred again, some hours later. Sunlight poured in through the warped slats of the shutters, painting the walls in golden lines. Outside, someone was shouting about fish. A cart rattled past, loud and uneven.

Inside—peace.

Stede was sprawled on his side, face mashed into the pillow, hair a tangle of gold and sweat, one arm flung across Edward’s chest.

Edward watched him sleep for a long time.

He still ached.

Not painfully—just enough to feel it. The stretch. The press of last night’s surrender still humming in his bones. He shifted under the sheet and winced.

“Christ,” he muttered.

Stede stirred, not quite awake.

Edward smirked to himself. Then rolled over, buried his face briefly in Stede’s neck, and bit.

“Up,” he growled, voice rough with sleep and mischief. “My arse hurts.”

Stede groaned. “No. Sun’s up. Morality is restored. We must never speak of last night again. You said so not two hours ago.”

Edward kissed a line along his jaw then grinned against his skin. “Only fair it’s your turn now.”

Stede chuckled, rolling onto his back with an exaggerated sigh. “Is this what marriage with you would be like?”

“No,” Edward said, already moving down his body. “This is what payback looks like.”

Stede was still laughing when Edward rolled him to his stomach and slid between his legs. He kissed the back of his thigh, tongue teasing, hands firm on his hips.

And then, suddenly, completely, Stede stopped laughing.

Edward’s mouth found its mark, slow and thorough. He licked, circled, pressed, until Stede was gasping—truly gasping—hands clutching at the sheets, legs twitching helplessly.

“Edward… God!”

Edward looked up, eyes dark and gleaming.

“Too much?”

“No,” Stede breathed, pushing his hips back . “More.”

He got more.

Eventually Edward slicked his fingers and carefully, still kissing Stede‘s burning skin, still whispering things that made Stede’s ears burn.

“You like this,” he murmured, pushing one finger in in slow contemplation. 

Stede nodded, too far gone to speak.

Edward added another, scissoring gently, watching every twitch, every sigh. Then a third.

When he sat up, slicked himself, and lined up—he didn’t push. Not yet.

“Ready?”

Stede nodded, face mushed to the pillow, flushed and eager, eyes glassy.

“Ask nicely.”

Stede blinked. 

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Please,” Stede whispered, twisting his body to look over his shoulder, “fuck me good.”

And Edward did.

Slow at first, just enough to make Stede shiver. Then deeper. Then perfect.

He rocked into him, hips smooth, steady, watching his reactions like it was the only thing that mattered. Because it was.

He angled just right—that spot—and when Stede gasped, truly gasped, Edward smiled.

“There it is.”

“Fuck! Edward…”

“You’re gonna come first,” Edward said, not a question. “Not letting you leave this bed until you do.”

Stede nodded again, barely able to hold it in. Every thrust made his legs tremble, his back arch, his hands search blindly for anything to hold.

Edward took one of them. Laced their fingers. Kept moving.

Kept watching him fall apart.

Stede came hard, choking on a gasp, eyes wide and so fucking open. He clenched hard around Edward, causing his rhythm to falter.

Edward followed with a groan, burying himself deep, hips stuttering, face pressed to Stede’s neck.

They lay there afterward, tangled and slick and breathless.

And Edward laughed—just once, low and hoarse.

“Still hurts,” he said.

Stede grinned at the wall, not yet moving. “Only fair.”

Edward kissed his temple and didn’t move.

Because sometimes, surrender isn’t giving up.

It’s staying.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Just One Morning

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Mature Words: 561 Part: 30/31 Summary: Stede moved slowly, sliding on top of him with the ease of a man who knew he was wanted.

The light had shifted by the time Edward woke.

It crept across the sheets in long, golden lines, warmed by the sea-reflected sun. The room smelled of candle wax, rum, and Stede. The air was thick with the remnants of sleep and sweat—and something deeper.

Something that felt like safety.

He blinked against the light. His body ached. Not sharply—just the way a ship settles into the water after a storm.

Stede lay beside him, one arm draped lazily across his stomach, chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of deep sleep. His curls were a mess. His mouth slightly open.

Edward turned his head, just a little, and stared at him.

Last night had been…

He didn’t have a word for it. Not even in his own head.

It wasn’t just good. It wasn’t just intense.

It was undoing.

He’d let Stede take him. Not in a way he could shrug off. Not in a moment of heat. But fully. Let him lead. Let him touch. Let him see. Let himself be held through it.

And he hadn’t died from it.

That was the strangest part.

He was still here.

Still breathing.

Still in this bed, with Stede curled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Edward reached out and pushed a curl back from Stede’s forehead. The man didn’t stir.

Smug bastard, Edward thought. You knew.

He shifted slightly and hissed under his breath. Everything was sore. Deep-sore. Used.

Stede mumbled, still half-asleep. “Mm?”

“Nothing,” Edward murmured.

But Stede was already waking, blinking up at him through sleep-hazed eyes. He smiled—that soft, knowing smile Edward had come to dread and crave in equal measure.

“How do you feel?” Stede asked, voice rough with sleep.

Edward rolled his eyes. “Like someone’s cabin boy.”

Stede laughed. “Well, you were very obedient.”

“Shut up.”

Stede pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You were beautiful.”

Edward turned his face away, but Stede caught his chin and made him look.

“You were,” he said again, softer now.

And Edward—Blackbeard, pirate legend, breaker of men—just let him.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t snarl.

Didn’t run.

He stayed.

Stede moved slowly, sliding on top of him with the ease of a man who knew he was wanted. He kissed Edward with no heat, no demand—just warmth and love.

When their foreheads touched again, Edward’s voice was barely audible.

“Don’t expect me to do that every time.”

Stede smiled. “Of course not.”

“But you’re smug about it.”

“A little.”

Edward sighed, pulling him closer. “It sort of… aches. Is that normal?”

Stede’s voice was a whisper against his skin.

“At least the first time, yes. It’s a bit different with you.”

At Edward’s questioning noise, he added, “You are rather well-endowed. It aches quite regularly.”

Edward stiffened. “I didn’t realise.”

Stede lifted his head, blinking. Then he laughed. “That’s not a complaint, my darling Edward. I rather enjoy the ache.”

“You like when I hurt you,” Edward said flatly.

Stede snorted. “You don’t hurt me. You make me feel incredibly good—physically and mentally. The ache is just a fond reminder of that. I quite like it, actually.”

“Hm.” Edward didn’t press further.

He watched as Stede’s hand trailed absentmindedly up and down his torso.

And Edward just let it happen.

He let himself be held.

Just for one morning.

Just for Stede.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: The Night It Changed

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Explicit Words: 776 Part: 29/31 Summary: Eward finally gets what he wants.

Several quiet weeks and half a dozen anonymous anchorages later, tension returned in Havana. 

The kind that coiled in Edward’s spine, made his jaw tight and his hands restless. Something had been clawing under his skin all day. Not rage. Not grief. Something quieter. Ache, maybe. The kind of storm that didn’t crack, but simmered just offshore.

They were holed up in a dockside safehouse in Havana, the windows shuttered, the room dim. A candle flickered low on the table. Stede was seated on the bed, legs crossed at the ankles, nursing a glass of something dark and expensive. He watched Edward pace.

“You keep circling,” Stede said, voice mild. “Like a shark that hasn’t decided if it’s hungry.”

Edward didn’t answer.

Because the hunger wasn’t the problem.

The problem was what he wanted.

