Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A picture of the title card for the story, “Tempting Fate.” It has a red brick background with stylistic, faded, typewriter-like font for the title, and a caption in the bottom left corner that reads, “an OFMD 1960’s mafia AU By: MegOFMD.”

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Ed’s POV:

Ed crushes his cigarette against the frozen concrete, the ember snuffing out with a sharp hiss. Smoke spills from his lips as he exhales, slow and heavy, like he’s trying to breathe out the weight of everything holding him down. Rent’s due tomorrow, and he and Izzy are short—again. No surprise there. The world’s not built for the poor, the soft, the creative, or anyone trying to build something honest without tearing someone else down first.

All Ed’s ever really wanted is to write songs. Not to be a star—not to stand in the spotlight, grinning for cameras or chasing applause. He just wants the music. Wants it to live and breathe, to reach someone, settle in their chest and stay there. He’d give almost anything for that. 

The money’s secondary. But it would be nice to have enough to send home. His mum and his aunt are holding things together the best they can back in Aotearoa. His aunt’s raising three kids on her own, her ex long gone—good riddance—but the bills still come. So Ed does what he can. Works two jobs. Sends every spare cent. It’s never enough.

He’s thirty dollars short on rent, and there’s no sign of it coming—except from the one place he’s been trying like hell to avoid. Benjamin Hornigold. Just thinking the name makes Ed’s stomach churn. Going to Hornigold always feels like carving off a piece of himself and handing it over, knowing damn well he won’t get it back.

If he takes a job, it’ll be dirty. It always is. The kind that kicks the already downtrodden even lower. Ed’s done it before—too many times—and each one leaves a mark. But what other choice does he have? He has to send money home to his mum, and his earning potential overall is higher here than it was back home.

He swallows the thought, along with what’s left of his pride, and starts down the subway stairs. The air grows colder the deeper he goes, thick with damp and the distant rattle of approaching trains. He keeps his head down, shoulders hunched, stepping into the current of people who all look just as tired as he feels.

One day, he’ll break the cycle. One day, he won’t have to trade pieces of his soul for scraps. But today sure as hell isn’t that day.

************

A picture of a newspaper article in The Cannonford Chronicle, dated Wednesday, November 15, 1967. The newspaper has a traditional blackletter-style masthead with the subtitle “FINAL EDITION” boxed in the upper right corner, and a weather forecast for Cannonford in the upper left. The article title, “Vincent Bonnet: Philanthropist or Organized Crime Boss?” is bold and centered just beneath the masthead, set in large sand serif type. The layout features a black-and-white photo on the left side of the page, showing an older man in a suit with a stern expression, seated in what appears to be a courtroom. The photo caption beneath reads: “Vincent Bonnet appears for legal proceedings involving lawsuit by former business partner, Quincey Badminton, who faces separate allegations of organized crime activity.” The following text for the article reads:

CANNONFORD, Nov. 12 – Vincent Bonnet is no stranger to controversy. There is no denying he has done some good for the community, like last year, when he donated money to have the Vincent E. Bonnet Neurological Advancement Wing built at Cannonford Memorial. But the name doesn’t come without some debate as to whether he’s an asset to society, or not.

Bonnet, 58, is the head of Bonnet Consolidated Holdings, a sprawling network of shipping, real estate, and logistics firms that operate throughout the greater Cannonford region. On paper, he is a successful businessman with a penchant for civic investment. But behind the tailored suits and ribbon-cutting ceremonies lies a much murkier picture.

Bonnet has long been the subject of whispered allegations linking him to a number of illicit enterprises. Sources close to city officials—speaking on condition of anonymity—suggest that Bonnet's business empire may serve as a front for a criminal syndicate engaged in everything from illegal gambling to corporate blackmail.

Despite repeated denials from Bonnet’s legal counsel, documents quietly circulated among labor union leaders point to his suspected involvement in labor racketeering, including coercion, threats, and the strategic placement of enforcers on payrolls to control votes and suppress dissent. His name has also appeared in several sealed court records related to ongoing federal investigations into unlicensed casinos operating in the port district.

Perhaps more surprising is Bonnet’s alleged role in an international art and antiques smuggling operation. A 1963 customs raid on a warehouse affiliated with one of his subsidiaries turned up several unregistered artifacts believed to have originated from Eastern Europe. While charges were never filed, the incident raised eyebrows—and questions that remain unanswered.

“He’s smart,” one former federal agent told the Cannonford Tribune. “He doesn’t leave fingerprints. But if you follow the money, it always ends up back at Bonnet’s door.”

Whether Bonnet is a visionary industrialist or a cunning underworld figure remains a matter of debate. His public defenders cite his charitable giving and economic influence, while his critics argue that his generosity is little more than a smokescreen for a much darker legacy.

As Cannonford continues to grow, so too does the myth—and mystery—of Vincent E. Bonnet. One thing is clear: in this city, power rarely comes without a price.

By: Evelyn Higgins

************

Stede’s POV: 

The cold night air bites at Stede’s cheeks as he steps onto the balcony, overlooking the dark sweep of the bay. It’s a beautiful night, despite the chill. It’s quiet, still. The moon hangs low over the water, half-veiled by drifting clouds, casting a silver sheen across the surface. Stede leans against the railing, wishing he had his guitar. Wishing he could just sit here and let the music pull the noise out of his head.

He’s eighteen, and some days he still feels like a child playing dress-up in his father’s world. He’s supposed to be majoring in business, of course, because that’s what’s expected—but he can’t even wrap his head around the idea of working in his father’s world—or the marriage Vincent Bonnet is already arranging for him. He especially can’t wrap his head around it being Mary.

He loves Mary, in his way. She’s clever, sharp as glass, one of the few people who’s ever really known him. But he doesn’t want to marry her. Doesn’t want to marry any woman, if he’s honest with himself. And yet his father’s voice keeps echoing in his mind, sharp and smug: “Peasants marry for love. Mary has connections.”

As if that settles it.

He’s told his father—more than once, more times than he can count—that he’s gay. But it never seems to matter. His father always brushes it off, tells him to “have your fun elsewhere,” like love is just another indulgence, something to be hidden behind closed doors. Marriage, to him, is a business contract. Nothing more.

But Stede can’t stomach that kind of cynicism. He refuses to. He wants to believe in something better—something softer. He wants to fall in love. To marry for it. To build a life that doesn’t stink of blood and power and quiet threats. More than anything, he wants to get away from his father—away from the shadow of everything he is—and never look back.

But the fear is always there. Quiet, steady. What if his father doesn’t let him go? What if he sends someone after him? What if Stede runs, and fails, and ends up cold and alone?

But would that be so bad? Maybe loneliness is better than the life he’s being groomed for. Maybe it's better than guilt.

Some people would call him a spoiled rich kid—soft hands, soft voice, no real problems. And maybe they’re not entirely wrong. But Stede knows who his father is. Knows what he’s done. Knows the weight of being tied to that kind of power. He doesn’t want to inherit it. Doesn’t want to become him.

He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

“There you are,” comes a voice behind him, smooth and familiar. Stede turns to see Mary standing in the doorway, dressed to impress in an avocado-green wool suit that makes her look older than eighteen—sharper too. “Your father asked me to find you.”

“Of course he did,” Stede mutters, turning back to the balcony rail. He leans into the cold iron, arms folded over it. “He’s got to trot me out like a prized pony. Make sure everyone knows his heir’s officially of age now.” He rolls his eyes, and Mary snorts.

“I hate our dads,” she says simply, stepping up beside him. She pulls a cigarette from her case, offers him one without looking. He hesitates, then takes it.

He’s never liked smoking. The taste, the smell. But it settles something inside him. Gives his hands something to do. He lights hers first, then his own, and draws in the smoke like it might fill the hollow places. When he exhales, it’s slow and deliberate, like letting go of something he can’t name.

“Do you think we could run away?” he asks after a beat, his voice soft. “Get a little flat in Italy, or somewhere else warm. Fall in love with who we want. Live on our own terms. I could play music. You could paint. It’d be perfect, Mare.”

He’s said it before, always half-joking, always brushed off. But tonight, he means it. He’d leave this life without a second thought if she said yes. He may not want to marry her, but he needs her safe. 

“Stede,” Mary says, turning toward him, and the way she says his name tells him everything. There’s a sigh wrapped in it. Exasperation, affection, something weary and sharp. “We can’t run away from our lives.”

“But why not?” he asks, turning to face her as well.

He means it. Every word. He doesn’t get her hesitation—not when she complains just as much as he does. Not when he’s seen the same bitterness in her eyes, the same tired smile she wears when their parents wheel them out like dolls.

But then he sees it—that flicker in her gaze. Fear.

They’re still so young. Barely grown. And the idea of fleeing to another country with nothing but a guitar and a few paint brushes is terrifying, even if Stede pretends it isn’t. He really does believe it would be better than this, than the velvet cage they’ve both been raised in. But he knows Mary, maybe better than anyone. She’s careful where he’s reckless. Steady where he’s whim-prone.

This world is the only one they’ve ever known. And stepping outside it might feel a lot like falling.

“Stede,” Mary says gently, placing her hands on his shoulders. “You know I love how much of a dreamer you are. It’s one of the best things about you. But… I need you to think logically. We’re eighteen. This world would chew us up and spit us out. If we’re really going to run, we have to do it right. Make a plan. A real one. Not just—‘we’ll get by on music and art.’ That, and you didn’t work Lucius into this plan. You know he’d kill us if we left without him.”

He knows she’s right. Of course she is. She always is. Especially about Lucius. How could he have left him out? He lets out a long sigh and pulls her into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder for a moment.

“I hate it here,” he murmurs.

“I know,” she says softly, arms tightening around him. “We should go back inside before your father comes looking. That won’t end well.”

She’s right again. Vincent Bonnet doesn’t tolerate waiting—not from anyone, and certainly not from his son. When half the city’s police force is on your payroll and you’ve got an army of enforcers at your back, patience stops being a virtue.

“Yep,” Stede mutters, letting out another sigh as he pulls away. “It’s fucking freezing out here anyway,” he adds with a weak laugh, trying to shake it off.

The disappointment settles deep in his chest, heavy and familiar. But at least he still has Mary. She’s the only one who truly sees him besides Lucius—they’re the only souls in this hollowed-out world who understand the way he thinks, the way he hopes. The idea of leaving either of them behind feels unbearable.

So he stays. For now. They’re family, and he won’t abandon his family. Not yet. Maybe, with time, he can convince both of them to go. Maybe they can still find a way out—together.

As they step back inside, Stede pauses, casting one last glance out over the water. Far in the distance, a small boat floats in the middle of the bay, its silhouette barely visible in the moonlight. A fresh ache blooms in his chest.

What he wouldn’t give to be out there—adrift, heading toward something unknown. Something better. He hopes that whoever’s on that boat is freer than he is. That they’re heading somewhere that feels like possibility, not a prison.

He finally turns away, stepping back into the warmth of the house. But even the heat can’t touch the storm still spinning inside him—wild, desperate, begging him to run.

************

Artwork of a young Stede, leaning against the railing, looking off into the distance, out over the water. The moon is full, casting light over the water in the distance, and a sailboat can be seen on the water, silhouetted against the light from the moon. He looks sad. He’s wearing a teal jacket, a dark gold sweater, and brown trousers.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

Ed has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

How did he end up here—alone, in the middle of the bay, on a stolen boat, gliding toward open water?

Well. He knows how, in the literal sense. He’d flashed a smile at the marina gate, leaned into the charm, flirted just enough with the baby-faced security guard—Pete, he thinks—who looked positively thrilled to be called handsome by Ed. And it worked. Pete waved him through like they were old friends. From there, it was just a matter of hotwiring the swanky sailboat tied up at the far end of the dock.

Now here he is. Drifting toward the mouth of the bay in something he definitely shouldn't be in.

He’s starting to realize just how much trouble he might be in. The boat is expensive. Real leather seats. Polished wood trim. Even the damn steering wheel looks like it costs more than his rent. He’d ducked below deck earlier and nearly lost it—full kitchen, plush cabin, even a crystal decanter still half-full on the shelf. This isn’t just some rich prick’s weekend toy. This is money.

And worse—he’s starting to wonder if this boat might belong to Vincent Bonnet.

If that’s the case…

This is no longer a petty stunt. No harmless joyride. This is the kind of mistake people get disappeared for. And while Ed likes the idea of screwing over one of the city’s untouchable elite—better that than another one of Hornigold’s usual gigs that have him committing petty crimes against much smaller targets—he’s not stupid. He knows who Vincent Bonnet is. What he does. What happens to people who cross him.

If he’s caught?

He won’t be coming back from it.

So. He just needs to not get caught.

Simple enough.

“Sure thing, Teach,” Ed mutters to no one, puffing out a shaky laugh as he fumbles with the rigging. The ropes are stiff, the wind sharp. It’s been years since he last sailed—since those chilly mornings back in Aotearoa, out on the water with his grandfather, who barked orders like a naval officer and wouldn’t let Ed dock the boat until he could do it blindfolded.

Still, muscle memory kicks in—sort of. He hauls the mainsail up with some effort, muttering curses as it snags, then slips free. The wind catches it with a sharp snap, and the boat lurches forward, cutting through the dark water like a knife. Not exactly smooth, but it’ll do.

The marina lights fade behind him as he clears the edge of the bay, and the city shrinks into a glittering smear of gold and blue behind him. Out here, it’s quieter. The air smells like salt and diesel, and the only sounds are the rush of water against the hull and the creak of the sail as it shifts in the breeze.

************

Artwork of Ed on the sailboat, holding the steering wheel. He looks grumpy, but determined. In the background, lights from the city can be seen, blurrily. He’s wearing a rust-colored jacket and a dark red turtle-neck sweater. His hair is down, and he’s younger-looking.

************

He squints down at the compass, turning the wheel slightly, adjusting his course toward the next bay. The stars overhead are faint, smudged by city glow, but the moon is still bright, casting silver lines across the dark water. It's peaceful, in a way he hadn’t expected. Peaceful and cold.

His hands sting from the wind. His boots slip once on the slick deck, and he barely catches himself. He swears under his breath, gripping the railing, and reminds himself again—just follow the plan. Get to the drop point. Hand off the boat. Get paid. Go home.

He exhales slowly, watching his breath fog in the air. The engine hums low beneath him, steady for now. Everything feels balanced—just barely. Like one wrong move could tip it all sideways.

But for the moment, the water holds him, and the boat keeps moving.

With the boat cruising steady under moonlight, Ed gives the wheel a cautious glance, adjusts the heading just slightly, then locks it in place with a line. He’ll only be below for a minute. Just long enough to find some water and warm his hands.

The cabin is pure wealth—mahogany trim, brass fixtures, the kind of upholstery that looks like it’s never seen a spill. Even the air smells expensive. Leather, salt, and some subtle cologne that clings like memory.

He opens a small cabinet near the bar and pulls out a cold bottle of sparkling water, fingers numb against the glass. As he stands, something tucked into the corner of the mirror catches his eye—a photograph, slipped between the frame and the wood.

Curiosity gets the better of him.

He pulls it free.

It’s a graduation photo. A young man in a cap and gown stands beside a tall, elegant woman in pearls—his mother, Ed assumes. They’re in front of a sprawling estate, the kind of place with columns and perfectly trimmed hedges.

The kid’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He looks like he’s trying—like he knows he’s supposed to be proud, happy—but his posture is stiff, and his shoulders are just a little too tense. But there’s something striking about him, even despite the awkwardness.

Golden blond hair, neatly styled. A dimple in his cheek, half-hidden by that faltering smile. His eyes are striking—maybe hazel, maybe green—too shadowed in the photo to tell for sure.

But Ed can’t stop looking.

Beautiful, he thinks before he can stop himself.

And something else. Something... familiar. Not in the face, but in the way he looks just a little lost behind all that polish. Like maybe he doesn’t belong in this world, even though it’s clearly his.

Ed slides the photo back into place and closes the cabinet.

Time to get back to the wheel. Before he starts getting ideas.

What feels like only a couple hours later, Ed pulls into the marina, freezing his ass off and more than ready to go home, take a hot shower, and pass the fuck out. He’s bone-tired, hands stiff on the wheel, and the horizon’s already starting to bleed with the faintest hint of blue. Dawn is coming. Somehow.

How the hell did the night get away from him so fast?

He spots Hornigold’s men waiting on the dock—two shadows in long coats. He recognizes one of them, nods in passing. Once the boat’s tied off, they hand him a thick envelope, no words exchanged. Ed hops into the back of the black car idling at the curb, and the blast of heat from the vents nearly makes him groan out loud. It seeps into his bones, thaws the ache in his fingers.

Did he really pull this off without a hitch?

By the time the car is gliding back through the city streets, the marina far behind them, Ed’s feeling something close to good. The dread that had sat like a stone in his chest is starting to ease. The boat’s out of his hands. And the envelope they gave him? Heavy with cash—enough to cover rent for the next two months, with extra left over to send back home.

He might actually get to breathe for a while. Maybe even chase a few songs instead of survival.

He leans his head against the cold window, watching the city slide past in a blur of sunrise and shuttered storefronts. His mind starts to drift.

He thinks about his mum—her laugh, the way she used to sing while doing the dishes. About Aunt Rachel, and how tired she always sounds on the phone, trying not to let it show. He thinks about Izzy and how relieved the bastard’s going to be when he sees the stack of cash.

And then—he thinks about him.

The boy in the photograph.

He hadn’t meant to fixate, but there was something about him. That golden hair. The dimple in his cheek. That half-smile that never quite settled in his eyes. Beautiful, yeah. But also… misplaced. Like he didn’t want to be in that suit, in that photo, next to that cold-looking woman.

Ed wonders what his name is. Wonders if he’s a Bonnet. And if he is, whether he’s like the old man—sharp-edged and ruthless. Or if maybe, just maybe, that boy hates it all too. Maybe that discomfort wasn’t just nerves. Maybe it was resistance.

Ed likes to think so.

Someone that beautiful shouldn’t belong to a world that ugly.

It’s only when Ed glances out the window again that he realizes something’s off.

They’re nowhere near where he asked to be dropped. Not even close. In fact, they’re heading in the opposite direction—away from his apartment, away from anything familiar. The skyline fades behind them, swallowed by fog and industrial shadows as the car rolls into the port.

A sick, creeping feeling twists in his gut.

What the fuck is this?

“Hey, uh… this isn’t where I asked to get out,” Ed says, voice tight as he reaches for the handle. The car slows slightly, enough to give him hope—maybe he can make a run for it. He tugs on the latch.

Nothing.

He pops the lock and tries again.

Still nothing.

Child lock.

His heart starts hammering. “Where are you taking me?” he snaps, twisting around in his seat, eyes scanning the empty street. No response. The driver keeps his eyes on the road, completely unfazed.

Ed’s throat goes dry. He should’ve brought a knife. Hell, even a screwdriver. Something.

This isn’t good.

The car pulls to a stop in a wide, dimly lit lot near the docks. Crates stacked like walls. A cargo ship in the distance. Fog curling through the air like fingers.

Then—movement.

A group of men step out from behind a container, big guys in dark suits, walking toward the car like they’ve done this before.

“Shit,” Ed breathes, lunging for the opposite door—but it swings open too fast, and hands are already on him. Rough, unyielding.

He kicks, twists, throws an elbow, but it’s no use. Someone yanks his arms back. Another drops a bag over his head. He barely gets out a muffled shout before something hard slams into the side of his skull.

His last thought before the dark swallows him whole:

I’m sorry I failed you, Mum.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

“I told you I don’t want to marry Mary!” Stede shouts, storming out of his father’s office, footsteps echoing through the marble hall.

Vincent follows close behind, voice sharp and booming. “And I told you—marriage isn’t about love!” he bellows. “I don’t give a damn who you fuck, but you will marry someone with standing. Power is what matters in this world, boy—not love.”

It had started as a conversation about college—expectations, curriculum, legacy. Stede had bitten his tongue and agreed to the business degree. He could always tack on a second major once he got settled, slip music into the margins like a secret. But the moment Vincent mentioned marriage—his plan for what would come after graduation—something inside Stede snapped.

He spins around on the staircase, looking down at his father below. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m gay before you get it through your thick skull?” he spits, voice rising with each word.

He knows he’s pushing it. He’s toeing a line.

But he also knows his father won’t hit him. Vincent Bonnet may be ruthless, may have ordered more deaths than Stede wants to know about—but he’s still afraid of upsetting her . Stede’s mother is the one boundary even Vincent won’t cross.

Stede resents her for some things—for not pulling him out of this world when he was still small enough to be saved—but he doesn’t doubt she loves him. She may be complicit. She may be cold at times. But she’s never let Vincent lay a hand on him. And that means something.

Stede takes a shaky breath, chest tight as he turns around, and keeps walking up the stairs.

“Wait!” Vincent calls out.

Stede freezes halfway up the stairs, cursing himself for how quickly that one word can stop him cold.

He hates it—hates how easily his father can still pull his strings.

“What if I offered a compromise?” Vincent says.

Stede turns slowly, brows knit, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “What do you mean?”

“I know someone else you can marry,” Vincent replies, stepping forward with calculated calm. “A young man, actually. A minor prince, apparently. Which might end up even better than Mary. I told you—I don’t care who you marry, so long as they bring something to the table. Standing. Influence. The kind of alliance that strengthens what we’ve built.”

A chill runs through Stede. He hates the way his father says what we’ve built, like it’s something noble. But still—he has to admit, the idea intrigues him. A prince? It sounds like something out of one of his childhood storybooks.

Though knowing his luck, he’ll turn out to be a smug, boring aristocrat with opinions about wine and cufflinks that don’t mirror his own.

But he won’t know unless he meets him, right? He could be the man of his dreams.

“I was speaking with his father the other day,” Vincent continues, clearly reading the interest flickering in Stede’s eyes. “Seems he’s interested in meeting you.”

Vincent’s smirk makes Stede’s skin crawl. Clearly, he knows he’s at least got Stede’s interest. 

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll meet him. But I’m not making any promises.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply—just turns and storms down the hall, footsteps heavy against the marble. Once inside his room, he slams the door behind him, throws himself onto the bed, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

Italy is looking better and better…

************

Ed’s POV:

When Ed comes to, pain explodes behind his eyes. His head feels like it’s been cracked open and left to throb in time with his heartbeat. But he’s breathing. He’s alive. And in the moment, that feels like something.

As his vision adjusts, he realizes he’s in a shipping container, the smell of rust and salt filling the air. He’s tied to a chair—thick ropes biting into his wrists and ankles. He tugs at them, hard, but they hold fast.

Great.

A single camping lantern sits on a metal table a few feet away, casting a sickly, flickering glow that turns the corrugated steel walls into shadowy waves. No one else is in the container. Just him, and the silence is deafening.

“Hey!” he calls, his voice hoarse and echoing. “Anyone out there? What the fuck is this?”

No answer.

He shifts in the chair, ropes creaking, panic clawing up his throat. “Whatever you’re gonna do to me,” he growls, “can you just… fucking get it over with ?”

The container door groans open. Harsh light spills in.

Two men step inside, both in dark suits, both built like they were carved out of brick. Ed doesn’t recognize them—but he recognizes trouble . The kind that doesn't flinch. The kind that doesn't talk unless it’s bad news.

Then a third man enters behind them.

And when the lantern light hits his face—

“Mr. Hornigold?” Ed blurts, stomach dropping.

The man who’d hired him. The one who’d sent him to steal the damn boat in the first place. Now standing in front of him like he hadn’t just orchestrated his abduction.

“What’s this about?” Ed demands, voice cracking. “I did what you asked. I delivered the boat. Clean.”

Ben Hornigold pulls up a folding chair, sets it down directly in front of Ed, and sits like he owns the place—one leg crossed casually over the other, hands folded in his lap.

“Oh, I know you did,” he says smoothly. “You did exceptionally well, actually.”

Ed’s stomach flips. What the hell does that mean?

His mind is still foggy, throbbing from the hit to his head, but he’s alert enough to know something doesn’t add up. You don’t knock a guy out and tie him to a chair after a job well done.

“I don’t get it,” Ed mutters. “If I did so great, why the fuck am I in a shipping container?”

Hornigold just smiles. The kind of smile that says I know something you don’t.

“My boss wants to hire you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You got the boat out clean. He didn’t see you coming—and he’s impressed.”

Boss? That word throws Ed sideways. And the way he says that almost makes it sound like the boat had belonged to his boss. But that would be insane, right?

“What are you talking about?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “You have a boss ?”

He’d always figured Hornigold was independent—low-level kingpin, sketchy as hell but self-contained. But this? This smells like something bigger.

“And if this is some kind of interview,” Ed snaps, “I’ve gotta say—your hiring process sucks.”

Hornigold chuckles, unbothered. “He wanted to see what you’re made of. See if you’re serious. If you can be trusted.”

“Tying me up is how you test trust ?” Ed growls, tugging against the ropes again.

Hornigold leans forward slightly, his smile fading. “In our world, kid, trust isn’t given. It’s taken. Earned. Proven. And sometimes? It starts like this.”

“So who the fuck is your boss?” Ed snaps, glaring through the haze of his headache.

Hornigold chuckles at that, leaning back in his chair like they’re just two guys having a casual chat. “Patience, Teach,” he says, grin smug and infuriating. “We’re getting there. Thought you might want a little clarification about the boat first.”

Ed hadn’t been thinking about the why —he’d been too busy just trying not to die—but now that Hornigold mentions it, yeah, it’s a damn good question. Why the hell steal a boat from someone powerful enough to have Hornigold working under him?

“Why’d you have me jack your boss’s boat?” Ed asks, voice sharper now. “If it was his, shouldn’t you be the one tied to a chair?”

He knows he’s pushing it. Hornigold isn’t exactly known for his forgiving nature. But Ed’s tired, sore, and full of too many questions. He’s done playing polite.

Hornigold only laughs. “He asked me to recommend someone new. Someone clever. Your name came up.”

Ed’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh yeah? And what exactly did I do to earn that honor?” The sarcasm in his tone is pretty obvious, he thinks. 

“You’ve got instincts. You don’t scare easily. You get the job done.” Hornigold shrugs. “So he told me to run a con. Said, ‘Try to take something from me. Don’t tell me when. Don’t tell me what.’ He’s got eyes everywhere, Teach. No one steals from my boss.”

And there it is.

That phrase— eyes everywhere —lands like a weight in Ed’s chest.

It was Bonnet’s boat.

He doesn’t say it, but he knows it now, knows it in the way your gut knows when you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. His mind flickers back to the photo—the blond boy with the sad eyes and stiff smile.

A son? he wonders, unbidden. Why the hell am I thinking about him right now?

Focus, Ed.

Stay alive.

Hornigold leans forward again, eyes sharp. “But you did it. Somehow, you managed to pull it off. Slipped past his net. Got the boat, clean. No one’s done that before.”

There’s something like admiration in his tone.

“He wants you,” Hornigold says. “Wants to meet you.”

And despite everything, despite the ropes and the headache and the fear still coiled in his gut, Ed feels the smallest flicker of pride.

Smug, sure. But earned.

But beneath the flicker of pride, there’s fear. A heavy, sinking kind of fear.

He doesn’t want this.

Not really.

Whatever this is—this life, this offer—it feels like a trap with polished edges. A gilded cage with blood on the bars. And he knows, deep down, that saying no probably isn’t on the table.

There’s a reason he woke up tied to a chair in a shipping container. No doesn’t keep you breathing in this world.

“Okay,” Ed says, the word tasting like rust in his mouth. His stomach twists, hard. What the hell am I doing?

Hornigold smiles, like a teacher proud of his pupil.

“Good lad,” he says, standing and giving Ed a brisk pat on the shoulder—like they’re old friends, like this hasn’t all been soaked in threat.

He turns to the men flanking the door. “Untie him. We’ve got a meeting to get to.”

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

“So,” Vincent Bonnet says, voice smooth as scotch, “you managed to slip onto my boat… and sail it right out of the harbor. Unnoticed.”

Ed sits stiffly in a leather chair across from the man, trying not to shit himself.

The office is quiet—too quiet. Just the tick of a heavy clock on the wall, and the sound of Ed’s heartbeat hammering in his ears. He’s never felt more aware of his own breathing.

He swallows hard, trying not to look as terrified as he feels.

How the hell did I end up here?

All he’s ever wanted was to write songs. That’s it. Not power. Not money. Not this.

And now he’s sitting in front of one of the most dangerous men in Cannonford, if not the country, wondering if he’s just signed away whatever future he thought he had. Wondering if saying yes to Hornigold was the worst mistake of his life.

Worse still—he’s wondering if this choice has already put his family in danger.

They’re safe, he tells himself. They’re half a world away. His mum and Aunt Rachel, the kids—far from all of this.

But he knows distance means nothing to a man like Vincent Bonnet.

If he wanted to reach them, he would.

And Ed has no doubt he could.

“I’m good at what I do,” Ed says with a shrug, keeping his voice even.

Now’s not the time for modesty.

He’s still very much trying to stay alive here, and if confidence buys him time, he’ll take it. Besides… he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling at least a little cocky.

He pulled off a job that no one else had managed.

And now the most dangerous man in the city wants him on his payroll.

Yeah. It’s terrifying.

But it’s also one hell of an ego boost.

Vincent studies him for a moment, eyes sharp and unreadable. Then he leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“You are,” he says finally. “Good at what you do. More than good.”

Ed stays quiet, wary. Compliments from men like Bonnet usually come with a price tag.

“You pulled off something most of my seasoned men wouldn’t dare attempt,” Vincent continues. “And you did it clean. Cleverly. Efficiently. You understand discretion, and you clearly know how to handle pressure.”

He stands, walking slowly around the desk with the kind of deliberate calm that puts Ed on edge.

“I could use someone like you—not just running jobs, but helping oversee them. There’s an opening on my operations team. Trusted, high-level work. No street corner grunt shit. You’d report directly to Hornigold. Travel when necessary. Handle sensitive deliveries, manage a few key people. Quiet work. Clean work.”

Vincent stops behind him.

“It would mean spending some time here. In the house.”

Ed’s stomach flips again, but for a different reason now. In the house? That boy in the photo flashes through his mind again—Stede Bonnet, if he’s guessing right. He’s heard of him, but never actually seen him. That soft-eyed, stiff-smiled heir who looked like he didn’t belong in any of this.

“Why me?” Ed asks carefully, tilting his head just enough to glance back at Vincent. “Feels like a lot of trust for someone who just hijacked your yacht.”

Vincent lets out a low, amused sound.

“Because you did it,” he says. “You got past every safeguard I’ve put in place. You were invisible. That tells me you’re useful. Sharp. And maybe a little dangerous, which I respect.”

He pauses, then adds with a faint smile, “I’m not in the habit of wasting talent.”

Vincent steps back around to face him, extending a hand.

“So. What do you say?”

Ed weighs the offer carefully, though he knows the choice is already made. He either says yes, or he doesn’t walk out of here.

But he can’t help but wonder what happened to the last guy who held this position. Was he offered a polite hand and a seat in the inner circle too? Is he sipping espresso on a terrace in Rome right now—or buried under a warehouse floor somewhere in the next state?

He knows better than to push too hard. But if he's going to sell his soul, he wants to know the terms.

“So what happened to the person before me?” Ed asks, voice casual, like he's just curious. No big deal.

Bonnet throws his head back and laughs—a deep, full-bodied sound that fills the office like smoke.

“This is exactly what I mean,” he says, grinning. “Sharp. And bold, I might add. Not many would be so bold as to ask me that question. But boldness is exactly what I want in this role. Someone brave enough to do what needs to be done.”

They fall into a brief silence.

And Ed notices—he didn’t answer the question.

So he waits.

Vincent watches him, something almost approving in his eyes. Then, finally, he says, “He retired. Moved to Europe, or so I’m told. It was a well-deserved retirement.”

Ed blinks slowly, keeping his face unreadable. Retired? Do people in this business actually retire?

He doubts it.

But it’s the answer he’s being given, and he’s not stupid enough to press it further.

Not yet.

“So,” Ed says, leaning back slightly in the chair, eyes fixed on Bonnet. “If I’m selling my soul, what’s the going rate?”

Bonnet laughs again—deep, delighted. This time, he leans forward, forearms resting on the desk between them.

“Oh, I assure you,” he says smoothly, “you’ll be well compensated.”

************

“Where’ve you been?” Izzy growls the second Ed walks through the door.

Ed doesn’t answer at first. He’s bone tired, his head’s still pounding, and his limbs feel like lead. Instead, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the envelope, thick with cash, slapping it down onto the coffee table.

“Getting our rent money,” he mutters, already moving toward the kitchen.

Izzy follows, close and sharp, like he’s ready to snap if he doesn’t like the answer.

Ed grabs a glass from the cupboard, fills it at the sink. His hands are trembling, just barely, but he masks it by opening the cabinet above and grabbing the aspirin bottle. He unscrews the cap, lets one tablet drop into his palm.

“Edward,” Izzy says, low and firm, “where did you get this money?”

Ed exhales hard through his nose and pinches the bridge of it, his patience fraying.

“Look, mate, I’m fuckin’ tired, and it’s been a long fuckin’ night.” He tosses the pill into his mouth and downs half the glass of water in one gulp. “So can we skip the third degree? Just pay the rent. Let me go to bed.”

Izzy doesn’t move.

“Edward,” he says again, quieter this time, but no less intense, “are you in trouble?”

Ed turns to face him.

He and Izzy have become like brothers—closer than anyone Ed’s got left. He knows Izzy’s asking because he gives a shit, and lying to him doesn’t sit right.

But he can’t drag him into this.

“I’m fine,” Ed says, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Just ran a job for Hornigold. Bit trickier than expected, is all.”

It’s not entirely a lie.

But it’s enough of one to make his chest ache.

“I don’t know why you’re not being fully honest with me,” Izzy says, arms crossed, voice softer now, “but just… be careful, yeah?”

Ed nods. He can’t fault him for asking—he’d be doing the same if the roles were reversed.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m heading to bed. Make sure the rent gets paid.” He gestures toward the envelope on the coffee table.

There’s extra in there—more than Izzy knows to expect. He’ll notice, and he’ll definitely get more suspicious. But Ed doesn’t care. Taking care of the people he loves is just what he does. It’s in his bones.

And Izzy’s family.

Once in his room, Ed strips off his clothes, too tired to bother with anything else. He climbs into bed and pulls the covers up to his chin, the sheets cold against his skin. He lays there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, letting the past twelve hours spool back through his mind like a reel of film.

So much has changed.

There’s relief, sure—knowing rent’s covered, knowing he can finally send something decent home. That weight, at least, has eased.

But underneath it sits something heavier. The knowledge that he’s now working for Vincent Bonnet. The most notorious mob boss in the country.

What the hell would Mum say?

She wouldn’t be proud. Not of this. Organized crime might sound cleaner than what he could be involved in, but it’s still crime. Still blood and risk and lines being crossed.

He lets out a long, tired sigh and turns on his side, curling up, pulling the blanket tighter around him. His body aches, his mind won’t shut off—but sleep is already tugging at him.

And just before he slips under, one last thought drifts through:

The boy in the photo. That haunted half-smile. Those kind, sweet, troubled eyes.

This could prove to be a problem…

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

Stede isn’t sure what to make of Prince Ricky.

He’s ten years older, which doesn’t bother Stede—he’s always liked older men. There’s something steady about them, more assured. And Ricky’s not unattractive. He’s on the shorter side, slim, with striking blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Not really Stede’s usual type—he tends to fall for the tall, dark, and brooding variety—but he can admit Ricky’s handsome in a clean-cut, royal sort of way.

They meet up for coffee at a quiet spot downtown. Ricky’s already there when Stede arrives, standing to greet him with a beaming smile and a handshake that lingers just a moment too long. Two cups are already waiting on the table—Ricky had taken the liberty of ordering for him.

From the very start, it’s clear Ricky is taken with him. Intensely so. He compliments everything—Stede’s suit, his voice, even the way he holds his cup. He leans in when Stede speaks, hangs on every word, nods like he’s memorizing the cadence of his thoughts.

It’s… a lot.

At first, Stede finds it flattering. Being the center of someone’s attention for once—especially someone so self-assured—feels kind of thrilling. But as the conversation stretches on, that warmth starts to cool into something less comfortable. Ricky’s enthusiasm doesn’t let up for a second. He asks question after question—not invasive, just persistent —and talks about how “perfectly matched” they are like it’s already decided.

It’s not anything wrong , exactly. Just intense. Like he’s already imagined the future before Stede’s even finished his coffee.

Stede smiles, makes polite conversation, but the longer it goes on, the more he finds himself wanting to retreat. It’s not that Ricky’s doing anything inappropriate—he’s just a lot . Too much. Too fast.

Still, when they part ways, Ricky kisses the back of his hand and tells him he’ll be in touch.

And Stede walks away wondering if maybe this is what courtship is supposed to feel like—or if maybe he’s just not built for someone else’s fairytale.

When Stede gets back to the house, he hears voices drifting from inside his father’s office.

He hesitates.

The door is mostly closed, but not latched. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop—especially not on Vincent—but curiosity tugs at him. Maybe it’s about Ricky. Maybe his father is already planning the next step before Stede’s even had a chance to process the first one.

He steps closer, careful not to make a sound.

And then—he hears it .

A voice. Warm and low and smooth as honey, edged with that familiar accent from back home. Stede feels it like a ripple down his spine.

It’s not just pleasant—it’s magnetic .

“…so my first assignment is making sure things go well with your son and his potential future husband?” the man is saying, confusion threading through the smoothness of his tone. “You want me to play matchmaker ? That’s what you hired me for?”

Stede blinks. Who the hell is this? He wants to see him. What does he look like?

“I want you to prove yourself,” Vincent replies, his tone crisp, assured. “And what better way than by securing a strong match for my son’s future? It’s not about matchmaking—it’s about influence. Image. Proving you can manage delicate things without screwing them up.”

There’s a pause.

Then the voice again, drier now. “Delicate. Right.”

