The port town was buzzing with life that night—merchants closing stalls, sailors drinking too loud, lanterns flickering against the sea breeze. You spotted him right away.
Tall, broad-shouldered, freckled skin catching the light from the streetlamps. He leaned against a wall outside the tavern, arms crossed, a faint grin tugging at his lips as if he already knew every joke in the world.
You almost walked past—he looked too… untouchable. But something about him pulled you in. That warmth in his smile. That fire in his eyes.
Before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and walked straight up to him.
He raised an eyebrow when he noticed you coming. “Hm?” His voice was low, lazy, and curious.
You stopped in front of him, hands tightening at your sides before blurting it out. “Would you… like to get dinner with me? Or… maybe just hang out?”
Ace blinked. For a second, you thought you’d embarrassed yourself. But then he laughed—bright and surprised.
“You’re serious?” He tilted his head, grin spreading wider, freckles catching in the lantern glow. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re handsome,” you shot back, heat rising to your cheeks but refusing to back down.
That caught him. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly flustered despite the easy grin. “Heh. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.” He looked at you again, longer this time, and his grin softened. “You’re pretty bold, y’know that?”
You smirked, crossing your arms. “So? Are you saying yes?”
Ace chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Dinner sounds good.”
He pushed himself off the wall, towering just a bit closer than you’d expected, warmth radiating from him. “But fair warning—” his eyes glinted mischievously—“I eat a lot. You sure you can afford to take me out?”
You rolled your eyes, laughing nervously. “I didn’t say I was paying.”
Ace grinned, throwing his head back in laughter. “You’re funny, too. Alright, dinner it is. Lead the way.”
And just like that, the two of you slipped into the glow of the tavern lights, a spark already burning between you—warm, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.
The tavern smelled like roasted meat, sea salt, and spilled ale. Warm light bathed the wooden tables where sailors and merchants shouted over dice and mugs of beer.
Ace followed you in, hands shoved casually into his pockets, but his eyes darted around with that mischievous curiosity. When you pulled him to an empty table by the window, he sat opposite you with a grin that hadn’t faded since you asked him out.
“Didn’t think I’d end up on a date tonight,” he teased, leaning forward on his elbows.
“Didn’t think you’d say yes,” you shot back, scanning the menu chalked on the wall.
Ace smirked. “I mean, I usually don’t turn down free food or a pretty face.”
You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Cocky much?”
He laughed, low and bright. “Maybe a little.”
The food came quick—platters of grilled fish, roasted chicken, bowls of steaming rice, baskets of bread. And Ace… wasn’t kidding when he said he ate a lot. You watched, wide-eyed, as he demolished half the table in minutes, barely pausing to breathe between bites.
“You weren’t lying,” you said, sipping from your drink as he tore into another leg of chicken.
He swallowed, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Told you. Fire burns fast, y’know? Gotta feed it.”
There was something contagious about his energy. The way he laughed with his whole chest, the way he leaned forward when you talked, like he actually wanted to hear every word. You found yourself smiling more than you had in weeks, bantering back and forth between bites.
At one point, you teased, “So, Mr. Big Appetite, what if I couldn’t keep up with you?”
Ace leaned back, smirk playful, eyes glinting. “Then I’d share. Always gotta make sure my dinner date eats, too.” He slid one of his plates toward you, almost protective in the gesture.
You laughed, shaking your head. “Smooth.”
By the time the plates were empty and the tavern had grown rowdy with song, you leaned back in your chair, stomach full, cheeks sore from smiling. Ace stretched, arms behind his head, eyes crinkling at you.
“This was fun,” he admitted, his tone softer now, almost shy under the bravado.
You hesitated, then leaned across the table, voice low. “Run.”
“Run,” you whispered again, grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet.
Confusion melted into adrenaline as you bolted through the tavern, weaving between tables. Ace’s laughter boomed behind you, full of fire and thrill, as you both burst through the doors and into the cool night air.
You ran down the cobblestone street, hand in his, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the buildings. Neither of you looked back. Neither of you cared.
When you finally slowed, breathless and laughing, Ace bent over, hands on his knees, still grinning wide. “Hah—hah—holy crap, you’re insane!” He straightened, freckles glowing in the moonlight, eyes alight with adrenaline. “But… why the hell aren’t they chasing us?”
