Hi everyone! This is my first-ever blog, even though I've been an avid Tumblr user for years. I'm excited to join the fanfiction community and will be publishing fanfiction soon! (albeit at my own pace).
I'm starting out with One Piece fanfiction, but I may branch out into other fandoms down the line.
Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy what’s to come!
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
MASTERLIST:
One Piece:
Chapters:
⟡ One Piece x Disney AU
── .✦ Ace x Reader Tangled AU - Mera Mera Mess
── .✦ Law x Reader Beauty and the Beast AU - Ope Ope Beauty
A quiet village. A cursed fortress. And a surgeon who turned himself into something he cannot undo.
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They say the sea keeps what it loves and curses what it cannot understand.
Beyond the fog lies an island where the wind moves through hollow stone, and at night a red light flickers behind the windows of a forgotten fortress, steady as a heartbeat that refuses to stop.
That night, the world was quiet. Only the tide stirred, pressing against the cliffs in slow, even breaths. Outside the fortress on the highest tide, a single lamp burned in the laboratory, and Trafalgar D. Law was still awake.
He had been awake for days. The boy on the table was small, no older than twelve, his skin marked by a dark spiral that seemed to move when the light shifted. The fisherman who brought him had called it a curse. Law called it an anomaly, something left behind by people who had tried to twist life into their own design. He did not believe in curses. He believed in structure, in reason, in failure.
The fortress hummed softly around him. Instruments gleamed in their orderly rows, the air clean and cold. Down the corridor, a few members of his crew moved with quiet precision. Bepo handled supplies, and Shachi, alongside Penguin, murmured over a monitor. Outside, faint music carried from the manor above the cliffs, a celebration of winter hosted by nobles and their guests. The rhythm of it blended with the sea until it became a heartbeat against the night.
Law steadied his hands above the boy’s chest. “Scalpel,” he said, though no one answered. The command came out more as a habit than a need.
He began the operation. The light from the lamps narrowed to a single point on the mark. For a moment, the rhythm steadied, then the spiral brightened, its edges pulsing like something alive. The instruments trembled. A low hum climbed through the floor, pressing against his ribs. The walls shivered, and he heard Bepo call his name from somewhere far away.
The mark opened like an eye.
Light spilled out, not blinding but heavy, spreading through the air with the slow weight of water seeping through stone. The scent of salt reached him first, sharp and metallic. The lamps cracked, their glow bending as the ceiling dipped and the floor lifted toward it, the polar tang breathing once in confusion. Far beyond the walls, the laughter from the manor broke off, leaving only the sound of the tide rolling against the cliffs.
When silence returned, it felt alive.
Law’s heartbeat stuttered once. Instinct overrode thought. “Room,” he whispered.
The world folded around him. The lab dissolved in a flash of pale light, the hum vanishing into nothing. When the air returned, it brought cold marble and the sound of startled voices.
He stood in the middle of a ballroom. Chandeliers hung above him like frozen stars. Guests in jewelled masks turned to stare, not at him but at the strange blue light that still pulsed around his hands. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin appeared beside him, disoriented but unharmed.
Then the light that had followed them flared, spilling outward like liquid glass.
The guests gasped, a few stepped back, and others reached for the nearest wall as the glow spread, brightening until the whole room shone. Someone let out a screech, the sound cutting through the music that had just begun again after the shock.
And then the light burst.
Law shielded his face, the air thickened with dust and sound. When it cleared, the ballroom was silent. The guests were gone.
He turned slowly. The marble floor shimmered faintly in the red light that leaked from the cracks along the walls. Shapes moved in the air, pale wings, graceful and frantic. Dozens of marble swans flew through the hall, their feathers scattering white dust as they collided softly with the chandeliers and pillars. Their movements were beautiful and terrifying all at once, silent except for the rustle of stone scraping stone.
Law lowered his hand and looked down. His fingers were longer than they had been a moment ago, the nails curved and sharp. A faint shadow of fur traced his jaw. When he caught his reflection in a fragment of a mirror, the eyes that looked back glowed faintly gold with black slits contrasting like the moon and sun.
He said nothing. The silence spoke first.
The air in the hall had changed. The walls shifted as though breathing, the glass chandeliers flickering with their own heartbeat. He called for his crew.
“Bepo.”
The answer came softly, from the compass sealed in glass on a table nearby. The needle pointed north and trembled.
“Shachi?” he called again. A voice answered from a cracked syringe lying on the floor, its plunger ticking faintly.
“Captain?” squeaked a map pinned to the far wall, its ink bleeding red and reforming into lines that spelled the word "Flevance" before fading again.
Law stepped back, the noise of his movements echoing through the distorted hall. Around him, the remnants of the party murmured faintly, a teapot letting out steam, a candelabrum whispering to itself, a clock struggling to keep time, and a chipped cup lying on its side calling for its mother.
He turned toward the middle of the room. A heart made of light suspended in the air, beating in a slow rhythm. Beside it, within a glass chamber, rested a rose hovering ever so slightly. Its hue a beautiful shade of red that illuminated through the silent room. A petal slipped free and landed soundlessly on the floor.
Above the chamber, glowing letters appeared on the wall as if carved by invisible hands.
Heal what you have destroyed. Love what you refuse to see.
He read the words until they dimmed and vanished. His breathing steadied, but his pulse did not. The fortress and the manor had fused into one place, his failure shaping the walls themselves. Around him, the objects whispered in voices he almost recognized.
The rose flickered in the red light, its reflection trembling in the glass.
Outside, the fog crept in from the sea until it swallowed the cliffs. From the village below, no one saw the transformation, but they saw a single pulse of red bloom through the clouds before fading back into the dark.
They began to tell stories about that night. They said the Surgeon of Death had tried to cure what should have been left to die. They said he had been punished for his pride, turned into a beast, and condemned to live among the ghosts of his own making. And they said that inside his fortress, a rose still beats like a heart, counting the years until its last petal falls and the curse finally ends.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
HI GUYS
I’m back and I’ve finally started the One Piece x Disney AU again. Mera Mera Mess was inspired by one of my favourite Disney movies and one of my favourite One Piece characters (Tony Tony Chopper is #1 ofc), and I’m still just as excited to write this new story. Thank you to my editor and dada @hello-yellow-333 for helping me edit this.
Anyway, I’ve been listening to Cry Me a River by Justin Timberlake and Favourite Girl by Justin Bieber on repeat this whole month. They’re still just as good as I remember from when I was younger.
Also, yesterday during one of my exams, we were stuck writing in this cramped theatre (horrible experience btw), and my friend said the ceiling looked like it was from Beauty and the Beast, and somehow I ended up finishing editing this right after that. Weird timing but I’m not questioning it.
pls keep more of OP x disney coming bcs i really REALLY love them. is this the perfect time to confess that Mera Mera Mess actually inspires me to also start my writing journey here on tumblr?👀
i love the way you portray Ace's character and how you create such a mesmerizing worldbuilding. it absolutely entrances me! binged all chapters in one night. did it mess my bedtime? yes. does it worth it? yes. i will do it all over again.
ps: english is not my first language, so i hope u did not get confused by my words🥹
FIRST OF ALL, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😭💖
And yes, don’t worry, I’m definitely continuing! I’ve just been a little inactive because of school and some personal stuff, but a new chapter is coming soon (and by soon I mean anywhere from next week to the end of April 😅).
AND OMG, I’m SO HAPPY Mera Mera Mess inspired you to start writing too 🥹🫶 That honestly means the world to me!!!
Also, don’t worry at all, I understood everything perfectly! Your writing is amazing, seriously 💕
Hello hello I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore mera mera mess soooo much (like I’m sure you’ve seen me reblog every chapter lol) and it was sad to see it come to an end but the ending was perfect very bittersweet in my opinion and I enjoyed the you wrote aces personally like its was all perfect.
I know the next projects you got cooking up will be just as amazing and I can’t wait to see them
Anyways thats all I wanted to say and I hope you have a lovely day/night
Bye bye
OMG YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND I’M ACTUALLY KICKING MY FEET AND BLUSHING READING THIS 😭🤭
And YES I’ve noticed all the reblogs!!! Thank you so much for that, it genuinely makes me so happy. I was literally giggling and twirling my hair.
I’m so glad you liked the ending and how I wrote Ace. That means more to me than you know.
Thank you for sticking with Mera Mera Mess until the end. I can’t wait to share the next stories I’ve got cooking up. I promise I’ll keep feeding you guys 😭🫶🫶🫶
The sun comes up, and suddenly everything changes.
⟡ previous
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The forest is quiet again.
Dawn stretches through the trees, soft light spilling over the broken stones of the old tower and the curve of the river. The air smells faintly of smoke, like a reminder that Ace’s fire was here not long ago.
You walk in silence for a while, bare feet brushing over damp grass, Pascal perched on your shoulder. Maximus follows close, his hooves heavy against the ground, ears flicking at every sound.
Ace walks beside you, his hands shoved into his shorts pockets, hair a mess, skin still marked with soot. There’s dried blood along his arm where the wound once was, but no sign of pain now. He keeps glancing at you, unsure of what to say.
The quiet sits between you for a while before you finally speak. “What if they don’t believe me?”
He looks over. “Your parents?”
You nod, eyes fixed ahead on the faint glow of the palace in the distance. “They don’t know me. What if I don’t belong there?”
Ace hums, slow and thoughtful. “You really think that’s possible?”
You turn to him. “You don’t even know them.”
He shrugs. “Don’t need to. I believe you, that probably says something.”
You try to hide a smile, failing. “You’re terrible at this, you know.”
“Yeah, but you’re smiling,” he says, smirking.
You shake your head, pretending to be annoyed. “You always have to get the last word, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
You glance up. The palace gates are ahead now, tall and carved from white stone that glows faintly under the rising sun. Flags ripple above, the gold threads catching light. You can hear faint voices beyond the walls.
Your stomach twists. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Ace stops walking, standing close enough for his arm to brush against yours. “Yeah, you can.”
You glance at him, and he’s just smiling at you. That easy, steady kind of smile that somehow makes everything else feel smaller. Then, without warning, he reaches out and ruffles your hair, the shorter strands still uneven from where he cut them.
“Hey.” You swat his hand away, pretending to glare even though your lips curve anyway.
“What?” he teases, hands raised. “It’s a good luck thing.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Hey, don’t hate until you see the effects take place.”
You huff a laugh, pushing him lightly with your shoulder before looking back at the palace.
The gates creak open. Two guards stand at attention, staring wide-eyed when they see Maximus leading the group. One immediately salutes before running inside to alert the others.
You stand there for a moment, taking it in, the castle, the courtyard, the faint sound of bells echoing somewhere far off. It doesn’t feel real.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” you whisper.
Ace’s voice drops low beside you. “You’ve been ready your whole life, Goldi.”
You look up at him, his grin softer now, his eyes tracing yours like he’s memorizing the moment. Then he jerks his chin toward the open doors. “Go. Before I change my mind and drag you in myself.”
You laugh under your breath. “You’d actually do that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve done worse.”
You shake your head, smiling, then take a slow step toward the light spilling from the palace entrance. Pascal pats your cheek with his tiny hand, like he’s cheering you on.
Behind you, Ace stays still. He watches until you disappear through the doorway, the sun spilling over your shorter hair, and only then lets out a long breath.
He tilts his head up to the sky, the first warmth of morning brushing over his skin. “Go get your fairytale ending, Goldi,” he murmurs.
Maximus huffs beside him, tail flicking. Ace just grins and pats his neck. “Yeah, I know. She deserves it.”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The palace doors open with a slow groan that echoes through the marble hall.
The floor gleams like still water, the ceilings stretch impossibly high, and the air smells faintly of jasmine and candle wax. You stop in the doorway, every muscle in your body locking at once.
Dozens of eyes turn toward you. The guards freeze, unsure whether to speak. Then a woman in a gold-trimmed gown steps out from the crowd. Her hair is dark, streaked faintly with grey, her face kind but drawn, like someone who has carried years of sleepless nights. She looks at you for a long time, the way someone looks at a dream they’ve had too many nights in a row.
You swallow hard. “Hi,” you whisper, though the word barely makes it out.
The woman doesn’t move at first. Then her breath catches, sharp and audible even in the silence. She takes one step forward, then another, then she’s running.
She stops just short of you, her hands trembling. Her eyes trace your face, your short hair, the old cut on your arm. “It’s you,” she breathes. “It’s really you.”
You blink back tears. “I didn’t know if you’d remember me.”
Her hands cup your face before you can finish. “I could never forget.”
You barely get a breath in before she pulls you into her arms. The hug knocks the air from your lungs. For a moment, it’s all warmth and shaking and soft sobs pressed into your shoulder. You don’t even realize you’re crying too until you feel the wetness against your own cheeks.
Another set of footsteps approaches, slower but firm. You look up to see the King standing just behind her. His eyes are glassy, his hands trembling at his sides. He reaches out, hesitant at first, then wraps both of you in his arms.
The three of you stand there like that for what feels like forever. No one speaks. The world narrows to the sound of their breathing and the way their hearts beat against yours.
When they finally pull back, the Queen keeps her hands on your shoulders as if letting go might make you vanish. “You’re home,” she says, smiling through her tears. “You’re finally home.”
You laugh softly, half out of disbelief, half out of sheer relief. “I guess I am.”
Behind you, the crowd begins to stir again. The guards bow. A few of the castle servants start whispering, tears glinting in their eyes. The story that’s lived in paintings and songs for nearly two decades has finally walked through the door.
Ace stands at the edge of the room, leaning quietly against a marble pillar. He doesn’t say a word, but the corners of his mouth pull into a faint smile as he watches you. Maximus stands beside him, tail flicking, and even Pascal peeks from your shoulder, blinking curiously at all the light.
You turn slightly, catching Ace’s eyes from across the room. For a heartbeat, the noise fades. He grins, small and proud, and nods once, like he’s saying, see? I told you so.
You almost laugh, but your throat is too tight.
The King follows your gaze, noticing him for the first time. The warmth on his face falters, replaced by the sternness of someone who recognizes a pirate when he sees one. He takes a protective step forward, but the Queen stops him with a gentle hand.
“He’s the one who brought her home,” she says softly.
The King hesitates, then nods, his jaw tightening. “Then I owe him thanks.”
Ace straightens, not expecting the words. “Wasn’t me,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “She saved herself. I just helped.”
The Queen smiles faintly. “Then you’ve done more than most ever would.”
You catch the way Ace’s grin softens again, how his eyes flick to you like the rest of the room doesn’t matter.
For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks almost unsure of what to do with himself. His hand fiddles with the brim of his hat before he finally puts it back on, tipping it low over his eyes.
You step forward and reach for his wrist. “Stay,” you whisper. “Just for a little.”
He nods, quiet, and lets you pull him closer to where your parents stand.
The King and Queen look at him carefully, but there’s no anger left, only gratitude and confusion, maybe even something like acceptance. You can tell they don’t understand how someone like him could have been part of your story, but they see the way he looks at you, and that’s enough.
The Queen reaches for your hand, squeezing it softly. “There will be time to talk about everything,” she says. “But for now, just rest. Both of you.”
You smile at her, your chest still trembling from the weight of it all. “I’d like that.”
Pascal climbs onto your shoulder again, chirping softly, as if reminding you that this isn’t a dream. You look around the hall, at the way sunlight spills through the stained glass, painting everything in warm gold and red.
Home.
The word finally feels real.
You glance at Ace again. He’s still standing beside you, his usual grin replaced by something quieter. His fingers brush the edge of your hand before he looks away.
And though neither of you say anything, you both already know. The peace here can’t last forever.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The lanterns have all burned out by the time the palace goes quiet.
You’re sitting in the courtyard garden, the night air heavy with the smell of lilies and wet stone. Pascal is asleep in your lap, tiny chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. From somewhere inside, you can still hear faint laughter, the soft shuffle of your parents talking to the guards, the crackle of torches along the walls.
But here, it’s quiet.
You trace the edge of a flower petal with your thumb, lost in thought. Everything feels too still after so many days of running.
Footsteps crunch softly over the stone path. You don’t need to turn to know who it is.
Ace stops a few feet behind you. “You’d think a royal garden would have less bugs,” he mutters, trying for lightness.
You smile a little. “They like you.”
“Yeah, figures.”
He sits beside you, close enough that his shoulder almost touches yours. The silence stretches, familiar and strange all at once.
After a moment, you whisper, “You should be resting.”
He exhales. “Can’t sleep. Too quiet.”
You nod, understanding. “It doesn’t feel real yet.”
He glances sideways at you. “Does it ever?”
You let out a soft laugh that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I don’t know.”
Another pause. The cicadas hum in the trees. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear waves against the cliffs.
“Your parents,” he says finally. “They look like good people.”
“They are,” you say softly. “They didn’t even hesitate.”
He nods, eyes fixed on the fountain ahead. “They’ve been waiting for you for so long.”
You glance at him. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tapping against each other.
“I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he starts. His voice sounds rougher than usual, like every word is scraping against something raw. “Talking, I mean. But there’s something I need to say before I leave.”
You straighten, your chest tightening. “Leave?”
He runs a hand through his hair, lets out a slow breath. “The marines are still around. Smoker’s probably halfway to losing his mind that I slipped through again. The crew and Pops’ are waiting for me. I can’t stay here, Goldi.”
You stare at him, the words hitting harder than you expect. “So you’re just… going?”
His jaw tightens. “You think I want to?”
You don’t answer.
He turns fully to you, and something in his expression falters. The fire that’s usually behind his grin is gone, what’s left is a tired man.
“I know this is selfish of me, trust me, I know,” he says, the words spilling faster now. “Your parents have waited years for this moment, and you deserve this. You deserve to stay here and be happy and safe and not have to run every time the marines breathe in your direction. But–”
He cuts himself off, presses his palms against his knees, and then suddenly he’s on them, right in front of you.
You flinch slightly. “Ace…”
“I just want you to come with me,” he says, his voice breaking on the words. “Please. The crew would love you. You’d love them. The sea would love you. And I can’t bear to just walk away and leave you behind like you’re some dream I’ll wake up from. I can’t do it. I don’t want to go out there and keep pretending the world’s enough without you in it.”
Your throat closes.
He laughs under his breath, but it’s hollow. “See? I sound pathetic now.”
You shake your head quickly. “You don’t.”
“Yeah, I do.” His voice softens, a cracked whisper now. “You made this place feel like more than just another stop. And now I don’t know what to do with that.”
You reach forward slowly, your hands trembling, and he grabs them before you can say anything else. His grip is warm, almost desperate.
“I’d take you anywhere,” he says. “Every island, every sky, every sunrise on the Grand Line. I’d make sure you never felt trapped again.”
He’s rambling, like if he keeps talking, maybe you won’t say the thing he already knows is coming.
You pull one hand free and place it gently on his cheek. His skin is warm under your palm.
“Ace,” you whisper. “I’m sorry. I need to stay. My family is here. They’ve spent years thinking I was gone, and I can’t disappear again. Not yet.”
He closes his eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”
Your fingers slide a little higher, brushing his hair back. “But I’ll write to you,” you promise. “And when the time’s right, I’ll come find you. I want to see the world with you. Just… not yet.”
He opens his eyes again, and there’s so much pain in them it almost hurts to look. Then he nods slowly, trying to smile even though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’ll hold you to that.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, crumpled piece of paper. The edges are singed, the surface faintly warm. He holds it out to you carefully.
“This is my vivre card,” he says. “It’ll point to me, no matter where I am. Even if I can’t send letters back.”
You stare at it, the paper pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. “It’s part of you.”
He grins softly. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me.”
You laugh weakly, clutching it to your chest. “Good.”
He exhales tussling his hair, then straightens his back a little taller to rest his forehead against yours for a moment. Neither of you speak. The sound of the waves fills the silence between breaths.
When he pulls back, his hands linger over yours. “They’re gonna come for me soon,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
He hesitates, then presses a quick kiss to your knuckles before standing. “Then I’d better go before they drag me out themselves.”
You stand too, picking up Pascal from your lap, watching him step toward the edge of the courtyard where the path meets the cliffs. He stops halfway, turns back, and you see the faintest smile tug at his mouth.
“See you soon, Goldi.”
Your eyes burn as you whisper it back. “See you soon.”
He walks away slowly, boots quiet against the stone. The night wind catches his hair, carrying the faint scent of smoke with him. You stand there long after he’s gone, the vivre card still warm in your hand.
Pascal stirs in your arms and curls closer. You glance up at the sky, the stars reflecting faintly in the fountain’s water.
The world feels impossibly big again, but for once, it doesn’t scare you.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER 7 DONE
Omg guys, Mera Mera Mess is officially finished. Thank you so much to everyone who made it all the way here 😭🫶🫶
DON’T WORRY THOUGH. More is coming. I’m feeling a little mysterious, so you guys can try to guess who I’m writing for next in the One Piece x Disney series.
I’ve actually already started working on it, but I’m going to take a small break from One Piece since it’s basically all I’ve been writing lately. I might post something for JJK in the meantime while I keep building the next Disney story behind the scenes.
THANK YOU AGAIN @hello-yellow-333 FOR HELPING ME WITH THIS FIC. You're stuck being my editor until I retire from writing fanfics.
Chains, fire, a dramatic rescue, a really bad knife choice, and one very stubborn pirate.
DISCLAIMER: violence, blood, captivity, emotional distress
⟡ previous ⋆⋆⋆ next ⟢
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The forest shudders with the sound of hooves.
Maximus leads the charge, mane flying, eyes fixed on the rising walls of the kingdom in the distance. Behind him, the thugs from the Snuggly Duckling follow on borrowed horses, swords and axes glinting in the morning light.
Hook-hand leans low over his saddle. “Alright boys, remember! We’re not breaking bones unless we have to!”
Someone yells back, “What about doors?”
“Doors are fine!”
Their voices fade as the group splits, half riding toward the main road, half cutting through the trees. The kingdom gates come into view, guards shouting as they spot the strange procession barreling toward them.
Within minutes, chaos floods the outer courtyard. Horses rear. Alarms ring.
