Knitbelove
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There’s a lot of things that lead Stede to where he ends up. A whole host of things. Which is to say that he doesn’t just search for it, doesn’t even really know it’s a thing. The way that, say, feet, or those readily accessible Instagram reels of people overfilling a waffle iron are Things.
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“You look exhausted.” Stepping up, he’s finally near enough for Ed to feel his body heat; he takes Ed’s chin in his hand, examining his face from close-up with honey-dark eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“This morning,” Ed answers honestly.
“When’s the last time you got good sleep?” Stede changes his question, and Ed hesitates. “Ah. Thought so.”
“I’m not tired,” Ed lies, this time. “And the baby’s going to be here soon, so we—”
“So,” Stede stops him, “We should be preparing for our baby. Right?”
“Right,” Ed agrees. “By making sure this place is ready.”
“No,” Stede disagrees.
“No?”
“No.”
for ofmd kinktober, day twenty-six: desk sex, whimpering, and "i've got you. let go."
also for ofmd whumptober, day twenty-six: seeing double, working to exhaustion, and "you look awful."
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- English
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Bookmarked by Knitbelove
24 Aug 2025
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For day 26, Real Story, of Janu-au-ry.
Ed is a sailor with a broken rudder; the response to his distress call is nothing he expected.
He waits. The radio crackles into life.
“Pan-pan,” the voice on the other end says. Male. Kiwi. Bit odd, in this part of the world. A bit nervous, but then, maybe that’s not surprising. Not an everyday thing, even when it’s not a more urgent Mayday call.
“La Concorde QAR-1, La Concorde QAR-1, La Concorde QAR-1.
This is the sailboat Revenge SBT2, Revenge SBT2, Revenge SBT2.
Received, pan-pan.
Would you like a tug? Over.”
Ed grins. “Never been one to say no to that, Revenge, over,” he drawls down the radio.
- Language:
- English
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Bookmarked by Knitbelove
21 Jun 2025
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Ed does't remember what the sun feels like on his face.
He didn’t forget the entire existence of sunny days; he remembers squinting his eyes against the horizon, he remembers having to plan higher water rations, he remembers the stink of a full ship in high summer, he remembers warmth, but only academically.
He can’t remember how it felt in his bones, in his skin, in his chest, to have the center of the entire universe’s light and life pointed right at him.
So when the sun comes back, all he can do is trust his instincts, jump headfirst, and hope he catches him.
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Ed knew it was going to happen.
It had been a while, though, since anyone fucked him good enough to trigger the leaky faucets of his eyeballs when the pleasure centre in his brain gets overwhelmed just how he likes it during sex. Enough to reduce him down to a puddle of his own cathartic tears, all the pulled-taut tension in his body fucked right out of him. But not just that. Never just that. See, Ed likes to be fucked, but what he craves are the sweet and tender intimacies that come with it when someone is truly making love to him. He’s a romantic, okay? Fucking sue him.
Or: Ed crying during sex. That's it, that's the fic.
Bookmarked by Knitbelove
01 Apr 2025