You smirked, catching your breath. “Because…” You pulled a folded receipt from your pocket, waving it with a flourish. “…I already paid.”
Ace’s jaw dropped. “What?!”
“I just wanted the thrill of it.” You laughed, sticking your tongue out. “You should’ve seen your face.”
For a moment, Ace just stared at you, then threw his head back in wild, loud laughter that shook his whole body. “You—oh, you’re evil. Evil!” He clutched his stomach, still laughing, eyes bright with something softer now. “God, I love that.”
You shrugged, still smirking. “Guess I like keeping things interesting.”
Ace looked at you for a long moment, grin softer now, warmer, before muttering, almost to himself: “Yeah… you really do.”
The night stretched around you, the sea breeze cool, your pulse still racing—not just from the run, but from the spark between you, blazing brighter than any fire.
The night air was cool, carrying the faint salt of the sea. The chaos of the tavern and your laughter-filled sprint had faded, replaced by the quieter sounds of the harbour: the creak of ships swaying, the occasional bark of a dog, the rhythm of waves against the docks.
Ace walked at your side, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, but he wasn’t as casual as he wanted you to think. His shoulders still buzzed with the leftover thrill of running with you, his pulse a little too fast, his grin tugging at the corner of his lips every time he glanced your way.
“You know,” he said after a while, voice low and thoughtful, “I’ve been in plenty of fights, sailed through storms, even gone a few days without food—but somehow tonight’s still the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
You chuckled softly, brushing your shoulder against his. “What, outrunning imaginary tavern guards?”
Ace shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before flicking back to you. “Nah. Sitting across from you. Laughing. Feeling… normal.”
The last word slipped out a little rougher than he meant, and he quickly scratched the back of his neck like he hadn’t just bared a piece of himself.
You caught it, though. The way his smile faltered into something vulnerable, the kind of look a person only gave when they trusted you enough to let their walls down.
“Normal’s underrated,” you murmured, tilting your head toward him.
He glanced at you then, freckles standing out like constellations under the streetlamps, and his lips tugged back into a softer smile. “Guess it is.”
For a while, you just walked in comfortable silence. The world felt quieter, smaller—like the two of you were the only ones alive in that moment. Every so often, your hands brushed as you walked, sending a jolt up your arm. Ace never pulled away, but he never quite reached for you either. He just… let the tension hang between you, warm and unspoken.
When you reached your place, he stopped a few feet from the door, rocking back slightly on his heels. His grin was there again, but weaker now, like he was covering up nerves.
“Well… guess this is you,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of hesitation he usually buried under bravado. “Thanks for tonight. Really. I—uh—” He trailed off, looking anywhere but at you, suddenly so much more awkward than the bold, fiery man who’d eaten half a tavern earlier.
You stepped closer, closing the space between you until he had no choice but to look at you. His eyes widened slightly, freckles standing out even more with the faint blush creeping across his cheeks.
“God,” you whispered, your hands coming up to cup his face, thumbs brushing along his jaw. He froze, breath caught in his throat. “You’re adorable.”
Before he could even react, you leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t wild or rushed—it was steady, lingering, warm. Ace melted into it almost instantly, hands finally slipping from his pockets to hover at your waist, uncertain but desperate to keep you close. His lips tasted faintly of the sweet rum you’d both shared, and the way he sighed against your mouth made your heart race.
When you finally pulled back, his eyes stayed half-lidded, dazed, like he couldn’t quite believe what just happened.
You grinned, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “When can I see you again, pretty boy?”
Ace’s face went scarlet, the confident smirk gone, replaced by something almost boyish. He scratched at his neck again, but his grin grew wider and wider until he was full-on laughing, nervous and exhilarated all at once.
“Tomorrow,” he said without hesitation, then added quickly, “Or, uh, tonight if you want. Or anytime. Hell, I’ll cancel everything else. Just… say the word.”
You laughed, shaking your head at his sudden rush of eagerness, but your chest warmed all the same.
“Tomorrow then,” you promised.
Ace finally let his hands settle at your waist, grounding himself in the reality that you were right there. He leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly against yours, whispering with a grin that betrayed just how gone he already was:
“Pretty boy, huh? Careful, I might get used to that.”
