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Sometimes, Ed regrets making the captain’s quarters as empty as he feels. The sofa was miles more comfortable than the solitary wooden chair he kept. Though the rugs were thin, they made lying on the hardwood floor more comfortable. He could also keep his wallowing activities private in the sanctuary of his pillow fort.
Now, he has to cry out in the open where anyone could walk in. He’s gotten pretty good at sucking up the snot and tears when he hears Izzy’s boots stomping toward the door. He’s considered hiding in the auxiliary wardrobe where he kept some of… his things. However, pulling a disappearing act on Izzy is probably the last thing Ed should do. God only knows what he’d do if his beloved captain vanished from his prison. Er, quarters. Whatever.
The sun dips below the horizon, streaming the last vestiges of daylight into the cavernous room as Ed clutches his spoils from their last raid close to his chest. It was an English vessel, nothing out of the ordinary except they were hosting a wedding. Odd thing out here on the Caribbean Sea, but it meant they’d have some truly spectacular loot, or that’s what Izzy assured him for the fourth time just to get Ed out of his room.
They nabbed gold dishes and silverware—perfect for trading at port—and a glass parrot Jackie sure would love. They took guns, ammo, rations, and rope—basically anything that wasn’t nailed down, but then they did also take things that were nailed down. Most attendees were not armed or prepared to fight, so it was an easy raid. The crew split the goods fairly, as usual. Still, by the time Ed’s share was perfectly portioned, he had already retreated to his cave with the only loot he wanted already tucked in his pocket.
Ed is curled up on the floor with his blanket and mattress, his back to the sun. Can’t face that happy, shining bastard anymore or sleep in the nook where someone else slept so soundly. He tenderly cradles his prizes in his hands: the bride and groom wedding cake toppers. They’re silly, frivolous things—things a certain silly, frivolous man would demand for his cake. Except Ed isn’t thinking about him. He really isn’t. Nope. Couldn’t be him.
A hot tear streaks through his kohl as he considers the groom topper in his fancy peach suit, silken stockings, heeled shoes, and blond hair. Ed didn’t get a good look at the groom before being tossed overboard, but from his brief recollection, this didn’t look like him. It looks like—
“Stede…” Ed whispers, the name ghosting across his lips. He daren’t say it any louder, fearing breaking his heart. But he can’t deny he thinks about him all the time. Sees his strawberry blond curls everywhere, hears his laugh, aches for his touch, yearns to kiss him again and again and again.
As the days go by, Ed’s story about Stede has changed. He’s heard rumors that Stede went back to Barbados and died—crushed by a piano, eaten by a leopard, or run over by a carriage, depending on who’s telling the story. He’s also heard Stede’s alive, still sailing the seas with his marooned crew. Frankly, Ed doesn’t know which is worse: the love of his life is dead, or he has moved on. The grief of either is too much for him.
But here in the quiet din of his room, Ed has him—his exuberance, his joie de vie, his curiosity, his madness—all in this little cake topper.
He picks up the bride, who was once brunette and beardless but, after a bit of paint, has all the hair to match Ed himself. He can imagine wearing a dress like this to a wedding—their wedding, he tries not to think—and Stede mooning over him.
He pictures Stede in his peach suit, fussing over Ed’s dress in front of a mirror, ensuring every bow and every frill is perfectly laid. He stands behind Ed and wraps his arms around Ed’s waist. Ed gently rests his hands over Stede’s as they sway to the music playing on the deck above them.
“Gorgeous, my darling,” Stede would say. “It suits you.”
“Thank you, love,” Ed whispers, moving his doll in time with his words. “You look splendid as always.”
“Aw, this old thing?” Stede says—or, well, Ed says in his best Stede-impression, soft enough that he can forgive himself later for being so fucking pathetic. “I didn’t want to upstage my husband on our wedding day.”