He wanted Stede—nothing new. But not to press him down and fuck the silence out of himself. Not to bite and bruise and take.

He wanted… to be touched.

He wanted to be opened.

And it scared the hell out of him.

He turned finally, backlit by the firelight, arms crossed tight, like if he let them fall, something inside him would fall too.

“You’re brooding,” Stede said, smiling faintly.

“You say that like it’s unusual.”

“It’s louder tonight.”

Edward’s jaw twitched. His throat worked, but no words came.

Stede set his glass down. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a command.

It wasn’t coaxing either.

It was a fact. An anchor.

Edward moved before he could think better of it.

Stood before Stede, pulse hammering under his skin, teeth grinding behind a clenched jaw.

Stede looked up at him. Reached for his belt, unfastened it slowly, hands sure and calm even as Edward’s breath hitched. But the rhythm they knew—Edward pressing forward, Stede giving way—never came.

Because Edward didn’t move.

He just stood there. Waiting. Offered.

Stede’s voice softened. “Lie down.”

Edward hesitated. For a breath. Maybe two.

Then he nodded once, jaw tight.

When he moved to the bed, Stede followed. Stripped him slowly. Not playfully. Not seductively. But like he was peeling armor. His shirt, his trousers, his boots—gone, piece by piece, until Edward lay bare, stiff and shaking with tension.

As soon as his back hit the sheets, Edward rolled, a reflex—tried to pin Stede like always. Assert control. Regain ground.

But Stede caught his wrists.

“Not tonight,” he said, gentle. Steady.

Edward froze.

Stede didn’t let go, not yet. Just leaned in, forehead brushing his. “Let me have you,” he whispered.

Edward looked at him—something desperate behind his eyes. But he didn’t speak.

Just nodded. Barely.

And Stede kissed him. Like it meant something. Like it changed everything.

He took his time. Worshipped him. Kissed the curve of his throat, the scar along his ribs, the hollow of his hip. Told him he was beautiful. That he was good. That he was his.

Edward’s hands trembled against the sheets. He clenched them into fists. Unclenched them again.

When Stede reached for the oil and slicked his fingers, Edward didn’t stop him.

Didn’t say a word.

Just turned his face into the pillow and let it happen.

The first touch made him suck in a breath.

The second made his back arch, hips twitching toward it before he could stop himself.

Stede moved with patience, not caution. He watched every flicker of Edward’s expression, every gasp. When he finally pressed inside—slow, steady—Edward groaned.

Not from pain.

From release.

From something breaking open and letting go.

He gasped. He clutched the sheets. He nearly told him to stop—nearly.

And then he didn’t want him to.

He wanted more.

Each slow thrust rocked something loose. Not just in his body—but in him. Every time Stede whispered his name, every time he kissed his mouth, his temple, his chest—Edward felt something inside tear.

Not violently. Not like a wound.

Like a seam that had been sewn too tight, finally giving way.

He cried out. Once. Loud. Uncontrolled.

And Stede held him through it.

Held him like something precious. Like something worth loving.

And when Edward came—face buried in the crook of Stede’s neck, gasping like he was drowning—he didn’t feel broken.

He felt whole.

After, they lay together. Limbs tangled. Breath shared. Heat radiating between them like an aftershock.

Edward said nothing.

But Stede didn’t ask for anything.

He just pressed close, fingers drawing lazy, endless circles on Edward’s chest.

And Edward thought—this is what surrender feels like.

It didn’t come with fear.

It came with Stede’s mouth on his skin, and the unbearable truth that he had never been touched like this before in his life.

With trust.

With care.

With love.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Paper Cuts & Pepper Cakes

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 701 Part: 28/31 Summary: Even pirates need a break.

Morning drifted through the cabin in salt‑bright stripes. The sea lay panglass calm; the crew’s voices floated up from the waist in lazy, half‑awake bursts. Stede settled at the chart table with the Havana ledger Edward had found for him—stiff calfskin, wide margins begging to be filled.

His body protested as he sat. A warm, deep pull low in his spine reminded him of the night before. He hid a smile behind a mug the cook insisted on calling coffee. Soreness, he decided, was simply evidence that something marvellous had happened—twice.

A new quill, shaved to a neat wedge, waited beside the inkwell. Stede dipped it, shook off the extra fleck—exactly as the stationer had instructed—and began:

Day unknown. I have stopped numbering. The calendar feels less important than the weather of the man I share a bed with…

Scratch, scratch. He paused, blew gently. A pepper cake—still warm—rested on a tin plate at his elbow, sweet spice blooming each time he breathed. He took a small bite, considered the next sentence—and startled when the cabin door creaked.

Edward slipped inside shirtless, hair damp from a bucket wash, a coil of line slung over one shoulder.

“I thought you were on deck,” Stede said.

“I was,” Edward answered, dropping the rope. “Needed fresh knots.”

Stede’s eyes lingered—far from subtle—on the red semicircles marking Edward’s hips. Heat followed, pleasant and disorienting.

Edward noticed and smirked. “You’ll look smug all morning if you keep staring like that.”

“I am smug,” Stede admitted, setting the quill down. “Someone allowed me to rearrange his theology last night.”

“Only because the congregation demanded it.” Edward plucked the pepper cake and took half in one bite. A daring crumb arced into the open inkwell with a quiet plop.

They stared.

Stede retrieved a small knife, fished the soggy invader free, but a stray droplet of black leapt onto the pristine ledger—an oblong blotch that bled quickly across the margin.

“Naval broadside couldn’t ruin your day, but one ink spot and you look like someone sank your toy boat,” Edward teased.

“It was pristine,” Stede lamented, dabbing with a rag—only smearing the mark wider. At last he sighed. “There. An artistic flourish.”

Edward leaned over, reading the first line of the entry. His brows lifted. “The weather of the man?”

Stede closed the ledger with a decisive thump. “Privacy.”

“You forfeited privacy when you kept me up screaming metaphors.”

A flush crept down Stede’s neck; Edward’s grin softened—half apology, half gratitude for words he still could not voice.

Stede reached to the small of his back and winced with exaggerated drama. “I shall be writing a treatise on tender care if you have plans this evening.”

Edward stepped forward, broad palm settling where Stede’s muscles complained. “Treatise can wait. You need to stretch. Come.”

“Stretch? I can scarcely—”

Edward walked him backward the two steps to the bunk and pressed until Stede sat. Then—gentler than any surgeon—he kneaded tense flesh, thumbs coaxing slow circles. Pain unknotted into honey.

“You’ll spoil me,” Stede murmured.

“Plan to,” Edward said, voice rough velvet. “We sail at dusk. Rest until then.”

Stede opened his mouth to protest—supplies needed checking, figures balancing—but the weight of those hands anchored him. He watched Edward coil the fresh line, knot swift and neat. Shoulders rolled easy now that some private storm had settled.

“Edward?”

He glanced back.

“I don’t mind the ink blot,” Stede said. “Proof I was here. That you were.” He paused, then smiled. “Though perhaps keep your crumbs out of my poetry.”

Edward snorted, crossed the space, and pressed a dry, sure kiss to Stede’s forehead—ritual as tidying a cleat hitch. “I’ll try, captain.”

When the door clicked shut, quiet lapped around him. Stede reopened the ledger, traced the wet stain with one fingertip, and wrote beneath it:

Evidence that ordinary mornings exist—and that I am allowed to keep them.