Morning sunlight poured over the harbor, bright and golden, and Ace was already there. He was early. Very early. He’d been pacing near your street for almost half an hour now, clutching something behind his back like it was a lifeline.
When he finally saw you step out of your home, he tried to look casual—leaning against a wall, shoulders relaxed, a grin tugging at his mouth—but his ears were red, and his free hand fidgeted restlessly.
“Hey,” he greeted, trying to sound smooth but coming off more boyish than he intended. “Sleep okay? Didn’t dream about me too much, did you?”
You raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s the line you’re going with?”
Ace’s grin faltered, and he laughed awkwardly, then suddenly thrust out what he’d been hiding. A messy bouquet of wildflowers, some stems longer than others, tied with a fraying piece of rope.
“They, uh… reminded me of you,” he said quickly, his voice softening at the edges. “Kinda all over the place, but… still beautiful.”
You blinked, taken aback by the rough sincerity of it. For a guy who could burn entire ships to ash, he looked ridiculously nervous offering flowers. You smiled, taking them carefully. “Ace… they’re perfect. Thank you.”
His blush deepened, but he quickly cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “So, uh… what do you wanna do today? I was thinking, maybe… I don’t know, a walk through town? Or the beach? Or—”
You cut in gently, eyes bright. “Picnic. Let’s have a picnic.”
Ace froze, surprised. “A picnic? Really? That’s… actually a great idea.”
“Good,” you grinned. “Because I already packed one.” You held up a basket you’d been carrying, and his jaw nearly dropped.
“You made all that… for me?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Of course,” you said simply. “Just for you.”
For a moment, Ace didn’t know what to do with himself. His chest felt tight, warm, like someone had reached in and lit a small fire inside him. Nobody ever made things just for him—not like this. He scratched his neck, laughing sheepishly. “Guess I should’ve known you’d outdo me.”
The two of you found a spot on a grassy hill just outside of town, overlooking the sea. The waves sparkled in the distance, gulls circling lazily overhead. You spread a blanket, set down the basket, and began laying out dish after dish.
Ace’s eyes widened with each one. Sandwiches. Fresh fruit. Rice balls. Even a small pie.
“Wait, wait, wait—” he said, holding up his hands as though to stop you. “You cooked all this? For me?”
You smirked. “You’re repeating yourself.”
“Because I can’t believe it!” he laughed, flopping down onto the blanket. “I thought you’d bring, like… bread. Maybe some cheese. Not a feast fit for a damn king!”
“Well,” you teased, “guess that makes you royalty for today.”
Ace grinned, but something in his eyes softened as he dug in. Each bite he took seemed to make him happier, like he wasn’t just tasting the food but also the care you’d put into it. He kept glancing at you, like he was trying to commit the whole scene to memory—the breeze in your hair, the way you smiled when you watched him eat, the sound of your laughter carrying across the hilltop.
At one point, you leaned back on your elbows, simply watching him. He was talking about his brothers—about Sabo, his family, about Luffy’s boundless energy—and his hands moved as he spoke, animated and alive. The sunlight caught on his freckles, making them glow like constellations across his skin.
You found yourself staring.
Ace noticed after a while, his words trailing off. He tilted his head, brow furrowing. “What’s wrong? Do I have food on my face or something?”
You shook your head slowly, lips curving into a smile. “No. It’s just… you’re so handsome. And your freckles—they’re beautiful.”
For once, Portgas D. Ace was speechless.
He blinked, mouth slightly open, then shut it quickly, his face heating so fast you almost swore steam was about to rise from him. He dropped his gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck, a nervous laugh slipping out.
“Y-you can’t just say stuff like that,” he muttered, voice embarrassingly soft for someone who usually roared with laughter.
“Why not?” you asked lightly. “It’s true.”
Ace looked back up at you then, and the way you were smiling—genuine, warm, without a trace of teasing—made his chest ache in the best way. He wanted to kiss you right there, surrounded by half-eaten sandwiches and sunshine, but all he managed was to reach for your hand.
His calloused fingers tangled with yours, careful, almost shy.
“I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before,” he admitted quietly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles.