A split-second smile flickers on his lips. Marrying Stede…
He quickly rubs away the tear that slips down his cheek. He can’t. He can’t think about that. It’s not possible. Stede is either dead or done with him. Lingering on thoughts like this will only make the crater bigger where his heart used to be.
But his imagination, usually his greatest asset, is a goddamn fucking curse.
“Husband…” he breathes out shakily as another fat tear hits the bed with an audible splat.
Fuck, this is the worst fucking thing Ed could be doing right now, but he needs to follow this through. He needs to let his mind play out the rest of it.
He blinks and sees them above deck, standing at the altar. The crew is dressed a great deal like the ship they raided, donning pastels and wigs. Flowers pour down from the ropes, greenery sheltering them from the outside world, the ship now a floating Eden where everything is perfect.
There’s a vague presence of an officiant beside them, but Ed’s entire world is the gorgeous, glowing, golden man in front of him. This silly, ridiculous man who set Ed’s heart aflame.
Ed holds the two cake toppers closer, facing one another to mimic the picture in his mind.
I love him, I love him, I love him…
Black smudges stain the dolls, remnants of tear-tracked kohl wiped from his eyes, but in his fantasy world, there’s not a speck of dirt on either of them.
Ed gazes into Stede’s tawny eyes, staring back at him with love and admiration.
I love him, I love him, I love him…
Automatically, he skips all the vow mumbo jumbo because Ed wants to get to the good part, the part he’s only done once, the part he wants to do again and again in every location, every stage of undress, every spot on Stede Bonnet’s body—
“Edward Teach,” the officiant says, his voice exactly the same as Ed’s as he whispers aloud to himself, “Do you take Stede Bonnet to be your husband?”
His heart flutters as he murmurs, “I do.” He hastily wipes at his eyes as a pathetic laugh escapes his throat.
“And Stede Bonnet, do you take this man to be your husband?” Ed warbles, his throat suddenly thick with emotion. His hands quake as his heart longs for the answer he desperately wants to hear.
“I—“
Yet in his mind’s eye, Stede’s handsome face contorts into a look of regret, and Ed mumbles through fresh tears—
“I do not.”
Ed curls up tighter, shaking from the sobs wracking through his body. He clutches the dolls tighter even though everything in him is screaming to throw them across the room.
Why, even in his own private fantasy, can he let himself be happy? Why can’t he let himself imagine a world in which Stede wants him, wants to be with him? Where he says all the right things? Where he kisses Ed with all the love and passion Ed knows they have—had—for one another? What is wrong with him?
Why didn’t Stede show up at the dock? Why did he leave Ed all alone? Because whether he’s dead or alive, neither explains why he wasn’t fucking there. The only conclusion Ed reaches time and time again is that Stede humored him with that kiss, humored him with running off to China, humored him with a future together.
If Ed recalls past his overwhelming affections, Stede was stiff, unsure, and nervous. Ed basically threw himself at Stede without ever considering that Stede never felt the same, that all those weeks together were just a giant misunderstanding.
He’s the only one who fell in love.
A sob retches out of him so hard he nearly pukes as he grieves something that never was.
He loves Stede. He loves him with every fiber of his being. He can’t shut it out, can’t turn it off.
With a shaking fist, he raises the groom to his lips. He kisses him, a small, hopeful—hopeless?—part of him wishing beyond wishes that this little figurine would magically transform into Stede who’s heard what he’s never said, who knows all the ways Ed loves him, who holds and kisses Ed with the reverence Ed can only dream of.
And dream he does, because like every night since their split, Ed cries himself to sleep.
Someone gently shakes Ed’s shoulder, attempting to rouse him from slumber. Ed’s always been a light sleeper, but since beginning his new nightly routine, he sleeps soundly, exhausted from crying. His eyes need as many hours as possible to regenerate more tears for the next day.
Ed can’t believe someone—probably Izzy—is trying to wake him up nicely right now. Typically, if Izzy wants him away, he slams the door open with a bellowing “Blackbeard, sir!” like something has just caught fire (it likely has), and it’s Ed’s job to deal with it (it’s Izzy’s). There was no slam or shout before this person gently caressed Ed’s hair.