Stede’s heart is pounding—he’s not sure why. He should be offended. Furious, even. He’s a pawn in his father’s plans again, and now there’s some stranger involved?

But all he can think about is that voice.

Something about it feels… significant.

And he knows, somehow, that whoever it belongs to— he is going to be trouble.

Sensing the conversation wrapping up, Stede backs quietly away from the office door, crossing the entryway and slipping into the study. He pushes the door almost shut, leaving it open just enough to get a clear view of the hall. His heart’s pounding—not from fear, exactly, but from something else. Anticipation, maybe.

The voices grow muffled, but he can still hear the shuffling of chairs, the rise and fall of footsteps approaching. He holds his breath as the office door creaks open.

His father steps out first, speaking in that clipped, businesslike tone he uses when he's satisfied with someone. And then—

The man emerges.

And Stede forgets how to breathe.

Jet-black hair, just messy enough to look deliberate. Deep brown eyes, sharp and warm at once. A jawline chiseled like it was designed for a noir film, framed by just the right amount of stubble. Tattoos peek from beneath the sleeves of his fitted black pea coat, trailing ink down his hands. A charcoal gray sweater can be seen beneath the pea coat, and the look is finished with slim dark denim, cuffed just above sleek black boots. Every inch of him radiates effortless cool.

Stede stares, utterly taken. He’s gorgeous. Undeniably the most attractive man Stede’s ever laid eyes on.

How the hell is he supposed to keep looking at Ricky when this man is walking around his house?

But then reality bites. This man works for his father. Which means he’s dangerous.

Anyone willing to cash Vincent Bonnet’s checks isn’t someone Stede should be fantasizing about. He’s probably some cold, ambitious thug—just here for the power, or the money. Maybe both.

Trouble, stamped head to toe in black and confidence. And Stede knows better than to want that.

Doesn’t he?

“Why don’t you wait in the study,” Vincent says, gesturing directly toward the very room Stede is currently hiding in, “and I’ll send Stede in once he’s home.”

Shit.

Stede’s stomach drops. He panics, stepping quickly away from the crack in the door. There’s no other exit—no side door, no secret passage. Just the main entrance. And through the narrow sliver still open, he can see the man— gorgeous man —already approaching.

He has seconds.

Stede lunges for the bookshelf, grabs the first spine he sees, and drops into the nearest armchair, flipping the book open to a random page. His heart is racing. He chances a glance down and nearly groans aloud.

Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care.

Fuck.

Definitely too late to pick a new one now.

The door creaks open, and Stede glances up, feigning casual surprise as the man steps inside.

“Oh—sorry,” gorgeous man says, pausing just inside the room. “I… didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

There’s no sign of Vincent. He must’ve sent the guy in to wait, leaving Stede alone with him.

The man steps forward, glancing down at the book in Stede’s lap. A slow, amused smile spreads across his face.

“A little light reading?” he asks, grinning wider now. “Interesting subject for someone your age.”

Stede feels his face burning .

“Oh, um… my cousin’s having a baby,” he blurts. “Thought maybe I could lend it to her.”

He quickly sets the book down on the table beside him like it’s radioactive before standing up, feeling ridiculously awkward.

“I was just… checking it out. To make sure it’s good.”

The man lets out a quiet laugh, low and warm.

Stede wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“I’m supposed to be waiting for you in here,” the man says, stepping further into the room, his tone casual—but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes. “But… guess you’re already here.”

Stede’s heart stumbles in his chest.

Gods, he thinks, he’s even more beautiful up close.

That same rich voice, that easy way of moving—like he belongs in every room he enters. And those eyes—deep, warm brown and far too easy to fall into. Stede finds himself staring, and has to mentally yank himself back.

Works for your father, he chants in his head. Works for your father. Works for your fucking father.

He clears his throat and lifts his chin slightly. “Oh? And why is that?” he asks, tone light, playing dumb.

No way in hell he’s admitting he was listening at the door. Not to someone on his father’s payroll. He doesn’t trust this man. Not even close.

But he can’t stop looking at him either.

“What kind of work has my father put you up to?” Stede asks, carefully casual.

He watches the man closely, waiting to see if he’ll admit it—that he’s been sent here to shepherd Stede into a tidy, transactional marriage with Ricky. Stede wants to hear it out loud. Wants him to say it, to see how awful it sounds in real time.

But, if he’s honest, that’s not the only reason he’s asking.

He doesn’t want the man to leave.

He wants to keep looking at him, keep hearing that warm, low voice roll through the air like smoke. It irritates him how badly he wants that. How drawn he is to someone who works for Vincent Bonnet , a man he actively, wholeheartedly despises .

But there’s something about this stranger—this contradiction of silky-smooth voice and danger—that pulls at him.

And now that he’s here, standing just a few feet away, Stede’s not ready to let him walk back out.

He needs to know more.

Has to.

Even if everything about it feels like a very bad idea.

“Well, uh,” gorgeous man begins, and to Stede’s surprise, he actually looks a little uncomfortable .

There’s a faint pink tinge dusting his cheeks, and he won’t quite meet Stede’s eyes. “He wants me to… keep you safe, actually.”

Stede blinks.

Lie.

He knows it instantly. Knows it in the way the man says it too quickly, like he hasn’t practiced the line. Knows it because he was listening—because he already heard the truth. Matchmaker. Handler.

But he can’t exactly call him out without admitting he’d been eavesdropping.

And besides… he still doesn’t trust him. Not even a little. Gorgeous or not, he's still working for Vincent Bonnet, and that alone paints him in a certain light. This man could charm the devil with a smile, but Stede’s not in the habit of handing out trust to his father’s employees—especially ones who lie so badly.

Still… it’s kind of cute, how flustered he is.

And frustratingly, Stede finds himself liking the way it looks on him. He tilts his head just enough to raise a brow.

“Keep me safe?” Stede repeats, voice polite but edged with skepticism. “From my father’s enemies? That’s a long list, you know. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

He really needs to stop calling him gorgeous man in his head.

He needs a name.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Stede asks, stepping a little closer. “If you’re going to be looking after me like I’m some kind of child, I figure I should at least know what to call you.”

He shrugs, all mock-casual, and steps in even closer—just enough to watch the man tense.

Oh. This is fun.

He mentally thanks Lucius—Mary’s and his longtime friend—for the many courses in flirting. He’s going to enjoy this. If standing this close makes the man this uncomfortable, then Stede plans to test just how much space he can take up.

“Well, you are, aren’t you?” the man says, recovering with a smirk. “A child?”

Stede narrows his eyes, the playful energy flickering into something sharper. “I’m eighteen, thank you very much,” he snaps. “How old are you ? Forty?”

He knows he’s not. The guy looks mid twenties, late at most—but the jab lands. And when that infuriating smirk spreads across the man’s face, something twists in Stede’s stomach.

His heart stutters. Gods . Why is he so hot?

“Are you always this…” Ed starts, tone somewhere between wary and intrigued.

Stede cuts him off, stepping in again—so close he can smell the delicious scent of cedar and smoke on the man—and catches the quick intake of breath from Ed as he instinctively moves to back away, only to bump squarely into the bookcase behind him.

************

Artwork of Ed, against the bookcase, looking at Stede with unsure, surprised eyes. Stede is smirking, standing close, and intensely looking at Ed. Ed wears a dark pea coat, and purple-gray sweater, hair down. Stede wears a blue button up, over a beige sweater, and a heavier brown sweater. The wall is green behind them, and light filters in through a window off the page, seemingly behind Stede.

************

“ Bitchy? ” Stede finishes, eyebrow raised. “Yes. Lucius—one of my best friends—says I could rival him in a bitch-fest. And he’s quite the bitch.”

Ed laughs, low and surprised. “I was going to say spirited, actually.”

He steps sideways, finally escaping the bookshelf, and puts a sliver of space between them before holding out his hand.

“Ed,” he says. “Or Edward. But most people just call me Ed. And I’m twenty-nine.”

Eleven years. Fuck. Why is Stede such a sucker for an older man? Stede’s pulse kicks up a notch. This is dangerous territory. Gorgeous, flustered, clearly off-limits territory.

He reaches out, taking Ed’s hand. “Stede,” he says simply.

Their palms meet—Ed’s hand warm, steady, and softer than he’d expected for someone who probably carries a gun.

Stede swallows.

All he can think about is how much he wants to feel those hands— everywhere.

Yep.

He’s officially in trouble.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

Ed is a dead man.

He knows it. He feels it in his bones the second he lays eyes on Stede fucking Bonnet.

There’s no walking away from this. Not now.

Because he has never wanted someone the way he wants him —that infuriating, bitchy, adorable , blonde little angel with a sharp tongue and a face that makes Ed want to sin in a hundred different ways.

Okay. Maybe “angel” is a stretch. He’s more like a brat prince in designer shoes.

But whatever he is, Ed’s fucked.

Absolutely, undeniably, completely fucked.

Because there is no version of this where Vincent Bonnet doesn’t kill him for what’s already running through his head. And the worst part?

He doesn’t think he can stay away.

Not from that firecracker of a young man with his snark and his smirk and his fucking dimple.

Ed’s already circling the drain.

And the only thing he wants to do is jump.

It had been pretty entertaining—Ed can’t lie—watching Stede bristle at being called a child. The way his eyes had narrowed, voice going sharp with indignation. But it was when he fired back with that “Are you forty?” line, all smug and biting, that Ed knew.

He’s fucked.

It’s not lost on him how young Stede is. Eighteen. That’s eleven years between them. And Ed’s never gone for anyone that far below his age bracket. Not his style. Too much life lived between the years.

But Stede… doesn’t act eighteen. He’s clever. Sharp-tongued. Composed. Confident enough to stand toe-to-toe with Ed and smile while doing it.

It’s a problem.

“So,” Stede says now, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I guess that makes you my bodyguard?”

Ed’s pulse jumps. He can hear the teasing in his tone. The glint in those soft eyes says I know you’re lying, but also I’m going to let you.

And honestly? Ed is fine with that.

It’s better than admitting the truth—that he’s here to make sure this bright, feral little hurricane marries some minor prince named Ricky. Some guy Ed hasn’t even met but already wants to punch on principle.

He offers a casual shrug. “Looks like it,” he says, leaning against the edge of the desk like it’s no big deal.

And he doesn’t miss the way Stede’s eyes flick down and then quickly away.

Yeah. This is dangerous.

And Ed is already in so much trouble.

“Well then, tough guy,” Stede says, stepping in close again— way too close—and wrapping his hand around Ed’s wrist.

Ed gasps.

It’s quiet, barely audible, but he feels it like lightning under his skin. The contact is electric. Confident. Possessive. And the way Stede’s looking at him now? Cool, amused, dangerous.

“I think you’d better come shopping with me,” Stede continues, gaze never leaving Ed’s. “I need a new outfit for my second date with this guy I’m kind of seeing. His name’s Ricky? Did my father tell you about him?”

Those eyes—wide, innocent, devastating—blink up at him like he hasn’t just turned this into a power play.

Ed stares at him.

Yeah. He’s about 99% sure Stede was eavesdropping.

Because there’s no other reason he’d be bringing up Ricky right now.

But Ed’s already committed to the bit.

So he rolls with it.

“Nope,” he says casually, “but yeah. Sure. I can come with you.”

Stede just smiles—sweet, smug, victorious—and tugs him by the wrist toward the door.

Once out of the study, Vincent descends the stairs, stepping into the entryway just as they’re crossing it. It’s not lost on Ed how quickly Stede drops his wrist, and he’s grateful for that, honestly.

“Oh, good, you’ve met,” he says, voice affable enough, but edged with interest.

Ed doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, sir,” he says, glancing very pointedly at Vincent. “I told Stede how you hired me to be his bodyguard.”

Then, with equal pointedness, “Apparently we’re heading out to pick an outfit for his next date with Ricky?”

Vincent pauses. Just for a second.

And then, mercifully—

“Right,” he says with a nod. “Well. Carry on, then.”

Ed exhales silently through his nose.

Thank fuck. He’s not ready to let this charade go quite yet.

************

It quickly becomes apparent that this guy is either messing with him, or flirting with him.

And honestly, neither option is great.

Because both leave Ed feeling hotter and hotter under the collar as this outing drags on.

The outfits Stede picks start off innocent enough—clean, tasteful, appropriate for a second date with a minor royal. But it doesn’t take long before things… shift.

By the time they’re several outfits in, Ed suspects Stede’s not trying to pick an outfit for Ricky at all. He’s trying to test Ed’s ability to function.

And Ed is failing .

Room People by Wee John Feeney is, to Ed’s surprise, the most progressive and frankly delightfully unhinged boutique he’s ever set foot in. Along with a range of more mainstream options, there’s leather, lace, sequins, see-through mesh, aggressively low-cut suits, shimmering lamé, and at least one full-length coat made entirely of rhinestones.

He’s fascinated by the clothes.

But seeing some of them on Stede ?

That’s a whole different problem.

“What do you think of this one?” Stede calls, and Ed barely has time to brace himself before the curtain pulls back.

And then—there he is.

Stede steps out from behind the curtain, and Ed’s brain immediately short-circuits.

Tiny shorts— the shortest shorts Ed has possibly ever seen—hug Stede’s hips like they were custom-built to ruin lives. A pair of white, knee-high go-go boots gleam beneath them, and the paisley-print shirt tucked in is unbuttoned nearly to his navel, revealing far too much smooth skin and the faintest suggestion of chest hair.

Ed forgets how to breathe.

************

Artwork of Stede in the outfit described above. He’s standing with his weight on his left leg, hand raised up and resting under his cheek in a shy-like pose. His other hand is down at his side, and he’s looking ahead with very flirtatious, albeit shy, eyes and a cheeky little smile. There is an archway behind him with a curtain pulled back behind a curtain holdback. There are fun patterns on the walls and floors and the dressing room is painted in various shades of green.

************

Shit.

“You, uh…” he starts, voice cracking as his gaze shamelessly drags down Stede’s body and back up again, “…realize it’s heading into winter, right?”

Stede shrugs. “That’s what the boots and long sleeves are for.” Then, with a wicked little smile: “But do I look hot ? That’s the real question.”

He spins— actually spins —and Ed’s pulse spikes so fast he thinks he might pass out.

He shifts quickly in his seat, crossing one leg over the other in a desperate attempt to conceal the situation rapidly developing below his belt. Stede’s ridiculous, obscenely sexy outfit is burned into his mind now, and there’s no undoing it.

Dead man. Dead man. Dead man, he chants silently, his jaw clenched tight.

Because not only is he not supposed to be entertaining these thoughts—he’s supposed to be helping this barely-dressed firestarter get closer to some prince.

Instead, he’s sitting here, struggling not to moan, and trying not to picture what it would be like to peel that shirt the rest of the way open with his teeth.

He’s so fucked.

And it’s only day one.

A rush of jealousy punches through Ed’s chest before he can even stop it as he remembers why they’re here.

That question— Do I look hot? —wasn’t for him. Not really. It was meant for some sleazy, soft-handed minor prince with too much money and not enough soul. And Ed needs to remember that.

Needs to get those two together, get his check, and move the fuck on to other jobs before he does something incredibly stupid—like listen to his dick instead of his brain and wind up dead in a ditch with Vincent Bonnet sipping whiskey over his grave.

But still.

He doesn’t want Ricky— anyone —seeing Stede like this.

Not in those goddamn shorts. Not in those boots. Not in that shirt, which hangs just open enough to drive him insane. He wants to keep this image to himself.

He can’t admit that, though. Won’t. The words would taste like betrayal—of logic, of the last fragile thread of self-control he’s got left, of his fucking family counting on him to stay alive.

“I dunno, mate,” Ed mutters, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand, trying to cool the heat rising to his face. “Doesn’t quite feel right for a second date.”

But Stede isn’t letting him off that easily.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Ed blinks—and then Stede is kneeling in front of him.

Fucking kneeling.

Looking up at him with those wide, pleading eyes, mouth pouting like a sin, voice soft and sticky sweet as he repeats, “Do I… look hot?”

His hands land on Ed’s knees—warm, steady—and then slide slowly up the outside of his thighs. Ed has never been more grateful there’s no one else around.

And yep, yep, this little tempter is absolutely coming on to him. No more pretending. No more doubt.

And Ed? Ed is royally, spectacularly, fucked.

But then—just as he’s about to reach for him—his mum’s face flashes in his mind. His aunt’s. The kids.

What happens to them if he dies because he couldn’t keep it in his pants?

Because let’s be honest: if he touches this boy—if Vincent Bonnet gets even the slightest whiff of what's going through Ed’s head—he’s done. Not fired. Not dumped. Dead.

Dragged out of some alley. Dumped in the bay. Family never finds out what happened to him.

He didn’t ask for this job. Didn’t want it. He just needed to make rent. Feed the people back home. And now he’s in this, trying not to lose his damn mind over the boss’s son in the tightest shorts he’s ever seen, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him like sin wrapped in lace.

So Ed does the only thing he can do—he gets up.

Steps over him.

Puts distance between his body and the absolute disaster zone in front of him.

“Okay,” he mutters, voice tight and shaking with the effort, “that’s… enough of that.”

He drags a hand down his face, trying to settle the fire under his skin. Across the room, Stede stands too, arms crossed, all sass and offense, like he can’t believe Ed’s just walked away.

“And here I was thinking you might be fun,” he pouts.

And fuck. That might be worse than the flirting. That lip. That expression. Those arms crossed across his gorgeously exposed chest. 

He wants to go to him, soothe it, fix it. Pull him into his arms and tell him what a sweet angel he is… He wants a lot of things he has no business wanting.

But he can’t.

This isn’t about fun. This is survival. And if he’s smart, he’ll remember that.

But fuck, if he doesn’t want to keep playing… whatever the fuck this game is.

“I thought you were here to get an outfit for your second date with the prince,” Ed says, a smirk spreading across his face.

“You know, it’s not lost on me that you still haven’t answered my question,” Stede says with a smirk of his own. “I think I got my answer,” Stede says, hand on his hip, eyes sparkling with triumph.

Ed huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away, just for a second, because if he keeps staring, he’s going to do something stupid. Like kiss him. Like confess he’s never wanted someone more in his whole fucking life.

When he looks back, Stede’s still standing there, cocky as hell, waiting for Ed to fold.

“You don’t play fair,” Ed says, half amused, half defeated.

“And yet, I’m winning,” Stede replies, all too pleased with himself.

Ed chuckles, but it dies in his throat, replaced by something heavier. He lets his gaze linger a moment longer—just a moment—and feels that fondness twist into something almost painful. God, he’s in so much trouble.

Because he already knows the answer to Stede’s question, the one he keeps dodging. Yes. Yes, you look hot. Too hot. And this whole thing—this job, this setup, you —is going to ruin me.

But instead, all he says is, “You ready to check out, or are you planning on trying on the whole bloody store?”

Because if he doesn’t get out of this situation soon, he’s not sure he’ll be able to.

“If it gets you to admit you think I’m hot, I just might,” Stede says with a wink, disappearing behind the curtain.

It takes everything in Ed not to follow him. Every last ounce of restraint not to cross that line he knows he won’t come back from.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

On the way back from Room People, Stede’s mind reels. He’d had so much fun teasing Ed—watching him squirm, flustered and pink-cheeked under all that brooding and black. There was something deeply satisfying about it, and more than that… it had felt good. Easy. Fun in a way he hasn’t had in a long time. Maybe ever.

But underneath the giddy thrill, there’s something else gnawing at him. A quiet, persistent voice reminding him not to trust a single word out of Ed’s mouth. He works for Vincent. That alone should be enough to make Stede steer clear. And yet—he keeps replaying the way Ed looked at him. The way he didn’t look away. The way he’d stopped breathing when Stede had kneeled in front of him…

He’s not sure what’s worse: how charming Ed is… or how much he wants him to be genuine.

“You okay?” Ed asks from beside him, and Stede realizes he’s been staring out the window, completely lost in thought—oblivious to the city passing by.

He turns, just slightly, and catches Ed’s eyes before glancing up at the rearview mirror. Low’s eyes meet his there, cold and unreadable, and the unease twists tighter in his stomach. He doesn’t trust that man. Not even a little.

He still remembers being sixteen, sneaking out to Lucius’s party after his father had forbidden him to go. Ned had caught him before he’d made it off the grounds, dragging him to Vincent’s office like a prize and throwing him through the door. Stede remembers the cruel smile curling on his lips as he stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching like it was a performance just for him while Vincent shouted for a full hour.

He definitely can’t let his guard down around Ned Low. Not now. Not ever.

“Just tired,” Stede says, letting out a sigh as he realizes how close they’re sitting.

Their thighs are touching and it sends Stede’s pulse racing. Ed’s hand is so close, he could reach his pinky out and link it with Ed’s.

He doesn’t say anything in reply at first—just watches Stede. And gods, does he watch him. It’s not judgmental or cold. It’s careful. Curious. Like he’s trying to read something buried beneath the surface.

Stede feels his cheeks grow warm under the weight of that gaze. No one’s ever looked at him like that before. Like they see more than just a Bonnet. Like they might actually want to see more.

There’s something in Ed’s eyes—something quiet and knowing—that makes Stede’s stomach twist in that lovely, traitorous way. Is it concern? Recognition? Like maybe Ed understands the kind of storm Stede is barely holding at bay?

He shakes the thought off. This man is a criminal—just like his father. He’s not a good guy. He doesn’t care.

But fuck, if Stede doesn’t want him anyway. Wants to be thrown down on a mattress, wants Ed’s cock shoved down his throat until he’s gagging on it, tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s so fucking hot, Stede can barely stand to be near him without losing his mind.

Ed’s still watching him, though. Watching in a way that feels too close, too aware. And then Stede catches Ned’s gaze in the rearview mirror—cold, calculating, and far too attentive before shifting back to the road.

Stede tears his eyes away and gives the faintest shake of his head, sharp and quick, just enough to be caught by Ed. Then a deliberate glance at the back of Low’s head, and back to Ed. A silent warning.

And Ed must understand, because he nods the tiniest bit and then shifts subtly, turning his gaze toward the window, edging just enough space between them that their arms and thighs no longer touch.

And it’s not lost on Stede just how much he misses that tiniest bit of intimacy as he spends the rest of the drive silently looking out the window, imagining all the ways he wants Ed to take him.

************

Ed’s POV:

Ed can tell something’s bothering Stede, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault somehow. He’s been quiet the entire ride back from their little shopping outing—the one where Stede had all but melted Ed’s brain into a puddle and made him feel like a moth flying straight into a flame.

And Ed can’t even ask what that was all about. Not after that very clear, very deliberate signal Stede gave him about their driver. He’d warned him without saying a word: Ned Low is not to be trusted.

Which… yeah. Ed already had a gut feeling about the guy. But now? He’s sure of it.

He glances at Stede, who’s staring out the window like he’s somewhere else entirely. And yeah, sure, Ed doesn’t know him. For all he knows, Stede’s just as much a part of this world as the rest of them. But he doesn’t think so.

He thinks of the photo he’d found on the boat—Stede in his graduation cap and gown, standing beside his mother, that sad, crooked smile barely hiding how lost he looked.

Ed wouldn’t be surprised at all if Stede hates his father. If he hates all of this. He can almost see it written on his face.

When they get back to the house, Ed is sorely tempted to pull Stede aside—find out what’s been eating at him, and fix it if it’s something Ed said or did. But they barely make it through the door before Vincent’s voice cuts through the air.

“Teach!” he calls from the office, leaning lazily against the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other. “A word?”

Ed hesitates. Looks at Stede, who gives him a faint smile before turning toward the stairs. There’s a sharp pang in Ed’s chest watching him go—something about the slump of his shoulders, the quiet way he moves. He hates not knowing what’s wrong. Hates even more the possibility that he’s the reason.

“Of course,” Ed says, heading toward the office.

Just before slipping inside, he turns back for one last glance, catching a flash of golden hair at the top of the first landing before Stede disappears up the second staircase. He exhales, then steps into the office and takes a seat across from Vincent, nerves creeping in as he tries to guess where this is going.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Vincent starts, folding his arms. “About Stede thinking you’re his bodyguard. Honestly? I think that’s a good idea.”

Ed blinks. “You do?”

“That boy needs a babysitter,” Vincent says, with a dismissive wave. “Someone to keep him in line.”

The word babysitter makes Ed wince. Stede’s not a child. He’s eighteen—young, sure, but not someone who needs a leash. Hell, Ed’s known him less than a day, and he already sees more spirit in him than most grown men twice his age.

“He’s whim-prone and soft-hearted,” Vincent continues, “and you… you’re quick on your feet. I think you could be just the right balance. Keep up with him. Keep him safe. While also encouraging him to toe the line.”

Ed bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something stupid. What Vincent really wants is someone to snuff out every flicker of color in that boy before he burns too bright.

Ed glances toward the doorway. He doesn’t know what this job is turning into anymore, but one thing’s becoming clearer with every minute: he can’t let that happen to Stede. He won't.

He nods once before answering. “Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t know how yet, but he’s going to get Stede out of this—if that’s what Stede wants. First, he needs to talk to him. Really talk.

“How do you feel about moving on property?” Vincent asks, casual as anything. “There’s a carriage house out back you can stay in. I’ll have surveillance installed—just a few cameras of the outside of the property, nothing invasive. That way you can keep an eye on things. Make sure Stede doesn’t leave this house without you.”

“Understood,” Ed replies, keeping his tone steady. “Yes, sir.”

He has no intention of using the carriage house to monitor Stede’s every move. He’ll use it to protect him—from Vincent, if necessary.

“Perfect,” Vincent says, a thin smirk tugging at his mouth. “Good man.” He reaches across the desk, and Ed forces himself to take his hand, gripping it just firmly enough to sell the act.

He hates him.

But if he wants to stay alive—if he wants to keep Stede alive—he has to play this game. At least for now.

“I’ll have the staff get the carriage house ready,” Vincent says, standing. “We’ll expect you and your things here tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” Ed replies, rising to his feet.

Not because he wants to be.

Because he has to be.

And even if he tries to push the thought down, the idea of getting to know Stede, too, sends a thrill of… something he’s not quite ready to name through him. All he knows is the way Stede had made him feel this afternoon, kneeling before him—looking at him like that—is definitely worth examining.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

“So, who’s the hunk with the long, dark hair moving into your carriage house?” Lucius asks, flopping dramatically onto Stede’s bed the day after his and Ed’s little Room People outing.

“Wait, what?” Stede says, springing up and rushing to the window, heart skipping.

Sure enough, there’s Ed down below, carrying a box of what looks like books from the trunk of a sleek, well-kept black Thunderbird. He looks good. Too good. And something twists in Stede’s stomach at the sight of him—until he remembers: he works for your father. Do not forget that.

“Oh, so you do know him,” Lucius says, grin audible. “Does someone have a crush on the new guy? Not that I blame you—he’s a total fox.”

“My father tasked him with getting me to marry that prince I told you about,” Stede mutters, still staring down at Ed. “But he lied and said he’s my bodyguard.”

“Didn’t you say Ricky was kind of a dud?” Lucius asks as Stede finally turns from the window.

“Yeah, total dud,” Stede says, returning to the bed and sitting at the edge. “But I’m thinking I might use him to make Ed jealous. Because I think Ed’s totally into me.”

“First name basis, are we?” Lucius teases, raising a brow. “And babe, obviously he’s into you. I mean—look at you. You’re a catch. Not my type, but if he doesn’t want you, he’s certifiably broken.”

Stede laughs at that. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’d do without Mary and Lucius. They’re the best friends he could’ve ever asked for.

“So you didn’t know he was moving in?” Lucius asks, laying down on the bed and propping himself up on his elbows. “Hopefully your dickhead father’s not making him keep tabs on you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Stede says with a shrug, glancing toward the window again.

Ed’s gone—must’ve gone inside. Stede suddenly really wants to know more. He wants to talk to him. Figure out why he’s moving in. Not that he thinks Ed would tell him the truth—he’s already lied once. Stede still doesn’t trust him one bit.

“Oh, you’re down bad,” Lucius says, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “Let’s go talk to him.”

And then he’s jumping off Stede’s bed. He’s already halfway out the door before Stede even registers what he said.

“Lucius, wait!” Stede calls, scrambling up after him.

The last thing he needs right now is Lucius cornering Ed. But he already knows—there’s no stopping him.

By the time they make it down the stairs and across the lawn to the carriage house, Ed’s stepping out the door, a bag of garbage in his hands. He freezes when he sees them, looking a little caught off guard.

“Hi there, babe,” Lucius says breezily, strutting right up to him like he owns the place. He stops so close that Ed instinctively backs up, bumping into the doorframe as he drops the bag of trash, eyes darting to Stede in a silent “please help me.”

“Lucius, give him a little space,” Stede says, shooting Ed an apologetic look. “You’re kind of freaking him out.”

“Well, good,” Lucius says, stepping even closer, practically nose-to-nose with Ed now. “Because if you’re here to hurt my friend, you’ll have me to deal with. And I’m very creative.”

“I’m just here to do my job,” Ed says, eyes flicking between Lucius and Stede like he’s looking for the nearest exit. He looks genuinely spooked, and Stede has to fight the laugh bubbling up in his throat.

There’s something undeniably funny about a hardened mob man looking ready to bolt from an eighteen-year-old in flared pants and platform boots. But he also can’t help feeling a little bad. Lucius’s glares could probably melt steel.

“Yeah?” Lucius replies, cocking his head. “And what job is that, exactly? Because we both know you’re full of shit about being here to ‘protect Stede.’” He throws up air quotes around the last two words, voice heavy with judgment. “So what’s your angle? Why are you really here?”

“I, uh… actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Ed says, now locking eyes with Stede. “But I’d rather… do that in private? Without your friend here glaring at me like he’s about to set me on fire?”

Stede arches a brow, intrigued—and maybe just a little smug that Ed wants one-on-one time. But one look at Lucius, arms crossed and scowl deepening, tells him this is about to be a battle.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Lucius says, narrowing his eyes. “Whatever you’ve got to say, you can say it in front of me.”

“Lucius, it’s fine,” Stede says quickly, but Lucius shoots him a look that says is it?

“I’ll fill you in later,” Stede adds, knowing exactly what it’ll take to placate him.

Lucius means it when he threatens anyone who might hurt Stede, but he’s also a shameless gossip who lives for drama. If Stede wants to keep him from going full guard dog, promising him all the juicy details later is his best bet.

“Fine,” Lucius says, though not without flair. He gives Ed one last look, dragging a finger across his neck in a slow, dramatic gesture. “Just know our friend Jim’s real handy with knives. Just putting that out there.”

Ed lifts his hands, eyebrows raised, an amused smile curling on his lips. “Message received. No funny business.”

With a final staredown, Lucius turns and heads back toward the house. Stede waits until he’s gone before looking back at Ed, folding his arms.

“Well?” he says, arching a brow. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“Not here,” Ed says, glancing toward the main house, his expression pinched with something like worry. “Can we walk? Somewhere… private?”

Stede eyes him, curiosity piqued. The concern looks real. Why would a man so devoted to his father care who overhears him? There's more to Ed than he's letting on—and Stede wants to know what.

“Follow me,” he says, turning on his heel and leading him away from the carriage house, and the mansion behind it.

He knows the perfect place. 

They walk in silence, the air between them thick with tension. Ed keeps glancing over, and each time he does, it sends a subtle thrill through Stede’s chest. But he doesn’t acknowledge it. He keeps his expression carefully neutral, choosing to appear aloof.

As much as he’s drawn to Ed—and gods, is he drawn to him—Stede knows getting involved would be reckless. Dangerous, even. If Ed really is loyal to Vincent Bonnet, then he’s a threat, no matter how warm his eyes or how flustered he’d looked in that dressing room. And the worst part? Stede knows just how easily he could get attached.

There’s something about Ed—something magnetic and impossible to ignore—that stirs things in Stede he didn’t even know were lying dormant.

By the time they reach the little outbuilding tucked into the trees, the sun is low, golden light filtering through the branches and glinting off the pond beside it. The structure is small—stone-walled, with a single, old window—but it had been Stede’s sanctuary as a child.

He and Mary and Lucius had transformed it over the years, sneaking in furniture, pillows, books, anything they could pilfer from the main house to make it cozy. A quiet place for stories and secrets. For dreaming of lives far from the one he was born into.

Stede unlocks the heavy lock with a key he pulls from the flower pot beneath the window. He pockets the key, deciding it’s best not to return it to that spot, now that Ed knows where it is. He still doesn’t trust him. 

Inside, the space feels like stepping into a forgotten fairytale lounge, curated by someone with a romantic eye for the past. Against the far wall sits a three-seater, yellow Danish banana sofa—velvety and curved like a smile—that had once belonged to his maternal grandmother. Vincent had called it hideous and tried to throw it out, but Stede, Mary, and Lucius had rescued it under cover of night. In Stede’s little hideaway, it feels right at home—especially covered in plush decorative pillows Stede had collected over the years.

Flanking the sofa are two mismatched side tables—one a delicate Queen Anne with cabriole legs, the other an Art Deco piece with a mirrored top and scalloped edges. A Tiffany lamp, its glass shade blooming with golden lilies, rests on the taller table, casting dappled light across the room when lit. On the other table sits a small, carved wooden music box from the 1910s, chipped but still functional, playing a scratchy, haunting waltz when opened. A green upholstered fanback chair sits perpendicular to the couch.

The rug beneath it all is Persian, frayed at the edges, but intricately woven with deep reds and teals—another castoff from the main house that Vincent had declared “too busy.” Stede had thought it looked like a secret garden underfoot.

A fireplace, long disused but not forgotten, is filled now with neatly stacked books and fairy lights twined between them. Over the mantle hangs a faded oil portrait of a stern-looking woman (a distant relative, no one’s quite sure who), wearing an elaborate hat and a distant expression. Lucius had added a pink feather boa to the frame, which no one ever bothered to remove. Beside it, one of Stede’s guitars sits on a stand, and his fingers itch to pick it up.

There’s a writing desk tucked beneath the window, its roll-top open to reveal a collection of fountain pens, half-used journals, and a stack of postcards never sent. Above it, an old French school map of the world hangs, seas faded and edges curling, with tiny pins dotting all the places Stede wants to go.

The whole room smells faintly of lavender, old paper, and a hint of Mary’s clove cigarettes from afternoons spent lounging and telling fortunes with playing cards. It’s a strange little room—elegant, cluttered, lived-in—and somehow, every mismatched element fits together. Just like Stede.

“Wow,” Ed says, glancing around as he takes it all in. “What is this place?”

Stede flips on the light switch before taking his shoes off, setting them by the door. The rug may be old and tattered, but he takes pride in it. Ed follows suit with his own shoes as Stede crosses the room and settles onto the banana sofa, gesturing for Ed to join him. Ed lowers himself into the green armchair beside it, turning it slightly to face him, and Stede can’t help but admire how effortlessly beautiful he is—brown eyes warm and sparkling, like he’s on the edge of saying something that’ll change your life, but keeping it just out of reach. Stede’s fingers itch with the desire to reach out and thread through that beautiful, jet-black hair. It looks so impossibly soft…

“Lucius, our other friend Mary, and I have put it together over the years,” Stede says. “It’s my little secret hideaway. Where I come when I… need to think.”

He hesitates, eyes flicking toward the window before landing back on Ed. He isn’t entirely sure he should’ve brought him here. His father doesn’t know this place exists—Stede’s managed to keep it that way for years—and bringing one of Vincent’s employees here, no matter how tempting he is, feels reckless. But Stede wants out. Soon. And if he’s leaving this whole gilded nightmare behind, maybe it doesn’t matter if Ed knows.

“Do you play?” Ed asks, nodding toward the guitar propped up beside the fireplace.

“Yes,” Stede says, a smile pulling at his lips. “My favorite pastime. Father hates it. Which is probably why I love it so much,” he adds with a quiet laugh.

Ed smiles back, and something about the way his eyes crinkle makes Stede’s chest tighten.

“I write music,” Ed says. “It’s my dream, actually. To write music for a living.”

That catches Stede off guard—in the best way. He never would’ve guessed Ed was the creative type. It makes him even more curious. What had pushed him into a life working for Vincent Bonnet, of all people?

“Yeah?” Stede leans forward, eyes lighting with interest. “Maybe you’d let me play one of your songs sometime? I… sing, too.”

He hesitates at the last part, unsure why saying it makes him feel so exposed. Maybe because it matters. Maybe because if Ed really is a songwriter—someone with real talent—Stede doesn’t want to come off as some spoiled hobbyist. What if he thinks Stede’s voice is shit?

“Yeah, maybe,” Ed says, his eyes flicking toward the window.

He goes quiet, and Stede watches him, wondering what’s swirling behind that unreadable expression. Then Ed turns back, voice lowered.

“Is it safe to talk here?” he asks in a whisper.

Stede blinks, thrown by the question. What does Ed want to say that needs privacy? Can he trust that whatever it is isn’t part of some trap?

“Vincent doesn’t know about this place,” Stede replies. “If that’s what you’re asking. Though I suspect he will, now that I’ve shown it to you.”

Ed’s brow knits, his gaze sharp and searching. “What makes you think I’d tell him?”

“Well,” Stede says, lifting a brow, “you work for my father. And you lied about what he asked you to do.”

“So you did overhear us,” Ed says, a slow smirk curling across his lips. “Figured.”

Stede finds himself smiling back despite everything, eyes locked with Ed. He’s smart. Another reason for Stede to like him. Unfortunately, that’s just another problem to add to the pile. He’s getting pulled in—too fast, too deep—and it’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. Because fuck, he really likes this man.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Ed mutters, dragging his hands down his face. “I never planned on working for your father. I got roped in—cornered. It was either take the job or disappear. Simple as that.”

Stede’s breath catches. That explains a lot. The tension in Ed’s jaw, the unease in his eyes. If he’s telling the truth, he’s just as trapped as Stede is. And maybe that’s why Stede can’t stop thinking about him. But he has to remember, this is all if he’s telling the truth.