And miles away, deep in the lower docks, a Marine guardhouse shakes from the echoing noise.
A soldier bursts into the holding area, panting. “Sir! There’s a brawl at the west gates, civilians and- I think a horse?”
The guard watching Ace’s cell frowns. “A horse?”
The soldier nods frantically. “Not just any horse, sir. It’s him. It’s Maximus.”
The guard blinks. “The captain’s horse? What’s Maximus doing there?”
“I don’t know! He’s leading them!”
The first guard stares blankly for a second, then blurts, “That can’t be right. Maximus doesn’t work with criminals, he kicks them through walls!”
“That’s what I said!”
Another guard pokes his head in, wild-eyed. “He just bit one of our men and jumped the barricade!”
The first groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Fantastic. Because clearly we needed a mutinying horse this morning.”
He grabs his weapon and rushes out, muttering under his breath, “If that animal’s turned rogue, I’m putting in for a transfer.”
They disappear up the hall, boots pounding.
For a long, quiet second, the only sound left is the faint click of metal.
Ace lifts his head. The chain around his wrists shifts again, and this time something gives. The pin he’d jammed into the lock, stolen from the boot of a knocked-out marine earlier, finally snaps it loose.
The cuff hits the ground with a dull clang.
Ace flexes his wrists once, the skin beneath them raw, and looks toward the stairwell where the shouting keeps getting louder. Boots pound overhead, guards barking orders that blur together. He doesn’t wait to listen.
He takes off, bare feet striking the stone. The corridor bends left, and he crashes straight into someone solid.
Smoke billows around him, thick and choking.
Ace’s jaw tightens. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Smoker exhales, unbothered, the twin cigars glowing in the dim light. “You just don’t quit, do you.”
Ace smirks. “Never been good at that.”
They clash. Smoke and flame twist violently, light flashing against the walls. Even without his full strength, Ace shoves back hard, ducking low, trying to break through.
A sudden crash interrupts them. The door at the end of the hall bursts open, and the thugs from the Snuggly Duckling spill in like a storm.
Hook-hand grins. “Heard you needed backup, fire boy.”
Before Smoker can turn, a net glittering with sea-prism dust sails across the hall. It hits him squarely and cinches tight. Smoke sputters out as the material locks.
Big Nose lets out a cheer. “We got him.”
Ace stares for a second, then starts laughing. “You guys are actually insane.”
Tashigi bursts through the smoke, sword already drawn. Ace raises his fists, but one of the thugs wedges a broken chair between them.
He sprints for the stairs, flames flickering under his feet to give him speed.
Outside, the kingdom is chaos. Guards and marines have joined forces, shouting over each other as they try to contain the Snuggly Duckling crew. Swords clash, shields crack, and the air smells of smoke and iron.
Ace bursts through a doorway and out onto the parapet. Wind whips through his hair. Below, the fight rages, but far ahead he spots a white blur cutting through the valley.
“Maximus,” he breathes.
He runs for the edge, gathering everything left in his body. Fire erupts beneath him, propelling him forward. The air screams in his ears, the ground spinning beneath his feet.
He lands hard on Maximus’s back. The horse skids, steadies, and snorts like it expected him all along.
Something small bumps against Ace’s chest. His hat. Maximus must’ve carried it.
Ace catches it, slides it back into place, and grins. “Thanks for the distraction, pal.”
Maximus snorts, as if to say you’re welcome, and together they charge toward the tower, the smoke of the battle fading behind them.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The tower is quiet except for the soft rustle of chains.
You sit on the cold floor, wrists bound tight against the iron loop bolted into the wall. Morning light filters through the window, pale and steady, but it feels like it belongs to another world. Your breathing is sharp with anger. You keep pulling at the chains, metal scraping against stone, refusing to stay still.
The skin around your wrists is rubbed raw, but you don’t care. Every sound of the metal grinding feels like defiance, like proof that you’re not giving up.
Pascal crawls out from the loose strands of your hair, his small eyes glinting with determination. He scurries down your shoulder and grips the first link, his tiny tail looping around the lock.
“Come on,” you whisper, voice rough. “Hurry, Pascal.”
He twists and pulls, his whole body shaking with effort. The lock clicks once, not enough to break free. You tug again, harder this time, biting back a sound of frustration.
Then a shadow moves behind you.
“Well, now,” Gothel’s voice hums, smooth and sharp all at once. “What do we have here?”
Your stomach drops.
You freeze, your pulse kicking hard against your ribs. Pascal’s body stiffens too, but it’s too late. Gothel’s hand shoots forward, grabbing the chameleon by the tail.
“Mother, wait!”
She doesn’t. With a flick of her wrist, she tosses Pascal toward the window. He vanishes into the light before you can even scream.
“No!” Your voice cracks. You lunge forward, the chains snapping you back with a harsh clatter that echoes off the stone. You collapse back against the floor, breath heaving, wrists burning from the pull.
Gothel stands near the window, the sunlight making her look almost spectral. She turns slightly, her expression unreadable. “You’ve learned nothing,” she says, her voice steady and cold. “You’ll always need me, no matter how hard you try to fight it.”
You glare up at her, trembling not from fear but fury. “You’re wrong,” you whisper. “He’s coming.”
She lets out a small, humorless laugh. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmurs, stepping closer until her shadow stretches over you. “You think anyone could find you up here? That’s why we’re leaving. Somewhere far away, where no one will ever find us again.”
Her words sink into you like ice. You tug again, desperate, but the chains hold firm. The metal scrapes against stone, loud and useless.
“Don’t fight me,” Gothel says softly. “It’s better this way.”
You shake your head, refusing to look at her. The walls feel smaller now, like they’re closing in.
Outside, the air rushes around Pascal as he falls. The world blurs into a streak of green and sky until the sound of hooves cuts through the wind.
Ace looks up just in time to see something small and bright tumbling from above.
“What the—” He barely has time to move before Pascal collides with his chest. He catches the chameleon against him, feeling the frantic flutter of its heartbeat. Pascal chirps, dazed, then claws at his shirt, tugging at the fabric.
Ace steadies Maximus with one hand. The horse snorts, ears pinned back. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Pascal twists in his grip, chirping faster now, turning his head toward the tower.
Ace follows his gaze, jaw tightening when he spots the faint glint of sunlight hitting the stone. His stomach sinks. “Yeah, I get it,” he mutters under his breath. “She’s up there.”
He glances over his shoulder. The forest behind him is alive with shouts and movement. The marines. Still chasing, still relentless. Their boots hit the ground like thunder, and the metallic clang of weapons echoes through the trees.
Maximus’s ears flick toward the noise. He paws at the ground, impatient.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ace says, his hand tightening in the horse’s mane. “Hang on.”
He pulls sharply on the reins. Maximus rears, hooves slicing through the air. The wind rushes past as Ace launches himself off the saddle. His hands catch the cold stone of the tower, the rough surface biting into his palms. He grips tighter and starts to climb.
Every muscle in his arms screams. The sea air stings the half-healed wounds from his fight at the docks, but he doesn’t slow down. His jaw is set, his breath ragged, every movement fueled by the thought of you chained somewhere above him.
Pascal clings to his shoulder, tail wrapped tight around the strap of his satchel. The little creature keeps glancing up, chirping anxiously, as if sheer will could make Ace climb faster.
Below, the sounds of chaos start to fade. All that’s left is the rasp of his breath, the scrape of his boots against the wall, and the slow hum of the wind against the stone. The world narrows to this climb, this tower, this moment.
Ace looks up once, eyes squinting against the sunlight. The window glows faintly in the morning sky. For a second, his grip slips, fingers brushing against rough mortar before finding their hold again.
“Hang on, Goldi,” he murmurs. His voice is quieter now, almost like a prayer. “I’m coming.”
He pulls himself higher, every motion sharp and deliberate, until the last few feet blur together.
Finally, with a deep breath, he reaches for the ledge. His fingers hook over the stone rim, and with one final surge of strength, he hauls himself up.
The window spills light across his face as he swings himself inside.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The glass shatters before the silence can even settle.
He crashes through the window, landing hard, shards scattering across the floor like sparks. You flinch as the sound rips through the air. When he straightens, his eyes find you instantly.
“Ace.”
Your breath catches. He looks wild in the light, hair tangled, skin streaked with soot, his chest rising fast with every breath.
“Ace, no, get out! Please, you can’t be here!”
He’s already moving, steps uneven but steady. His arm hooks under the nearest chain, muscles flexing as he tries to pull it loose. “Not leaving you again.”
You shake your head quickly, panic surging. “You don’t understand. She’s here.”
“Good,” he mutters, voice rough. “Saves me the trouble of finding her.”
But his focus flickers. His vision blurs. The climb, the exhaustion, and the remnants of the sea prism in his system crash into him like a wave. He presses a hand to his temple, blinking hard, breath sharp through his teeth.
The room tilts.
He doesn’t see her move.
Gothel steps out from the shadows, silent and cold. The light catches on the blade in her hand, glinting like ice. She waits until he steadies himself, waits until his back turns. Then she strikes.
The knife drives into his back just below the shoulder, fast and deliberate.
His body jerks. A sound tears from him, low and hoarse, cut short by pain. He stumbles forward, one hand catching the wall while the other scrapes for the handle.
You scream his name. The sound tears your throat raw.
Gothel twists the blade once before pulling it free. Her tone is calm, almost bored. “Pirates never learn.”
Ace drops to one knee. Blood streaks down his spine, dark and steady, tracing the lines of old scars across his skin. His breathing turns ragged as he tries to push himself upright again. The warmth inside him flickers, faint as dying embers.
He gives a shaky laugh through gritted teeth. “Why the hell does this island have so much sea prism just lying around?”
Gothel’s eyes narrow. “You should be thanking me. That blade will keep you quiet.”
He spits blood onto the floor and lifts his head, voice rough. “Shut up.”
Gothel freezes, only for a heartbeat.
Then his gaze drags back to you. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “Hey. Told you I’d come back.”
Your wrists are raw from pulling at the chains. You don’t care. “Ace, no, please. You can’t do this.”
He sways where he kneels, blood still dripping down his back, but somehow he smiles. Faint. Tired. Defiant. “Guess I’m not as fast as I thought.”
Gothel drops the knife. It hits the floor with a dull clang that echoes through the tower. “You both should’ve stayed where you belonged.”
Ace plants his hand against the ground, smearing blood across the stone as he forces himself to stand again. His breath shakes, shoulders trembling, but his eyes never leave yours.
“Not done yet,” he mutters, voice low but certain.
And he means it.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
He drags himself toward you, one step at a time. The sound of his boots against stone is uneven, slick with blood, but he doesn’t stop. You keep pulling at the chains, wrists scraped red, desperate to reach him.
“Ace, stop. You’re bleeding too much, please,” you cry, voice cracking.
He only shakes his head, a faint, stubborn smile on his lips. “You say that like I ever listen.”
He drops to his knees in front of you, one hand pressed against his wound. Blood stains his fingers, dark and heavy, but he doesn’t look down. He’s looking at you. Always you.
“Wrap my hair around it,” you beg, gathering a handful of the strands that spill across the floor. “Please, Ace, I can still heal you.”
He exhales softly, his breath trembling. His hand brushes your cheek, thumb swiping over your tearstained skin. “You’ve done enough.”
Before you can argue, he leans forward, pulling you against his chest. The warmth of his blood seeps through your dress, the smell of salt and smoke heavy in the air. His breath shudders near your ear.
“I told you I’d come back,” he murmurs, barely more than a whisper.
Your fingers curl into his shoulders. “Then don’t leave again,” you say, voice breaking.
He doesn’t respond. His gaze catches on the broken mirror shards scattered across the floor, fragments of the night before. One piece catches the light, sharp and waiting.
“Ace?”
He grabs it, quick and sure, and slices through the strands near your shoulder. The hair falls heavy to the floor, the ends dull and lifeless where they used to shimmer.
You freeze, breath stuck in your throat. “What did you do?”
He drops the shard beside you. It hits the floor with a hollow clink. “She can’t use you anymore.”
Gothel’s scream tears through the tower. High. Piercing. Her body convulses as the illusion of youth begins to unravel. Her fingers claw at her face, nails dragging red streaks across her skin as it withers under her touch. Wrinkles spread like cracks, her hair bleaching to white before falling away in clumps.
“No… no, what have you done?” she shrieks, voice cracking with rage and fear. “You stupid girl, do you see what you’ve done to me?”
She stumbles backward, knocking into a table that crashes against the wall. Her reflection glints in the shards of broken glass, a hollow, twisted face staring back. She lets out another scream, sharp enough to make the air tremble.
Pascal darts from his hiding spot, trembling but determined. He scurries across the floor, grabs the edge of her robe with his tail, and yanks with all his strength.
Gothel’s heel catches. She trips, her scream twisting into something inhuman as she topples backward toward the shattered window. Her hands reach for anything to hold, but there’s nothing left to save her.
She falls.
The sound of her body hitting the ground below is distant and brief, fading into nothing more than dust caught in the morning wind.
Silence swallows the tower.
You collapse beside Ace. His breathing is shallow, uneven. His head rests in your lap, his skin cold against your hands. You cup his face, voice shaking. “No, no, please. Stay with me.”
Tears fall freely now, slipping from your chin and landing on his chest. One drop slides down to his wound, shining faintly where it touches him.
Then the light starts.
It begins as a soft glow beneath your hand, spreading slowly, wrapping the room in gold. The warmth hums through the air, gentle but alive, touching every stone, every piece of shattered glass. The blood fades. The wounds close. The light pulses once, then softens until all that’s left is quiet.
And then Ace gasps.
His body jerks upright. He stares down at himself, hands flying to where the wound used to be. There’s no blood. No pain. Just smooth, unbroken skin. His chest rises and falls fast, disbelief flickering across his face before it breaks into the faintest laugh.
You cover your mouth, tears still streaking down your cheeks.
He looks up at you, voice low and rough. “Guess I’m harder to kill than I thought.”
You let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob. Before you can speak, he grips the weakened chains at your wrists and snaps them like they’re nothing. The metal falls to the floor in a clatter that echoes through the room.
You whisper his name, but he doesn’t let you finish. He moves closer, slow but certain, his hand finding the back of your neck. The warmth of his touch steadies you before his lips meet yours.
The kiss is soft. Real. The kind that feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long. His fingers slide through your shortened hair while your hands clutch the front of his arm, holding on as if letting go might make him disappear again.
When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the stillness.
The morning light spills through the window, touching the fallen strands of hair across the floor. The air smells like sunlight and ash, like something ending and something new beginning.
Pascal climbs back onto your shoulder, pressing close to your neck. Ace wraps an arm around your waist, grounding you both.
For the first time, the tower feels alive.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER SIX DONEEEE
So sorry guys if I'm being so for real I was just too lazy to finish chapter 6 once winter break started 😭...
Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter cuz I cringed like crazy writing the kissing scene (I am unfortunately very shy about writing physical intimacy, it gives me the chills, but we powered through).
Also just a heads up that the next chapter will be the final chapter 🥲
Thank you so much to everyone who’s been patiently waiting and reading this story; it genuinely means more to me than you know.
And of course thank you @hello-yellow-333 for editting this, where would I be without your scumptious ahh 🙏
Lanterns, lies, revelations, chains, a slap, and a horse on a mission.
DISCLAIMER: manipulation, captivity themes, mild violence, emotional distress, blood mention
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The lanterns still burn above the kingdom, drifting like stars across the sky, but to you they feel hollow now. Mocking. You should have felt wonder, should have felt joy, but each flicker of light is only a reminder of what slipped through your fingers.
Your hands tremble as you clutch the thing he left behind. The seashell, its edges worn smooth from years of tides. It should have been gifts. Instead it weighs like stones, heavy enough to drag you under. You want to throw it into the dirt, to scream that you never wanted them. But your arms stay tight to your chest, as if letting go would break something inside you forever.
The world feels wrong. Too bright, too loud, too cruel. Every step back toward the tower is slow, the road stretching endlessly before you. The flowers braided into your hair catch in the wind, their petals brushing against your skin. Once, they had felt like celebration. Now they only reek of shame.
Mother’s arm is looped gently through yours, steadying you like a lifeline, her voice soft in your ear. “He’s a liar. A thief. You see now, don’t you?”
Her words press against your skull until you almost believe them. Until you almost believe the smile, the laughter, the firelit promises were nothing more than tricks.
Pascal presses against your neck, his tiny claws digging through the fabric of your dress, chirping as if to tell you it isn’t true. But your throat closes and no words come. Your silence feels like surrender.
The night stretches on, every lantern above dimming as the forest thickens around you. The closer the tower looms, the heavier your chest becomes. You can almost feel the walls pressing in already, waiting to swallow you whole again.
By the time you reach the clearing, your legs are trembling. The stones at the base of the tower are slick with dew, your bare feet slipping as you force yourself forward. The door groans open and the familiar shadows curl around you, wrapping tighter than any embrace.
You climb the steps with Mother’s hand guiding you, each one heavier than the last. The flowers in your hair snag on the stone, pulling strands loose. You don’t bother fixing them.
At last you reach your room. The painted walls stare back at you, colours dulled in the darkness. The air smells of candle wax and dust, the same as always, as if nothing outside had ever happened.
You step inside, the seashell digging into your palm. Your chest aches like something’s cracked open inside you, raw and endless.
For all the light you had seen tonight, the room has never felt darker.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Mother’s hands are gentle as she works the flowers out of your braids, but the tug of each strand makes your scalp sting. Petals fall to the floor, bright against the stone, until your hair lies loose again. She smooths it down, her touch deliberate, as if undoing every trace of the day.
“There,” she murmurs. “It never happened.” Her smile flickers, soft as silk but sharp beneath. “Now, wash up for dinner. I’m making hazelnut soup.”
She lingers in the doorway just long enough to add, “I really did try, you know. I tried to warn you what was out there. The world is dark, and selfish, and cruel. If it finds even the smallest ray of sunshine, it destroys it.”
The door clicks shut. Silence folds over the room.
You sink onto the bed, the weight of your hair spilling across the covers. The seashell sits on your nightstand. But it’s not what you look at. Your eyes drift instead to the fabric crumpled at the corner of the mattress: the handkerchief with the sun emblem.
You trace the design with your fingertips, then glance across the room. One of your old paintings hangs crooked on the wall, bright and childish. The same sun blazes at its center.
Your breath stills.
You rise slowly, crossing to the mural etched into the stone above your vanity. The sun is there too, woven into every curling vine and starburst. You press your palm to it, and for a heartbeat, you could swear the shape glows back.
Flashes surge through your mind, sharp and blinding. The mobile that once hung above your crib. The mosaic in the kingdom square, the king and queen cradling their child. The stone mural you had seen today, the royal family carved with the same symbol rising behind them.
Your knees buckle. You stumble back into the vanity, bottles rattling as your reflection shatters into pieces across the mirror.
The lost princess.
You remember whispers from the crowd earlier in the day, scraps of words overheard between laughter and music. How the lanterns were for her, the child stolen from her cradle all those years ago. You hadn’t thought much of it. Just another story. Just another tragedy that belonged to someone else.
But now…
Now the weight of it presses down like chains, every memory slotting into place until there’s only one truth left staring back at you.
You.
Your mother’s voice calls faintly from below, sweet as ever. “Y/n! Dinner’s ready, dear–”
Her words cut off when you stumble into the doorway, eyes blazing with something rawer than she’s ever seen.
The words tear from you before you can stop them. “The lanterns. They’ve been for me. Every year, they’ve been sending them up for me.”
Gothel blinks, her smile faltering. “What are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would they release lanterns for you?”
Your throat tightens, but you don’t look away. The memory of Ace’s voice echoes, steady and careless in your mind. “They use lanterns for the people they’ve lost.”
You swallow hard, forcing the words out. “Because I’m the lost princess, Mother.”
Gothel stares at you, blank and unreadable.
Your voice sharpens. “Did I stutter? Or should I even be calling you Mother?”
Her lips curl faintly, the smile brittle. “Y/n, do you even hear yourself? Why would you ask something so absurd?”
The fury rises too fast to stop. You shove her back, harder than you thought you could. “It was you. It was all you.”
Her eyes widen, then narrow. “Everything I did was to protect you.”
“Protect me?” The words burn as they leave your throat. “I spent my entire life hiding from people who might use me. Who might twist me into something I didn’t want to be. And the truth is…” Your hands shake as you point at her. “I should’ve been hiding from you.”
Her mask falters. For the first time, her voice loses its honeyed edge. “And where will you go? Do you think he’ll be there for you?”
Your chest seizes. “What did you do to him?”
Gothel’s frown hardens, and her tone turns cutting. “That criminal will be hanged for his crimes. That’s what happens to men like him.”
The breath rips from your lungs. “No…”
She steps closer, hands outstretched as though to soothe. “Now, now. It’s all right. Listen to me. This is as it should be.”
You grab her wrist, grip iron-tight. “No. You were wrong about the world. You were wrong about me. And I’ll never let you use me again.”
Her eyes flash, sharp as steel. In one sudden twist she yanks free, shoving your hand away. Your arm smacks into the mirror which tumbles over, glass splintering across the floor in a shatter that echoes through the stone chamber.
For the first time, she looks shaken. Your chest heaves, your face hot with fury as you stand your ground.
“Fine,” Gothel breathes at last, her voice dropping to something dark and cold. “You want me to be the bad guy?” Her smile sharpens. “Then I’ll be the bad guy.”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The first thing Ace feels is cold. Not just in the air, but in his bones. His wrists burn where chains bite into them, heavier than anything else he’s ever worn. His head jerks up when the boat shudders hard against stone. The impact rattles through the wood, slamming him against the wheel he’s chained to.
His eyes snap open. The world is gray, the sky pale with morning light, and his chest already tight. He yanks hard, trying to summon fire, but nothing comes. Just smoke that fizzles out in his throat. The weight dragging at his arms tells him enough. Seastone.
“Damn it,” he snarls, pulling harder until his skin stings raw. His whole body shakes with the effort, veins straining, but the chains don’t budge.