“Then get used to it, pretty boy,” you replied, giving his hand a squeeze.
Ace laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief, but his grin didn’t fade for the rest of the afternoon.
The sun was beginning to sink lower, spilling warm golds and fiery oranges across the horizon. You and Ace had been picking at the last of the food for a while, conversation drifting from wild stories to comfortable silences. The blanket beneath you was warm from the afternoon sun, and the salty breeze carried the sound of the waves up the hill.
You leaned back, eyes on the horizon. “The sunset’s beautiful tonight.”
Ace hummed, lying beside you with his arms folded behind his head. “Yeah,” he said softly, but his gaze wasn’t on the sky. It was on you.
You caught him staring and felt your cheeks heat, but instead of teasing, you asked quietly, “Ace… are you leaving? Or will you be staying for a while?”
The question hung heavy between you.
Ace’s jaw clenched, his smile faltering for the first time all day. He turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at you properly. “Honestly?” His voice was rough, unsteady. “I really don’t want to leave you.”
Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. You searched his eyes, saw the conflict there—the pull of his duty, the weight of his life at sea, and the truth he couldn’t hide: that he wanted to stay, even if only for you.
Instead of pressing, you rolled onto your back, pointing up at the first few stars winking into existence in the deepening sky. “You know,” you began, voice lighter, “your freckles… they’re like constellations.”
Ace blinked, caught off guard. “My freckles?”
“Mhm.” You smiled, your eyes tracing invisible lines across the sky. “Like… think about it. The stars up there? Each one tells a story. They make patterns, maps, legends. And your freckles are the same. Every little dot is a star, and together, they make up you.”
Ace was silent, watching you as you gestured animatedly, your voice picking up in rhythm.
“They’re scattered, but perfectly so. Like if you really looked, you could trace them into something bigger—a dragon, a compass, maybe even the whole damn sea. And they’re beautiful because they don’t need to make sense to be worth staring at. Just existing… just shining there on your face is enough.”
You laughed a little, lost in your own ramble. “It’s funny, you probably think they’re just freckles, right? But to me, they’re these tiny universes, right there, like I could get lost in them forever.”
Ace’s throat tightened. He couldn’t stop staring.
“And when the sun sets,” you continued softly, “it’s like the world is trading one constellation for another. The stars in the sky, and the ones on your face.”
That’s when he felt it—the hot sting in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, tried to will it away, but the tears came anyway, sliding down his cheeks before he could stop them.
You gasped, immediately sitting up. “Ace? Oh my god—I didn’t mean to make you cry!”
Your hands cupped his face before he could protest, thumbs brushing against his skin as though you could wipe the tears away faster than they fell. Panic filled your voice. “I was just yapping, I didn’t mean—please don’t cry, I—”
Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his cheeks, kissing away each tear. One, then another, soft and deliberate, your warmth replacing the salt of his sorrow.
Ace’s breath caught. He froze, every nerve in his body on fire. Nobody had ever done something so tender for him—so achingly gentle. His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythm louder than the waves below.
By the time you pulled back, your lips still damp with his tears, he was trembling slightly, eyes wide and shining.
“See?” you whispered, smiling softly despite your nerves. “They’re gone. All better.”
Ace couldn’t stop himself. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, desperate, full of everything he couldn’t put into words. Gratitude. Relief. Longing. Love.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, still catching his breath. “You… you don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he admitted, voice raw.
You smiled, brushing your thumb over his freckles. “Maybe I do.”
He laughed shakily, the sound breaking around the edges, and pulled you closer. For the first time in a long time, Ace felt like he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.
And as the stars multiplied overhead, he decided he wanted nothing more than to keep chasing sunsets like this—with you by his side.
The blanket was still warm when the world slipped into darkness. The stars burned bright overhead, but you barely noticed them anymore—your head was pillowed against Ace’s chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat lulling you into sleep.
Ace didn’t sleep right away. He lay there for a long time, staring at the night sky with his arm wrapped protectively around you. His fire had always burned for survival, for protecting others, for proving himself—but tonight, it burned quietly, a gentle glow in his chest. For once, he felt… at peace.
Eventually, his breathing slowed. Your smaller breaths matched his rhythm, and soon both of you drifted off under the blanket of stars.