Wait. Someone’s caressing his hair? Either some stranger is in his quarters, or Izzy has picked up another creepy habit aside from watching him sleep. It seems impossible that he slept through a raid, that his exhaustion prevented him from hearing the sounds of manslaughter above deck. The sharp ringing of blades clashing would’ve been enough to rouse him from even the deepest slumber, let alone the screams accompanying them.
Yet someone is standing over his bed, touching him, and Ed’s brain whirs a mile a minute, trying to figure out a plan that won’t leave him pinned to the mattress with a blade through the chest. He can’t die like this—Blackbeard can’t die like this. He’s supposed to die in a blaze of glory, standing on the flaming remains of a British vessel destined for Davey Jones’ Locker, or hanged in a public square for properly terrorizing the Caribbean for fifty years or some shit like that. Not smothered by a pillow in his bed after crying himself to sleep!
Just as Ed begins calculating the speed with which he’d have to grab his knife and plunge it into his assassin’s gut, his killer whispers to him.
“Ed? Edward?
No voice could get him to sit up faster than the one belonging to his presumed dead or fucked-off crush.
The slivers of moonlight peeking through his drawn curtains highlight Stede’s gentle features and his locks of golden hair. He looks ethereal as if he’s soaking up the last of the remaining light in the cabin to glow just for Ed.
“Are you a fucking ghost?” Ed demands, his voice hoarse from sleep and crying (but mostly crying).
Stede chuckles politely but doesn’t answer his question. Instead, he sits on the edge of Ed’s bed and traces his hand down Ed’s chest to rest over his heart.
“My beautiful Edward…” Stede whispers softly. “My love.”
Love.
No, no, the real Stede never called him that. This has to be a dream. This cannot be real. There’s no way Stede is here, calling him beautiful, his love. Stede left.
Ed grabs Stede’s wrist—it’s very solid for a ghost. He must not be awake. It must be a dream, and he’s in it too. It’s the only explanation for Stede being here, sitting on his bed, touching him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.
Ruffles tickle his palm. Is Stede wearing the outfit from his wedding fantasy? The same outfit as the cake topper? Probably. It’s hard to tell in the dark. Besides, it’s Ed’s dream, so he can decide whatever Stede’s wearing, and it may as well be their wedding night. He thinks of him in the peach suit, similar to one Stede used to own—one that still resides in the auxiliary wardrobe because Ed was seriously fucked in the head if he threw all those fine fabrics overboard.
Gently, Ed lifts Stede’s hand from his chest to bring it to cup his cheek. He nuzzles his palm at Stede’s first caress. His heart flutters with desire and longing, and his body reacts with further… desire and want. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s, well, fucked. Between running a ship and Izzy cockblocking him at every opportunity, he’d been practically celibate when he met Stede. And God only knows how long it’s been since he’d had sex with someone he loved, if ever. No wonder his wet dreams were so intense. This one seemed just as vivid and headed in the same direction.
“Came for me, did you?” Ed murmurs. Stede inhales sharply when Ed kisses his palm. If this is Ed’s fantasy, he can do whatever the fuck he wants, and he knows this Stede isn’t gonna run.
“Of course I did,” Stede answers. “I love you, Edward.”
Oh, what Ed would do to hear Stede say that in real life and not just in the punishing echo chamber of his mind.
“I love you too, Stede,” Ed replies as naturally as breathing because he does. He loves Stede with all his heart, wishes this were real, wishes he’d been more precise on the beach. ‘What makes Ed happy is you.’ He knew Stede wasn’t good with subtlety. Like, he had to kiss the man before he said something absolutely daft like ‘Oh, that’s so lovely.’ Or ‘That’s nice of you to say.’ If he’d just said, ‘I love you more than there are stars in the sky or fish in the ocean’—aka how he actually felt—maybe Stede would’ve stayed.