“And look,” Ed says, his voice a little softer now, “I get that you’ve got no reason to trust me. But I’ve been watching, and… you don’t seem happy here. I want to help. I don’t know how yet, but I hate the idea of you being forced into something you don’t want. Especially with some dickhead you clearly aren’t interested in.”

“You do realize you were hired to make sure I marry that dickhead,” Stede replies flatly. “Going against my father isn’t some minor act of rebellion. It’s suicide.”

Ed laughs, hollow and sharp, eyes dropping to the worn rug. “Yeah. Trust me. I know.”

Stede studies him—his slouched shoulders, the furrow in his brow. For all his black, tattoos, and swagger, there’s something raw underneath. Vulnerable. Real. It only complicates things further.

“I wasn’t supposed to care,” Ed says finally. “I was just gonna keep my head down, send money home, survive. But then I met you.” He lets out a shaky breath. “And suddenly, the job doesn’t seem so simple anymore.”

Something flutters low in Stede’s stomach—dangerous, foolish hope.

“So what are you saying?” he asks carefully. “You’re on my side now?”

Ed lifts his gaze. “If you want out—I’ll help you.” He hesitates, then adds quietly, “I can’t stand the thought of seeing you broken down by this place. You’ve got something most people don’t. You’re… bright. And I don’t want to be the one who helps snuff that out.”

Stede considers his words. He can’t ask Ed to risk his life for him. That’s not fair. This whole mess—his father, the arranged marriage, the suffocating expectations—it’s his problem. He’s not about to drag Ed deeper into it.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Stede says quietly. “And besides… I’m not exactly sure I can trust you. You haven’t really given me a reason to.”

Ed lets out a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to convince him. Just leaves the words hanging: if you change your mind…

And maybe that’s what does it.

Something shifts in Stede—impulse crackling through his body like a live wire. Before he can stop himself, he’s standing, then straddling Ed’s lap, one knee on either side of his thighs, hands sliding into his hair. It’s so fucking soft. Just like he imagined.

Ed’s eyes go wide, hands gripping the arms of the chair like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded. Stede smiles, close enough to feel his breath. He knows Ed wants to touch him. He can see it in the way his fingers twitch, in the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast.

He doesn’t care whether Ed’s trustworthy. Not right now. He just wants him—and he knows Ed wants him, too. The question is, will he let himself have what he wants?

“Stede,” Ed breathes, his voice ragged, hands moving to the small of Stede’s back, fingers fisting in his jacket. “You’re playing with fire. Tempting fate.”

“My father made it very clear,” Stede murmurs, rolling his hips down into Ed’s lap and feeling the unmistakable press of him beneath him—so responsive, so easily undone. It sends a surge of heat straight through him. “That I can get my fun where I want it. And I happen to want you. I’m yours… if you want me.”

He’s never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his life. But he waits. Leaves it hanging in the space between them. Let him be the one to make the choice.

Then Ed is moving—shifting beneath him and rising in one fluid motion, Stede’s legs locking instinctively around his waist. His arms wrap around Ed’s shoulders, holding on tight as Ed carries him to the couch and lowers him onto the velvet cushions. He looms above him, gaze burning, intense enough to sear.

“Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?” Ed says, voice low and hoarse. “That outfit yesterday… Fucking hell, you looked hot.”

Stede’s grin turns wicked. That heat he’d felt earlier? It’s full-on wildfire now. And when Ed presses down into him, kissing him like he’s starved for it, Stede’s whole world tilts. He gasps against Ed’s mouth, fingers threading through his hair, clutching him close, pulling him closer.

He’s never been kissed like this. And gods, he never wants it to stop.

Ed licks into his mouth, tasting of coffee and smoke, and Stede’s stomach flutters—his cock thickening with each press of Ed’s body, with the heat coiling low and tight inside him. Ed smells so fucking good, and Stede’s hands fumble at his coat, desperate to get it off.

Ed breaks the kiss and sits back, and Stede immediately mourns the loss of him. But then Ed shrugs off his coat, tossing it into the green chair before gripping Stede by the lapels and dragging him up, claiming his mouth in another searing kiss. His fingers work swiftly, tugging Stede’s coat from his shoulders and letting it fall, then moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, lips never straying far.

Stede moans into the kiss as Ed strips the shirt off with practiced ease.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Ed breathes, pulling back just far enough to take him in. “This freckled skin…”

His hands glide up Stede’s chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples before pinching, coaxing a gasp from Stede’s lips.

“And this hair—fuck, Stede,” he adds, voice rough as one hand slips behind Stede’s neck and into his waves, pulling him into another desperate kiss.

Ed’s lips drag along Stede’s jawline, then lower to his neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. Stede gasps, fingers fumbling blindly between them, searching for Ed’s buttons with trembling urgency. He finds them, works them open, his need sparking like fire in his veins.

“You smell so good,” Ed groans, nose pressed to the hollow of Stede’s throat as he breathes him in, deep and hungry.

The thought of Ed sniffing him sends a jolt straight to Stede’s cock—it twitches in his trousers, aching. He needs Ed’s hands. Everywhere.

“Fuck, please,” he gasps, voice already rough around the edges. “Need more.”

And then Ed is pushing him back, pulling his shirt down off his shoulders and letting it fall. Stede’s eyes devour him—his tattoos, the dark hair dusting his chest, the soft curve of a belly he wants to press his lips—and teeth—to, the tempting trail that disappears below his waistband.

His mouth waters.

He reaches out, running his hands over Ed’s warm skin, tracing his sides, his ribs. Ed leans in again, mouth crashing to his, teeth catching his bottom lip in a bite that draws a breathless moan from deep in Stede’s throat.

Ed’s hand snakes around the back of Stede’s neck, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls him up off the couch. The force of it—the possessiveness—sends a jolt down Stede’s spine, sharp and electric. His breath catches, and he sways into Ed’s grip, lips parted in a gasp.

He wants to be wanted like this. Claimed.

Ed kisses him hard—hungry, almost furious with want—before pulling back and reaching down to undo his own trousers. Stede can’t look away, watching, breath held, as Ed works the buttons open and shoves the fabric down his hips. When his cock is finally free, thick and heavy, flushed with arousal, Stede’s stomach flips violently with need. Gods, he wants that in his mouth. He aches for it.

Without a word, he fumbles for his own waistband, unfastening and pushing his trousers down, his own cock hard and leaking by the time they pool at his ankles. He kicks them off, completely exposed, but there’s no room for shame. Not with the way Ed’s looking at him now. Like he’s already his.

“Fuck, Stede,” Ed breathes, eyes raking over him—pausing, lingering, devouring—and Stede feels a thrill of pride surge through him at the unfiltered hunger in Ed’s gaze.

He’s never felt so wanted.

Ed grabs him by the waist and pulls him down, and Stede goes willingly, sinking to his knees with ease, eyes locked on Ed’s the whole way. Ed shifts, spreading his legs so Stede is kneeling between them, and Stede’s hands slide instinctively to his thighs—just like they had the day before in the dressing room. His pulse pounds in his ears.

He wants it. So badly. But he waits.

He needs Ed to say it.

“You were so eager to kneel for me yesterday,” Ed murmurs, voice thick and low, fingers brushing along Stede’s cheek. “And fuck, you look so good down there. I want to see what that pretty, little mouth of yours can do.”

Stede’s sucked dick before—many times, in fact. It’s one of his favorite things, the act itself deeply intimate and satisfying. But with Ed? It feels entirely different. He’s older. More experienced. There’s a gravity to him, a weight Stede can’t quite measure, and it twists in his chest like nerves and excitement tangled up together.

What if he’s not good enough? What if the others Ed’s been with were more skilled, more confident?

But even through the nerves, the need burns hotter. He wants this. Wants to show Ed what he can do. Wants to earn that look in his eyes—the one that says Stede is wanted, deeply, hungrily. He wants to prove he can satisfy him, and satisfy him well.

He leans in slowly, nuzzling against Ed’s thigh as his hand comes up to wrap gently around the base of Ed’s cock. He licks his lips, eyes flicking up to meet Ed’s—checking, confirming, asking.

“Go on,” Ed says, voice rough, breath catching just slightly. “Show me.”

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

Stede presses a kiss to the tip first, reverent and teasing, Ed’s breath hitching at the gesture, and then he slowly licks a stripe up the length, savoring the weight of it in his hand, the scent of Ed’s skin, the low, rumbling curse that spills from Ed’s mouth. He swirls his tongue around the head, tasting salt and bitter and something that is uniquely Ed—then sinks down slowly, letting Ed slide into his mouth, inch by inch.

Ed’s hand finds his hair, threading through it but not forcing—just there, grounding him. And when Stede glances up again, Ed is watching him with awe and want so thick it nearly steals his breath.

“Jesus, Stede,” he mutters, hips twitching. “You’re… fuck, you’re stunning like this.”

That praise makes Stede hum around him, and Ed’s whole body jolts. That thrill of validation, of being wanted and praised and trusted like this, drives Stede on. He finds a rhythm—slow, steady, worshipful—determined to make Ed lose whatever control he’s holding onto.

Because Stede might not trust him yet… but in this moment, with Ed falling apart under his touch, he feels powerful.

Stede adjusts his grip, one hand firm at the base of Ed’s cock, the other braced against his thigh. He breathes in deep through his nose, then lowers his head again, lips stretching wide around him as he sinks down. He takes his time, inch by inch, letting his tongue glide along the underside, smoothing over the thick vein running beneath.

Ed lets out a low, guttural moan, hand tightening just slightly in Stede’s hair. Not pulling. Just holding. His thighs tense beneath Stede’s palm, and Stede feels the way his legs shift—like he’s fighting to stay still.

Stede pulls back slowly, tongue tracing a slick path to the tip, and gives a few shallow bobs—testing, teasing—then goes deeper this time, the head hitting the back of his throat. His eyes flutter shut as he pushes past the reflex, taking Ed in all the way until his nose brushes the soft curls at the base, and the scent of Ed’s musk is borderline intoxicating.

“Fuck, baby,” Ed groans, voice ragged. “Just like that…”

The nickname, and the praise make Stede’s chest bloom with heat. He pulls off with a wet gasp, then licks a slow circle around the tip, his hand stroking in tandem. Precise. Confident. He lets his eyes lift, locking with Ed’s again.

“Good?” he asks, lips glossy with spit, voice breathless but steady.

Ed’s jaw is slack, brow furrowed like he’s in pain from how good it feels. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me,” he mutters, reaching out to cup Stede’s cheek with a gentleness that floors him. “You look so pretty like this.”

Stede smiles—just a little. Then he’s back on him, more eager now, working his mouth and hand in tandem, building a rhythm that has Ed panting, hips rocking forward, barely restrained. Stede moans around him, the vibrations pulling another curse from Ed’s throat.

“Shit, I’m close,” Ed warns, fingers tightening in Stede’s hair now. “Tell me what you want, Stede—fuck—tell me where.”

Stede doesn’t even hesitate. He pulls back just far enough to answer, voice low and wrecked.

“In my mouth,” he breathes. “Want to taste you. Please.”

Ed breaks with a strangled sound as Stede goes down on him once more. He thrusts once—twice—then comes with a gasp, cock pulsing against Stede’s tongue as he swallows around him, taking every drop, letting the heat of it spread through him like victory. He tastes exquisite, and Stede swallows, desperate for all of it.

When it’s over, Ed slumps back against the couch, chest heaving, eyes still locked on Stede like he’s seen something holy. And Stede, lips swollen, breath coming fast, feels the weight of that look settle deep in his gut.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then crawls up slowly into Ed’s lap again, letting his arms loop loosely around his neck.

“You gonna let me return the favor?” Ed asks, voice breathless, hand trailing down Stede’s spine.

Stede’s cock is already aching, and he can only nod, pupils blown wide. “God, yes. Please.”

And then Ed is kissing him, deep, tongue pressing firmly against Stede’s, and he’s sure he can taste the remnants of himself. Stede finds this desperately sexy, cock twitching against Ed’s stomach as he kisses him back. Ed pushes him down, lowering him back onto the couch, and Stede goes willingly, their mouths still joined together, heart racing, and cock so desperately hard, he knows he won’t last long the moment Ed’s mouth is on him. 

Ed moans into the kiss as he sinks down with Stede, one hand braced behind his head, the other trailing down his chest, fingers skimming over sweat-damp skin and soft, golden hair. Stede arches into the touch, gasping into Ed’s mouth as calloused fingertips trace a line down his sternum, over his stomach, and lower still.

Ed breaks the kiss just enough to breathe, their lips brushing as he murmurs, “Gonna take care of you now, darling.”

The use of another pet name makes Stede shiver, cock twitching again, straining against nothing but air and aching need. He nods, wordless, his head pressing back into the seat of the couch as Ed shifts lower, kissing down his neck, across his chest, biting lightly at a nipple and groaning when Stede bucks in response.

Ed’s hand wraps around him at last, and Stede cries out, hips jerking. He’s so hard, so ready, he feels like he could fall apart from the first stroke alone. But Ed doesn’t rush. He kisses a trail down Stede’s belly, tongue flicking along the crease of his hip, fingers working him in slow, steady pumps that leave Stede gasping for air.

And then Ed’s mouth is there—hot, wet, perfect—taking him in with a confidence that knocks the breath from Stede’s lungs. His hands fly to Ed’s hair, fingers threading through the dark waves, gripping tight as Ed sets a rhythm that has him teetering right on the edge.

“F-fuck, Ed—please—” he whimpers, not even sure what he’s begging for. To slow down, to keep going, to never stop.

Ed hums around him, and that’s it.

Stede comes with a cry, thighs trembling, spine arching off the couch as white heat floods him. Ed swallows him down, working him through it, hand stroking his stomach gently as Stede’s entire body shudders beneath him.

By the time Stede is right on the cusp of overstimulation, body trembling, every inch of his skin alive with sensation, Ed seems to sense it, the shudder running through him, and slows his movements, pulling off with a gentleness that borders on reverent. He presses a kiss just above Stede’s hip before moving up, crawling over him with a care that doesn’t match the raw hunger of moments before. But Stede likes this side of him, too.

His mouth is slick, his expression unreadable—soft, yes, but distant in some small, subtle way. Like he’s slipping somewhere deeper inside himself, suddenly aware of the world crashing back in.

Stede reaches up, cupping his face with trembling fingers, pulling him in for a kiss, desperate for closeness. He doesn’t taste anything but Ed. Doesn’t feel anything but him.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes against Ed’s lips. “You’re incredible.”

Ed lets out a low hum, almost a smile, but something in his eyes flickers—brief, like a shadow passing overhead. He presses his forehead to Stede’s, grounding them in the moment even as part of him looks like it's unraveling.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rougher than before, his fingers brushing a stray curl from Stede’s forehead. “You okay?”

Stede nods, eyes fluttering closed as he exhales a shaky breath, slightly worried about the shift in Ed’s tone, but unwilling to let it ruin the moment. All he focuses on is the warmth, contentment, and the solid weight of Ed above him.

Ed sits up, pulling Stede gently with him, then grabs the blanket draped over the back of the couch and wraps it around them both. Only then does Stede realize how cold the room has gotten. The gesture is unexpectedly tender, and he curls into it, pressing into Ed’s side, letting himself feel held—for a moment.

“I don’t think we should do that again,” Ed says, quietly.

Stede goes still.

He doesn’t look up. Can’t. The weight of those words presses down on him like stone. His heart races, throat tightening with dread. He doesn’t understand—what they just shared, the way it had felt so raw and electric and real, surely Ed had felt it too?

“Your father wants you to marry someone with something to offer him,” Ed continues. “That’s not me, kid. This was fun… fuck, it was incredible, but—”

That word snaps something inside Stede. Kid.

He sits up fast, spine rigid, anger flaring. “So what? You think I’m just some prize to be handed off to the highest bidder? Some conquest to help solidify a fucking alliance?”

“No, Stede, that’s—” Ed begins, but Stede cuts him off with a sharp glare.

“Sure as hell sounded like it,” he snaps, arms crossing over his bare chest. He knows he looks petulant, like a brat throwing a fit, but he doesn’t care. That single word—kid—is still echoing in his skull, and it burns.

Ed runs a hand through his hair, face tense. “I just mean… your father would never allow this. Us. I think he’d kill one or both of us before letting it happen. And I can’t take that risk. I’ve got people back home in Aotearoa. My family. They need me. They depend on me.”

Stede stills, blinking. That hadn’t been what he expected.

But then something else hits him—hard. He rises from the couch like he’s been slapped, grabbing his underwear and trousers with shaking hands.

“Oh my god,” he says, voice rising as he pulls his underwear on. “You just had sex with me while you’ve got a family back home? What the fuck, Ed? A husband? Wife? Kids? Are you fucking serious?”

He pulls his trousers on next, the fabric catching on his underwear as his fingers tremble, yanking them up before fumbling with the buttons, his vision blurred with hot, angry tears.

How could he have been so stupid?

How could he have fallen for someone so fast, only to feel this hollowed-out?

What the fuck was he thinking?

“Stede, no,” Ed says, quickly pulling on his trousers, then crossing the space to steady him with both hands on his biceps. His grip is firm, grounding.

“My mother, my aunt, and my three little cousins are back home in Aotearoa,” he says, meeting Stede’s eyes. “I’m not married. Never have been.”

Relief washes through Stede—an ache letting go in his chest he hadn’t realized he was holding. At least Ed hadn’t kept that from him. At least he’s not just some secret. And then it his Stede: what Ed has been doing—sending money back, carrying his family’s weight—is something Stede can’t even imagine. It’s noble, really. Selfless.

But it doesn’t make this easier.

The warmth of what just happened still lingers on his skin. The memory of Ed’s mouth, Ed’s hands—how is he supposed to let that go now?

He sighs and leans forward, pressing his forehead to Ed’s chest. Without hesitation, Ed’s arms wrap around him, pulling him in close.

“I’m sorry,” Ed says softly. “What just happened between us was… fuck, it was amazing. I don’t want to give it up either. But your father’s a dangerous man. And I can’t let myself get killed.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Stede says, his voice muffled against Ed’s chest. “I made assumptions. I lashed out. And I get it, I do. You have people counting on you. You’re just trying to survive.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I just…” Stede swallows hard. “I don’t want this to be the end. Can’t we keep it quiet?”

“Stede—”

“No, really,” Stede says. “We have this place,” he adds, gesturing around him. “We could make it work. It could be ours. Vincent would never have to know.”

“Stede…” 

“Ed, please?” Stede asks—practically begs. 

Ed sighs, long and slow, and bends to pick up the blanket, wrapping it gently around Stede’s shoulders. Only then does Stede notice how badly he’s shivering.

Ed cups his cheeks, his hands warm and rough. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of Stede’s nose.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice low. “I never should’ve let it get this far. But you—you’re extraordinary. I just met you, and already I see how incredible you are. You’ve got this spark. You’re the most alive person I’ve ever met.”

Stede’s heart clenches.

“And if I had the choice…”

“You do have the choice,” Stede says, eyes dropping to the floor. His voice is quiet, almost ashamed. How is he supposed to expect Ed to choose him over his family? Over his own life? He’s so selfish…

Ed doesn’t answer—just pulls him close again, arms tight around him like he wants to shield him from the world.

“This isn’t about whether I want you,” Ed murmurs into his hair. “I do. So fucking much. But this world? It doesn’t leave space for people like us.”

Stede bites his lip, blinking hard.

“Maybe in another life,” Ed adds.

Stede’s voice cracks as he answers, “We only have this one.”

And Ed holds him tighter, like maybe he’s trying to make it enough.

“I’m so sorry, Stede,” Ed says, pulling back but still holding onto his arms. His eyes search Stede’s face, and Stede can see it—this hurts him, too.

“Guess I’m gonna have to marry the pompous prince after all,” Stede says with a hollow laugh.

Ed’s eyes squeeze shut. His grip tightens.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says, but even as he says it, Stede hears the hesitation in his voice.

“I think you know as well as I do that’s not true,” Stede replies quietly.

They stand there, neither sure how to move forward. Then Ed steps away, retrieving their shirts and handing Stede his. Stede takes it with a sigh, slipping it on as Ed does the same. The silence between them now feels heavier than it did before.

“I should get back before someone notices I’m gone,” Ed says, heading for the door.

“Right,” Stede says, not looking at him, turning instead to the blanket on the floor. He busies himself with folding it, keeping his eyes down, unwilling to let Ed see the flicker of pain still behind them.

The door opens, then clicks shut.

He waits a beat before dropping onto the couch, hugging the blanket close. The ache in his chest is real, and relentless. He closes his eyes, letting flashes of what they’d just done flicker behind his eyelids, over and over again. This room will never be the same.

But as he lies there, curled up in silence, an idea begins to form. Reckless, maybe. But he’s never wanted anything—or anyone—like this. And he’s pretty sure Ed feels it too, no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

And if getting what he wants means using Ricky Banes to make Ed jealous?

So be it.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

When Ed gets back to the carriage house, he shuts the door behind him with a solid thud, leaning against it as he exhales a long, unsteady breath.

What the fuck has he done?

He drags a hand down his face, scrubbing at his jaw. He never should’ve let himself get swept up in it—not with Stede. The kid is so young, so bright-eyed, and Ed feels like a goddamn wolf going for the lamb. The guilt hits hard, coiled tight with something sharper underneath.

Because he wanted it. Every second of it.

The way Stede had looked at him—like Ed was something more than some mob boss’s employee. The way he’d touched him, trusted him, offered himself without hesitation. Fuck, Ed had felt alive for the first time in months. Maybe longer. And now?

Now, he’s completely and utterly fucked.

He turns from the door, pacing. His boots echo too loudly in the quiet space. Stede doesn’t want to marry that royal wanker. He’s said as much, clear as day. But Vincent doesn’t give a shit what his son wants. If Ed doesn’t keep pushing the narrative, doesn’t keep Stede on track for that strategic union...

Ed knows exactly what happens to people who stop being useful to Vincent Bonnet.

He slams his fist into the wall beside the door, the sharp jolt of pain doing nothing to calm him down.

“Fuck!”

He storms into the kitchen, wrenching open cabinet doors until he finds a glass, slamming it onto the counter hard enough it nearly shatters. He grabs the half-full bottle of whiskey from his duffel, unscrews the cap with trembling fingers, and pours too much. Doesn’t matter. He throws it back in one burning swallow.

His pulse is a hammer in his ears.

He wants Stede. God, he wants him. But that want could get them both killed.

And that’s the problem—he’s already in too deep.

************

A couple of weeks pass. Vincent sends Ed off on a handful of side jobs, claiming his son is in one of his “moods” and keeping to himself for the time being. Ed doesn’t ask questions—just nods and does what he’s told. But the guilt follows him everywhere, heavy and clinging. Every time he catches a glimpse of Stede, head down, lips pressed in a tight line, avoiding Ed like the plague, it sinks deeper into his gut.

He fucked up. Hurt him. And he hates himself for it.

So when there’s a knock at the carriage house one Friday afternoon, Ed isn’t expecting much—until he opens the door and nearly forgets how to breathe.

Stede stands there with a smirk, looking unfairly gorgeous in a button-down left open just enough to wreck Ed’s composure. It’s tucked into a pair of sinfully tight boot-cut jeans, cinched with a brown leather belt. Cowboy boots, of all fucking things. A delicate gold chain glints at his throat, and Ed has the sudden, unholy urge to lean in and lick just beneath it.

He physically has to brace his hand against the doorframe to stop himself.

“I’ve got a date tonight,” Stede says casually, the smirk never wavering. “With the prince. Vincent wants you to come along.”

Ed swallows hard. “Yeah?” His voice comes out hoarse, unsteady. He clears his throat. “You’re looking… awfully chipper about that. Change of heart?”

He already hates himself for saying it—for how bitter and possessive it sounds. He has no right. No claim. But watching Stede stand there like a goddamn vision, dressed to kill for someone else? It tears him apart in a way he doesn’t know how to hide.

He’s still staring at that gold chain when he realizes Stede hasn’t answered yet. He looks up to meet his eyes, and the smirk has only grown. 

“There you are,” he says, eyes alight with mischief. “And here I thought you were going to continue having a conversation with my tits.”

Ed can see exactly what he’s doing. He’s trying to make him jealous. Or maybe that’s just Ed being self-involved, projecting his own desperate wanting onto someone who’s moved on. But if that were really the case—if Stede didn’t care anymore—would he be standing here at Ed’s door, dressed like sin and smirking like the devil?

“I figure there’s no sense in pining for someone who doesn’t want me,” Stede says, resting a hand on his hip. “Might as well go after the one who does.”

The words hit like a slap. Ed flinches before he can help it.

“Stede, that’s not…” he starts, but trails off, exhaling hard as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Get a grip. He’s not going to let this turn into something ugly. He can’t afford to. Not when the stakes are so high. Not when Stede’s safety—and his own family—hang in the balance.

“Not what?” Stede asks, tilting his head, all mock innocence.

But Ed sees it in his eyes—the glint of challenge, the pain beneath the bravado. Stede knows exactly what Ed was going to say. He’s baiting him. And Ed is so close to biting.

This young man is going to be the death of him. Probably literally. And fucking hell, he’s not sure he even wants to stop it.

“What time are we meant to leave?” Ed asks, trying to pivot—trying to defuse the tension before it pulls them both under.

“Six o’clock,” Stede says, his demeanor shifting in an instant. The teasing spark drains from his eyes, replaced by something cooler, more distant. “I talked Vincent into letting Buttons take us instead of fucking Low. Buttons is weird, but at least he doesn’t have it out for me.”

Buttons. Odd name for a driver. Then again, Ed’s last name is Teach, so who is he to judge?

Stede turns on his heel, striding off with a clipped edge to his movements. The swagger from earlier is gone. He hadn’t gotten what he came for—that much is clear. And Ed watches him go, a sour taste in his mouth.

Neither did I, Stede, he thinks. Neither did I.

************

Ed makes sure he’s out front by 5:55, pacing just outside the door until the clock ticks over. No way in hell he’s letting them leave without him. He hasn’t met Prince Ricky yet, but he wants to. Needs to. Wants to size him up, make sure he doesn’t try anything slick—or stupid—with Stede. It’s hypocritical as fuck, considering what Ed let happen after barely twenty-four hours of knowing the guy, but he doesn’t care. He’s grown… protective. Maybe irrationally so.

And then Stede steps out the front door.

Same outfit from earlier. Of course. Ed bites back a groan, jaw tight. He knew the jeans were tight, but now he’s wondering if Stede has any idea what he’s doing—or if it’s worse, and he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having.

Then Ed sees the hat.

Cowboy. A damn hat. Tipped low, soft blond curls peeking out beneath the brim. It should be illegal to look that good while trying to wreck someone’s entire mental state. Ed swallows hard. Yeah, he always did have a thing for the cowboy aesthetic. But this? This is sabotage.

Stede leans against the stone wall of the house like he’s posing for a photo, one boot crossed over the other, smirk tugging at his lips. Ed swears he can hear his own heartbeat echoing off the damn driveway. He wants to ask what kind of date this even is that calls for this getup—but he knows the answer. Stede dressed like this for him. And the knowledge makes Ed feel completely, stupidly undone.

He glances down at himself—dark brown slacks, black sweater, brown coat. All wrong. Too plain. Not enough edge. He should’ve worn some of his leather. Maybe then he’d have stood a chance of Stede looking at him the way Ed’s looking at Stede.

“So where are we going?” Ed asks, breaking the silence as they wait by the front steps.

“There’s a late fall harvest festival just outside the city,” Stede replies, eyes still shining with mischief. “Thought it’d be fun to take in the carnival. Maybe do some line dancing.”

Ed arches a brow. “D’you think I’ve got time to change? Feel like I’m dressed for a funeral, not a festival.”

Perfect excuse. Not just to look the part—but to put something on that might drag Stede’s eyes back to him and away from this so-called prince.

Playing with fire, Teach, he thinks, already turning it over in his mind. This is a terrible idea. Getting closer is the last thing he should be doing. But hell if he’s going to watch Stede line dance in cowboy boots while he stands there in a fucking librarian sweater.

“Buttons isn’t here yet,” Stede says with a shrug, looking away nonchalantly. “So, yeah. I guess that means you’ve got time.”

That’s all Ed needs. He turns on his heel and heads for the carriage house like a man on a mission. His closet isn’t exactly brimming with options, but he knows exactly what he’s looking for. It’s been a while since he’s had reason to wear the leather, but if tonight’s about sending messages—well. He can be loud and clear.

You’re not supposed to be sending this message, Edward.

He peels off the sweater, grabs the low-cut black shirt that shows off the hawk ink curling across his chest, and slips into the leather pants that have always made his ass look good. Jacket follows. The whole ensemble clings to him just right, sharp where he wants it, soft where it matters.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, repeats in his head, like a warning bell. But when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, he smirks.

If he’s going to be a complete idiot tonight, he might as well look good doing it.

When Ed steps back outside, the car’s already waiting at the curb. Beside it stands a strange, older man with long, scraggly hair—bald on top—with a far-off look in his eye and an air of mysticism that’s almost unnerving. He holds the door open patiently, not saying a word.

But Ed’s attention isn’t on him. It’s on Stede—who’s staring straight at him.

And not subtly.

Stede’s gaze drags down Ed’s frame, eyes wide and hungry, mouth slightly parted like he’s forgotten how to breathe. It’s the exact kind of look that had undone Ed the last time, when Stede had crawled into his lap back in Stede’s hideaway. And for a second, Ed feels it again—that magnetic pull between them, the spark that hasn’t dulled even a little.

Then he remembers: he was the one who cut the cord. The one who said it couldn’t happen again. And now here he is, dressed like sin and basking in Stede’s attention. He feels like a complete asshole.

“We best be on our way,” Buttons says in a Scottish brogue, voice distant and dreamy, breaking the spell.

Stede clears his throat, blinking as he tears his gaze away. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Buttons.”

They slide into the back seat, and just like that, the mood shifts. Stede angles himself toward the window, silent. Distant.

And Ed? He sinks into his seat, leather creaking softly beneath him, and immediately regrets everything. The outfit. The smirk. The attempt to reclaim something he told himself he’d let go of.

He glances at Stede, his profile lit faintly by the dusky sky beyond the glass, and feels that familiar ache rise in his chest.

What the fuck am I doing? he thinks. He’s not protecting anyone like this. Not Stede. Not himself.

And definitely not his family.

They spend the rest of the drive in silence, thick and unmoving. By the time the car pulls up to the festival grounds, Ed’s almost convinced himself to be civil. Just do the job. Keep Stede safe. Stay out of the way.

But then he shows up.

Prince Ricky—grinning like he holds some claim over Stede, in a suit and tie no less, like he’s about to accept a fucking award instead of walk through hay and funnel cake. Ed barely has time to process the absurdity before Stede steps forward, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s nice to see you again, Ricky,” Stede says, slipping his hand into the prince’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s it. Ed sees red.

Fuck this guy and his smug, polished charm. Fuck the way he stands just a little too close, fingers brushing up Stede’s arm like he’s got a right to touch him.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ricky replies, eyes sliding down Stede’s frame like he’s assessing merchandise.

Ed clenches his jaw so tightly it pops.

“This is Ed, my bodyguard,” Stede says, barely glancing back as he gestures vaguely in his direction. No warmth. No smirk. No secret glint in his eye. Just cool indifference.

Yeah. He deserves that.

Still, it stings.

Because it was not that long ago that Stede had looked at him like he was the only one in the room. And now all Ed can do is watch and pretend this doesn’t feel like slow death by a thousand royal cuts.

They spend the next couple hours wandering the fairgrounds, and for Ed, it’s pure fucking torment. Stede laughs too easily at Ricky’s jokes. Leans in too close when the prince brushes imaginary dust off his jacket. And worst of all—Ed’s starting to think it isn’t an act. Stede doesn’t seem to be performing anymore. He seems… charmed.

And Ricky? He’s lapping it up.

Ed hates him. Every bit of him. The smug grin, the easy confidence, the way he talks to Stede like they’re already together. But it’s the questions that really make Ed’s skin crawl—questions about Vincent Bonnet’s operations, his reputation, his “day-to-day dealings,” asked with such casual phrasing that Ed almost misses their pointedness. Almost.

Stede, oblivious or maybe just willfully blind, answers them all with the breezy confidence of someone who hasn’t spent time learning just how dangerous loose talk can be. Especially when it comes to men like his father.

But when Ricky excuses himself to grab them drinks, Ed sees his chance.

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t you think you’re giving him a little too much intel about your family for someone you’ve been on two dates with?”

Stede arches a brow. “He’s just trying to get to know me, Ed.”

“He’s trying to get to know your father,” Ed says, glancing around. “And he’s being real fucking specific about it.”

“Oh, come on,” Stede says with a dismissive wave. “If I’m meant to marry the guy, of course he’s going to ask about my father. He’ll be his father-in-law.”

Ed groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s not curiosity, Stede. It’s digging. This guy wants details. You really think it’s all about you?”

Stede crosses his arms, jaw tightening. “You know what it sounds like? It sounds like you’re jealous.”

He pops his hip, that same cocky defiance flashing in his eyes that Ed has seen before—the one that makes Ed want to throw him against a wall and kiss him breathless. But it also makes his chest ache.

“I’m not—” Ed cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m just saying… be careful. People like him don’t ask questions like that unless they’re planning to use the answers.”

But Stede just shakes his head, expression hardening. “Maybe I’ll take advice from someone who doesn’t walk away the second things get real.”

And with that, he turns and heads back toward the crowd, leaving Ed standing alone beneath the string lights, stewing in equal parts guilt and dread.

Ed keeps his distance after that, determined not to get more entangled than he already is. But he does notice that Stede starts answering Ricky’s questions with a bit more caution—less detail, more evasiveness. Maybe he’d gotten through to him, even just a little.

Then the band starts tuning up on the makeshift stage, and a chipper voice over the PA announces the start of the line dancing. Stede perks up like a sunflower chasing the sun.

“Oh, look, they’re starting the line dancing!” he says, eyes bright as he turns to Ricky. “Dance with me?” He squeezes the prince’s hand, looking up at him with the kind of pleading expression that could make even the most cold-blooded bastard melt.

Ed knows. He’s been on the receiving end of that look—and would’ve agreed to anything at that moment.

But Ricky?

“Oh, no, I don’t dance,” he says with a bland smile and a small shake of his head.

Ed watches as the light dims just slightly in Stede’s eyes, a pout tugging at his lips. The sight punches Ed square in the gut. That face—the earnest disappointment, the fragile hope behind it—how the fuck does Ricky not crumble under that?

But the prince doesn’t budge.

“Sorry, Sugar,” Ricky adds with a chuckle. “It’s just not my cup of tea.”

Ed has to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Sugar? Really?

Where does this guy get off, calling Stede such a ridiculous, presumptuous nickname? They barely know each other. Hell, they’re on date two. Ed studiously ignores the fact that he’d used more than one pet name himself during the course of a very naked, very reckless afternoon… after knowing Stede for roughly twenty-four hours.

Different circumstances. Completely different.

…Right?

“Maybe your bodyguard will dance with you,” Ricky says with a smug little smirk, nodding lazily in Ed’s direction.

Ed would bet good money—hell, a million dollars—that Ricky doesn’t even remember his name. Why would he? The help isn’t worth remembering when you’re a minor royal with an inflated sense of importance.

God, I hate this guy.

And yet, now Stede’s turning those big, pleading eyes on him. Ed knows exactly what’s coming and he’s already lost.

“Ed, will you dance with me?” Stede asks, blinking up at him through those absurdly long lashes, curls poking out from under that ridiculous cowboy hat—the one currently strangling Ed’s already unstable willpower.

Ed sighs. He’s doomed.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, way too quickly, way too easily.

Because of course he says yes. Of course he folds like wet paper at the slightest touch of Stede Bonnet’s attention. How the hell does this kid already have such a grip on him?

Stede beams—beams—at the answer, grabbing Ed’s arm with both hands and squeezing, eyes shining with glee. And that’s when Ed sees it: the flicker of regret darkening Ricky’s smug little smile.

Good.

Because as Stede leads him toward the dance floor, practically glowing with happiness, Ed can’t help but notice something else: this, right here—this moment—is more joy than he’s seen Stede show Ricky all night.

And Ricky clearly notices it, too.

Ed pushes thoughts of Ricky out of his mind the second he and Stede step onto the dance floor. He’s genuinely looking forward to this—even if it is just line dancing—and for the first time in weeks, he gives himself permission to enjoy something. There’s been too much pressure lately, too much shit piling up. He needs this. They need this.

And with Stede beside him, looking like that, eyes bright and smile wide and warm, Ed honestly can’t imagine doing anything else.

The music kicks in, and Ed grins as his body falls into rhythm. He silently thanks Fang for all those times he and Izzy dragged him to the country bar near their apartment. Turns out it’s paying off. He knows the steps, and he stays perfectly in sync with Stede, sneaking glances at him whenever he can. Watching him beam like this—so alive, so open—it’s magnetic. It hits Ed straight in the chest.

They keep going, dance after dance, laughter spilling between them. Stede’s joy is infectious, and Ed finds himself completely caught up in it. Ricky? Forgotten.

When one of the songs ends, Stede leans in close, breath warm against Ed’s ear. “You’re really good!” he says, and the praise sends a thrill through him.

“Yeah, well—so’re you, mate,” Ed replies, turning his head to catch Stede’s gaze.

His heart stutters. Stede’s cheeks are flushed, hair curling a little at the edges of his hat, and Ed thinks he could stay in this moment forever.

But of course… he can’t.

“It’s getting late,” comes Ricky’s voice—sharp, clipped—as he steps onto the dance floor. “Don’t you think we should be heading home?”

Ed straightens immediately, mood souring. Ricky’s eyes are locked on him, narrowed with quiet hostility, jaw set. Ed doesn’t flinch—just crosses his arms and meets him with a look that says, try me.

Stede steps back slightly, and the air shifts. The spell is broken.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stede says, and the disappointment in his voice is unmistakable. “I have class in the morning.”