He signed the page, blew it dry, and turned it so the blot sat like a small, dark sun in the corner. Then he tucked the pepper‑cake plate safely away, lay back against the pillow Edward had unwittingly warmed, and let contentment be the only story worth telling for a little while longer.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Let Me

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Explicit Words: 759 Part: 27/31 Summary: Edwards learns to let go.

The aftermath clung to the room like heat. Their clothes were still half-scattered across the floor. The wall bore the shape of their earlier need—where Edward had pushed, and Stede had yielded, and something had cracked wide open between them.

Edward lay stretched on his back, one arm flung across his eyes, his chest rising and falling like someone who’d been sprinting. His mouth was still raw from kissing, his jaw taut. Beneath the surface of calm, he was still burning.

Stede sat beside him, one leg curled under, watching him.

“You think you’re the one who takes,” Stede said softly.

Edward didn’t move. Just said, voice low, “Aren’t I?”

Stede leaned over him, hand trailing lightly down his chest. “No,” he said. “You ask. You push. You provoke. But you never take anything I don’t hand you freely.”

Edward’s arm twitched. He shifted, unsettled.

“Let me,” Stede murmured.

That made him look. Eyes sharp. Shadowed. Curious.

Stede smiled—not coy, not coy at all—and climbed over him, slow and deliberate, until he was straddling Edward’s hips, palms resting flat on his chest.

“You always take control,” he said. “But you’re so good at giving it up. I don’t think you even realize.”

Edward started to speak, but Stede leaned down and kissed him, soft and warm and absolutely certain. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission, that didn’t need it.

When he pulled back, Edward’s hands were still at his sides. Not stopping him. Not guiding. Just… waiting.

Stede kissed down his throat, along the scar near his collarbone. “Let me,” he whispered again.

And Edward—fucking Edward Teach, Blackbeard, monster of the seas—nodded.

The shift was almost imperceptible. A breath. A twitch of fingers. The moment the tide turned.

And Stede took his time.

He undressed Edward like he was something rare—something sacred. His hands were steady, his mouth warm, moving with purpose, not possession. Every brush of his fingers made Edward twitch. Every kiss made him exhale, eyes fluttering shut like he was bracing for something he didn’t know how to name.

When Stede slid lower, mouth trailing fire down the center of his chest, across his stomach, Edward gasped—quiet but helpless. It was real. Raw.

He felt it before he saw it—Stede reaching for the tin of oil. Edward’s breath hitched.

But Stede didn’t rush.

He kissed the inside of Edward’s thigh, then the other. Let his cheek rest there for a moment, warm and grounding.

Edward didn’t speak.

Didn’t stop him.

So Stede slicked his fingers—carefully, deliberately—then brought his other hand to rest firmly on Edward’s hip.

When he bent forward, took the head of Edward’s cock into his mouth, he moaned—deep and low—around him.

And then the first finger pressed in.

Edward bucked, nearly choked on a breath.

Stede didn’t let up.

He sank down, slow and sure, mouth swallowing him deeper—hot, wet, steady—even as his slick finger worked deeper, coaxing Edward open with unbearable patience.

The combination—heat and stretch, tongue and pressure—was obliterating.

Edward’s hands fisted the sheets. Then the pillow. Then nothing at all, because he couldn’t focus on anything but Stede’s mouth and that single, deliberate curl of his finger inside him.

Then two.

Edward swore. Loud this time. Broken.

Stede didn’t stop. He moaned again, low and sinful around him, and moved—mouth and fingers working in tandem, like he’d done this before, but never for anyone like this.

And Edward—he—was unraveling.

He choked on his own breath, his eyes squeezed shut.

No one had ever done this to him—not like this. Not with power. Not with knowledge. Not with the unbearable intimacy of someone who had already mapped his soul and still wanted more.

Stede didn’t stop until Edward was trembling. Didn’t flinch when he cursed, when his hands finally came up to tangle in blond curls like he couldn’t survive it.

He came with a broken sound, hands fisting, eyes clenched tight.

And Stede—beautiful, wild, unflinching—took it. Swallowed. Let his fingers ease out slow.

Then crawled back up Edward’s body, kissed his jaw, his temple, the corner of his mouth. He laid beside him like he hadn’t just torn a god to pieces with his mouth.

Edward couldn’t speak.

His throat was raw, his chest ached.

Stede curled into him, fingers drawing slow, endless circles over his heart.

And Edward thought—this is what surrender feels like.

It didn’t come with fear.

It came with Stede’s mouth on his skin, and the unbearable truth that he had never been claimed like this by anyone in his life.

Not until now.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Is That All?

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Mature Words: 627 Part: 26/31 Summary: The one thing more terrifying than power was the man who gave it away without fear.

That storm‑tossed night followed hard on the heels of San Miguel’s insults. The room was dim, heavy with heat and smoke. Outside, the storm was still cracking against the shutters, but inside, everything had gone still.

Stede leaned against the table, fingers curled around a glass of dark rum. He hadn’t touched it. He was watching Edward.

Edward, pacing.

Edward, silent too long.

Edward, coiled so tight it looked like his skin didn’t quite fit.

He’d been like this since the docks. Since that man had said something—slight, casual, ugly—and Stede had smiled through it.

Hadn’t even blinked.

“You let him talk to you like that,” Edward said, finally.

Stede’s gaze didn’t falter. “He wasn’t worth the breath it would’ve taken to answer.”

“I would’ve cut out his tongue.”

“I know.”

Edward stopped pacing. Turned.

And something shifted.

Not rage. Not fury. Intent.

He stalked across the room with the quiet grace of a man who knew how to kill without a sound. His coat hit the floor. His boots followed.

And he stood in front of Stede, too close.

When he spoke, his voice was low.

“You want to know what they used to say about me?” he asked. “They said I gutted a man for looking at me the way you’re looking at me now. That I burned a navy ship just to watch the rats drown. That I fucked one man while watching a second die of his wounds.”

Stede’s breath hitched—but not from fear.

He didn’t move.

Edward stepped closer.

“They said I was death on the water. Said I laughed while men begged. That I—”

“Do you want to scare me?” Stede asked softly.

Edward stilled.

“I could try,” he muttered.

Stede stepped into him.

And this time—he was the one closing the distance. Until their chests touched, until his breath was warm on Edward’s neck.

“Then do it,” he said. “Show me the monster.”

Edward blinked.

Stede’s hands came up slowly, sliding up Edward’s chest, over his shoulders. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Break me. Hurt me. Terrify me.”

He leaned in, lips brushing Edward’s ear.

“Because I’ll still open for you.”

Edward sucked in a breath—sharp, involuntary.

“I’ll still let you in,” Stede continued, “and I’ll still love you after.”

His hands moved lower now, to Edward’s hips, pulling them together. He tilted his head, gazing up at him with wide, inviting eyes.

“So go ahead. Scare me. Show me who you think you are. I’m not going anywhere.”

And Edward—Edward fucking shattered.

Because he’d meant it as a test. As a warning, a reminder. As a way to reclaim whatever edge he’d been losing, piece by piece, every time Stede looked at him like he was more than a blade.

But Stede didn’t fight him. Didn’t flinch.

He offered himself like a gift Edward didn’t deserve, and still asked for nothing in return.

Edward surged forward, kissing him—violent and aching, all teeth and heat and desperation. He grabbed Stede’s wrists and slammed them against the wall, grinding against him like he could bury himself deeper just by force of will.

And Stede moaned. Soft and willing.

Undone.

“You’ll destroy me,” Edward gasped.

“Then do it,” Stede whispered, wrecked and smiling.

And Edward—Edward couldn’t.