The first rays of dawn painted the horizon pink and gold. Birds stirred in the trees, and the ocean below reflected the sky like molten glass.
Ace stirred awake first, though he didn’t let on. He cracked his eyes open, found your face still tucked against his chest, then quickly shut them again. A small smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t want to ruin the moment—didn’t want to risk you pulling away.
So he lay there, pretending to sleep.
You shifted slightly, lifting your head. For a moment, you just watched him—the rise and fall of his chest, the mess of his dark hair, the freckles scattered like stardust across his skin. He looked so peaceful, so unlike the fiery, reckless pirate you’d seen last night.
Your hand lifted before you could stop yourself. Gently, you traced one freckle on his cheek, then another, connecting them like invisible lines in the sky. A quiet smile curved your lips.
“Little constellations,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely louder than the morning breeze.
You leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to one. Then another. Then another. Your lips mapped out his face the way your fingers had, trailing over his freckles, his jaw, his temple.
He didn’t move, though his chest tightened with every touch.
Your hand slid into his messy black hair, fingertips combing through the strands. He exhaled quietly, fighting not to react, not to let you know he was awake.
“You’re so beautiful, Ace,” you murmured, still kissing along his skin. “You don’t even realize it. Not just your face—though God, you are handsome—but everything about you.”
You pressed another kiss to his forehead.
“You’re worth it. You’re worth everything.”
The words struck him like lightning. His chest constricted, breath hitching as he fought to keep still. Worth. Everything. Words he’d never believed belonged to him. Words he’d never thought anyone would give him.
“And you deserve it,” you continued softly, voice trembling now with sincerity. “You deserve love, and warmth, and peace. You deserve to wake up happy. You deserve everything good this world has to offer.”
You kissed the corner of his mouth gently, your thumb brushing against his jaw.
That was it. The dam broke.
Ace’s eyes snapped open, dark and glossy with unshed tears. He caught your wrist before you could pull back, his grip firm but trembling. His heart thundered as his lips parted, and the words tumbled out raw, unpolished, but true:
Your eyes widened, the world holding still. For a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But his expression—so vulnerable, so desperate—told you otherwise.
You felt your throat tighten, your chest swell. Then you leaned down, kissing him softly, slowly, with all the tenderness you’d been pouring into your whispers.
When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breath mingling with his shaky one. “You don’t have to think, Ace,” you whispered, smiling through the tears gathering in your eyes. “You do.”
Ace let out a shaky laugh, half-sob, half-relief. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him as though he could fuse you to his very soul. For the first time in his life, the word “love” didn’t terrify him. It set him free.
And as the morning sun rose higher, Ace knew—this was only the beginning.
The island was quiet that morning, the kind of sleepy peace that only came after days of sunshine. The streets were slow to wake, fishermen repairing nets at the docks, children chasing each other barefoot through the sand.
You had dragged Ace, insisting the two of you help wash down the side of the little inn you sometimes worked at. He had groaned and complained, pretending it was too much effort, but he still hauled the buckets and carried the heavy water barrel without question.
Somewhere along the way, you’d handed him the hose.
And everything went sideways.
“Don’t you dare—!” you warned, backing up, your hands lifted like you could shield yourself.
Ace smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. “What? Me? I’d never—”
The spray of cold water hit you square in the chest.
You shrieked, laughter bubbling out even as you stumbled back, drenched from head to toe. “ACE!”
His laugh was wild, boyish, the kind that came from deep in his belly. “Oh, come on, you look great soaked!”
You lunged at him, grabbing for the hose, but he twisted away with ease, still laughing. The two of you wrestled for it, slipping on the wet ground, shrieking and giggling like children.
You snatched the nozzle out of his hands, spraying him head to toe. He gasped dramatically, staggering back like he’d been mortally wounded. “You traitor!”
“Serves you right!” you giggled, chasing him with the stream of water as he darted behind barrels, ducking and weaving, his laugh echoing through the alley.
The townsfolk passing by smiled, shaking their heads. It was impossible not to, watching you both so alive, so free.
Finally, Ace stopped running. He turned suddenly, scooping you up with one strong arm around your waist. You squealed as your feet left the ground, the hose slipping from your hands.