Back at the cars, Ricky insists on seeing Stede home personally, waving off his driver with the smug authority of someone used to getting what he wants. “Take the bodyguard,” he says casually, already turning to Stede with a hand at the small of his back.

Ed bristles, jaw tight. He doesn’t like this—not even a little—but when he looks to Stede for backup, all he gets is a soft smile and a reassuring, “I’ll be fine,” as he slips into their car beside Ricky.

Fine. Sure.

Ed gets in the other car, eyes glued to the one carrying Stede. The taillights glow red in the dark, and his chest aches. He can’t stop picturing the way Stede had smiled on that dance floor—how he’d looked at Ed like he was the only one who mattered in the world.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts the most. Because he’d felt the same way.

It would be so easy if Vincent Bonnet were anyone else. A boring professor. A crooked dentist. Literally anything but what he is. Why did it have to be this world? Why did Ed have to fall for someone he’s supposed to be keeping out of harm’s way and see married off to a prince?

By the time they pull back into the driveway, that feeling in his gut has curdled into something sharp. He steps out just in time to see Ricky helping Stede out of the car, one hand gallantly extended. Ed watches as they walk together toward the house—shoulder to shoulder, too close.

And then Ricky leans in, lips brushing Stede’s.

Ed turns away.

He doesn’t want to see if Stede kissed him back.

Without a word, Ed heads toward the carriage house, shoving open the door harder than necessary. Upstairs, he shuts the apartment door behind him and leans against it, head thudding gently against the wood as he exhales.

Maybe it’s better this way.
Maybe it has to be.
But fuck, it hurts.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

Stede paces his bedroom, heart pounding, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He wants to go down there—wants to sneak into Ed’s apartment, wants to press himself against him and whisper I didn’t want to kiss Ricky, I only want you.

But he doesn’t move.

Because he knows what’s at stake. He knows how dangerous this is. Fuck, he knows.

If his father even suspected what happened between them, Ed wouldn’t just get fired—he’d vanish. And not in the poetic sense. Stede has no doubt his father would make Ed disappear without a trace. And what’s worse? His family back in Aotearoa would never know what happened. They’d be left waiting. Wondering. Mourning someone who might never be found.

The thought makes Stede sick. He can’t bear it. He can’t stand knowing he might be the reason Ed’s life ends in some unmarked grave.

He hates his father. Hates him more than he ever has.

He thinks about the look on Ed’s face tonight—right before he turned away. The way his jaw had tensed, his posture gone stiff and distant. The pain in his eyes as Ricky leaned in. Stede had felt it too. He hadn’t wanted that kiss. But he’d let it happen. Out of guilt, or pride, or sheer spite—he doesn’t even know anymore.

His fingers twitch toward the window, thinking maybe he will sneak out after all—maybe just a glimpse of Ed would make things clearer.

And then he hears it: a knock.

His heart leaps to his throat as he spins toward the window, crossing the room in two steps and yanking back the curtain.

But it’s not Ed.

It’s Lucius.

The rush of hope in his chest turns to stone, and he groans under his breath as he unhooks the latch and shoves the window open. Lucius climbs through with the grace of someone who’s done this many, many times.

“Okay,” Lucius says, brushing off his coat and shooting Stede a glare, “where the fuck have you been?”

“Hey, Lu,” Stede sighs, stepping back and dropping onto the bed with a dramatic huff.

Lucius climbs the rest of the way in and shuts the window behind him, hands on his hips. “You were supposed to fill me in weeks ago—after that little talk with Ed. Remember that? The one where I left you two alone, against my better judgment?”

Stede winces.

Lucius crosses his arms, unimpressed. “I’ve been worried, and you know how bad worrying is for the face. I’ve gone through an entire tub of Germaine Monteil because of you. You owe me your secret after all that.”

Despite himself, Stede lets out a soft laugh. Lucius has been pestering him for years about his skincare routine, convinced there’s some magical product involved. He’s never had the heart to tell him it’s mostly genetics. Though, to be fair, he is religious about his night cream.

“I’ll buy you the whole set,” Stede offers, flopping backward onto the bed.

Lucius perks up immediately. “That’s a start,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. “But I want answers too. So. What the fuck happened when I left you and Ed two weeks ago?”

Stede can feel the heat rising in his cheeks just thinking about that night on the couch in his hideaway. He doesn’t even have to say anything—Lucius’s eyes go wide, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh my god, you slut,” Lucius says, no judgment in sight—just delight. “You totally slept with him, didn’t you? Tell me everything.” He drops dramatically onto the bed, crossing his legs like it’s story time. “And for the record? I’m so fucking jealous. He’s stupid hot.”

Stede smirks. “How would Pete feel about that?”

Lucius waves a hand. “Pete knows how to share. But seriously—how was he?”

“Fuck… so good,” Stede says, folding his own legs under him and leaning in. “Lucius, the way he looked at me—touched me—and that mouth…”

Lucius fans himself with exaggerated flair. “I think I’d die if those eyes were focused on me like that during sex.”

“Believe me,” Stede says, laughing, “I almost did.”

Lucius gasps. “So that’s where you’ve been? Busy fucking the sexy hitman?”

“He’s not a hitman,” Stede says quickly, feeling a rush of defensiveness. “And no. We only did it once.”

Lucius sits upright. “No fucking way. You’re telling me you had sex with tall, dark, deadly, and delicious once, and only once?"

“I would’ve been fucking him this whole time,” Stede mutters with a shrug, the laughter draining from his voice. “If he hadn’t turned me down.”

“Oh, that bitch,” Lucius snaps, eyes flashing with outrage. “I’m gonna kill him. Toying with your heart like that.”

Stede sighs. Look—it’s not that he isn’t grateful. He knows Lucius is always in his corner, and he loves him for it. But that protective instinct flares up again, once again eager to come to Ed’s defense.

“It’s not like that,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “He’s got a mother, an aunt, and three little cousins back in Aotearoa. He sends money home. If my father found out we’d slept together… You know what he’d do.”

Lucius’s face falls. “Shit. Fuck, Stede. That sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Stede says, letting out a dry, resigned laugh.

Lucius frowns, clearly still trying to wrap his head around it. “So why’d he take the job, then? I mean, Vincent Bonnet?”

“From what I gathered, he didn’t exactly choose it,” Stede says. “I overheard Vincent and Hornigold talking the other day. Hornigold had Ed steal one of my dad’s boats as some kind of test. Passed with flying colors, apparently. And once Vincent offered him a job… well, you know how that goes. Nobody says no to my father and lives to tell about it. And Ed’s smart. He wasn’t going to say no to him.”

“Shit,” Lucius mutters. “Hornigold’s an asshole. Bet he didn’t even tell Ed whose boat it was—set him up on purpose. That’s fucking awful.”

“Yeah,” Stede says quietly, guilt blooming in his chest.

He doesn’t support his father or anything he stands for, but the truth is, he’s benefited from it all his life. It makes him feel like a spoiled little brat—wanting the one thing he’s been told he can’t have. And he hates himself for it.

But Ed wants him back. He knows he does. That part, at least, is undeniable.

There’s a pull between them—magnetic and fierce—and every instinct in Stede is screaming at him to chase it. To fight for it. They both deserve happiness. Why should his father get to decide what that looks like? Why shouldn’t they fight back? Take it for themselves?

And god, does Stede want Ed. He can feel it in his bones, this certainty. They’d be good together. Maybe even great. He already knows the sex is phenomenal, but it’s more than that. It’s the way Ed sees him. The way Ed makes him feel—wanted, known. As more than just the son of a powerful mob boss. 

And yeah, he’d been wary at first. But that’s shifted. He trusts Ed now. Really, truly trusts him. Maybe some would say it’s naivety or youth or lust clouding his judgment, but Stede knows better. His gut tells him Ed is good. Steady. Worth it.

He could fall in love with him. Easily.

And he’d run. If Ed asked, he’d go. Anywhere. Just to be with him. Far from Vincent Bonnet and the suffocating weight of expectation.

Far enough to finally breathe.

He feels the dreamy little smile creeping onto his face before Lucius even calls him on it. He knows he’s being obvious as hell—completely transparent—but he doesn’t care. He’s so far gone for Ed, and if Lucius can see it, so be it.

“Oh my god, you’re down bad,” Lucius says, squinting at him. “Like… really fucking bad.”

Stede glances toward the window, eyes drifting to the soft glow coming from Ed’s apartment. His chest aches. Fuck, he’s never wanted someone like this.

“Yeah,” he admits with a sigh, the weight of it sinking deep.

Lucius stands abruptly, heading straight for the closet. Stede’s eyes follow him in alarm as he starts rifling through hangers.

“Wait, what are you—”

Lucius reemerges a moment later and tosses a couple of carefully chosen items onto the bed. “Put this on and sneak into his window,” he says, voice absolute. “Make him an offer he can’t refuse. Because my gorgeous twink of a best friend is the hottest he’s ever gonna get, and if you show up wearing that—” he gestures at the outfit, “—there’s no way he’s turning you down.”

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

Ed’s sprawled on the floor, bottle of bourbon in hand, contemplating a sad, pathetic little wank. God, he needs it. But mostly, he’s just fucking sad. How the hell did he end up like this—on his back, lights off, The Sound of Silence playing on the record player, bottle of bourbon lying next to him, pining after a certain untouchable blonde?

He sighs, lifting the bottle and tilting it in the light, wondering how much he can down so blacking out becomes more appealing than jerking off alone while thinking about Stede’s mouth. He hasn’t started drinking yet, but he’s seriously considering it.

And then he hears it—the creak of the window above the couch.

He props himself up on his elbows, blinking toward the sound, and his brain short-circuits.

There he is. Crawling through the window like some rock fantasy come to life.

Stede looks… unreal. Hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed after a good fuck. His eyes are smudged with black kohl, wild and reckless. A deep V mesh shirt clings to his chest, tucked into black, high-waisted leather pants that flare dramatically at the ankle. The heeled Chelsea boots and silver chain are the final punch to Ed’s already crumbling resolve.

His mouth actually waters. And here he’d been, feeling himself in leather just hours ago—Stede makes it look like religion.

“Fucking hell,” Ed breathes, scrambling to his feet as Stede awkwardly climbs through.

His foot catches on the sill, and he stumbles—right into Ed’s arms.

And just like that, Ed’s holding him. Hands on Stede’s waist. Stede’s chest against his. Hazel eyes blown wide, looking up at him like the only thing that matters in the world is how close they are right now.

Ed’s heart is absolutely fucking hammering.

And just like that, his resolve shatters.

Ed’s lips crash against Stede’s before he can second-guess himself—stealing back the kiss that never should’ve gone to Ricky. It’s deep, hungry, unapologetic. A kiss meant to remind, to ruin. He needs Stede to feel it. Needs him to know exactly what he’s giving up if he walks away.

And fuck—Stede kisses him back.

His whole body melts into Ed’s, arms winding around him, fingers digging into the bare skin of his back like he can’t get close enough. Their mouths move in sync, tongues crashing together, breath hot and uneven. Stede tastes like mint, like he planned for this, like he hoped—no, knew—it would happen the second he pulled on that outfit.

Ed breaks away just long enough to slam the window shut and yank the curtain across. He might be drunk on desire, but he’s not completely out of his mind.

Then he’s back, grabbing Stede like he’s starving for him, kissing him like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

“Want you to fuck me,” Stede gasps against Ed’s lips. “Please.”

Ed doesn’t need to be asked twice. He grabs Stede around the waist and leads him toward the bedroom, kissing him as they go—lips, jaw, neck—each press of his mouth more urgent than the last. At the edge of the bed, he gently pushes him to sit, then tugs the mesh shirt free from where it’s tucked into those sinfully tight leather pants. It comes off in one fluid motion and hits the floor.

Ed’s cock twitches beneath his sweats, already aching, and he doesn’t miss the way Stede’s eyes flick down, lingering, lips parting.

“Love that you can’t stop staring at my cock,” Ed laughs, low and breathless.

“It’s a beautiful cock,” Stede replies with a grin, cheeks flushed and lips curled into a look that’s far too pleased with himself.

Ed groans, pushing him gently down until he’s flat on his back. “Well, that cock,” he says, voice rough as his hands move to Stede’s boots, tugging them off one by one, “is gonna be inside you real soon.”

Stede moans, mouth slack, eyes wide and hungry.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, showing up dressed like that,” Ed says, giving him a wicked smirk. “You’re fucking trouble.”

And Stede, already squirming beneath him, just smiles and says, “You love trouble.”

“Fuck yes, I do,” Ed says, stomach twisting at the weight of those words. The implication there…

If Stede is trouble—and he loves trouble…

He reaches over, slides open the bedside drawer, and grabs the bottle of oil and a couple condoms, dropping them onto the mattress beside them. His eyes flick back to Stede, stretched out in his bed, looking like a goddamn vision.

“Fuck, you look good in my bed,” Ed breathes, leaning down to kiss him again, deep and slow and aching. As they kiss, Ed’s fingers work at the buttons of Stede’s pants, slipping beneath the waistband and tugging them down inch by inch.

When he pulls back, he notices. “No underwear,” he murmurs, lifting an eyebrow.

Stede just smirks up at him, devilish and sweet all at once. 

“You wanted this,” Ed says. 

“More than you can possibly know,” Stede says, voice lower now, the honesty in it hitting Ed right in the chest.

And fuck, if there’d been any doubt about that kiss with Ricky—it’s gone now. This, he is who Stede wants. It’s written all over his face.

Ed kneels back, pulling the pants the rest of the way off, letting them join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. His eyes roam—slow, reverent—taking in every inch of him. The soft trail of hair down his chest, the way it trails down below his belly button. That gorgeous cock already flushed and heavy. His strong thighs and equally strong calves. His flushed cheeks. His perfect fucking everything.

And all of it—all of it—is being offered to him. He feels like the luckiest fucker alive. 

Ed climbs onto the bed, pulling Stede gently upward until his head rests against the pillows. He swings one leg over and settles between his thighs, hands gliding up along the lean lines of Stede’s legs, slow and steady.

“You’re young,” he says softly, palms pausing at Stede’s hips. “And I don’t want to assume anything… but I need to know. Have you been fucked before?”

Stede’s cheeks flush a deep pink, eyes darting away—and Ed thinks he already knows the answer, but he waits, giving him space.

“I’ve… done things with guys before you,” Stede says, voice quiet. “But…”

The hesitation in his voice is all the confirmation Ed needs. There’s a flicker of embarrassment, maybe even nerves, in his face, and Ed stops to check in, gentle but firm.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, squeezing his thighs in reassurance. “I can use my hands, or my mouth again. We can take our time. Work up to it.”

And even as he says it, part of him stumbles. His words—work up to it—they imply there’s a next time. He sees the flicker of realization hit Stede, too. That little glint of hope in his eyes, the small smile tugging at his lips—it all lands squarely in Ed’s chest, sending his heart racing.

Shit. What is he doing? And why does it feel so fucking right?

Stede just shakes his head. “Please,” he says, placing his hands over Ed’s. “I want it. I want to know what it’s like. I want it… to be you.”

His cheeks burn red at the admission, and Ed feels his own face go hot, breath catching in his throat. There’s something in the way Stede looks at him—so trusting, so open—that twists something deep in Ed’s gut. He doesn’t even know what to call it, only that it’s powerful and consuming and nothing he was ready for.

He nods, slowly dragging his hands down the length of Stede’s legs. “Okay,” he says, reaching for the bottle of oil on the nightstand. “A few ground rules, yeah?”

Stede nods.

“If at any time you want to stop, say red. That’s a full stop. Yellow means slow down or check in. Green means you’re good.”

“The traffic light system,” Stede says, nodding again. “Got it.”

“If I’m hurting you I want to know. Say red. I’ll stop immediately.” Ed’s voice is firm now, steady. “It might be uncomfortable at first. That’s normal. But pain? That’s not the goal. You need to stay relaxed. If you tense up, it’ll be harder.”

“I understand,” Stede says, eyes wide, expression earnest but tinged with nerves.

“And listen—” Ed adds, lowering his voice, “You don’t have to like it. A lot of people don’t. Don’t go along with it because you think it’s what I want. That’s not what this is about. I want to make you feel good. You hear me?”

“Yes,” Stede says again, this time more confidently. “I hear you.”

He’s watching Ed now with a different kind of intensity—something softer, deeper. There’s something on his mind. Ed can see it.

“What is it?” Ed asks, brushing a loose curl from Stede’s forehead, fingertips lingering longer than necessary.

“I’ve never met someone like you,” Stede says, voice small but clear. “Someone so… caring.”

That hits Ed harder than he expects. It shouldn’t surprise him, but it still does. How has someone as radiant as Stede never had someone take care with him? Never had someone treat him like he matters?

It’s not right. It’s not fair. And the thought of anyone ever making him feel like anything less—it makes Ed feel like maybe this world really is as fucked up as it seems. His words sting. He deserves nothing but the absolute best. So much so that Ed’s certain he doesn’t measure up. 

“You deserve better than what you’ve had,” he says, softly but with conviction. “A lot better.”

And as Stede looks up at him, eyes shining, Ed knows exactly how far gone he is.

Ed shakes the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the gorgeous blonde stretched out beneath him. He reaches for the bottle of oil, popping the cap with practiced ease.

“I’m gonna start slow, yeah?” he says gently. “Use my fingers first—get you ready.”

“That’s… how that works?” Stede asks, eyes wide with curiosity, and Ed has to bite back the smile tugging at his lips.

He’s so damn endearing it almost hurts.

“Thank gods Lucius made me shower before changing,” Stede adds, face pinking again.

That pulls a laugh from deep in Ed’s chest—unexpected, warm, genuine. He brushes his knuckles over Stede’s cheek, then leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips. When he pulls back, their eyes stay locked.

And fuck… the way Stede looks at him—bright, open, so full of trust and affection, it nearly knocks the breath out of him.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Ed drizzles the oil over his fingers, coating them thoroughly as he works it in. His heart pounds—half nerves, half want.

“Should I… turn over?” Stede asks, voice uncertain.

Ed nearly tells him no. Tells him he wants to see his face, wants to watch every reaction as he opens him up, slow and careful. But the words feel too loaded, too intimate, and he swallows them down.

Instead, he grabs a pillow from the head of the bed. “Lift your hips for me,” he says, and Stede does it without hesitation. His eagerness to please knocks something loose in Ed’s chest.

He slides the pillow beneath him, a little clumsy with only one hand available. He probably should’ve thought this through, but he’d been too caught in that overwhelmed feeling of a moment ago; too wrapped up in the look in Stede’s eyes.

“Just want to be able to watch you to make sure you’re comfortable,” Ed says, the words easy, light.

But the real truth settles somewhere deeper: he wants to take care of him. And wants to drink in every intoxicating moment.

“Bend your legs and spread them more,” Ed murmurs, and Stede obeys without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on Ed’s.

It’s like staring into the sun—too intense, too beautiful, but impossible to look away. Stede is laid out before him, vulnerable and open, and Ed feels it like a punch to the chest. He runs one clean hand slowly up Stede’s stomach, marveling at the warm, soft skin beneath his touch.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, catching the blush that blooms across Stede’s cheeks. It only makes him more irresistible.

Reaching for the oil again, Ed flips the lid open and drizzles a line between Stede’s thighs, watching the golden slick catch the light before landing right over his tight, eager hole. Stede gasps at the sensation—high and breathy—and it goes straight to Ed’s cock, thickening with renewed urgency. All he can think is: mine.

And he knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this. Stede isn’t his—not really. They’re not together. They can’t be together. Not with Vincent Bonnet looming like a loaded gun. But it doesn’t matter. Ed’s already in too deep.

“Remember what I told you,” he murmurs, reaching down with oil-slicked fingers to trace slowly over the tight ridges of muscle, watching as Stede’s body tenses, then squirms under the touch. A soft gasp escapes him, and Ed swears it echoes through his entire body.

“If I hurt you, say ‘Red,’” he reminds him, voice low.

“I understand,” Stede replies, breath catching. His eyes are still locked with Ed’s, wide and wanting. “Fuck, please, Ed—I want your fingers inside me.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Ed presses the tip of one finger in, slow and careful, and feels Stede tighten around him—then melt. His back arches in a graceful bow, a needy moan slipping from his lips.

Ed bites down a groan of his own, jaw tight with restraint, wanting nothing more than to lean down and suck each of Stede’s flushed nipples into his mouth until he’s writhing—but he holds back. He’s got one goal right now: get him ready. Get him comfortable. Make sure he feels nothing but pleasure when Ed finally takes him apart.

Ed keeps working his finger deeper into Stede’s heat in slow, steady pumps, watching every tiny reaction ripple across Stede’s face. The way his brows knit. The flutter of his lashes. The way his thighs twitch around Ed’s waist. Every part of him is a goddamn symphony, and Ed feels like he’s learning how to play him from scratch.

“You’re doing so fucking good,” Ed murmurs, voice low and reverent. “Think you’re ready for another?”

“Yes,” Stede gasps, hips already starting to move in small, needy rolls. “Please. I want more.”

Ed adds a second finger with slow precision, giving him time to adjust, curling just slightly as he sinks in. He watches Stede’s lips part around a strangled moan, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run miles. Ed keeps moving, slow at first, building up a rhythm, spreading his fingers a little wider each time, soft praise spilling from his lips as Stede clenches around him.

And then Ed finds it.

That soft, spongy little ridge inside him that makes Stede jerk like he’s been electrocuted. He lets out a high, broken whimper, body arching up off the bed as his hands scramble to grab hold of the sheets.

“Fuck—what—what was that?!” Stede breathes, eyes wide and wild, pupils fully blown.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Ed grins, fingers brushing that same spot again, gentler this time, watching Stede’s mouth drop open in a silent cry. “That right there? That’s your prostate.”

“My what?”

Ed has to suppress the endearing chuckle threatening to fall from his lips. For all his talk, and all his confidence, the fact that Stede clearly doesn’t know what his prostate is is sweet and hot as hell, at the same time. Ed getting to be the one who introduces him to it is… one of the best feelings in the world. 

“Your prostate. It’s a little bundle of nerves inside you. Makes you feel good when someone knows what they’re doing.”

Stede whines like the words themselves unravel him, head thrown back against the pillow as Ed strokes that spot again, this time deliberately.

“I’ll fucking say!” He says, voice wrecked. “I didn’t—fuck—I didn’t know that was even a thing,” Stede gasps, whole body trembling beneath him now.

“Lucky for you,” Ed says, voice like sin, and a devilish smile curling across his lips, “I do.”

He keeps working him open, three fingers now, slow and deep, curling into that spot over and over until Stede’s hips are rocking helplessly, leaking all over his own stomach, panting like he’s going to come just from this alone.

“Ed, I—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Ed says, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Just let go.”

Ed groans softly, the sound low in his chest as his third finger slides in, knuckles deep now, and Stede takes it all like a fucking dream. So open, so needy, so goddamn eager for him. He watches as Stede writhes beneath him, breath hitching with every curl and thrust of Ed’s fingers. His cock’s leaking onto his stomach, flushed and twitching, and Ed knows—knows—he could make him come just like this, watching stars explode behind those pretty hazel eyes.

But that’s not what Stede asked for.

He wanted to be fucked. Wanted Ed.

Ed pulls back slightly, slowing his fingers, resisting the urge to drive him right over the edge.

“Gonna save that for another night,” Ed murmurs, eyes locked on Stede’s ruined, dazed expression. He can see the confusion there, not exactly knowing what Ed means, and honestly, he likes it that way. The thought of keeping Stede in the dark about just how good a prostate orgasm is sounds like more fun than letting him in on the secret. “Wanna see what it looks like when you fall apart on my cock.”

Stede whimpers, cheeks flushed, hands still fisting the sheets. “Yes. Please. Want that. Want you.”

Ed presses a kiss to the inside of his knee once more, withdrawing his fingers carefully, biting down a groan as he watches Stede’s body clench around nothing, hole slick, stretched, and fluttering like it’s already aching to be filled.

He lifts the condom off the bed, tearing open the package with his teeth as he pulls his sweats down, revealing his cock. He slides the condom onto his length, stroking himself once, twice, lifting his legs just enough to kick off the last of his sweats. His fist slaps against his stomach as he pumps himself, cock flushed and heavy, feeling precome beading at the tip beneath the latex. He adds more oil to his hand and slicks himself up even more, hissing through his teeth as his hand glides over the length—he’s so fucking hard it almost hurts.

“You ready for me, baby?” Ed asks, voice low, eyes flicking back to Stede’s.

Stede nods, chest heaving. “Please. I’ve never wanted anything so much.”

Ed swears under his breath, heart stuttering as he lines himself up.

Dead man walking.

But god, if this is the fire, he’ll burn for this blonde every damn time.

Ed drizzles more oil over Stede’s hole, then caps the bottle and tosses it aside. He lines himself up, hand steady despite the way his chest feels like it’s caving in. But when he looks at Stede—really looks—he sees the quick, shallow rise and fall of his breathing, the tension in his frame. He freezes, brows pulling together.

“Color?” Ed asks softly, voice low but firm.

Stede’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, fingers tightening in the sheets as he considers.

“…Yellow,” he finally says.

Ed backs off immediately, releasing his cock and reaching up to cup Stede’s cheek with his clean hand.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Talk to me. We don’t have to do this—not if you’re unsure.”

But Stede shakes his head, breath catching. “I’m not,” he says. “I want this—fuck, I do. I want to know what it feels like, to have someone inside me. I just… got a little overwhelmed.”

Ed exhales, only now realizing how hard he’d been holding his breath. He leans down, pressing his forehead gently to Stede’s, their noses brushing.

“I promise you, I’ll be careful,” Ed says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll go slow. I’ll check in. And if at any moment you want to stop, just say the word and it’s done. No questions, no pressure.”

Stede looks up at him, eyes glassy and earnest. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I want it to be you.”

He leans in, pressing a slow, grounding kiss to Stede’s lips, letting it linger until he feels some of that tension melt out of him. When he pulls back, Stede’s breathing has evened, his grip on the sheets relaxed just enough for Ed to recognize the shift.

“Green?” Ed asks, voice soft.

“Green,” Stede confirms, giving him a small, nervous smile.

Ed reaches down again, steadying himself, pumping his fist over himself again to bring him back to full hardness. His cock is slick and heavy in his hand as he lines himself up once more. He holds at Stede’s entrance, eyes flicking up for confirmation, and when Stede gives the faintest nod, Ed begins to push in—slow, careful, letting the first inch breach him.

Stede gasps, whole body tightening beneath him, and Ed immediately stills.

“Breathe for me, and try to relax,” Ed murmurs, brushing a hand over his thigh. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

He waits. Watches as Stede takes a deep breath, forcing his shoulders down, fingers curling in the sheets. Then he gives another nod, and Ed pushes in a little more—slow, torturously so—until he’s halfway in, the pressure nearly unbearable on his end.

“Fucking hell,” Ed groans, breath catching. “You’re so tight. Feel so good around me already.”

Stede lets out a trembling moan, hips shifting just slightly, and Ed freezes again, waiting for that tension to settle before moving further.

“You okay?” he asks, searching Stede’s face.

Stede lets out a shaky breath. “It’s… intense. But not bad. Keep going.”

So Ed does, inch by inch, until finally he’s buried to the hilt, hips flush against Stede’s. He stays there, unmoving, letting Stede adjust, their foreheads brushing as they breathe through it together.

“You’re inside me,” Stede murmurs, wonder in his voice. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Ed breathes. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Ed doesn’t move at first, just lets them breathe together—feeling the way Stede trembles beneath him, the tension slowly bleeding out of his limbs. Ed presses a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then just under his ear.

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Doing so fucking good.”

Stede lets out a soft sound—halfway between a gasp and a moan—and shifts his hips just a little, like he’s testing how it feels. His fingers twitch on the sheets, then slide up Ed’s back, clutching him gently, almost grounding himself.

“Can you move?” Stede asks, voice small but eager. “Just a little?”

Ed pulls out an inch, then pushes back in just as slowly, watching every microexpression flicker across Stede’s face. When he sees no pain, only breathless awe, he does it again—drawing back a little further this time, then rocking back in with a bit more force.

“Oh—oh fuck,” Stede gasps, the sound breaking high in his throat. 

“Color,” Ed says, needing to hear him say it. 

“Fuck, so green,” Stede gasps, fingers moving to Ed’s back, clawing into his skin, and Ed hopes it’ll leave a mark. “So good.”

Ed moves with a little more intention, seeing the desire in Stede’s eyes. He’s loving every minute of this. 

“Ed—please…” he begs. “Fuck! Need more!”

It sparks something deep in Ed’s chest. Something hungry.

He starts to move, steady and measured at first, building a rhythm that makes Stede gasp every time their hips meet. The tight heat around him, the flushed, panting wreck of the young man beneath him, the way Stede clutches at his back and moans like he’s losing his mind—it’s nearly enough to unravel Ed right then and there.

“More,” Stede begs, eyes glazed over, lips swollen from kisses. “Ed, please, I can take it—go faster—harder—fuck! I want it, I want you—”

And that’s it. Ed gives in.

His hips start snapping harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room as he fucks into him, making the bed creak beneath them. Every time he thrusts in, he hits just right, pulling louder and louder moans from Stede’s mouth.

“You’re mine like this,” Ed growls, hand sliding between them to wrap around Stede’s cock, slick and aching. “Look at you. Falling apart for me.”

Stede’s answering cry is near feral, his hips bucking helplessly up into Ed’s fist, into his cock. He’s panting, near tears, absolutely wrecked.

“I’m gonna come,” Stede gasps. “Please, Ed—don’t stop, I’m so close—”

Ed keeps going, stroking him in time with his thrusts, fucking him hard and deep, rhythm perfect.

And when Stede finally breaks with a sobbing moan, coming hard between them, spilling over Ed’s fist as he clenches tight around Ed’s cock—Ed can’t hold back anymore, falling too, groaning low in his throat as he spills deep inside him, pulse after pulse of heat rocking through him.

His vision goes white at the edges, body trembling as he rides it out, hips jerking through the last few thrusts until he’s spent. He collapses forward slowly, catching himself with one trembling arm before he can crush Stede completely, chest heaving with the effort of staying upright. His forehead rests against Stede’s, sweat-slick and close, and they stay like that—locked together, breath mingling—neither of them speaking just yet.

Stede’s eyes are closed, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath, a dazed, blissed-out look on his face that makes Ed’s chest ache with something dangerously close to tenderness. He brushes a thumb over his cheek, smearing sweat and a stray curl aside, watching the way Stede leans into it, like he needs the contact.

“You okay?” Ed murmurs, voice wrecked but soft.

Stede nods, slow and dreamy. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck, Ed. That was… I don’t even have words.”

“Good,” Ed whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple. “That’s what I wanted.”

He stays inside for a moment longer, just to savor the closeness—how warm and soft Stede feels beneath him, how perfect he fits around him—but then he shifts carefully, pulling out with a quiet groan. Stede winces just a little at the sensitivity, but doesn’t let go of him, arms slipping up around Ed’s shoulders like he doesn’t want him going far.

Ed moves to the side, lying down beside him, tugging him into his arms. Stede curls into his chest easily, one leg slung over Ed’s, head tucked beneath his chin.

They’re both sticky and messy, but neither of them seem to care. Ed strokes a hand up and down Stede’s back, anchoring them both in the slow, quiet aftermath.

For a long moment, all either of them can do is breathe.

Then Stede shifts, voice muffled against Ed’s chest. “You weren’t kidding about how good that could feel.”

Ed lets out a low, satisfied hum, pressing a lazy kiss to his hair. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

And the content little sigh Stede lets out at that nearly undoes him all over again.

They lie there in the quiet warmth, skin flushed and hearts still pounding faintly. 

“Be right back,” Ed finally says, voice low, breaking the silence as he gently pulls away and climbs out of bed.

His legs feel wobbly, a little unsteady beneath him, and his whole body hums with that delicious, boneless satisfaction. He stumbles into the bathroom down the hall, removes the condom, ties it off and tosses it in the trash. After washing his hands, he grabs a hand towel and a washcloth from the cabinet, turning the faucet until the water runs warm. He soaks the washcloth, dampens one end of the towel, then pads barefoot back to the bedroom.

He climbs back onto the bed with quiet care, and Stede looks up at him, eyes soft and glassy, expression so tender it makes Ed’s chest ache.

With gentle hands, Ed wipes the sticky mess from Stede’s stomach, then runs the cloth over his own skin, clearing away the last sticky traces of Stede’s release. Then, carefully, he brushes the warm towel between Stede’s legs, cleaning the oil and lingering slickness from his hole with extra caution.

Stede winces at the contact, just a little.

Ed’s heart clenches. “Sorry,” he murmurs, softening his touch even more, finishing the task with reverence. Once done, he tosses the cloth toward the door—a problem for tomorrow’s Ed.

He uses the clean towel to wipe the sweat from Stede’s forehead, then the dry end to blot his skin, tossing it aside too. Then he lowers himself beside him, sliding close, and pulling him into his arms.

“Why’re you so good to me?” Stede asks, brushing his fingertips over Ed’s cheek. “No one’s ever been so good to me.”

Ed just looks at him. It guts him to hear that—makes him want to carry Stede far away from all of this, from the shadow of his father, from everything cruel and cold in this world. But deep down, he knows there’s probably nowhere they could go where Vincent Bonnet wouldn’t eventually find them.

“You deserve good,” Ed says quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Stede’s lips. When he pulls back, he whispers, “You deserve everything.”

“So do you,” Stede replies, eyes shining with tears.

Ed pulls him in close again, tighter this time. Holds him like he never wants to let go. He pulls him in close, and lets himself pretend—just for tonight—that they don’t live in a world where loving Stede Bonnet is a death sentence.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

Stede wakes with a start, breath catching in his throat, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The nightmare still clings to him, sharp and vivid. He’d been standing on a dock, pleading with Vincent, begging him to spare Ed’s life. The gunshot had echoed through the air just as Stede dove, trying to shove Ed out of harm’s way. That’s when he’d jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat, disoriented and gasping.

Shit.

They’d fallen asleep.

But it was just a dream. Thank fuck.

He turns his head, careful not to move too much, and breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when he sees that Ed is still asleep—completely undisturbed, his face soft in the low light, peaceful in a way Stede rarely gets to see. And gods, he doesn’t want to wake him. Doesn’t want to explain why he’s shaking. Doesn’t want to revisit the image of Ed dying in his arms, even if it was only in his head.

He wants so badly to stay. To curl into the warmth of Ed’s chest, to tuck his face beneath Ed’s chin, and let those strong arms wrap around him again. Maybe then the nightmares wouldn’t come back. Maybe then he could sleep.

But he shouldn’t stay.

He never should’ve come in the first place.

Every stolen moment like this is one more step toward disaster—one more chance for Vincent to discover the truth. And if that happens… he won’t just lose Ed. He’ll be dead. Gone forever.

Stede’s stomach twists at the thought, bile rising in his throat. He feels sick—physically ill at the idea of losing Ed for good. Quietly, carefully, he untangles himself from Ed’s arms, heart breaking a little with every inch of distance. Thankfully, Ed’s a heavy sleeper, his breath slow and even, completely unaware of the quiet storm brewing in Stede’s chest.

Stede gathers his clothes from the floor, fingers shaking slightly as he slips back into the mesh shirt, the leather pants slightly wrinkled from where they’d been tossed aside. He moves into the living room to finish dressing, glancing toward the bedroom once more.

Ed is still asleep. Peaceful. Vulnerable in a way that makes something ache in Stede’s ribs. He lets out a heavy, silent sigh, hand bracing against the wall.

He can’t leave through the door. He knows exactly where his father’s security cameras are. If he’s seen sneaking out of Ed’s place—looking like this—it’ll be over.

So he heads for the window.

The same one he’d climbed through hours ago, full of hope and reckless longing. He pushes it open, cold air rushing in like a slap to the face, and ducks through it without another look back, disappearing into the dark.

************

Ed’s POV:

When Ed wakes, the first thing he notices is the empty space beside him. His hand reaches instinctively for warmth that’s no longer there.

Shit.

He bolts upright, scanning the room. It’s quiet. Still. Stede’s clothes are gone from the floor, no trace of him left behind but the ghost of his scent on the pillow. Ed’s chest tightens.

Did he say something wrong? Do something? His mind races, flipping through every moment of the night before and the soft, quiet intimacy after—but nothing sticks. Nothing felt off. If anything, it had felt… real. Right.

He exhales hard, trying to steady the creeping panic. No. Stede had probably just slipped out in the night, not wanting to risk the morning light or his father’s cameras. He was being careful. Smart.

Because of course he was. He’s… perfect.

A smile tugs at Ed’s lips for half a second—before the weight of reality crashes back in. They can’t be together. Not safely. Not openly. This isn’t some fucking fairy tale. It’s a goddamn death sentence if Vincent ever finds out.

But…

Ed looks down at his hands, flexing them in his lap like they might hold the answer. Aren’t the best things in life worth fighting for?

He has to find a way. Because he doesn’t want to let go. He wants all of it—Stede’s laugh, his confidence, even when it’s just a mask, his clever mouth, his soft eyes when they’re alone. He wants to explore… more with him.

And fuck if he’s going to let some monster in a designer suit take that away from them.

He has to talk to Stede.

Still groggy, Ed drags himself out of bed and heads down the hall. The bathroom tiles are cool beneath his feet as he turns the shower on, brushing his teeth while he waits for the water to heat. He steps under the spray a few minutes later, letting it wash over him, but the comfort is short-lived. The scent of Stede—still clinging faintly to his skin—is stripped away with the steam, and the loss settles heavy in his chest.

Dressed and with a fresh mug of coffee in hand, Ed carries it into the little den, where Vincent had installed the CCTV monitors back when Ed first moved in. Ed hates the idea of watching Stede on them, but right now, it’s the only connection he’s got.

He sinks into the armchair, flipping the monitor on as he props his feet on the desk. The property is still, quiet, bathed in an early morning haze. No sign of Stede yet. Ed leans back, flipping open a paperback that’s already worn soft from rereading. His eyes skim the words, but none of it sinks in. Every few minutes, he glances at the monitor.