Not really.

Because the one thing more terrifying than power was the man who gave it away without fear. Who said, “I’m yours” and meant it.

They didn’t make it to the bed. They didn’t undress fully. It was rough and messy and so full of want it hurt.

And when Stede came, hands clenched in Edward’s hair, body shaking from pleasure and love and defiance, Edward nearly wept.

Because he couldn’t scare him.

He could only love him.

And that was so much worse.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: The Worst of You

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 758 Part: 25/31 Summary: Blackbeard vs. domesticity.

A week into the next provisioning run, a dusty tradehouse tested Edward’s patience. They were ashore for supplies and Edward hated it. He hated the filth of port markets, the stink of old fruit and piss-soaked alleys, the way people watched them. Not them, not together—him.

Blackbeard.

The name still made crowds hush, still made men lower their eyes and women pull their children close. It used to thrill him. Now it clung to him like rot. A ghost he couldn’t shake off.

They walked together, Edward two steps ahead as always, parting the street without a word. No one dared step in his path. He carried his weapons visibly, his jaw locked tight, eyes watchful.

Behind him, Stede was humming.

Actually humming.

Edward glanced back. “You’re humming.”

“I’m in a good mood,” Stede said, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he strolled like he was touring a rose garden. “Fresh bread, clean air, no attempted murders today. Yet.”

“Don’t tempt fate.”

“I would never. I’m too charming.”

Edward rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to a tradehouse. Inside, the mood shifted instantly. The clerk stiffened. A deckhand loading crates looked up and paled.

Because they saw him. Not Stede. Not some foppish, too-pretty man in a velvet waistcoat with sunlit curls.

They saw Blackbeard.

And Blackbeard… smiled.

It wasn’t kind.

He strode to the counter, slammed a palm down, and said, “We need rope, rum, and powder. Good powder. Not the shit you sell to drunk whalers.”

The clerk swallowed hard. “Of course. Right away.”

Edward didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just let the weight of his name crush the silence.

And then—

Stede wandered over to a shelf and picked up a candle.

“Oh! Cedar. I love cedar.”

Edward turned slowly. “You’re buying candles?”

“We need them.” Stede gave him a perfectly innocent look. “We burn through them quickly. You sulk in the dark for hours.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“You do. Handsome, brooding sulking. But still sulking.”

Edward stared at him. Everyone stared at him.

Stede turned to the clerk. “We’ll take four. Wrap them nicely, won’t you?”

The clerk glanced at Edward like he was being set up.

Edward didn’t say a word. He just watched as Stede smiled, as he leaned casually on the counter and began discussing wick length like nothing around them mattered.

And it hit Edward—hard, sudden, like a wave—how little Stede cared who he was pretending to be.

He wasn’t afraid of him. Not here. Not when Edward put the mask on. Not when the room turned to ice.

He just kept being… Stede.

Unapologetic. Earnest. Unbothered.

And it disarmed Edward more than any blade ever had.

Later, back at the room they were renting above the dockyard, Edward sat in the chair by the window, boots off, coat unbuttoned. The air was thick with evening and the scent of cedar.

Stede had lit one of the candles and set it on the table. It flickered warmly, casting soft light across the wooden floor.

Edward watched him.

“You make it look easy,” he said.

Stede paused. “What?”

“Walking into rooms like that. Talking like you’ve never been hurt. Like you’re not afraid.”

Stede smiled. “I am. All the time. I just refuse to act like it.”

Edward looked down at his hands. “You walked into that room with Blackbeard beside you. And you bought a fucking candle.”

Stede moved closer. His hand came up, brushing fingers through Edward’s beard.

“I walked into that room with Edward beside me. That’s better.”

Edward caught his wrist. Not hard. Just enough to hold him still.

“People see the worst in me.”

“Because you show them the worst first,” Stede said. “But you never show me that. Not really. Not unless you’re trying to scare me.”

“And does it work?”

“No,” Stede said, stepping in, lowering his voice. “You never scare me. Not even when you try.”

Edward leaned back against the chair. Stede straddled his lap without waiting for permission—as if he already had it. As if it was his to claim.

The kiss was soft. Deep. His hands slid into Edward’s hair. And Edward—the man who made port towns tremble—closed his eyes like a man finally allowed to rest.

“You keep doing that,” Edward whispered against his mouth.

“Doing what?”

“Turning the worst of me into something that doesn’t matter.”

Stede smiled. “It matters. I just love you anyway.”

Edward‘s hands clutched him tighter.

And when he kissed him again, it was full of every word he still couldn’t say.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Mine, Still

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Explicit Words: 567 Part: 24/31 Summary: Next morning, Stede wants more.

The next morning was quiet in the captain’s quarters, save for the soft creak of wood and the distant cry of gulls. The rain had finally let up. Light filtered through the open porthole, cutting a warm line across the bed where Stede lay—shirt half-buttoned, collar still open, hair sleep-tousled and very pleased with himself.

Edward stood near the table, shirtless, sipping from a tin cup, watching the ocean like it owed him something.

Stede stretched lazily, groaning with just enough dramatics to be noticed.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “My wrists hurt.”

Edward didn’t turn around. “Should’ve stayed still, then.”

Stede smirked. “Wasn’t me who said I had to stay. Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Edward’s hand paused on his cup.

And that was Stede’s first warning.

He sat up a little, propped himself on his elbows, watching Edward’s back.

“I mean,” he went on, teasing now, “‘You’re mine, you don’t get to leave.’ Honestly, Edward. What if I’d said no?”

Edward turned, slowly.

His eyes were very calm.

“You wouldn’t have.”

Stede raised a brow, amused. “Confident.”

“Right,” Edward said, setting the cup down. “Because you liked it.”

He took a step closer.

“Because you moaned like you wanted to be told you were mine.”

Stede swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

Edward reached the bed in three steps. Leaned in. Braced one hand beside Stede’s hip.

“I meant it,” he said, voice low, steady. “You don’t get to leave.”

Stede’s smirk faltered. Replaced by something softer. Hungrier.

“Oh,” he whispered.

Edward’s fingers slid into his hair, tugged just enough to tip his chin up.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Say who you belong to.”

Stede inhaled, shaky. “You.”

“Louder.”

“You,” Stede gasped.

Edward kissed him—hard, deep, filthy with intent. When he pulled back, Stede was breathless, flushed, and no longer teasing.

Edward’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I don’t bluff, sweetheart,” he said. “Last night wasn’t just fun.”

“I know,” Stede whispered.

“You’re mine,” Edward repeated. “Still.”

And Stede—entirely ruined by that voice, by that weight—nodded without shame.

“Good,” Edward murmured. “Now get up. Before I take your current state of undress in my bed as an invitation.”

Stede’s stomach clenched. He bit his lip.

Truth be told, he was sore—thoroughly sore, from the two times Edward had taken him the night before. But despite the ache, his body was already stirring again, needy, his cock hardening against the front of his breeches with shameless anticipation.

He didn’t move to stand.

Instead, he leaned back, one hand pressing to the front of his trousers, eyes fixed on Edward like a challenge.

“And what if it is?” he asked, voice low, teasing, already wrecked.

Edward growled.

The sound barely had time to reach the walls before he moved—fast and fluid, flipping Stede onto his stomach without hesitation. In one motion he tugged his breeches down to his knees, hands firm on his hips, spreading him open.

He spat, then paused only long enough to reach for the tin of linseed oil on the nightstand and slick himself.