It’s too late to linger on those sorts of things, especially when this Stede—fantasy Stede—gazes down at him like he hung the moon. He smiles at Ed with saccharity and a fondness that mends Ed’s broken heart.
Stede’s eyes search Ed’s, and his smile fades to uncertainty. Why is his dream husband not just kissing him right now? Why is Ed’s bullshit conscious butting into this very lovely situation? Or maybe even in his dreams, Stede needs clear directions? Any way he shakes it, Ed can’t wait anymore.
“Kiss me?” Ed asks, his heart thumping in his chest like a virginal maiden begging a strapping knight to take him. (God, that’s something he’d loved to have roleplayed with Stede.) He doesn’t understand why his body is reacting like he’s never done this before. He’s kissed loads of people. Except Stede was different. He only kissed Stede once, and every bit of him wants to do it again and again.
The worry on Stede’s brow washes away into relief. Ed’s glad. Stede shouldn’t have any concern over Ed’s feelings for him. They’re there, so present, so loud, so thundering in his veins.
Finally—finally, finally—Stede bends to kiss Ed sweetly on the lips. Its tenderness spreads down Ed’s limbs and makes him alive with it. It’s too delicate, too chaste for all the love that’s grown in Ed’s heart. He reaches up and shoves his fingers into those blonde curls that are softer than they have any right to be. He will take what he wants; he’s fucking Blackbeard, and this is a dream.
Stede makes the same surprised noise as when Ed kissed him on the beach, but this time it’s followed by a content groan that goes straight to Ed’s cock. Fuck, he wants this man so badly. He might be dead or gone forever, but Ed still craves this silly man carnally. He wants Stede to press him into this mattress and fuck him until he forgets there’s a world outside their bed.
No time like a dream, right?
Their soft kiss turns into another and another, gentle caresses of lips, and it’s easy for Ed to lick into Stede’s mouth. Stede groans again when their tongues brush against one another, slick and hot. Every sound of Stede’s throat is delectable, and Ed wants to swallow them all.
Stede shifts, easing the angle he was leaning over Ed, but Ed can’t take it anymore. Stede’s too far away altogether. Ed grabs Stede’s shirt—not as ruffled as he imagined, but his dreams have never been entirely cohesive—and attempts to direct him closer. However, Stede quickly puts a hand out to prevent himself from falling on Ed. Channeling his frustration into their kiss, Ed tugs harder, which draws a confused noise from Stede. Fuck, Ed can’t take this any longer. Even dream!Stede doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. Typical.
“Get in the bed, Stede,” Ed growls against Stede’s lips, need escaping him like a wildcat from a cage.
“Are you sure?” Stede asks.
“Please.” It’s half-demanding, half-begging because Ed needs to feel Stede’s body on his. His skin prickles with excitement when Stede doesn’t ask any further questions, just slowly climbs onto the bed on all fours, lips still attached to Ed’s like they were his sole lifeline.
But in typical Stede fashion, he remains on all-fours like he’s never done this before. It is such a strange decision his subconscious is making because his conscious regularly has them touching skin-to-skin and cock-in-arse.
Ed wraps his arms around his lover, feeling the thin, scratchy fabric across Stede’s back. His brain must’ve skipped the step where he took off the peach jacket. Doesn’t matter. Warmth radiates into his palms, and he just wants that heat on him. Coaxing him downward, Ed rubs his hands against Stede’s back, hoping it’s enough to get him closer.
Then finally, finally, taking the hint, Stede carefully lowers himself, first to his elbows, then stretching out his legs, to lay atop Ed and God, does that unlock something powerfully desperate inside him. His brain goes momentarily fuzzy when his semi-hard erection brushes against Stede’s thigh because this is everything, everything.
“Fuck, Stede…” Ed whines softly.