A couple hours pass before he spots any movement.

His breath catches. The quality is shit, but he’d know that tousled hair anywhere. Stede.

He’s heading toward the woods, toward his little hideaway just off the property.

Without thinking, Ed tosses the book aside and rises to his feet. He’s not letting this moment pass. 

He shrugs on his leather jacket before stepping out into the crisp, late-fall morning, shivering slightly as the chill cuts through his shirt. Across the driveway, he spots Vincent by the car, Ned Low holding the door open for him like the loyal little creep he is. Good. Knowing they’re both leaving settles something uneasy in Ed’s chest.

He gives Vincent a casual salute, just enough to play the part. It’s all performance, a silent don’t worry, boss, I’m still watching your son, even if all he wants is to flip the man off and tell him exactly where he can shove his empire.

Vincent smiles as he ducks into the car. But it’s Ned’s sharp, lingering stare that makes Ed’s skin prickle. That one’s going to be a problem. Ed can feel it in his bones. He just hasn’t figured out how to neutralize him yet.

He waits until the car disappears down the drive before heading toward the woods, careful not to make a show of where he’s going. Drawing attention to Stede’s little hideaway would be a mistake. That shed could be the safest place they've got, if Ed plans to keep this going with Stede. 

As he nears the clearing, a sound floats to him on the breeze. Soft, rich notes carried by fingers he’s come to crave. His heart kicks into a faster rhythm. Is Stede… playing?

He picks up his pace.

When the trees thin and the pond comes into view, there he is, sitting cross-legged on a blanket near the water, guitar in hand, strumming with quiet focus. His voice rises gently above the chords, a familiar melody reshaped into something achingly personal. A song Ed loves, sung in Stede’s careful, breathy tone, soft like a secret.

Ed stops walking. Stops breathing. Just watches, letting the music pour through him like sunlight he hadn’t realized he needed.

The morning is still, fog still lifting off the pond as Ed watches, gentle chords, strummed slowly, like a heartbeat not quite sure of itself. Stede’s voice drifts out over the water, soft and aching.

“When sundown pales the sky…”

The words carry something fragile, like glass—like they’ll shatter if he moves too quickly.

“I want to hide a while behind your smile…”

Stede’s seated on the edge of the blanket, head tipped slightly forward, curls falling across his brow. He’s not performing. Not really. This isn’t for anyone else. It’s for himself. But the way he clutches the guitar, the way his voice cracks slightly at the edges, Ed can feel it… can feel him in every line.

“And everywhere I’d look, your eyes I’d find…”

Ed’s knees nearly give out. Fuck. He hadn’t known how badly Stede felt it too.

“For me to love you now…”

Stede’s fingers falter slightly on the strings, but he keeps going, eyes still fixed on the water like it’s the only thing keeping him going.

“Would be the sweetest thing… that would make me sing…”

He lets the chord hang, breath hitching in his chest.

“Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.”

The song dies there, fingers still on the frets, lips parted like he might say more. But he doesn’t. He just stares ahead, unmoving.

Ed doesn’t speak. Doesn’t want to scare him, or ruin the moment.

But God, he wants to walk up behind him and sit, wrap his arms around his waist, and tell him he’s not the wind. He’s real. That he’s here and he wants everything.

Fucking Vincent Bonnet.

A twig snaps beneath Ed’s boot.

Stede whips around, eyes wide, startled, until he sees Ed. His shoulders drop, and his cheeks flush red. Beautiful.

“Oh,” he says, blinking. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you sing,” Ed says, voice soft. “It was beautiful.”

He nods toward the shed door, subtle but firm. Vincent and Ned may be gone, but Ed doesn’t trust anyone this close to the house. Too many ears. Too many eyes.

Stede gathers the guitar and blanket without question, and heads for the shed, Ed following a few paces behind. Once inside, Ed shuts the door and turns the lock, the sound echoing loud in the quiet.

Stede sets the guitar gently in its stand near the fireplace and folds the blanket, draping it over the back of the couch with careful precision, like focusing on small tasks might keep him from breaking apart.

“Love that song,” Ed says, stepping closer but stopping just short of touching him. “You… left last night.”

Stede exhales hard, sinking down onto the couch like the weight of everything is finally too much to hold. His gaze drops to his hands, picking absently at the edge of his nail.

“Yeah,” he says. “Edward… I think you were right. About us. About not doing this.”

The words punch Ed in the gut. No.

He crosses the room and lowers himself onto the couch beside Stede, reaching out, then hesitating. When Stede gives him the faintest nod, Ed takes his hands gently, wrapping them in his own.

“I want you,” he says, voice low and steady. “Fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. We’re good together, Stede. And I’m not ready to let your father destroy that.”

Stede’s eyes shine with tears, jaw tight. “Ed… it’s not safe. You said it yourself. And if something happened to you because of me—”

“I want to get you away from this,” Ed interrupts, gripping his hands tighter. “I know you said no. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Stede lifts his eyes to Ed’s, defeated and heavy with longing. “How? You know as well as I do. He’ll find us. No matter where we go.”

Ed leans back slightly, the weight of it all pressing heavy in his chest. Still, he doesn’t let go of Stede’s hands.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I do. But fuck, Stede… I can’t just sit back and do nothing. Not after last night.”

Stede’s lips part like he’s about to argue. But then he stops himself, mouth closing as his eyes flick away, like hope is something he’s not sure he’s allowed to feel.

“You sang like your heart was breaking,” Ed says. “And I think maybe it is? He’s stealing your light, Stede. Wearing you down. Breaking your soul. And I think it might kill me to watch that happen.”

The words hang there, heavy and raw. Because they’re true. If he has to stand by and watch what makes Stede special fade—if he watches that spark snuffed out by Vincent Bonnet—then some part of Ed will go with it.

Stede presses his forehead to Ed’s, and Ed releases his hands, threading his fingers into Stede’s hair, holding him there. Stede’s palms come up to cradle Ed’s cheeks, and they sit in the quiet, breathing the same air, clinging to the stillness like it might hold the answer.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Stede whispers, voice thick. “Help me think of some way I can keep you. Please.”

The words wind around Ed’s ribs and squeeze tight. It feels like they’ve crossed some invisible line—past the point of no return. They’re doing this. Together. And it’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

“I’ll get you out of this,” Ed says, his voice low, steady. A promise. “I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

And then Stede is kissing him—urgent, desperate, like the air might run out if he doesn’t. Like their lives depend on this. And maybe they do. Maybe this is the only thing that’s ever made sense. Because if Ed’s honest, life didn’t really start until Stede walked into it.

His pulse thunders as he wraps his arms around Stede’s back, pulling him in tighter, licking into his mouth like he can drink him down, memorize every part of him before the world has a chance to take it away. It’s everything he’s needed since waking up alone, and more.

Stede clutches at the back of Ed’s jacket, mouth parting wider as the kiss deepens, all hesitation stripped away. It’s not gentle anymore; it’s hungry, frantic, like they’re making up for all the time they’ve lost and all the time they might not get.

Ed groans low in his throat, shifting so he can guide Stede backward onto the couch, pressing him down with the weight of his body, fire spreading through his vein. He breaks the kiss only to mouth at Stede’s jaw, then his neck, breathing hard.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Ed murmurs against his skin, voice rough. “Fuck, I woke up and thought I’d dreamed it all. Thought I’d lost you.”

“You haven’t,” Stede gasps, pushing Ed’s jacket down his shoulders, desperate to get closer, to feel skin on skin. “I’m here… I’m yours.”

That breaks something loose in Ed. He crashes back into him, lips searching, hands already dragging Stede’s sweater up his body, only pulling his lips away from Stede’s body long enough to pull it over his head, needing to touch, to claim. They may not have the luxury of time—not with danger always breathing down their necks—but in this moment, they do have each other.

And Ed is going to make damn sure Stede feels it.

Ed leans back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought before working open his belt with shaking hands. His fingers are already reaching for Stede’s, fumbling at the buckle, then the buttons, breath catching as he works them open. Their breathing is rough and shallow, their urgency measurable, every movement fueled by the electric tension between them.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Stede’s trousers and underwear, dragging them down in one swift pull. Stede lifts his hips to help, skin flushed and eyes wild, and Ed swears he could lose his mind right then and there, seeing this beautiful young man laid out bare beneath him. Stede kicks off his shoes without finesse, along with the pants, Ed doing the same with his own boots, both of them tangled up in their own eagerness. Ed strips out of his pants in a rush, leaving them finally, completely bare.

Then he’s on him again, pressing down into Stede’s body, capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and desperation. Stede wraps around him instantly, arms locking tight around Ed’s shoulders, nails scraping into skin like he never wants to let go. Ed gasps into his mouth at the firm press of Stede’s cock against his hip, grinding down to give him the friction he’s clearly aching for.

The sound that rips from Stede’s chest is half-moan, half-gasp, and Ed is instantly, completely undone. It might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

“Oil?” Ed asks, eyes scanning the room in a frenzy. “Please tell me you have oil.”

“In there,” Stede says, twisting just enough to gesture toward the drawer in the side table.

Ed lunges for it, yanking the drawer open and snatching out a small jar. He fumbles the lid off and scoops out a layer of what he guesses is coconut oil, setting it down with a clatter as he rubs it between his fingers to warm it. Then his slick hand is back between them, wrapping around both their cocks and stroking them together in one firm, fluid grip.

The sensation is immediate—hot, slick, unbearably good—and Stede gasps, hips bucking into Ed’s hand.

“God, Ed—” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “Please don’t stop… please.”

“Not gonna,” Ed rasps, mouth brushing against his. “Not until you come for me.”

He kisses him hard, filthy and tender all at once, working them in fast, desperate strokes. Stede’s entire body is trembling, head falling back against the cushions, and Ed mouths along the line of his throat, tasting sweat and skin and the wild flutter of his pulse.

It’s messy. Unrestrained. Everything they’ve been holding back, finally spilling over.

And Stede’s right there. Ed can feel it in the way his thighs shake, in the stuttering breaths and broken moans falling from his lips.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Ed murmurs into his ear, hips rolling in time with his strokes. “Come with me.”

Stede shatters with a cry, body arching as he spills over Ed’s fist in white-hot spurts. Ed follows almost immediately, burying his face in Stede’s neck as they fall over the edge together, breathless and burning and so fucking alive.

Ed hovers above Stede, arms trembling with effort, but he can’t bring himself to look away. Stede is radiant—flushed and sweaty, hair mussed, lips parted, eyes locked to his like he’s still unraveling. Ed wants to memorize him like this, burned into memory. But the weight of holding himself up—of everything—becomes too much, and he wraps Stede in his arms, gently shifting them onto their sides. Thank fuck the couch is wide enough.

He brushes a thumb across Stede’s cheek, leaning in for a soft, lingering kiss. His eyes slip shut. When he finally pulls away, he’s met with the unmistakable feeling of sweat and come cooling between them.

“Shit,” Ed says, letting out a low laugh. “We’re a bit of a mess, aren’t we?”

“Oh,” Stede says, glancing between them. “Yeah, we are. Yuck,” he adds, laughing too, a little pink in the cheeks.

The little crinkle in his nose, and the look of disgust is so cute, Ed wants to kiss it off of him. But he sits up instead, glancing around the room, and Stede mirrors him.

“Um,” Stede says, getting to his feet. “Oh! I forgot—”

He crosses to the writing desk and opens the bottom drawer, pulling out a towel, then grabs a glass bottle of water from a small cabinet beside the fireplace. He pops the lid and pours some over the cloth.

Ed reaches for it, circling his fingers around Stede’s wrist to guide him closer. He gently wipes the towel over Stede’s stomach and chest, slow and tender.

“Had these in here from summer,” Stede murmurs, threading his fingers through Ed’s damp waves near his temple, “for when we went swimming in the pond. We never did.”

The simple sweetness of that gesture—the way Stede touches him, like he means it—makes Ed’s heart flutter. He finishes wiping him down, then cleans himself before tossing the towel aside and tugging Stede back into his lap. They shift into a more comfortable sprawl on the couch, Ed wrapping both arms around him. It’s cold in the shed, so he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and pulls it around them. Stede immediately nuzzles into his chest, warm and close.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Stede whispers.

Ed presses a kiss to the top of his head, holding him just a little tighter.

Ed holds him in the stillness, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against his own, mind spinning as he tries to find a foolproof way to get them both out from under Vincent’s thumb. Until Stede is safe, there won’t be room in his head for anything else. And that’s fine. He needs him to be safe.

“I’m going to have to keep up the show of dating Ricky,” Stede says quietly.

Ed’s stomach knots at the thought. Stede pretending to date that smug bastard, letting him anywhere near him… it’s unbearable, really. 

“Stede, no,” Ed says, sitting up abruptly, forcing Stede to rise with him. “He’s a creep. And there’s something off about him. I don’t know what, but it’s there. I feel it.”

“Ed,” Stede says, voice calm but firm, “you know as well as I do that if I don’t, Vincent’s going to get suspicious.”

He pauses, then gestures between them.

“And if we’re doing this, then I’m not going to let you carry all the risk. I won’t sit back while you protect me and we do nothing to keep you safe.”

Ed’s throat tightens. It’s becoming increasingly clear that whatever this is between them—it isn’t just about sex. It’s not even just about the feelings they’re developing. It’s something bigger. Something deeper. And somehow, it feels inevitable.

Stede, for all his softness, has a strength that most people overlook. But Ed sees it. He feels it. He’s not going to underestimate him like the rest of the world always has.

Whatever this bond is between them, it feels meant to be. And if they’re going to make it out of this alive, Ed has to accept that they need each other. That trust has to go both ways. That includes trusting Stede’s instincts when it comes to keeping him safe.

“Okay,” Ed says after a beat, voice low. “But if he does anything to hurt you…”

“I’ll gladly stand by your side and kick his ass with you,” Stede says without hesitation.

Ed lets out a laugh that’s warm, real, full of affection. Because even if he can’t exactly picture sweet, sensitive Stede throwing punches, the fire in his voice is something to behold.

He pulls him in, kissing him again, deep, anchoring, and all-consuming. His arms wrap tighter around Stede’s body and it feels like protection. Like safety. Like home.

And maybe there’s nothing safe about kissing Stede when his father is Vincent Bonnet, but Ed has never felt anything so right in his entire life. The danger doesn’t matter anymore. The risk, the fear, the consequences—they all pale in comparison to this. Because if falling in love with Stede isn’t worth fighting for, then what the fuck is?

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

Stede doesn’t know when exactly it happened—when the guarded suspicion he'd once felt toward Edward Teach had softened into something warm and unshakable—but somewhere along the line, it had. A shift so gradual he didn’t notice until it was already complete.

He hadn’t trusted Ed at first. Not one bit. He’d seen him as another of his father’s watchful dogs. Rough around the edges, unpredictable, dangerous. But now?

Now he trusts him with his life. Not out of naivety, but with a startling clarity. And maybe he should be questioning that. Maybe he should be wary of how easily Ed had dismantled his defenses with slow smiles, steady hands, and the most warm, brown eyes that make his heart race when fixed on him. But the truth is undeniable: he does trust him. Implicitly. And fuck, he might even be falling a little bit in love with him.

The thought terrifies him more than Vincent ever could.

They spend the rest of the day together, trying desperately to cling to the illusion of normalcy. Stede tells his mother Ed’s taking him into town to shop for new date clothes: a half-truth. What he’s really doing is disappearing with Ed for a few precious hours, far from Bonnet territory, down the winding coast in Ed’s roaring Thunderbird.

The ocean air rushes through the open windows, cool and salty, whipping Stede’s hair beneath the hat he wears low over his forehead. He’s donned a pair of clear-framed glasses, his disguise for days like this, when he wants to be invisible… just in case.

The little café is quiet, tucked away from the main road, with striped umbrellas and faded wooden tables that smell faintly of lemon oil and salt. It's the kind of place that feels suspended in time, like it doesn’t belong to anyone, but especially not to Vincent Bonnet.

They sit across from one another with the sun on their shoulders and the sound of distant waves rolling in. It’s hard not to reach across the table and take Ed’s hand. Hard not to let his fingers wander to that strong forearm, trace the tattoos, or reach up and touch the soft edge of his smile. But he doesn’t. They promised they’d be careful. In public, they’d keep things platonic. Just two friends, out for lunch. Just two ghosts, haunting a life they’re not allowed to live.

Ed talks about Aotearoa. About fishing with his cousins (he was never particularly good at it, but he’d caught a fish… once), music in the living room, the way the hills looked from his grandmother’s porch in the rain. His voice softens with memory, and Stede listens, caught between envy and wonder. He hasn’t been back since they’d moved away. He hadn't even let himself think about it, not really. Hearing Ed speak of it so vividly, like it still lives in him, makes Stede ache. It makes him want things. Makes him dream of other lives, ones not dictated by fear or bloodlines.

Sitting in that sunlight, with the clink of silverware and the sound of Ed’s voice steady and low, it’s easy to believe they could build one of those lives together.

But they both know better.

They’ll finish their coffee. They’ll drive back up the coast. They’ll play their parts. And maybe, if they’re lucky, no one will catch the way longing hangs in the quiet between them.

They return later that afternoon, having actually gone into town after their little date to pick up a few pieces of clothing, just enough to make the story believable. Coming back empty-handed would raise questions, and questions are the last thing they need.

When they pull into the long stone drive, the shadows are longer, cooler, stretching across the courtyard. Ned Low is sitting on a bench across the courtyard like he owns the place, boots propped on the lip of the fountain, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His eyes track them as they roll in, slow and deliberate, like he’s been waiting for them to arrive.

“That one’s trouble,” Ed murmurs, keeping his eyes ahead, nodding subtly toward Low. “We’re gonna have to watch him closely.”

“Yep,” Stede says under his breath as if talking too loudly will mean Ned can overhear. With the windows now rolled up, he knows that’s impossible, but the fear is still there, and he ducks his head down. “I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll grab my bags and walk in like I couldn’t care less you were with me.”

Ed parks in front of the carriage house without a word, just nodding ever-so-slightly. The silence settles in sharp around them. After the warmth of the day, the sunlight, the shared laughter, the quiet moments where Ed had looked at him like maybe he meant something, this cold return to reality feels like a gut punch.

Stede climbs out, grabs the bags from the trunk, and walks away without looking back, posture measured and stiff, like he’s just another spoiled rich kid with errands handled by the help. He hates it. 

His heart twists as he does, a deep ache blooming in his chest. The injustice of it makes his blood burn. Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t he fall in love with whoever the fuck he wants, and be allowed to hold onto it?

Once inside, Stede barely makes it past the front hall before his mother, Sarah’s voice floats out from the study off the entryway; the same room where he’d first met Ed.

“Stede,” she calls.

He freezes, his hand on the rail of the stairway. Her tone is troubling, too serious to be casual, making him feel an impending sense of dread. He steps inside to find her sitting in the armchair by the window, back straight, book resting in her lap. She snaps it shut as he enters, the sound sharp and deliberate.

“Let’s take a walk,” she says, already rising, not waiting for a reply.

Something about the look in her eye makes his stomach knot. She knows something. He’s not sure what, exactly, but whatever it is, it doesn’t bode well.

“O…kay,” Stede says, carefully placing his bags by the door and falling into step behind her.

They cross the entryway in silence, heels tapping against the tile floor. She doesn’t glance at him, doesn’t speak. Only opens the back door and leads him out into the garden, moving with unsettling purpose.

The late afternoon air is cool and crisp, the sky slowly warming into golds and mauves. She heads toward the far edge of the property, toward the tree line, and dread coils tighter in his chest when he realizes they’re walking straight toward his hideaway.

His pulse quickens.

Does she know?

After a short walk in silence, the little shed comes into view on the far side of the pond, its silhouette half-sunk in the shadows of the trees. His eyes dart to it instinctively, then back to her.

By the time they stop near the water’s edge, Stede’s nerves are a live wire under his skin. They’re far enough from the house that no one can hear them—not the staff, not Vincent, not Ned—and that should be a relief. But it only makes the quiet worse.

He finally breaks it.

“What’s… this about, Mother?” he asks, voice tight. “It seems like you’ve got something you wanted to say, and to be honest, you’re kind of freaking me out.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, arms crossed, gazing out over the still water like she’s searching it for answers. The low sun catches her hair, casting it in soft gold. She looks almost otherworldly like this—regal and tragic, all at once.

It takes Stede off guard. There was a time, once, when he saw her this way often. When he believed she was strong. When he believed she might protect him.

“I saw you,” she says at last, her voice lower now. “Coming out of Teach’s apartment. Late last night.”

Stede feels the world tilt. He hadn’t seen her. Hadn’t even considered the possibility she’d be awake, watching from a window.

Shit.

His breath catches in his throat.

But when he looks at her, he sees something unexpected in her face. Not anger. Not judgment.

Fear.

“Stede,” she says, finally turning toward him. “I know you hate your father. And to be honest… I’m right there with you.”

That lands like a punch to the chest. Stede stares at her, stunned. His mother, who’s spent years sitting quietly beside Vincent at every dinner, through his cruelties, seemingly turning away when things got bad… hates him?

He wants to ask why she stayed. Why she didn’t run when she had the chance. Why she didn’t take him with her and disappear. But even as the questions form, the answer begins to dawn.

Because Vincent would’ve found her.

Just like he’d find Stede and Ed if they ran.

And suddenly, her quiet compliance doesn’t look like cowardice. It looks like survival.

“I wish I could’ve been stronger, Stede,” Sarah says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wish I could’ve found some way to get you out of here. But you know how powerful your father is. If he finds out you’re involved with Teach… you know what he’ll do to him.”

The words settle like lead in Stede’s chest. The pond ripples quietly behind them, catching the late afternoon light, but the beauty of the scene does nothing to ease the pressure building in his ribs.

“I know,” Stede mutters, dragging his hands down his face. His fingers feel cold against his skin. “But I’ve never met someone I connect with like him.”

Sarah turns toward him, her eyes glassy, and reaches out. She grabs his arms and squeezes. Her grip is gentle but firm, and the look on her face is more raw than he’s ever seen from her. It’s frightened, and fiercely maternal.

“I want nothing more than for you to find love,” she says. “Real love. And if he’s good to you? Stede, you deserve that. You deserve kindness. But I am terrified of what will happen if Vincent finds out you’re seeing someone who works for him. I’ve seen what your father is capable of when he feels betrayed. I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want to see someone you care about get hurt either.”

Her voice falters. “There’s been too much death in your world already. And I hate it.”

It’s the first time she’s ever spoken a word against Vincent, and the admission hits Stede harder than he expects. For so long, her silence had felt like complicity, or an acceptance of his cruelty. Now that he knows the truth, that she’s been trying to survive just as much as he has been, he feels closer to her than he ever has before.

His heart aches with it.

“If you felt this way,” he asks, voice shaking slightly, “why didn’t you ever say anything?”

She looks away, toward the treeline, where the sun filters through in fractured gold. “Because I couldn’t,” she says quietly. “You were a child. If you’d known I hated him as much as you did… I was terrified that’d make you bolder, and that you’d try to fight him… And he would’ve broken you.”

Stede swallows hard, blinking against the burn behind his eyes. How different would things have been if he hadn’t felt so alone?

“Why’d you marry him?” he asks, even though he knows the answer before the words are out.

She holds his gaze for a moment, then lets it drop.

“People like us don’t generally get a choice when it comes to marriage,” she says. Her voice is flat, but there's grief under the surface, too deep to name. “There was someone I’d loved a long time ago, too. And I didn’t get to keep her.”

Stede gasps. Did his father kill the woman his mother loved?

“Mother, is she…” he begins, but the words catch in his throat. He can’t finish the question. He doesn’t want to say it aloud, in case the answer shatters them both.

Sarah looks at him, brow furrowed with confusion, and then her eyes widen with realization. “Oh—no,” she says quickly, voice softening. “He didn’t kill her. Last I knew, she was still back in New Zealand.” Her gaze drifts, distant. “I ended things so she wouldn’t get hurt.”

Tears begin to well in her eyes, and she wraps her arms tightly around herself again, holding in everything she’s never said aloud. Her posture, once so composed, is crumbling under the weight of her own history.

Stede watches her, a pit of cold fury opening in his chest. He didn’t think it was possible to hate Vincent more than he already did. But now? Now he knows better.

Sarah breaks the silence. “Can you trust that man?” she asks, eyes not leaving the still surface of the pond. “He works for your father, after all. A part of me is terrified he might be playing you.”

“I do,” Stede says, with more conviction than he’s ever spoken anything before. “He didn’t get a choice, either. When Father brought him in, he was already trapped. Just like you. Just like me.”

She’s quiet a moment, processing that, watching something invisible in the trees. Then she nods slowly. “Okay.”

She turns back to him, expression shifting. “But, Stede?”

“Yes?”

She steps forward without hesitation and wraps her arms around him, holding him close—closer than she has in years. “You have to be more discreet if you want to keep him safe. No more three A.M. visits to his apartment. If you want this… if you truly care about him… figure something safer out.” Her voice cracks. “I want you to find some happiness in this mess of a life, but you have to be smarter about it.”

Stede nods, arms circling around her, one hand resting gently against the back of her head. He presses his cheek to her hair, closing his eyes.

It’s strange, hugging her now, so much taller than he was the last time. So much more aware of everything they’ve both lost. But somehow, in this moment, it feels like something is being quietly rebuilt between them. For the first time in a very long time, he lets himself love her again.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

“How’re things going with the prince?” Vincent asks, swirling the whisky in his glass as he leans back in his leather chair. “Does he seem to be keeping Stede’s interest? I know how… selective he is.”

Ed forces a smile. These little check-ins are always a test—polite on the surface, but sharp beneath. He hates them. Hates sitting in this room like some fucking informant. But he’s good at this—lying straight to Vincent Bonnet’s face without flinching.

“He seems into him,” Ed replies evenly, even as his insides seethe with jealousy at the prince getting to be with Stede out in the open. “And Ricky’s definitely interested, too.”

Vincent hums, unconvinced but seemingly satisfied, for now.

The truth? Things are going well between Ricky and Stede, at least on paper. They’ve been seen together often enough to satisfy appearances. But Ed sees the truth every time Ricky leans in to kiss Stede’s neck. The stiffness in Stede’s spine. The flicker of regret in his eyes. And he knows, because Stede has whispered it in stolen, breathless moments behind closed doors, that it’s him Stede wants. Not the prince. Never the prince.

But those moments are fleeting. A quick touch in passing in a shadowed hallway. A kiss dragged out behind locked doors, always with an ear tuned for footsteps.

Since Sarah found out, things have only grown more careful. Stede assures him his mother is safe and on their side, but Ed knows the walls of this house have ears. He can feel them. It gnaws at him, how little time they get, how much he wants.

It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

“Hornigold tells me you’ve got a friend who’s done some work for him, too,” Vincent says, swirling the last of his whisky before taking a slow sip. “Israel Hands, is his name?”

Ed stiffens, pulse ticking faster. Shit.

Izzy is his fail-safe. His one tether to the outside world. The one who knows everything, including how to reach his family, and help them, if he ends up dead. When Ed had finally confessed the truth, Izzy had been furious. Not just at the danger, but at being kept in the dark. But he'd promised to watch over Ed’s family if it came to that. Now Vincent knew his name. That wasn’t good.

“Yes?” Ed replies, the word cautious, questioning. His tone carefully flat. His mind screaming.

Vincent’s eyes gleam as he leans forward slightly. “There’s a new syndicate in town. Fast-moving. Ruthless. I need more good men on the payroll.” He sets his glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Hornigold recommended Hands. I want you to bring him in. He also mentioned a Fang. And an Ivan. I want them, too.”

Ed’s blood runs cold.

Yeah, they could use the money. They all could. But not like this. Not tied to this. The last thing he wants is to drag them into Vincent Bonnet’s world. But if Vincent already knows their names, they're already in it, whether they sign on or not.

“I’ll talk to them,” Ed says carefully.

“You’ll do more than talk to them,” Vincent cuts in, voice smooth but hard. He leans forward, eyes pinning Ed in place, the shift in posture not loud but deeply menacing. “You’ll bring them to me.”

Ed clenches his jaw. Swallows his anger. His pride. His fear. Fuck this man.

“Yes, sir,” he replies. He stands stiffly. “Am I excused? I need to head into the city.”

Vincent lifts his glass again, already dismissing him. “Good man. You’re excused.”

Ed turns on his heel, walking out without another word. His jaw’s so tight it aches. Every step away from that office feels like a countdown.

He has to find a way to end this. Before Vincent gets everyone he loves killed.

************

In the end, it doesn’t take much to get Izzy, Fang, and Ivan on board. Vincent’s payout is generous, and they’re all smart enough to know that taking the job means keeping their names off any of his hit lists. But more than that, they trust Ed. Enough to follow him into something murky, maybe even suicidal, if it means finding a way out together.

What takes more effort is telling them about Stede.

Ed hesitates longer than he probably should, dread curling in his gut the second the words leave his mouth. He’s Vincent Bonnet’s son. And yeah, Ed’s involved. Deeply. Maybe even irrevocably, though he doesn’t mention that part. Not yet.

Izzy reacts exactly how Ed expects, like he’s just watched Ed set himself on fire.

“You’re thinking with your dick again,” he snaps. “You always do this. You get too close, too fast, and this time it’s gonna get you fucking killed. Or worse… all of us.”

Ed takes the hit. Nods through it. Because he expected it. Izzy’s not wrong to be angry.

But then Fang chimes in, eyes wide, mouth already curving into a grin. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, practically bouncing in his seat. “Like some real star-crossed lovers shit.”

And damn it if Ed doesn’t love him for that.

Ivan, of course, just grunts and leans back in his chair. “So what’s the plan?”

Ed knows they’ve got his back. All of them. He’s not alone in this. Not anymore. Even if he doesn’t have a plan yet…

************

Stede gets back from a date with Ricky a little after nine, and Ed wants nothing more than to drag him into his apartment and rail him into oblivion. It’s been too long since they’ve had sex. Too long since Ed’s gotten to feel the weight of Stede’s body beneath him, to hear him fall apart with a gasp of his name, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking wild.

The last time had been the morning after Stede had crawled into his window, when they’d curled up in the little hideaway together, pretending—if only for a few hours—that the world outside didn’t exist. But things have been tense since. Careful. Too careful. And Ed’s been wound so tight, every glimpse of Stede lately feels like an ache behind his ribs, pulsing hot and slow through his veins.

So when Buttons’ car rolls into the drive and Stede climbs out, Ed is already on the balcony, cigarette between his fingers (not that he’s been out there waiting for the last hour or anything), his breath fogging in the cold night air.

He stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray, stepping into the glow of the open doorway behind him. Light spills out over the balcony, and he watches as Stede lifts his head, catching the movement.

Their eyes meet.

Ed gives the subtlest nod toward the woods. Toward the little hidden place that’s theirs and theirs alone, and Stede barely nods in return, but it’s enough to make Ed’s pulse trip in his chest.

He ducks back inside, moving quickly toward the stairs that lead him out of the apartment.

The moment he’s out the door, the night swallows him whole. The air is sharp in his lungs, breath ghosting visibly as he keeps close to the edges of the property, avoiding the security cameras he’s memorized the placement of. His boots crunch softly over the icy ground, each step louder than he’d like, but he keeps going.

Because whatever risk this is, it’s worth it. Just for the chance to see him. Just to feel him. If Ed doesn’t touch Stede soon, he thinks he just might lose his mind.

And besides, Vincent and Sarah are gone for the month, spending the holiday in Europe, and they’ve taken much of the house staff with them. This is the perfect opportunity for him and Stede to be together.

He reaches the pond, heading straight for the little cabin, when a voice slices through the stillness, making him jump out of his skin.

“Ye’re courtin’ trouble out here, mate,” the voice calls from behind him, and Ed whirls around.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” he hisses—way louder than he meant to—as he turns to find Buttons standing near the water’s edge.

He’s completely naked. Arms raised toward the sky, bathed in pale moonglow like some half-mad prophet, the light casting strange shadows across his wiry frame. Ed’s grateful the man’s facing the pond.

“I been lookin’ after this place long before Bonnet ever laid his greedy hands on it,” Buttons says, voice calm and distant, like he’s speaking more to the moon than to Ed. “So I ken things. About this land. About you. And about young Stede.”

Ed’s heart stutters, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Dinna fash yerself, laddie,” Buttons says, tilting his head just enough to catch Ed’s eye before turning back to the water. “I’m on yer side.”

Ed raises a brow. How? How the hell can a man who works for Vincent Bonnet be on his side? But then again, Ed works for the man too. And he sure as hell isn’t loyal to the bastard.

As if reading his thoughts, Buttons goes on, “I ken what yer thinkin’. That ye’ve no reason t’ trust me. And fair enough. But hear this: I know these grounds like the back o’ my arse. And I’ve known what’s been goin’ on between the two o’ ye since the beginnin’. And I’ve not breathed a word to Bonnet.”

His voice softens, though the strange, trance-like quality remains.

“Ye belong wi’ Stede, lad. Plain as the stars above. Plain as my love fer the sea.”

A chill runs down Ed’s spine, not from the cold, but from how sure Buttons sounds. Like he knows things other people don’t.

“There’s a passage from the cellar,” Buttons says, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. “Old one. No soul knows ‘bout it but me. Well, me ‘n Stede, now. Leads straight to the carriage house.”

He turns to Ed fully now, bare and grinning, utterly unbothered. “He’s waitin’ for ye there. Safer than climbin’ through yer window like he did a fortnight ago.”

Then he winks, like this is all very normal, and turns back to his moonlit communion without another word.

Ed just stands there, stunned for a beat, Buttons’s words hanging in the cold air. Then it hits him. If the old man’s telling the truth, Stede might be waiting for him right now, back where he’d just come from. Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads for the carriage house, boots crunching over the frozen ground as he sets a brisk pace.

He still doesn’t know if he can actually trust Buttons. Something about the man feels sincere. Odd, yes, but not malicious. He’d clearly known about Ed and Stede’s little… dalliances long before this moment, and so far, he hasn’t breathed a word to Vincent. At least, not that Ed’s aware of. But then again, maybe that’s the game. Maybe this is all one long con, a slow burn meant to lure Ed into a trap and watch him fall.

If that’s the case?

Then all he can do now is get back to Stede, and use every second they have to ruin him in the best possible way. To take his time and drive him out of his mind, to wring every gasp and moan from his lips until he’s trembling apart in Ed’s arms. If their days together are numbered, Ed’s going to make damn sure Stede spends each one knowing exactly how it feels to be wanted, truly, desperately, and without restraint.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

Stede presses his palms against the wall at the end of the passageway. It gives with a soft groan, spilling warm light into the narrow dark. He squints, momentarily blinded, then steps into Ed’s apartment, straight out from behind a bookcase. The sight makes him pause. How had no one in his family, or on Vincent’s payroll, known this was here? He swings it closed again, the seam vanishing into place, sealing the secret away. Ed isn’t back yet; he must still be making his way back from Stede’s hideaway.

He slips the note from Buttons into his coat pocket, the paper faintly warm from being held tight in his fist on the walk here. Buttons had slipped it to him when they’d first gotten back tonight, leaning close to murmur, “Keep it safe,” before disappearing into the trees. When Stede unfolded it, his first feeling was a jolt of fear. Someone else on Vincent’s payroll to choose whether or not to trust.

But Buttons had never given him cause to doubt him. Not in all the years since they’d moved here. He’d covered for Stede more times than he could count, quietly turning a blind eye when Stede snuck out during high school, offering odd, knowing nods that never became words. So when the rest of the note revealed instructions to a hidden passage between the cellar and Ed’s apartment, Stede had made his choice. Buttons could be trusted.

And tonight, that trust had led him here, through a stone passage, into the quiet warmth of Ed’s space, where in moments, Ed will hopefully step in and find him waiting. The thought sends a slow, dangerous heat curling through his chest, and knowing how much safer it will be visiting Ed is thrilling. This little secret is worth more than gold. He owes Buttons a huge debt.

The door swings open, a burst of cold air sweeping in before Ed steps through. His gaze locks on Stede immediately, sharp and unrelenting, and the heat in those eyes makes Stede’s pulse skip.

Ed shuts the door with a hard press of his palm, the latch clicking into place. Then he’s moving fast and purposeful, closing the space between them in a few long strides. His eyes are dark. Dangerous.

The next thing Stede knows, his back is against the wall, Ed’s mouth on his, teeth catching his lower lip before Ed’s tongue licks into the kiss, hungry and claiming. He smells of smoke and leather, and there’s a warm spice to him—something that makes Stede’s head go light, his thoughts scattered.

Strong arms wind around his back, hauling him closer, and Stede clutches at Ed’s shoulders like they’re the only steady thing in the room.

“Fuck, Stede,” Ed growls against his mouth. “Want you so fucking bad.”

“You have me,” Stede breathes, the words hitching as Ed trails kisses along his jaw. One hand cups Stede’s cheek, the other wraps firmly around the back of his neck, thumb tilting his head to the side.

Ed bites down on the curve of his throat, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make Stede gasp, then soothes the spot with his tongue, mouth moving in slow, possessive presses down the column of his neck.

“God, you smell so good,” Ed murmurs against his skin. “Did you put this cologne on for me… or for Ricky?”

He leans back just enough to meet Stede’s eyes, and the fire there sends molten heat straight through Stede’s core. That raw possessiveness has his breath catching on Ed’s name.

“Only for you,” Stede says, voice low, almost pleading.

Ed leans in again, this time licking a slow, deliberate path up his neck.

“Fuck!” Stede gasps. “Always for you.”

Ed’s gaze locks on Stede like a predator catching sight of prey, a slow, devilish smile curving his lips. Heat floods Stede’s chest, sinking and then coiling low in his belly.

“Do you remember that traffic light system?” Ed’s voice is low, deliberate, leaving no space for disobedience.

“Yes,” Stede answers, breathless before they’ve even touched.

“Use it if you need it. Understood?”