“Then I’ll fuck you,” he said, voice rough and hungry, “until you beg me to stop.”

Stede barely had time to gasp before Edward was inside him—driving in, full and unrelenting, claiming him all over again.

He clutched at the bedspread, back arched, mouth open in a ragged moan that echoed off the walls.

It stung—burned in a bright, clean way—and it was utterly perfect.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: To Belong

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Explicit Words: 505 Part: 23/31 Summary: All Stede ever wanted was to belong.

Some months on—deep into the rainy season—the ship creaked beneath relentless showers. It had been raining for three days, everyone soaked within minutes on deck. They retreated for the night, the candlelight flickering as the rain lashed the window, casting gold along the wood-grain walls of the captain’s quarters. The ship creaked beneath them, steady as breath. Outside, the sea whispered and the rain fell. 

Inside, Stede was already undone.

He lay on his back across Edward’s bed, shirt halfway open, flushed and panting, skin damp with sweat and sea air. Edward moved over him like a storm slowed to a crawl—all strength, all tension, but focused, deliberate. He kissed like a man who knew what he owned and didn’t plan to give it back.

Stede couldn’t get enough of it.

He didn’t want to.

And somewhere between the second time Edward mouthed at the base of his throat and the way his fingers were pressing bruises into Stede’s hips—claiming marks—Stede heard himself say it again.

Barely a whisper.

“That’s all I ever wanted… to belong.”

Edward paused.

He lifted his head, eyes dark in the firelight, breath harsh. “What?”

Stede blinked, dazed, unsure if he meant to say it aloud.

But now it was out there.

He exhaled slowly. “When my mother left—she didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t know she was gone until the next morning.”

Edward stared at him. Still, silent.

“I asked my father if she was coming back, and he said, ‘Don’t be stupid.’ That was it.”

Stede gave a breath of a laugh, almost bitter. “I don’t remember much about her except the feeling of a door shutting.”

Edward’s jaw clenched. His hand flexed against Stede’s hip.

“I think I’ve been asking to belong ever since,” Stede murmured. “Even when I don’t say the words.”

He didn’t expect Edward to answer. Not with anything soft.

But Edward grabbed his wrists to hold above his head and leaned down again, lips brushing Stede’s ear.

“Listen. And listen well. You don’t get to leave,” he said, voice rough, his fingers wrapping around the base of Stede’s cock and sliding up its length possessively. 

Stede gasped.

Edward kissed the corner of his mouth, squeezing both hands. “You’re mine now. You have to stay.”

Stede moaned—sharp and broken and needy. 

Yes.

He turned his face toward Edward’s, eyes fluttering. “Say it again.”

“You’re mine,” Edward growled, pinning him down. “Every inch of you. You belong here. With me.”

And God—Stede needed that.

The fierceness. The certainty. The weight of belonging not offered, but claimed.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes—please.”

Edward moved between his thighs. He was still sore from this morning, but not enough to stop. He needed this more than air. Edward sank into him, pace bruising from the start, breath hot against his throat.

Stede clutched at his shoulders, held on like he might be taken otherwise.

Because he wasn’t asking anymore.

He was staying.

And Edward—dark and dangerous and loyal to the bone—wasn’t going to let him forget it.

Hopefully not ever.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Without Asking

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 406 Part: 22/31 Summary: Edward knows what's important to Stede.

It was winter now, not that it mattered much in the Caribbean besides the unpredictable summer storms finally abating. The morning was soft with haze, sunlight crawling across the wooden floor in quiet golden streaks. The port below was already coming alive—ropes creaking, gulls crying, voices calling out from ships just beginning to stir.

Stede blinked awake in the quiet, the space beside him still warm.

Edward was up, which wasn’t unusual. He rose early, prowled like a storm before coffee, always half-watching, half-waiting for the world to betray them. Stede had come to expect it.

But when he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his attention was grabbed by something on the small table by the window.

His coat.

Clean. Pressed. The buttons re-stitched—deliberately, tightly, without the usual crookedness of a tavern seamstress. His favorite waistcoat beneath it, too. The one that had torn at the shoulder three ports ago and hadn’t been wearable since.

Folded. Waiting.

And next to it, carefully placed: a new quill. A bottle of black ink. A sheaf of parchment cut clean and neat. The kind that didn’t smudge when you wrote in long, flowing strokes.

Things Stede hadn’t asked for.

Things he’d mentioned once, in passing, with a half-smile and no expectation.

Things Edward had remembered.

There was no note.

Of course there wasn’t.

Edward wasn’t the type to scrawl love in ink. He wasn’t the type to say it aloud. But this—

This was a kind of devotion he didn’t know how else to give.

Stede reached out, touched the coat’s lapel. It was warm from sunlight. Or maybe Edward’s hands.

Footsteps approached behind him. He didn’t turn.

“I thought it might fit better now,” Edward said, casual, like he hadn’t just laid his whole heart out on a table and folded it into a wool coat.

Stede smiled.

“You had it mended.”

Edward shrugged, arms crossing over his chest. “You like that one.”

Stede stood. Turned. Closed the distance between them with ease.

“I do,” he said.

He rose onto his toes, kissed Edward softly—once, just once—and stepped back without a word.

Edward looked away, ears slightly red.

Stede didn’t press.

He just pulled on the coat, careful with the collar, and sat at the table with the paper and ink, hands gentle, heart full.

Because he heard the words, even if Edward couldn’t say them.

And Edward…

Edward watched him write, and let him stay.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Closer Than Silence

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Mature Words: 428 Part: 21/31 A/N: The worst is over, dear reader. Summary: Edward starts opening up

The lantern burned low. The room was quiet but not still—the ship creaking gently around them, alive in its sleep. Outside, the sea whispered against the hull.

Stede lay on his side next to him, one hand tucked under his cheek, the other resting lightly across Edward’s chest. His touch had weight but no pressure—just presence, warm and unmoving.

He‘d been unnecessarily rough with him tonight.  

Stede hadn‘t complained though, not once. But Edward had seen the wince when he‘d pushed in, told himself he didn’t care, that this was how it usually went between pirates such as themselves. 

He‘d taken his pleasure, fast and hard and uncaring of Stede‘s. 

Now, Edward stared at the ceiling.

He hadn’t slept.

Stede had closed his eyes maybe twenty minutes ago, but Edward could feel the slowness of his breathing—the calm that had taken effort to reach.

And Edward…

Edward was still here.

Still thinking about the port city all those years ago. 

The blood.

Henri‘s blood. 

Stede shifted slightly in his sleep, fingers curling where they rested. His knuckles brushed Edward’s ribs.

Edward swallowed.

“I was twelve,” he said.

It was barely a whisper.

Stede didn’t move.

Edward turned his head, just a little, eyes tracing the faint curve of Stede’s jaw in the dark.

“There was a raid,” he said, voice low. “On the island where we were anchored. I was hiding under a table. Listening to men scream.”

Stede didn’t speak. But his breathing changed—just slightly. He was awake now. Listening.

“They pulled my brother out,” Edward said. “Dragged him into the street. Beat him in front of the others. Said if we didn’t hand over the stash, they’d do worse.”

A pause. The kind that hurt to sit inside.

“I ran. Not to save him. Just to get away.”

Stede reached up slowly and touched his cheek.

“You were a child,” he murmured.

Edward turned his face into the palm. Closed his eyes.

“They made me watch,” he whispered. “I never forgot the sound he made when they—”

Stede pulled him in, arms firm around his chest. No shushing. No pretty words.