“I missed you,” Stede whispers, pressing his forehead against Ed’s. “I missed you more than you could ever know, Edward. I love you, that’s why I came for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I’m sorry I left. I imagined us just like this so many times. God, I missed you.”
Tears prick at the corners of Ed’s eyes. This is everything he wishes he could hear: how much he means to Stede, an apology, love. It’s too much and frankly rude that his sleeping mind can be so dedicated to making him feel miserable. At least in the privacy of his dreams, he can have whatever he wants.
Ed shakes the welling emotions from his throat. He wants to enjoy this, not fucking cry through it. He’s sick and tired of crying over Stede Bonnet. “Then touch me like you missed me.”
Golden curls tangled in his fingers, Ed angles Stede’s head to kiss him deeper, harder, more passionately, and Stede does. It’s like every bit of resolve Stede showed sitting at the edge of his bed is dropping away, and he’s touching Ed how he—Stede—wants. His hands run down Ed’s sides, and Ed trembles when the calloused fingertips graze his bare skin. (Why calloused? Stede’s only ever had soft hands, so this must be his brain supplying him with the only touch he’s known.)
The Stede Ed knows is a passionate man, and when the restraints of shame and fear are removed, he moves like one. Stede kisses Ed like he’s starved—no, like he’s indulging in the finest feast he’s ever eaten. He takes control, and Ed is weak to follow, taking everything Stede gives him, sliding their tongues together in a messy, uncoordinated dance. C hrist, Ed doesn’t want it any other way.
Stede grips Ed’s lower back, pulling his body closer. As if on instinct, Ed rolls his hips, grinding his now hard cock on Stede’s thigh so helpfully slotted between his legs. The pressure is divine, and the shuddering breath Stede lets out is fucking delicious. Power surges through Ed when he does it again, and he can feel Stede’s brow wrinkle as he tries to maintain his composure.
A coy tease plays at the tip of his tongue, one that would make Stede whimper. Instead, Stede ruts his hips against Ed’s hip, and Ed’s the one to whimper. His leather pants prevent him from fully feeling how hot Stede’s erection is, but there’s nothing mistakable for its size. Ed loves a big dick as much as the next guy, so his dream state is again coming through for him. He tries to force his imagination to shift to that monster pressing inside or with his lips wrapped around it, but it won’t. They’re still tangled together, Stede cautiously rubbing against him, and Ed isn’t going to complain because this feels more real than any other dream he’s had of Stede.
“Fuck, Stede,” Ed whispers against Stede’s lips. Stede chuckles shyly, and that just won’t do. He doesn’t want Stede to be shy about how good he feels in Ed’s arms, how he makes Ed properly crazy, how he draws all the best parts of Ed out when they’re together. Ed’s practically melting into the fucking mattress at having this man’s hands on him; Stede has no reason to be shy or embarrassed.
So Ed kisses him as he slides his hands down Stede’s lower back to encourage him to move faster. For his part, Stede follows Ed’s lead, moving at his directed pace. God, it feels incredible. So natural, so mind-numbingly great. Stede’s cock rubs just along the crease where Ed’s leg meets his torso, and Ed decides that’s what that part of him is for.
A shiver dances over his skin when Stede whines, a soft noise just for Ed. Electricity crackles in Ed’s brain at all the sensations assaulting his senses. He hasn’t even calculated how Stede’s lips taste—like an unnamable dessert—or how he smells—salty and seaworthy with an underlying floral note that’s undeniably Stede. All of it makes Ed’s yearning grow impossibly stronger. He wants the real thing. He wants Stede back so much. He wants to have him here in every way, but perhaps especially this: just them, tangled together, creating a pleasure that is distinctly and only theirs. He’s never wanted anyone like he wants Stede Bonnet.