There’s steel in the question, and it makes Stede’s pulse trip, excitement threading through his veins like a livewire.

“Yes,” he manages, the word trembling out of him before instinct takes over and he adds, “please, Ed…”

Ed’s hand closes around Stede’s wrists, guiding them firmly up around his neck.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, then bends and hauls Stede off the ground like he weighs nothing. Stede locks his legs tight around Ed’s waist, a gasp breaking into a needy whimper when Ed pins him to the wall and kisses him hard and deep, claiming, leaving no doubt who’s in control.

When Ed pushes off the wall, carrying him down the hall, Stede can only cling tighter, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. In the bedroom, Ed drops him to the mattress and is on him in an instant, yanking the sweater over his head and tossing it aside. The shirt beneath doesn’t last much longer as Ed’s fingers work the buttons open with swift precision, sliding the fabric off Stede’s shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a glance.

Stede’s hands fumble for Ed’s shirt, desperate, but Ed doesn’t give him time to linger. A sharp tug from Ed frees it from his waistband, and before Stede can get the belt undone, Ed’s already stripped it over his head, standing over him like he owns every inch of the moment, and Stede wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m gonna take my time with you, Starling,” Ed murmurs, and the low, deliberate weight of the nickname makes Stede’s pulse thunder in his ears.

It’s not just a pet name, it’s possession, spoken in a tone that wraps around him like silk and steel. It makes him feel claimed, special… seen. Like he and Ed are something far deeper than either of them have dared to name.

“Up the bed,” Ed orders, his voice calm but laced with an edge that leaves no room for hesitation. He peels away from the mattress, crossing to the dresser with slow, purposeful strides.

Stede obeys instantly, the rough brush of the sheets against the bare skin of his back sending sparks through him. He props his head against the pillows, eyes tracking Ed, but the man’s back blocks his view as he pulls open a drawer.

There’s the faint, hushed rasp of fabric sliding against wood, and then Ed turns, two silk ties dangling from his hands—one black, one red, both shimmering in the soft light. His gaze pins Stede in place, hot and unblinking.

“How do you feel about being tied to the bed… and blindfolded?” Ed asks, each word deliberate, the kind that makes Stede feel undone even without being touched.

The question sends a molten rush of anticipation down Stede’s spine. His breath hitches, and he swallows hard before answering.

“Fuck, yes,” he says, voice breaking just slightly, betraying how badly he wants it. “Very… very green with both of those.”

The corner of Ed’s mouth curves, slow and wicked, and Stede’s stomach flutters. He’s putting himself completely at Ed’s mercy, and nothing has ever felt so right.

“Hands above your head,” Ed says, his voice low, deliberate, and Stede obeys instantly, sliding his arms up until his wrists rest against the headboard. His pulse hammers in his ears.

Ed climbs onto the bed with the kind of unhurried control that makes Stede ache. He straddles Stede’s hips, the solid weight of him pressing down, keeping him still. The faint scent of smoke and leather clings to Ed’s skin, mixed with something distinctly him.

He threads one of the ties through the headboard slat, the brush of the silk over Stede’s skin making his breath hitch. Ed binds his wrists together, pulling just tight enough that Stede can feel the restraint every time he moves.

“Too tight?” Ed asks, his fingers brushing Stede’s cheek in a gesture that’s almost tender.

“No,” Stede says, voice a breathy whisper.

The second tie comes next, Ed looping it around Stede’s head. The soft material blocks out the light, plunging Stede into darkness. His senses sharpen instantly, hearing the faint creak of the mattress as Ed shifts, feeling the warmth of his thighs pinning him in place, the ghost of Ed’s breath over his face.

“Good,” Ed murmurs, and Stede shivers. “Now you’re mine. I’ll decide when you see me again. When you can touch me again.”

Ed’s fingers trail down Stede’s chest, pausing to toy with the buttons of his trousers before popping them open one by one. He doesn’t pull them off yet—doesn’t even slip his hand inside. Instead, he drags his knuckles slowly, deliberately along the line of Stede’s thigh, a teasing promise of more.

“Mm… still too dressed,” Ed says. “We’ll fix that… but not yet.”

He leans in, lips grazing the shell of Stede’s ear. “First, I’m going to make you beg for it.”

Ed shifts lower, and then his hands are on his ankles, untying and sliding off each shoe in turn, so gentle it makes Stede’s pulse race. The sound of them hitting the floor is soft, but somehow it makes Stede’s breath catch. 

The socks come next, Ed’s fingers curling around his foot to peel them away slowly, almost lazily, before letting them drop. Stede hears another pair of heavier thuds—his own boots, perhaps—and then the whisper of fabric as Ed crawls back up over him.

“A start,” Ed murmurs, voice dark with approval.

Warm hands run up Stede’s still-clothed calves, climbing over him and settling over his thighs. The bed dips with his weight as he bends down, pressing a slow, claiming kiss at Stede’s neck, a gasp falling from his lips.

Then he starts moving downward.

The scrape of Ed’s facial hair drags against Stede’s skin as he kisses and nips along his ribs, his sternum, circling a tongue around each of his nipples, and an electric pulse of desire threads through him, back arching off the bed. Ed kisses the sharp curve of his waist, and every few bites, he soothes the mark with his tongue, his breath warm and heavy against his skin. Stede can’t help but find the dark space he now lives in behind the blindfold thrilling, not knowing what’s coming next.

When Ed reaches the open gap of Stede’s trousers, his mouth pauses. Stede can feel the heat of him hovering there, so close that it makes his hips twitch. Then Ed presses his lips to the strip of exposed skin just above Stede’s cock, lingering, letting the pressure speak.

“Mm… you’re already so hard,” Ed mutters against his skin, his voice almost a growl. “You want me to keep going, Starling?”

“Yes,” Stede breathes, the word coming out almost desperate. “Please, Ed…”

Ed chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Stede’s stomach before he bites, sharp enough to make Stede gasp, then soothes it with a slow swirl of his tongue.

“Good,” Ed says, his hands gripping the waistband now. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re begging.”

Ed’s thumbs hook beneath the waistband, dragging the fabric down just enough for his fingers to skim over the soft skin of Stede’s hips. The lightest touch, barely there, makes Stede strain upward for more.

“Uh-uh,” Ed murmurs, pressing him back into the mattress with a firm hand on his hip. “You stay still, Starling. I’ll give you what you want when I’m ready.”

Stede swallows hard, the command winding him tighter. The blindfold makes the air feel thicker somehow, every rustle of fabric sharper, every shift of the bed magnified. His wrists strain against the tie, fabric biting into his flesh.

Ed eases the trousers down more, slow enough that the sound of the fabric gliding against his skin feels like a drawn-out promise. He kisses the newly exposed skin as he goes, ignoring where Stede needs him most. He pulls his underwear down slightly, kissing his hips, the inside of his thigh, nipping at the tender flesh before smoothing it with his tongue once more. The warmth of his breath lingers in the trail he leaves behind. Every sensation is heightened with the blindfold on, and Stede loves it.

When the trousers are finally gone, Ed doesn’t rush to the underwear. Instead, he reaches beneath Stede, grasping the flesh of his ass beneath the fabric, squeezing, Stede gasping at the sensation. He  runs his hands up and over Stede’s hips, palms his thighs, spreading them just enough to dip between and press an open-mouthed kiss high on the inside of one, then the other. His teeth catch skin, a brief sting, before his tongue soothes it.

“God, you taste good everywhere,” Ed says, voice low and rough. “Makes me want to keep you here all night.”

Stede’s breath stutters, and Stede can hear the smile that Ed huffs from his lips. His fingers trace the outline of Stede’s cock through the fabric, slow and deliberate, the friction making Stede shiver.

“Tell me you want my mouth on you,” Ed says, his tone more of a command than a request.

“I—yes, fuck, I want—” Stede’s voice breaks, desperation bleeding through.

Ed’s smirk is audible. “Good boy.”

Ed doesn’t give him time to think about what’s coming next. His grip shifts, one hand sliding up the inside of Stede’s thigh, spreading him wider, the other curling around his hip to hold him firmly in place. Stede’s body is already straining upward, desperate, but Ed’s weight and that grounding hand keep him pinned exactly where he wants him.

Then the warmth of Ed’s breath ghosts over him, teasing right at the aching center of his need. Stede barely has time to suck in a breath before Ed’s mouth closes over him, through the thin cotton, hot and wet and devastating.

The shock of it rips a broken sound from Stede’s throat, his back arching hard against the mattress. The damp heat, the pressure of Ed’s lips and tongue moving deliberately over the fabric, is maddening. Every tiny movement sends sparks racing up his spine, the texture of the cloth dragging in a way that’s almost too much and not nearly enough all at once.

“Fuck—Ed—” he gasps, voice cracking. His wrists pull uselessly against the tie, the sensation of being bound and blindfolded making it feel like his body has nowhere to put the tension building inside him.

Ed hums low, the vibration sinking through the fabric and straight into him, and Stede’s hips twitch in spite of himself. That hand on his hip tightens, a silent warning, and he forces himself to go still, panting through the restraint.

“That’s it,” Ed says, his tone dark with approval before dragging his mouth slowly away, leaving the damp outline of his lips cooling against the cotton. “You stay right there for me, Starling. I’ll decide when you get more.”

His hands shift lower, gripping the backs of Stede’s thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of his underwear. Then he bends down, once again brushing his mouth directly over Stede’s cock, hot breath seeping through the thin cotton before his lips close around him.

The sensation is maddening—soft fabric between them, yes, but nothing hiding the wet heat of Ed’s mouth or the firm, insistent pressure of his tongue tracing along the length beneath. Stede gasps, hips jerking before Ed’s palms press him firmly back down.

“Still,” Ed murmurs against him, the vibration making Stede’s toes curl. “You move when I say you can.”

Stede’s wrists pull helplessly at the ties, muscles taut, every nerve alight. He can’t see Ed, but he can feel him. Can feel his lips dragging up to the tip, his tongue circling, pressing just enough to make Stede’s breath stutter into a moan. The friction of the dampened fabric sends sparks up his spine, an unbearable tease. He wants more. Needs more.

Ed pulls back only enough to speak, his voice low and rough. “I can feel how hard you are. All I have to do is take this off, and you’re mine,” he adds, running his hand on the hardness beneath Stede’s underwear. 

He waits a beat, just long enough for the waiting to become unbearable. “Do you want that, Starling?”

“Fuck, yes—please, Ed,” Stede gasps, forcing himself to stay still, toes curling hard into the mattress. The restraint around his wrists bites into his skin as Ed’s mouth returns, slow and deliberate, over the aching length of him.

Then the fabric is easing down, Ed’s thumbs dragging along his hips as he frees him. Cool air rushes over his spit-slick cock, the sudden exposure making him shiver. The underwear slides away completely, and before Stede can take a full breath, that wet, searing heat surrounds him, fully this time.

“Fuck!” His back arches off the bed, pleasure ripping the word from him. “Feels so—ah—good!”

Ed pulls back with a wet sound that makes Stede’s head spin, pressing a firm palm to his stomach to keep him down.
“I told you, love… still,” Ed says, his voice like knives wrapped in silk.

The term of endearment lands like a punch to the chest, his heart squeezing almost painfully.

“If you can’t follow my orders,” Ed continues, leaning close enough for his breath to ghost over Stede’s lips, “you lose my mouth. Understand me, my sweet?”

Stede swallows hard, his pulse roaring in his ears. Every word, every touch, every sharp-edged kiss winds him tighter. He’s teetering on the edge of something far more dangerous than lust, his chest aching with the truth he can’t say—that he’s falling in love with Edward Teach. The grip Ed has on his heart… It’s encompassing. It’s life-giving. It’s… everything he ever wanted, or dreamed of having. And he’s not sure how much longer he can keep pretending Ricky means anything at all to him.

“Understood,” Stede gasps, voice trembling.

It’s only then he notices the rest of him is trembling too, small, involuntary shivers running through his limbs. Heat and emotion twist together in his chest until it’s almost unbearable, the rush of sensation threatening to spill over into something else entirely. His throat tightens; his eyes burn. It’s… too much. Too much want, too much care, too much everything.

And Ed notices.

The pressure at his wrists eases in an instant, the fabric falling away, and then the blindfold is gone. Stede blinks against the dim light, vision swimming until it sharpens on Ed’s face above him.

“Stede,” Ed says, low but urgent, one hand cupping his cheek, the other curling at the back of his neck. His eyes are dark with concern, all command replaced by raw, unguarded care. “What’s wrong?”

The pads of Ed’s fingers graze over his cheekbone, brushing away the dampness there before it can fall. Stede swallows hard, breath stuttering as he tries to find words. But with Ed looking at him like that—like he’s not just something to control but something to protect—the dam inside him feels dangerously close to breaking.

He tries to speak, but the words stick in his throat, thick and useless. His breath catches, and then Ed is sitting up, his hands leaving Stede’s body. The loss is immediate, a jarring cold where warmth had been, and Stede hates it. He hates not being touched, not being held. He needs Ed’s hands on him, needs the anchor they provide.

“Can I…” Ed begins, voice low, hesitant, one arm slightly outstretched in invitation.

Stede nods before Ed can even finish the question, and the moment he does, the tears spill over, hot against his cheeks as a sob wrenches through him.

Ed gathers him up without another word, strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him tight against his chest. Stede folds into him instantly, burying his face into the warm press of Ed’s neck. The scent of him—smoke, spice, and sweat—settles in his lungs, and he feels safe. Safe to cling to him. Safe to cry. Safe to let every tangled, overwhelming emotion surge to the surface.

Ed’s hand moves slow and steady over his back, as if to say I’ve got you, you’re safe.

Stede sobs, curling tighter into himself, into Ed’s chest. The shame is unbearable. He’s ruined this perfect moment he’d craved for weeks, shattered by his own weakness. They’d needed this, he’d needed this, but his fucking emotions had betrayed him. And through the echo of his ragged breaths, his father’s voice needles into his skull: weak-hearted little rich boy. Over and over, until it drowns everything else.

Who is he to have the love of the man holding him now? Ed deserves freedom, deserves someone he can love without fear of being slaughtered for it. Someone strong, someone who doesn’t break down crying while they’re making love. Stede’s pathetic. Pathetic, just as his father always said. He doesn’t deserve Ed. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m here,” Ed murmurs, arms tightening around him. “I’ve got you.”

The words should soothe, but they twist the knife too, because Stede needs them more than he wants to admit. He buries his face deeper against Ed’s chest, torn between the comfort and the shame of craving it.

Time slips. He doesn’t know how long Ed holds him, but he knows it’s long enough that his sobs fade into quiet whimpers, his body shaking with the aftershocks. The tears still come, slow and steady, but Ed never lets go. One hand strokes his back in firm, steady lines; the other threads into his hair, nails scratching gently against his scalp until shivers race down his spine.

Stede doesn’t deserve the touch, doesn’t deserve the shelter of these arms… but he clings anyway. He clings tighter, because the thought of letting go—of ever letting Ed go—feels like tearing out his own heart.

“Are you able to talk?” Ed asks, arms tightening around him, his lips brushing the top of Stede’s head.

Stede hesitates. He doesn’t trust his voice, doesn’t even know if words will come. But silence feels worse. He can’t just ignore what’s happened. He shifts, trying to pull back, and Ed immediately lets him go, though he stays close. Stede lifts his gaze, and there it is again: that raw concern in Ed’s eyes, softer now, but still sharp enough to pierce him.

“I’m so sorry, Ed,” Stede whispers, his throat ragged. “I… ruined the moment.”

“What? Stede, no!” Ed’s hand is on his cheek instantly, steady, grounding. “You didn’t ruin anything, Starling. I was…”

He stops himself, lips pressing tight.

“You were what?” Stede asks, desperate to know. He needs the truth, needs to understand.

“It’s… not important,” Ed mutters, shaking his head. “This is about you. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

“No, Ed, please,” Stede insists, shaking his own head. “You can tell me.”

Ed’s brow furrows, eyes shutting as though it hurts him to even consider speaking. When he finally opens them, he doesn’t look straight at Stede, gaze sliding away.

“Did I do something to hurt you?” he asks, voice breaking. “Fuck, if I did—Stede, I’m so fucking sorry.”

The bottom drops out of Stede’s chest. That’s what Ed thinks? That this is his fault? The guilt only digs in deeper.

“No, Ed, no,” he says quickly, pressing his forehead to Ed’s, needing him to feel the truth. “Fuck, I’m… so sorry you thought that. You didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“Fuck.” Ed’s hands come up, fingers locking tight behind Stede’s neck, almost clutching. His voice is low, raw. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to make this about me. You’re the one hurting, and I want to be here for you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Stede whispers, fresh tears spilling hot down his cheeks.

The way Ed looks at him in that moment, it’s as if the words themselves strike him like a blow. His whole face twists, pained.

“That’s… not true,” Ed says, voice fierce, almost shaking. “If anything, I don’t deserve you, Stede. You’re perfect. You’re—fuck—you’re lightning in a bottle. A tide that doesn’t answer to the moon. You’re… everything I never knew I wanted. Everything I never knew I needed.”

The words knock the air right out of Stede. His chest aches with it, tears spilling faster now. He can’t take it, not one more second of holding it back. Not when Ed’s looking at him like this—like he’s worth something. Worth everything. He needs to speak the words in his heart.

He presses his forehead to Ed’s, voice trembling, breaking.

“I love you,” he breathes, voice so small, he almost isn’t sure he said it.

But Ed’s eyes soften, surprise etching over his beautiful features, a sharp inhale falling from his lips. His fingers tighten around the back of Stede’s neck, pulling him up into a kiss that sets Stede’s entire body alight. Every ounce of Ed’s emotion seems to pour through it—desperation, relief, longing. Stede’s heart races, still unsure what Ed will say once he speaks, but in this moment, he realizes it doesn’t matter. This kiss is enough. The way Ed clings to him is enough.

When Ed finally breaks away, his gaze locks onto Stede’s with such intensity that it leaves no doubt he feels it too.

“I love you,” Ed says, voice rough, like the words cost him everything and gave him everything all at once. A smile blooms across Stede’s face, unstoppable. “Fuck, Stede, so much.”

Stede wraps his arms around Ed, crushing him close, holding him like he’ll never let him go. And Ed holds him back, solid and unyielding, the safest place Stede has ever known. Even with fear still looming, that shadow of his father, the danger that stalks their every step, he has everything he’s ever wanted in his arms right now. And he knows, with a certainty that leaves him breathless, they’ll find a way. They’ll escape Vincent’s grip. They’ll carve out a life together.

Because neither of them will ever stop fighting for this. For each other.

When Ed finally pulls away, he presses a softer kiss to Stede’s lips, gentle and lingering, before brushing his thumbs across his damp cheeks. It’s only then that Stede remembers he’s completely bare, skin flushed and vulnerable, yet he’s never felt so at ease in his own body, not when Ed is looking at him like this.

“I’m sure you know about that big soaking tub in the bathroom,” Ed murmurs, fingertips still tracing lazy lines over his skin. “What d’you say I run us a bath, and we just… relax in there together? I’d like to just hold you, if that’s okay?”

It’s not a question about returning to sex. Instead it’s an invitation to safety, to closeness. And Stede’s heart twists. He thinks he might love Ed even more in this moment than he did minutes ago. Because Ed could’ve pushed, but instead he’s giving him space, choosing comfort over desire.

They’ll have their night. They’ll burn for each other again. But right now, the thought of sinking into warm water with Ed’s arms around him feels like perfection itself.

“Yeah,” Stede whispers, smiling through the remnants of his tears. “I’d like that.”

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

Stede loves him—he loves Ed—and Ed has never felt more feral about protecting someone than he does with the man in his arms. He has to keep him safe, has to give him everything. He presses a kiss to Stede’s neck, holding him tighter, the warm water sloshing around them as Stede shifts in his lap, turning to look at him.

“I love you,” Stede says, and Ed knows he could live a thousand lifetimes and never tire of hearing those words from that mouth. He kisses him deeply, sighing into it, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Stede’s stomach, grounding himself in the reality of him.

“I love you,” he whispers back against Stede’s lips, voice ragged. “Fuck, with everything I have, Stede.”

And then Stede is moving, turning fully to straddle him, knees bracketing Ed’s hips, arms sliding around his neck. Water runs down his chest in rivulets, droplets tracing his skin like little trails Ed aches to chase with his tongue. He’s never wanted someone this badly.

“I’ve been practicing,” Stede says, his voice a low, dangerous purr that makes Ed’s pulse stumble. One hand tangles in the waves at Ed’s nape, tugging just enough to sting deliciously, while the other slides down his own chest, lower, lower.

“Thinking of you while I press my fingers into myself… imagining opening myself up for you.”

Ed’s breath hitches, a sharp gasp breaking free as his cock leaps to attention, pressing hard against Stede under the water. His hands fly to Stede’s hips, holding him in place as Stede’s fingers disappear behind him, sliding down his body.

“Jesus Christ,” Ed groans, eyes fluttering shut as his mind paints the picture—Stede spread wide, needy, slick fingers easing him open while he moans Ed’s name. The thought alone nearly undoes him. He bites his lip, fighting for control, because fuck if he doesn’t want to see it, guide him, make him take it slow and steady until he’s begging to be filled.

When Stede moans, soft and wrecked, Ed’s eyes snap open, and he growls low in his throat. “Show me,” he commands, voice rough as gravel. “Let me watch you stretch yourself, Starling. Want to see how ready you can make yourself for me.”

Stede’s breath comes fast and uneven, water lapping against their chests as he keeps his eyes locked on Ed’s. His hand slides beneath the surface, fingers slipping lower, circling. Ed can feel the motion against his thighs where Stede straddles him. The thought makes his cock ache, straining, already painfully hard.

“Good boy,” Ed rasps, thumbs digging into Stede’s hips to hold him steady. “Go on, show me how you do it. Show me how you’ve been thinking of me.”

A choked whimper escapes Stede as he pushes a finger inside himself, face flushing, lips parting around a desperate gasp. “Fuck— Ed—”

Ed groans at the sight, his nails biting into Stede’s skin as he grips tighter. He leans forward, lips brushing Stede’s ear. “That’s it. Stretch yourself open for me. Imagine it’s my cock. Imagine me filling you up, taking you apart, Starling.”

Stede shudders at the words, adding another finger, his forehead dropping against Ed’s shoulder as he works himself open. The water swirls around them, sloshing against the edge of the tub, but Ed doesn’t care. He’ll clean it up later if any spills over.

“Eyes on me,” Ed commands, reaching up and tugging at Stede’s chin until he lifts his head. Stede obeys, pupils blown wide, eyes glassy with lust. The sight almost undoes Ed completely.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Ed growls. “I want to see it, want to see how far you can take it. Go deeper. Let me hear you.”

Stede moans, loud and unrestrained, hips rocking against Ed’s lap as he scissors his fingers inside himself. His chest heaves with every breath, water splashing with his movements. He’s gone, undone, desperate, and Ed drinks in every second like he’s starving.

When Stede whimpers, “Want you,” voice breaking apart, Ed’s jaw clenches. He cups the back of Stede’s neck, fierce and tender at once, kissing him hard enough to steal his breath.

“Not yet,” he whispers against his lips. “First, I’m gonna get you wide open. I’m gonna make sure when I finally fuck you, you’ll take every inch of me without a fight. One more finger, love.”

Stede whimpers, his chest rising and falling fast as he nods. His hand trembles beneath the water, but he obeys, pushing a third finger inside himself. The stretch makes his breath hitch, his head tipping back as a strangled moan tears out of him.

“That’s it,” Ed praises, hands gripping Stede’s hips so hard it’s almost bruising. His cock twitches beneath the water at the sight of Stede’s body taking it, opening himself up. “Good. Look at you, taking it so well.”

Stede can barely hold himself together. His body trembles from the intensity, his mouth falling open as he breathes heavy breaths. The water ripples with every desperate movement of his hips, every thrust of his fingers.

“Fuck—Ed—” His voice is broken, needy, lost.

Ed leans forward, catching Stede’s lips in a kiss that’s more possession than comfort, his tongue sweeping deep. When he pulls back, he cups Stede’s chin, forcing his eyes open again.

“Feel that stretch, Starling?” he growls. “That’s what I’m gonna give you. But deeper. Harder. Better than you can do for yourself.”

Stede lets out a helpless sob of want, his hand moving faster, working himself open as he stares at Ed like he’s the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Good,” Ed whispers, his forehead pressed to Stede’s. “Now, let me take over. I want to make you feel good.”

Stede pulls his fingers from himself, and Ed catches his wrist, steady and sure. He grabs the washcloth and soap, lathering it up before slowly working it over Stede’s hand, each stroke deliberate, each finger cleaned one at a time. Stede’s eyes are wide, fixed on him, breath short and trembling as Ed rinses him in the warm water.

“There,” Ed murmurs, dipping his hand back into the bath to wash away the suds before releasing him. His voice is low, rough with intent. “Now you can hold on properly.”

He doesn’t miss the way Stede flushes pink at the words, his lips parting around a sharp little inhale before both arms circle around Ed’s neck, obedient, eager.

Ed sets the cloth aside, returning one hand to Stede’s waist while the other slips between them. He finds his cock, thick and hard in his grip, and slides the blunt head along the cleft of Stede’s ass until he finds the waiting heat.

“Ready?” His tone softens, even as his gaze sharpens, wanting no trace of doubt after what had happened before. “Give me a color, love.”

Stede nods, desperate, eyes shining. “Yes. Green. I’m good, I promise.”

Ed doesn’t need to hear it twice; he can feel it in the way Stede clings to him, in the trembling anticipation of his body. He presses forward, the thick head stretching him open, and fuck, Stede’s heat clenches around him like a vice. Ed’s eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, jaw going slack.

“Fuck, Starling,” he groans, sinking deeper, water sloshing around them. “You feel… unreal.”

Stede gasps, his fingernails digging into Ed’s shoulders, hips twitching as he whimpers against Ed’s mouth. “Oh, God, Ed—”

Ed growls low in his throat, wrapping an arm around Stede’s back to hold him still, taking his time as he pushes in inch by inch. “Breathe, love. Let me in. You’re mine now… every bit of you.”

“I’m yours,” Stede gasps, his body finally relaxing as he breathes deep, letting Ed slip further inside him.
“Fuck!” His cry tears out, sharp and raw. “So fucking good, Ed—please, more!”

Ed kisses him hard, desperate, tongue sliding into his mouth like he can’t get close enough. Stede starts to rock down on him, taking him deeper, and Ed groans into his lips, shuddering.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” Ed pants, words broken against Stede’s mouth. “Take what you need. I’m yours— fuck, I’m all yours.”

The water sloshes, rippling around them as Stede rides him slowly, every movement drawing Ed deeper into that tight, clenching heat. It’s a sight that makes Ed dizzy: Stede’s flushed chest heaving, droplets streaming down his pale skin, his whole body moving on Ed’s cock like he was made for it.

Ed’s gaze devours him. His hands grip Stede’s hips, thumbs pressing into soft flesh. He watches the tilt of Stede’s head, the flutter of his lashes as he moans, the way his throat arches back so prettily. Each movement feels like worship, and Ed can’t stop drinking it in.

“Christ, look at you,” Ed rasps, voice rough with awe. “So fucking beautiful, Starling.”

He leans forward, biting into the curve of Stede’s shoulder, tasting the salt from the sweat on his skin, needing to mark him, to claim him. His teeth sink, his tongue soothes, and he breathes the words against him, raw and unguarded, “Love you.”

“Fuck, Ed, I love you so fucking much,” Stede gasps as he sinks all the way down, bottoming out, his body trembling with the stretch. He stills there, locked into place, eyes wide and locked on Ed’s.

Ed’s chest tightens, every breath heavy. His hand slides into Stede’s hair, curling around the soft waves, tugging just enough to remind him who he belongs to. He pulls Stede in by the back of his neck, mouths pressing together in a kiss that’s all heat and devotion, Ed breathing him in like he’s air itself.

Stede whimpers into his mouth, desperate, breaking the kiss only long enough to pant, “I need to move—need to feel you.”

Ed nods, their foreheads pressed together, sharing the same air, and Stede begins to move. Slowly at first, careful, rocking up and down in long strokes that make Ed hiss and grip his hair tighter. But soon his body adjusts, loosening, and his rhythm picks up, every bounce sending ripples across the water, every drop of movement pulling a broken gasp from both their throats.

“Fuck, yes,” Ed groans, watching him with unrestrained hunger. His hands slide down Stede’s back, nails digging into the flesh. “Ride me, Starling. Take me deeper.”

Stede moans, head tipping back, water streaming down his chest as he rises and sinks again, harder this time. His body clenches around Ed, and Ed can’t hold back the guttural sound that rips from him, the sight of Stede’s flushed, desperate face undoing him piece by piece.

“You feel so fucking good,” Ed pants, biting at Stede’s jaw before kissing his way to his lips again. “So tight around me, fuck, you’re perfect. Mine.”

“Fuck, I’m close,” Ed says, reaching between them and wrapping his hand around Stede’s cock, stroking him as Stede continues to move. 

Stede gasps at the sudden touch, his whole body jolting as Ed strokes in time with his movements. “Fuck, Ed!” he cries, voice breaking as his rhythm falters for a moment before he finds it again, hips slamming down harder.

Water splashes over the side of the tub, hitting the tile in a steady rhythm, but Ed doesn’t care. He only cares about the way Stede clenches around him, the way his cock pulses beneath his hand.

“That’s it, baby,” Ed growls, teeth scraping Stede’s throat before biting down, enough to make him whimper. “Ride me just like that. Don’t you fucking stop.”

Stede’s nails dig into Ed’s shoulders as he moans, tears prickling Ed’s eyes from the sheer intensity of it, the pleasure cresting higher and higher with every thrust. Stede’s body shudders as Ed pumps his cock, thumb pressing over the slit, and the way Stede moves on him… it’s too much, too fucking much.

“E—Ed, I’m—” Stede gasps.

“Come for me, Starling,” Ed orders, his voice low, guttural, roughened by the edge of his own pleasure. He’s so fucking close, his body trembles, needing to see Stede lose control. “Come on my cock, show me how good I make you feel.”

Stede’s cry is ragged, broken, as he obeys, spilling hot over Ed’s fist, his body trembling violently around him. Ed strokes him through it, lips pressed to his throat, drinking in every sound, every shudder, until Stede collapses against him, panting and pliant.

“Don’t stop,” Stede gasps. “I want you to finish inside me, please.”

That plea nearly undoes him right there. Ed growls low in his throat, holding Stede against him as he takes over, fucking up into him with sharp, desperate thrusts. The sound of water splashing over the edge of the tub is drowned out by the frantic rhythm of their bodies, the slick heat of Stede wrapped tight around him.

“Ed, come inside me, fuck, please,” Stede whimpers against his ear, and that’s all it takes.

“Fuck, Stede—” Ed’s voice breaks as his orgasm crashes through him. He buries himself deep, spilling into him with a guttural cry, hips jerking hard as wave after wave tears through his body. He clings to Stede, mouth pressed to his neck, breath ragged against his damp skin.

For a moment, the world narrows to nothing but the pulse of release, the heat surrounding him, the desperate clutch of Stede’s arms around his shoulders. He feels like he’s being unmade and remade all at once.

When his pulses finally slow, Ed holds him there, still buried inside, chest heaving. He presses kisses against Stede’s throat, softer now, murmuring between them.

“Mine,” he breathes, lips brushing his skin. “Always mine.”

“Yours,” Stede whispers against the shell of Ed’s ear.

Ed’s breath shudders out of him at the word, his whole chest tightening. He holds Stede closer, burying his face in the damp curve of his neck, breathing him in like he’ll never get enough. The water laps gently around them now, the earlier frenzy leaving only soft ripples, steam curling in the air.

“I’ve got you, Starling,” Ed murmurs, voice low and reverent, lips brushing Stede’s skin. His hands roam gently now, smoothing over Stede’s back, his shoulders, memorizing the shape of him in the afterglow. Each stroke is a grounding touch, steady and sure, as if to remind them both that they’re here, safe, together.

Stede sighs, boneless in his arms, fingers threading lazily through Ed’s hair. “I don’t want to move,” he says softly.

“You don’t have to,” Ed answers immediately, pulling him tighter, as though the thought of letting go makes his chest ache. He presses a kiss to Stede’s temple, lingering there, heart racing but steadying with every slow breath they share.

The world outside might still be waiting, full of threats and shadows, but right now, Ed feels like it doesn’t matter. They’ve carved out a little piece of peace, and he’ll cling to it with everything he has.

After they clean up, showering together, Ed laying down towels to catch the water that spilled across the floor, they finally climb into Ed’s bed. Stede curls against him without hesitation, and Ed kisses his hair, holding him close.

“I love you,” Ed whispers, gaze lingering on the beautiful blonde in his arms.

Stede looks up, eyes heavy with exhaustion. His lashes flutter as he lifts a hand to brush Ed’s cheek.
“I love you, too,” he breathes, eyes slipping closed.

There’s no way Ed is letting him go tonight. He couldn’t bear it. Vincent is gone on his trip, Ned Low with him, and no one knows Stede is here. They’re as safe as they can be. Ed intends to savor every moment until the world crashes back in.

So he holds him, humming one of the old songs he’d written long before Stede, though it feels like it belongs to him now. Soft, warm, gentle… just like the man in his arms. He hums until Stede’s breathing steadies, until he knows he’s asleep. Only then does Ed close his own eyes, letting himself drift into peace for the first time in longer than he can remember.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

When Stede wakes, sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold across the room. Ed’s arms are snug around him, and he smiles into his chest, pressing soft kisses to the warm skin there. He knows staying the night might not have been the wisest choice, but with the secret passageway, he feels safer about it. If anyone notices he wasn’t home, he can say he spent the night at Lucius’s place. It’s something he’d done plenty of times before Ed, so it won’t raise suspicion.

“Good morning,” Ed murmurs, voice rough with sleep but carrying a smile. “Fuck, I like waking up next to you.”

Stede’s stomach flutters. He lets out a soft sigh, lips curving as he plants more kisses against Ed’s chest. He aches everywhere, and it’s glorious. He can still feel every place Ed had been last night—with his teeth, his nails, his cock—all over his body. Ed had claimed him, and he loves it.

“Good morning to you, too,” Stede replies, tilting his head up, brushing his fingertips along the stubble on Ed’s jaw. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

Ed frowns, eyes darting over Stede’s neck as his fingers graze one of the tender spots. “Made a mess of you,” he mutters, worry clouding his expression. “Shouldn’t’ve done that. Fuck, if someone notices…”

“Who’s going to notice?” Stede soothes. “The ones on my neck, I can cover. I’ve got concealer.”

But he knows that’s not really what Ed means. His mind jumps straight to Ricky. If Ricky notices, what then? Is Ed thinking Stede may have to play along more intimately than either of them wants to keep the ruse alive? Because Stede has thought of that, too. And now, after last night, after saying the words out loud, he doesn’t think he could. Being touched by anyone else would feel… wrong.

But Ricky’s interest has been clear. Sooner or later, Stede worries he may need to convince him. The thought turns his stomach, especially when Ed is right here beside him, so warm, so steady, so his.

“I haven’t done anything with him other than kiss him,” Stede says. “I don’t even want to do that.”

Ed’s expression twists, pain and anger colliding. “I fucking hate this,” he says, brushing his fingers into Stede’s hair near his temple, cupping his face as if anchoring him there. “You shouldn’t have to do anything with him if you don’t want to. Fucking Vincent…”

Stede presses his forehead to Ed’s, holding his face between his hands. “I would do anything if it meant keeping you safe.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Ed replies, voice breaking, tears welling in his eyes. “I should be doing more to protect you. Getting you away from that creep… and your father.”

“You know it’s not that simple,” Stede murmurs. “Ed, I’m okay. I don’t… want to do anything with Ricky, but I will if I have to, to keep you safe. And it would be fine if I did have to. I’d be okay.”

He leans back, catching Ed’s pained expression, thumb brushing away a tear that slips down his cheek.

“But… I will say,” Stede continues carefully, “as creepy as Ricky is, I don’t think he’d ever force me into anything. If I tell him I want to wait until marriage, I’m pretty sure he’d understand. He may be a creep, but he’s not like that.”

Ed exhales sharply, shoulders sagging, voice rough when he finally speaks. “Well, that’s… reassuring, at least.”

“You know I respect your decisions, right?” Ed says after a beat of silence. His voice is low, careful. “I trust your judgment, and I respect your autonomy. I just… don’t want you to feel you have to do something you don’t want to do, that’s all.”

Stede exhales, a soft, slightly weary smile tugging at his lips. “I know you do, Ed. You’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise. You respect me more than anyone ever has before. But just like I know you’d do anything to protect me, I’d do the same for you.”

At that, Ed’s eyes spill over, tears sliding freely down his cheeks before he pulls Stede into his arms, holding him as if he never plans to let go.

“I love you,” he whispers against Stede’s ear, breath warm, voice unsteady with emotion.

“I love you,” Stede replies, feeling the ache of it in his chest, the way loving Ed is the easiest and hardest thing he’s ever done. He only hopes one day they can stop surviving and just… live. Safe. Happy. Together.

“Can we… get out of town for a day?” Ed asks after a moment, his lips brushing Stede’s temple. “Just us. Maybe head west, toward the mountains, find a spot to have a picnic?”

Stede’s smile blooms against Ed’s shoulder, his arms tightening around him. “That sounds perfect.”

*************

“Long time, no fucking see,” Lucius says with a smirk when Stede meets him in the student union after the holidays.

“Seriously, where have you been?” Mary asks, pulling him into a hug.

“Oh, probably getting railed by his sexy bodyguard boyfriend,” Lucius whispers, eyes passing to Ed, who’s sitting at a table a stone’s throw away reading a book, and Stede shoots him a glare, lips pressed thin.

He hasn’t actually told Mary about Ed. He doesn’t like the idea of too many people knowing—it’s too dangerous. Not to mention, Ed is literally right there, and he’s sure he can probably hear them.