Just held him.

Like he’d done something right instead of cowardly.

Like he could be both the boy who ran and the man who came back.

Edward let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It came out shaky. Too loud.

Stede pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“I didn’t ask you to be perfect,” he said. “I just asked you to let me stay.”

Edward didn’t speak after that.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: The Pain of Things

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Explicit Words: 804 Part: 20/31 A/N: This diverges from Our Flag Means Death canon in regards to personality and leans more into a historically grounded interpretation of Edward and Stede. Includes pain during sex, consensual non-consent (though not explicitly discussed), self-loathing, and rough intimacy as a form of self-punishment due to grief.

The same hard day dragged into evening, Edward’s silence thickening the cabin air. He’d been gone all day.

Not in body. In the way that mattered. He’d stood at the helm like a figurehead, barked an order or two, drank nothing, spoke less. And when the crew gave him space, he took more than they offered.

---

Stede hadn’t asked about the letter. He’d seen it—creased and handled, the wax half-flaked off. He’d seen the way Edward folded it like it was something dangerous and tucked it away like it might bleed through the drawer.

He hadn’t spoken since.

Not to anyone.

Now the cabin was too quiet. Stede stood near the shelves, pretending to sort through charts, though he wasn’t seeing any of them. Edward leaned against the far wall, arms crossed. Staring. At him. Through him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Edward didn’t move.

Stede sighed. “You can’t keep doing this.”

A beat.

“You can’t keep shutting me out and expecting me to wait at your feet until you decide I’m safe to speak to again.”

Still nothing.

Stede stepped forward. “I know you, Edward. I know what this looks like. I know you’re angry, and I know you’re hurting, but you don’t get to bury it in silence and expect the rest of us not to feel it splintering.”

Edward’s jaw worked. Just a twitch.

Stede kept going, reckless now.

“I see you, and I’m still here, and I’m trying, but if you don’t want me to—”

“Don’t,” Edward said, voice sharp.

Stede froze.

Edward pushed off the wall. His eyes were fire. Not theatrical. Not staged. Just pure heat.

“I don’t want comfort right now.”

“I wasn’t offering comfort,” Stede said, even though he had been.

Edward stepped closer. Not fast. Not loud.

Stede didn’t step back.

“I don’t want softness,” Edward growled.

“I know.”

“I don’t want saving.”

“Then don’t make me your confessional. Just talk to me.”

And then Edward snapped.

It wasn’t an explosion. It was a decision. Something behind his eyes went still. And Stede saw it: that line, that split second where a choice was made. To destroy. Or devour.

He took two steps forward, grabbed Stede by the collar, and pinned him against the table so hard the maps scattered.

Stede gasped. Not from pain, from the suddenness of it, the force.

Edward’s breath was hot at his ear. “You should leave.”

“You’d be alone again.”

“I should be. There‘s no gentleness in me tonight.”

“I don’t need gentleness. I need you.”

Edward’s grip tightened. His hands shook.

Stede felt it. The rage, the grief, the pressure. The violence. It was in him, right there, sitting in the space between restraint and ruin.

And Stede—God help him—leaned in.

Because he wasn’t afraid. He needed Ed.

Needed him to need him. 

Because if he left now, Edward would drown in what he didn’t say.

Edward growled low in his throat. Then shoved him harder against the table, tore open his shirt, and kissed him with something that was closer to possession than affection.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was need.

Blinding, ugly, unbearable need.

And when he turned Stede around, pushed him down onto the maps, yanked his trousers down without a word—

Stede didn’t protest.

Not when Edward spat in his hand. Not when he pressed in too fast, too thick, too raw. Not when it hurt.

Because it was the first real thing Edward had done all day. What he got was need. Raw, sharp, and overwhelming. But at least it wasn‘t that—that look anymore, like Stede was made of glass, or worse, something Edward couldn’t afford to hold onto.

And because Stede knew—this wasn’t cruelty.

It was punishment.

But not for Stede.

For Edward himself.

So Stede held on.

Edward took him hard, teeth gritted, breath ragged, hands gripping too tight. He was shaking with it now—not control, not lust—grief.

And when it was over, when Edward came with a sound that broke apart against Stede’s shoulder, his entire body went slack.

He pulled out.

Stede winced but didn’t move. Not until Edward let out a shuddering breath behind him, then pulled Stede up and turned him around. Edward dropped to his knees. 

And then—

Then the fingers came. Gentle. Careful. Contrite. Pushing deep with a crook that angled them perfectly. 

Sudden, wet heat around his flaccid cock. 

Edward took his time, bringing him to hardness then finishing him like a man apologizing without language. Mouth soft, hands reverent, fingers pressing deep. Kneeling on the floor like it was penance.

And Stede came with a gasp he didn’t mean to let out, blinking hard.

He reached for Edward after, breath shaking.

But Edward just leaned into his chest, forehead resting against his sternum.

And Stede—sore and breathless and stunned—wrapped his arms around him.

Not to fix.

Just to keep him whole.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

@allthinky thank you so much, glad you’re enjoying it!

Fanfic:  Lost at Sea

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 723 Part: 16/31 Summary: Edward discovers fear.

Hours after the skirmish, beneath a moonless sky, Edward sat alone in the great cabin. Night pressed close around the Queen Anne’s Revenge—moonless, still, broken only by the hush of waves nudging the hull. In the great cabin the lantern burned low, just bright enough to keep ink from drying on the nib.

Edward sat at the chart table, sleeves rolled, shoulders hunched like a man waiting for recoil. The skirmish had ended hours ago; the sting of powder and blood had already faded. But his hands still smelled of iron where he’d held Stede’s coat, searching for the gash he’d sworn would never happen.

Shallow, the surgeon had said. A slice, no more.

Stede had even laughed—“Hardly worth the fuss, darling”—and then winced, because laughing hurt.

Now he slept in Edward’s bunk, ribs bound in fresh linen. Every exhale came with a small catch that forced Edward’s own lungs to echo it.

He dipped the quill and tried to anchor himself in words:

Last Will and Testament of Edward Teach, known as Blackbeard. I, being of sound—

Sound of mind? Hardly tonight. His mind was a storm‑tossed thing, scraping up memories best left on the seafloor: men dying under his command, lovers bleeding while he plotted vengeance, an older brother calling his name in a street half a world away.

He scratched through the line and started lower:

I leave all holdings, prizes, and the frigate Queen Anne’s Revenge to…

To whom? The crew deserved shares, aye, but ships changed captains and gold changed hands. None of it mattered in the cold space where Stede had nearly died because Edward had missed one glint of steel.

The nib dug too hard; ink feathered across the parchment like a spreading bruise.

Edward sat back, rubbing a hand over his eyes. His heart kept replaying that single bright moment—the blade, Stede’s hissed breath, dark blooming on linen. Could have been fatal. The word hammered him: almost.

The lantern guttered. He trimmed the wick and tried a different angle:

Personal effects to be delivered to him, if he lives. And if he does not—

The quill hovered, useless. The cabin felt suddenly too small, walls bending inward like a closing fist.

He imagined lowering Stede into the sea—white bundle, splash, the world swallowing color. Imagined a lonely colonial cemetery, reading stone letters that had never heard Stede’s laugh. Imagined waking tomorrow to an empty bunk and a silence no storm gun could break.

Ink spilled down the margin in a black tear. Edward folded the page once, twice—creased it into a rectangle no larger than a matchbox—and slid it under the sextant case. Unfinished words for an unfinished life.