He twists his head, frantic now. “Y/n?” His voice cracks as his eyes scan the boat, the water, the docks beyond. Empty. “Where is she?!”
“Keep it down.”
The voice comes from the shadows near the bow. Smoker sits with his back to the wood, arms crossed, cigars glowing like embers in the dim light. Beside him, Tashigi straightens, sword sheathed at her side, her gaze steady on Ace.
Ace bares his teeth. “You bastards. Where is she?”
“Not here,” Smoker says, tone even.
“I can see that!” Ace roars, thrashing against the wheel until the chains rattle loud enough to shake the air. “I need to get back to her. Now.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Tashigi cuts in, voice firm. “Sit down before you tear your wrists open.”
“I don’t care!” His voice breaks through his throat, pained with urgency. “She doesn’t know how to defend herself. She’s–” His chest heaves. “She’s not safe.”
Smoker exhales a slow stream of smoke, filling the air between them. “You think we care about some girl you dragged into this mess? She’s safer the farther she is from you.”
“Say that again,” Ace growls, straining so hard against the seastone his knees nearly give. His flames spark weak and useless, dying as quick as they flare. His body shudders with exhaustion, but he still pulls, wrists bleeding.
Tashigi rises, her voice cutting sharp. “You’re delusional. You think she’s safer with a pirate? With you? You’re the reason she’s in danger to begin with.”
Ace snaps his head toward her, eyes burning. “I never wanted her caught in this. I never wanted her touched by any of it. All I want is to make sure she’s safe.” His voice cracks, almost pleading. “That’s all I want.”
“You can’t protect her,” Tashigi says, though her tone softens at the edge.
“I can try,” Ace exclaimed. He yanks again at the chains, body trembling, fury radiating off him.
Their voices clash, Smoker’s deep rumble, Tashigi’s sharp retorts, and Ace’s desperate roars filling the air. It’s only cut short when a voice calls from above.
“Identify yourselves! What business do you have in Corona waters?”
A guard leans over the stone wall they’ve docked against, spear in hand.
Smoker tilts his head up with an annoyed grunt. “Vice Admiral Smoker of the Marines. We’ve got Fire Fist Ace.”
The guard stiffens, eyes darting wide, before hurrying back along the wall.
Ace jerks at his chains, teeth gritted. “You think handing me over’s gonna fix anything?!”
Smoker doesn’t even look at him, his voice low and tired. “Orders are orders. I don’t like it either, but apparently Corona gets first claim before the Marines take you in.”
Tashigi nods, though her jaw is tight. “A new agreement between kingdoms and the World Government. They want to show unity, parade you as a trophy. You’re a symbol, Ace, whether you like it or not.”
“Symbol?” Ace spits the word like venom. “I’m a man. And she’s–” His throat chokes, fury twisting into something closer to fear. “She’s alone.”
Smoker stands, smoke curling thick around him. “Save your breath.”
The sound of boots clatters across the dock. Guards swarm, stepping down into the boat. The chains drag Ace forward as they pull him from the wheel, forcing him onto his knees before hauling him upright. He fights, weakly, but every tug against the seastone steals more of his strength.
They march him off the boat, his boots striking against the dock in unsteady steps. Smoker follows, Tashigi close behind.
On the edge of the square, hidden behind a line of carts, a white mane flickers into view. Maximus watches, ears pinned flat. His eyes narrow the moment he sees Ace shackled, dragged toward the prison tower that looms near the palace. He scans the crowd, searching. No girl.
His chest rumbles with a sharp sound. Then, without hesitation, he turns and bolts, hooves hammering the ground as he disappears into the streets.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The sunlight pouring through the window looks like a lie. It should be soft and kind, but it only throws the room into a cruel, bright clarity: every painted flower, every faded storybook, every seam of stone that’s held you captive for years.
Gothel’s fingers curl around your arm like a lead line as she guides you across the floor. “Sit,” she says, voice all syrup and command.
You don’t sit. Your jaw is clenched so hard it hurts. “You can chain me, lock me, shove me farther than the map goes,” you spit. “You can scream that you saved me a thousand times, but you can’t take away what I know.”
She pauses, the smile false as spun sugar. “What you know? You mean that flash of foolishness? That romantic daydream?” Her tone hardens. “You’re my girl. The one I raised safe. The one I kept from being ruined by the world.”
“You didn’t keep me safe.” The words come out hot. “You hid me. You lied to me. You stole my life.”
Her laugh is small, tight. “Hid you? I sheltered you. I taught you to fear the world because it will devour you. I fed you, clothed you, protected you–”
“You protected a prison,” you cut in. “You told me to be afraid of love and people because you wanted me here with only you. Not because you loved me, but so you could keep what belonged to the crown hidden.”
Gothel’s face changes then, the mask slipping. Her eyes flash with something like pain and fury all at once. “Don’t you dare talk like that.”
“I will,” you say, louder now, because the silence has hollowed your soul and you’re done swallowing it. “I will scream it until the whole world hears. You made me small.”
She moves as if to calm you, hands outstretched in that practiced way. You shove back, furious, and the shove lands harder than you planned. For a second she looks genuinely shocked, and you think maybe the tower can’t consume you anymore.
Then her hand is a blur. The slap is sharp and clean, it rings in the room, and the heat of it blooms across your cheek. You stagger, jaw burning, blood hot at the corner of your lip.
Her breath is ragged. “You will not be ungrateful,” she snaps. Rage laces her voice. “You will not break what I made.”
You don’t crumble. If anything, the slap makes you angrier than you’ve ever been. You lunge for her, pushing off the floor with every ounce of defiance you have, but cold metal clamps around your wrists before your fingers reach her. The chain closes with a final click that sounds like a verdict.
“No,” you hiss, pulling until the iron bites into the skin. The chain holds. The room tilts with the force of your struggle, but the links do not budge. You feel the sting, raw and hot, but your hands won’t come free.
Gothel moves with an eerie silence she’s practiced a thousand times. She unrolls a second length of iron and secures it to the bedpost, measured and precise. “You’ll come with me,” she says, voice soft enough that it almost sounds like comfort. “I’ll take you somewhere no one can ever find you. That way nothing can take you from me.”
Pascal is still hidden. You know he pressed himself into the hollow between a loose board and the wall, nowhere Gothel will think to look. You can feel him there, a tiny, trembling weight against the wood, and the knowledge makes your chest ache in another way.
“You’re lying,” you spit. “You can’t keep doing this.”
She shakes her head, like a woman reciting scripture. “One day, you’ll thank me. You’ll see it was for the best.”
You yank at the chain again, breath burning, lungs shallow, fury making your chest feel too small for your bones. The metal scrapes, but it holds. You are stuck, iron singing cold through your wrists.
She turns on her heel, already shifting the room into business. “I’ll finish packing. You should rest. It’ll be quicker in the morning.”
Her skirts whisper as she crosses the flagstones and the door clicks shut behind her, a stupid sound that makes everything feel final. The sunlight keeps falling, ignorant and relentless.
You slump back until the stone presses into your spine. Your cheek throbs where the slap landed, throat tight with the kind of anger that tastes like metal. You keep your face hard so she won’t see the tremor at the corner of your lips.
You do not feel helpless because you cried. You feel helpless because steel keeps you from the person who mattered most.
Thoughts of him, Ace, come like knives. Not because you fear for yourself, but because you think you’ve sent him into this. You did this to him. You should have told him to run. You should have never let him stay. Your mind drums the same horrors over and over until your breath comes shallow and raw.
You close your eyes and picture the boat he was on, the way the chains must have felt, the way he must have hit the wood when they pulled him out. You imagine him fighting, and it makes your teeth ache.
Pascal’s faint chirp from the board is a tiny, fierce sound. He’s there. Hidden. Watching. You press your wrist to the wood nearest him, feeling his small heartbeat through the grain, and for a breath you remember what you’re fighting for.
Your rage doesn’t leave. It swells, hot and furious, but the iron keeps you bound. The tower is brighter than it ever was, and you've never felt colder.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The sound of hooves cuts through the morning.
Birds scatter from the treetops as Maximus charges through the forest, his breath rising in sharp clouds, his mane flying like a banner. He doesn’t slow, not for roots or rocks or anything in his way. The kingdom’s towers glint faintly in the distance, but he veers toward the tavern instead, eyes locked on the crooked sign swinging from its post.
The Snuggly Duckling.
He slams through the doors with enough force to make the walls shake. Tables rattle, mugs tip over, and every man inside turns at once.
For a heartbeat, the place goes silent.
Then the whispers start.
“Is that the royal horse?”
“What’s it doing here?”
“Where’s the rider?”
Maximus snorts and stamps a hoof, pacing in tight circles. He points his nose toward the kingdom, then turns, lifting one foreleg like he’s trying to mime something. When that fails, he spins, rears up, and slams both front hooves down in frustration.
One of the thugs, the big one with the hook for a hand, frowns. “What’s he tryin’ to say?”
Another pipes up, leaning forward. “Wait. I think he’s miming something.”
Maximus points toward the door again, then toward his own neck as if pulling on a chain. His eyes flash with urgency.
The men exchange confused looks until he reaches into the saddlebag and tosses something across the floor.
A hat. Burnt at the edges, still damp.
They stare at it.
“Hey, that’s the pirate’s,” one murmurs.
The room shifts instantly. Chairs scrape, metal clinks, and within seconds, every thug is on their feet. The hook-handed man grabs his weapon, another slings a crossbow over his shoulder, and the rest start grabbing whatever they can use.
Maximus stamps again, impatient, and bolts for the door. The thugs follow, grinning, some muttering about debts to repay, others about the thrill of a rescue. The sound of boots and hooves fades into the forest until only the echo of their footsteps remains.
In the kingdom’s holding cells, the air smells like salt and smoke. The lanterns outside cast a dull orange glow through the narrow bars, the light flickering faintly against the damp walls.
Ace sits slumped against the stone, wrists bound in sea-prism cuffs that drain every spark of strength he has left. His breathing is shallow, uneven. The cold has crept into his bones, but it’s not what hurts most. It’s the quiet, that leaves too much room for his thoughts.
He shuts his eyes and sees her face again, her laughter in the square, the way she looked at the lanterns, the way her voice sounded when she said she’d waited her whole life to see the lanterns.
Then the memory shifts to her face when he left the boat, a tinge of sadness in her eyes despite her smile.
He clenches his fists and yanks at the chains until his wrists burn. Nothing. The metal doesn’t move.
The cell door creaks.
Tashigi steps in, a tray in her hands. She sets it down without looking at him. “Eat,” she says curtly.
He doesn’t move. “Not hungry.”
She exhales through her nose, impatient. “Suit yourself.”
When she finally looks at him, her expression is guarded. “If you’re wondering where the girl is, Gothel took her back to their home.”
He lifts his head slowly, eyes narrowing. “Their home?”
“She came to the us crying. Said you’d filled her daughter’s head with stories. Said you were trying to take her away.” Tashigi folds her arms. “Smoker figured bringing you in first would stop any more trouble.”
Ace laughs once under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “You believe that?”
Her eyes flick away. “You think it matters what I believe? All the palace guards saw was a pirate with a bounty dragging some girl onto a boat. You think anyone’s gonna question her version?”
Ace’s jaw tightens. He leans forward, the chains clinking against stone. “She’s not some girl. She’s a prisoner.”
Tashigi’s mouth presses into a line. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
He meets her gaze, voice low. “Not when someone I care about’s locked away.”
Something in her eyes falters, but only for a second. “You’re lucky Smoker wants you alive. Try anything, and those chains will be the least of your problems.”
She turns to leave, but his voice stops her. “Tashigi.”
She glances back.
“Tell Smoker I’m not staying here.”
She almost laughs. “You can’t even stand without falling over.”
His mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “Then I’ll crawl.”
For a moment, her face softens, something like pity flickers and disappears. She shakes her head. “You’re insane.”
He leans back against the wall again, eyes half open, tone quiet. “Probably.”
The door shuts behind her. The footsteps fade down the corridor.
Ace exhales slowly, staring at the faint glow from the lanterns outside. The cuffs still burn cold against his skin, but his eyes stay sharp.
He’s already counting every sound, every shift in the guard’s footsteps, every echo from the hall.
The sea-prism cuffs hum cold against his skin, but his pulse beats louder than the silence.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER FIVE DONE. 🕯️
GUYS I FINISHED THIS DURING MY READING WEEK 😭🙏 I was on hiatus for a while because school had me in a chokehold but we’re back.
Also I genuinely thought the fanfic author curse only hit AO3 writers so I stayed far away but apparently it got me AND my editor 💀. I don’t even know if it’s the curse or just the fact that we both turned 20 recently.
Anyway I’ve actually been working on another story too 👀 because every time school stressed me out I started writing something new (coping mechanism atp). I can’t say much yet but it’s part of the Disney x One Piece crossover series I’m officially starting 😌🪄 hold tight because I really like what I’ve written so far but it’s staying secret for now.
Also I added a Gojo and Geto ref in this chapter, and I hope someone finds it.
Also guys chapter 6 will be here idk when but it’ll be published 😭 so stick around if you wanna see what happens next.
Braids, flowers, dancing, lanterns, almost-kisses, a Marine showdown, and the mother of all manipulation
DISCLAIMER: mild violence, manipulation, light blood
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The first thing you notice when you wake is the smell of damp earth, sharp and clean in the morning air. Dew clings to the grass beneath you, soaking into your skirt, and the sky above the trees is streaked with soft grey light. For a brief moment you almost forget where you are. Then you turn your head and see Ace stretched out on the ground nearby, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. One arm is folded under his head, the other sprawled carelessly over his stomach. His hat sits crooked over his face.
“You’re not asleep,” you murmur, your voice still heavy with dreams.
The brim of his hat tips just enough to reveal one eye peeking at you. “And you snore.”
Your mouth falls open. “I do not.”
“You do,” he says, smirking now, and tips the hat back into place like he’s won some great argument.
You push yourself up with a huff, cheeks warm, but before you can come up with a clever retort, Pascal stiffens on your shoulder. His tiny body goes rigid, tail lashing once, twice. His eyes lock on something across the riverbank.
From the shadowed edge of the trees, a massive white horse steps into the clearing. Sunlight glances off his polished armour, the gleam sharp against the dark forest. His hooves strike the ground in slow, deliberate steps, each one louder than it should be in the morning hush. His eyes, piercing and intelligent, lock instantly on Ace. The horse lets out a sound that is not quite a whinny, not quite a growl, but something in between.
Ace sits up with a groan, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. “Not this guy again.”
The horse’s ears flatten back. He takes another step closer, pawing the ground hard enough to send dirt scattering.
“Easy,” you whisper quickly, rising to your feet. Your heart hammers, but you lift a hand anyway, moving toward him with careful steps.
Pascal squeaks and scrambles down into your hair to hide, but you keep your eyes on the horse. He doesn’t look at you. His focus is locked on Ace like nothing else in the world matters.
“Don’t bother,” Ace says, standing as well. His tone is flat, but you can hear the irritation under it. “That horse has been out for my blood since day one.”
“Maybe because you did something to deserve it,” you mutter, then take a breath and turn to the horse.
“Listen,” you say softly, stepping right into his path. His ears flick toward you. “I know you want to drag him off, but… can you not? At least not today. This is the first day of my life outside my tower walls. I’ve waited years for this. I just want one day without cages or chains, for either of us.” Your voice tightens, but you push through it. “After that, you can chase him all you want. But just give me this. Please.”
The horse’s expression shifts, some of the sharpness in his eyes softening. He exhales a heavy breath, almost like a sigh, and lowers his head just slightly.
You smile faintly, reaching out to scratch behind his ear. “Thank you.”
The sudden wag of his tail makes you laugh. He leans into your touch like an oversized dog, rumbling with approval.
You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re just a big sweetheart, aren’t you?”
“Sweetheart?” Ace sputters from behind you as he throws his hands up in the air in astonishment. “He nearly trampled me last time.”
At the sound of his voice, the horse pulls back from your hand, his softness gone in an instant. He lifts his head high and fixes Ace with a look so sharp it could cut glass. Slowly, with deliberate precision, he raises one hoof, points it at Ace, then taps it twice against his own eyes before lowering it again.
You blink at him. “Did he just…?”
Ace throws his hands up. “Yeah. He’s telling me he’ll murder me in my sleep.”
You clap a hand over your mouth, laughter bubbling up too fast to hide. “I think he’s saying he’s watching you.”
“Same thing,” Ace grumbles, folding his arms over his chest.
The horse snorts like he’s agreeing with Ace, then turns back to you, lowering his head once more. You reach out and scratch his neck again, and this time he presses against you so firmly you nearly stumble. His tail wags, beating happily against your side.
Pascal pokes his head out from your hair with a suspicious squeak, but you’re too busy grinning at the horse. The warmth of his trust spreads through you in a way you hadn’t expected.
Ace mutters something about traitorous animals, but you don’t look at him. You’re far too distracted by your new friend, who has already decided you belong firmly on his side of this battle.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The path widens as the trees thin, sunlight spilling across the road. The kingdom towers faintly in the distance, its walls rising high above the fields like a storybook picture.
Ace falls into step beside you, hands tucked behind his head, expression far too smug for this early in the morning. “You know,” he drawls, “if you wanted to see lanterns, you could’ve just asked me to light a few fires. I’d have made it romantic.”
You roll your eyes. “Setting things on fire isn’t romantic.”
“Depends on who you ask,” he says, flashing a grin. He leans closer, just enough that you catch the faint smell of smoke still clinging to him. “Could even write your name in the sky with it.”
Before you can answer, Maximus shoves his massive head between the two of you, nearly knocking Ace off balance. The horse huffs loudly, tossing his mane right into Ace’s face.
You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Looks like someone doesn’t approve.”
Ace spits out a strand of white hair, glaring. “That horse has no sense of timing.”
Pascal peeks from your shoulder, squeaking, then hops onto Ace’s arm as if to side with Maximus. He tightens his tiny grip until Ace yelps.
“Traitor,” Ace mutters.
Despite yourself, you laugh again, the sound carrying easily on the open road. It feels lighter than the shadows of last night.
As the kingdom gates loom closer, you both pause, glancing down at the endless river of your hair trailing behind. Without a word, Ace bends down and gathers a heavy section of it in his arms. You grab the other half, looping it carefully so it won’t drag in the dirt.
He glances at you, a playful grin tugging at his mouth. “Damn. Your hair’s really tangled.” His tone is mock serious, eyes glinting with humour.
You narrow your eyes at him, but he only shrugs. “Hey, I’m just saying, might scare the locals.”
You swat his arm with your free hand, but he only laughs, shouldering the weight of your hair like it’s nothing as the kingdom gates open before you.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The streets are alive the moment you step into the kingdom. Music drifts in the air, children dart between the legs of adults, and every corner seems to hold something new. But the first thing you notice is how many heads turn in your direction.
They’re staring. At you. Or more specifically, at the long trail of hair you and Ace are carrying between you like some strange rope you can’t put down.
Your face burns. You try to tuck a piece behind your ear as if that would make a difference, but the gawking only grows.
Ace tilts his head, biting back a grin. “Told you people would stare.”
Before you can snap back, you spot four girls sitting in a line near the fountain, braiding each other’s hair with nimble fingers. They look up at you and gasp, eyes going wide. Ace wastes no time. His mouth twitched to form a simpering grin. He then lifts the heavy curtain of your hair in both hands and presents it to them like he’s offering treasure.
“Think you can handle this?” he asks.
The girls squeal and rush over before you can protest. Their fingers work quickly, pulling, twisting, tucking, and decorating as they go. Flowers are woven in, small white blossoms mixed with bright petals of violet and pink. You can feel the weight increase with every loop until finally they step back, beaming at their handiwork.
You spin in a small circle, then stumble a little under the new heaviness. “Wow. My hair’s really heavy like this.”
The laughter bubbles out of you, unrestrained. And when you look up, Ace is staring. Not his usual teasing smirk, but wide-eyed, almost caught off guard, like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect.
Maximus notices too. The horse leans in and bumps Ace square in the shoulder with his head, hard enough to jolt him. It’s the closest thing to an elbow a horse could manage. He stares at Ace with a teasing look, causing the pirate to slightly blush and push his head away.
Ace rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop smiling.
The day moves quickly from there. Vendors call from their stalls, and Ace buys you things with a small coin pouch he digs out of the pocket of his shorts. Sweets wrapped in paper, trinkets made of glass that glitter in the light, and even a strip of ribbon he ties clumsily around your wrist before stuffing the pouch away again. You keep laughing, not because of what he buys, but because of the way he keeps pretending not to care even as he sneaks glances at your smile.
Then the music catches your ear. A group of villagers is dancing in the square, their steps fast and light, skirts spinning, and shoes striking the cobblestones in rhythm. You can’t help yourself. Your eyes light up, and before Ace can stop you, you’re pulling him toward the crowd.
“I want to dance.”
“You what?” He asks, a little bewildered.
You don’t give him a choice. You dart into the circle, spinning between two strangers, then turn and catch his wrist. He stumbles into the group with you, looking more amused than annoyed as you try to pull him into the rhythm.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, but his smile betrays him.
The dance carries on until your lungs are burning with laughter. You slip out of the circle, dragging him with you, and stop when you see a group crouched near the ground, sprinkling bright powders into swirling patterns across the cobblestones. The designs bloom into flowers, suns, and spirals that seem alive. You kneel, fingers itching to try, and they hand you a handful of soft powder.
Carefully, you shape a sun in the centre of the design, then add curling purple vines around its edges. When you sit back, your hands dusted in colour, Ace whistles low under his breath.
“Not bad,” he says, his voice softer now. “Not bad at all.”
You smile, but something else catches your eye. Just beyond the square, set into the side of a stone wall, is a mural. Not painted, but carved from coloured stone, each piece fitted so carefully it glows when the light hits it. The image is simple, almost reverent: a king and queen, their arms wrapped around a swaddled infant.
You step closer without realizing, drawn to it. The faces are serene, the child’s small features picked out in pale marble. For a reason you can’t explain, your chest tightens. Something about it feels strange, familiar in a way you can’t place.