“Oh, come on, Stede, it’s Mary,” Lucius says, rolling his eyes. “She’s not gonna rat you out.”

“Wait,” Mary says, her face draining of color. She drops her voice lower, eyes darting over to Ed before back to Stede. “You’re not… seeing the man who’s supposed to make sure you marry Ricky, are you? He works for your father, Stede! How do you know he’s not playing you?!”

“I know,” Stede says firmly, eyes catching Ed’s, who offers him a soft smile. Mary’s responding skeptical look makes his stomach twist.

“Stede…” she begins, but Lucius cuts her off.

“Yeah, babe, I’ve seen them together. Ed’s genuine,” he whispers with uncharacteristic seriousness. “I don’t think Stede’s got anything to worry about.”

Stede turns to him, relief softening his features. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “That means a lot.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all misty on me,” Lucius says, holding up a hand in Stede’s face. “We should probably just focus on how to keep your boyfriend alive.”

That’s the second time Lucius has used that word . And Stede finds he really fucking likes the sound of it. They haven’t defined things yet. Not with everything stacked against them. But the word feels right. It feels like truth.

“Stede!”

He turns at the sound of his name, stomach dropping when he sees Ricky heading his way, a too-bright smile plastered on his face as he waves enthusiastically.

“Hey, Ricky,” Stede says, forcing a polite tone as Ricky pulls him into a hug he doesn’t want.

He wants Ed’s arms around him, not Ricky’s. Always Ed’s. But he reminds himself that this is for Ed. Every touch, every smile, every word he has to fake, it’s all to keep him safe. With that thought, it becomes easier. Like slipping into a role.

“I thought maybe we could go out for a late lunch together!” Ricky says, holding onto Stede’s arm. “I’ve missed you.”

The words land heavier than Stede expects. Ricky squeezes his arm, earnest and warm, and Stede feels a pang of guilt. It isn’t Ricky’s fault he’s caught in the middle of all this. He’s not a villain, not really. Just someone who, while slightly obnoxious, doesn’t know he’s being used. And that makes Stede soften, if only a little.

Stede catches Ed’s eyes just past Ricky’s shoulder, close enough that he knows Ed can hear every word. He’s also pretty confident he knows his body language well enough to tell he’s not actually reading the book in his hands anymore. Ed’s gaze flicks to Ricky’s hand on Stede’s arm, sharp and cutting, and Stede instinctively shifts back just slightly. Hopefully subtle enough to look natural, but enough that Ricky lets go.

The timing couldn’t be worse. He’s supposed to be having dinner with Ed tonight, out of town, at Spanish Jackie’z, a quiet little diner they’d found a few weeks back. Jackie herself had taken to them quickly, saving them a tucked-away table at the back where no one else could really see. She’d even clocked them immediately—as a Bonnet, and as a couple—which had sent Stede spiraling into panic until she’d assured them she had no interest in reporting anything back to Vincent. She seemed to hate the man, and honestly? Stede couldn’t blame her.

It should have been reassuring. And mostly, it was. Jackie’s diner had become something of a safe haven, a place where they could breathe without constantly checking over their shoulders. But there’s something about Jackie that puts Stede just slightly on edge. A look in her eye he can’t quite place, as if she recognizes him in some way that has nothing to do with him being the infamous Bonnet heir.

“Oh, um,” Stede says, glancing between Lucius and Mary, willing them to catch on. “I actually already had plans with Lucius and Mary. We were going to Lucius’s place to work on homework.”

“I’m sure that can wait,” Ricky says easily. “We haven’t been out in a week. There’s a new French place I wanted to take you to. Supposed to be wonderful.”

Before Stede can scramble for another excuse, Ed pushes up from the table and strides over, every line of his body tense.

“Hello, Mr. Banes.” His voice is polite, his hand extended, but Stede recognizes the fake smile for what it is. “I think Stede would be delighted to go to lunch with you.” The pain flickers in Ed’s eyes as he says it, and Stede feels his stomach twist.

Ricky takes his hand, only to wince when Ed’s grip tightens just past polite. He shakes his hand out after they let go.
“Right, uh—see?” Ricky says, forcing a grin through the discomfort. “Your bodyguard agrees. Lunch it is!”

“You know, our professor gave us a lot of homework,” Lucius cuts in, shooting Ed a look that’s sharper than it should be. “It’s a group project. We’re supposed to be doing it together.”

“Well, I’m sure you two can manage without Stede for one afternoon,” Ricky insists, brushing off the protest.

Stede catches Ed’s eyes again, and in them he reads every unspoken word: You’re supposed to be making this man think you want him. And Ed’s right. As much as it makes Stede’s skin crawl, turning Ricky down outright would be reckless. Dangerous. If Ricky stops believing in this façade, Ed’s safety is gone.

So he steels himself, pastes on a smile, and tells himself the same thing he always does: this isn’t about him. It’s for Ed… And more than that, it’s for them.

“Ed’s right,” Stede says, forcing his voice steady as he turns to Mary and Lucius. “You two go ahead. I’ll make up for my lost time later. I need to make time for Ricky.”

“Well, that’s more like it.” Ricky’s grin spreads, oily and self-satisfied, and Stede’s stomach knots. “I’ve got it from here, Mr. Teach,” he adds, tossing a glance at Ed. “My team will look after Stede, you have my word.”

Ed doesn’t respond, but the silence is heavy, dangerous. Stede can feel his gaze burning into him even as Ricky curls a hand around his waist, pulling him close.

Fuck. They need a plan. Because if this keeps going much longer, he’s not sure how much more pretending he can take.

************

“Can I ask you something… personal?” Ricky says as they wait for their food an hour later.

They’re seated beside a wall of glass, the city spread out beneath them in golden light. It’s beautiful, the kind of view Stede aches to share with Ed, but instead, Ricky’s hand is warm in his, and Stede has to force his lips into a smile. He gives the hand a quick squeeze, the gesture as hollow as it is necessary.

“Of course.”

“I get the sense… you’re not exactly fond of your father,” Ricky says. His tone is casual, but his eyes are sharp. “And this isn’t judgment… it’s just me wanting to understand you better. I’m on your side, not his. I care about you, not about making him happy.”

Stede’s chest tightens. Shit. What is he supposed to say to that?

Ricky has never struck him as the type to run back to Vincent with reports; if anything, he seems to bristle at the man’s name, though Stede can’t imagine why. The Banes family and Vincent mingle in the same circles, yes, but that’s as far as it goes. And as far as Stede knows, Ricky’s only spoken to his father once, when he first asked to court him.

Still… this is a knife’s edge. One wrong word, and it could all come crashing down.

“I don’t… feel like I fit into his world,” Stede says, forcing the words out, Ed’s warning about Ricky’s curiosity echoing in his mind. “You know, running his business? I want nothing to do with it.”

“And what exactly is his business?” Ricky asks.

Alarm bells scream in Stede’s head. Why would he be asking that? Everyone knows what his father does—if not on paper, then in whispers. It’s suspicious.

“Why’re you asking?” Stede pulls his hand back, heart thudding. “He does logistics and real estate. You know this.”

“I think you and I both know that’s not entirely true.” Ricky’s expression sharpens, all charm wiped clean.

He holds Stede’s gaze, unblinking, and Stede’s pulse skyrockets. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

“I know you want out,” Ricky says softly.

Ice floods Stede’s veins. Does he know about Ed?

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Stede says, careful, measured. “But I think you’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” Ricky leans forward, eyes cutting straight through him. “Stede, come on. I think we’ve gotten to know each other well enough for you to be honest with me.”

Stede fights to keep his face still, though inside he’s spiraling. He wishes desperately for Ed. Ed would know how to navigate this. Instead, Stede feels backed into a corner with no exits.

Ricky’s voice drops lower as he leans in. “I can help you. You just… need to help me.”

From his coat, Ricky pulls something small and flips it over just long enough for the light to catch. A gold FBI badge gleams before vanishing back into his pocket.

Stede’s breath stutters. Dizzy, his mind reels. FBI? Suddenly everything about Ricky makes sense. His pointed questions, his too-eager interest in Vincent… It had never been about Stede, not really. From the very beginning, it had been about his father.

“Listen,” Ricky whispers, sliding his hand back over Stede’s, and Stede forces himself not to jerk away. He can’t show his cards now. Ricky leans closer, words meant for him alone. “I like you, Stede. I was supposed to be gathering intel, but the truth is… I’m falling for you. And I think you’re falling for me, too.”

Well, shit. That couldn’t be further from the truth. But Stede doesn’t dare answer… not yet, at least. Silence is safer, for now. And besides, this all but confirms Ricky most likely doesn’t know about Ed.

If Ricky had the faintest clue Stede wasn’t actually interested, there’s no way in hell he’d be flashing a badge and spilling secrets. And that guilt washes over him hard. Here’s this man, putting his entire operation on the line because he trusts Stede, and Stede’s only using him.

But then, like a spark in the dark, an idea forms. This could be their way out. If he cooperates, if he helps Ricky take his father down, then he and Ed could finally be free.

Not yet, though. Not without Ed. Any plan they make has to be theirs, together.

Stede shifts his hand in Ricky’s, considering every word before he speaks. He lets his fingers curl tighter around Ricky’s palm, his face softening.

“I do care about you,” he says, and it’s not entirely a lie. Ricky’s never given him reason to wish him harm; it just doesn’t go any deeper than that. “This is all… a lot to take in. You’re right that I don’t like my father, and I want nothing to do with his business. But I need some time. To think about your proposition, to figure out how I fit into this. I… hope that’s okay?”

He furrows his brow, lets his mouth curve into a tender, hesitant smile, silently hoping it reads as concern.

And Ricky beams. His hand squeezes back, thumb brushing across Stede’s knuckles with something almost reverent.

“Of course,” Ricky says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Stede’s cheek. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

The way he says it—too earnest, too sure—sends a chill down Stede’s spine. He’s not even sure why.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

Ed hates it when he has to leave Stede with Ricky and his team. Objectively, he knows Stede is in no more danger than he’s ever been as the son of a mob boss. And not to mention, Ricky’s people are competent and probably more than capable of protecting him. Ricky himself is still technically a prince, after all. The title may be decorative, but it comes with resources, and with reach.

But the worry lingers. Ed can’t shake it, no matter how many times he tells himself it’s clingy, or unhealthy. Stede is his own person, and Ed should be able to respect that. He shouldn’t be pacing circles in his head every time Stede’s out of sight.

So when the hidden bookcase door opens a little after 10 PM and Stede steps inside, relief slams through him. Ed’s on his feet in an instant, hauling him in, arms wound so tight around him it’s like he could fold him into his own chest and keep him there forever.

“Are you okay?” Stede murmurs, fingers fisting in Ed’s t-shirt. He can feel it—Ed’s unease—coiled beneath the surface.

“I’m okay,” Ed says, pulling back just enough to see his face, brushing his knuckles tenderly along Stede’s cheek. “I’m just… glad you’re home.”

But Stede’s expression isn’t weighed down with the same tension. His eyes are bright, practically alight, and the smile tugging at his mouth looks almost exuberant.

“I have something I need to tell you!” Stede says, excitement bubbling out of him, like he can hardly keep it in another second.

Ed raises a brow, tugging Stede gently by the arm toward the couch. When he sits, he pulls Stede into his lap without hesitation, like that’s exactly where he belongs. His fingers drift through Stede’s soft waves before he captures his mouth in a kiss.

Stede lets out the faintest moan against him, a small, breathy sound that sends a jolt of heat straight through Ed. But he keeps it gentle—just a kiss—though he allows the barest tease of tongue before pulling back.

They rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air, and Ed savors it. He’s missed Stede. God, he’s missed him. Having him here, warm and pliant in his lap, feels like the perfect end to a long, restless day.

“Missed you,” Stede whispers, his lips ghosting against Ed’s once more, and Ed’s pulse kicks up. He could get addicted to that sweetness. Hell, he already has.

“Mmm,” Ed hums, thumb and forefinger tilting Stede’s chin up so he can steal one more lingering kiss before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes.

“What is it you wanted to tell me, Starling?” he asks, his voice low, affectionate, as his fingers trace lazy circles along the small of Stede’s back beneath his sweater.

Stede’s soft expression shifts back to excitement. “You’re not going to believe what I found out about Ricky today!”

Ed’s brows knit, unease pricking at him. What the hell could Ricky have possibly said to light Stede up like this?

“Edward, he’s FBI!” Stede blurts out.

For a moment the words don’t even land. Ricky? The pampered little prince? FBI? It sounds like a bad joke, and Ed can’t make it compute.

“Stede, are you sure?” he asks, careful not to sound dismissive but unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“He showed me his badge!” Stede insists, eyes bright. “Told me he wanted to help me get out! Maybe he can help us both get out… put my father away for good!”

“Stede…” Ed starts, then stops, working his jaw. He doesn’t want to crush that hopeful look on Stede’s face, but every part of him is screaming caution.

“Are you sure he wasn’t just… fucking with you?” he finally says. “Because it seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

“He seemed pretty genuine,” Stede replies, and there’s a flicker of hurt there, exactly what Ed didn’t want to see.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Ed says quickly, catching Stede’s hand and lifting it to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across his knuckles. “It’s just… if he really is FBI, he’d have to be a fucking idiot to flash his badge at you.”

“He told me he was falling for me,” Stede adds with a helpless shrug.

White-hot jealousy tears through Ed before he can think.

“Well, he can’t fucking have you,” he snaps, arms circling tighter around Stede’s waist, holding him possessively.

The words are out before he can reel them back, and regret nips at him instantly… until he sees the way Stede’s eyes go wide, cheeks flushing pink, lips twitching with the ghost of a smile. He likes it. He likes Ed jealous and protective.

The heat flares between them again, impossible to tamp down.

“He’s never going to get me,” Stede murmurs, brushing his lips against Ed’s once more, soft, sweet, enough to make Ed’s heart flutter violently in his chest. “I’m completely yours, Edward.”

Fuck. He loves it when Stede uses his full name.

“I just… think we shouldn’t rush to make any plans until we’ve got more information,” Ed says, forcing some sense back into his voice. “Though I will say, it would explain all those questions he asked you at the fall festival.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” Stede replies.

“Of course you did,” Ed says, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulls Stede tighter against him, until they’re pressed together chest to chest. “Because you’re so fuckin’ smart… and funny, and beautiful, and perfect.”

“Ed!” Stede gasps as Ed tilts his head and drags his tongue up the side of his neck before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there, soothing the bite with lips and tongue.

“How about we go jump in the shower,” Ed growls against the shell of his ear, “and I’ll show you just how mine you are.” He nips Stede’s earlobe, reveling in the breathless sound it pulls from him.

Stede giggles—fucking giggles, the sweet little twink—head tipping back, fingers knotting in the fabric of Ed’s shirt. “Fuck! Yes, please,” he gasps as Ed’s hand slides down, cupping and squeezing his ass through his trousers.

Thank fuck Vincent and Low are out of town on business is the last thing Ed thinks as he drags Stede off to the bathroom. 

************

By mid-February, they’re no closer to a plan than when Ricky first flashed that badge. Ricky keeps pressing Stede to help with the investigation, dangling freedom like it’s just within reach, but Ed isn’t buying it. Even if Vincent ended up in prison, Ed knows the man well enough to understand bars wouldn’t stop him. Retaliation would come swift and brutal, and being Vincent’s son wouldn’t shield Stede from it. If anything, it might make it worse.

The whole thing feels hopeless, and the weight of it sits heavy on Ed’s chest. All he wants is something simple. Just a life with Stede by his side, maybe a chance to write songs and earn enough to get by. Why the fuck did he have to fall in love with the son of a mob boss?

But then Stede smiles at him, or lets out that little laugh that shows off his dimple, and Ed feels it again, how impossible it is not to fall harder every damn day. When Stede rambles, eyes alight as he info-dumps about plants or insects or music, Ed could sit there for hours, listening, drinking him in. He doesn’t just love him. He’s consumed by him. It’s the kind of love that aches, sharp and beautiful all at once.

If only they could just exist out in the world… together…

“Teach!”

Ed’s stomach lurches the second he hears that voice. Vincent’s voice. He hates the way it cuts through the air, sharp and commanding, never boding well. His whole body goes tense. Has he been found out?

He turns slowly, schooling his face into neutrality, though his pulse hammers in his throat. Vincent strides toward him from the front steps, that same predator’s ease in his gait.

“We need to chat,” Vincent says, and there’s no warmth in it, no chance it’s just casual. His hand flicks outward, a silent order toward the woods. “Let’s take a walk.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The words drum against Ed’s ribs like gunfire. Is this it? Is this where it ends? His body already feels half in the grave.

He casts one quick glance back toward the house, hoping… begging for a glimpse of Stede, some anchor in the storm. Possibly the last time he’ll ever see him… Nothing. Of course not. Stede’s off on another “date” with the prince, playing the role they both hate.

Ed swallows, breath sharp in his chest, and forces his legs to move. “Right,” he says, stepping toward the line of trees, every beat of his heart screaming louder than his footsteps.

If Vincent knows, then Ed’s already dead.

They walk in silence for a stretch, the only sounds the dull thrum in Ed’s ears, a ringing that seems to grow sharper with every step, and the crunch of the leaves beneath their feet. When Vincent finally speaks, the suddenness of his voice makes Ed’s shoulders twitch.

“How’re things going with Stede?” he asks, tone measured, unreadable.

Ed has no idea how to respond. Is this some sort of test? What if he confesses the truth and begs Vincent to forgive him? Fuck, what is he thinking? He’s not about to beg this man for anything. 

“Seems to be getting along quite well with the prince,” Ed says, forcing the words through a throat gone tight. His voice sounds almost steady, though inside he’s a storm about to break.

“He seems… distracted to me,” Vincent says after a beat. “Like he’s not actually… interested in the prince.”

Fuck.

The realization hits Ed like a punch. If Vincent knows, if he’s already put it together, Ed’s a dead man. No bargaining, no sweet-talking his way out. Vincent Bonnet doesn’t tolerate betrayal; he burns it out by the root. And as much as Ed has sometimes imagined going down swinging, a blaze of glory with nothing left to lose, there’s still a chance Vincent doesn’t know. Not yet. Which means he has to tread careful, play the game, and above all, keep Stede safe.

He stops walking, turns to face the man. “Can I be honest with you?”

Vincent halts too, eyes narrowing. The very word, honest, feels like a knife’s edge between them. This man demands loyalty, obedience. Honesty is the only thing he expects.

“You may,” Bonnet says, one eyebrow lifting in the dim light.

“Stede is a sensitive soul,” Ed says carefully. “And I’m pretty sure you hate that about him. But… it’s that sensitivity that’s given me more than I expected, in the short time I’ve known him.”

Something flickers in Vincent’s gaze—interest, maybe. Or calculation. It’s enough to keep Ed talking.

“He’s not really interested in the prince,” Ed says. Vincent’s expression shifts, intrigue draining into something colder, darker. Ed swallows hard, then presses on. “But… he’s dating him anyway. Because you want him to. He’s even mentioned marriage, same as you suggested. He’s leaning on what you told him, about finding his fun elsewhere.”

Every word feels like he’s walking barefoot across broken glass. Too bold and he’s dead, too cautious and Vincent’s suspicions will tighten like a noose. But if this isn’t some elaborate trap to make him slip, then he has to redirect Vincent’s doubt, convince him that Stede’s disinterest in the prince is calculated obedience, not some other secret.

Vincent’s face shifts again, his eyebrows climbing. Then, suddenly, he barks a laugh and slaps Ed on the back. The blow jolts through him, making him flinch.

“Well, perhaps he’s learned a thing or two from his old man after all!” Vincent says, voice sharp with pride.

Ed’s stomach twists. He hates this man.

“Anyway,” Vincent continues, turning back down the path. Ed falls in beside him, forcing his stride to match. “Stede isn’t why I brought you out here.”

Maybe he doesn’t know. Ed’s pulse eases slightly, but relief is still out of reach. Not until he hears exactly why Vincent wanted him here.

“I like you,” Vincent says, and Ed almost laughs at the absurdity. Mutual? Not even close. “You’re sharp. You’ve brought good men into my organization. And you’ve got instincts I can trust. I know I mentioned a new syndicate. Turns out they’re more of a problem than I’d hoped. I’d like you to help me take them down.”

Only then does Ed let out a breath. This has nothing to do with Stede. Not now. He doesn’t know. Which means Ed will see Stede again.

“This syndicate’s leader is someone I used to know, back in New Zealand,” Vincent says, coming to a stop at the edge of a pond.

Ed’s chest tightens. Stede’s pond. He recognizes it instantly: the sheen of moonlight on the water, the familiar outline of the little shed across the way. His eyes flick there instinctively, praying Vincent doesn’t follow his gaze. That shed is Stede’s sanctuary, the one untouched corner of his world. The thought of Vincent finding it makes Ed’s stomach knot.

“Her showing up here is personal,” Vincent goes on, voice edged with something darker than anger. “She was in love with my wife, before we were married. I told Sarah if she didn’t marry me, I’d have her killed. Sarah made the right choice.” His mouth curls as though daring Ed, or anyone, to challenge him. “And now her lover has come here, bent on revenge. She wants to take me down.”

The words land like gunshots, but Ed’s mind races ahead of them. This is it. The crack in Vincent’s armor. A way out, maybe the only one he’ll ever get.

If he can find this woman, learn her name, align himself with her… help her from within, then Vincent’s empire might actually topple. And maybe he can bring Sarah back to her, too. It’s the only way he can see actually escaping this world.

For the first time in weeks, Ed feels something dangerous stir in his chest… Hope.

“I have an idea,” Ed says, words tumbling out as the shape of the plan solidifies in his head. “What if I infiltrate her organization? Pretend I want to take you down. I could bring back information from the inside, make her think I’m on her side, all while reporting back to you.”

Of course, Vincent doesn’t need to know that his intentions would be the opposite.

Vincent tilts his head, intrigued but unconvinced. “And what would your reason be, for wanting to take me down?”

Ed’s stomach knots. The thought forming in his mind feels like stepping off a cliff, but even as fear curdles in his gut, he knows it could work. It’s the kind of story that would cut deep, one that would feel personal to the woman Vincent wronged.

He draws a steadying breath. “What if…” The pause stretches, heavy as a death sentence. Once he says it, there’s no taking it back. “What if I tell her I’m in love with Stede? Make her think I can’t be with him as long as you’re standing in the way?”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Fuck.

Vincent’s expression flickers through a series of masks, from calculating, to unsettled, to darkly amused, until it settles into something unreadable. Ed watches every twitch of muscle, every shift in his jaw, wishing he could crawl inside the man’s skull and see the verdict forming there.

Everything about this plan screams danger, a loaded gun pressed against his temple. But it also hums with promise. It’s an opening, a path to freedom. And for Ed, that’s worth any risk. If it means getting Stede out of this life, it’s worth everything.

“It’s perfect,” Vincent says, clapping Ed on the back again, the force of it knocking the air out of him. “This! This is why I hired you. You’re a genius, Teach. She’ll fall for that hook, line, and sinker!”

Thank fuck.

Ed exhales slowly, disguising it as agreement. Relief seeps through him, though it’s tainted, bitter. He hates that the plan was born here, under Vincent’s shadow, without Stede’s voice in it. And he dreads how Stede will react when he learns what Ed has set in motion. But what was he supposed to do, tell Vincent, ‘hold that thought, mate, need to run it by your son, my boyfriend’?

“Come,” Vincent says, gesturing back down the path they’d just come from. “We’ve got some planning to do. Far more comfortable in my office.”

“Right,” Ed mutters, nodding as he falls into step beside him.

On the walk back, Vincent fills the air with his voice, boasting, scheming, laying out threads Ed barely listens to. Ed lets the words wash over him, nodding where he has to, while his own mind churns with the real plan. He also thanks every external force he doesn’t believe in that Vincent hadn’t noticed Stede’s shed across the water.

He’ll tell Stede soon. He has to. But Ed already knows the conversation won’t be easy. Stede will see the danger, maybe even call it reckless. He’s not wrong. But if this madness can carve out a way to free him, to pull Stede from Vincent’s grip once and for all… then it’s worth every razor’s edge they’ll have to walk.

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

“Wait, wait, wait, what?!” Stede bursts out later that night, voice pitching high with disbelief as he stares at Ed from the couch. “You’re telling me my mother’s ex-lover is here, in Cannonford?”

“Sounds like it,” Ed says with a shrug, brushing an unruly curl back from Stede’s forehead like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They’re curled together on the couch, Ed slouched with his feet propped on the coffee table, Stede angled toward him with his legs draped across Ed’s thighs. Stede had already told his mother he’d be spending the night at Lucius’s, so he’s free to stay here as long as he likes. For Ed, that’s a rare gift, an entire night. These stolen hours are too precious to waste.

“Ed, what you’re proposing sounds… extremely dangerous,” Stede says, reaching for his hand and squeezing tight. “It could work, but what if Vincent finds out you’re double-crossing him? He’ll kill you.” His voice gets more serious. “He’ll kill you, Ed.”

“And he’ll kill me if he finds out I’ve been fucking his son, too,” Ed says, tugging Stede closer, wrapping his arms around his waist until Stede slides easily into his lap. “Stede, nothing we do here is safe. Nothing is guaranteed. But this… this feels like our best chance. And he gave me the name of the woman your mum was in love with…”

A smile tugs at Ed’s mouth, a spark of mischief mixed with hope, and it makes Stede tilt his head in curiosity. He can’t imagine who it could be. His mother had ended that affair long before he was even born.

“You know our new friend, Jackie?” Ed says.

Stede’s brows knit in confusion, until the realization hits him.

“Wait. Jackie? Jackie of Spanish Jackie’z ?” His eyes widen, shock flashing across his face. “Oh my god!” He grips Ed’s arms with sudden intensity. “Ed, I knew she always looked at me strangely! She knows I’m Sarah’s son!”

“She likes you,” Ed says. “And me. Which means we’ve already got a foot in the door. And if she’s here, I’d bet good money she still has feelings for your mother. So I think she’ll want to help us, especially if we help her take Vincent down.”

The thought sends a thrill through Stede’s chest. Knowing it’s Jackie— their Jackie—and that she’s already in their lives changes everything. It’s not some stranger they’ll have to coax into trust. She already knows them. If they could join forces, topple Vincent together, then everyone would be free. It feels like the first glimmer of a future unchained, and it makes too much sense not to chase it.

“Stede…” Ed’s voice drops, softer now, tinged with something fragile. Almost fearful.

He pauses, gaze darting away as if the words burn his tongue. His stomach tightens, his whole body drawn taut. Whatever’s clawing at him, it’s heavy, and Stede knows he has to hear it.

“What is it, love?” Stede asks gently, fingers tracing along Ed’s jaw, coaxing his face back toward him.

Ed meets his eyes at last. “You know… if we continue down this path, at the end of this, there’s a good chance your father could die, right?”

The words land like a blow. They shouldn’t… not really. Stede despises his father. He’s spent years watching that man’s cruelty, living with his iron grip. He’s supposed to feel nothing other than loathing, but the words still cut deep. Because as much as he hates Vincent, he’s still his father. He’s supposed to love him. That’s what sons do. Isn’t it?

But the truth sits in his chest like a stone: he doesn’t. Not in any true sense of the word. He never has. And so the question claws at him, raw and merciless. If he doesn’t love his own father, then why does the thought of his death hurt so much?

“If you’re not okay with that, we can go the Ricky route,” Ed says quietly. “But I don’t trust him. I don’t trust he wouldn’t throw you, or me, or both of us under the bus if it came down to it. And using Ricky means your father would most likely end up in prison instead.”

“But you said yourself that even prison wouldn’t stop Vincent from hurting us,” Stede replies. “And you’re right.”

Ed nods but says nothing, eyes steady on him, giving him room to wrestle with the thought. And it’s then the truth dawns on Stede. The reason his father’s death weighs so heavily isn’t because he cares; it’s because he doesn’t. He’s never had a father, not really. Just an authority figure looming over him, wielding fear like a weapon.

The ache in his chest is grief for something he never had. And the fact that the idea of Vincent dying feels almost like relief? That’s the heartbreak of it. It shouldn’t be this way… but it is.

And none of it is his fault. Vincent carved that distance himself. Stede knows that, logically. But it doesn’t make the hollow ache any less real.

He tries to explain it, fumbling for words, spilling the weight of it into the quiet between them. Ed listens without interruption, one hand tracing slow, steady circles on his back, grounding him. When Stede finishes, Ed gathers him into his arms and holds him tight.

“I’m so, so sorry, Stede,” he murmurs against his hair. “There are no words I can say to take that pain away, but I’m just so fucking sorry.”

And Stede knows he means it. Knows Ed understands in a way few ever could. He’s heard the stories: dark shards of Ed’s childhood, of a father who carved wounds instead of offering love. Stories that had given Stede nightmares, imagining a small Ed forced to survive them.

Ed carries that same scar. The same emptiness. And though Stede hates that he’s endured it, there’s comfort in the kinship, in knowing they aren’t alone in their brokenness. They’re bound together by pain, yes, but also by the fierce love that’s bloomed in its wake.

And gods, he loves him for it. Loves him so much it aches.

“If we go this route, what’re we going to do about Ricky?” Stede asks, pulling away from the hug enough to meet Ed’s eyes.

There’s so much left to untangle. As much as Stede longs to sink into the comfort of holding him, or let Ed drag him into bed and erase their troubles for a few hours, they can’t. Not yet.

“He’s going to be a problem if I don’t work with him,” Stede continues. “And I don’t want him targeting you.”

Ed leans back, thoughtful, a faint crease between his brows. “Well… I’m pretty sure Ricky wasn’t supposed to tell you he’s a fed. That little slip gives us leverage. We just need to use it. Find a way to get him pulled off the investigation, make him look unreliable.”

Stede exhales, conceding the point. It’s dangerous, but clever. It’s very Ed.

“Maybe Jackie will have ideas about that too,” Stede says after a beat, and Ed nods, the ghost of a grin tugging at his lips.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Stede feels a real spark of hope. As they talk, the shape of a future without Vincent begins to take form. It’s faint, like pencil lines sketched across a page, but there. A life where he and Ed could exist without shadows, without fear. Just the two of them in love, allowed to be.

“Can I play you something?” Ed asks after a long pause, reaching for the guitar resting on its stand. He drops back onto the couch beside Stede, the wood cradled in his arms. “I’ve been… working on this song. And I was hoping you’d sing it for me. You’ve got the better voice between us.”

A delighted smile blooms across Stede’s face. He settles back against the cushions, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap. A little thrill hums through him at the thought. He hasn’t heard a single note of Ed’s music yet. Ever since Ed first told him he was a songwriter, he’s been aching for this moment.

But there’s always been something else in the way. The thought of finally getting to hear Ed’s heart in song is thrilling. 

He begins the tune, a soft, melodic string of notes spilling into the dim apartment, and Stede’s heart swells with every chord. He already loves it before Ed’s even opened his mouth. Then Ed starts to sing, and Stede gasps softly, realization striking him like a tide. This isn’t just any song. Ed wrote this for him.

          Starling, on the wire at dawn
          Bruised by the night but the night is gone
          All of your silence, all of your scars
          Fade in the glow of the morning stars

The words hang in the air, raw and unpolished in a way that makes them all the more beautiful. Stede feels them strike straight through him, a truth laid bare in melody. 

Ed keeps strumming, voice rough-edged but steady. Stede sits frozen, lips parted, his throat tight. For all the danger crowding their lives, for all the shadows pressing in, this moment feels impossibly pure.

He’s never been loved like this… and it’s almost overwhelming.

          Starling, rise and sing
          Every shadow’s just a passing wing
          Starling, find your sky
          You were born to fall, but you learned to fly

The melody lingers, soft but unyielding, and Stede feels the emotion press against his ribs until it aches. Is this the way Ed sees him? Fragile, perhaps, but resilient. Someone who’s fallen, stumbled, been beaten down, and still found a way to soar?

His throat tightens, eyes stinging as the thought settles heavy in his chest. He’s not used to someone knowing him so thoroughly. Not his father, who’s only ever measured his worth in obedience. Not by anyone, really. But Ed… he looks at him and sees strength. Sees someone worth writing songs about.

It’s almost too much, sitting here with Ed’s voice carrying those words through the little apartment, guitar strings vibrating against the silence. He wants to laugh, to cry, to throw his arms around him and never let go.

          Starling, through the bitter rain
          Carried the weight of a world in pain
          But the storm has broken, the air is clear
          Every note you sing is what brought you here

          Starling, rise and sing
          Every shadow’s just a passing wing
          Starling, find your sky
          You were born to fall, but you learned to fly

The melody swells, shifting beneath Ed’s fingers, carrying them toward the bridge. The notes bend softer, more searching, like the song itself is holding its breath. He watches Ed’s face in the low light, the focus in his brow, the way he leans into the instrument, the rough warmth in his voice, and Stede thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever been.

          The branches bend, the cold wind cries
          But you keep your eyes on the open skies
          Every wound a lost feather, every tear a song
          Every beat of your heart says you still belong

The song shifts, the chords leaning toward their close, and Stede can’t hold back anymore. The tears brim, then spill over, sliding hot down his cheeks as Ed’s voice fills the room. He presses a hand against his mouth, trying to steady himself, but it’s no use. The song has torn him open in the gentlest, most devastating way.

          Starling, rise and sing
          Every shadow’s just a passing wing
          Starling, find your sky
          You were born to fall, but you learned to fly

The final chord lingers, vibrating through the small apartment, before it fades into quiet. Stede’s breath comes uneven, his chest aching with a mix of awe, grief, and something deeper than he’s ever known.

He looks at Ed, eyes shining, and all he can think is how much of an honor it would be to give voice to these words, to carry the melody that Ed wrote for him.

“Ed… that was beautiful,” Stede says softly as Ed rests the guitar against the couch. He shifts closer, almost without thinking, drawn into the warmth of Ed. “Is that… really how you see me?”

Ed scoots nearer, too, gathering Stede into his arms, pressing a kiss against his temple. He doesn’t answer right away, and the silence makes Stede’s heart pound.

“I’m not an idiot,” Stede murmurs, filling the quiet. “I know how privileged I am. I always felt like such a spoiled brat for hating my life. People are literally starving, and I was wishing for a way out of this world.”

“Stede.” Ed pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, his expression steady, intent. “You’re not that person. You’re one of the strongest, most resilient people I’ve ever known. Yeah, you had privilege. But your life has been far from easy. You never got the love or support a child should get. And even through all that, you survived. You’re brilliant, you’re kind, you’re fiery, and you don’t give up. Of course that’s how I see you, love.”

The words settle over Stede like a balm, quieting the ache he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

“I love it,” Stede whispers, brushing his lips lightly against Ed’s. “And it would be an honor to sing it.”

“Yeah?” Ed murmurs against his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips. “You mean it?”

“Of course, I do,” Stede replies with a breathless laugh.

“I want you,” Ed growls, pulling Stede onto his lap, fingers weaving into his waves and guiding him into a kiss that’s deeper, hungrier.

“You have me,” Stede breathes against his lips, kissing him back with equal measure. “Fuck, Ed, I’m yours.”

Ed’s arms wrap tight around his waist, shifting him down onto the couch, pressing close. His mouth finds Stede’s again, fierce and consuming, and Stede moans into it, every nerve alive with the weight of Ed’s body pinning him safely beneath. He feels claimed, cherished, set alight.

He clutches fistfuls of Ed’s shirt, pulling him closer, as if he could somehow collapse the space between them entirely. His mind spins with one realization. He’s young, yes, but he knows, with a certainty that leaves him dizzy: Ed is it. There will never be another.

His heart races, every point of contact sparking like fire through him, and he soaks in the moment as though it’s all he’ll ever need. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Just then, a scraping sound from the bookcase cuts through the room, breaking the kiss. Ed jerks upright, heart pounding, while Stede leaps from the couch, terror slicing through him like lightning. Someone had found the secret passage? Had Buttons betrayed them?

But then Buttons emerges, eyes wide, dazed as ever, but deadly serious.

“You have to go, laddie,” he says, gaze fixed on Stede. “Ned is on his way here.”

“Shit!” Stede blurts, scanning the room frantically for his coat.

Ed’s already got it, rushing to his side and shoving it into his hands. “Go to Lucius’s. If anyone sees you in the house, tell them you forgot something and came back to fetch it. If you don’t run into anyone, slip out through the back garden; there are no cameras there.”

Stede presses in for one last kiss, quick but searing, their foreheads resting together. “I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking.

“I love you,” Ed replies, before pushing him away gently. “Go, Stede.”

The order cuts like glass. Their evening shattered, dread coils through Stede’s chest. Worse than the disappointment is the fear. Why is Ned coming? Has he found out about them? Fuck… what if he does know ?

“I’m scared,” Stede admits, pausing at the threshold of the bookcase. Buttons is already inside the passage, gesturing urgently. Stede turns back, eyes wide, voice trembling. “Ed, I’m really scared.”

Ed surges forward, grabbing him, crushing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Stede clings to him, head spinning, terrified this could be their last.

“Everything will be okay,” Ed murmurs when he pulls back, holding Stede’s face in both hands. His dark eyes burn with conviction, and for a moment Stede believes him. He believes it, even though the weight of who his father is presses down like a vice. “I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. I promise.”

And Stede knows he will. Ed would fight the world before breaking a promise to him. That knowledge steadies him just enough to move. With tears streaming hot down his cheeks, he turns and slips into the passageway, pulling the bookcase shut behind him, the sound sealing them apart.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

The bookcase shuts with a heavy thud, echoing through the apartment. Ed’s pulse hammers in his ears. He sweeps the room fast, eyes darting for any trace Stede might have left behind. Nothing. Thank fuck.

He crosses to the drawer beside the couch, pulls his gun, and tucks it into the back of his waistband. Then he drops down onto the cushions, forcing his hands steady as he snatches a magazine from the coffee table. He flips it open, eyes scanning meaningless words, trying to slow his breathing, to look casual.

The act lasts all of five seconds.