A soft rustle behind him: linen sliding, a breath caught. Edward turned.

Stede stood barefoot beside the bunk, candle‑glow haloing his curls, bandage stark against his ribs.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Edward murmured.

“I was,” Stede answered, voice rough with sand and salt. “Then I noticed you weren’t.”

“Ship won’t steer itself.”

Stede’s gaze flicked to the parchment edge peeking from beneath the sextant. He did not ask. Mercy—he never asked before offering himself.

“Come to bed,” he said simply.

Edward’s chair scraped as he rose. The deck felt unsteady, like planks not yet settled. At the bunk he hesitated, eyes tracking the dark patch on Stede’s bandage.

“It should have been worse,” he whispered. “By rights it should have been worse.”

“But it wasn’t.” Stede lifted a hand and cupped Edward’s jaw with fragile certainty. “I’m here.”

For a moment Edward couldn’t breathe past the knot in his throat; then he eased down, letting Stede tug him close until their foreheads touched, their breaths synced—Edward’s ragged, Stede’s shallow but steady.

Outside, the ocean kept its slow applause against the hull.

Inside, Edward’s pulse began to calm, drumming out a single vow. 

Never that close again.

The will remained unfinished. Tomorrow it might find ink enough for completeness, or tomorrow it might burn in the galley stove. Tonight it served only as a reminder: almost lost is still too near to losing.

Edward pressed a kiss to Stede’s temple, felt the answering sigh flutter warm against his chest, and held on until the first gray smear of dawn crept through the shutters—clutching the living proof that almost would have to do for now.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Too Late to Bury It

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 725 Part: 19/31 Summary: Edward's past catches up with him. TW: Death of a family member

Dawn of the next day delivered a letter sealed in brittle wax. The letter came folded into thirds, sealed in wax that had worn away to a soft crumble. The edges were frayed. The script on the front had smudged in salt air and time.

His Quatermaster handed it to him without ceremony, only a quiet glance that lingered a beat too long.

Edward already hated it.

He didn’t open it. Not right away. Just turned it over in his hands, thumb pressing against the crease, the way you might test the edge of a blade before it ever touched skin.

He didn’t like paper. Never had.

It lasted too long.

Remembered things better than people did.

The cabin was empty when he finally broke the seal.

The letter was short. Unfinished, almost. The kind of note written on the edge of something else: on borrowed time. 

„Your brother Henri died on the 10th of October, of fever. With no family present, he was buried by the parish. His remaining effects were sold to cover debts.“

Just a mark where a name might have been. A stray ink blot in the corner.

Edward read it once.

Then again.

Then again, slower.

Gone—neither killed nor lost in battle, simply… gone.

And he hadn’t been there.

Not to bury him.

Not to see it done right.

Not to say anything at all.

His chest burned, quiet and low. A coal that had been smoldering for a decade or more, finally catching flame.

He folded the letter carefully. Too carefully. Like it might tear if he breathed wrong.

He slid it into the drawer beside his weapons, where things that killed him quietly tended to live.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed.

That’s were he stayed, unmoving, the cabin air heavy as wet canvas.

He couldn’t think, not in words.

But images came anyway—like bruises surfacing long after the impact.

Henri at nine, bloodied lip and smiling anyway. Henri at eleven, laughing too loud. Henri and him, hiding in the shed when their father came home, deep in his cups and looking for someone to blame for loosing at the tables. Henri and him, only ten back then, when his father’s mood turned unpredictable, when leaving meant survival more than staying did. Henri and him working on deck of their first ship, the work hard but no one there who bothered to flog them. Henri at sixteen, letting himself be caught so he, Edward, could escape. 

He’d never thanked him for that, had mostly been surprised to find him alive years later. 

And now—Henri rotting in a box somewhere. Or maybe not even a box.

A shallow grave, unmarked and unmourned.

Edward’s hands clenched.

Where had he been?

What had he done with all those years?

He’d been playing king of bones on some godless tide, painting himself a monster, fucking and killing and drinking like penance could be earned one bottle at a time.

And Henri had died alone.

Had maybe—maybe—said his name. Maybe not.

He’d never know.

And that was the worst of it.

Not the dying. Not even the absence.

Just the not knowing.

Did Henri forgive him?

Did he ask for him?

Did he remember his brother’s name in the end?

Edward pressed his palms into his eyes.

He’d been a child when he ran.

But he’d been a man for years since.

And he still hadn’t gone back.

He could feel the anger coming, too. Slow and hot and useless. Like a wave building offshore, dark and too far away to stop.

He didn’t want to be seen like this.

Not by the crew.

Not by Stede.

Especially not by Stede.

Because that man looked at him like there was something salvageable under all the ruin. Like Edward could still be worth coming back for.

And tonight, he knew—he knew—that wasn’t true.

He didn’t deserve gentleness.

He deserved to rot in the silence he’d carved out for himself.

To sit in it.

Drown in it.

He reached for the bottle on the table and drank deeply. 

And then he just sat there: the letter hidden, his teeth clenched, the cabin unnervingly still.

Too late to say goodbye.

Too late to bury the boy he left behind.

Too late to be anything but what the world had already made of him.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Don’t Stop

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Mature Words: 467 Part: 18/31 Summary: Sometimes gentle is the most devastating

That very night, once the shouting had faded, Edward touched him differently. It was slower tonight, more attention given to detail.

Not hesitant—Edward didn’t do hesitant—but deliberate. Measured in a way that made Stede’s breath catch.

Usually, it was need that drove them. Urgency. Sometimes even fury. Edward would kiss like he meant to bruise, would press Stede into the mattress like he could only speak with his body. And Stede—Stede gave. Always. Opened up, moaned and gasped and let himself be taken, even as he got back just as much.

But tonight… Edward was careful.

He undressed him slowly, fingers trailing reverent paths across skin—not hungry, but something deeper. Intentional, that was the word. Edward’s mouth followed, warm against Stede’s throat, then ribs, then hips. Each kiss unhurried, as though he were memorizing, not consuming.

Stede had tried to joke. Tried to lighten the moment with something easy.

But the words stuck in his throat.

Because Edward looked at him like that.

Like he mattered.

Like he was bright, breakable, and not a mistake.

And it was too much.

Too much, and not enough, and everything he had never dared ask for.

When Edward finally pushed into him—slow, deep, holding his gaze—Stede gasped. Not from pain. Not even from pleasure. From something tighter. Raw.

It cracked something open.

Edward must have felt it. He stilled, one hand coming up to cradle Stede’s face.

“You okay?”

Stede shook his head. Then nodded. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. It’s not that, it’s—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

His voice broke.

Edward froze. Eyes wide and lips parted like he might ask again.

And then Stede blinked—and the tears slipped down.

Quiet. Unstoppable. Not sobbing, not loud. Just the silent unraveling of someone who had held too much for too long—and was now being handled with care he hadn’t known to hope for.

Edward’s jaw tightened. “Stede,” he said, voice low.

But Stede only pulled him closer. Wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his legs around his body and held on.

“Don’t stop,” he said again, barely audible. “Just—just keep going. Please.”

Edward kissed him then, gently. Cheeks, jaw, the corner of his trembling mouth. And he moved again, just as gently, slow and steady—like he wasn’t just making love, but rebuilding something that hadn’t even shattered yet.

“I’ve got you,” Edward said.

And Stede—who always offered, always yielded, always held it together—finally let himself fall.

And Edward caught him.

He didn’t say I love you. Not out loud.