It’s not enough. (It’ll never be enough.) Ed untucks Stede’s shirt from his pants to get his hands on all the warm skin beneath. It’s soft and smooth under his palms, one side mottled from when he was stabbed, but fuck, if that doesn’t make Stede sexier. He’s a true pirate, no matter what anyone says. He took a rapier to the gut and stayed pinned to a mast for hours before someone was sober enough to get him down. That would’ve sealed the deal if Ed hadn’t already been in love with him. (In case anyone was wondering, Ed was a goner when Stede dressed him up and told him he wore fine things well under the biggest moon he’d ever seen.)
Ed slides his hands up under Stede’s shirt to grip his shoulder blades where—oh—there’s new muscle there. Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dream!Stede is strong. Ed’s dehydrated brain is doing God’s work by giving him a version of Stede, who’s strong and has a big dick. Ed tries with all his might to shift the fantasy again, this time with Stede fucking him against a wall, but no, he’s still under this hunky, dreamy Stede with all his clothes on. He whines because it’s not enough.
Under Ed’s palms, Stede’s muscles shift as he wraps his arms around Ed, hugging him closer. God, they never hugged when they were on the ship together. They never really touched as friends. Ed didn’t know what he was missing until right here, entirely enveloped by Stede.
Their hips slow to a halting grind, and as lovely as Stede’s thigh has been, Ed needs more. His cock throbs in his leathers. He’s so far from coming but could also ride this high forever. (That’s a lie: he wants Stede Bonnet to make him come. Then he wants to make Stede come. Then he wants to do it again ad nauseam in the sexiest repetitive daydream known to man.)
Ed moves his leg from trapped between Stede’s to the outside, putting his lover squarely where he wants him. Stede doesn’t hesitate. His heavy cock disappears momentarily from Ed’s hip and reappears, pressed directly on Ed’s own. The hot, thick bulge rubs deliciously against Ed’s. Fuck, Stede’s so fucking hard for him that it makes his toes curl. His legs instinctually fold up so he can dig his heels into the meat of Stede’s thighs.
Ed tosses his head back with a moan when Stede rolls his hips like he’s fucking him. Wait, what is Ed thinking? Stede is fucking him. God, Stede is fucking him as he sucks wet kisses into Ed’s neck. Fucking him with his goddamn clothes on, and it’s the best sex Ed’s ever had. Bucking his hips and driving his length against Ed’s, stars burst behind Ed’s eyes from the hot pressure. He’s had his share of cocks in his arse over the years, yet this blows them all away.
“Fuck me, Stede,” Ed gasps. A loud whine escapes his throat when Stede fucks him faster, harder. “Oh, fuck, fuck me, fuck…”
Stede fucks him with enough gusto that if this bed had posters, they’d be banging against the wall, just as Ed liked it. Tell everyone they know they’re having sex. Making love. Fucking. Whatever. Just that Stede Bonnet will make Ed come harder than anyone else ever could.
“Oh, Ed, love, hrngh…” Stede pants wetly against Ed’s ear. It’s nice knowing Stede’s brain is as far gone as his. It makes sense because Ed’s imagination can’t handle proper dialogue for himself, let alone another person, when he’s so close to orgasm.
A familiar sensation tugs at Ed’s balls. Fuck, he’s gonna come. He’s gonna come so hard with Stede on top of him, fucking him clothes-on into the mattress. More than just his dick might explode if he’s honest. His body is on fire, and the ache and yearning for Stede grows stronger because he wants this, he wants this for real, he wants his gorgeous, funny, caring, silly, creative, adventurous co-captain to love him, to fuck him just like this, to share their passion, their lives, their love…
With a strung-out moan, Ed yanks Stede by the hair into a brutal kiss, their teeth clacking together. His legs lock around his lover’s as he comes hard, shooting into his leathers like a goddamn firework. And Stede doesn’t stop; he somehow—fucking somehow—fucks Ed faster, the lunatic.