The door bursts open, slamming against the wall, and Ned storms in like a fucking hurricane. Ed shoots to his feet, gun already in his hand, leveled at Ned before the man can take another step.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Ed snarls, voice sharp, taut with fury. His grip on the gun is unflinching, finger on the trigger.

This is his space… his sanctuary. And he’ll be damned before he lets Ned think he can smash through it, uninvited, especially after cutting short his night with Stede. Rage simmers hot in his veins, mingled with a dangerous edge of adrenaline.

“We need to talk,” Ned says flatly, slamming the door behind him as he stalks further into the room.

The fucker. Ed’s hand itches to crack him across the skull with the butt of his gun, but he holds back, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

Ned’s gaze drifts over the room, sharp and prying, like he’s hunting for something out of place. Ed’s stomach drops. Does he know? Did he somehow sense Stede had been here?

“Know how to fucking knock?” Ed snaps, lowering the gun at last and sliding it back into his waistband. His tone is acid, but his chest is tight with unease. “This is my house. Not your fucking playground.”

Ned doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves toward the hallway, pausing there with his head tilted, as though listening. The silence stretches, and every muscle in Ed’s body locks up.

It’s the way Ned lingers—expectant, searching—that sends a chill crawling down Ed’s spine. He’s not just here to talk. He thinks he’s going to find someone.

Shit.

“If you’re here to talk, then fucking talk,” Ed says, dropping heavily onto the couch, forcing a slouch he doesn’t feel. “I’d like to get back to enjoying my quiet evening.”

“I heard your conversation with Vincent,” Ned says, lips pressed into a thin, self-satisfied line.

Ed’s gut twists. Was he followed? How many times has he been followed? Shit. If Ned’s been tailing him, what has he seen? What does he know? Did he catch sight of Stede slipping into Ed’s place, or does he know about Stede’s little cottage? The thought makes his pulse spike. He’ll have to be more careful from now on, if it isn’t already too late.

“You were fucking following us?” Ed snaps, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think Mr. Bonnet’s gonna appreciate hearing you’ve been eavesdropping on his private conversations.”

Ned’s smile unfurls slow, smug, the kind of grin that makes Ed want to punch the shit out of him. “I know you think you’re the golden boy,” he drawls, too damn pleased with himself. “But if you really think you’re gonna run crying to Vincent about me spying… well.” He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a slim sketchbook, and drops it onto the coffee table with a soft thud.

“Maybe you should take a look at this first.”

Shit. He recognizes the sketchbook on the table before he even needs to look. It’s his… every scrawl, every page. He knows exactly what’s in it. A few different sketches of Stede fucking Bonnet, for one…

“You can have it back. I’ve taken pictures of it for proof,” Ned says, almost casual.

Ed snaps. He launches off the couch and grabs Ned by the scruff of his shirt, hauling him back and slamming him against the wall. Ned just laughs, the sound bright and poisonous.

“You broke into my fucking apartment?!” Ed snarls, teeth bared. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, you bastard!”

“Kinky,” Ned says, smirking. “If you keep this up, I might get hard.”

Ed shoves him hard, pushing him away, fury flaring hot and immediate. The laugh is like salt in a wound.

“You’ve caught feelings for little Stede, haven’t you?” Ned says, amusement curling his voice. “Can’t say I blame you. He’s a nice piece of ass.”

Ed sees red. He grabs Ned and shoves him back into the wall again, every muscle coiled, blood on fire. His fingers twitch toward the gun at his waistband, an instinctive, dangerous motion, he knows, until he forces his hand into a fist instead. The apartment feels suddenly too small, the air too thin, and the two of them pressed so close the smell of Ned—a cloying bite of department-store cologne, sharp and artificial beneath a veneer of polish—makes Ed’s skin crawl.

Ned’s grin never fully dies. He meets Ed’s eyes with a look that’s both daring and smug, as if enjoying the fact he’s rattled the other man. The sketchbook sits between them on the coffee table, quiet and accusing.

Everything in Ed wants to end this, fast and permanent. But for the moment, he keeps his hand from the gun, holds his fury like a live thing, while Ned keeps smiling, as calm and dangerous as ever.

“It’s cute, how much you care about him,” Ned says, smirking. Ed lets go, shoving him back and stepping away, fury buzzing under his skin. Frustration with himself gnaws at him… he should just end it here, put a bullet in the bastard and be done. But he can’t bring himself to do it…

“I’ve got no proof you’re fucking him…” Ned starts, but Ed cuts him off, voice sharp as a blade.

“Because I’m fucking not. You think I’ve got a death wish? It’s just a fucking crush.”

Ned laughs, low and ugly, like he enjoys stringing the words out just to watch Ed twitch. “I mean, that’s the reason I’ve never gone after him. Wouldn’t be worth it. Definitely a death sentence. He’s off-limits to Vincent’s men.”

Fuck. Ed’s jaw clenches so tight it aches. He hates this man. Hates the smug curl of his mouth, the way he revels in pushing every button. The weight of the gun in his waistband feels electric, practically humming against his spine. His hand itches to draw it, to wipe that grin clean off Ned’s face.

As if Stede—his Stede—would ever want anything to do with him.

“What the fuck do you want, Low? Why’re you here?”

“Well, I was honestly hoping I’d catch you fucking the boy,” Ned says with a laugh. “But I guess my wish didn’t come true.”

“Watch how you speak about him,” Ed growls, voice low and dangerous.

Ned only laughs again, the sound slick and grating, like he’s enjoying winding Ed up. Fire burns hot in Ed’s veins.

“I don’t like that you’re getting close with Vincent,” Ned says finally. “He’s trusting you a little more than I like.”

“Jealous, are you?” Ed fires back before he can stop himself.

He knows he shouldn’t push. Ned’s dangerous, always has been. But his hatred burns too bright to rein it in.

Ned’s expression shifts, the smirk cooling into something harder.

“Don’t fuck with me, Teach,” he says, his voice flat now, the humor gone.

Ed doesn’t flinch. He meets Ned’s stare head-on, muscles coiled, refusing to blink.

“You’re not taking my place,” Ned adds. 

“And what’re you gonna do if I do take your place?” Ed says, stepping closer, crowding Ned back until there’s barely an inch between them. His eyes burn into Ned’s. “Show him my silly little drawings of Stede? I’ll tell him I drew them for Jackie… to prove to her I’ve got feelings for him. Vincent trusts me. And he liked my plan.”

Ned’s smirk falters, and Ed catches it: the flicker of doubt. The tables are turning.

“And another thing,” Ed presses, voice sharp as steel, “I’ll tell him you’re spying on him. I’ve got access to the cameras around this place. I can pull footage of you following us. That’s proof, too.”

For the first time, Ned’s mask slips. His eyes widen, a flash of real surprise breaking through the smug façade. “Cameras? He gave you access to cameras?”

Got him. The words alone confirm more than Ned intended—that he didn’t know, and most likely that he’s been up to more than just listening in.

Ed feels the balance shift, the power swinging toward him like a loaded gun. And he knows Ned feels it too.

“Keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours,” Ed says. “And I’ll have no reason to go searching through all that footage on the cameras. Because I’m pretty sure I’ll find more than just you listening in on private conversations, based on your reaction.”

“Fuck you,” Ned spits, and Ed takes that for the agreement it is. Ned says nothing more.

Ed reaches up and pats Ned’s cheek twice, light and condescending. “Good boy,” he murmurs, a slow smirk spreading across his face as Ned jerks away.

“Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Ned shoves back, anger sharp and burning in his eyes, and stalks toward the door. As he reaches for the handle, Ed throws one last line over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Low?” Ned turns, still glaring. “Leave Stede alone. I’ve got access to those cameras, and I won’t hesitate to take action if you try to hurt him.”

Ned hesitates, the threat landing. He gives Ed one last look—half fury, half calculation—then walks out the door, slamming it shut. 

************

Ed can’t sleep. He knows Stede is probably worried sick, but there’s no way to get word to him about what happened with Ned. The thought twists in his gut. He hates how much this life has bled into Stede’s, poisoned him with fear. The sooner Vincent—and Ned, for that matter—are out of the picture, the better.

He flips over with a groan, dragging a hand over his face, eyes shut tight. He lets out an exasperated sigh, opens his eyes, and—

“What the fuck?!?” he yells, scrambling to the far edge of the bed and fumbling for the lamp.

Buttons is standing there, looming over his side of the bed, and Ed’s heart rockets into his throat.

“What the fuck is with people just… thinking they can come into my home whenever the fuck they want?!” Ed snaps, voice still high with adrenaline. “I’m grateful for the warning earlier, mate, but seriously… what the fuck?”

“Ah thought ye might want tae send a message tae Stede, laddie,” Buttons says, eyes wide and strangely clear. Not for the first time, Ed wonders if this man has magic in his veins. How else could he know exactly what Ed was thinking?

“I… do, actually,” Ed admits warily. “But… how?”

Buttons doesn’t answer. He pads to the window, opens it, and lets out a low, keening whistle. Ed stares, baffled, until a seagull swoops in through the open frame a moment later, landing neatly on Buttons’s outstretched arm.

“What the fuck?!” Ed exclaims, springing out of bed as the bird flaps its wings wildly before settling.

The gull calms, steady as a trained hawk, and Buttons crosses to the desk. He plucks up a pen and notepad, presses them into Ed’s hands, and nods toward the bird.

“Write yer note,” he says, voice low but certain. “Karl here’ll see it delivered.”

Ed just stares, utterly baffled. A dozen questions rise to his lips, but none of them seem worth asking. In the end, it’s easier to trust Buttons and the strange, unexplainable ways he always seems to know what’s needed. So far, it’s never led them wrong.

He lowers himself at the desk, pen in hand, and weighs every word as though it might be read by the wrong eyes. If the message is intercepted, it has to give nothing away.

Starling,
Everything is okay. I’m safe. Will talk soon, but we must be careful. Eyes are around us. Get some sleep.
E

When he’s finished, he tears the page free and hands it to Buttons. The old man rolls it with surprising precision, producing a thin ribbon from his pocket and binding it neatly around the gull’s leg.

“Tha’ll do,” Buttons mutters, satisfied.

He turns back to the window, Karl perched steady on his arm, then lifts it high. With a rustle of wings, the bird takes off into the night, vanishing swiftly in the direction of Lucius’s house. Ed watches until the shape is lost against the dark sky, a strange calm settling in his chest.

For now, at least, Stede will know he’s safe.

Buttons finally slips out into the night, and Ed sinks back into bed, dragging the blankets over himself with a weary groan. Tomorrow, he’ll start setting the Jackie plan into motion. He knows he should rest, but his mind won’t stop turning. Hopefully Ned will keep his end of their mutual blackmail. Hopefully.

But more than that, he wonders if Stede ever got his note.

He shuts his eyes, tossing and turning, restless. The sheets feel cold without Stede in them. Tonight was supposed to have been theirs, a rare night together, and instead Stede’s at Lucius’s… thanks to fucking Ned Low.

The whisper of fabric makes him freeze and he opens his eyes. The curtains flutter in the breeze, and only then does he remember the damn window’s still open. With a sigh, he rolls out of bed, padding across the room to close it. Just as his hand reaches for the frame, something hurtles through the opening in a flash of feathers.

Karl.

Ed jumps back, heart slamming against his ribs, for the fourth time that night. “Fuck!” he gasps, breath coming ragged as the gull flaps hard before settling on the back of the desk chair.

The bird squawks, lifting its leg, and Ed catches sight of a small scrap of paper tied neatly there. A note. His chest tightens. Did Stede respond?

“You know, Karl,” Ed mutters, stepping closer, “I’d really fuckin’ like it if people… and animals, for that matter, would stop bursting through my fucking windows, doors, and bookcases.”

The bird only squawks again. Ed scowls. He’s definitely not fond of birds.

He unfastens the ribbon quickly, and Karl takes off in a rush of wings, making Ed startle once more before the gull slips out the window. Ed slams it shut this time, just in case.

Hands a little unsteady, he unrolls the note.

E
Message received. Thank you.
Raven, find your sky
You were born to fall, but you learned to fly
Starling

Ed stares at the words, heart clenching. Raven. A new name, given by Stede, tucked carefully into the lines of his own song. He can’t help the small smile that spreads across his face, sharp and aching all at once. His chest eases. Stede got the message. 

He pads back to the bed, plopping down face first into the blankets, letting out a groan. He stays that way until he falls asleep. 

************

Chapter Text

Stede’s POV:

Stede steps into the courtyard the next morning, breath misting in the sharp February air. Instinct has his eyes drifting upward, carefully and casually to Ed’s apartment above the carriage house.

Ed is there on the porch, cigarette between his fingers, his gaze fixed on Stede. To anyone else, his expression would be unreadable, carved from stone. But Stede knows better. He sees it in the faint softening around Ed’s eyes. Relief.

Stede tips the faintest nod, every nerve in his body screaming to run up the stairs and through that door. But with Ned prowling, he forces himself to drop his head, shove his hands in his pockets, and push on toward the main house. The February air claws through his jacket, sharp and punishing, though it’s nothing compared to the ache of distance.

Inside, he makes for his room, cursing the universe under his breath. If there were any justice in the world, he thinks bitterly, he’d be on his knees upstairs right now, giving Ed something far better than a cigarette. Instead, the universe seems dedicated to cockblocking him at every turn.

“Stede!”

His father’s voice booms from the office, making him freeze halfway up the stairs. He exhales a heavy sigh, shoulders sagging. So much for a sad, self-pitying wank to take the edge off.

He turns, schooling his expression into obedience, every inch of him sliding back into the role Vincent demands. He takes a breath, then steps into the office doorway.

“Yes, Father?”

The anxiety he’s been carrying since leaving Ed’s last night spikes, dread coiling hot and fast. He braces himself for fury, for suspicion—something to do with Ned, surely. But the look on Vincent’s face stills him. Not anger. Not suspicion. Excitement.

And if Vincent had discovered he was fucking one of his own employees, excitement would be the last thing on his face.

“Come in, sit down,” Vincent says, gesturing toward the chairs. Reluctantly, Stede steps inside and lowers himself into one of the seats across from his father.

“In which way did I disappoint you today?” Stede asks, his voice dry.

He knows it’s a gamble. He should keep his head down, avoid confrontation, play the dutiful son. But he hates this man. He can’t help himself.

Vincent laughs—actually laughs—at the idea of Stede disappointing him. The sound makes Stede’s skin crawl. Of course Vincent would find his pain amusing. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“So I hear you’re giving the idea of marrying the prince some real thought,” Vincent says, leaning forward, elbows braced on his desk. “And that you’re finding your fun elsewhere, like I told you.”

Stede’s stomach knots. Wait. Did Ed tell him that? Shit. What exactly did he say? Clearly not the truth… he wouldn’t be that reckless. But what if Stede slips, says the wrong thing?

For a flicker of a moment, anger pricks at him. Should he be furious that Ed told his father he was sleeping with someone else? But then clarity settles. He trusts Ed. If Ed told Vincent that, he must have had a reason. He’d have kept it vague. He’d have been careful.

Stede inhales slowly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders, even as his mind races.

“So who is it?” Vincent asks, and Stede’s stomach twists hard.

What is he supposed to say to that? It can’t be anyone real. Vincent would use his reach to find out, to threaten, to ruin them. Stede freezes, mind blank, panic clawing at his throat.

“It’s Lucius, isn’t it?” Vincent says, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

Stede’s breath catches. He stares, words failing him. He can’t throw Lucius under the bus, but fear keeps his tongue tied. This is territory he’s never navigated before, and every answer feels like a trap.

Vincent laughs again, the sound sharp and jarring, making Stede flinch. None of this is normal. No one should feel terror over a question as simple as who are you seeing? But with his father, there is no such thing as simple.

“Your silence says everything I need to know,” Vincent says at last, leaning back in his chair, and Stede swears there’s something almost like pride in his eyes. “If you’re going to fuck your best friend, though…” He leans in once more, voice low. “Just make sure no one finds out.”

He smiles, sharp and knowing.

Stede drags in a slow breath, exhaling carefully. Vincent doesn’t seem angry. If anything, he doesn’t seem to care in the least. Maybe… maybe it’s safer to let him keep believing it’s Lucius.

But he’s still going to have to talk to Lucius. And knowing him, he’ll probably find the whole thing hilarious. Stede’s almost certain Lucius won’t mind the implication, even if they are possibly the least compatible pairing anyone could imagine.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Vincent says, leaning back and folding his hands in his lap, “Teach has come up with a plan that’s frankly quite genius, and we’re going to need your help to make it work.”

Stede’s pulse quickens. So this is where the Jackie plan comes into play. He’ll have to play dumb here. There’s no plausible reason Ed would’ve told him about it first without raising suspicion.

“And what’s this plan?” Stede asks, arranging his features into something that looks more interested than disgusted, though inside his stomach churns. Knowing what he knows about Jackie—and his mother—makes the whole conversation feel poisonous.

Vincent lays it out for him, carefully omitting any mention of Jackie’s history with Sarah. Of course he does. Vincent knows Stede is closer to his mother than he’ll ever be to him, and if Stede learned the whole truth from him, there’d be hell to pay.

“So, how do I fit into this?” Stede asks, though he already knows the answer.

“You’re going to pretend to be having an affair with Teach,” Vincent says matter-of-factly, and Stede has to fight back the smile threatening to spread across his face. If only Vincent knew… “He’ll tell Jackie about it, use that to get close to her. Make her believe he wants me gone. He’ll feed her just enough, gain her trust, then bring back what he learns about her syndicate.”

Stede shifts in his chair, forcing a smile and letting a spark of excitement light his expression. “That’s genius,” he says, and the words almost feel good on his tongue. Because if only Vincent knew the whole truth, he’d realize just how genius it really was.

And besides, praising Ed, even if indirectly, sends a small surge of pride through him.

“You and Teach, you’re going to have to really sell it,” Vincent says, and Stede almost laughs. Not a problem, Father, he thinks. Think we’ve got that handled. “But you can’t let the prince find out. He can’t know that you’re having an affair, even a fake one. It might ruin the proposal chances.”

Vincent leans forward, pinning Stede with a look he’s seen a thousand times before but never with this much weight. It’s the same look he uses on subordinates—the one that says mess this up and you die. Stede has always known his father is dangerous; now he’s beginning to understand just how little safety he personally has in any of this.

“Do you think you can manage this without fucking it up?” Vincent asks.

Stede swallows hard and nods. “Yes, father.”

“You make this work, and I might actually have reason to start trusting you with the business. Succeed, and I might actually be proud of you for once.”

Stede can’t help the gasp that tears out of him, and he hates himself for it instantly. Years of chasing after his father’s approval, of being starved for it, and here it is at last: a chance to really prove himself. He can already see the faint gleam of pride in Vincent’s hazel eyes, the pride he’s begged for all his life.

And despite everything… despite how much he despises the man sitting before him… he wants it. He wants that pride. The shame of it hits like a punch to the gut. White-hot bile rises in his throat, his chest burning, his stomach twisting so violently he nearly feels ill. The dichotomy of it all—craving his father’s approval while loathing him with every fiber of his being—splits him down the middle.

After everything Vincent has done, after every wound he’s inflicted, how could Stede still want this? He should be telling himself fuck him, fuck his pride, fuck everything about him. But the truth is cruel: he wants it more than almost anything.

Then another face cuts through the storm. Big, soft brown eyes. Ed’s smile. His laugh, his warmth, his heart. Stede wants that more. He thinks of his mother, of the pain Vincent carved into her life, and the justice she deserves. He thinks of himself, of the boy who was crushed under Vincent’s rule and the man who deserves to be free.

This man’s approval is nothing. It’s an illusion he’s chased too long. What he needs is love. Real family, not the blood kind. He’s learned blood means nothing, not really. Peace. Escape from danger. An end to Vincent’s reign of cruelty. Those are the things that matter.

“Yes, father,” Stede says at last, the words steady as his resolve settles in his bones.

He’s going to take this man down. No matter what it costs. He and Ed will end him together.

“Good,” his father says, a monstrous smile spreading across his face.

Vincent leans back in his chair, still smiling that monstrous smile, dismissing him to plan with Ed.

Stede rises, legs a little unsteady beneath him, and turns for the door. The air in the office feels heavier than when he entered, thick with smoke and menace, clinging to his skin. As he steps into the hall, he draws in a breath so deep it burns, trying to steady himself.

For years he’s walked away from his father’s office hollow, small, stripped bare. Today he leaves with something else lodged inside him. Resolve. A fire that won’t be stamped out.

And though the weight of it nearly crushes him, it also steels him. Because he knows, one way or another, this ends.

************

Chapter Text

Ed’s POV:

Ed steps out of the shower, shutting off the water as warm steam billows through the small bathroom. He grabs a towel and wraps it low around his waist, then pauses in front of the mirror. The glass is clouded with condensation, and he swipes a hand across it, revealing his reflection.

He looks tired. Hollow-eyed. And gods, he feels it.

Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to get on a plane to somewhere warm, somewhere far away. A stretch of sand, a turquoise ocean, Stede beside him. Freedom enough to drag him close, kiss him hard, and let the whole world see they belong to each other.

Instead, he’s here. Trapped in this game of shadows and blood, the weight of Vincent and Ned pressing down on them both.

He braces a hand against the sink, breath fogging the glass again. He wants this finished… done and buried. But deep down, he knows the war is only just beginning.

But Stede is worth it. Every risk, every lie, every sleepless night. Their love is worth it.

A knock rattles the door, and frustration bubbles hot in Ed’s chest. What the fuck now? If it’s Ned again…

He storms out of the bathroom, still damp, towel hanging low on his hips, and wrenches the door open.

“Stede!” His body loosens all at once, breath catching with surprise.

Stede stands there, expression hard, his jaw set. He steps inside without a word, shutting the door behind him and locking it. For a beat, he lingers there, hand resting on the handle, his gaze fixed on the wood. Listening? Thinking? Ed’s pulse kicks up. Is something wrong?

But then Stede turns. There’s no doubt in his eyes now, only fire.

He launches forward, colliding with Ed, their mouths crashing together. Ed groans into the kiss, arms snapping tight around Stede’s waist, his hands finding the curve of his ass and squeezing hard. Fuck, he needs this.

He drives Stede back against the door, hips grinding into him, already feeling the urgent arousal between them. His tongue flicks along the seam of Stede’s lips, and Stede opens, greedy, pulling him deeper. Heat lances down Ed’s spine, ravenous and sharp.

The kiss grows harder, desperate. Ed fumbles for Stede’s shirt, tearing it free of his trousers. He yanks it up and over, breaking their mouths apart only long enough to strip it off and toss it aside. His fingers are already at Stede’s belt, working it open in a frenzy, not bothering with freeing it from the loops as he quickly unbuttons the buttons on his trousers.

Their mouths meet again, frantic and wet, while Stede’s nails dig into Ed’s back, sharp enough to sting. Ed grits his teeth against a gasp, wanting the marks… wanting to wear proof of him.

Ed shoves Stede’s trousers down, underwear and all, taking his cock in hand and stroking him slow, deliberate. Stede gasps against Ed’s lips at the first touch… sweet, broken sounds that make Ed’s pulse race. He loves that, the way Stede gives himself over so easily. It only drives him harder.

Stede breaks the kiss long enough to kick free of his pants, shoes, and socks, the motions rushed and graceless with desperation. Then he yanks the towel from Ed’s hips and drags him back in, kissing him again with desperate, hungry force.

Ed likes this… fucking loves it, really. The way they ignite together, every time, intense and frantic, whenever they can find the chance. He hopes that fire never dies. But fuck, he aches to get the chance to slow it all down someday… To take his time, worship every inch of Stede’s body, draw out every sound and tremor until there’s nothing left to give. The thought alone feels like heaven on earth.

But that’s for another time. Right now, he’ll take whatever he can get. He hoists Stede up by the ass, feels his legs wrap tight around his hips, arms clutching at his neck like a lifeline. Their mouths crash together again, heat and breath and want colliding as Ed presses him into the wall, bodies locked so close it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

And really, Ed thinks, would it be such a terrible thing if they melted together?

“Take me to your bed?” Stede asks against his lips, and Ed nods, turning and carrying him toward the hall.

They kiss all the way down it, Stede’s fingers tangled in Ed’s hair, each tug sending sparks down his spine. When they reach the room, Ed sinks one knee onto the bed and lowers Stede onto the mattress as slowly as he can, their weight drawing them down together. Stede finally loosens his grip, and Ed presses in over him, kissing him again, tongue brushing against his, the taste of him richer than any wine Ed’s ever known.

He pulls back just enough to look at him, breathless, needing to say it, to make Stede feel it. “I love you,” Ed murmurs, brushing the hair off Stede’s forehead. “So fucking much.”

Stede’s smile is soft, but threaded with something that twists at Ed’s chest—love, yes, but also pain. He hates that part, hates that it can’t just be easy for him to love, to be loved.

“I love you, too,” Stede whispers back, and Ed kisses him gently, just a lingering press of lips before pulling back to meet his eyes again.

“What do you want, love?” Ed asks quietly. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“Your mouth?” Stede asks. “And to taste you. I want your cock, too. Please, Ed, just need to taste you, and feel you.”

Ed nods, the words settling low in his belly as realization dawns on what Stede is asking for. He shifts back, guiding Stede down the bed, away from the pillows. Moving easily, he turns so they’re aligned, head to foot, Stede’s cock right in front of him now, half hard and waiting. Stede rolls to his side to meet him there.

Ed takes him in hand, fingers wrapping firm and steady, and leans in to brush his tongue along the underside, slow and deliberate, until he feels Stede twitch under the touch. He strokes him to full hardness, the sound of Stede’s gasp sending a shiver through him. When Ed flicks his tongue through the slit, then circles the head, lingering on that tender spot just beneath it, Stede moans—low, desperate, beautiful—and Ed smiles against his skin, knowing exactly how much that drives him wild.

And then Stede is leaning in, taking Ed’s cock in hand, stroking once, twice—measured, knowing touches that make Ed’s breath catch in his throat. The pleasure builds fast, sharp and exquisite, his body tightening under the attention. When Stede’s tongue slides along the length of him, slow and wet, Ed’s eyes flutter shut. He groans softly, the sound half-breathed, half-surrendered.

He reaches out, curling his fingers around Stede’s cock again, stroking in time with the movements of Stede’s mouth. Each rise and fall, each pulse of heat between them, feels like a circuit closing—pleasure flowing back and forth until he can’t tell whose moan belongs to whom. Stede hums against him, the vibration nearly undoing Ed completely.

Ed opens his eyes, wanting to see him, to watch the way Stede takes him in as his lips stretch around the head, eyes heavy with want. It’s almost too much… too intimate, too good… and he feels his hips twitch, a helpless response he can’t quite rein in.

He slows his own rhythm, brushing his thumb over the slick head of Stede’s cock before leaning forward again, running his tongue along the underside, matching him breath for breath, touch for touch. The air between them hums with heat, with trust, with everything they’ve both been needing for too damn long.

When Ed takes Stede into his mouth, his tongue presses flat against the underside, tracing the vein as he moves slowly forward, careful and steady, taking him in a little further with each slow bob of his head. Stede’s body reacts instantly, hips twitching, a strangled sound catching in his throat as he pushes forward, aching for more.

But Ed pulls back, lips slipping free with a soft drag. He tightens his grip around the base, steadying him, eyes flicking up Stede’s body to watch the way his chest rises and falls, how he trembles trying to hold himself still. Ed smiles faintly, breath warm against his skin. He doesn’t want to rush it. Doesn’t want to miss a single second of this… of Stede, undone by him.

He leans in again, slower this time, savoring the taste, the weight of him, the faint salt on his tongue. Every soft gasp from Stede spurs him on, feeds that deep, aching satisfaction that comes from giving, from making him feel wanted, worshipped.

Stede’s hand moves in tandem with his mouth, stroking as he slowly takes more of Ed in. The sensation hits hard, overwhelming in the best way, each glide and flick of Stede’s tongue sparking through Ed’s body like electricity. Having Stede’s mouth on him while his own works over Stede feels almost unreal, a dizzying loop of pleasure that builds and folds in on itself.

They’ve never done this before, not like this, and fuck, Ed loves it. Loves the heat, the closeness, the shared rhythm they fall into without words. He loves the taste of Stede, the faint salt of his skin, the soft tremor of his thighs when Ed’s suction is just right. And he loves the way Stede’s mouth feels on him—hot, wet, hungry—each movement pulling a rough sound from his throat.

It’s messy and perfect and intimate in a way that leaves Ed breathless. He hums low around Stede’s cock, feeling the vibration echoed back through Stede’s own moan. The air between them is thick now, filled with the sound of breath and want and the slick rhythm of their mouths moving in time.

Ed pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against Stede’s thigh as he pants softly, smiling against his skin. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, before dipping back down to take him in again, slower this time, savoring every shiver, every gasp that falls from Stede’s lips.

Stede pops off Ed’s cock, lips swollen, breath coming fast. His voice is rough from working over Ed’s length.

“Fuck, Ed, need you inside me,” he gasps. “Need you closer. Please, come fuck me.”

The words hit Ed like a spark to dry tinder, instant and consuming. He groans low in his throat, dragging a hand down his face as he tries to ground himself, to keep from losing it completely right then and there.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice wrecked, eyes locked on Stede. “You sure, love?”

Stede nods, pupils blown wide, face flushed, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. “Please,” he whispers again, voice trembling, almost breaking on the word.

That’s all Ed needs. He turns his body, shifting up the bed and catching Stede’s mouth in a kiss that’s equal parts hunger and tenderness, tasting the salt of Ed on his tongue. His hands find Stede’s hips, guiding him onto his back to spread him open beneath him.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” Ed murmurs against his lips, the words a promise as much as a plea. He reaches for the bedside table, pulling out the bottle of oil, slicking his fingers and adding some to the tight muscle at Stede’s entrance. He reaches between them, pressing his fingers to the muscle before sliding one slowly inside, testing, easing him open. Stede arches, gasping, hand fisting in the sheets, and Ed leans down to kiss his throat, murmuring soft, steady reassurances against his skin.

“Breathe for me, yeah? Just like that.”

He adds another finger, slow and careful, working him open, watching every twitch, every flicker of expression. Stede’s eyes flutter, lips parted, moaning softly as the tension gives way to something deeper: need, trust, pure want.

“Fuck, Ed, please, need your cock,” Stede gasps a few moments later, his body writhing against the sheets.

Ed can’t deny him that, not when he sounds like this, raw and pleading. He pulls his fingers out gently, wiping them on the cloth by the bedside before pulling Stede, guiding him higher on the bed. Stede goes easily, breath hitching as Ed settles him back against the pillows.

“Want to see you,” Stede says, voice soft but certain.

Ed nods, grabbing a pillow and tucking it beneath his hips, angling him just right. Then he grabs the bottle of oil, slicking himself up and adding more to Stede’s hole. He moves between Stede’s legs, shifting until he’s lined up at Stede’s entrance, his breath unsteady as he steadies himself with one hand on Stede’s thigh.

He presses forward slowly, sinking into Stede inch by inch, until Stede’s breath catches in his throat, a broken sound spilling from his lips as Ed sinks fully inside him. The heat, the tightness… it’s overwhelming, grounding and dizzying all at once. The world shrinks to the rhythm of their breathing, the tremor in Stede’s thighs, the thud of Ed’s heart in his ears.

“Fuck, please, Ed,” Stede gasps. “Need you to move.”

Ed’s hands tighten on his hips, jaw flexing as he exhales through the rush of heat curling low in his gut. “Yeah, love,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “I’ve got you.”

He draws back slowly, almost all the way, then pushes forward again, slowly and deliberately, a steady rhythm that makes Stede’s head fall back, mouth open on a moan. Ed keeps the pace unhurried at first, wanting him to feel every inch, every shift of muscle and breath between them.

The sound of it—skin against skin, breath, the faint creak of the bed—fills the room, thick and rhythmic, as Ed leans in to kiss him again, the motion pulling another gasp from Stede’s throat.

“Please,” Stede gasps. “Ed, need to feel you. Please fuck me harder.”

The words tear through Ed, raw, pleading, and perfect. He groans, hips stuttering once before he finds a new rhythm, deeper now, driving forward with every thrust. The sound of their bodies meeting fills the room, sharp and wet and desperate.

“Yeah, that what you want, love?” he rasps, voice rough with effort as he lifts one hand, threading it through Stede’s hair. His hand then slides down to Stede’s chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath his palm, the slick heat of his skin. “Want me to fuck you just like this?”

Stede nods, breathless, eyes glassy with pleasure. His fingers clutch at Ed’s shoulders, nails biting faint crescents into his skin. “Yes, Ed—gods, yes—just like that,” he manages between gasps, his voice breaking around the words.

Ed leans down, pressing their foreheads together, their mouths brushing between breaths. Each thrust pushes another sound from Stede’s throat: a half-moan, half-prayer. Ed swallows it, lost in the rhythm, in the heat, in him.

He doesn’t know where to put his focus… on the way Stede’s body clenches around him, or the way his name spills from Stede’s lips like a confession. But it’s all too much, and everything he wants and needs at the same time.

Ed can feel the pleasure building low in his belly, tightening with every thrust. He’s close, and from the way Stede’s breaths come fast and shallow, the way his body arches off the bed, eyes fluttering shut as gasps spill out in broken rhythm, Ed knows he’s right there with him.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Ed murmurs, his voice low, ragged with effort. “That’s it, love—just let go.”

Stede’s fingers dig into Ed’s shoulders, his entire body trembling beneath him. Ed adjusts his angle slightly, hips rolling deeper, and Stede’s answering cry tears straight through him… pure, helpless pleasure.

The sound pushes Ed even closer, his pulse hammering, breath coming hard. Every motion, every touch between them, narrows down to sensation and the heat, the rhythm, the way Stede’s body moves against his like they were made for this… for each other.

He leans down, kissing Stede through another moan, lips catching on sweat and breath and whispered sounds of his name as he wraps his hand around Stede’s cock, straining between them, pumping it in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, Stede,” he breathes against his mouth. “Want to feel you, yeah?”

The words are all it takes. Stede shudders beneath him, his orgasm breaking through fast and hard, a strangled sound catching in his throat as white-hot release spills over Ed’s fist between them.

Ed groans at the sight, at the feel of him coming apart beneath him, every muscle in Stede’s body drawn tight as he finds his release. He strokes him through it, slow and steady, watching the tremors fade, his own control slipping by the second. The look on Stede’s face—open, unguarded, blissful—is enough to send Ed right to the edge himself.

He leans forward, breath ragged, kissing Stede’s jaw, whispering his name like a prayer as he chases that same breaking point, fucking into him harder and faster, body losing control. Each thrust pushes a shudder through him, the pleasure coiling tight and fierce, impossible to hold back.

“Stede—” he gasps, the word breaking apart as he comes, spilling deep inside him. His whole body goes taut, tremors running through him as he buries himself to the hilt, lost to the heat and the sound of Stede’s breath beneath him.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, the feel of pleasure coursing through every vein and nerve in his body, the quiet tremble in his limbs. He breathes through it, forehead pressed to Stede’s as he reaches the breaking point, body stilling, collapsing onto the bed beside him.

He’s still shaking, still half-inside him, unwilling to let go just yet when Stede speaks. 

“I love you,” he gasps, voice raw, pressing his forehead into Ed.

When Ed finally moves, it’s slow, as though the world might break if he lets go too fast. He pulls out, kissing Stede again, softer this time, lips brushing against a smile he can feel more than see.

“I love you,” Ed replies, pulling back just enough to look Stede in the eyes, brushing his fingers along his cheek. “So fucking much.”

“Vincent told me about the plan,” Stede says after several quiet moments of them lying together, the room filled only with their breathing.

“I know,” Ed answers softly. “He wants you to come with me to Jackie’s. Are you comfortable with that?”

He needs to ask, to be sure. Needs to know that Stede’s still alright with it—that he isn’t just going along because of Ed. And if he isn’t alright with it… then they’ll find another way. They always do.

Stede shifts, propping himself on one elbow, his gaze steady as he looks down at Ed. “Of course, I’m comfortable with it,” he says. “I’ve already told you I was, Raven.”

Hearing it out loud—the nickname—hits Ed like a spark. He fucking loves it. It pulls a grin across his lips before he can stop it.

“I like the sound of it from your lips,” he says, voice low, teasing.

Stede’s eyes light up with recognition. “So you did get the note?” he asks. “From the bird?”

Ed nods, sliding his hands up along Stede’s sides, fingers tracing over his ribs before wrapping fully around his waist. He pulls him closer atop him, until Stede’s chest rests against his own, both of them smiling now, faces just inches apart.

“I did,” Ed says.

“I thought it fit,” Stede says with a shrug. “You’re smart, and an excellent problem solver.”

Ed smiles, tugging him down into a kiss. Their lips meet slowly, unhurried, and when Ed licks into his mouth, tongues brushing and breaths mingling, his stomach twists with so much love it almost aches. The softness of it, after everything, is exactly what he needs. He hopes there’ll be more moments like this: slow, quiet, safe. But for now, reality presses close. They still have to clean up. Still have to go to Jackie’s.

He pulls back, brushing his fingers along Stede’s cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his jaw. God, he’s beautiful. “We should shower, then head out,” he says, though the words taste heavy, disappointment settling like a weight in his chest.

Stede’s expression falters, the warmth dimming in his eyes as he nods. “Right,” he says softly, letting out a sigh before tearing himself away. He sits up, and Ed follows, watching him for a moment before climbing off the bed and holding out his hand.

Stede takes it. Ed pulls him close again, pressing one last quick kiss to his lips before leading him toward the bathroom. The sooner they get through this, the better.

But as the water warms and steam fills the space, the ache in Ed’s gut only grows. He steps under the spray, drawing Stede in with him, their bodies pressed close beneath the stream. The anxiety settles deep in his stomach, thick and restless, because there’s so much at stake, and no guarantee that any of it will go right.

He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Stede’s temple as the water runs over them both, and hopes—really hopes—that this won’t be counted among the last quiet moments they get.

************