He probably didn’t know how.

But the way he held Stede afterward—closely, whispering nothing into his hair, letting him breathe, letting him be—it was all there. In the silence. In the safety.

And Stede, his tears dry now, breath finally even, whispered it into the space between them.

For both of them.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic: Let Me Be Angry

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 551 Part: 17/31 Summary: We all break differently

Three days after Captain Samuel Bellamy’s death, the information reached their ears. When the initial shock and sorrow had waned, Stede’s anger finally broke loose.

The door slammed harder than it needed to.

Stede paced the length of the safehouse room, coat slipping halfway off his shoulders, one hand trembling as it dragged through his hair. The air felt too hot. His skin itched with adrenaline he hadn’t burned through yet.

Across the room, Edward leaned against the hearth wall—arms crossed, silent, watching.

Stede could feel the weight of that stare. Not judgment. Just presence.

It made everything worse.

“They knew,” he snapped, voice too loud in the stillness. “They knew we were coming. The route was safe. The signals were clean. But somehow—they knew. And now Bellamy is dead, and the rest of them—”

His voice broke. His throat tightened.

“All because someone lied. Or someone was careless.”

He turned sharply, eyes burning. Edward didn’t flinch, didn’t move. Just raised an eyebrow, slow and infuriatingly calm.

“Do you think I’m not capable of rage?” Stede demanded. “That I can’t be angry when people die because of us?”

Still, Edward said nothing.

The silence scraped at something raw inside him.

“You think because I wear silk, and I speak softly, and I don’t flinch when you say something cruel that I can’t break?” His voice cracked again, thinner this time. “That I shouldn’t?”

“You should,” Edward said.

Stede froze.

“You should break,” Edward repeated, his voice steady—grounded. “You should scream. You should burn the fucking building down if it helps.”

He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Not reaching. Not pushing. Just there.

“But don’t pretend you’re the only one who lost a friend.”

The words hit somewhere deeper than grief.

Stede blinked, and everything blurred. His breath caught, sudden and uneven. The anger twisted under his skin, curdling into something else—devastation, maybe. Helplessness. Something too big to name.

Edward moved closer.

And only when Stede’s shoulders started to shake—when he could no longer pretend he wasn’t crumbling—did Edward touch him. His hands came up slowly, steady as always, and cupped the back of Stede’s neck, drawing him in.

His forehead landed against Edward’s shoulder.

He stood there, stiff and locked in place for a beat too long.

Then he folded.

A sharp, angry breath escaped him. A sob built and died in his throat, swallowed before it could make a sound.

“I hate this,” he whispered. “I hate feeling like this.”

Edward didn’t respond with sympathy. He didn’t say me too, didn’t offer empty comfort. He just held him—arms firm, warm and sure.

Stede pressed his face into the rough linen of Edward’s shirt.

“You don’t have to stay calm for me,” he murmured, voice muffled against his chest. “Sometimes, I’m just tired of being the quiet one.”

Edward’s voice rumbled against his temple. “You don’t have to be anything but what you are.”

Stede’s hands clutched at the fabric between them.

“Let me be angry,” he whispered again.

Edward’s grip didn’t tighten. It anchored.

“I’ll stand with you,” he said. “However loud you get.”

Stede closed his eyes. Let his weight rest against Edward’s body.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself be held—not because he needed saving, but because he didn’t want to burn alone.

---

See Masterpost / other one-shots here

[writesbycandlelight]

Fanfic:  Lost at Sea

Pairing: Edward Teach / Stede Bonnet Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Words: 723 Part: 16/31 Summary: Edward discovers fear.

Hours after the skirmish, beneath a moonless sky, Edward sat alone in the great cabin. Night pressed close around the Queen Anne’s Revenge—moonless, still, broken only by the hush of waves nudging the hull. In the great cabin the lantern burned low, just bright enough to keep ink from drying on the nib.

Edward sat at the chart table, sleeves rolled, shoulders hunched like a man waiting for recoil. The skirmish had ended hours ago; the sting of powder and blood had already faded. But his hands still smelled of iron where he’d held Stede’s coat, searching for the gash he’d sworn would never happen.

Shallow, the surgeon had said. A slice, no more.

Stede had even laughed—“Hardly worth the fuss, darling”—and then winced, because laughing hurt.

Now he slept in Edward’s bunk, ribs bound in fresh linen. Every exhale came with a small catch that forced Edward’s own lungs to echo it.

He dipped the quill and tried to anchor himself in words:

Last Will and Testament of Edward Teach, known as Blackbeard. I, being of sound—

Sound of mind? Hardly tonight. His mind was a storm‑tossed thing, scraping up memories best left on the seafloor: men dying under his command, lovers bleeding while he plotted vengeance, an older brother calling his name in a street half a world away.

He scratched through the line and started lower:

I leave all holdings, prizes, and the frigate Queen Anne’s Revenge to…

To whom? The crew deserved shares, aye, but ships changed captains and gold changed hands. None of it mattered in the cold space where Stede had nearly died because Edward had missed one glint of steel.

The nib dug too hard; ink feathered across the parchment like a spreading bruise.

Edward sat back, rubbing a hand over his eyes. His heart kept replaying that single bright moment—the blade, Stede’s hissed breath, dark blooming on linen. Could have been fatal. The word hammered him: almost.

The lantern guttered. He trimmed the wick and tried a different angle:

Personal effects to be delivered to him, if he lives. And if he does not—

The quill hovered, useless. The cabin felt suddenly too small, walls bending inward like a closing fist.

He imagined lowering Stede into the sea—white bundle, splash, the world swallowing color. Imagined a lonely colonial cemetery, reading stone letters that had never heard Stede’s laugh. Imagined waking tomorrow to an empty bunk and a silence no storm gun could break.

Ink spilled down the margin in a black tear. Edward folded the page once, twice—creased it into a rectangle no larger than a matchbox—and slid it under the sextant case. Unfinished words for an unfinished life.

A soft rustle behind him: linen sliding, a breath caught. Edward turned.

Stede stood barefoot beside the bunk, candle‑glow haloing his curls, bandage stark against his ribs.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Edward murmured.

“I was,” Stede answered, voice rough with sand and salt. “Then I noticed you weren’t.”

“Ship won’t steer itself.”

Stede’s gaze flicked to the parchment edge peeking from beneath the sextant. He did not ask. Mercy—he never asked before offering himself.

“Come to bed,” he said simply.

Edward’s chair scraped as he rose. The deck felt unsteady, like planks not yet settled. At the bunk he hesitated, eyes tracking the dark patch on Stede’s bandage.

“It should have been worse,” he whispered. “By rights it should have been worse.”

“But it wasn’t.” Stede lifted a hand and cupped Edward’s jaw with fragile certainty. “I’m here.”

For a moment Edward couldn’t breathe past the knot in his throat; then he eased down, letting Stede tug him close until their foreheads touched, their breaths synced—Edward’s ragged, Stede’s shallow but steady.

Outside, the ocean kept its slow applause against the hull.

Inside, Edward’s pulse began to calm, drumming out a single vow. 

Never that close again.

The will remained unfinished. Tomorrow it might find ink enough for completeness, or tomorrow it might burn in the galley stove. Tonight it served only as a reminder: almost lost is still too near to losing.

Edward pressed a kiss to Stede’s temple, felt the answering sigh flutter warm against his chest, and held on until the first gray smear of dawn crept through the shutters—clutching the living proof that almost would have to do for now.

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See Masterpost / other one-shots here