“C’mon, Stede, I love you, c’mon,” Ed mumbles against Stede’s lips. “C’mon, love.” He imagines them naked, Stede fucking his ass just like this—why can’t his brain just put them in that scenario—so he just fucking pretends and he breathes, “Come inside me, love, come inside me, come inside me, come—“
Stede mashes his nose into Ed’s as his body goes rigid with a sharp gasp. Fuck, Ed can fucking feel Stede’s cock throb with release against his. His body quakes in Ed’s arms as his orgasm rips through him. It’s the most beautiful thing Ed has ever dreamed up.
He can’t stop himself from capturing Stede’s lips in another kiss while his lover comes down from the heavens. Their mouths slide together lazily, contently, lovingly. They kiss and kiss and kiss. Stede even rolls off Ed to the side—still kissing.
He pictures them waking up tomorrow morning, doing it again, and basking in their marital bliss forever. He imagines years and years of happiness with Stede. It’s all he wants.
Gross stickiness settles in Ed’s pants, but whatever, it’s a dream, it’s not real. He isn’t going to stop the euphoric buzz under his skin to clean the spaff from his pants. He isn’t going to give Stede a chance to disappear this time, not when he touches Ed like a divine being and whispers his love into Ed’s skin.
Between being fucked into the mattress and crying himself to sleep, Ed fights the slumber creeping through his body. He can’t say goodbye yet. He needs to stay right here in this perfect moment. He wishes he could see Stede properly, but he knows if he lit a candle, Stede would be gone.
“I don’t want this to end,” Ed murmurs. He tenderly strokes Stede’s cheek. Stubble tickles his thumb, which is weird since Stede was always so clean-shaven. Ed doesn’t think too hard about it because it doesn’t matter. He’ll take Stede in any form, even if he was a worm.
“I’m not going anywhere, Edward,” Stede replies. “I love you.”
Aching yen tugs at Ed’s heart. “I love you, Stede.”
He kisses Stede with all the tenderness he can muster before closing his eyes and falling asleep.
Sunlight streams through the papered windows. Ed is fucking exhausted like he’d been run through last night in more ways than one. He can’t even open his eyes. His pants are basically cemented to his dick because he had the wildest sex dream about Stede (again).
Above, he hears the crew stomping around, doing their jobs as they should. It sounds like more commotion than usual, and he can only assume something stupid happened. Ugh, he doesn’t want to deal with them today. Or any day, really. None of it matters anymore. He had what he wanted most and lost it. Now, he’s merely existing, and it fucking sucks.
His stomach growls loudly. Fuck, he doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to move, doesn’t—
“Good morning, Ed,” a familiar voice says beside him.
Ed nearly jumps out of his fucking skin.
“What in the fuck?!?” he gasps, sitting bolt upright and scrambling backward to get a full view of the man in his bed. He glances around the rest of the cabin before spotting the cake toppers tossed to the floor. Which only means it wasn’t a dream. This is real.
Stede is here.
How the fuck is Stede here.
He must still be asleep. Yeah, he’s still dreaming. It was a wildly vivid and sequential dream, allowing him to nap before putting Stede here. He did wish to wake up with Stede, so lucid dreaming really does work. But also, if he’s still dreaming, why is his heart racing and he’s freaking out.
Stede sits up and blearily rubs his eyes. He’s gorgeous as ever. His hair is like spun gold, and fuck, he looks so hot dressed down like a proper pirate. God, it’s sexy as hell. He looks at Ed with hurt and confusion.
“Ed, I’m sorry, I—“He reaches out to touch Ed’s hand, and oh shit, that’s solid. That’s a solid touch.
“Holy shit,” Ed mumbles. “You’re real.”
More confusion knits Stede’s brow. “Of course I’m real. Why wouldn’t I be—oof!”
Ed tackles Stede to the bed in a big bear hug. He has so many questions and emotions he has to process—and frankly, he’s still a bit mad at Stede if he’s honest—but he’s here. He’s alive. And that’s better than any alternative.
“You’re here,” Ed whispers sweetly into Stede’s neck. Stede gathers Ed in his arms.
“I’m here, my love. And I’m not going anywhere."