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Nobody has a way with words quite like Stede Bonnet does.
Ed’s hard-pressed to think of a single person he’s ever met who talks like Stede does. Not just the amount he talks— which, admittedly, the volume of his words is remarkable— but the way he talks. It’s like—
It’s almost like Stede is capable of plunging into the depths of himself, searching what he wants to say, and then tugging it up to verbalize with pinpoint accuracy. He can put words to feelings. Ed’s more used to just feeling the feelings; it’s nearly impossible to make words up to match them, most of the time.
Not for Stede, though. Stede’s just a fountain of honesty and wildness and things to say. Some of the things he says are wonderfully nice; some others are terribly mean. Ed loves all of it: loves the cutting words he lashes enemies with, loves the soft words he wraps around Ed and Izzy, loves the excitable bursts he shares with the crew. Loves the bullshit Stede puts up with, and the bullshit he doesn’t. Loves Stede, really.
“Hello, my darling,” Stede is always saying, every morning, rising before either Ed or Izzy has even begun to think about waking up. His hand will brush hair from their faces, and he’ll press kisses to foreheads with a soft, “Good morning, how did you sleep?” immediately to follow.
Catching them washing their faces, helping them while they get dressed, complimenting them all day on skills they’ve had honed since they were twelve, tracing his hands over their shoulders, kissing their cheeks, giving them sweet, soft, whispered words when they least expect it, and most expect it, because now, it’s just— expected. He is always sweet to them.
Really, it’s not something Ed is used to.
It’s not that he and Izzy don’t love each other, ‘cause they do. They love each other, like, a fuckload, in Ed’s estimation. There’s nobody he trusts on this planet like he trusts Izzy, he thinks. They’re just—
Compared to Stede, they’re not so great at verbalizing their emotions. They can express them, no problem. Ed’s great at expressing his feelings. He’s awesome at it. No matter what he’s feeling, he knows how to make Izzy know it, even without using words. With Stede, he thinks, it’s the same; he’s learned just how to express himself, how to show how he’s feeling in ways that don’t always necessarily have to do with all the words that come with them.
Izzy’s the same way, mostly. He’s even worse at verbalizing himself than Ed is, in Ed’s own personal estimation. He’s worked at it, but they’ve gotten about as far as they’re going to get, right now.
Or, so he thinks.
This morning starts the same as all the others: wonderful. It’s wonderful, because their lives are wonderful now, and Ed wakes up every morning smashed up with Izzy and Stede, and it’s an actual, real-life dream-come-true situation for him.
This morning, the dream consists of Ed flat on his belly in bed, waking up to Izzy draped over most of his back with his sleeping face buried in between his shoulder blades. He’s got one arm wound tightly around Ed; one of his ankles is tangled up with one of Ed’s, pulled in close. And Stede—
—Stede is just above them, lifting a lock of hair out of Ed’s eyes, tucking it behind his ear and tilting his head so he can catch his eye and smile.
“Good morning, my love,” Stede tells him quietly. He leans in, kisses his cheek; Ed lifts his face, just enough, and Stede’s smiling still when he gives him a proper kiss, practically dragging his face along Ed’s pillow in the process. “You’re such a wonder. What a beauty you are, I’m so—” He sighs, like he’s some great romantic heroine, his hand coming to lay gentle against Ed’s cheek. “I’m just so lucky, aren’t I?”
Though he’s barely woken up, Ed tries to coordinate himself enough to respond accordingly. By the time he lifts his head again, though, Stede’s already drifting down his back to do the same with Izzy, smoothing his thumb under his eye before leaning in to press a kiss to the x inked beside.
“Good morning, Izzy, my love,” Stede murmurs to him, luring him towards wakefulness. Ed can feel him stirring on his back; his fingers flex unconsciously, then consciously, gripping on tightly to Ed. “Aren’t you a sight? I love you so much, my darling.”
“Mm?” Izzy asks, still mostly asleep.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Stede promises them. “The two of you rest. I won’t be long.”
It’s the same routine they always have: Stede gets ready first while Ed and Izzy slowly wake up, rousing themselves enough to haul themselves up and follow after Stede. They usually catch up to him by the time he’s mostly-dressed, and then he’ll rush through the end of his routine to help Ed and Izzy dress, too, tying boots and kissing cheeks and snapping braces and brushing hair and praising them— always, always praising them. It’s a constant shower of compliments and affection and Ed loves it, loves being loved and particularly loves being loved by someone he loves.
But.