“Gotcha!” he crowed, spinning you in dizzying circles. Water sprayed wildly from the still-running hose, soaking you both, sparkling in the sunlight.
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt, clutching at his shoulders as he whirled you around. “Put me down!”
The world spun in a blur of blue sky, golden sun, and his grin—the freest, happiest grin you’d ever seen. And then, just as your laughter peaked, he stopped spinning, still holding you tight against his chest.
For a heartbeat, everything was still.
It wasn’t soft this time. It was dizzying, breathless, a kiss that tasted like sunlight and saltwater and laughter. His hands gripped you as though he’d never let go, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in his dripping hair.
When he finally pulled back, he was panting, his forehead pressed to yours. “God, you’re trouble,” he whispered, smiling so wide it almost hurt.
“You love it,” you shot back, breathless.
“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do.”
What neither of you noticed—at least, not at first—was the massive shadow of the Moby Dick looming just off the coast.
On its deck, Whitebeard himself stood tall, bisento in hand, watching the scene with a rare softness in his eyes. Around him, the crew had gathered, murmuring, pointing.
“Oi… is that Ace?” Marco asked, squinting.
“Sure looks like him,” Thatch grinned, arms crossed. “When’s the last time we saw him that damn happy?”
Haruta chuckled. “He’s like a kid again.”
Even Izo smiled faintly, tilting his head. “He’s smitten. Look at the way he’s holding her.”
The crew’s laughter and comments filled the deck, but none of it touched Ace. On the shore, he was still lost in you—spinning, kissing, laughing—utterly oblivious to the fact that his family had just witnessed his entire heart laid bare.
And Whitebeard, watching quietly, rumbled a low laugh. “So that’s what you’ve been hiding, eh, Ace? A little piece of happiness.”
The laughter between you and Ace was still echoing down the street, both of you breathless and dripping wet, when a familiar sound reached his ears—low voices carrying over the breeze, the faint creak of a massive ship’s hull, the unmistakable chatter of men who’d sailed together for decades.
Ace froze mid-step, still holding you half off the ground from where he’d spun you. His head snapped toward the shoreline.
There, looming tall and impossible to miss, was the Moby Dick.
And lining the rail of the ship? Dozens of faces he knew better than his own reflection. Marco with his arms crossed and that smug little smirk. Thatch doubled over laughing. Izo with his painted lips curved in sly amusement. Haruta, Jozu, Vista—the whole damn crew.
And towering over them all, Whitebeard himself, leaning casually against his bisento, watching like some proud father catching his son sneaking sweets before dinner.
You blinked at him, still catching your breath. “What? What’s wrong—”
Then you followed his gaze.
Your jaw nearly hit the ground. That ship was enormous. Larger than any vessel you’d ever seen dock in this town. The crew was endless, filling the deck with bright clothes, weapons strapped to hips, voices loud and teasing. You didn’t need Ace to tell you who they were. This was them.
Ace quickly set you down, running a hand through his soaked hair, suddenly awkward in a way you had never seen before. “Crap, crap, crap… they saw everything. Oh my god. I’m never gonna hear the end of this—”
From the deck, Marco cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Oi, Ace!” His grin was wicked. “You finally found someone who can handle your hot-headed ass, huh?”
The crew roared with laughter.
“About damn time!” Thatch hollered, elbowing Haruta. “Look at him—he’s blushing!”
Ace groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His freckles stood out even darker now with the flush spreading across his cheeks. “They’re never gonna let me live this down…”
Before he could panic himself into a hole, you reached out and took his hand.
And then, casually, like you’d done this a hundred times before, you stepped right up beside him and called out toward the ship, your voice bright and warm:
“Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet all of you—Ace talks a whole bunch about his family, so I’m glad to finally be face to face with you.”
The entire crew went silent for a beat, like they’d just been smacked with a wave of unexpected sincerity.
“Ohhh, he talks about us, does he?” Marco grinned wide, clearly delighted.
Thatch slapped the rail, laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. “Ace, you sap! No wonder you disappear off on these little ‘errands’!”
Haruta cupped their cheeks. “She’s adorable. Can we keep her?”
You laughed softly, waving a little like this was the most normal introduction in the world.