Ace calls your name, and you blink, forcing yourself to turn back toward him. But as you rejoin him, the image lingers, burned behind your eyes.
The spell breaks when you hear the sound of boots on stone. Guards.
You grab Ace’s hand and dart into an alley, pressing yourselves chest to chest against the wall. He has ice cream in one hand, bought seconds before you ran, and it’s already dripping down his wrist. You slap your palm over your mouth to stifle the laugh threatening to burst out, and he shakes his head, grinning, shushing you even as his own shoulders shake.
For a moment, it’s just the two of you, giggling in the shadows, the world narrowed to your breath against his collarbone and his hand steadying you at your waist.
But the square calls you back. The music is louder now, a full-scale folk dance where partners spin and swap in perfect rhythm. You’re swept into it before you can blink, paired with one villager, then spun off to another, then another. You keep searching for Ace, laughing every time you just miss him. He’s always too far, just out of reach, his dark eyes catching yours across the moving tide of people.
It’s almost cruel how the dance keeps you apart, switching you both again and again. But at last, as if the music itself relents, you spin straight into his hands. He catches you at the waist, steadying you with an easy grin.
Finally.
The two of you move together, spinning, clapping, and stepping in perfect time with the others, but for you, it feels like the square has melted away.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The last notes of music from the square fade as Ace guides you toward the docks. Lanterns wait in baskets, their paper thin sides glowing faintly from the torches nearby. A small wooden boat rocking gently in the water. Maximus follows close, hooves thudding against the boards, his eyes still sharp on Ace.
Ace pulled a few apples from the pouch tied to his shorts and tossed them to the horse who stiffens immediately. “Relax, I bought them,” he says, smirking.
Maximus snorts, catching one with practiced ease, and begins to chomp. The sound filled the air until Ace leaned back into the boat, grin curling wider. “Well,” he muttered, just quiet enough to think no one heard, “most of them.”
The horse freezes mid–bite, ears flicking back. His eyes widen and the apple falls to the ground as he whines at Ace with irritation.
Ace pushed off from the dock, oar dipping into the water. You clutched the side of the boat as it began to drift away from the shore. “Where are we going?”
“Best day of your life,” he said simply. “Figured you should get the best seat in the house.” His gaze swept over your face, softer than his words. “You okay?”
You bit your lip. “I’m terrified.”
His brows drew together. “Why?”
“I’ve been staring out of that window for years now. Dreaming about this moment, dreaming about how it would feel to see the lights rise in the sky. What if it’s not what I thought it would be?”
Ace kept rowing, the muscles in his arms shifting with every pull. His voice came low, steady. “Then it wasn’t the right dream.”
Your fingers curled tighter against the wood. “And if it is?”
His eyes caught yours. “That’s the best part,” he exhales with a soft smile painted upon his lips, “you get to find another one.”
You stare at him for a moment as you begin to slightly grin at his words.
The boat drifts into the open water. The kingdom behind you flickered alive with torches. Then, all at once, the first lantern is lifted into the sky. Another follows. Then hundreds. Thousands.
The world shifted. You let out a breath that trembled as the night filled with golden fire.
“All those days, watching from the windows. All those years, outside looking in.”
Your lips parted.
“All that time, never even knowing just how blind I've been.”
The lanterns lit the water like stars had fallen into the sea. Ace stopped rowing, letting the boat drift. He wasn’t watching the lanterns. His eyes were on you, reflected in the glow.
“Now I'm here, blinking in the starlight. Now I'm here, suddenly I see.”
A single lantern floated close. You leaned over, hands brushing Ace’s as you steadied it together before letting it rise back into the sky.
“Standing here, it's all so clear. I'm where I'm meant to be.”
Your chest aches with joy at the sight before you.
“And at last I see the light, and it's like the fog has lifted.
And at last I see the light, and it's like the sky is new.
And it's warm and real and bright, and the world has somehow shifted.
All at once, everything looks different. Now that I see you.”
You turned. Ace was already looking at you.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something small, setting it gently in your palm. A seashell, edges worn smooth by waves. “Picked it up years back. Thought it was nothing. Guess I was holding onto it for this.”
You blinked down at it, then at him. “Ace…”
When you looked up, he was grinning again, but softer this time.
You snatched his hat off his head and plopped it onto yours. “Kinda suits me, don’t you think?”
He tilted his head, eyes trailing over you. “Not bad. You might even pull it off better than me.” He didn’t take it back.
“All those days, chasing down a daydream. All those years, living in a blur.”
Lanterns drifted all around you now, close enough to reach. The sky above was alive with fire.
“All that time, never truly seeing things, the way they were.”
Your shoulders brush against eachother.
“Now she's here, shining in the starlight. Now he's here, suddenly I know. If she's here, it's crystal clear. I'm where I'm meant to go.”
You leaned closer, so close you could see the flecks of light in his eyes. His breath touched your skin.
“And at last I see the light, and it's like the fog has lifted.
And at last I see the light, and it's like the sky is new. And it's warm and real and bright, and the world has somehow shifted.
All at once, everything looks different. Now that I see you.
Now that I see you.”
You nearly kissed him. You wanted to. His hand touches yours, then slides up to cradle your face. For a heartbeat, it was perfect.
Then his eyes flicked over your shoulder. His body stilled.
Smoke curled against the horizon. A figure in white stood at the shore, staff gleaming even from this distance. Smoker.
Ace’s jaw clenched.
You whispered his name, but he shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, thumb brushing against your cheek. He takes his hand away from your face and grabs the oars as he begins to row the boat towards the shore, “Everything’s fine. There’s just something I’ve gotta take care of.”
Your chest squeezed, confusion tightening your breath. “Okay.”
He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
Pascal shifted on your shoulder, letting out a soft chirp. His tiny body pressed closer to your neck, as if he could shield you. You lifted a hand to comfort him, fingers brushing his back. “It’s okay,” you whispered, even though your voice cracked a little. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t.
You stayed still, the lanterns glowing above you, the seashell warm in your palm, the weight of his hat still on your head. You watched as Ace leapt from the boat, his figure already running toward the smoke curling at the edge of the kingdom.
The night had never looked so bright, or felt so heavy.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Ace’s boots hit the stone walkway with a solid thud. The smell of smoke stung his nose, familiar in a way that made his chest tighten. He slowed only when he saw him.
Smoker. White cloak billowing in the lantern glow, a trail of gray curling from his cigars like it was alive. His jaw set the second his eyes landed on Ace.
Ace lifted his hands halfway, palms out. “Listen. I’m not here to start anything. Not tonight.”
Smoker’s laugh was low and eerie. “Then you picked the wrong kingdom, Fire Fist.”
Something flickered at the edge of Ace’s vision. A blade. Tashigi stepped out from the shadows, glasses catching the lantern light. Her sword was already drawn.
Ace’s shoulders tensed. “Tch.” He could feel the fight coming, whether he wanted it or not.
The first strike came fast. Smoke lashed forward, curling like chains, while Tashigi darted in with steel. Ace ducked, flames sparking against the stone as he countered. The air shook with the clash of fire, smoke, and steel. Sparks lit the shore brighter than the lanterns drifting above the water.
Smoker’s staff slammed against the ground, smoke tightening around Ace’s arm. Tashigi’s blade sliced through the air, forcing him back. Ace answered with a wave of fire that hissed against the night.
Heat, smoke, steel. Every movement faster than the last, none of them holding back.
And then—
The shore filled with light. A burst of fire. A cloud of smoke. A blade glinting in the air.
No one could tell who had the upper hand.
The shore was quiet, the waves soft against the sand. You stepped down from the boat, Pascal perched on your shoulder, his tiny body warm against your neck. Without Ace beside you, the air felt colder, sharper, as if you had only just realized how much his presence carried a heat of its own. Like having a fire always close, without ever noticing until it was gone.
You rubbed your arms and began walking along the water, trying to steady your thoughts, when a shadow shifted in front of you. Two men stepped out from the rocks, and another from behind. Their eyes glint with something you didn’t like, something dangerous.
“Pretty thing all alone,” one muttered.
You gripped your pan tighter, forcing your voice not to tremble. “Stay back.”
The first lunged and you swung, the clang ringing in the night. He stumbled, but the other two pressed forward. You struck again, but there were too many hands reaching for you. Panic surged through you as Pascal squeaked, digging into your shoulder. You bolted, heart hammering, clutching your pan in one hand and Pascal in the other.
“Ace!” Your voice cracked as you ran, praying he would hear.
Behind you came grunts, sudden cries, and the heavy sound of fists meeting flesh. You turned just as the men crumpled one by one, and through the smoke of the fight, you saw her.
“Mother!”
You ran to her, tears springing to your eyes as she caught you, arms tight around your trembling frame. For a moment, you buried yourself in her, the fear breaking loose.
Then you pulled back, frantic. “Ace. Where’s Ace?”
She turned your head gently. Out on the water, a boat drifted away, a lone figure steering it. Even in the shadows, the silhouette was unmistakable: Ace. Beside him, a large bag sat slumped against the wood.
Your chest twisted. “What’s he doing? Where’s he going? What’s in that bag?”
Mother’s hand smoothed over your hair, her voice low, dripping with hurt. “It’s gold, darling. What else would a pirate want? He used you. All of this, every word, every smile, was just so he could get what he wanted. To sell you off.”
“No…” Your throat closed, but her words coiled around your fear like chains.
“Yes.” Her tone hardened, but her touch stayed gentle and comforting. “Pirates are liars. Thieves. Did you really believe he was different? I warned you. I told you what he was. And now he’s proven himself to be just that… vile and greedy.”
Your vision blurred, your heart aching in a way you had never known. You whispered, broken, “You were right, Mother. You were right about everything.”
“That’s my girl.” She kissed your temple, guiding you toward the path. “Let’s go home.”
You leaned into her warmth, trembling, too dazed to notice the quiet exchange behind you. The thugs who had cornered you earlier caught the small bag of gold she tossed, silent and quick, their grins sharp as they lay back into the dark. Mother’s smile lingered as she held you close, Pascal’s worried chirp going unanswered as she led you away.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER FOUR DONE. 🎉
Sorry for the delay guys, I’ve been all over the place lately.
Also when I wrote the part about them being “chest to chest” I had to sit there for a bit and ponder cuz me personally I'm lacking so that’s more like sternum to sternum in my case 💀.
Also yesterday my entire family went to see a new movie called Coolie in theatres and LEFT ME BEHIND 😭💔 how could they abandon their fav child. JK guys I actually told them to leave me cuz I had a meeting… but still, wish I went 😔.
Oh also I’ve been watching this YouTuber named Cooper Galanis lately and bro has a way with words
Almost drowned, serenaded the pirate with magic hair, caught fish like it’s a survival show, and had special cameos
DISCLAIMER: Drowning peril, injury with bleeding, emotional manipulation, and brief mentions of death and loss.
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The dark wraps around you like wet velvet. Your fingers are still curled tight around Ace’s wrist, but you can barely see your own hand in front of your face.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
He blinks.
“I promised you wouldn’t be killed, and now…” You glance at the blocked entrance, at the water inching higher. “I don’t even know if there’s a way out.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.
Then he shrugs. “Hey, you did keep your promise.”
You look up, confused.
“Technically, we weren’t murdered.” A crooked smile tugs at his lips. “We’re just maybe going to drown. Totally different.”
Your laugh comes out choked.
You both fall quiet again.
The darkness swallows everything. You can barely see more than a faint outline of his face: the freckled bridge of his nose, the shadow of his collarbone, and the tension pulling at his jaw.
Then something flickers near his hand. A small spark of flame, curling faintly around his fingertips.
It fizzles out.
You stare.
He tries again, lifting his hand, but this time the flame barely sparks before it sputters and dies. His shoulders sag.
“Ace?”
He leans back against the cold wall and exhales shakily.
“Sorry,” he mutters, then lets his head fall back. “I don’t do well around water.”
Your brows knit. “What do you mean?”
“I ate a Devil Fruit,” he says. “Fire powers, sure. But the sea hates me for it.” He lets out a faint laugh through his nose. “Thought you ate one too, but you seem to be doing better than me.”
You take a step closer, the water up to your knees now. “You can’t swim, even a little?”
“Nope.”
“Then… your powers are gone?”
“Temporarily.” His voice is thinner now. “This much water makes it hard to even move.”
You shift closer, instinctively reaching for his hand. He doesn’t stop you.
“I didn’t know,” you murmur. “You didn’t tell me it made you so weak.”
“Well, you didn’t ask.”
You roll your eyes, even as you squeeze his fingers lightly.
His breath hitches. “Hey…”
He pauses.
“What?” you ask.
“I just realized… You know my name. But I never got yours.” His head tilts a little toward you. “Kind of unfair, isn’t it?”
You blink. “Oh.”
“So?”
You hesitate.
“y/n.”
Your name echoes softly in the stone chamber, half-lost under the dripping water.
Ace goes quiet.
You wait.
“Ace?”
“I’m still here,” he says. His voice is softer than it’s ever been. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Your name,” he says. “It sounds nice.”
Your chest tightens.
He shifts closer; you are now standing knee-deep in freezing water, shoulder to shoulder.
Then quietly, so quiet you barely catch it, he adds, “If I pass out, don’t let me fall face-first into the water, alright?”
You let out a wet laugh.
“I mean it,” he mumbles. “Save the hair. Let the pirate drown with dignity.”
But your heart’s still racing.
Because the water keeps rising. And the air is getting colder. And you can’t see anything. And he’s growing weaker by the second.
You grip his arm tighter.
And then… something clicks. A flicker of memory.
The mural. The hum behind your throat when the stars glowed overhead. The song.
You close your eyes.
But first, you take a breath and lean closer to him.
“I… I think I know a way out.”
Ace doesn’t move.
Then he mutters, “As long as it doesn’t involve swimming.”
You grip your hair.
And begin to sing.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The cold presses into your bones.
Water has reached your waist now, pulling at your clothes with every movement. Pascal clings to your shoulder, tail wrapped tight around your neck like a scarf, his tiny claws pricking through the fabric.
You draw in a breath.
And then you start to sing.
Your voice trembles at first, soft and unsure, but the sound blooms into the cavern walls, echoing like a melody from a dream. Warmth tingles down your spine, spreading into the heavy strands draped over your shoulder.
Your hair begins to glow.
It’s faint at first.
A golden shimmer rippling through your hair like sunlight caught underwater. Then brighter, until the dark dissolves in soft gold light.
The glow spills across the wet stone, across Ace’s face, catching in the curve of his cheekbone and the tips of his damp hair.
He stares.
“...How is this not a Devil Fruit?” he mutters, almost to himself.
“It’s not,” you say. “It’s just… me.”
He huffs a disbelieving laugh but doesn’t question further. His eyes flick to the blocked entrance, to the smaller rocks wedged between the larger boulders. “Think we can move those?”
You shift Pascal to the crook of your neck and wade forward with Ace, each step dragging against the water’s pull. The light from your hair paints the wall ahead, revealing the mess of stone and the gaps between them.
“They’re not all big,” you murmur. “If we can get the smaller ones loose, maybe the rest will shift.”
Ace nods. “Worth a shot.”
It’s slow work. Your fingers scrape against the slick stone, nails catching, wrists aching. Ace braces his shoulder into a boulder and pushes, gritting his teeth. Water sloshes around your chests now. Pascal huddles close, eyes darting nervously.
Then movement.
One rock shifts, then another. The current pulls instantly through the opening, tugging at your legs. Ace grunts and shoves with his arm, pain flickering across his face as the rocks cut his hand, splitting it wide open.
Water submerges the both of you.
But then the boulder gives way.
Water surges through the gap, dragging you both forward. You cling to Ace’s arm, and the two of you are swept toward the opening. Pascal scrambles to the top of your head, hanging on for dear life.
The last rock breaks free, and you’re out.
You tumble into open air, water rushing around you before spitting you out into the shallow bend of a river. You hit the pebbled bank hard, coughing, gasping, hair heavy and dripping behind you.
Ace drops to his knees beside you, chest heaving. He lifts his cut hand, frowning at the blood before glancing at you again.
And then, with a strange little laugh, he says, “Your hair glows.”
You look up at him, blinking. “...You just noticed?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I noticed. I just still don’t get how it’s not a Devil Fruit.”
Pascal sneezes beside your cheek, earning a faint chortle from Ace.
Ace stumbles slightly as he begins to stand, his step faltering. You lunge forward, catching his arm.
“Hey, careful!”
He grins, but it’s thinner now. “Guess I’m not back at full strength yet.”
You glance at the faint lines of exhaustion on his face. “You should rest. I’ll take care of it.”
His smile fades into something softer. “...You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
He looks at you a second longer, and murmurs, almost too quietly:
“Thank you”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You sit on the damp pebbles, hair spread in a heavy glowing curtain around you, catching the last streaks of sunlight spilling low through the trees. The current beside you splashing over the stones, calmer now, as if nothing had just tried to drown you.
Ace flexes his injured hand once, then winces. Blood still seeps faintly from the cut where the rock caught him.
“Let me see it,” you say.
“I’ve had worse,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away when you reach for his hand.
You’re already gathering a section of your wet hair into your hands. “Seriously, it’s fine—”
“It’s not fine.” You give him a look that shuts him up instantly.
He sighs, shoulders slumping, and extends his hand toward you. The skin around the cut is jagged, rimmed in dried river silt.
You hum softly, and the golden light stirs again, brighter now under the fading sun. It slips over your hair like liquid fire, wrapping around his hand until the torn skin knits itself together and the angry red fades.
Ace watches in silence, eyes fixed on your hair. “This is getting a little repetitive, but how is this not a Devil Fruit?” he whines.
You smile faintly but say nothing, letting the glow fade until only the warm evening light remains.
He flexes his hand again, this time without a wince, then glances toward the water. “I’m gonna catch us something to eat.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.” He smirks faintly. “But I want to.”
Pascal chirps and hops from your shoulder to the pebbles, following Ace as he wades into the shallows. The river glimmers bronze under the setting sun, and you watch them go, the air smelling faintly of wet stone and pine.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Shadows stretch long across the dirt path, and the air grows cooler with each step. You can still hear the river behind you, rushing faintly.
When Ace finally stops, it is at the edge of a clearing where the ground dips slightly toward a bend in the river. The water moves slower here, glassy on the surface except for the occasional ripple.
“This’ll work,” he says, already throwing his satchel towards you.
You watch him for a moment, still half-expecting him to collapse from how pale he looked earlier. Instead, he rolls his shoulders, steps to the riverbank, and crouches low. His movements are quick and efficient—the kind of quiet skill you imagine comes from years of doing things out of necessity.
“What are you doing?” You ask, stepping closer, “Aren’t you going to create a net, perhaps? To actually catch dinner.”
“No need for that, sunshine,” he says, not even glancing up. His hand slips into the water so fast you barely register the motion before he pulls it back out, gripping a silver-scaled fish. It thrashes once before going still. He tosses it onto the pebbles and reaches for another.
Pascal blinks at the fish, then at Ace, as if he’s reconsidering every opinion he has ever formed about pirates.
You crouch near Pascal and mutter, “Show-off.”
Ace grins faintly. “You’ll thank me in ten minutes.”
…
It turns out he was wrong.
It takes fifteen minutes before the fire is built and the fish is roasting on sharpened sticks over the flames.
The smell curls into the cool air, rich and warm. You sit cross-legged on a log, Ace situated for you on the other side of the fire, hair pooling around you, your pan within arm’s reach just in case.
Ace sits down heavily, takes a bite, and lets out a muffled sound of approval. “Not bad,” he says around the food.
You open your mouth to answer, but his chewing slows. Then his eyelids droop.
“…Are you—”
Before you can finish, his head tips forward and he collapses sideways, face-planting directly into the grass. The wet, muddy patch by the fire.
You just stare for a moment.
“Ace?”
“ACE,” you yell as you frantically run to his side.
“Oh no, oh no, I shouldn’t have let him go back into the water,” you exclaim as you begin shaking him. “Please, Ace, I’m sorry, please wake up.”
Pascal’s eyes go wide, and he scurries over to puncture his tongue into Ace’s ear.
He jolts on the ground, and you freeze as you begin to hear a grumble of words from his face in the ground.
When he stirs again, it’s with a faint groan. He lifts his head, eyes still half-closed, bits of grass sticking to his cheek.
“Oh damn, must’ve fallen asleep,” he voices as you stare at him with irritation.
Without even thinking, he reaches toward you, catches the hem of your skirt, and wipes his face clean.
You jerk back. “Ew! That’s disgusting!”
His grin is instant, lazy with amusement. “Relax, had to get the dirt off somehow.”
“It’s not a napkin!”
“Worked fine for me.”
He laughs, not loud, but genuine, the sound curling through the quiet like the warmth of the fire. Something about it makes your chest feel tight for reasons you can’t name.
You roll your eyes and turn back to the fire, pretending to focus on the fish instead of the warmth curling in your chest. Pascal hops down to sit near the flames, his tiny body glowing in the light.
Ace takes another bite and this time manages to stay awake. After a while, he leans back on his hands, gaze tilted toward the sky where the first hints of stars colour the clouds.
“So,” he says. “What was your childhood like in that tower?”
You blink. “Quiet. Repetitive. I painted, read, cooked, cleaned, and had other hobbies too, like candle making, but all in all, it was the same routine every day.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He makes a face. “That sounds… bland.”
Your stomach twists. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“It sounds bad,” he says, not unkindly, just blunt. Then he adds, “Hey, I don’t wanna impose, but are you sure you want to go back there after all this?”
Your shoulders stiffen. “I have to. Mother says it’s for my own safety.”
He studies you for a long moment, then sits forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, I don’t want to say I understand how you feel, because I don’t. But I’ll try to.”
You glance at him, surprised.
He shifts, then moves to kneel in front of you. The firelight catches the sharp lines of his face, the warm glow turning his eyes almost homely. “You’re not weak for wanting more than four walls and a locked door.”
Your breath catches as he takes your hands gently in his. His palms are warm and rough.
“You’ve got this whole world out here,” he says quietly. “It’d be a shame if you never saw it.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The flames pop and hiss, shadows dancing across both your faces. You notice the way the light makes his hair look more gold than black, the way his lashes cast faint shadows over his cheeks.
“What about you?” you ask softly.
He hesitates, then says, “I grew up with my little brothers. Luffy… he’s a handful. And Sabo…” His voice dips. “Sabo didn’t make it.”
You squeeze his hands gently. “I’m sorry.”
He nods once, then forces a small smile. “Our grandpa raised us for a while. Rough man, but he meant well. I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen and set to sea. Never stopped moving.”
You tilt your head. “What about your parents?”
His jaw tightens. “My father’s dead. And I’m fine with that.”
There’s a raw edge to the words that makes you pause.
He lets out a quiet breath, shakes his head like he’s pushing the thought away, and looks at you again.
“Point is, I know what it’s like to live in a place that doesn’t feel like yours. If you want to go back to that tower, I’ll take you. But I think you deserve more than that.”
The fire crackles between you. You hold his gaze, your hands still resting in his, and for a moment the rest of the world feels very far away.
Little sparks travel into the air, and the breeze slightly picks up. Ace doesn’t let go of your hands.
“Luffy always wanted to be a pirate as well,” he says suddenly, like the thought had been sitting on his tongue for a while. “Since we were kids. He used to talk about it every day. Said he was gonna be King of the Pirates, no matter what anyone thought.”
You smile faintly. “Sounds stubborn.”
“He’s the most stubborn person I know,” Ace says, and there’s pride in his voice. “He never quits. Even when he should.” He pauses, glancing at the flames. “I worry about him sometimes. But then I remember… he’s stronger than I ever was at his age.”
You tilt your head. “Stronger than you? That’s hard to believe.”
Ace laughs softly, the sound warm and unguarded.
“It’s true. Luffy’s got this way of making people believe in him. He doesn’t overthink. Just jumps headfirst and trusts it’ll work out. Drives me crazy, but…”
His voice fades for a moment, and when he looks back at you, there’s a softness in his expression that makes your stomach twist.
“It’s part of why I’m still here. People like that… you don’t walk away from them.”
Something in your chest tightens, though you can’t name exactly what it is.
The dancing flames flicker, throwing shadows across the sharp planes of his face. He studies you for a moment longer before turning his head toward the ground with a boyish grin.
“Guessing I’m the first pirate you’ve ever met,” he says.
You huff a quiet laugh. “First person I’ve met outside the tower, period.”
His grin fades into something softer. “Then I’m honoured.”
The words land heavier than you expect. You look down at your hands, half-hoping he can’t see the warmth creeping up your neck.
His fingers are still curled around yours, palms warm against your skin. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You think about the ridiculousness of the past two days: meeting him, running from guards, almost drowning, and yet, somehow, sitting here with him feels… safe.
Ace shifts a little closer, the warm light catching the curve of his smile. “Y’know… I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you either.”
Your breath catches. “Is that a compliment?”
He grins. “You can take it that way if you want.”
Pascal flicks his tail from his spot on the log beside you, like he’s unimpressed with this sudden quiet. But you can’t stop staring at Ace, and he’s doing the same.
The crackle of wood burning fills the silence. He doesn’t break your gaze until a faint breeze rustles through the trees, and then he finally sits beside you, still watching you out of the corner of his eye, and one hand still holding your own.
You think you should say something, but the words stick. The only thing you know is that you don’t want this moment to end.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Ace pushes himself up from where he’s sitting, gently squeezing your hand before letting go to brush his palms on his shorts.
“Stay here. I’m gonna grab something.”
You arch a brow. “Something?”
He smirks, just a little too pleased with himself. “You’ll see.”
He turns and disappears down the narrow path, whistling under his breath like he has not a single care in the world. You watch him go, warmth pooling low in your chest despite yourself. Pascal shifts on your shoulder, tilting his head in that way that feels far too knowing.
“Shut up,” you murmur, nudging him gently.
You’re still smiling to yourself when a voice purrs from behind you.
“Well. I thought he’d never leave.”
The sound freezes your breath. Slowly, you turn.
“Mother?”
She steps forward from the treeline, her black cloak drawn close, the edges swallowed in shadow. Her eyes catch the firelight, glittering with something sharp.
“Hello, dear.”
Your throat tightens. “How… how did you find me?”
“Oh, it was easy,” she says lightly, her smile not reaching her eyes. “I just followed the sound of utter betrayal.”
“Mother—”
“We’re going home.” Her voice is calm but leaves no room for argument.
“No, you don’t understand. I’ve been on the most incredible journey. I’ve seen so much, learned so much—”
“And met someone,” she finishes smoothly. “Yes. The infamous pirate with a price on his head. I’m thrilled.”
You shake your head quickly. “It’s not… You don’t know him—”
“I know enough,” she says, her voice tightening. “And I know exactly what men like him do. He’s a pirate. That’s not a fairy tale, it’s a warning.”
Your jaw sets. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
Her lips curl faintly, almost pitying. “You think that now, child. But the outside world isn’t kind, and I wasn’t lying when I told you it’s dangerous. When he gets bored of you, or when he wants something else, he’ll leave. Or worse, he’ll remember that pirates don’t get by on kindness. Greed will win, like it always does. And then you’ll find yourself sold to the highest bidder before you even realize what’s happened.”
Your stomach knots hard. “No. He wouldn’t do that.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You’re sure? Tell me, what do you really know about him? You’ve known him for what, two days? He’s lived his whole life on lies and lawlessness. That’s who he is.”
You swallow, trying to push away the doubt curling in the edges of your mind. “He’s different.”
She studies you for a long moment, the firelight catching the faintest twitch of her mouth. “Well. I can see your mind’s made up.”
Somewhere in the distance, you hear the crunch of boots against dirt. Ace is coming back.
Gothel takes a step backward, letting the shadows wrap around her like a second skin. “Don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart. All I ever wanted was to protect you.”
Her eyes linger on you one last time, sharp and unreadable, before she disappears into the trees. The rustle of leaves swallows her completely, leaving only the fire’s crackle and the faint breeze through the grass.
Pascal creeps closer on your shoulder, his tiny claws brushing your collar as if to anchor you.
The footsteps draw nearer. You barely have time to steady your breathing before Ace emerges from the path, something in his hand, that small cocky smile tugging at his mouth like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You try to focus on the fire instead of the unease creeping in. Mother’s words had dripped with poison, warning you that pirates were greedy, that they only stayed until boredom set in or there was something to gain. That Ace would run off without you one day or, worse, sell you off if it meant more coin in his pocket.
You shake your head. No. He wouldn’t.
Still, your stomach feels unsettled, the silence around you too loud. Her voice clings to the edges of your thoughts like burrs in cloth, and no matter how much you try to shake them off, the barbs stay hooked. You tell yourself she’s wrong. You tell yourself you know him. But the doubt feels heavier than the river water ever did.
Footsteps crunch over dirt. You look up and see him returning, a grin tugging at his mouth. He’s holding something cupped in one hand, careful, like it’s fragile.
He drops into a crouch in front of you.
“Did something happen? Are you alright?”
You shake your head, “Yes, sorry, lost in thought.”
“I see,” he says as he looks at his hands giddily.
He opens his palm. Inside sits a small wildflower, white petals tipped with gold.
“It reminded me of your hair,” he says.
The words land like a stone in your chest. You reach out, take it gently, and find his eyes already on yours. “Thank you,” you say softly.
“Don’t mention it,” Ace says, leaning back on his heels and crossing his arms over his knees. “I figured you could use something that isn’t mud and tree bark.” His grin is easy, but his gaze lingers, sweeping over your face in a way that makes you look away.
Pascal hops down to investigate the flower, sniffing at it like he’s the judge of all things worth keeping. Ace chuckles. “What do you think, Pascal? Pretty good find, huh?”
Pascal flicks his tail in approval.
“Oh, and the flower too,” he smirks as he tilts his head to see your face.
You tuck the flower behind your ear, feeling a little foolish for how warm your cheeks are.
Ace leans forward again, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of smoke on him.
“Y’know, Goldi, you’re easy to read.”
You blink. “I am not.”
He straightens up, his smirk deepening. “Sure you are, y/n.” The way he says your name is softer than the nickname, and it does something strange to your pulse.
He sits beside you, shoulder brushing yours, and stares into the fire. “So, what’s got you all quiet? You’re usually ready to argue with me about something.”
You hesitate, Mother’s voice replaying in your head. “Just… thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
That earns him a faint laugh, and you glance at him again. His eyes catch the campfire, glowing warm amber, his smile softer now.
He doesn’t press for more. Instead, he pulls a stick from the fire where another fish is roasting and holds it out to you. “Eat. Before you start wasting away.”
You take it, fingers brushing his. It’s a small touch, but neither of you moves away right away.
For a moment, the warnings in your head fade, replaced by the sound of the river nearby, the soft crackle of the wood, and the steady presence beside you.
Ace shifts slightly, turning toward you. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Any chance I’m gonna get super strength in my hand after that whole healing thing? Because I’m not gonna lie, that would be stupendous.” His grin turns teasing. “Superhuman good looks—I was born with those. But superhuman strength? Imagine the possibilities.”
You roll your eyes, hiding the way your lips curve. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But you’re smiling.”
You bite back the urge to tell him why. He doesn’t need to know that his ridiculousness makes it harder and harder to remember why you should be cautious.
The trees sing a soft tune between you, and you wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating.
You finish the last bite of fish, setting the stick aside, and notice Ace watching you with that same lazy grin.
“What?” you ask.
“Just remembering,” he says, leaning back on his elbows. “Back when we met, I asked if you snored.”
You narrow your eyes. “I told you I don’t.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
Pascal gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes from his spot near the bonfire.
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You won’t. Because I don’t.”
“Mm-hm.” He stretches, then tilts his head toward you. “If I do hear it, I’m telling everyone.”
Your laugh slips out before you can stop it. “Who exactly is ‘everyone’?”
He smirks, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”
The words leave your chest feeling strangely full. You glance away, pretending to fuss with the flower still tucked behind your ear, but the heat in your face gives you away.
Ace gets up to put out the fire with one push of his hand, grabbing his satchel and walks back.
He falls backwards to lie on the grass, folding one arm under his head. “Night, Pascal.”
Earning him a chirp.
You hesitate before stretching out beside him, and Ace sets his satchel under your head. Pascal curls up at your shoulder. The fire’s previous warmth and the soft rush of the river lull you, the uneasy voice in your head quieting as your eyes grow heavy.
He doesn’t sleep right away. Instead, he turns his head to face yours, watching your face.
“Hey,” he says.
You meet his eyes.
“If things were different… if I wasn’t… this.” He gestures vaguely, to his body. “Would you still want to be here?”
The question steals your breath.
You don’t answer. You just reach up and brush a curl of damp hair from his brow. Your fingers linger.
He exhales, barely smiling. Turning to stare up at the stars, eyes slowly shutting.
Somewhere between waking and sleep, you hear his voice again, softer this time, like it’s meant only for you.
“Night, y/n.”
You keep your eyes closed, a small smile tugging at your lips. For once, you let yourself drift without overthinking, the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you pulling you under.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Sleep claimed you before you even realized it.
Far from the quiet riverbank, in the dark edge of the forest, Mother Gothel moves without a sound, her cloak melting into the shadows.
The faint smell of smoke drifts through the trees before she sees the glow, orange and steady like a beacon. She follows it to a lantern’s light, where two figures wait. One towers over her, broad-shouldered, the smoke curling from the cigar clenched between his teeth. The other, shorter, adjusts her sword and shifts her weight, eyes sharp behind her glasses..
Smoker exhales a slow stream of smoke. “You’d better have a good reason for calling us out here.”
Tashigi frowns. “If this is some kind of false lead—”
Gothel lifts a hand, her tone smooth. “It’s no false lead. Portgas D. Ace is close. Very close.”
Smoker’s eyes narrow, the cigar burning brighter for a moment. “Then why not just tell us where and end this?”
Gothel’s lips curl, not quite a smile. “Because if you rush in now, you’ll lose him.”
Tashigi’s brow furrows. “Lose him? He’s not exactly hard to spot. A man like that—”
“You underestimate him,” Gothel cuts in. “Logia users don’t fight on your terms. He’ll burn his way out, disappear into the trees, and you’ll be left chasing smoke while he takes the girl with him.”
Smoker takes a slow drag, his voice low. “Girl?”
Gothel lets just enough tremor touch her tone. “He has someone with him. Young. Sheltered. She doesn’t understand what he is, and she won’t until it’s too late. If you attack now, she’ll get caught in the crossfire.”
Tashigi’s expression tightens. “If she’s in danger, we can protect her—”
Gothel shakes her head. “You’ll only scare her into protecting him. No, you have to be patient. Tomorrow, they’ll be at the Sun Festival to watch the lanterns. He’ll let his guard down to blend in. And when he does…”
Her eyes glitter. “That’s when you’ll have him. No escape routes. No forest to vanish into. I’ll be there, watching. I’ll give you the signal.”
Smoker studies her for a long moment, smoke curling upward in the still air. “And why help us?”
Gothel meets his gaze without flinching. “Because I want her safe. And the only way she will be is if you take him.”
Tashigi exchanges a look with Smoker. “It’s a risk,” she says quietly.
“It’s a sure thing,” Gothel corrects smoothly. “If you want him, tomorrow is the only day you’ll get him without a fight that burns half this forest, and its residents, to ash.”
Smoker exhales, the ember at the tip of his cigar flaring again. “Fine. We wait. But if you’re lying…”
“I’m not,” Gothel says simply, her voice like silk over steel. “You’ll have him tomorrow.”
She turns back toward the darkness, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth as she disappears into the trees, leaving the two Marines in the lantern glow, the plan already set.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER THREE DONE 🎉✨
Finallyyy got this one out!! I wanted to finish sooner but had to give myself a little mental schedule extension because… exams 😭📚
Heads up: chapter release days might be all over the place for now, anywhere from 3 days to a week between posts, depending on my schedule.
I really hope you guys enjoyed this one!! Huge shoutout to my lovely friend @hello-yellow-333 for editing again💛 and thank you sooo much to everyone who’s been sending me messages 🥹💌.
Special mention: @heavenlyimagine tagged me in a post by @earlgreymatchaaa, who made a list of Disney princes that would fit really well with One Piece characters 👀💭.
Sooo… should I make a Disney prince x One Piece series? Lmk what you guys think!!
A tower left behind. A tavern full of ruffians. One nervous runaway, one very hungry pirate, and way too much hair in the doorway.
DISCLAIMER: mild violence
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The sun is higher now, slipping into its full morning stretch. You’re standing in front of your mural, taking one last glance at the golden swirls painted across the stone.
Your fingers brush against the wall.
Pascal perches on your shoulder, alert and twitching.
You grip your copper pan tighter.
“I’ll come back,” you say softly, more to the tower than to the boy behind you. “Just after I see the lights.”
Ace, who’s been rummaging through his damp satchel and pretending not to listen, glances over.
“You keep saying that, but what do you mean by lights?”
You turn toward him. “The shining ones. In the sky.”
He raises a brow.
“They appear once a year,” you explain. “Every time on my birthday.”
He squints. “You mean… lanterns?”
You blink.
He waves a hand. “Oh yeah, they’re probably lanterns. They’re usually used as a part of festivals; people love that stuff. I once went to this island called Wano; they used it for their fire festival for people they’ve lost.”
You tilt your head. “I wonder why this kingdom releases them then,” you and Ace both tut your lips, hands on hips, and stare into oblivion.
“Beats me.” He shrugs, and you do the same.
“And they’re doing it tomorrow night. On my birthday.”
“Right, you did mention it before,” he mutters, then turns to look at you with a bright smile.
You smile back faintly, then walk to the corner where the metal hook juts from the ceiling. You gather your hair in one arm and toss it around the latch, securing it to the loop. It swings out the window like a glistening rope, catching the sunlight.
Ace stares at it, then shrugs, throws his satchel over his shoulder, and climbs over the sill.
You hold your breath as he begins his descent. He moves fast and agile, using wooden arrows and wedging them between the stone wall like it’s nothing. About halfway down, he pauses and looks up.
“You coming or what?”
Your heart jumps.
Pascal nudges your cheek with his tiny nose.
You step forward.
Your fingers grip your hair.
You swing your legs over the windowsill.
And then you slide.
The wind hits your face, your hair twisting in your palms as you lower yourself down, faster and faster, the stone walls zipping past. You slow just before the end, feet hovering just above the ground.
And then, finally…
You touch the grass.
It’s soft.
Cool.
Real.
Your breath catches in your throat as you crouch down, pressing your palms into the earth. The blades tickle your skin. You laugh, a full, bright sound, then gasp, breathing in deep and greedy, arms stretching toward the open sky..
“Just smell the grass! The dirt! Just like I dreamed they'd be!
Just feel that summer breeze - the way it's calling me
For like the first time ever, I'm completely free!
I could go running
And racing
And dancing
And chasing
And leaping
And bounding
Hair flying
Heart pounding
And splashing
And reeling
And finally feeling
That's when my life begins!”
After a little frolicking, reality hits like a brick. “Oh no,” you whisper. “I’m a terrible daughter.”
You began to pace in a small circle. “I shouldn’t have done this. This was a mistake. I’m awful.”
Then you freeze.
“I’m free.”
You twirl once, pan still clutched in your hand. Pascal squeaks in confusion, and Ace stares at you with the same look of perplexity.
Then you frown. “No, no, no. This isn’t right. Mother said the ground was off limits to protect me, and I’ve… I’ve betrayed her trust.”
You crouch again. Pressing your hands into the ground.
“I love dirt.”
You flop onto your back in the grass.
“This is the best worst thing I’ve ever done.”
Pascal hops down beside you and flicks his tail.
A shadow falls across your face. You look up to see Ace standing over you, arms crossed, clearly trying not to laugh.
“You always talk to yourself this much?”
You smiled up at him, eyes wide, hair spread across the grass, catching the light like it had trapped the sun.
“Yes,” you say. “Is it annoying?”
He shrugs. “Little bit.”
You blink and glare at him, heat crawling up your cheeks.
He tilts his head, expression softening. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. My little brother does it all the time. Talks to himself, talks to animals, talks to the sky… guy’s basically in conversation with the whole world.”
Your shoulders loosen a little.
Ace grins faintly. “Drives me crazy, but… it’s part of what makes him him. And you’re not a bad daughter for wanting to be free y’know, so relax. We’ll see the lanterns, and I’ll bring you back just like you asked of me, alright?”
He winks and shoots a thumbs up at you, the sun right behind him beaming, making you squint while smiling up at him.
But he’s right because for the first time in your life, you’re outside.
And no one is stopping you.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The forest smells like sun-warmed bark and wild grass.
You walk a few steps behind him, copper pan swinging loosely in your grip, hair gathered into your arms to keep it from dragging too much. Pascal peeks over your shoulder with twitchy curiosity, his tail flicking every few seconds.
The trees stretch high above, their leaves whispering as the breeze rustles through. Light filters down in gold-green flickers.
Ace doesn’t say much at first. Just move ahead with easy steps, ducking beneath low branches, glancing back once to make sure you’re still following.
“Watch your step,” he mutters as you trip over a root.
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, adjusting your grip on the pan.
“You’re holding that like it’s a weapon.”
“It is,” you reply without hesitation.
He lets out a short laugh but keeps walking.
Then something rustles sharply in the bushes to your left.
You freeze.
Pascal squeaks.
Ace turns slightly, about to speak, when you leap forward and cling to his back like a startled koala.
He stumbles.
“Wha—”
You grip him tighter.
“There’s something in the bushes,” you whisper.
He raises both eyebrows. “Yeah, forests tend to have things in them.”
“Dangerous things?”
There’s another rustle.
You press your face into his shoulder.
Ace walks two steps forward, then uses the toe of his boot to poke the bush.
A rabbit bolts out, startled by the movement, and dashes into the undergrowth.
You blink.
Ace snorts.
“Deadly,” he says. “Absolutely feral.”
You slowly slide off his back, brushing dirt off your skirt.
“I was being cautious,” you mutter.
He smirks. “Sure. The bunny had it coming.”
You walk beside him this time. The silence returns, filled only with the melody of birds and your own quiet footsteps.
A few minutes later, your eyes flick to the tattoo on his left arm.
Bold black ink curves across his skin. The letters are strange but striking.
A S C E
The S is crossed out.
And on his back, a symbol you don’t recognize spreads across his shoulder blades like flame.
You look a little too long, wondering what both could mean.
“Careful, Goldi,” he says without turning. “You’re gonna burn a hole in my arm with that stare.”
You flush. “I wasn’t—”
“Relax, I’m just teasing,” he says while snickering.
Then he stops walking.
You freeze. “What is it?”
Your fingers tighten on the handle of your pan. You step in front of him, holding it up defensively, eyes darting across the trees.
His stomach growls right on cue.
Ace blinks. Then rubs the back of his neck.
“No danger,” he says. “Just hungry.”
You lower the pan.
Then turn and give him the most disappointed stare you’ve ever managed in your life.
He grins. “What? I’m running on near-death and sunshine.”
You say nothing. Just keep walking.
Pascal chirps in agreement with your silence whilst rolling his eyes at the man.
Ace mutters something about stupid lizards.
The forest stretches ahead, thick with sun and shadow.
And somewhere, not far off, the path bends toward the river.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The woods have always felt a little too loud in the mornings. Chirping birds. Rustling leaves. The occasional snap of a twig that doesn’t quite belong.
Mother Gothel pulls her cloak tighter as she walks, eyes narrowing.
She’s never liked being out here. The forest is full of variables. Creatures. Strangers. People with questions.
Which is why she kept you far from it.
But this morning feels worse than usual. The trail she walks is not the one she carved out herself. It’s muddied. Flattened. Hoofprints press deep into the dirt, too large for any wild animal.
She stops at a curve in the path.
And sees him.
A white horse stands near a shallow stream, sniffing the ground with frantic energy. His saddle bears the golden sun sigil of Corona.
A royal guard’s horse.
Alone.
No rider.
Her stomach drops.
Maximus catches sight of her and trots forward, sniffing the air, eyes narrowed. She takes a step back.
No. No, this isn't possible. Not here. Not now.
She turns and bolts.
Branches claw at her cloak as she hurries through the brush, tripping over roots. Her breath grows ragged by the time she reaches the clearing. The tower looms up ahead. Quiet, still, just like she left it.
“Y/N?” she calls lightly. “Darling? Let down your hair.”
The tower window stays closed.
Her brows pinch, but she tries again, louder this time. “Y/N! Let down your hair, sweet girl.”
Still no answer.
She steps closer, voice sharpening. “Y/N! Let down your hair!”
Nothing.
Her basket falls from her hands. She spins, skirts rustling as she bolts to the back of the tower.
The stone entrance is still hidden behind moss and ivy, closed off to prevent you from finding an escape.
But now she’s frantic.
She claws at the greenery, fingers raw, tearing the vines away until she finds the old seam in the wall. A crack. A hinge. She shoves, and with a loud scrape, the stone shifts.
She ducks into the narrow passage, heart hammering as she climbs the winding stone staircase carved into the tower’s spine. Her breaths come sharp and shallow. Each step echoes.
She bursts into the room.
Empty.
She whirls around, frantically searching.
Books. Paintings. The bed. The mural on the wall.
But no, Y/N.
“She wouldn’t have left me. Not willingly,” she whispered.
And then she sees it.
A single piece of paper left near the window, crumpled and damp at the edges.
She lifts it.
A wanted poster.
The image shows a freckled young man with tousled hair, a cowboy hat, and a grin that sets her teeth on edge.
She stares, and for a moment, the room swims. Her breath catches. Then her eyes harden.
She curls the paper tight in her fist.
Someone’s been here.
Someone has taken y/n.
She stares at the face of the pirate.
And then at the empty room.
Her lips curl into a snarl.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The forest feels warmer now, sun rising higher through the canopy. You and Ace move quietly, your feet aching slightly from all the walking. You try not to complain. As you are technically the one who started this whole thing.
Pascal sits lazily on your shoulder, his eyes scanning every leaf and flower.
“Do you think people will stare at me?” you ask.
Ace glances at you. “Definitely.”
You glower.
“I mean, look at that hair,” he says. “It’s like dragging a waterfall!”
You stick your tongue out at him, and he laughs.
His stomach growls again, louder this time.
“I think they heard that in the village next door,” you tease.
“Good,” he says. “Maybe they’ll make me a plate before I get there.”
Then the trees part, and the path opens into a small clearing near the river.
A wooden sign hangs slightly crooked on the front of an old building. Painted above the door are cheerful yellow letters that read:
The Snuggly Duckling
A wooden swinging board with a painted yellow duck sits near the entrance.
You pause at the edge of the clearing.
“Oh,” you breathe. “This seems like a nice place. I love ducklings.”
Ace sniffs the air. “And it smells good from out here.”
He steps ahead and pushes the tavern door open, the hinges creaking with age.
You follow him in, waiting in anticipation to finally see other people and eat food somewhere other than the tower.
And the door swings shut behind you.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The door creaks open with a groan. Warm air rushes out, thick with the smell of roasting meat, wood smoke, and something sharp and fermented.
Ace steps in without hesitation.
“Finally,” he mutters. “I’m starving.”
You follow him in with slow steps, copper pan clutched tightly in both hands. Pascal shifts on your shoulder, tail flicking uneasily.
At first, the tavern seems… quiet. Too quiet. No one speaks. A few chairs scrape as figures turn in your direction.
You swallow hard and step after Ace, eyes darting to each strange face. One man near the door squints at you and mutters under his breath, “That’s a lot of hair.”
You freeze.
Another voice, lower and scratchier, chimes in from a table nearby, “Is that blood on your pan?”
Your grip tightens on the handle.
Ace doesn’t even blink. He strolls right up to the bar, giving a small nod to a man who looks like he’s stitched together entirely from old scars and muscle.
“Hey,” he says. “You serving food?”
No response.
Instead, a large man steps forward, holding a worn sheet of paper between two thick fingers.
“This you?”
Ace turns and frowns.
The man taps the wanted poster. “Sure looks like you.”
“Yeah!” Someone yelled, “Ever since this guy’s face showed up on every post in the kingdom, we've had marines sniffin' around for weeks!”
A second man snatches the paper. “That bounty could buy me a new hook.”
“I could use the money,” someone growls from behind.
“What about me? I’m broke!”
“Get back!”
The room erupts.
Chairs screech against the floor. Boots stomp. At least three men lunge at Ace at once, fists raised, voices overlapping in a tangle of greed and threats. But Ace punches right back, sending a tooth flying across the room right in front of your feet.
You let out a gasp, raise your pan, and with absolutely no plan, leap forward.
You slam the flat of your pan against the table beside you, the clang ringing through the room.
“Hey!” you shout. “Leave him alone!”
They all pause, just for a second.
You step between them and Ace, heart thudding, pan still raised. “Give me back my guide! Ruffians!”
Ace blinks behind you. Then continues to scowl as his stomach grumbles louder.
You draw a breath.
“I don’t know where I am,” you say, voice shaking but firm. “And I need him to take me to see the lanterns. Because I’ve been dreaming about them my entire life.”
No one speaks.
You lift your chin, grip steady.
“Find your humanity! Haven’t any of you ever had a dream?!”
The room stills.
And then, from somewhere near the back, a melody picks up. Low at first, then stronger.
A burly man steps forward, a flower tucked behind one ear.
“I’ve got a dream…”
You blink.
Another joins in, voice high and almost musical. “I’ve got a dream…”
And before you know it, the tavern transforms. The so-called thugs are singing. One is twirling. Another flips into a handstand. Someone with an accordion jumps up on a table.
Ace, standing beside you with his arms crossed, stares like he’s seen weirder.
Because he has.
You catch his eye.
He shrugs. “This actually feels kinda familiar.”
You smile, a breath of relief slipping out.
“Back on the Moby Dick, we party like this basically every day,” he says.
He spots a bounty poster on the wall and yells, “I TOO HAVE A DREAM, TO MAKE MY POPS KING OF THE PIRATES AND LET HIS NAME LIVE ON FOREVER!”
The crowd begins to roar, and Ace snags a goblet of beer, chugging it down and stuffing his face with all the food he could find.
Then the tavern doors crash open.
“Guards!” someone hisses.
The music cuts off.
You spin just as a hulking man behind the bar throws back a rug to reveal a trapdoor in the floor. “Down here!” he shouts.
“Go, live your dream!” a man yells as he pulls the door open.
Ace grabs you without thinking and pushes you toward the opening. Pascal scrambles to cling to your hair as you duck down.
“Thanks for everything!” You call as you disappear through the trapdoor.
“Thanks for the hospitality,” Ace says, and without warning, grabs the guy’s face and plants a kiss on his cheek.
The man freezes.
“Don’t kiss my cheek, boy!”
Ace laughs as he jumps down the trapdoor after you.
The man touches his face in stunned silence, wiping off the crumbs left from Ace’s mouth.
“...I think I liked her better,” is the last thing you hear before the door shuts.
Then darkness.
And the sound of your racing breath as you tumble into the underground passage, lights flickering on the walls, Ace takes your hand in his, laughter stuck somewhere between your throat and your chest.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The trapdoor slams shut behind you, wood creaking under your bare feet as you and Ace land in a narrow corridor.
You start to exhale, but then—
Clink.
Metal boots.
Shouts.
A familiar snort.
Ace’s head snaps up.
“No,” he mutters. “No, no, no!”
“Is that…?” you whisper.
The thundering hooves answer for you.
“Maximus,” Ace growls. “That damn horse again.”
You both spin around just in time to see the trapdoor burst open. Maximus gallops in with startling force, a group of palace guards flooding in after him.
You whip around.
More footsteps echo from ahead.
You race forward, turning a corner and crashing out into the open, onto a tall wooden structure nestled over the river. Beams crisscross beneath your feet, old planks creaking from years of weather.
Down below, two men in crisp white uniforms spot you immediately.
You gasp, pointing at the men below. “Who are they?”
Ace’s jaw tightens. “Marines. They’re after me.”
You spin as more guards swarm the upper platform.
“And them?”
He grimaces. “Also after me.”
“And him!” you add, pointing as Maximus gallops onto the platform, teeth bared.
Ace throws his arms up. “Oh, perfect. Hey, sunshine, remember how you asked who was chasing me? Well, they’re all here right now, actually.”
Without thinking, you throw your hair forward like a lasso. It hooks onto a beam across the platform and tightens. You wrap the strands around your arm, give Ace one last look, and leap.
You swing across the gap, wind rushing past your ears. Just before you land, you toss your pan behind you.
Ace catches it midair.
“What am I supposed to do with—”
CLANG!
He ducks and smacks a soldier across the helmet with it, wincing as sparks fly. The man stumbles back.
Ace narrows his eyes.
“Okay. I get it now.”
With the pan in one hand, he raises the other. His fingers flicker, and small bursts of flame spark at the tips.
But he doesn’t ignite fully.
You watch from the other side, breath caught in your throat, as he moves with sharp, controlled force. He dodges a guard, uses the pan like a shield, then flicks a fire-laced punch into another attacker’s side. It’s clear he’s holding back.
A plank breaks near his feet. He jumps.
Guards charge. Marines shout. Maximus lunges toward him, nearly knocking over a crate.
“Go left!” You yell.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Ace sprints across the upper beams and ducks under support ropes. He vaults over a barrel, but when the water from atop the creaking wooden tank splashed across his left leg, his steps faltered for half a beat.
You run to meet him, but the platform suddenly groans beneath your feet.
Too late.
The tall, wooden water container, perched precariously nearby, begins to tip.
You and Ace both stare at it.
“Oh no,” you breathe.
The tank crashes down with a roar, splitting apart. A wave of water bursts forth, slamming into the structure. The force knocks you off your feet.
“Hold on!” Ace yells.
You scramble for your hair, but there's not enough time. The currents are closing in.
But then a pair of hands grabs the rest.
You look back.
Ace has your hair gripped tight, and the pan is still dangling from his fist.
“RUN!” He shouts. “I CAN’T SWIM!”
You both lurch toward the only escape: a jagged cave carved into the side of the ravine. You rush in just as another surge of water crashes behind you.
You barely make it.
But the cave trembles. The water’s weight knocks loose a series of boulders near the entrance. You turn in time to see the rocks tumble down with a wet, echoing—
BOOM!
—blocking the exit.
Darkness wraps around you like a blanket.
Water pools quickly at your feet.
You reach out and grab Ace’s wrist, your breath shallow.
He stares at the sealed wall.
Neither of you speaks.
Not yet.
Then Ace exhales, low and steady.
“Well,” he mutters, voice barely louder than the dripping water. “This wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”
You don’t laugh. But your grip on his wrist tightens just a little.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER TWO DONE 🕯️🔥
Goodness gracious, I lowkey can’t tell if it’s been a week since I posted the first chapter, I didn’t even know today was Saturday (emphasis on was because it’s like 3 AM now 😭).
Anyway, shoutout to my super sexy editor @hello-yellow-333 🐐 my goat since September 2018 fr.
AND THANK YOU FOR THE COMMENTS AND LIKES, GUYS 🫶✨ I AM LETTING ALL THIS CLOUT GET TO MY HEAD BTW. I WILL LET THE FAME CHANGE ME.
tag list: @dumbassqueen, @demi-romantic, @that-b-word-lol, @st2arz, @ocean-mochi, @populartokyo, @kyat-kyat
A lonely girl in a tower. A pirate on the run. One crash landing, one healing song, and a frying pan to the face.
DISCLAIMER: blood, injury, a bit of panic
next ⟢
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Mother knows best.
She always said it with a smile you couldn’t quite place. The kind that curled too tightly at the edges. Like she knew something you didn’t. Like she’d swallowed the truth and tucked it behind her teeth.
But today, even her voice feels far away.
The tower is quiet, except for the soft rustle of the wind curling through the narrow window slats. You sit on the floor by your bed, knees drawn to your chest, humming softly under your breath. The ends of your hair trail across the stones, glinting faintly in the candlelight.
Another year. Another birthday to come.
You turn your head to the murals you’ve painted over the years, eyes finally landing on your latest masterpiece. You, sitting atop a tree whilst the golden lights float above you, lighting the night sky.
You glance down at Pascal, curled near your foot with his tail wrapped tight around himself. His eyes are half-lidded, but he’s still watching you. You don’t know where he came from, but he’s been with you for as long as you can remember. Quiet. Loyal. Warm. And a little silly.
You reach for your hairbrush, but something tugs at your attention. A shift in the light, so subtle it nearly slips by.
And then you see them.
Tiny golden specks rise in the distance. Shining lights.
But… they’re two days early. They’ve always appeared on your birthday, every single year. So why now?
Your heart skips.
You scramble to the window ledge, pushing the shutters open with both hands. Cool wind rushes past your cheeks.
At first, they shimmer like the lights in your paintings.
But then you blink.
They’re not floating. They’re climbing. From deep within the forest.
Those aren’t the shining lights.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You’re still at the window when it happens.
A sound cuts through the trees, low and distant at first, like thunder trapped inside a canyon. Then it builds. Sharper. Closer. You jerk back as something bright streaks through the sky beyond the forest canopy.
You blink hard. Once. Twice.
Was that... fire?
You scramble up onto the ledge again, fingers curling tight over the stone. There’s smoke rising from the edge of the woods, thick and twisting. The treetops shudder like they’ve been struck. Birds scatter into the sky, panicked and loud.
And then another flash. This time, orange and violent.
Something—no, someone—bursts through the tree line. A blur of black and red, crashing through bush and branches, moving fast.
You barely breathe. What is that?
Who is that?
They’re running, but limping, their steps uneven. Every few strides, a small explosion of flame erupts behind them, like they’re trying to cover their tracks. The fire glows red in the dusk, lighting the clearing like a warning.
You step back from the window, heart pounding.
No one ever comes here.
The clearing at the base of the tower has always been empty. It’s hidden so deep in the woods, beneath moss and vines.
But someone is in it now. And they’re getting closer.
You back away from the window fully. Your hands find your hair on instinct, pulling it close, wrapping it loosely over one shoulder like it could protect you. The candle flickers on the table, shadows dancing up the walls.
Another crash. You flinch.
You don’t know what to do. You’ve never had to hide before. There’s nowhere to run, just walls, stone, and the same air you’ve always breathed.
You glance toward the trapdoor to the attic. Useless. You wouldn’t make it in time.
So you freeze.
The world outside roars. Footsteps, heavy ones, thud against the base of the tower.
And then you hear it.
“Come on. Come on.”
A voice. Rough, low, irritated.
You press a hand to your mouth. Pascal jumps onto your shoulder, turning blue but still ready to attack if he must.
There’s a pause.
Then the sound of climbing.
Your eyes go wide.
Whoever it is, they’re scaling the tower. Not gracefully either. You hear curses, scraping boots, a muttered “This better not be empty...” and then a louder grunt of pain.
You don’t move. Your heart beats in your throat.
Closer.
He’s almost to the window.
You take a single step back, bumping into the table. The candle tips slightly, wax spilling over the edge. You grab the nearest object, your comb, then toss it aside for something heavier. A copper pan.
You clutch it like it’ll save your life.
Then a hand appears on the windowsill. Followed by the sharp rise of a shoulder, dark hair soaked and stuck to flushed skin, and a shirt half torn and splattered with soot.
He hauls himself up with a sharp wince, muttering something low and rough.
And then he’s inside.
He stumbles forward, barely catching himself on the edge of your bedframe. Smoke clings to him like a second skin, his side stained deep red. You can’t tell if it’s blood or soot.
You don’t move.
He doesn’t see you at first. His eyes are squinted, and his breathing is uneven. Like he ran through the fire.
Then he looks up.
And you’re not sure who’s more surprised.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You grip the pan tighter.
The man blinks at you. His shoulders are broad and tense, arms scratched and marked with dark soot. His skin is flushed, maybe from exertion, maybe from the heat clinging to him in waves. One of his sleeves is gone entirely. The other is soaked through.
You don’t say anything. You can’t.
Neither does he.
He stares at you like he wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. Like you’re the strangest thing he’s ever seen. Which feels unfair, considering he just exploded into your tower.
His gaze drops to your hair for a second, trailing along the strands that have curled over your feet and across the floor like threads of light.
Then he speaks.
“What the hell?”
His voice is strained.
You hold the pan up higher.
“Don’t move,” you whisper.
He blinks once. Then again.
“You’re holding a frying pan,” he says.
“Yes,” you say. “And I’ll use it.”
His brow furrows like he’s trying to decide whether to laugh or fall over. He shifts his weight forward and immediately flinches, hand flying to his side.
You see the blood now. Dark and blooming beneath his ribs.
Your eyes widen.
“You’re hurt.”
“No kidding.”
He staggers another step, drops to one knee, and then fully collapses onto the floor with a sharp exhale. His fingers twitch once. Then goes still.
You freeze.
The room is silent except for your own breathing.
Cautiously, you step toward him.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
You crouch down, one knee pressed into the stone floor. His eyes are closed, lashes dark against his cheek. His chest rises and falls, but barely. Whatever happened out there nearly broke him.
You frown. Then, hesitantly, reach forward and brush his hair from his forehead.
His skin is hot to the touch. But beneath it, you feel something else. Something wrong.
You glance toward the windowsill, then back at him. You shouldn't. Mother said…
But Mother isn’t here.
You place your hand gently near the wound and hum.
The melody begins soft, uncertain.
“Flower, gleam and glow
Let your powers shine
Make the clock reverse
Bring back what once was mine
Heal what has been hurt
Change the fates' design
Save what has been lost
Bring back what once was mine
What once was mine”
The strands of your hair begin to shimmer faintly, a soft glow blooming through them like morning light.
You place them against his side, and the glow deepens. The wound pulses. Then begins to close.
Slowly. Carefully. Until not even a faint scar remains.
You exhale shakily, pressing your hand to your chest.
It worked.
It worked on someone other than a bird, Mother, or a bruise on your own shin.
Your eyes fall to him again.
He’s breathing more easily now, but still unconscious. You should step back. You know that.
But something tugs at your memory.
Sharp teeth.
You glance at Pascal. He’s perched on the edge of the table now, head tilted. When you meet his eyes, he taps at his own mouth with his green tail.
You whisper, “Mother said they jump at you. They bite.”
Pascal stares, unamused.
You frown, then nod slowly. “Alright.”
You gently press the handle of the pan to his lip and part it just enough to peek inside.
Normal teeth.
Straight. White. Slightly uneven at the bottom. No fangs.
No threat.
You sit back on your heels, a strange wave of disappointment curling through your stomach.
He doesn’t look like a monster.
He just looks… exhausted.
You sigh and settle by the wall. Knees tucked up. Pan still in your hand.
Just in case.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You stare at him.
Still unconscious. Still breathing steadily, curled on your floor.
You glance at the window.
Panic sparks in your chest.
You rush to him, grabbing his arms. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But you need to stay put.”
He doesn’t wake.
You drag him toward the closet. It takes all your strength to wedge him in between unused blankets and clothes, limbs tucking awkwardly until the door finally creaks closed. You shove a chair underneath the handle to keep it shut.
Then you spin around and clean. Fast.
You sweep the floor where he collapsed, straighten the table, and smooth the blanket he knocked over. Pascal trails behind you, trying to help. You give him a quick nod and wipe your palms on your skirt as Pascal scurries to hide.
Right on cue, her voice rises from below.
“Y/n… oh Y/n… Let down your hair!”
You dash to the window and loop your hair over the hook, letting it tumble down.
Your heart beats fast, but not from fear this time.
You’re going to show her.
You’re going to prove you’re capable. You’re going to prove you’re ready.
When she climbs through the window, you greet her instantly. “Hi.”
She steps inside, adjusting her gloves. “My flower. You look flushed.”
“I’ve just been cleaning.”
She glances around. “Hmm. For once, it shows.” Then she laughs. “Oh, don’t be such a downer, Y/n. It’s just a joke.”
You ignore the jab. You’re too focused.
“I wanted to talk to you. About… the shining lights.”
Her face stills.
“I know what you’re going to say,” you continue quickly. “That it’s dangerous. That I’m not ready. But… what if I am?”
Her expression sharpens.
“What if I can handle myself?” you say. “What if I could go and be smart and safe and careful?”
“Y/n.”
“I’ve lived here my whole life, I’ve read every book, I know how to track the stars, and—”
“Y/n,” she snaps.
You stop.
Her voice rises. “Why will you never just listen to me?”
You flinch.
Mother steps closer. “This is why I worry. You romanticize the world. You think it’s going to love you. But it won’t. It will chew you up and spit you out, and I won’t be there to stop it.”
You don’t say anything.
The room is quiet for a long time.
Then you lower your hand, pulling it away from the chair.
“I know what I want for my birthday,” you say instead.
She arches a brow. “Oh?”
“I want white seashell paint, the same one’s you gave me last year.”
She folds her arms. “That’s a three-day trip, you know.”
“I know. But… if I can’t go see the shining lights”
She exhales sharply. But after a moment, her voice softens.
“Anything for you, my dear.”
She steps toward the window. You help her out gently, your hair slowly sliding down behind her.
Once she’s gone, you stare at the stone wall for a long time.
Then you glance at the chair still bracing the closet shut.
You didn’t show her.
You had the chance. But you didn’t.
How could you when she clearly didn’t trust you, not once, not ever?
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You didn’t sleep.
Not even a little.
You sat by the window, watching the stars rise and fall behind clouds, every muscle braced for the sound of footsteps. He didn’t move much. Just breathed deeply, jaw occasionally twitching like he was lost in a dream.
Still, you didn’t risk it.
At some point, you had taken him out of the closet and carefully wound strands of your hair around his arms and shoulders to a chair. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to keep him still. Enough to keep you safe.
Now, as the morning light begins to pour through the shutters, you watch his fingers twitch.
Then his brow creased.
Then his eyes open.
They’re sharp. Dark. Flicking fast across the room.
He tries to sit up and immediately freezes.
“What the—”
He looks down at the glowing strands wrapped around his chest and arms.
“Is this—” He pauses for a minute. “Am I tied up with hair?”
You nod slowly from across the room, still gripping the pan.
He blinks hard. Then lets out a breath that’s part disbelief, part exhausted irritation.
“Of course I am.”
You get into a steady stance and begin interrogating your current… situation. “How did you find this place? Did someone send you? Are you here to take me away?”
He blinks. “Take you away?? I didn’t even know this place existed. Anywho, do I look like a kidnapper?”
Before you can mutter a peep, he interjected, “Actually, don’t answer that.”
…
“Um, well, you were unconscious,” you say. “And injured.”
He raises an eyebrow. “So you healed me and then kidnapped me?”
“You climbed into my home.”
“Fair.”
You keep your distance. He studies you again, less dazed now. His gaze moves between your face, the pan, and the shimmering strands binding him.
Then he mutters it. Direct.
“So what freakish devil fruit did you eat?”
You blink. “What?”
He squints. “Your hair. It glows. You must’ve used it on me. I mean,” he nods towards his side, which you healed, “that’s gotta be a fruit, right?”
You stare at him. “A fruit?”
“Yeah. A devil fruit. Y’know... cursed powers, can’t swim, all that fun stuff.”
You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stares at you like you’re the weird one.
“You seriously don’t know what a devil fruit is?”
You frown. “I’ve never even seen a fruit that looked devilish.”
He leans back a little, eyebrows raised. “Right. Okay. Great. So now I’m tied up in an unnecessarily huge tower with someone who has zero idea what she’s doing.”
“I know what I’m doing,” you say, a little too fast.
“Do you?” He gestures to the faint shimmer still wrapped around his wrist. “Because this looks like a fruit to me.”
You clutch your pan again, bristling.
“I didn’t eat anything cursed.”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender. Or at least tries to, given the strands still looped around him.
“Alright. Sure. No curses. Just magical hair and mystery towers.”
He sighs and tilts his head back against the stone.
“Are you going to let me go?”
You hesitate. Then shake your head. “Not yet.”
He lets out a low grunt, mutters something under his breath, and lifts one hand just slightly.
A tiny flame flickers to life in his palm.
You gasp.
The pan clatters to the floor.
The fire dances like it’s alive, small and contained, but warm. Bright. Too bright.
“No, no, no. What is that?”
“Hey, hey!” he says quickly, and the flame vanishes with a puff of smoke. “I’m not trying to hurt you, alright? It’s just a spark. A trick.”
You stare at his now-empty hand, chest rising fast.
“Fire shouldn’t come from your skin.”
He leans forward, still bound. “Yeah? And people shouldn’t have hair this long. Guess we’re both a little weird.”
You bite your lip, heart thudding.
He watches you for a moment, eyes narrowing. Then his voice softens.
“I don’t know where I am,” he says. “I was running from people who wanted to kill me. I saw the tower and climbed. That’s it.”
You study him carefully.
He doesn’t seem like he’s lying.
But then again, how would you know?
Pascal climbs up beside you and settles near your elbow. You whisper to him without thinking.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?”
Pascal doesn’t answer, of course. But he tilts his head. Then slowly, slowly, gives the smallest shrug.
You stare at the man in the chair. His chest rises evenly now.
“I think I can trust him,” you whisper. “But how would I know?”
Your voice falls quieter.
“He’s the first stranger I’ve ever met.”
Pascal nods and points his tail towards the man, as though he was expecting you to further interrogate.
“What were you running from?” you ask.
He hesitates. “Trouble.”
“Did you… do something?”
His eyes flick to the window. “Depends who you ask.”
You stay silent.
For a moment, neither of you speak. Just two people surrounded by stone and silence and too many things they don’t understand.
Then, finally, you step forward.
Very carefully, you reach out and unwind the strands of hair from his arms. They fall loose, trailing across the floor in soft curves. He flexes his wrists but doesn’t move beyond that.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
You nod. Then crouch to pick up the pan, still keeping it between you like a shield.
He watches with something that might almost be amusement. His mouth twitches, not quite a smile.
“Do you have a name?” you ask.
He tilts his head.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
You hesitate.
“Fine,” he says, dragging his fingers through his messy hair. “It’s Ace.”
You blink. “Ace?”
“That’s what people call me. Now what’s your name, Goldilocks?”
“... what?” You questioned, confused by his nickname.
“You know goldiLOCKS, cuz you got a lot of locks.” He shrugged with a proud look plastered onto his face.
You pick up the frying pan and slam him straight in that smug face.
“Ugh, fair,” he groaned, “should’ve gone with tower girl.”
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You sit a few feet away from him now. Pascal has returned to your shoulder, his tiny claws resting gently near your collarbone. The room is quieter than it’s been all day. The wind has softened outside, brushing faintly against the window shutters.
Ace stretches his arms, rolling his wrists like he’s testing for soreness after being restrained. He’s fully awake now. Still wary. Still watching you.
You watch him too.
There’s something about him that doesn’t quite make sense. He crashed into your tower, collapsed on your floor, accused you of eating a cursed fruit, and now sits here like it’s just another morning.
You clear your throat.
His gaze flicks over. “Something wrong?”
“No,” you say quickly. “I just... I have a question.”
He sits down and leans back against the stone wall, one arm draped lazily over his knee. “That’s not cryptic at all. Go on.”
You ignore that.
“Earlier,” you begin, “I saw lights.”
“Lights?” he repeats.
You nod. “Golden ones. But they weren’t real. I thought they were... I mean, they didn’t come from the sky.”
He waits.
“They usually do, though. On my birthday.” You pause. “I’ve seen them every year for as long as I can remember. From here. Through that window.”
Ace raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt.
“I always thought they were for me,” you admit, voice soft. “Mother says they’re not. That I’m imagining it. That the world outside is too cruel to care about someone like me.”
He tilts his head. “And?”
You meet his eyes. “I want to see them. The real ones. Up close.”
He blinks. “Okay... and?”
Your stomach twists.
You bite your lip, fingers tightening around the pan's handle.
“Take me.”
His brow furrows. “What?”
“To the lights,” you say. “When they appear again. Take me to see them.”
He stares at you for a beat too long.
Then lets out a sharp breath.
“No.”
“What?”
“No way,” he says, sitting up straighter. “You want me to, what? Escort you through god knows where, with god knows who chasing me? I don’t even know where I am.”
“You said you didn’t come here on purpose,” you say quickly. “You weren’t looking for me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Then maybe it’s fate. Maybe you were meant to find this place.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to drag a tower girl into the mess I’m in.”
You frown. “I’m not just a tower girl.”
“Right,” he mutters. “You’re Goldilocks.”
You pick up the pan again.
“Okay, okay,” he raises his hands. “Kidding.”
You glance toward the damp shirt and satchel he left near your fireplace.
Something peeks out from the corner; a paper, wrinkled but still dry. You reach down, tug it free, and feel your breath catch.
A wanted poster and the bounty, huge.
You slowly turn to face him again.
He’s still sitting on the floor, fiddling with the glowing strands of your hair like they're rope made of sunlight. Then he notices the paper in your hand.
You hold it up. “Is this you?”
Ace stiffens.
The poster crinkles between your fingers. His face is printed in rough black ink, smirking.
Portgas D. Ace. Wanted. Alive. Bounty: 550,000,000.
“You’re a pirate,” you say.
He exhales through his nose. “Yeah. That’s me.”
You blink. “You’re worth a fortune.”
“I know.”
You fold the poster in half. “So I’ve decided not to turn you in.”
He tilts his head slowly. “Generous of you.”
“But,” you step closer, pan still loosely at your side, “I need something in return.”
He watches you. “What kind of something?”
You straighten your shoulders. “You’re going to take me to see the lanterns.”
He stares.
You don’t look away.
“I healed you. I could’ve left you out there to bleed. I could’ve screamed for help. But I didn’t. So now you owe me.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I just got here and I’m already in debt?”
You smile, faint but sure. “Let’s call it a fair trade.”
He lets out a long breath and leans back slightly. “Blackmail.”
“Compromise.”
You look at him. Not with annoyance this time. Something quieter. Something that feels like it’s been sitting in your chest for a long time, waiting for someone to hear it.
“I’ve never left,” you say.
“I figured.”
“I don’t know what the world looks like. Not really.”
He watches you.
“And I know it’s stupid. I know it’s dangerous. But I’ve waited every year. I’ve painted them on the wall,” you explain as you show him your mural.
“I’ve imagined what they might feel like floating all around me, glowing, close enough to touch.”
Your voice softens.
“I just want to know what they are. I want to know why they always show up on my birthday.”
Silence.
Ace sighs, dragging both hands down his face.
“You don’t even know who I am,” he mutters.
“I know you didn’t hurt me,” you say. “Even when you could’ve.”
He goes quiet again.
Then finally, he shrugs.
“Can’t promise anything.”
You straighten up. “So you’ll do it?”
He groans. Then he starts to laugh.
“Yeah, I guess I will. But you gotta promise I won’t get murdered trying, though, Goldi.”
You beam. “You won’t. I swear.”
He smiles while he mutters something under his breath, then glances sideways. “You better not snore.”
You grin harder. “I don’t.”
Pascal lets out a small chirp of disagreement.
“Traitor,” you mutter at him.
Ace watches the exchange and exhales again.
“Alright, Tower Girl. But I’m not holding your hand the whole time.”
You don’t answer. You just smile, and for the first time in your life, it doesn’t feel like the tower is holding you in.
It feels like it’s about to let you go.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
CHAPTER ONE DONE. 🕯️🫡
I was supposed to publish this last night, but then a spider showed up in my room, and I unfortunately had to evacuate and sleep in the guest bedroom for my own safety.
Anyway!! Chapter 2 should be out maybe in a week?? Depending on how busy I get with studying 🤧💔
Also, this fic was very much inspired by a post from @dumbassqueen. Thank you for the idea 🫶 hope it’s okay I tagged you! let me know if not <3
Hello everyone! Just wanted to say I’m officially starting a (hopefully) 6–7 chapter Ace x Reader story set in the Tangled universe 🏰✨
It was inspired by a post from @dumbassqueen about a Luffy x Reader Tangled AU, and honestly, it scratched my brain just right. So thank you for your service 🙏
The vibe is mostly chaotic and unserious. And just so we’re clear, yes, the reader WILL be blackmailing him. For practical reasons, of course.
I’m really excited to work on this and share it with you all soon!! 💕 Stay tuned 💫
You never thought you’d see him again. Not here. Not like this.
DISCLAIMER: Reader has a brother (or brother-like figure) mentioned in the story. Contains surgical/medical content including blood, suturing, and wound care.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
You never meant to stay here long.
This clinic was supposed to be a passing station. A quiet outpost on the edge of a war, not quite close enough to hear, but just near enough to feel. The town barely had a name. The people hardly had each other. And yet the soldiers came anyway, scattered across the coastline like driftwood, some dragging their limbs, others their pride.
You stitched what you could.
Patched what would hold.
And when night came, you lit the single lantern by the windowsill and stared out at the sea, wondering if the person you once knew still remembered your name.
The sketch sat in a tin box beneath your bed. Folded twice. The creases had nearly split the paper in half. You never meant to keep it. Not really. He gave it to you when you were both still too young to understand what leaving meant. A scribbled drawing of your face. Lopsided. Unfinished. The left eye was too big.
Still, it looked more like you than anything else had in a long time.
You pressed your thumb to the corner of the page and folded it back up.
The door rattled.
“Emergency incoming,” someone called. One of the boys from town helped carry stretchers. “From the docks.”
You stood quickly as the air shifted.
A soldier was brought in. Broad. Bloodied. Unconscious. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His temple was smeared red. His right arm hung strangely.
The three swords strapped to his side were heavy and chipped. They clanged against the stretcher frame as they laid him down.
You blinked.
And blinked again.
It wasn’t the swords that gave him away.
It was the three dangling golden earrings in his left ear. A green sash wrapped tightly around his waist. The scar along his side that had never fully healed.
“Zoro,” you whispered.
He hadn’t changed. Still sleeping like the world couldn’t touch him.
The last time you saw him, your hands were half the size they are now and covered in mud as you reached up to press a cloth against his bleeding knuckle. He said thanks like it was the hardest word in the world.
Now here he was. Bleeding into your clean sheets.
You moved on instinct, as though no time had passed since that summer spent treating him and the other boys who came limping in with scraped knees and wooden swords.
You’ve seen wounds like this before, deep enough to expose tissue, edges torn unevenly, the kind that bleeds in pulses. One look at his thigh and you know this isn’t something a bandage alone can hold.
“Get the tray,” you tell the nurse beside you. “We need to suture.”
They move quickly. You wash your hands again, pull on gloves, and begin examining the injury. It stretches down the outer thigh, deeper near the centre, with dirt and dried blood clinging to the edges. You probe gently for debris. No glass. No metal. Just torn flesh.
“Irrigation first,” you say.
Someone hands you a saline bottle and tubing. You flush the wound clean, watching the blood dilute and swirl into the basin below. He doesn’t stir. Still unconscious. Still burning up. The water flows until the worst of the grime lifts away.
You press gauze along the edge and nod. “We’ll debride. He’s not bleeding out. We’ve got time.”
With the scalpel in hand, you carefully trim away the dead tissue. The others keep the area steady. You’re fast but cautious, your motions practiced. You’ve done this before. But never on someone like this.
“Anesthetic,” you say, even though he won’t feel it now. The area around the wound is already numb from trauma, but you inject lidocaine around the borders anyway, just in case.
Next comes the needle.
You start with the inner tissue. Absorbable sutures. Vicryl, cut to length. You guide the curved needle deep, bringing the muscle layers back together, tying knots tight enough to hold but loose enough to breathe. One of the nurses counts aloud as you move.
“Five. Six. Seven.”
You nod. The inner closure is nearly done.
Then you thread the non-absorbable line. Nylon. Fine but strong. The skin must close with care. You use simple interrupted sutures, working from the bottom up, spacing each knot with precision. The edges evert just enough to promote healing. You tie off each stitch, tucking the knots away from the skin.
By the time you reach the top, your gloves are streaked with red, and your back aches from leaning over too long.
But the wound is clean. Closed. Holding.
“Dressing,” you say softly.
A nurse hands you gauze and medical tape. You layer it over the stitches, pressing gently to seal the site. Then you place a clean towel over his legs, wipe your hands on your apron, and let yourself finally breathe.
You glance at his face.
Still out cold. Chest rising. Jaw slack.
But something about the way his fingers curl near the sheath of his sword tells you he’s still fighting.
You step back, peel off your gloves, and murmur to no one in particular, “He’ll hold. Just barely.”
One of the other nurses places a hand on his head, her hands firm.
“His skin is warm. Too warm.”
Fever.
You sigh and reach for the basin. Wringing a cloth out, you place it lightly over his brow and work through the rest of his injuries in silence.
He doesn’t wake that night.
Or the next.
But the third morning, just as you finish your rounds, a groggy voice rasps out behind you.
“Where the hell am I?”
You turn slowly.
He sits up halfway, arm trembling beneath him. The fever sweat clings to his hairline. His usual scowl twists slightly in confusion.
You don’t answer at first. Just cross your arms.
“Nice to see you too,” you say.
He blinks.
You see the moment it hits him. The flicker in his eyes. Recognition, sharp and quiet.
“You.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re the girl from—”
“The clinic now,” you cut in, smoothing the edge of a bandage on his shoulder. “And before you try to leave, I should let you know you can’t even sit up without looking like you’re about to collapse.”
“I’ve been worse.”
“Not on my watch.”
He scowls harder, which you figure means he’s grateful.
You go back to your shelf and reach for a small jar of salve. Something about being near him again makes your palms itch. He’s quieter than you remember. Rougher too. War does that to people.
When you turn around again, he’s staring at the window.
“You stayed,” he mutters.
“I had nowhere else to go.”
He doesn’t reply.
You stand beside him, close enough to smell the faint scent of salt and iron still clinging to him.
There’s so much you want to ask. Why he left. Why he never came back. What he’s seen since then.
But you don’t.
Instead, you hand him a cup of water.
“Drink slowly. Your fever just broke.”
He takes it without a word. His fingers brush yours.
You don’t pull away.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Zoro doesn’t speak much after that first day. The only words you get out of him are clipped and curt, as if talking is a waste of his energy. He eats what you give him. He drinks what you tell him to. But he doesn’t thank you. Not really.
They move him to one of the quiet rooms in the back, the kind with a single bed and a shaded window that never lets in much light. His leg was sliced deep across the thigh, and the stitches are holding, but barely. He’s not allowed to walk. Not yet.
The first time you try to check the wound again, he narrows his eyes and pulls his swords closer.
“They’re not going anywhere,” you say flatly.
Zoro doesn’t respond. Just holds your gaze, watching your every move.
He hasn’t brought it up again. Not a word about recognizing you or that day years ago. But he remembers. You’re sure of it.
You don’t push it. You just clean around the edges of the wound, rewrap the bandages, and ignore the weight of his stare as best you can.
Still, the tension softens. A little. One morning, when you come in, you find him already sitting up. The sheets are half-kicked off. His arms are crossed. His eyes flick to you and back to the window.
“Sleep well?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence.
“Fine.”
You lift the kettle. “Tea?”
He shrugs.
The room is always too quiet. He doesn’t talk. You don’t talk unless necessary. But one afternoon, passing by the barracks on your way to fetch warm water, you hear his voice.
“Thanks. For covering me.”
Another soldier — face wrapped in gauze, barely able to hold his cup of soup — gives a weak nod.
You stop in your tracks. You weren’t meant to hear that.
But it stays with you. The way his tone was different. Grateful. Grounded.
Later that night, you sit at your desk by candlelight, sorting herbs, still thinking about it.
Maybe you were wrong about him. Maybe he’s not just pride and stubbornness and swords.
Maybe there’s something else.
You fold your patient notes and set them aside.
Then you glance at the cot in the other room, where the swordsman you stitched back together lies staring at the ceiling, one hand resting on the hilt he keeps close even in sleep.
You don’t say anything.
But you start looking at him a little differently.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
It started with a sound. Not loud. Not sharp.
Just off.
You paused with your hand still in the basin, warm water soaking into your sleeve. The wind shifted. A murmur rolled through the trees, low and uneven. Then someone outside shouted. Not a word. Just a warning.
You dropped the cloth.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway. Then the walls shook. A dull roar rattled the windows. You moved before your mind could catch up, throwing open the window just in time to see smoke curling in the distance, near the docks.
“Shells from the cliffside,” someone yelled. “Skirmish coming in from the east.”
Another impact hit. Closer. You grabbed your satchel, fingers trembling, and ran toward the door.
But then you stopped.
He was still in the back room.
You turned around just in time to see him trying to stand.
Zoro’s hands were clenched on the edge of the bedframe, shoulders tense, jaw locked in determination. His leg was shaking. The bandage around his thigh had already started to bleed through. But he pushed anyway, teeth gritted, body braced like a dam trying to hold.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you said, breath catching.
He didn’t look at you. His gaze was fixed on the hallway.
“They’ll come through here next.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m not letting them reach the clinic.”
You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to.
Instead, you crossed the room and took his arm, pulling it around your shoulder, guiding him off the frame. He didn’t fight you. Just moved with you, weighed heavy and hot with fever.
You led him into the storage room near the back. Thick walls. No windows. A single lantern flickering near the door.
You helped him lower to the floor, breath ragged from effort. He didn’t speak. Just sat there with one hand on his sword, the other curled against his thigh.
You sat beside him, back against the same wall.
The room was still shaking slightly with each distant explosion. You could hear shouting, running, and the crack of something splitting open. But you didn’t move.
Neither did he.
He sat straight even now. Guarded. Focused. Like if he lost that posture for even a second, something might collapse.
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. The firelight softened the scar across his side. His mouth was set in a line. His eyes never moved from the door.
You pulled the blanket off the nearby shelf and wrapped it over both your shoulders. Not close enough to touch. Just enough to share the weight of the moment.
The noise faded eventually. The shouting stopped. The ground quieted.
Still, he didn’t relax.
You didn’t either.
You stayed beside him while he kept watch over nothing.
Eventually, his head tilted slightly toward yours. Not fully resting. Just close enough to feel his breath slow.
He fell asleep sitting up. Even then, his hand didn’t leave his sword.
Just before the lantern dimmed, you heard him speak.
Quiet.
Low.
“Not losing anyone this time.”
You didn’t say anything.
You just stayed there with him, eyes fixed on the floor, while the night finally settled into silence.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The clinic’s quiet most days now.
The worst of the fighting has moved farther up the coast. There are still wounded, still bandages to change and herbs to boil, but the panic’s dulled. You find yourself waking up before the bell rings. Letting the kettle steep too long. Pausing longer than needed outside the room at the end of the hall.
Zoro’s stopped scowling at everything you do.
He still doesn’t talk much. But sometimes he watches you clean the shelf across the room like he’s memorizing the movement. Sometimes his gaze lingers too long. Not unkind. Just heavy. Like your presence makes him feel something he can’t name.
He can stand now. Not for long, but longer than before. He leans against the wall by the window and squints at the horizon, like he’s waiting for someone. Or maybe trying to forget.
You bring him rice balls one afternoon. They’re not perfectly shaped. You made them in a rush. The salt on your hands stuck unevenly, and you almost dropped the second one trying to press it right.
He eats them anyway.
“Not bad,” he says, mouth full.
You raise an eyebrow. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
But his mouth twitches. Just a little. Not quite a smile. More like the idea of one.
Later, when you’re cleaning up the room, he notices the edge of something poking out from your coat pocket.
“You keep that with you?” he asks.
You follow his line of sight and realize he means the letter. Or rather, the folded piece of paper you’ve carried for years. The one with the uneven sketch. A boy’s attempt at something kind. Something to remember you by.
You don’t answer right away.
“It’s not really a letter,” you say. “Just something someone gave me. A long time ago.”
He doesn’t ask anything else. Just nods and turns back to the window.
But the next day, when you come in, there’s a sharpened blade resting on your desk.
Not one of his swords. Smaller. Older. The kind of thing someone might carry for protection. The edge is newly whetted. The handle’s wrapped in cloth.
You pick it up, unsure if it’s a mistake.
“It’s yours,” Zoro says without looking at you. “You’re the only one here who knows how to use it right.”
Your fingers close around the grip.
You should thank him.
But all you say is, “I’ll keep it safe.”
You mean it.
That night, as the lantern burns low and the quiet wraps around you both like thread, you sit at your desk and smooth the old sketch between your palms.
The ink’s faded in places. The lines are still too uneven.
But it looks like you.
And that still means something.
You glance up at the figure in the cot. Zoro’s already asleep. One hand on his stomach. The other curled near the hilt of his sword.
You don’t say goodnight.
But you don’t leave the room either.
You just stay a little longer.
And the quiet doesn’t feel quite so empty anymore.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
Zoro’s almost fully healed.
The stitches have done their work. His leg still aches when the rain comes down too hard, but the swelling has eased and the fever hasn’t returned. He’s allowed to move more now, stretch his legs, and help around the clinic if he wants.
He doesn’t offer, of course.
But one afternoon, you find him outside, crouched beside a crying child.
The little boy is maybe five, cheeks blotchy, arms scraped up. His mother works in the back of the clinic and must’ve lost track of him. You stand by the door, watching quietly.
Zoro is holding a wooden sword, or rather, the boy is gripping it with both hands while Zoro corrects his stance. Patient. Focused. He doesn’t talk much, just gestures, occasionally nudging the boy’s foot or elbow into place. The child beams. You watch his tears dry.
It’s the softest you’ve ever seen him.
Later, when you ask what that was about, he just shrugs.
“He said he wanted to protect his mom.”
You don’t say anything. Just hand him the tea you brought. He takes it without looking.
That night, sleep doesn't come easy. You lie in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking of scraped knees and quiet gestures. The wind picks up outside. You wonder if he’s awake too.
The next morning, you find him packing.
Bandages tucked into his bag. A half-loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. He doesn’t have much else.
You lean against the doorway, arms folded. “So that’s it?”
Zoro glances up. “I leave at first light.”
You nod slowly. There’s something inside you that wants to say more, but your throat stays tight.
He finishes tying the last strap. His movements are quiet. Sure.
“I figured,” you say after a pause. “You’re not the kind to linger.”
“I’m not.”
You press your nails into your palm. “Well. Try not to get gutted next time.”
He huffs something like a laugh. “No promises.”
You follow him outside. The field is still wet from last night’s rain. The grass bends beneath your steps. The air smells like turned soil and salt.
For a while, neither of you speak.
You stop by the edge of the path where the road begins again. The one that leads back into the war, back into whatever he came from.
He turns to face you and opens his mouth like he might say something else. But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches into his coat.
Then presses something into your hand.
One of his old bandages. Stained. Faded. You recognize the stitching. Your stitching.
“You made this,” he says quietly. “It held.”
You curl your fingers around the cloth.
When you look up again, he’s already walking away.
No goodbye. No glance back.
But the wind shifts. And you swear you hear him say something, too soft to catch.
You stay standing there long after he’s gone.
The bandage is warm in your palm.
The sky is just starting to break open with light.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
You don’t expect to see him again.
Not really.
Soldiers pass through. Some return with new wounds. Others don’t return at all. The clinic stays full, the war keeps crawling closer, and your hands are always busy.
But sometimes, when you step outside to hang bandages in the wind, you catch glimpses. A flash of green through the woods. A shadow that disappears when you blink. You tell yourself it’s nothing. A trick of the light. A memory trying too hard to be real.
Still, your eyes follow it.
Some nights, you sit by the window with the tin box in your lap. You unfold the sketch, smoothing out the same lines with the same careful fingers.
The left eye is still too big.
And still, it looks like you.
It’s late when the package arrives.
No knock. No name. Just a small box left by the door, tied with string and still damp from the rain.
Inside, you find a worn dog tag. Not his.
Not yours.
It belonged to your brother. The once young boy who sat beside you while drawing uneven lines, talking about ships and adventures the two of you could go on as he drew those askew eyes on paper.
Your breath catches.
Beneath the tag, there’s a torn scrap of cloth. Dark green. The edge frayed.
Tucked in the fold is a note. Only two words written in plain ink.
Found him.
You don’t cry.
Not right away.
You sit there for a long time, holding the tag in one hand and the cloth in the other, the weight of both settling into your chest.
Outside, the wind picks up.
And you smile.
You never expected a swordsman to keep a promise.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
I AM ON A ROLL GUYS. Although I really should stop starting to edit at 2 in the morning. One day or day one (neither).
A quiet café. A rainy day. And a stranger who keeps showing up when the sky turns grey.
The rain had been steady all morning. Not loud. Not angry. Just there. Persistent. Tapping on the windows like it didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t mind it. The sound settled into the walls of the café, soft and slow, threading through the clinks of cups and the muted hush of the world outside.
The oven had just started to do its magic. That scent, sweet and golden, began to spill out. Butter warming, sugar deepening, vanilla rising into the air like a secret I didn’t mind keeping. I didn’t have to look to know the cakes were rising exactly the way I wanted.
My elbows were pressed into the counter, chin in my hands, eyes half-lidded. There was nothing to rush. Just the faint jazz curling out from behind the register. The dried flowers near the window—chamomile, baby’s breath, and a little lavender—swayed in the breeze sneaking in through the cracked front door. It all felt quiet. Gentle. Like the day had exhaled.
Almost too quiet.
Sometimes I think I built this place just to disappear inside it. The walls were painted cream. I did the painting myself. The menu’s scribbled in chalk on an old board I found at a flea market, slightly crooked. I never bothered to straighten it. Didn’t want to. Nothing here’s perfect. The mugs above the espresso machine are all mismatched, chipped, faded, and too well-loved. I keep them all anyway.
I've always liked when things were a little bruised up from life; it gave a homely feel.
My life is fine. I wake up and bake, then people come in, order, and leave. I water the flowers on the sill and read books on slow days.
But there’s this feeling. Lingering. Like static in the quiet. Like something’s about to shift. Or maybe someone.
I can't name it, but it's there. Like a word stuck on the edge of my tongue. Like sugar, I can taste it but not quite place it.
Outside, the world’s grey and wet and smudged at the edges. A car slides past, tires hissing on the pavement. Across the street, a neon sign flickers half-heartedly. I stare at it until my breath fogs up the glass.
It’s not loneliness. Not exactly. Just too much space. In the room. In my head. In me.
The kitchen timer beeps, sharp and familiar, and I move without thinking. Heat hits my face as I open the oven, and there they are. Perfect cakes. Golden. Light. The kind that make you believe in small joys.
Ding.
The bell above the door rings, cutting through my thoughts, and then a voice, loud and full of sunlight, crashes into the café.
“HEY! WHAT’S THAT SMELL?”
I look up.
A young man stood in the doorway like he had just found gold. Grinning like a kid who didn't know the meaning of shame. His hair was soaked; however, his eyes were wild and bright. He looked at everything like it was new.
He stood there, dripping, eyes wide. “Smells so good!” he practically yelled again, stepping fully inside like the quiet didn’t faze him.
He didn’t ask if he could sit. Or speak softly. Or match the mood of the place.
He just was.
“What do you have?” he said, scanning the counter like it was some kind of treasure map.
Before I could answer, he grabbed a plate. My plate. The one I had just set down. He took a bite so big it should’ve been illegal.
His eyes lit up like fireworks. “WHOA! This is amazing!”
I blinked.
He was smiling at me like I had just changed his whole day. Maybe his whole week. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, casually leaning against the counter like we were old friends.
“My friend Sanji cooks for us,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He makes really good cake too. I think you’d like him. You guys could trade recipes or something.”
Then he stuck out his hand with a grin so wide it was impossible not to return it.
“I’m Monkey D. Luffy,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
His hand was warm. His grip, reckless and sure.
And for the first time in a while, the café didn’t feel so still anymore.
He took another bite like it was the first. Eyes closed. A quiet hum of satisfaction vibrated in his throat like he couldn’t hold it in.
Then, without asking, he walked over to the nearest table and sat down, legs spread out like he owned the place. The plate stayed in one hand, balanced perfectly as he kept eating. I was still behind the counter, watching him like he was a gust of wind that had broken in through the door and didn’t plan on leaving.
“Do you make other stuff?” he asked mid-chew. “Like bread? Or meat pies? Or that soft fluffy bread with the stuff inside?”
“I do,” I said slowly.
“Cool,” he said, licking his fork. “Can I have some tea too?”
I hesitated. “You want... tea with cake?”
He looked at me like I’d asked him if the sky was blue. “Yeah.”
I sighed and moved toward the kettle, not sure why I was still indulging this. Maybe it was the way he made the place feel bigger, or louder, or lighter. Maybe it was the way he smiled at the flowers like they were alive.
I brought over a mug and set it down across from him. He didn’t thank me, just picked it up and drank it too hot like it didn’t matter.
“Have you ever been on a ship?” he asked.
I blinked. “No.”
“Ever left this town?”
I shook my head. “I like it here.”
“Why?”
The question was simple, but it stuck.
I didn’t answer.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. Then a pen. He spread the napkin out on the table and started drawing. Not carefully. Just fast little scribbles. Lines. Circles. Tiny stick figures with swords. A weird-looking sea monster. A sun with a crooked grin.
“This is where I’ve been,” he said.
“That doesn’t look real.”
“It’s not supposed to,” he said, holding it up proudly. “But I remember all of it.”
I leaned over the counter, looking at the messy ink. One of the stick figures had a hat like his.
“You made yourself the biggest.”
He grinned. “Well, yeah. I was the one running around the most.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
"Sooo do you live here?" He asked.
"Yes I do"
He looked around the café again, then laughed with his whole chest. “Cool! That means you get to eat cake and candy every day.”
He kept laughing, loud and bright, then added, “Chopper would love that.”
“Chopper?” I asked.
“He’s our doctor. But he’s also really small. And he eats sweets like it’s medicine or something. You’d like him. He’s super smart and gets all flustered when you say nice stuff to him. One time Sanji made him this cotton candy dessert, and he almost cried.”
He smiled to himself, shaking his head like he was remembering it.
“Is he a kid?” I asked.
“No,” Luffy said, pausing for a moment. “Well... kinda? Not really. He’s a reindeer.”
I stared.
“With a hat,” Luffy added, like that explained everything.
I didn’t say anything. I was too busy listening. Not to his words, but to how quiet everything else had gotten. Not empty quiet. Just soft.
He stood up, stretching, arms over his head. The napkin map fluttered to the floor. He didn’t pick it up.
“I’m going to bring Sanji next time,” he said, heading toward the door. “He’s better at talking fancy.”
“I like the way you talk,” I said before I could stop myself.
He turned and grinned. “Yeah? Me too.”
Then he opened the door and walked out into the rain like it didn’t bother him at all. No umbrella. No jacket. Just gone.
I stayed still, the sound of his footsteps fading into the street. I looked down at the napkin.
One of the stick figures was standing under a crooked tree with something in its hand. I couldn’t tell if it was a flag or a flower.
He was strange. No question about that.
But he was definitely something.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
The next day, the café was busier than usual. The rain continued throughout the night, leaving everything slick and shining. People came in with damp hair and umbrellas, shoes squeaking against the tile. I moved quietly behind the counter, wiping steam from the glass and restocking the small plate of lemon tarts. Jazz played softly again. The room smelled like honey and chamomile.
Then the door swung open like it had never learned how to do anything gently.
“HEY! I BROUGHT HIM!”
Luffy’s voice rang out over the hum of conversation and clinking mugs. Heads turned. A few customers were startled. I looked up just in time to see him get shoved aside by the man beside him.
Sanji, I presumed, stepped forward like he had been waiting for this moment all morning. He was tall and sharp and far too well-dressed for a place that sold cinnamon buns in chipped mugs. One hand was tucked in his coat pocket. The other reached toward me with surprising speed and grace.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, bending slightly at the waist. “You are as beautiful as the scent of warm vanilla on a winter morning.”
I blinked.
“This is the baker I told you about yesterday,” Luffy announced from behind him, clearly unbothered by the shove.
Sanji took my hand gently, lifted it, and kissed the air just above my knuckles.
“You didn’t tell me she was a lady,” he said, eyes still locked on mine.
Then he turned on Luffy so fast it almost made me flinch.
“You stormed into her peaceful café like a barbarian. Do you have any idea the kind of atmosphere you disrupted? The delicate soul of a young maiden, baking in harmony with the sound of jazz and the rain, and you just yelled at her from the door?”
Luffy scratched his head. “I just said hi.”
Sanji turned back to me, eyes soft again.
“I deeply apologize for him,” he said.
“It’s fine, honestly,” I said, trying not to smile.
“Told you she liked me,” Luffy muttered from behind him.
Sanji glared at him for a second, then turned back to me with stars in his eyes, like he had already forgotten why he was mad.
“Would you allow me the honour of trying your work?” he asked. “I am a chef myself, but I always make time to learn from the best.”
“Sure,” I said.
I served him a slice of honey sponge cake and poured another cup of tea for Luffy, who had already seated himself and was drumming his fingers on the counter. Sanji took his first bite like it was a religious experience. Then the second. Then the third.
Luffy had already finished his whole slice in the time it took Sanji to chew three bites.
They stayed for nearly an hour.
Luffy talked the whole time. He told some story about getting trapped in a barrel once, and Sanji kept shaking his head, calling him hopeless. But he listened. They both did. They asked questions. Laughed. Ate more than they probably should have. Sanji complimented everything with words I wasn’t used to hearing in a place like mine.
Eventually, they left. Sanji thanked me like I had saved his life. Luffy waved with both hands and promised they’d be back. Then the door closed behind them, and the café settled again.
That evening, after I had closed up and the light outside faded into that grey-blue stretch between day and night, I sat near the window with a cup of tea that had gone cold.
The napkin was still on the counter.
I hadn’t thrown it out. I wasn’t sure why.
The stick figures were smudged now. One of them still had that wide hat. Another looked like it might have antlers. I traced the lines with my eyes. They weren’t drawn well. Just quick and messy and alive.
I sipped the tea, bitter and too cold to enjoy.
He was strange. Both of them were. But him especially.
Still, he had returned.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
A week passed.
I kept thinking about him. Three times a day, like clockwork.
Once in the morning when I brewed the first pot of coffee. Once again when I passed the napkin he left behind, it was still smudged with crooked suns and little stick figures. And once more, right before closing, when the café lights dimmed and I remembered how loud he had been in such a quiet place.
He never came back.
The napkin was still there. Tucked under a coaster I didn’t really use. I kept telling myself I’d throw it out eventually. I didn’t.
That morning, I made spiced apple muffins. Something new. Something warm. I didn’t have a reason. I just needed something to do with my hands. The café was slow. Rain was falling again, heavier this time. The sky outside looked like it hadn’t slept. I wiped down the counters, checked the oven, and glanced at the door more than I should have.
And then it opened.
“WE CAME BACK!”
I looked up.
And stared.
Luffy stood in the doorway, soaking wet from head to toe, his grin still completely intact. But he wasn’t alone.
Clinging to his back, arms around his shoulders like a koala, was something I could only describe as... a small, blue-nosed reindeer wearing a hat.
My jaw almost hit the floor.
Chopper blinked at me, eyes huge and shining. “It smells so good in here,” he said in a tiny voice.
Behind them, a woman stepped inside, calm and dry, holding a sleek black umbrella. Long dark hair, dark eyes, and an unreadable smile that felt far too peaceful given the situation.
“I told you,” Luffy said proudly, water dripping from his clothes like it didn’t matter. “This is the bakery I was talking about.”
“You...” I looked at Chopper again, then back to Luffy. “You weren’t lying.”
Luffy tilted his head. “Why would I lie?”
Chopper slid off Luffy’s back with a plop and landed on the floor, shaking out his little limbs. “I’m not wet,” he insisted. “It’s just the rain.”
“That is what being wet is,” the woman behind them said gently.
Luffy walked straight to the counter like he hadn’t just dragged a woodland creature and a mystery woman into my café.
“I want three of those,” he said, pointing at the muffins.
Chopper scrambled after him. “Can I have one too? Wait, no, can I have two? Do you have anything with cotton candy?”
I stared at him. “You’re... real.”
Chopper puffed up. “Of course I’m real! What do I look like, a plush toy?”
“No, no, I mean... I like your hat,” I offered.
Chopper froze. Then his whole face turned red.
“O-oh, you bastard,” he stammered, wiggling in place, flailing his hooves like he didn’t know what to do with them. “You think a little compliment’s gonna butter me up? Don’t act like I’m gonna blush and get all flustered, you dummy!”
His actions didn't match his words at all, making me giggle.
I handed him a muffin before he exploded.
The woman with the umbrella approached quietly. She looked around the café with interest, taking in the shelves, the handwritten menu, and the chipped mugs. Then she smiled, soft and serene.
“It’s cozy,” she said. “Perfect for a small gathering. Or a discreet interrogation.”
I blinked.
She met my eyes. “The walls look thin. Very good for listening through.”
I nodded slowly. “Right.”
Luffy was already on his second muffin. Crumbs everywhere. I didn’t even try to stop him.
“What’s your name?” I asked, looking at her.
“Robin,” she said. “Thank you for feeding my captain. He gets cranky when he’s hungry. And impossible when he’s not.”
Luffy grinned with his mouth full.
Chopper was sitting at a table now, tiny legs swinging, muffin clutched in both hooves like it was sacred. He took a bite and immediately made a noise like he’d seen heaven.
“You guys are really something,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
Robin turned to me, eyes warm.
“You’re very calm,” she said. “Most people would have screamed when the talking reindeer walked in.”
“I’ve had weirder days,” I said.
Had I? I wasn’t sure anymore.
The bell above the door rang again. This time louder. Rushed.
“LUFFY, YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT, I TOLD YOU NOT TO RUN OFF!”
Everyone turned.
A woman stormed into the café, her orange hair clinging to her face from the rain. She looked furious. Her heels clicked against the floor like they were made for chasing people down. Her glare was locked on Luffy like she might physically launch him into space.
Then she noticed me.
“Oh. Sorry,” she said, instantly switching tones. “Didn’t mean to yell. I’m Nami. What’s your name?”
"y/n"
“Nice place,” she added, glancing around before joining the others. “Sorry again. He pissed me off.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Everyone seems to show up yelling around here.”
She slid into a seat next to Robin, snatched a piece of muffin off Luffy’s plate, and ate it without blinking.
“This is really good,” she said. “Shame we have to set out again soon.”
Chopper groaned. “I wish we could stay longer. I like this place. And the baker lady.”
Luffy nodded. “Me too.”
Then he looked at me.
And kept looking.
And kept smiling.
I stared back for a second.
Why is he still smiling?
Okay. That’s getting creepy.
“Alright,” Nami said, standing. “Let’s go before the ship floats away.”
Robin followed, folding her umbrella. Chopper waved both hooves and thanked me again. Nami said she’d be back for more muffins. Luffy didn’t move right away.
They stepped outside. The rain had eased into a soft drizzle. He stayed behind for a second longer.
Then he looked at me and said, “I’ll be back.”
And for some reason, I didn’t doubt it.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
It was raining again.
Not heavy. Just a light drizzle, soft enough that it barely tapped the windows. The kind that made the world look like it was wrapped in glass.
I was already inside. The café wasn’t open yet. Lights still off. Just the early morning grey bleeding in through the curtains and the smell of orange peel and warm milk in the air. I had started a fresh batch of something sweet, more out of habit than purpose.
It wasn’t surprising anymore. The way the rain made everything feel a little closer. A little quieter.
What was surprising was the sound of the bell.
Soft. No crash. No yelling.
Just the bell.
I turned around and saw him standing in the doorway, soaked again. Hair dripping, sandals muddy, a crooked grin already tugging at his mouth.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Just looked around like he was making sure nothing had changed. Then his eyes found mine.
“You didn’t yell this time,” I said, folding my arms.
He laughed. “Thought I’d try something new.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s unsettling.”
He grinned wider. “You like it.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.
He stepped inside fully, letting the door click shut behind him. His shirt clung to his skin, and his hair stuck to his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. He just looked around again, slower this time, like he was trying to memorize it.
The quiet stretched, but not in a bad way.
“I keep showing up when it rains,” he said, wiping his sleeve across his cheek.
“I noticed,” I said.
He walked to the counter and leaned on it with both elbows, watching me like he had all the time in the world.
“Are you happy here?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I don’t hate it,” I said.
“That’s not the same thing.”
I didn’t answer right away.
He kept watching me. Not staring this time. Just watching.
Then, simply, he asked, “Do you wanna come with us?”
I blinked.
“What?”
He shrugged. “Join the crew. Come on the ship.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah.”
I laughed once, unsure what else to do. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you bake really good cake,” he said.
“That’s all it takes?”
He tilted his head. “Pretty much.”
I looked down at my hands. Then at the empty café. The mugs I never threw out. The napkin still tucked beneath the coaster. The way the morning light touched everything, like it already knew I might not be here tomorrow.
He waited.
Not impatient. Just open.
I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it was the way he always came with the rain. Maybe it was the quiet. Or the fact that for once, nothing felt too loud in my head.
“Okay,” I said.
His grin spread like the sun.
I grabbed a coat. Wrapped a few things in a bag. Flipped the sign to closed.
We stepped outside together. The rain felt soft on my skin.
He didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t have to.
And just like that, I left the door unlocked behind me.
𓆉𓆉︎𓆉
Hope you guys like my first ever fanfic! I’ve been wanting to write something for so long, and I’m so happy I finally did. Thanks for being here 💖