Every time Ed tries to say something nice back, he feels, just— so, so massively inadequate. His couple of words usually amount to the occasional, “You look good,” or, “I love you,” or, “You’re doing a great job, mate,” which Stede always glows under— and then, typically, brushes off.
Izzy just absorbs the words, this morning. He’s got this glint in his eye that Ed recognizes; he watches it with curiosity until Stede’s kissing them both and being tugged out of the room by Lucius.
“I promise I’ll be back in no time,” Stede’s assuring them, and then he’s vanished, halfway through their routine.
For a moment, Ed and Izzy just stand silently in the center of the captains’ quarters, both a little shell-shocked at the interruption of their routine— at the disruption of Stede’s usual whirlwind, honestly. It feels strange to have him gone partway through it, the storm of love and praise and kindness ceasing as if they’d come to the sudden eye.
“He’s so fucking nice,” Izzy says, into that quiet.
“What?” Ed asks him. “I mean— Kind of.”
“Well, no, I know, he’s a fucking bitch,” Izzy clarifies, and Ed huffs a laugh. Unfreezing, he resumes dressing himself. It feels strange without Stede fluttering all around, helping with laces and straps and whatnot, but he knows how to dress himself just fine. It’s just— It’s weird. “I just mean— Y’know what I fucking mean. With us. He’s so fucking nice.” He pauses a beat, then asks, “What’s his fucking angle?”
“Think he just likes you, mate,” Ed points out. “Got plenty evidence of that, if y—”
“Shut up,” Izzy says, and Ed frowns at him. Exasperated, Izzy motions between them with a desperate sort of jerk of the hands. “See what I mean? It’s fucking different. I don’t know how to—” He makes that motion again, then squeezes his hands to white-knuckled fists. His desperate eyes turn up on Ed, begging him to understand. “Y’know what I mean?”
Ed thinks he does, so he says, “Yeah, man. I mean, like—” He focuses his attention downward, breaking the eye contact, heart racing a little bit. Keeping his hands busy with lacing his leathers into place, he says, “I love him. Right? I just— I feel like I don’t know how to say it like he does. And when I do—”
“He doesn’t get it,” Izzy finishes for him. Ed nods, even though he’s still looking down. “Yeah, he just—” Izzy exhales roughly. “I don’t know how to fucking— be nice to him. I don’t even— I don’t know what the fuck to do when he’s nice to me.”
“Maybe he just likes being nice,” Ed suggests.
“Maybe,” Izzy agrees, in that frustrated way he has, the word bitten off short. It makes Ed itch, a little bit, with the energy humming underneath in his tone.
Scratching the itch, he asks, “You don’t think he’d, like—”
He stops. Izzy doesn’t even hesitate.
“He’d what?” Izzy demands. “What are you—”
“I don’t know,” Ed says. Tugging the laces tight, he finishes tying himself into his leather trousers, straightening himself out. “I just— Do y’think it’d make him sad?”
“That I’m not nice?” Izzy asks of him.
“No, that— Fuck, not like that, Iz, c’mon,” Ed tells him, and meets his desperate eyes again. “C’mon, babe—”
“Shut it,” Izzy bites out.
Ed draws him into his space, draping his arms down Izzy’s shoulders, tucking in near to him. Letting their foreheads knock together, he smiles, pushing in real close, and tells him, “You’re nice.”
Izzy scoffs at once. “That’s a fucking lie.”
“You can be nice,” Ed amends. “You’re nice to Stede. He knows you like him.”
“Does he?” Izzy asks, and it’s unsure enough that Ed leans in and kisses him, dragging down from his cheek to his lips in the process.
“Okay, look,” Ed says, and Izzy looks up immediately, falling right into step. Ed knows he recognizes his tone, and he has a plan, and they’re going to see it through. It’s just what they do. “You and me, we’re just gonna fix it. That’s it. We’ll— I don’t know, we’ll say nice shit when he does. Fuck, say nice shit before he does. We can do— I don’t know, just do something to make him feel good, too. So he gets it.”
Izzy’s already getting that calculating look, slightly faraway, thinking a thousand things at once. As always, he takes the vaguest outlines of Ed’s ideas and starts turning them into actions they can take right now, and by the time Stede comes back to them, they’re fully dressed and they have a plan for the rest of the day.
They don’t say it— because, fuck, that’s the whole point here, there’s a lot of things they don’t say— but this feels important. It seems silly, but, in the back of Ed’s chest, and he thinks in the back of Izzy’s, there’s still this scraping, itching, feverish sort of fear. They’re always just— just a little anxious that Stede’s impermanent. That— That, one day, they won’t be enough, not for him and all his— him, his himness, and he’ll be gone, and they won’t— There won’t be anything they can do to bring him back in.
That makes this feel important. To Ed, anyway, he just— He wants Stede to understand. He wants him to know that he’s loved as much as he loves them, to really get it, to make Stede feel it the way Stede makes Ed and Izzy feel it every single goddamned day.
Resolving to return the favor is easier said than done, as it turns out, and Ed’s practically vibrating with agitation by the end of a week.
Their first plan is to make him a nice dessert. They employ Roach, and he shows them how to make these sweet little whipped-cream-and-peaches treats, and they craft them all themselves. Ed’s remarkably impressed by them, to be honest, and they bring them to Stede in their quarters just to find that he’s surprised them the same night with an entire dinner, and it’s so nice and so personal, and he’s so unendingly kind about how much he loves the dessert they made, and it all feels like it goes the reverse of the way they meant it to go.
The next idea is Ed’s, and they work hard over a couple of days to coordinate giving him gifts they’ve made themselves. Ed asks Lucius for help and writes him out a poem; Izzy goes to Wee John and embroiders Stede’s initials into a square of soft pink fabric he’s been saving for him, stitching it into a fine little handkerchief for him.
Stede’s overwhelmed when they present him with these gifts, and just drenches them in love, praising them and thanking them and heaping such magnificent gratitude on them, and that’s before he says, “I’ve got something for you, too, loves, I’m so glad, I would’ve felt terrible if I had nothing to give when you’re being so wonderful to me.”
He draws open one of the hidey-holes in his bookshelves, withdrawing paper packages from an unknown depth. Each of them receives one, and Stede’s wringing his hands, telling them, “If you don’t like them, of course, you don’t have to wear them.”
“Shut up,” Izzy tells him.
“He means thanks,” Ed explains, but Stede’s just beaming away.
“I know,” he says, so warmly, so happy. Motioning towards their paper-wrapped boxes, he insists, “Open them, come on—”
“Fine, yeah, alright,” Ed agrees, and they tear into their gifts, and they’re both stopped short by the gleaming contents within: near-matching rings, small circlets cast in gold that glint in the sunlight through the captains’ quarters windows.
Almost sheepishly, Stede withdraws a third from his pocket, tells them, “We can wear them, if you’d like. They can mean— Well, they can mean absolutely whatever you’d like them to mean, but I just want you to know that they mean I love you. To me, I mean. I love you.”
Ed practically wants to melt through the floor, and Izzy’s face goes so red he thinks he might choke, and Stede rushes right in on them, kissing their cheeks and soothing their pounding hearts and, eventually, slipping on their rings for them, and Ed can’t even begin to process how this all got turned around so much, even if he loves how it all went.
Izzy’s next attempt is a grand last-ditch effort, something massive and organized and coordinated and something Stede would surely like. He sails the Revenge to a nice, empty little island for a day off, just the three of them— or, just the three of them on what Izzy has threateningly designated as their part of the island to the other crew— and Ed knows he doesn’t imagine the delighted burn in Stede’s cheeks and his eyes when he’s told where they’re going, what they’re doing.
Stede’s so overwhelmed with excitement, actually, that he spends the entire time they’re there just— doting on them. He’s so immensely loving that Ed doesn’t even realize what’s happening until the day’s nearly over. Stede just—
He spends the day making food for them, asking what they want to do, getting them water, caring for them, and loving them, and showering them in praise, and Ed doesn’t even get it.
In an instant, though, he thinks he does.
Stede’s deflecting.
Stede falls asleep first, that night, and Ed whispers his revelations to Izzy in the nighttime darkness.
“Why the fuck would he do that?” Izzy whispers back. “Fucker loves attention.”
This is one of the harder parts of it, but Ed makes himself verbalize it— that’s part of what this whole thing is about, anyway— and answers, “Mate, I don’t think he really believes us.”
The darkness goes quiet. Stede is smashed in between the two of them, dead asleep, head on Ed’s shoulder and Izzy draped over him from behind. The occasional confused string of words comes from his unconscious lips; he really never stops talking, even while he’s dreaming.
“I f—” Izzy starts, then stops. “He knows I fucking love him.”
“I know he knows it, mate,” Ed insists, “but I don’t think he gets it. Y’know what I mean?”
Izzy bites his tongue, Ed can tell, and actually thinks about what he’s saying. Ed does, too, because— he gets it. It took a long fucking time of Stede pouring this praise all over him before he started believing it. When they first kicked off with all this, he would catch Izzy rolling his eyes, would catch himself ignoring Stede’s words, the both of them unable to truly commit to believing that Stede meant things like that about them.
With time, and effort, and Stede’s particular brand of persistent, enduring love, Ed started believing him. Now, when Stede praises him, Ed basks in it; when he tells him he loves him, he swells with that love. He thinks Izzy does, too.
“Fuck,” Izzy whispers into the quiet.
Izzy definitely gets it, he thinks.
“He’s fucking delusional if he thinks I don’t fucking love him,” Izzy cracks out under his breath, in that charming way of his.
“He is a little fucking delusional, love,” Ed points out. “‘S’not his fault. But—”
“Yeah,” Izzy breathes.
They’re quiet, for a moment. Ed doesn’t think he needs to speak to know they’re thinking the same thing, pretty much. Stede’s kind of fucking sad, and he can be extremely fucking obtuse, and he might genuinely not get how much Ed and Izzy really do love him and like him.
“You know what?” Izzy finally snaps. “Fuck it. Let’s just— fucking tell him.”
Ed considers that, turning the suggestion over in his mind like a sweet in his mouth, running his tongue over the edges.
“Fuck it,” Ed echoes in agreement. “Yeah. Fuck it. We’ll just pin him down and be nice to him.” Considering this, he huffs a laugh; smiling, he adds, “Direct approach’s probably better with Stede, anyways.”
Resolved to finally fix this, Izzy settles down soon after, and Ed soon after that— at least, enough to get some sleep.
They don’t waste time, either. They decided the direct approach is best, and so they do exactly that.
The next night, when they get back to their quarters after family dinner and Bedtime Storytime, they put their plan right into action. Izzy locks the door, and Ed quickly peels his clothes off before he pins Stede down in their bed, and Stede—
Stede just blinks up at him with those warm, dark eyes of his, bewildered and excited and always so trusting, so loving, so present, right there with them.
“I thought you two were acting strange today,” Stede practically breathes. Beside the bed, Izzy’s removing his boots so he can join them, two twin thunks as heavy leather-wrapped steel falls to the wood below. “You just wanted to get into bed, yes? Well, then, w—”
“I love you,” Ed says, directly downwards.
Stede blinks again.
“I love you,” he says right back, and starts up into deflecting again, surging into a waterfall of verbalized affection. “You’ve looked just so spectacular all day,” he tells them both. “I’m so lucky to be with you both, so—”
“We’re lucky to have you,” Izzy insists right back over him. It’s unfamiliar in his voice, and Stede’s face instantly flushes all over with these great splotches of pink. Even Ed gets a shiver, hearing that. Izzy’s not good at saying the nice stuff; hearing it in his voice is sort of thrilling.
“Y—”
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Ed rumbles, before Stede can interject. “‘Course we were watching you all day. Who wouldn’t?”
Stede’s instantly on his guard, suspicious, asking, “What are you two doing? Wha—”
“We’re loving you,” Ed tells him. He kisses Stede’s cheek, his jaw, his throat, working his way down while his fingers twist at the ties of his blouse, unknotting him, slipping him free of the bright, shining confines of his clothes. Fine material slips between his hands, pooling into his palms, and he passes them off to Izzy to be set aside near the bed.
Stede is stripped bare beneath him, a red-patching heat coursing over his skin in the process. He swallows thickly, throat bobbing, before he asks, “Is it a special occasion?”
Something in Ed’s chest stings a little, a wasp-prick into the center of his heart.
“We don’t need a special occasion to treat you nice,” Ed assures him, tracking his hands up Stede’s bare sides to cradle his face, cupped between his fingers. “You deserve it all the time, no matter what.”
“B—”
“He means it,” Izzy adds.
Now stripped himself, Izzy joins them in bed, and Stede’s eyes flicker over the both of them on top of him. Izzy nudges Ed aside, a bit, so he can fit himself on Stede’s other side, each one of them straddling one thigh, Stede pinned down flat in their bedcovers, shoulders and head supported by the pillows Ed keeps dragging underneath him.
Izzy allows one scarred hand to trace over Stede’s chest, calloused fingertips dragging through silver-bronze-gold chest hair, sweeping up in these twisting curls towards his throat. There, he lingers, letting curls of Stede’s hair at the nape wrap around his first knuckle, tendrils clinging.
Tucking into his throat, one hand still wrapped in his hair and the other splayed for balance on Stede’s chest, Izzy murmurs, “Just let us take care of you,” so low that Ed nearly doesn’t hear. The words practically disappear into the warmth of Stede’s skin.
Ed gets to watch the red on Stede’s face flush brighter, his hips jerking, his eyes darkening, his fingers twitching. His chest hitches, and he drags in a long inhale; his eyelids flutter shut, fine eyelashes brushing his cheeks.
“What—” he starts, then stops, swallowing again. “I don’t need taking care of, you—”
“Just let me fucking love you,” Izzy says, harder this time, his voice getting this velvet-wrapped hardness to it, soft and rough all at once. “Fucking shit, Stede, would you just—”
“Hey,” Ed cuts him off, and Izzy glares sideways at him. Reaching out, taking Izzy’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, he makes eye contact with him, making sure Izzy really sees him, connecting through his frustrated heat. He waits until Izzy’s shoulders slump, just a bit, and he relaxes slightly, to remind him, “He needs it.”
Izzy exhales, then nods, sitting straight upright, running a hand back through his hair. A few locks stick back with the beginnings of dewing sweat.
“I’m just fine,” Stede says beneath them, sounding strained. His hands come up, trapped on either side of them, drifting up over their arms, their backs; he shifts up, tries to pull them into him so he can embrace them, but Izzy puts his hand against his chest then, keeping them apart. “But—”
Izzy pushes down again, swallowing Stede’s next words down his own throat, this time, and down into his belly. They’re usually better at this than talking, anyways; Izzy speaks with his body more than his lungs, his lips and mouth more useful in other ways than for shaping words and verbalizing feelings.
Honestly, Ed realizes he should’ve thought of this earlier. He can’t make Izzy and Stede use their words the right way, but he can use his words. He’s got control over himself, if nothing else.
With Izzy parting his lips beneath him, opening his kiss with Stede, tongues slipping together and hot, fast breaths bursting between them and hands dragging over one another and hips hitching into each other, Ed understands that they need to play to their strengths. Izzy will speak with his body, and Ed will speak with his mouth.
“You’re spectacular,” Ed says, the first thing that comes into his mind to say. “Just fucking stunning.”
Stede’s chest hitches; Izzy’s hand strokes across to the space over his heart, fingernails gripping tight in biting crescent-moons into the flesh of one tit, his nipple budded hard into the center of his palm. When Stede exhales raggedly, twitching into both their cocks, thighs pushing up, Ed decides to just— commit, to let his mouth open and his brain work and just let every thought that comes in fall right back out, the moment each one comes inside.
“We’re so fucking lucky we found you,” Ed tells him. Stede writhes beneath them; Izzy lavishes attention on him, teeth and tongue marking every bare beat of space. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous, all ours. We just want to show you how much we fucking adore you, Stede, love. What’s wrong with that?”
Stede shakes his head in a jerk, eyes still squeezed shut. His voice is thin and tight when he says, “I love you—”
“I love you more,” Ed insists without hesitation. “You do so much for us. Let us take care of you for fucking once, mate, yeah?” His cock’s throbbing, but he ignores it; leaning in, his hot length pressing into Stede’s thigh with such a friction and force that his breath catches in his throat, Ed just focuses on threading his fingers through Stede’s hair. Kissing the cheek on the opposite side of where Izzy is sucking a mark into his throat, Ed murmurs against his skin, “You deserve it.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Stede tells them both, voice strained to snapping. “I—”
“You make us feel so good,” Ed insists, punctuated by Izzy’s hand tracking down Stede’s chest, his belly, to wrap around his cock. He doesn’t move, just— holds him, fingers tight around the base, and tears leak from the corners of Stede’s eyes, creasing into his crow’s feet before they’re slipping down his temples into his hair.
“Really fucking good,” Izzy agrees, muffled by Stede’s flesh.
“I don’t—” Stede starts, then exhales in a jagged gust when Izzy’s grip on him tightens. Ed takes the opportunity to kiss the place below Stede’s ear. “I don’t— Oh, God—”
“We got you,” Ed promises him, voice low, whispered into the shell of Stede’s ear. “You’re so fucking loved, Stede. I fucking— We love you. So fucking much, we love you, just— You make me so happy.” He kisses his earlobe, the knob of his jaw; he can taste the salt of tears and sweat beneath his lips. “You’re fucking perfect, Stede, you make us feel so happy—”
A real sob bursts up, then, catapulting out of Stede’s chest with a shock, and Izzy and Ed both stop in a freezing, halting instant.
“You alright?” Izzy asks, half-panicked, in the same moment Ed tells him, “You’re okay, love,” bewildered.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, and his hands fly up, wriggling between them so he can press them in curled fists to his eyes. “I just—” His voice breaks, and he exhales gustily, then pulls in a shuddering, tearful inhale, pushing the heels of his hands up into the sockets of his closed eyes instead. “God, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t cry,” Izzy insists. He sits up, looks to Ed, face rushing red. Ed usually doesn’t see concern like this— not on Izzy, not over emotions.
Belatedly, it seems, Izzy remembers himself, and releases Stede’s cock, but that just seems to make Stede start shaking all over. Izzy’s hands come together, fingers knotting up; Ed runs a hand over his back on his way down, taking Stede’s face between his hands again, still straddling his thigh.
“Hey,” Ed says softly, just over Stede’s sniffling, unexpected little cries. “Hey, love. You’re okay, you’re alright. We gotcha.” He kisses his cheek, murmurs, “What’s wrong, then, love? Hm? What’s going on in your pretty little head?”
“You’re being so nice to me,” Stede chokes. “I’m sorry, I don’t— I shouldn’t be crying, I feel so foolish—”
“Shut it,” Izzy says, as snapping as he is endearing. “You’re not fucking foolish.”
“We’re just trying to show you we love you, Stede, mate,” Ed tells him. “Yeah? That’s all.” He kisses Stede’s temple; his lips brush his skin, his hair, his tears, when he asks, “Is that okay with you?”
A full-body shiver rattles through Stede. His next wet cry is more of a whimper before he clears his throat and says, hands sliding down from his eyes, “It’s so nice.”
Ed huffs a laugh. Beside him, he catches movement in his peripheral vision; when he tilts his head, he sees Izzy stroking Stede’s side like he’s calming an animal, soft and smooth, steady hand gliding over his skin in even, rhythmic loops.
“You deserve niceness, babe,” Ed says to him quietly. “Do you not like it?”
Quickly, as if they’ll abandon him if he says the wrong thing, Stede insists, “No, no, I love it, I just—” He laughs himself, a wet, half-sad sound, and tells them, “I don’t— I— I don’t know why this is happening, I’m so sorry, I just—” Roughly, again, he exhales, trying to steady himself. His eyes stay upward, embarrassed, fixed on the ceiling rather than either of them. “God, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be sorry,” Izzy promises him, softer this time. “Hey. Don’t be sorry, I mean it. Nothing to be sorry for.”
Stede’s still got disbelief written across him, so Ed drags his hand down Stede’s arm, tangling their fingers together. Twining in nearer to him, he says quietly to Stede, “We just want to make you feel as good as you make us feel.”
“What?” Stede asks, tears slipping away in his new confusion. “You make me feel amazing all the time. You— I know you love me. You make me feel good all the time. I’m the one who needs to make sure you—” He stops, then says, “I just want you both to know how much I love you. I already know you love me.”
Ed furrows his brow a bit. Hearing Stede’s side is— almost confusing. It doesn’t line up with Ed’s and Izzy’s, so much.
“You’re always being so good to us,” Ed explains, hoping this will help, or at least guide Stede closer to understanding. His eyes are still wet, tears tracked down his face; Ed’s chest is tight at the sight of them. “You just— I don’t know, man, you just make me feel— loved, and fucking happy, and Izzy— We just wanted to return the favor, but, fuck, man, you make it fucking hard.”
Stede frowns, this time, his own brow furrowing down, and Ed’s abruptly worried he’s said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, made a fucking mess of this—
Before he can spiral down too far, Izzy chimes in, adding, “We’ve been trying to be fucking nice to you for days. You’re too fucking nice.”
“Every time we try to do something nice for you,” Ed clarifies, getting himself back on track, “you’re even nicer. Y’know? We wanted to be nice to you, but it kept not working, and I started feeling— I don’t know, fucking silly. I just— We just want this to be— What’s the fucking word?”
“Reciprocal,” Izzy offers.
“Reciprocal,” Ed echoes. To Stede’s burning face, to his dark eyes, to his loving confusion, he says, “It’s— It feels weird. I want it to be even. I don’t want you to think we don’t love you as much, ‘cause we do. We love you a whole fucking lot, you nutjob.” Ed strokes his hair again, lips brushing his cheek with his quiet, “We just wanted to show you without you showing us right back.”
“Fucking showing us up,” Izzy grumbles, good-natured.
Stede, for his part, just blinks at them. He’s not crying anymore, which Ed takes as a win, but he’s definitely thinking. Ed can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, written across his face. At least he’s not deflecting, Ed reminds himself.
“I…” Stede starts, then stops. His face goes even redder, somehow, before he tells them again, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t have anything to be fucking sorry for,” Izzy says.
“He’s right,” Ed agrees. “Nothing to apologize for, mate. Seriously, like— I’m just saying, why the fuck would you apologize for being too fucking good to us?” He kisses the corner of Stede’s mouth, assures him, “We don’t want you to be sorry. We want you to know how much we love you, too.”
Stede nods, an infinitesimal twitch of his head. His eyes shut again before he takes a deep, steadying breath. When he reopens them, he looks to Ed, then to Izzy, then to the ceiling again.
“I don’t mean to,” he finally says, and Ed can feel them getting somewhere. He can just— He can feel it. The corresponding excitement courses through him in the same instant. “I just—” His voice cracks, again, but it doesn’t break when he rushes out with, “I know you love me, I do, it’s just— It’s hard to— It’s hard to believe the things you say, and I know you mean it, I really know it, I do, I just— I’m uncomfortable, sometimes, and it’s hard to believe it, and it’s just—” His hands bunch up, and he holds tight to Ed and to Izzy both, fingers digging into their forearms, keeping them close. “It’s hard, after so long of not— not having that. Any of that.” He’s quieter when he says, “I don’t— I don’t know. How to be loved like that, I don’t— I don’t know. I’m so sorry, I just— I want you to know you’re loved and I know I am, I do, but it’s just— It’s easier for me to say it than hear it.”
All of those words just pour on out, and Ed absorbs them, processing them, turning them over in the back of his mouth.
“Do you know what I mean?” Stede asks at the end, desperate to be understood. “It’s— God, it’s stupid. I’m so sorry—”
Izzy reaches out and clamps his hand flat over Stede’s mouth. Stede, surprised, huffs a laugh right up into his palm, but Izzy doesn’t release him; he just keeps him silent, fingers sealed over his lips.
“You’re not fucking stupid,” Izzy insists. “It’s not your fault.”
Ed’s chest hurts. The wasp-sting from earlier has become a swarm, sharp pricks that tear apart his ribs, his lungs, his heart. Stede can’t process being loved out loud after a lifetime of being ignored and abused and set aside; Stede can’t absorb the same love he expresses so openly; Stede doesn’t get it, doesn’t know how much Ed and Izzy actually, truly, really love him, because nobody’s ever loved him like that. Nobody’s ever loved him honestly, and unabashedly, and openly, and he doesn’t have the experience, and he doesn’t believe it, because he can’t, and Ed—
Ed’s heart just fucking breaks. He can see the same thing in Izzy’s face, that same expression of heartbreak, and he knows it must be twisting him up inside in mostly the same way as him.
“I mean it,” Ed says, because it feels like the first thing he should say, the most important, the most meaningful. “Stede, we— We both fucking mean it. Like, we seriously fucking mean it, we really love you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but—”
“Fuck that,” Izzy interjects. “If you’re gonna be uncomfortable while we show you how to be loved, fuck it. You’re gonna be uncomfortable, ‘cause you’re gonna be loved, Stede. And that’s— I don’t know. That’s just fucking that.”
Stede laughs again before his eyes well up with those burning tears all over. Izzy’s instantly panicked, hand lifting up, but Stede says, “Thank you,” instead of crying.
“There’s nothing to thank us for,” Ed insists to him.
“Fucking shit,” Izzy agrees. “Seriously. You think we do anything we don’t want to fucking say or do?”
“Especially Izzy,” Ed points out. Izzy tosses a glare at him. “I mean it, man. Like, hello? As if anyone can make fucking Blackbeard and Izzy Hands do some shit they don’t want to do.”
“Good fucking point.” Izzy echoes Ed’s movements, leaning in closer again, the two of them practically compressing Stede into the mattress with their weight, just the way he likes. He seems to relax into it, even, melting beneath the both of them.
“We love you, mate,” Ed tells Stede. “You’re stuck with us. Sorry.”
“I’m not sorry,” Izzy argues.
Stede huffs another laugh, eyes bloodshot, face red, cock surging towards fully hard again. Izzy reaches back, lets his fingertips trail up the stiffening length, and Stede’s teeth bite into his lower lip hard enough that Ed can see the indents when he starts to speak again.
“I love you,” Stede tells them. “I’m sorry, I— I know it’s—” He exhales jaggedly, Izzy’s fingertips wrapping around his cock again, but he makes himself keep going, confesses, “I know it must seem silly, but I like loving you. I really— I do. I like— like praising you and being kind to you and loving you and— Christ, Israel—”
“Keep going,” Izzy murmurs, thumb smearing beaded precum down his cock, slicking his slide.
“I j—” Stede starts, then exhales, inhales, exhales, inhales. “I just want you to know. I want— You deserve it, all of it, I want you to feel good and to know— to know how I feel about you. I want you to know I love you— Oh, God—”
His hips hitch, thighs coming up, drawn upwards until Ed has no choice but to grind into the thick muscle, wanting nothing more than Stede’s friction on his cock and Izzy’s heat at his side while he gets it.
“I just love you,” Stede wheezes out. “I want you to know it, I want— want you to feel it—”
“That’s all we want, too,” Ed assures him. “We want you to know how we feel.”
“Literally the same fucking thing,” Izzy says, muffled by Stede’s throat, teeth tearing marks into it once again.
There’s an understanding that dawns on Stede’s face right then like a sunrise. Ed feels just as awestruck, just as lucky, as if he had witnessed a sunrise, all beautiful colors and senses and overwhelming love flooding him at once at this sight.
“Oh,” he says, all in a rush. “That—” He smiles, a little, and Ed can’t help smiling too. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Fucking right, that makes sense,” Ed insists, leaning in to kiss Stede properly, this time.
Inside Stede is all salt, and heat. His kissing is intense, open-mouthed and searching, seeking something specific, seeking— confirmation, Ed thinks. He wants their love, wants their adoration, wants their open admission of all of it. In the back of his mind, Ed decides that he’s going to start expressing his love for Stede in every way that comes to mind, in any conceivable style, at any potential opportunity. Stede’s going to realize he’s fucking loved, damn it, unabashedly and openly and with abandon. He’s going to understand that Izzy and Ed love him as much as he loves them, and, fuck, they’re going to show it to him.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Ed murmurs into Stede’s mouth, starting all over again. Or— nearly all over again, because Stede’s already writhing beneath him, and Izzy’s steadily grinding into Stede’s other thigh, and he doesn’t think he’s got too much time, here.
That’s fine by him. He’s got the rest of his life to make sure Stede and Izzy know just how much he loves them. It’s not like he’s letting them go anytime soon.
“Fucking stunning,” Ed continues, verbalizing his love while Izzy continues embodying his.
Words, and motions; thoughts, and actions; love, and love, and love. More and more of it, all the time. Ed thinks he gets why Stede expresses it so much; he just might die if he keeps it all inside, if Stede and Izzy don’t hear exactly how much he loves them, if they don’t feel exactly what he feels for them, if they don’t understand that they are his— his world, his life, his fucking everything. What’s the point, without them?
“Lovely,” Ed tells Stede. “I love you so much.” He tests the word on his tongue, calls him, “Darling,” says, “I love you,” says, “You’re beautiful.” A string of words, all, “You’re perfect, Stede— Yes, yes, just like that, so perfect. You’re beautiful, I’m so glad— So glad I get to love you, so happy to touch you, fuck, Stede, you’re fucking magnificent—”
And on, and on, and on, until he runs out of words that aren’t the same thing over and over again and he just tells him, “I love you,” and, “fuck,” and, “Stede,” and, “Izzy,” and, “I love you so much,” and, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” until he’s spilling untouched over Stede’s thigh, Stede’s cumming over Izzy’s fist, Izzy’s splattering all over Stede’s hip and belly.
Ed collapses halfway on top of Stede; Izzy falls into his side. Burying his face in Stede’s throat, Ed kisses him, soft and slow. When his hand traces over Stede’s chest to settle on top of his heart, he bumps into Izzy’s hand on the same path. They intertwine their fingers over the pound of the organ beneath, holding close there.
“I love you,” Ed says, breathless and scraped.
“Love you,” Izzy echoes.
“I love you more,” Stede tells them. Izzy pinches his side; Ed bites at his throat. Laughing, Stede allows, “Alright, alright, you beasts. We love each other the same.”
“Better,” Ed mumbles, and Izzy grumbles his hum of agreement.
Stede relaxes beneath him, a melted heap of muscles and bones and contentment. The sobs are gone, and joy has taken their place, leaving him a happy mess of positive emotions and affectionate torment and love. Just— so, so much fucking love.
“I’m gonna love you so fucking hard tomorrow,” Ed threatens Stede, drowsy. The moonlight filters in from outside; the world almost feels real, outside of the three of them. Almost.
“We,” Izzy corrects, most of the way asleep.
“I can’t wait,” Stede says, excitement vibrating through his voice, and Ed really thinks he means it. He hears the evidence, feels it, sees it— when Stede falls asleep with him, and Izzy dozes off in his side, the two of them wound together, Ed just watches them, unable to do anything else but witness, and look, and love.