From Teach Of Course

ʘ‿ʘ from Teach of course

Send a 'ʘ‿ʘ' if your muse finds my muse attractive.

Pros: Anne is weak for a baddie; already thinks he’s The Shit™️; our story avoids a lot of trauma on accident and then Teach keeps it healthy besides; she loves him You Honor; would risk it all to climb this man’s dick for this man

Cons: Anne remains a tsundere idiot; Teach is probably Too Old For Her Shit™️; I s2g if Teach dies in any way but way too quickly in the heat of battle before he and Anne get a happily ever after I will actually sue; she still won’t marry you, Eddie 😒

Dynamics: Battle Power Couple; Captain & First Officer; Your Patience WILL Ruin Out Before My Stubbornness Does; Drama And Mz. Knives; Always A Fight, Make The Victory Worth It; I Would Die For You; A Chance At “Happily Ever After”.

Back turned isn't unusual. Clear expectations of where to keep her hands--on the desk, until he says otherwise--isn't unusual. Even unspoken and out of practice and with Ed instead of someone else, Anne knows this part of it. His lips press into her neck and she turns to do...something, no telling what, when he starts moving the shirt free.

There's no helping the gooseflesh, the little shivers that run down and over her when he touches her like...like something worth touching. It isn't a boot to the ribs or spittle in her face, it isn't a race to rip off her clothes or anything--it's damned strange far outside of her experience. Not strange. (She isn't dumb. She remembers what a hand can look like holding something that isn't a fist or any other weapon. Know why other people chase this so much.)

Touch-starved. Touch-drunk. Despite her own pride her chases the touch of his fingers, hands obediently on the desk but leaning back, watching not his face but his fingers as she does so. There are scars with stories she's tell and scars with stories she'd sooner abandon; the lash on her back is one of the former, an obscene punishment for a small child. There are other scars, harder to distract from, that she'll need to worry about in due time: for now, she sighed into the sensation of touch, a familiar swell starting in her stomach.

Anne licks her lips and tries to think of how, exactly, to broach this. Is he Ed or...sir? God help her, she'll have to be a lot more gone before her pride will suffer that one.

"View's better from the front, cap'n," she says by way of compromise with herself. Anne's not entirely sure what to do with herself otherwise; she's rarely so passive a participant, and almost certainly never by choice. Maybe she can goad him a bit, figure out what comes next along the way. "Least there's tits up that way."

God, has she always sounded so throaty?

His breath is warm on her neck as she works through her words, his body pressed against her back. She reaches back to trace the studded seam of his pants, and he grabs hold of her wrists, guiding her to brace her hands on the table in front of them.

Edward squeezes her wrists before he lets go of them, kissing the side of her neck as he trails his fingertips back up her forearms.

"Like this," he answers, his voice almost a low growl in his chest. In truth, he would have preferred to take her to his bed, to pull her legs around his hips and feel her holding him in that way. That was something he never afforded himself, as much as he wanted it. He couldn't. It was easier to maintain his secrecy like this.

There were so many of his aspects of his life that were obscured, distorted to the point that even he was sometimes unsure of what was truth and what wasn't -- who he really was. Blackbeard lived in that obscuring, depended on it to stir up fear. It was easier to play the Devil if no one really knew the man. Even the Edward that Jack knew was a performance conducted behind the safety of a mask. Mostly. Sometimes things crept in, regardless.

Edward kissed her neck again. There were other reasons that he chose to take his lovers from behind. It provided some measure of distance, kept them from trying to really kiss him. He'd always found it to be too intimate, too prone to opening the path to forming real attachments. Having a genuine attachment to someone would mean that he'd have to let them see something true in the midst of the stories he wove for the world.

He trailed his fingers from her arms down her sides, where he could tug the fabric of her shirt free from her trousers. She was so often hidden away beneath the heavy leather of her coat that there was something thrilling about the simplicity of feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric. Her skin was its own thrill, something he delighted in feeling beneath the callouses of his fingers as he smoothed his hand up her back, bunching the fabric of her shirt in his other hand.

She was scarred. That was not unusual, with the lives they lead. Fuck, he was covered in scars himself. He traced the longest of them, feeling the difference in her skin texture. He wouldn't ask about it. Scars were often stories that were more painful than whatever caused them. And pain wasn't his purpose here.

He wanted her, of course he did. They wouldn't be here if he didn't. But he wanted to give her something different from how he assumed Jack touched her. He'd made that assumption based on his own scars that went unseen and that he'd never speak of.

He wanted to give her something that didn't hurt.

Maybe he really was soft, beneath everything -- little more than a paper tiger. Maybe he wanted to give her this moment of reprieve from the harshness of the lives they lead because it was something that he craved.

Anne Bonny was not soft. She was not a "good woman", not meek in the way so called "Godly" men wanted their wives to be. She was something made of steel and gunpowder, as capable as any of the men that surrounded her -- if not more so. She could endure. She wouldn't break underneath the pressures that were a part of every day life at sea. If anything, she'd only get harder. More dangerous.

Edward saw something of himself in her. She wove stories around herself in much the same way that he did. He knew because he'd heard them before he'd ever become familiar enough with her to be close. The stories that fell from the lips of drinking men were usually those that had been carefully crafted by their subject.

He saw himself in the guarded way that her eyes darted from man to man around her, too damned aware of everything and on the lookout for things that could become threats. Even now, pushed over a table by his weight against her back, he knew that she wasn't vulnerable. He wouldn't be surprised if she could turn in her own skin like a hellcat to defend herself. Being beneath him now did not mean that she was beneath him.

Edward bunched her shirt in his fist up around her shoulders, dragging his nails down her side.

🐙 🌊

I love when people are genuinely excited about our plots/ships. I love when I’m not the only one who’s like “!!!” I love it. @ my partners you will literally never annoy me by being overly excited about our ships I love it so much.

Can someone help me find a…sweeter, slower version of this song? Women’s voices greatly preferred but I’ll live if it’s a man’s lol

top 10 black sails characters as voted by the fandom: #5-6 Anne Bonny

That fucking island. Makes you do shit you don’t wanna do. How is it we haven’t figured that out by now?