Ace, meanwhile, had gone beet red. He stared stubbornly at the ground, jaw tight, trying to hide how flustered he was.
You leaned close, whispering with a teasing smirk, “Ace… you talk about us to her that muchhhhhhh?”
“You—!” He turned on you, scooping you up from behind with his arms around your waist. You squealed, laughing as he lifted you clear off your feet again.
“Shut up before I spray you with that hose again!” he barked, trying to cover his embarrassment with bravado. But his ears were red all the way to the tips, and his grin broke through even as he threatened you.
You threw your head back, laughing so hard you could barely breathe, wriggling in his hold. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” he teased back, spinning you once, twice, until the world blurred again.
The crew on deck cheered like they were watching the best damn show at sea. Shouts of “Spin her, Ace!” and “Don’t drop her!” echoed over the water.
And through it all, Whitebeard finally let out a booming laugh that silenced everyone in an instant. His voice carried effortlessly across the waves.
“Ace,” he rumbled, deep and fond, “it does my old heart good to see you smile like that, son.”
Ace froze mid-spin, your laughter still bubbling in his arms. His breath hitched, chest tight. For all the teasing, for all the embarrassment—those words hit deeper than he could ever admit.
Slowly, Ace set you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your waist. He glanced up at the ship, swallowing hard. Then down at you, cheeks still flushed, eyes warm in a way that made your chest ache.
And though he muttered something about never living this down, he didn’t let go of you. Not even for a second.
Ace’s fingers laced tightly through yours as he finally, reluctantly, led you down the dock toward the looming Moby Dick. His embarrassment hadn’t faded, but the proud warmth in his chest—brought on by your laughter, by your easy introduction, by the way you weren’t the least bit afraid of his family—made his steps steady.
The crew was already waiting. A sea of familiar faces, each one grinning, curious, or openly scheming ways to tease him senseless.
You whispered up at him, “You look like you’re walking into an execution.” (Oops…)
Ace muttered under his breath, “It might as well be.”
You squeezed his hand. “Relax. They’re your family, right? Then they’re mine now too.”
That stopped him short. His chest squeezed painfully, but he kept moving, guiding you up the gangplank.
The moment your feet touched the deck, Marco was there, arms crossed, smirk wide.
“So this is the infamous ‘someone special’ Ace disappears for?” Marco’s eyes flicked between you and Ace. “Now I see why.”
You laughed softly, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Marco. Ace didn’t mention you were so handsome.”
Marco blinked, then laughed, genuine and bright. “Oh, I like her already.”
Ace groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”
Thatch was next, bounding forward with a wide grin and a dramatic bow. “Name’s Thatch, Fourth Division Commander, resident chef, and devastatingly good-looking pirate.”
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Funny… Ace told me the Fourth Division Commander was supposed to be useful.”
The crew exploded in laughter, half doubling over as Thatch clutched his chest in mock injury. “Oh, she’s got claws. Perfect match for Fire Fist!”
Ace grinned despite himself, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively.
Izo stepped up, perfectly poised, kimono immaculate even at sea. He gave you a graceful nod. “Izo. Don’t worry, dear, we’ll make sure Ace minds his manners with you.”
You chuckled. “If you can manage that, you deserve a medal.”
Izo’s painted lips curved in delight. “Charming. You’ve already got my vote.”
Haruta darted up next, bouncing on their heels. “So you’re the reason Ace has been smiling like an idiot!”
You laughed, a little embarrassed but flattered. Ace, meanwhile, ducked his head, his ears practically glowing red.
Even Jozu and Vista gave approving nods.
Everywhere you turned, there were warm smiles, teasing remarks, approving glances. They weren’t just tolerating you—they were embracing you as one of their own.
And then the laughter ebbed as Whitebeard himself stepped forward, towering like a mountain. His presence was overwhelming, his shadow stretching across the deck. But his eyes were warm, glimmering with pride as they landed on Ace.
“So,” Whitebeard rumbled, his voice deep enough to shake the wood beneath your feet, “this is the one who makes my son smile.”
Ace stiffened at the words, but you only bowed your head politely. “Yes, sir. Thank you for taking care of him so well. He really loves you.”
Whitebeard’s booming laugh rolled out over the ship, startling seagulls into flight. “Good answer.”
The mood was bright until Marco—tilted his head and asked casually, “So, Ace… when are you coming back to us?”
The question seemed innocent. But Ace’s entire body went rigid. His fingers tightened painfully around yours, jaw clenching. He didn’t answer.
The crew noticed immediately. The laughter died into silence. Even Whitebeard’s gaze sharpened, catching the shift in his son’s shoulders, the quiet turmoil etched across his face.
You reached up, patting Ace’s back gently, grounding him. Then, with an easy smile toward the crew, you answered for him:
Gasps of surprise flickered through the deck. Even Ace’s head whipped toward you, eyes wide.
You smiled up at him, softer now. And before he could speak, you reached up on tiptoe and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.
His breath stuttered out, the tension in his body unraveling as he leaned into the touch.
“You won’t miss me?” he asked quietly, voice raw, almost childlike in its vulnerability.
You cupped his face, your thumb brushing across his freckles. Your eyes lifted toward the twilight sky above, where the first stars were beginning to twinkle.
“Of course I will,” you murmured. “But I told you already, Ace. Your freckles are constellations. Even if you’re gone, all I have to do is look up at the stars, and there you are—burning bright, impossible to miss. You’ll always guide me home, just like they guide sailors through the night.”
The deck went silent. Every hardened pirate, every seasoned commander, every scarred warrior—stunned into quiet awe.
Because the way you spoke of him was reverent, unshakable. And the way Ace looked back at you—eyes glassy, lips parted, expression soft and undone—was enough to silence even Marco’s teasing.
For once, Fire Fist Ace wasn’t the reckless little brother of the crew, or the stubborn son desperate to prove himself. He wasn’t even a pirate.
He was just a man in love.
And his entire family saw it.
The night had stretched on far longer than you wanted. The crew was still buzzing with laughter and music on the deck of the Moby Dick, but you and Ace had wandered off to the quiet edge of the dock.
The ocean reflected the moonlight like shards of silver glass, waves lapping gently against the wood. It should have been peaceful, but the weight of what was coming pressed heavy in your chest.
Ace leaned against a post, arms crossed, head tilted toward you, but his eyes couldn’t quite meet yours. “They’re leaving soon,” he said quietly.
You nodded, hands twisting together in front of you. “I figured.”
The silence stretched, filled only by the gentle sway of the ship and the distant sound of his brothers calling out drunken jokes. Ace shifted uneasily, then finally looked at you—freckles catching the moonlight like constellations, just as you had told him before.
“I don’t want to go,” he admitted, his voice raw. “Not when I finally found… this. You.”
Your heart squeezed. Stepping closer, you rested a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “I know you have to,” you whispered. “Your family needs you. And I’d never ask you to choose between me and them.”
His jaw clenched, eyes burning with conflict. “But it feels like I’m leaving half my heart behind.”
You smiled, soft but aching. “That’s okay. Because you left the other half right here with me.” You tapped his chest lightly where your hand still rested. “So no matter how far you sail, we’ll always carry each other.”
Ace’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He leaned down suddenly, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath trembling against your lips. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”
You closed your eyes, memorizing the warmth of him, the scent of salt clinging to his skin. “Promise me something,” you murmured.
“When the nights get too long, and the sea feels endless, just look at the stars. Remember what I told you? Your freckles are constellations. If you get lost, they’ll guide you back to me. Always.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and this time you didn’t hesitate—you kissed it away, just like before. He shivered, clutching you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
Finally, reluctantly, he pulled back. His hands lingered at your waist, trembling slightly. “When can I see you again?”
You smiled through the ache in your chest. “When the stars bring you back to me, pretty boy.”
He laughed softly, brokenly, and kissed you—slow, desperate, memorizing.
And then he stepped away, walking up the gangplank, every step heavier than the last.
You stood on the dock, watching as the Moby Dick slowly pulled away. Ace never stopped looking back until the ship was a silhouette against the horizon.
Your hand lifted, brushing against your lips where his kiss still lingered.
And though the ache of separation hollowed you out, the stars above burned brighter than ever, freckles scattered across the sky.
You whispered into the night, hoping the sea would carry your words to him:
