₍^. .^₎⟆

I have too many crushes on fictional men.

[softchaosfics]

Nightmares

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x reader

Warnings: Talks of death, fear of death ,nightmares, panic attacks, hyperventilating, Angst

Summary: Aces comforts you after a nightmare of his death...(Angst ending in fluff)

Masterlist

The air felt tighter...almost impossible to breathe through.

You felt like you could barely breathe yet were also breathing too fast, the atmosphere was foggy..almost like being stuck in a cloud.

Despite being surrounded by a crowd of people you've never felt more alone..

The screams and shouts sounding like ringing in your ears..you cover your ears trying to drown out the noise, crouching down to hide away from everything. It's all too much.

Then you see it.

The dark pool of red trails to your feet..

You hesitantly look up following the trail of blood with your eyes and the fog clears up, And he's there..

"Ace?" You whisper out wanting desperately to look away but unable to move your eyes away from that horrifying site..

He's there...bleeding.. you try to rush to his side but you're frozen.

You see him reaching out for you...But you can't move..

My mind is screaming at you to run to him... It takes everything in you to move..

You can feel tears streaming down your face as you finally will your feet to start moving towards him.

But suddenly he's far away, you can't reach him...

He's gone..

"Ace!!" You shout out as you wake up shaking in your bed.

"Hey"

Your trembling holding yours knees to your chest.

"Hey"

Was it a dream..You can't think your mind is yelling at you.

"Hey!"

It's Ace sitting in front of you..was he here the whole time?

"A-ace.."

He nods wiping away your tear..wait when did you start crying..

"Hey it's okay" he starts pulling you into a hug letting you cling to him and he brushes your hair back out of your face to help you breathe.

You break down in his arms trying so hard to calm your breath yet your mind can't forget what you saw..

"You were-..you-" you struggle to get the words out as just thinking about it hurt your heart.

"Shhhh it's okay I'm right here" Ace comforts knowing how hard this is hitting you..

You weren't a person who cried without a reason so hearing you sob in your sleep woke him up immediately..

"I'm right here.." He doesn't know for sure what your nightmare was about but hearing you cry his name lets him know enough..

And for now..that's enough. He holds you in his arms till your breathing settles and eventually evens out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ace didn’t sleep.

He couldn’t. Not after last night.

He kept replaying it in his head , the way you thrashed in your sleep, the way your breath hitched like you were drowning, the way your voice cracked when you whispered his name like you were losing him.

You never cry.

Not when you get hurt.

Not when you’re exhausted.

Not even when the crew teases you.

But last night… you broke.

And Ace felt something inside him break with you.

He’d heard you before he even fully woke up ,soft, choked sobs that didn’t sound like you at all. It terrified him. Heart pounding, he found you curled in on yourself, shaking like the world was ending.

He’d never moved so fast in his life.

Now, in the morning light, you’re curled against his chest, breathing slow and even. Your fingers are still tangled in his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

Ace tightens his arms around you instinctively.

He can’t stop staring at your face,the faint tear tracks on your cheeks, the way your lashes still look damp. It makes his chest ache.

She never cries, he thinks. Not like that. Not because of me.

He brushes a thumb gently over your temple, careful not to wake you.

He remembers the way you collapsed into him, whispering his name over and over, voice breaking like you were begging him to stay alive. He remembers how small you felt in his arms, how hard you shook, how desperately you clung to him.

He’d held you tighter than he ever had before.

And now, seeing you peaceful again, he feels something fierce rise in him, protectiveness, tenderness, something deeper he doesn’t dare name yet.

You stir a little, blinking awake. The moment you realize you’re still in his arms, you tense.

“S‑sorry,” you mumble, trying to pull back. “I didn’t mean to cling. I know you probably want to get up.”

Ace’s heart twists.

He cups the back of your head and pulls you right back to his chest.

“No,” he says softly but firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You freeze, surprised.

Ace lowers his chin to rest on your hair, voice barely above a whisper.

“You scared me,” he admits. “Hearing you cry like that… I never want to hear that again. Not from you. Not like that.”

You swallow, guilt flickering in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to..”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he cuts in gently. “You had a nightmare. You were scared. And I’m glad I was there.”

You hesitate, then quietly confess, “I feel better when I’m close to you.”

Ace closes his eyes for a moment, letting the words settle in his chest like warmth spreading through him.

“Then stay close,” he murmurs. “As long as you want.”

You relax against him again, cheek pressed to his heartbeat. Ace wraps both arms around you, holding you like you’re something precious he refuses to let slip away.

He doesn’t care about breakfast. He doesn’t care about chores.

He doesn’t even care about the crew teasing him.

All he cares about is keeping you right here, safe and warm and far away from whatever nightmare stole your breath last night.

[stxxrrgirl]

firelord zuko and his royal advisor fluff⋆｡°✩

when avatar aang’s letter accidentally outs firelord zuko’s feelings for his royal advisor. oh my gosh i’ve been so obsessed with that^^ picture it’s insane i need him to look at me like that. oh and! flirty!reader kinda

“Your Highness, the Royal Advisor is—”

“Send her in, please.” The guard doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Zuko interrupts him. It’s practically routine now, he doesn’t understand why they need to ask him repeatedly, you’re there practically every night!

Not for nefarious reasons, Zuko would never do that. No, it was your duty as his advisor to talk to him and give him advice pertaining to anything he wishes to discuss, be it the weather, your favourite meals for some reason, submarine formations, or just talking, about nothing in particular, your voice always just had a calming effect on him.

“Your Highness.” You greet him as you enter his chambers, a lavish room fit for the Fire Lord indeed. This wasn’t the same chambers that previous Fire Lords had resided in, when Zuko took the throne, he had the Princely palace wing that he grew up in converted to his chambers. The place is beautiful regardless, endless sea of different shades of red that come together just perfectly.

Zuko doesn’t look up from his paperwork as you also greet and then dismiss the guard. “Zuko.” You call out softly after the door closes, leaving you two alone during this beautiful night. There were several lamps lit across the room, illuminating the entire space in a warm glow, but the moonlight tonight is strong too.

Zuko finally glances up at you at the beckoning of his name, the tip of his lips quirking up in the faintest smile. He has disregarded his royal regalia for the day, the crown and heavy robes resting on the other side of the room. Now he’s in simple, comfortable sleepwear, which does nothing to hide his well-built muscular form underneath.

It was no surprise the friendship between you and Zuko. You’ve known eachother since you were children, you weren’t particularly friends, you were just his father’s advisor’s daughter that he interacted with occasionally. The only reason he picked you to be his advisor very early into his reign was the fact that you were critical of his father’s practices since a young age, privately of course, words only Zuko would hear.

It was only after then that a friendship blossomed. You were around him so much that it was inescapable, you were his closest confidant. You knew everything this about him, you were the only person he felt truly open and comfortable around in the Fire Nation, so it also wasn’t quite the shock when Zuko realised the ache in his chest when he saw you was not only platonic or professional but romantic too.

He greets you back with a soft whisper of your name, going back to skimming through whatever the document in front of him was. Zuko cherished moments like this. When it is just the two of you alone, when you could too let your guard down with no watchful eyes and just call him ‘Zuko’.

You were too dressed in casual wear, robes and the pins and medals that are usually decorated on them missing, simple red dress with a hem that kissed the ground and you walked, like you always were during these meetings with him.

“Avatar Aang sent a letter through.” You announced as you walked across his room, one hand holding up your dress so you don’t trip on it and the other waving a piece of parchment around. Zuko is situated in the floor, on a cushion with his legs crossed, a small, short table in front of him with ink, documents and a lamp rested on it.

“Read it out for me?” Zuko asks in a low voice, sleep infecting it and making it gravelly, enough to send a chill down your spine. You feel a slight rush of heat to your cheeks, feeling lucky that he wasn’t looking at you. Is it really your fault? Has anyone taken a look at this man? It’s unfair!

The way the light from the lamp was illuminating his side profile, in the way you could see every contor of his face and scar. He grew up, losing his childish features, replaced with sharp contours of his cheeks, nose and jaw. Zuko glances up at you again, wondering why you’ve suddenly gone silent, with you looking away before he caught you staring.

“Flameo Hotman. How goes running the Fire Nation?” You begin to narrate dramatically as you sink into the floor, tucking your legs under the table on the opposite side to Zuko so that you sat facing him. You continue reading, the two issues that the Avatar requires help with, something in Republic City and something related to food. You converse with Zuko, talking through the problems, his sassy remarks extracting chuckles and giggles from you occasionally.

“And lastly I am curious, did you tell—Oh.”

The documents he was examining earlier is now left abandoned as Zuko was solely focused on you, and now your reaction has his eyebrows scrunching. You were smiling till a moment ago, but whatever you read at the end had the joy leave your face and…a smirk stretching across your lips.

You glance up at Zuko from behind the piece of parchment, an odd glint in your eyes, maybe even…heat? Your teeth bite into your lower lip as you glance back at the letter and then back at Zuko. “What is it? What does it say?” Zuko questions, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening.

A soft huff of amusement leaves between your bitten lips, trying your best to keep your composure. Zuko watches as you fail and burst out into a giggle, your face reddening slightly. You look back at him, the same glint still in your eyes.

“Lastly I am curious.” You start and pause dramatically, the look in your eyes darkening a little. Agni, Zuko swears in his head, this is not helping the ache in his chest, the way you were looking at him, the smile stretched across your lips.

“Did you tell your royal advisor of your romantic feelings…for her?” You read out, voice dipping by an octave.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, Zuko is fucked.

“And asked if she is a bachelor or not? Seize the opportunity before it slips out of your fingers, my friend!” You finish reading, silently folding it before pressing the letter into the table, looking up at Zuko’s expression of being caught off guard.

The silence is very loud as you two just look at eachother, all color drained from his face and pure amusement on yours. Zuko’s eyes bare into yours and you can almost see the way he’s not only registering what you said but also working out on what to say, clearly unable to think of anything to say.

“Do you have other Royal Advisors I am not aware of…or?” You start, smirk still stretched across your lips. Zuko just blinks at you, his hetrochromatic eyes shining, his adam’s apple bopping as he swallows nervously. “He was simply…jesting.” Is somehow the only thing he can come up with currently, the usual sassiness you see in him completely disappeared.

“So you’re not in love with me?”

You say, a little too quickly causing Zuko’s eyes to widen, his scar stretching because of his surprise. “Uh…” Zuko quirks, but you smile smirk at him sweetly. “I…Its not…That’s, it’s. Um.” His hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck as you look at him expectantly.

You can see him buffering in real time, the machinery in his brain short circuiting as it’s unable to process what’s happening. You stay smiling at the Fire Lord as he just stares at you, probably praying for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

You roll your eyes at his stupor, taking it into yourself to make a move, you prep yourself up into your knees, pressing you palms flat onto the mahogany wood as you lean cross the table as Zuko sits as still as a statue. You lean close enough for your nose to hover right over his cheek and partially his scar.

“I am a bachelor, Your Highness. Veeeery lonely.” You whisper as his face reddens even more before you rush forward to press a kiss his cheek, his skin soft beneath your lips. You feel Zuko let out a harsh exhale as you pull away, standing up to your full height, looking down at him a moment before turning to walk away.

“Goodnight, Zuko” You wave as you leave.

first time writing for him and i hate this cause it’s like 4am and i need to sleep😔😔 yeah no i just hate this BUT I MADE THE MISTAKE OF SNEAK PEAKING IT SO NOW I HAVE TO POST IT- anyway. adult zuko has me KSKSKKDKDKDJDJDK

[gojoest]

ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ #01

a/n: featuring ace & zoro, fluff, tiny bit suggestive on ace's

the lip sucker

ꕤ ACE is a gentle but passionate lover and so are his kisses. he cups your face with both hands and tilts his head to meet your lips. the kiss is delivered gently, with such tenderness, as if you’re made out of porcelain. it’s slow and prolonged, he wants the moment to last. every time you kiss, he gets all warm and bubbly inside which usually leads to ace smiling through the kiss. but he’s also so passionate about you that it gets hard for him to control his urges and sometime during mid-kiss you find your bottom lip being sucked and taken into his mouth, completely catching you off guard. he quickly lets your lip go free but then does the same with your upper lip. and then repeats the cycle again and again with each kiss. it all ends as sweetly as it started though – just him placing your head in his hands, leaning in to give you a forehead kiss and then pulling you closer into a tight hug.

the shoulder kisser

ꕤ ZORO is always awkward when initiating a kiss no matter how far into the relationship you are. don’t expect him to just grab you and give you a big smooch. no. unless he’s very drunk but that’s also a difficult mission to accomplish. but no matter how much he sucks at displaying affection, there’re times when his body acts on its own as he’s so down bad about the feel of your skin, its warmth, softness and smoothness, that often times, even in crowded places, when you’re standing next to each other, he finds himself unconsciously taking a step back and stand behind you, circling his arms around your waist and leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your shoulder. as soon as he realizes what he’s done, he gets all embarrassed and buries his face into the crook of your neck to hide his growing blush. he doesn’t let go of you though, his grip gets a little bit tighter in order to prevent you from turning around and seeing his flushed cheeks.

[marimomozo]

ACE knows you’re fucked out when you’re just moaning the first letter of his name. His smirk widened as you chanted the syllable like a mantra.

“That’s me, huh?”

You writhed and whined around his cock because that’s all you can do. Your legs feel like jelly and your core is sopping wet. After a particularly sharp thrust you nod. A drop of sweat falls onto the pillow and your head fell.

ACE pressed his chest against your back, his breath fanning your ear. “So fucked out ‘cause of this, aren’t you?” He rolled his hips to drive the question home.

You couldn’t answer; your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you gasped. “A… A..!” The power of his thrusts didn’t falter and he kept a consistent pace. He nipped at your ear and left a trail of love bites all over your neck.

ACE didn’t stop when you came for the nth time tonight. He wanted to push you until you’ve absolutely had enough.

[lostartnerd]

Stay for Breakfast? (Ace x Whitebeard!Reader)

Summary: Ace makes it out of Marineford and refuses to let go of you.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, sad Ace, alive Ace, non-canon complaint

Author’s Note: I'm currently overloading the blog with fluff and comfort to prepare for the all the angst coming soon!

Masterlist here!

Word Count: 0.9k

mild marineford spoilers!

Likes and comments are much appreciated! Do not repost anywhere! Works will be posted from my ao3 account soon.

Pops has the whole crew on deck. Marineford is burning on the horizon and the skin on your shoulders is burning from the weight of Ace’s arm. 

Pops is going through a roll call, making sure the Whitebeard Pirates are leaving Marineford as a full crew. Ace drops his hat onto your head before he drapes his full body weight across your back. Pops crosses the halfway point of the list. The warmth travels across your stomach and settles under your chest as Ace finds his spot wrapped around your body. Your hand finds his hair draped over your shoulder as you scratch at his scalp. 

Turning your head, your lips find Ace’s temple as Pops checks the last couple names. Everyone made it out. Everyone is home. 

The second Pops says everyone is free to do as they wish, your body lifts off the ground as Ace carries you to your shared room. 

The door closes behind you and Ace sets you down and spins you to face him. His hands find the sides of your face as he silently admires every tiny detail. Giggling, you question his actions. “Hey honey. What are you doing?” His lips answer without opening, a quiet hum before you’re attacked with kisses. Your cheeks, forehead, temples, nose. Right between your eyes before his lips finally find yours. 

If a kiss could actually cause fireworks, the Moby Dick would be sinking. 

A loud knock on the door tries to rudely interrupt your kiss but Ace keeps you together as he walks you back onto your bed. Pulling himself off your lips to turn around, Ace asks who’s at the door before Marco says he’s coming in. 

His eyes are covered until you laugh at him and he looks between you and Ace. “Pops wants medical checks. Gotta get you both before you hide away from the rest of us.” 

Marco is quick, in and out of your room in less than ten minutes. It would have probably been less time but Ace refused to lose all physical contact with you. While Marco had him standing so he could check every inch of Ace’s body, Ace’s hand was holding yours. As Marco was checking you over, Ace’s arms were wrapped around your torso. 

Marco sighs as he does the final checks and gathers his things. He gives the a-okay that both you and Ace are void of any serious injuries before he leaves the room, telling you not to do anything he wouldn’t do. 

Ace tightens his arms around your body and pulls you down onto the bed, spinning you around so you’re laying next to him, faces almost touching. Your hand finds his cheek as you rub your thumb across it. “I’m so glad we got you back. Don’t ever scare me like that again.” 

His head turns so he can kiss your palm before he responds. “I’m never leaving this ship without you again. If I go down, we’re both going down.” He smiles at the last part, hoping he can tease your anxiety away. 

You just pout. “Don’t joke about that. I really thought you were going to die. I thought I was going to have to watch-” You can’t even finish your thought as the tears start flowing down your cheeks. 

Ace goes into panic mood. His arms unwrapping from your body as he takes your face in his hands. “Hey sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m alive.” His heart breaks and the tears start to leave his own eyes as he watches you fall apart at the idea of losing him. He takes one of your hands in his as he brings it to his heart. “See? My heart’s still beating. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Nodding, you look up at him through the tears that start to come faster. Ace wraps you back in his arms, bringing you in close and letting you hide your face in his chest. Your arms come around him and squeeze him so tight that he knows you’re worried he might disappear if you let go. 

Ace lets his body warm up slightly as he runs a hand along your spine, and rests the other on the back of your head. His lips find the top of your head and he places a careful kiss there before letting his head settle. 

Ace lays there awake holding you until he hears your sobs slow to hiccups, your breathing level out, and feels your body relax. Only once he’s sure you’re asleep does he let himself drift off. 

-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%-%- 

Waking up just before Ace, you feel his arm draped across your back and hear his quiet snores near your ear. Using one arm, you push yourself up off your stomach as you reach over to trace the jolly roger on Ace’s back. He stirs as your finger runs down his spine, slowly opening his eyes to look up at you. 

The smiles on each of your faces lights up the room. Laying back down, you let Ace pull you back into his body, fully absorbing you in his warmth. It would take another war to pull you back out of his warmth today, and another war on top of that for Ace to let go of you.

Comment to be added to the taglist! Taglist: @elliescrolls

Want more 'i thought i lost you' comfort? Who showed you that? I didn't

[mlemiie]

One Piece Men + reacting to sh!reader (short fics/pt2!)

⤷ Part 1 ⋆˚ʚɞ

This was done under the request of a reader, I hope you’ll like it<3 (p.s sorry for not adding Usopp; I really tried but all my attempts became slop so💔)

TW: this is a sh post, this fic is solely meant for comfort and I don’t want anyone to interact with this post if you are a minor or sh triggers you!!!

Trigger warnings: sh/recovery/sh urges/fresh wounds/scars/razors/blood WILL POP UP!

If any of those tags triggers you PLEASE DONT INTERACT. This fic is solely meant for comfort and I am NOT encouraging anything. Please read safely everyone!!!!

Characters/status: Sanji, Eustass Kid, Hawkeye Mihawk, Ace and Katakuri (established relationship)

Note: if you’re struggling or know someone who is, I beg you to reach out. You’re not alone and you never will be, things get better—even just a little bit. You’re loved and your story will always be valid no matter what kind of sh you endure!!!!🤍 Safe reading pretties >< !

Blackleg Sanji<3

When you first started dating Sanji—it felt like red roses, pink velvet and white laces wrapped around with chocolate drizzle and strawberry fondue. His love was sweet, overbearingly sweet.

If you walked past? He would squeal. You complimented his hair? He’d turn to stone. Mid battle, when you’re all sweaty and bruised? He’d drool and sing your name from the other side of the field—only to come running, fire in his heels and hearts in his eyes—slamming a kick onto the foe who dared to lay a hand on his sweet, perfect, adorable, beautiful, majestic, angelic, piece of art, sexy and the most perfect woman in the world.

In short, Sanji adored you. Worshipped the ground you walked on. It made you laugh, it made you feel cherished.

When he was around, you didn’t have to worry about anything—you could rely on him to make you feel safe and happy.

And yet there was a hole in your chest. A void you’ve carried since your youth. Even with his adoration, his reverence and kind hearted love—it remained. It persisted.

And somehow after establishing things with him, making it official—it worsened. No matter the praise, no matter the gifts and gestures, the wound would never seal. Instead, his sugary words, his sweet smiles directed only towards you; made it fester. Made it uglier than it already was.

His kindness became shards of broken glass for you; each of his loving endeavour was deflected with spite, each affectionate worship was thrown out with anger.

In your head you weren’t that woman he had conjured up—you were filthy, stubborn, unsightly and rash. You couldn’t even bother cleaning the dried up blood, wash the stained linen or care enough to keep the tools clean. You were rotting from the inside out, contradicting Sanji’s words for each cutting line.

You were angry, you were spiteful, but above all? You were hurt. You wanted to cherish his love, not spite it, you wanted to relish in his adoration not deflect it.

And yet, how can you expect to welcome someone else’s love when you cannot even do so from yourself?

One night, you were done with it. You were going to call this off. Sanji deserved someone better, someone more suited—someone who had a clear mind and a clean skin. Someone who wasn’t you.

You left him a note earlier in the day,

“Meet me at my room. Tonight. 9 pm. I want to talk.”

Simple, neat, straight to the point.

You kept your face casual, aloof and indifferent. But in truth? You couldn’t stop your knee from bouncing, your eyes kept flicking to the time—8:53—and you clutched your hands. Trying to keep them from shaking.

You stuffed the trinket box you hid the… tools, away on your desk. A small miniature piece you’ve kept with you since fishman island, a gift from Sanji. A loving gesture... Seeing it, reaffirmed your state of belief—you truly were damaged. And he deserved someone better than a person who uses a gift from him to hide something shameful.

8:56 pm.

You wait. Maybe he’s just cleaning up the kitchen.

You keep waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting even more.

9:30 pm.

Where the hell was that man? He was always so on time when it came to you so why now? Maybe he didn’t see the note? Maybe he saw it but forgot? Or worse… he just didn’t care?

The last one seemed to leave a stain on you, gnawing at the back of your mind as the time kept ticking.

He didn’t show up.

It’s 10 pm and you feel sick to your stomach.

You wanted to do all the bad things possible to yourself but instead, you force your way into the shower, ready to just sit there and hope the sky might fall on you.

You don’t know how long you stay in there but your skin starts to crinkle, your back flushed and red as you turn the water off.

You wobble your way out.

The door knocks, rapidly, and you flinch.

You hear a very familiar, lovesick fool sing and drag your name outside your room and you hear him say,

“You summoned me and I’m here now my love~”

You can practically hear the love hearts radiating off him.

Hurrying, you quickly toss on a strap on dress to wear under your fuzzy bathrobe. You were so ready to flip him off for arriving so late.

You slam the door open only to find your very doting boyfriend have a bouquet of your favourite flowers wrapped in white lace and a tray of your favourite dessert ready at his embrace. The anger you once felt? It crumbled into pieces as his smile widened at you.

“Sanji, you came.” You say softly, trying not to feel the guilt ravishing down your stomach.

“Of course I would! I’m sorry it took so long; I had to double wrap the fridge with chains, Luffy has been getting more troublesome lately.” He mutters the last part under his breath, “May I come in?”

“Oh. Yes! Of course.” You invite him in, a bit awkwardly.

The room is dimly lit, with only the clear night sky and a candle to pave the way. Sanji seems awfully quiet, but the way he moves is almost fretting, as if… giddy?

“Sanji… I’ve been meaning to say—“

“My love, theres no rush. Okay? We have all night for ourselves.” He sets the tray of dessert down and scans your room for something.

“Say, do you have a vase somewhere?” He turns to you with a cheeky smile, lifting the flowers up, “I don’t want these to wither in your room so soon.”

You blink. Twice.

“Sanji… I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you—“

His eyes light up, seeing a lonely vase by your desk. “That one will do! Keep talking, beautiful, your voice is like music to my ears.”

“Well what I’m trying to say is—“

“—Shit,”

He accidentally knocks the vase down and in a hurry his arm reaches for it only to knock down a very specific, small, miniature trinket box, storing very specific, very sharp tools used for a very specific very morbid activity.

The trinket box crashes against the floor. The glinting razors, the metal pencil sharpeners, the different types of lighteners and blades scatters across the ground like a bunch of crayons.

The moonlight gives them an eerie glow as both of you stare them down.

Silence. Complete, utter, silence. The kind of silence that felt like it was wrong to even breathe.

Sanji does not move. He only stares.

As if trying to figure out what they are… and why you have so many of them.

Eventually, he puts the vase down the table and bends down. Fingers reaching for the nearest razor. The sharp edge meets the tip of his thumb, making it lightly bleed.

“Sanji that’s…” you can’t even come up with a good enough of a lie.

He stands perplexed.

“Is this… are you keeping Ussop’s tools for him or something?”

You can’t bring yourself to answer so he turns to look at you. Seeing you, seeing how your expression is utterly broken, Sanji straightens himself.

“Hey, beautiful, what is all this?”

“I…” you take a step back but he takes a step forward. A gentle hand grabbing your wrist, trying to pull you closer to him but you snap it away.

“Get out.” Your voice becomes mean. Cruel. Every possible defence mechanism goes high alert as you clench your fist. But Sanji won’t have it.

“Hey what’s going on? I don’t really understand it but if we can just speak—“

“I said: Get out. I don’t want— I can’t do this right now.”

“My love, what’s the matter? Why can’t you look at me?”

He reaches for your arms again but you push him off, your anger a disguise for your fear—fear of his rejection, fear of his judgment. Fear of having him see the ugliness, the rot and the damage you’ve done so well to keep hidden.

In the haste of the moment, he accidentally pulls a little too hard on your sleeves, making your bathrobe come undone. Exposing one side of your arm.

It slips down the floor.

The candle light casts a shadow across your skin, displaying each crude wound like a revelation. Evidence of a crime scene left unchecked.

You freeze up. Unable to move. Unable to look.

You don’t wish to see his face wrinkling in disgust, you don’t wish to witness the judgement swell in his eyes, and yet—when you take a peek—he looks absolutely destroyed.

He says your name, firm, hard—tense. As if coming to terms with a secret. Eyes sealed to the morbid display you’ve done on yourself. He looks to you, to the scattered blades and back to your arm.

“Did you… do this yourself?” His voice comes out low, steady, as if trying to make sense of it.

Your lips quiver, the anger crumbling into pieces as your chin falls low. You nod.

“My love… why on earth would you—no, tell me later, here, come here. You can cry, it’s alright i’m here.” Sanji pulls you into his arms, and you crash your face into his chest. You fall apart, completely. Each defensive action shattered as you feel him wrap himself around you, smelling of sweet cooking wine and smoke.

He steers the both of you towards your bed, his arm encased around yours as he lets you unravel bit by bit. As your fast pacing sobs pass into mewls, he pulls you closer, slowly caressing your arm with his thumb.

Faintly, softly.

“Do you want to tell me? No pressure; I’ll be here either way.”

You tuck your head under his chin, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. Feeling his warmth radiate into yours.

And you tell him, you tell him all of it. When you hiccup and struggle to make sense, he only holds you closer and listens. Patient, present—there. A soothing balm to a wound long lived. A kindness that you’ve long lacked yourself, the void in your chest only he can replace within.

And for once, you don’t resist it.

“Sanji,” you hum his name as you come to a close, “Are you disappointed? To find out how disgusting your choice of partner is, I’m sure you regret it all.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” His voice is sharp, as if offended you’d even think like that. “I’m not disappointed at you, moreso at myself for not noticing. But, I’m glad you told me, in truth I feel a bit honoured.” He kisses the side of your hair, “We all have something we rather not mention, things that are best kept hidden and forgotten. But that doesn’t make you any less loveable; I’ll show you that.”

At that, you smile. A genuine one.

You manage to look up at him, “You mean that?”

“Always.”

You slide him a kiss on the jaw. Humming quietly as you make it back to his chest.

And when sleep finally comes to visit, you feel him trace the wounds that were left open, faintly, kindly. “I’ll show you.” He murmurs, a promised whisper made into a vow.

Summary: When you wake up, you will find your room sparkling clean, your windows left open, the ocean breeze saying hello. You will hear Luffy and Chopper playing tag across the dock. Your arm will be bandaged, neatly so. His scent lingers in your room, as if he stayed long enough to delay everyone’s breakfast. You will spot a tray of all your favourites, with hot brimming tea. Served in the tea set you picked out in Wano. A note—no, a love letter written in ink and doodled with hearts will be left next to the vase adorned with your favourite flowers. His wording is cheesy and flowery beyond comprehension but it makes you laugh. It makes you feel cherished. Because from him—you are.

Eustass Captain Kid<3

You and him were anything but casual, that’s one thing clear. What wasn’t clear however is how different you two were. Kid was fragile and not like a flower but more of a bomb. And you? You made butterflies inch a bit closer, flowers bloomed where you walked and children would ask you to draw them an animal.

Truth be told, no one knew how Kid bagged you. He was hot, rash, fiery and foremost brutal. This man was dynamite and metal incarnate. Kid didn’t take—he laid claim. He didn’t just boast and yap—he backed it up. Kid doesn’t lose, he wins. And he did so, laughing.

This way of life was applied in your relationship with him as well. The man was anything but subtle. He wasn’t the shy, timid or stoic type—Kid was loud, obnoxiously loud and arrogant too. Especially when it came to you. He didn’t just mention you to people, he bragged about you. Someone looked at you wrong? He’ll send them flying. Someone tried to scam you out of three more berries? Best believe their entire market stall is turned into smithereens.

And you? You found it romantic.

Hearts in your eyes as you watch your dreamy fairytale prince turn a grandpa upside down cause he served you a cold mug of chocolate when it’s dead in the winter.

Best believe you were off in a daze every now and again when his biceps would suddenly come into view, and when he made eye contact with you? You bit your lower lip. Shamelessly.

Safe to say, you liked his temper. You did. But at some point… it got to a limit.

Kid couldn’t apologise for the life of him.

He mucked up in an argument? He won’t say sorry, not ever, but he’ll tinker flowers made of steel for you, in the same fragile shape as your favourites. He’d make you jewellery, rings, bracelets, anklets, necklaces and even earrings in your favourite metal.

You’ve come to learn to make peace with that part of him.

But that didn’t mean it left you unscathed.

You always felt too much, always hurt more than others. Since you were a kid, your heart has always been the more sensitive kind.

And when nothing was done with the hurt you received? You suppressed. You ignored.

The abandoned emotions left to fend for themselves became a haunting whisper. The pain left to subside on its own twists into something ugly and the jarring words that left his mouth marked a stain on your chest no poison could ever recreate.

A habit you’ve long forgotten resurfaces—the tingling feeling, the sharp coldness that brought forth all the suppression, all the frustration in one quick slice—it was heavenly.

It’s been so long you almost forgot why you even started.

And so, it became a part of your daily routine. A raw wound that you picked at again and again.

Kid’s loudness didn’t leave room for tenderness, his sweet gestures were hidden behind plausible deniability.

The heels you threw off in a hurry? They’re stacked neatly upon the shelf. Your expensive perfume you need to be refilled? Already done. The warm water ran out? Trust in him to get it fixed asap.

Not out of care but because it came across his path, or so he would say at confrontation. All flustered and blazing red.

But one night an argument with your boyfriend came to a hot, searing close. One where hateful words twisted your stomach more than usual.

You let him have the last word, let him get the better of it. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. So you left.

But you couldn’t take it, not in silence.

And thus—here you are. You were having a moment. The bath tub was your usual location. Private, enclosed, secured. There, you could just… unravel. Be made undone.

You had sobbed, clawed and wobbled half made out sentences. You felt pathetic. You felt like a wound better left untreated. If Kid saw you like this—he’d scowl. Probably think you weak, dramatic.

It made everything hurt even more.

The crew heard the argument two rooms away. And they all saw you pass the hall with a look that was too uncanny for such a sweetheart. Your eyes were flat, hollow, as if you were not entirely there. Killer had to convince Kid to get his shit together and find you, before it’s too late.

You had laid in the cool marble, hair tangled and the mess spilling across your skin like molten lava.

You were stroking your scars, pretending it was someone’s warm hands. Caressing—feeling each bumped line with such tenderness you almost convinced yourself you weren’t alone.

You hear someone rumble outside your door.

And you know who it is. Only his footsteps are that heavy with confidence, a presence loud without talking.

Your door is met with a few rapid knocks.

He calls your name, voice uncertain, tone slightly hesitant.

He was afraid of overstepping but when you don’t immediately answer, he calls again. “Hey, you okay in there? Look, I—“ he rubbed his neck, “Can I come in? I rather look you in the face then… ya know. Chattin’ to the door.”

You don’t answer.

You feel too numb after your little session, too numb to give a single flying shit about anything right now. So, you just stare into the wall. Not feeling exactly real.

“Either you’re sleeping or are you just that mad you’re giving me the cold shoulder?” He bangs a fist on the door, “tell me to leave and I will. Or else I’ll knock this door down.”

You blink. Yeah right he will—

You hear your door bust open, slamming onto the floor.

Your eye twitch. You slide your sweater back on before bringing your face to your knees.

Kid storms in, gaze darting across the room in search for you. “Oi, where are you? If this is some kind of game—“ he rumbles something incoherent.

Your brute of a boyfriend stumbles towards the bathroom, where you’re sitting in the dark, in the bath tub, arms dripping.

He senses your presence behind the bathroom curtain, snapping them aside.

“Playing hide and seek are we—“

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The scolding he had ready breaks in two as he takes in the shape of you.

It was an odd sight. The girl he fell in love with, cheerful, sweet, kind, sunshine incarnate was nowhere to be found.

Just the remains of something sullen. Tired. Broken.

He says your name, much softer than what you thought he could ever be capable of.

You looked bare, almost undead.

“What happened here? Hey, doll, look at me will ya’?”

You don’t. Your arms still stings.

And he notes it. The blood dripping and spilling across the bathtub like twisted vines.

His large calloused hand takes a firm grip on yours, rolling your sleeve up. His lips presses tight. He looks to you, then back and then to you. Grip tightening.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He’s sure to scream at you, sure to get pissed off.

But he doesn’t.

He lets out a deep rumbling exhale through his nose, hoisting you into his arms.

He brings you to your bed. You let him slide your sweater off, eyes scanning, inspecting. His gaze is low, focused, and surprisingly, for once—he doesn’t say anything as he looks the wounds over.

Only when he comes to a final conclusion, hand still gripping your wrist, does he look to you. “You did this?”

You advert your gaze, nodding.

A corner of his lip jerks before leaning in, giving you a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

So you sit there, completely mute.

You’ realise you’re cold, shivering almost and the ache in your chest creeps back into you.

When Kid comes back, he has a med kit in hand and a blanket. He does not say anything as he sits down next to you at the edge of the bed, only: “Here lemme’ see that.”

You give him your arm and he tends to you.

His movements are a bit clumsy since he only has one arm, but they’re genuine. He dabs your wounds with alcohol, wraps bandages neatly and when done, he gives your wrist a light squeeze.

When his eyes makes it to yours, they’re quiet. Kid who usually has a scowl on his face or a cocky smirk gives you only his most softest gaze. It makes your chest warm.

“Kid…” you sob, and you keep sobbing. He brings you into his chest, arms wrapping around you as if to keep you forever safe.

Your mouth start moving on its own, words and confessions spilling out of you between hiccups, and he? He only holds you. His embrace is steady, strong and under his hardened skin there is a gentleness buried beneath; reserved solely for you. He lets your breakdown, he watches and he listens. Kisses the top of your head when your sobbing gets the better of you.

At the end of it all, you whimper out, “I’m sorry.”

He gives you a brow, “The hell you sayin’ sorry for?”

“For bothering you with this, I don’t mean to be a burden. I’m sorry for being too much—“

His grip tightens, pulling you closer.

“Shut up.” Is what he spits out and you tense up. “Don’t say sorry for shit like that ever again. I won’t have it.” He leans in, breath close to your face. “In truth it is I who should be sorry. I should’ve been better. I’m sorry for not seeing this sooner, and I’m sorry for being such a jerk. So don’t go cutting yourself up no more, I’ll fix this. I promise.”

At that, you manage to harness some courage to look at him. He kisses your tears away, lips nearing your ear. “You roger that?”

You press down a smile, “Yes Captain. I roger.”

“Good, cause I keep my promises.”

Kid tucks himself in with you. Head rested on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart—large, strong. And as the night goes on, you feel yourself slipping away. Truly finding belief in his words, nestled between his warmth and tenderness. A part of him only you can find its touch.

Summary: when you awaken, it will be in the middle of the day. Kid will be gone but his scent and his warmth lingers. Your bandages are redone and next to your nightstand you will find a metal construct of your favourite animal. With a ribbon on top of its head. The craft is miniature and cute, but its craftsmanship is beyond just skilled—it was made out of devotion, a design of pure blazing conviction. You will find a note next to it.

“I fixed the door. Killer grabbed your favourite grub for tonight. And I mean what I said, so don’t you go and doubt it. Or I’ll have to fix another door. Kid.”

Hawkeye Mihawk<3

Quiet, reserved and polished. He carried himself like a blade, a sword that never chipped and with you, he did the same.

His love was grounding, steady, and preserved. His kisses felt like hidden vows, his affection a sharpened gaze that saw each and every little move of yours as sacred. He cut your steak without asking, coming back from his voyages he always brought back rare shades of paint for your drawings, and before you fell asleep he always braided or applied oil to your hair.

Being his was undeniably if not certainly the most tender part of your life. The habits you once had came to a halt when meeting him, for once in your life you never had to worry about anything. You didn’t have to work, just make sure the garden stays tended to. You didn’t have to uphold expectations or beliefs that did not align with you—with him you could just be.

You could paint till your heart’s content, sketch and draw till your wrists were cramped and have your own studio with castle windows that overlooked the sea.

For once in your life, you were sated.

It’s only been a few months since you two started dating and yet, this was the first time he invited you for a bath. Mihawk was a patient lover; one who took his time with things. An intimacy like this? A rare joyous occasion, made to be savoured, entrusted and cherished beyond any possible gift.

It was late in the evening, he told you to go ahead first, he’ll join in a bit. So you indulged. The water was steaming, soap bubbles wobbling across the room, the scent of jasmine and expensive oils makes your cheeks tinge red. You strip yourself naked ready to scrub off the excess dirt from the gardening earlier before entering the tub.

Sitting bare on a stool, with foam and lather coating your naked skin—the scars have grown old, whitening or darkening with the passing of time and it hits you; how far you’ve come.

The door creaks open and you look over your shoulder to find your brooding, stoic and dandy boyfriend standing by the entrance. Wearing nothing but a white robe.

You give him a smile, “I would rush up and hug you but I fear I’d slip and break my neck with all this soap.” You giggle out and he gives you an amused brow.

He strides over, steps confident but low—like a prowling panther marking its own territory. His frame towers over you. There is a certain softness in his gaze, the one that usually is so sharp and observing have an edge to it that resembles a lot like… fondness. It makes you smile wider.

His hands reaches out for the brush you’re using to scrub, his fingers long and calloused. “You’ll need help with the back.”

And you comply, sliding your hair to make way.

Mihawk’s moves are firm, sturdy but gentle. Not too rough, not too soft. Just right. He sits down with you as he works.

“How was Zoro’s training?” You hum, feeling yourself relax to his touch. “The man has potential, but we shall see how much longer he’ll last without liquor.”

You stifle a giggle, and when he finishes with your back—he tilts you towards him. Sharp, golden eyes scanning your flushed face, down to the slope of your neck, to your collarbones and then trailing across your arms and legs.

Something shifts in his gaze. His brows twitch, just slightly.

Mihawk takes his hands on one of your arms, smoothing out foam from your skin, a calloused thumb brushing against an old scar. One that bumps more than the others.

His hand trails down your skin, wiping away a path of lather—eyes following each line being revealed. And only when his hand makes it to the temple of your wrist does his gaze make it to yours.

“Battle scars?” He says with all seriousness.

You couldn’t help but snort at that and he gives you a look.

“No, nono. They’re… erm. More intimate than that.”

“Oh? Go on.”

“I gave them myself.” You reply quite bluntly.

His brow knits, a bit perplexed as his gaze makes it back to the scars, hidden between glistening soap and water, and then back to you.

“Why so?”

You shrug, eyes adverting.

You never really prepared yourself for this conversation. Most of the time, they were just… there. A part of you that you’ve long since made peace with. It’s not like you forgot about them but neither did you sit up at night and reminisced, like you once used to.

Your swordsman watches you.

He does not demand anything, instead he lets you gather your thoughts. Hands on your wrist becoming softer. Thumb circling where your pulse is. Slowly, calmly. Only when your eyes makes it back to his does he halt.

You tell him of the first time—what had happened the day before it and why you did it. You told him how it made you feel, and how your parents reacted. You made a small morbid joke and chuckled at it only to find yourself staring at his hands.

They’ve clasped around your wrists, firmly. Knuckles turning white. Holding you in place as if in fear you will go up in smoke and vanish.

It doesn’t hurt but his touch will linger long after he has let go.

He says your name, his words soft and low and you meet his gaze.

“You’ve done well. I’m proud to call you my lover.” He strokes a lock of hair behind your ear, before leaning in. Planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You don’t find me silly?”

“Never.” He does not even hesitate.

You press down a smile, looking at him through your lashes. “It’s quite funny how I ended up with a swordsman now that I think about it.”

A corner of his lip jerks into a small smirk. “Save your dark jokes for later.” And with that, he swoops you into his arms and sink the both of you down into the bath.

He lets you play with his hair, making hats out of foam and holds you in place by the waist. Eventually, the steam flushes you weak, the warmth of the bath making you sink into his chest. Entrapped in his arms. You two sit like that for a while. And when sleep beckons, you find yourself smiling.

Life really did get better.

Summary: When you wake up, you will be clean and dry. Wearing silk pyjamas, wrapped in velvet sheets and your hair sunk into burgundy pillows. You will squirm, turning to the other side only to find him next to you. Sitting upright and awake. Wine glass in hand. He will glance down to you, his sharp gaze softening. Hand caressing your cheek. “Slept well?”

Firefist Ace<3

(The ending was a little sad icl, mb ppl 😭🤍)

Ace was a man whose heart was more sincere than anyone else’s. His flames were more than just power—they were as much of who he was. Strong, fierce, impulsive but warm, blazing and forever present.

And so was his love for you. Being his lover meant having your personal space constantly invaded—not that it bothered you.

The way he always had a hand on your waist, an arm slung around your shoulder or even just a simple gesture as a firm hold on your hand—grounded you. Whenever you entered a room his smile would widen, eyes lingering on your figure and hands always quick to reach for yours.

It made your chest bristle with warmth, made you feel light on your feet and his constant praise on your beauty made you believe you were prettier than most.

That’s the kind of lover Ace was. Blazing and proud. But that didn’t mean he didn’t get shy. If not really shy. Mostly because of you. You had a certain effect on him that made his heart beat a little bit faster, made his cheeks tinge a little bit hotter.

When you complimented the way his hair was parted, he would start stammering nonsense. If you leaned your head on his shoulder whilst watching a movie he would stiffen up. Savouring your warmth like a blessing. If you tried to seduce him he would sit on the edge of the bed, sweaty palms on his knees. The man was completely, irrevocably and utterly in love with you.

But that being said and done—some things couldn’t be fixed with mere romance. You had your moments, and your secrets. And you kept them well hidden, almost too well. Everyone had something they rather keep out of sight. And yours? They were hidden under longer sleeves and longer bottoms.

And unlike Ace, you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve. You kept it tucked away, guarded by an invisible armour no one could pierce. One not even your boyfriend could see or touch.

Call it shame, embarrassment or even fear of rejection but this side of you is best kept secret. Ace had already so much to carry, his whole life he has felt unwanted, unneeded. In a way he was just like you, just as damaged.

And yet you didn’t wish to burden him with your nonsense. How would he react? Seeing the cracks in your shade? Witnessing your filth? Your damaged self?

Just the thought of it makes your stomach turn.

It wasn’t until it late at night, nestled in his embrace, that it surged forward. The urge. You squeezed your eyes shut and inched closer to your boyfriend’s arms. But it persisted. It ran like shivers down your arms, a caress down your calf.

An hour or two, who knows, but eventually you couldn’t take it.

Ace remained in deep slumber, still snoring as you lift your head from his chest. Drool dripping from his mouth and you pressed down a smile.

You wiggled out of bed as quietly as you could, heading for to the bathroom drawers.

You don’t know how long you remain in there. All you needed was a moment. A few quick ones, just enough to satiate you. It’s not like you were sad, just an urge. Just a need. It was supposed to be relieving, and despite so, you find tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Stupid.” You shushed yourself, wiping the tears away before starting with the blood.

“What’s stupid?”

His voice cuts through the air—groggy and newly awake.

You basically freeze on the spot.

Ace yawned, loudly, rubbing his eyes. “I couldn’t find you in bed so I’m here to steal you back. Whatcha doing so late at night?” He stumbled into the bathroom, eyes swollen from sleep.

“Uhhh…” you tilted the arm out of view as you gave him your best, most convincing smile possible. “Just got a nose bleed that’s all!” You lied quickly and he stares you down. Blinking.

And then—he spotted the bloodied towels and papers—snapping him fully awake. “Damn, that’s a lot of blood beautiful, here let me help you—“

“Theres no need it’s nothing serious—“

“Don’t be like that.” He cut you off, a hand reaching for your shoulder, “now let me see—“ he pulled you closer and it’s only then you couldn’t keep it out of view anymore.

“Ace—!”

He froze. Lips parted. Eyes widened.

The wounds were fresh crimson, and your skin riddled with older ones.

He blinked, twice. And then he said your name, almost as a question.

“What are these…?”

Your impulsive and very sweet boyfriend looked them over. His expression becoming slightly distressed. As if picking piece by piece together—from the fresh wounds, to the stacks of bloodied tissues and back to your arm.

Ace reached for it, inspecting each crude line like a puzzle.

“Did you do this?” He bit down, “Why?” His voice has an edge to it, as if restraining himself from bombarding you with questions and panic.

His eyes go back to yours but you started to tremble on the spot, lips quivering. Seeing you in such a state, he flinched. “H-hey…”

You crashed your face into your palms, the sobs spilled out of you without mercy.

Seeing you break into a cry, Ace start to fret, not really sure what provoked this and so—he pulls you a little bit closer by the shoulders.

His tall frame hunched over, “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong—what happened, you know you can speak to me, right?”

You start to fumble over your words, the sobs become fast paced whimpers between breaths.

His hold on your shoulder tightens, eyes darted across your figure, noting the embarrassment in your tremble, finding the shame between your flickering gaze.

He hummed, coming to an understanding as he hoists you over his shoulder.

“A-Ace!”

“Shhh, let’s bring you back to bed, pretty girl. We can take things from there, alright?” He patted your back as you squirmed and fiddled; finding this even more humiliating.

Ace’s hands were large, rough and calloused by fire and fist but his touch was warm. Firm and strong but the way his fingers dug into your back were almost desperate. As if clinging onto you, in fear he’d lose you, as if you’d vanish at any second.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him—he’s probably weirded out, probably found you pathetic and miserable. The thought of that makes your chest hurt.

He placed you at the edge of the bed, kissing the side of your jaw. “Stay put, I’m just gonna grab a few things.”

You sat there, feeling more naked than ever despite being fully clothed.

Your hair was a tangled mess, your feet cold and arms bare. Your eyes swollen from the sobs that you so steadily try to calm down and your cheeks flushed with tears.

You stared down the floor like it would swallow you whole and save you from this humiliation ritual. And yet when you look up, you saw Ace coming back with a box full of bandages, alcohol and napkins.

When he sat down next to you, he offered you a breezy smile. “May I?” He gestured to your arm and you nod. Before getting started he gives the wounds one last look. As if engraving each scar into mind.

Surprisingly, Ace was rather efficient with the cleaning—starting with dabbing your wounds with alcohol, slowly, kindly. His hands warm and eyes soft.

As he cleaned it up for you, he asked in a low, gentle tone, “Do you want to tell me? We don’t have to if it’s too much. But I’ll be with you either way, you know that right?”

At that, your heart broke. The sobbing came right back up again. You mewled out his name and he stopped in his working for just a moment. Stroking your tears away, hand landing on your cheek. Thumb rubbing your face.

“Have I ever told you, that you look pretty crying?”

You stifled down a chuckle and his hand pressed firmer on your cheek. “You can take your time, alright? I’m not going anywhere.”

His words were tender, raw and intimate. Making the knot in your stomach unravel, and you let yourself come out of your hiding. And you tell him everything.

Ace did not rush you, or demand or get riled up. He sat there with you, letting you peel each layer back and when you started to stumble on your words, his hand would find yours. Squeezing and holding. When your nose started to overfill with snoot, he’d reach for a napkin and wipe you down. Eyes softly placed on yours.

When you finished, you wiped your tears away, finding the courage to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry, you’re probably weirded out and—you have already so much on your plate. I’m sorry for being such a burden.”

He blinked, before frowning.

“Hah? What are you talking about. Did you think I would find you a bother?”

“I mean, you already have your own problems. I don’t want to give you more baggage to carry—“

He shut you up by pressing his forehead onto yours, and you hitched your breath. His nose nudged yours, his scent was of cologne and something fiery, like smoke and flames.

“Don’t ever make such assumptions ever again. Cause I care. When it comes to you; I’ll always care.”

“Ace…”

“What I don’t care is if I’m miles away doing Pop’s orders, or asleep snoring or having a brawl—you come to me okay? You ring that Den-den like your life depends on it. Bother me. Burden me—It doesn’t matter. Because when it comes to you, I’ll set the world aside. So don’t “Ace”-me. Promise me you’ll do it.”

Your lips tightened, cheeks tinging red as you nod. “I promise.” You whispered. And his mouth curved into a smile, closing the gap between you two.

The kiss was soft, slow but claiming. As if making a vow with each deepening motion. Tongue skimmed over your soft flesh—parting only when you’re both out of breath.

His smile became cheesy, and his freckled cheeks were flushed pink. “Good girl. Let’s bandage you up, okay?”

You nodded, still in fever from the kiss as he wrapped the linens around your arms.

When done, he had kissed your temple before tucking both of yourselves in bed. You were laying side by side, chest pressed to his as he held you close. Strong, tatted arms encasing you, his warmth radiated into your flesh. His eyes were locked onto yours, his gaze tender, looking at you as if you’re something precious. Which to him, you were.

His hand pressed onto your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You both nestled there, nothing more needed to be said—you knew, just as much as he, that you two were just as broken as the other. And that you both carried an invisible armour to keep that part hidden. Tucked behind locked doors.

But with him? You could unravel. You could break and you could scatter. And so could he.

Piece by piece, the armour comes undone—and there was nothing left to keep hidden. When sleep came to whisk you away, the sting in your arm melted away, and you would find yourself smiling as dreams came to visit.

Summary: As you watched his vivre card slowly brittling away—you will remember that morning. How, when you woke up, you felt sweat clinging onto your back—heat bristled as you were enveloped in strong arms and heavy blankets. Ace was snoring loudly into your chest but his hold on you then was tight. Wrapped around your waist. And as the days went by, you would never be made undone. At least not alone, at least not in shame. For he would be there, keeping to his word. And when the last embers of the card goes out, you burn that night into your memory. Treasuring it till you someday, one day, see him again.

Charlotte Katakuri<3

The man who never once laid on his back. His posture is always straight, rigid and upright. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

This man’s image is the definition of: “do-not-mess-with-me-or-I’ll-show-you-why”.

You will sometimes giggle over that myth when you in fact, know how your so-called-cold-menacing boyfriend really is. Katakuri is a sweetheart deep down who loves fiercely and loyally.

The romance between you two tasted of nothing but sweetly glazed donuts and fluffy whipped cream. He treats you like a flower—his touches are delicate, his kisses tender and slow, and when he embraces you he bends down, one arm wrapped around your waist. Soft, gentle. Always careful in keeping you safe.

Katakuri is a doting lover, when it’s just the two of you he’d let you nuzzle to sleep in his scarf, or bake you your favourite sweets and sometimes when he feels especially needy he will ask you to run your hands through his hair.

You love him. You do. But loving him also meant understanding his position as a Sweet General.

You have to understand why he can’t speak to you in public, can’t be seen holding hands with you and don’t even think about him acknowledging your existence in front of his siblings.

You understood. You did.

But not in silence. It’s an old habit really, something you carried from your school years—and which followed you to Totto Land.

And Katakuri takes his role as Sweet General quite seriously, which is partly why he hasn’t seen them yet. It’s only been a few months since you two started dating and Mama isn’t exactly famous for being lenient. Not even with her oldest.

But one evening as you were watching the chiffon cake bake in the oven, the door rang.

You swing your door open—seeing your very tall and brooding boyfriend stand outside, all glare and frown, until you beam at him that is.

“Kata!?” You exclaim—refraining from throwing yourself around his waist where others can see. He usually comes over late at night, seeing him here so early it makes you think something is wrong. “Is everything alright?”

He gives you a small, curt nod. Lifting a white package into view, tied with a pink velvet ribbon.

“May I come in? I brought donuts.”

You stifle a giggle, inviting him in.

Upon closing the door you throw yourself right into his arms, like always. Katakuri will never say it out loud but he loves your shameless show of affection.

He plants a hand by the small of your back and you look up from his embrace with a glee. “You’re early! Is everything alright?”

“I finished early so I decided to pay visit to my beautiful woman. Is that so wrong?”

You press down a smile, all red cheeks and giggle.

The burnt smell from the oven snaps you out of it, however. “Shit! Motherfu—“ you rush back into the kitchen and rightfully so the chiffon cake went from a perfect golden to a black boiling concoction of sugar and flour.

You feel yourself cringe. “I worked all day for this!” You curse under your breath, turning the oven off.

Hearing you groan and mutter, Katakuri bends his head in to the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

“I burnt the chiffon cake! I wanted to serve you some for tonight but it seems that won’t be happening. Unbelievable!”

Katakuri strides over, bending down and offering you a hand.

“It’s alright, we can bake chiffon cake together some other time instead. Besides I brought donuts enough for both of us. Why don’t you take some rest whilst I clean it up for you?”

“You sure?”

His gaze softens at the sight of your knitted brows and sullen lips. He strokes a lock of hair away from your face. “Of course.”

As you set the table, Katakuri washes the burnt cake form and prepares the tea and donuts on a tray.

It’s always like this whenever he’s over—the two of you become rather domestic at the presence of each other, and deep down, it makes your chest bristle with warmth.

Only once the tea is brewed, the sweets are served and the two of you sit down, facing each other, do you ask him about his day.

“Same as always—the only difference is that Perospero got a new coat.”

“Let me guess—daffodil yellow to egg yellow?”

“Close. This one is custard yellow.”

“Oh yeah sorry for not knowing my yellow.” You laugh, and he holds back a small smile. Smutting on his tea.

“How was yours?”

You blink, your mind immediately going to what happened this morning when you got a little bit emotional but you decide to skip that part.

Your doting and brooding boyfriend doesn’t need to know about that, he wouldn’t understand, you tell yourself.

So you tell him of your grocery shopping… how the neighbour’s cat knocked down all your potted flowers… the new cook book you’ve been scouring for… and the way you stained your favourite white dress with chocolate.

As you talk, he closes his eyes as he revels in the soothing sound of your voice. The tension from having his back upright all day long loosens, shoulders softening when he hears you giggle at your own joke.

When you finish, he hums—each donut already finished. He slides his scarf off, something that took him months to do in front of you, and you reach your hand out to fold it for him.

A sweet gesture from your part—except the small of your sleeve rolls up at the movement.

Not much, not much at all, barely a millimetre but with his observation haki—nothing goes unnoticed.

He seizes your wrist in one swift motion, and you yelp. “H-hey—!”

He rolls your sleeve up, his touch firm, hard powerful. You snap your hand away but it’s pointless, his grip on you is iron.

And before you can say anything; Katakuri cuts you off. “You will say—‘the cat scratched me,’ whilst not looking me in the eye.”

His voice is curt, stern. His grip doesn’t tighten but the focus of his gaze does. “So if you’re going to lie, look at me at least.”

Your vision starts to blur, your heart starts to hammer and your breathing is quickening.

“Kata…” you murmur, eyes low, and he hums.

“You will wonder if I’m angry—I am not. I want to know what is the meaning of this. This looks far too intentional to be the work of a cat.” His large hand reaches out, one calloused thumb stroking your tears away.

His touch remains gentle, soft, delicate. Even more than before—as if scared you’ll break into pieces.

He returns his focus on your wrist, his eye moving to your other sleeve. Slowly, carefully, he takes your other arm into his hands, and carefully rolls up your sleeve. He inspects the wounds like a recipe, as if memorising each line, observing what tool has been used and theorise what should be done.

His eyes goes from you to your arms, not saying anything.

You feel embarrassed, humiliated even. In all truth you want to scream at his face, tell him to mind his own goddamn business but a larger part of you questions your worth.

He sees you now.

He sees you for what you truly are.

Something damaged, spoilt, ruined and disgusting.

Who wants someone like this? Someone like you? Someone who can’t even bandage themselves up? Someone who can’t even face their humiliation in the eye?

No one in your past could.

Not even you could.

So why would he be any different?

You withdraw your wrists, and he lets you.

He says your name like a prayer, his voice a husky whisper and you only lower your chin.

Palms planted on your thighs, fingers digging into flesh.

He gets up. Silently. The whole room echoes with his footsteps as he leaves the room, and you? You sit there mute—noticing everything wrong about you.

You wish for the sky to fall so you can be done with this—but when Katakuri returns, he sets a tray of bandages, alcohol, and cotton pads upon the table.

He goes to his knees, reaches for your arms, touch gentle, soft and… trembling? As if even now he’s more scared than ever to accidentally harm you.

Katakuri does not say anything as he begins cleaning you, bandaging you. “Tell me if it’s too tight,” he says in a low voice before wrapping the bandages.

Once done he looks at you, still refusing to meet his gaze.

Looking in to the future, he realises he cannot make you speak—not like this.

So carefully, like holding a doll, he takes you into his arms.

“K-Kata! Put me down.”

You punch his chest which only tickles him.

You squirm, you fuss and you fret. But he doesn’t mind it, he only hums, kissing the top of your head when you start threatening him.

Before you know it, you are brought into your shared bedroom, laying himself down onto the sheets, letting you rest on his chest like something sacred. Which to him, you are.

For a spell, the both of you are silent.

You lay ontop of him. Your nose buried in the crook of his neck smelling faint of donuts and mochi along with something sharp, like metal and steel. Your whole body stiff with frustration. And as you blink back your tears, Katakuri only caresses your back in slow circles. His hand is large, rough but never unkind. It calms you down.

When he feels you relax into him, he blinks his gaze to you. “I care about you.” He blurts out and you freeze.

“I would never discard you for something like this, you know that, don’t you?”

You clench your fists.

“I’ll hold you, I’ll console you; I’ll do anything for you.” His arms start to envelop around you, but it’s faint as if even now he’s restraining himself from accidentally hurting you. “Will you let me?”

You press down your lips—“it’s nothing. Nothing important.”

“But it is important—since it’s you.”

At this, your heart skips a beat. And you fall apart. Each and every single word comes out like confessions for you, you tremble and you sob, and his hold on you only grows firmer.

Katakuri listens, taking each word and burning it into his mind. He does not demand, panic or hurry you. He only kisses your temple when you can’t find the words.

And once you’re done, you squeeze your eyes shut, gathering the last of your courage to ask him something but before you even have the chance he slides a hand at the back of your neck.

“I don’t find you disgusting, or weak or stupid. After all this, you’re still my beautiful girl. Nothing will change that. Nothing.”

“You don’t find me silly?”

“No.”

That’s all he says, and that’s all he needs to say. He kisses your tears away, humming.

You let yourself relax into his warmth, lean into his touch, and believe his kind words. The insecurities once twisting down your stomach, unravels—leaving only space for his love, and his love alone. You sink into his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, strong, powerful and focused. And when sleep starts to beckon, you follow, your lips smiling.

Summary: when you wake up, you will hear Katakuri rummaging in the kitchen. Humming his donut-song, and you hold back your giggles. Cheeks round and flushed. You will smell the scent of your favourite breakfast in the making and you will spot that the vase on the nightstand has been replaced with your favourite flowers. Freshly plucked.

A few days will go by… and on a cloudless night, where the moon peers between the stars like a longing parent—Katakuri will take you to your favourite spot. He will hold your hand in public, introduce you to his siblings and acknowledge your every word. Before you could catch on… he asks for your hand in marriage.

[nanamisbbygirl]

how shoko and gojo made their little bet… more teen geto x teen reader secret situationship fluff… @angelkiyo this is for you!

“he is not my boyfriend,” you tell shoko, who has an unimpressed look on her face. in the distance, the other two first years are fooling around– nothing out of the usual. although, she isn’t too convinced by your words. 

she can see something that clearly you can’t– or at least choose to ignore. maybe you’re just pretending to not love each other, she thinks, because people who act like that are definitely not not in love. she observes the way you twirl your pen in your hand, taking a break from doodling hearts on your worksheet, in order to get a good glance at geto. 

he laughs alongside gojo, who is covered in chalk after drawing a very unflattering portrait of your teacher on the blackboard. the white haired boy turns around to add to his artwork, causing a brief pause in their chuckles.

in that split second, shoko notices the way geto turns his head. ever so slightly, as if to allow just enough room in his peripheral vision to steal a glance from you. his gaze meets yours, before he breaks out into his typical charismatic smile.

she wonders if you think she's stupid, because whatever you have going on between the two of you is more than just platonic. shoko could almost laugh at the sight. not your boyfriend my ass, she thought to herself. this is especially true when she catches you in moments when the two of you don't realize that you're being watched.

the first time it happened, you were standing by the vending machine, giggling while geto put his spare change into the machine, waiting for the familiar thud.

he handed you the drink, letting your fingers brush against his, holding them there for a moment. geto's face was dusted with a rosy pink as he stared down at you, also not wanting to loose the feeling of your touch. it was so evident in his eyes that he was in love, and it was equally obvious by the way your eyelashes moved and your smile grew that you were enchanted by him.

the second time, you and geto were sitting on the sidelines as the rest of the students trained in the courtyard. amongst the chaos of weapons clanging and punches being thrown, shoko picked up on the delicate way your thighs touched.

his face hovered near yours, strands of his hair falling in front of his eyes. you reached forward—as if it was something you'd done a hundred times—brushing his black bangs away, tucking them carefully behind his ears.

that's when she turned to gojo, who, considering the fact that his cursed technique made him virtually see everything, was also oblivious to the fact his friends were hardcore pining.

"50 bucks says they're gonna get together before the year is up." she said, pointing to the two of you.

gojo's head snaps over, tilted like a confusing dog, following her finger. "nah. if suguru had a thing for her, he'd definetly tell me."

shoko only hums, "are you sure about that. look at them. they're swooning."

gojo shook his head, "50 bucks they don't get together."

the brunette laughs, "good thing you're rich, cause that 50 bucks is mine."

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

mean!sukuna x shy!gf!reader

sukuna has always dated brats with bad attitudes, so when he had a shitty day at the gym and takes it out on his adorable girlfriend he expects to be yelled at back, but instead he's met with the thickest feeling of guilt imaginable.

(angst to fluff, yelling on sukuna's end, lowkey kinda toxic sukuna but he gets better in the end :p)

wc: 3k || art creds: @/akura_tsuna

total and utter brats is what sukuna was used to. girls with a big ego and an ever bigger attitude, but you? his new, adorably sweet girlfriend? you were quite literally the polar opposite of a brat, and he was about to figure that out real quick.

he stomps with heavy and angry footing into the apartment, he was pissed off, like, really pissed off. some ass fuck at the gym decided to get all up in his face over him accidentally leaving a few plates on the deadlift bar, (something he never usually did, his mind was just filled with other stressful life shit.) so he pulled a few punches and that was that.

that asshole figured out quite fast that sukuna's massive muscles weren't just for show.

he let out a groan of pure frustration and anger as he stepped further into the apartment dulling any sort of positivity that dare disturb his ridiculous state of mind.

you’re too occupied pottering around the tiny off campus apartment in your cute little socks and pretty sweater to notice his foul mood just yet. singing some beabadoobee song quietly to yourself while trying to plate up the dinner you'd made just for him.

kuna always comes home hungry after hitting the gym, especially arms, so you decide to give him something nice and warm for when he gets home, y'know, like the great and loving girl you are?

you're about to pour him a glass of ice water when you hear the door shut just a little too aggressively.

you can't help but flinch, not because you’re scared, but because you know that kind of sound. it’s the sound people makes when they're exhausted, frustrated, not very happy with the world. you were used to this energy from others, but you were yet to experience it from your boyfriend.

you peek your head around the corner.

“hey, ryo.” you say in that soft, dainty voice he still hasn’t fully gotten used to. the one that normally made him melt into a puddle of gooey love and adoration, but right now all it does is remind him he’s tired and really agitated. “i got dinner all ready for you, love.”

he grunts, that’s it. a grunt.

he chucks his duffle bag down on the couch, wipes his hand down his face and mutters something under his breath about 'fuckwits at the gym.' you try to ignore the obvious annoyance in his voice and shyly tiptoe back into the kitchen then bring him a pink plate full of dinner, holding it in both of your precious hands, offering it to him like a gift you'd made just to cheer him up.

and then he decides to turn into the biggest dick face on the planet, too frustrated to be civil, apparently.

with no sort of preparation or hesitancy, he sharpens his deep red eyes at you and crosses his biceps over his chest.

“th' fucks this supposed to be?”

you stiffen up a lil. “it's… your dinner?”

you watch as his eyes fall darker and his fists clench. “what? you know i don’t eat before i shower. you put the whole thing together just to let it get cold?”

...huh...?

you'd never been talked to this carelessly by sukuna before... your eyes get the tiniest bit glossy, but you try to fight it off as best you can. “i… i thought you’d want it now because you always say you’re starving when you get back…” you whisper.

“yeah? well, today i’m not fucking hungry.” his voice rises in a way it never has with you. a way he used to talk to girls who’d scream right back at him, get in his face, throw something at the wall. “god, do you ever listen?”

"i- i'm sorry... i just thought-"

"wow? thinking for once? didn't know your dumb little head was capable of that."

...ouch.

you could physically feel your throat pulling tight, it burned to breathe through his venomous insult..

“honestly, the last thing i need right now is some damn girl trying to play house with me after i've just worked my ass off all day, it's fucking annoying,” he shoots, beginning to pace, ignoring the way your face contorted into that adorable yet heart crushing pout.

'some damn girl?...' was that all you were to him?..

he’s not looking at you. he’s talking at you, like you’re just another outlet for whatever’s eating at him. this big, loud, overwhelming presence filling your little apartment with his booming voice rising and rising with each word, and you can’t even process half the things he’s saying because your brain is doing that fuzzy weird panicy thing. you don’t know whether to get up or stay still or just disappear on the spot forever..

you're silently listening, but he just keeeeps on going.

"you think i want you shoving shit in my face the second i get home?! let me take a damn break for once in my life, woman!”

...

behind your ribcage you can feel the crack, crack, crack, of your heart with each piece falling into your stomach and smouldering into a thick ash, like you were an insignificant bug that wasn't worth this man's time.

and it’s right there in the silence that something finally flickers in his stupidly ignorant brain.

because this is the part where someone should yell back, where someone should tell him to go fuck himself, or throw the plate down, or call him an asshole, or storm out. or anything!

but you don’t.

you just stand there ever so sadly, you hold your arms around your body like they might save you from the stomach pains you'd suddenly gotten, the feeling of immense guilt for making him more angry than he already was.

you're stuck staring down at the floor, your eyes feel hot and so full of tears as you gently whisper out the softest and heartfelt apology sukuna thinks he's ever heard in his fucked up life..

“...i’m so sorry.”

ryo's ready to yell something completely unnecessary and rude because he’s still riding the high of adrenaline from lifting too much and dealing with that asshole at the gym today. he’s still acting like he’s dealing with someone who’ll fight him tooth and nail, not his pretty little girl who's easier to rattle than a maraca.

your lashes flutter with wet tears and your pouty lip wobbles, you set the plate down carefully on the counter before your hands can shake too hard and it smashes on the floor.

and then you look up at him.

you look at him like you’re scared you'd messed up big time, like you’re scared you hurt him or made him upset in any way. like you’re scared he might walk away, abandon you. like all of this was your fault.

this is about where sukuna starts to feels like his heart had just been flipped over and fucked in the ass by a 6"3 rugby champ.

he didn’t even know it was humanly possible for his chest to sink into the pits of fiery hell that fast. like, physically, his heart plummets to his feet.

“sweetheart,” he says, but it’s too late. he can already see the tears filling up your eyes as you wrap your arms around yourself tighter than before, so small and so nervous.

“i... i’m really sorry,” you whisper again, voice cracking in that heart stabbing kind of way. “i didn’t mean to make you mad, i was just trying trying to help, i thought you’d be hungry and.. i'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

your voice cuts off as you wipe at your cheeks, embarrassed at the tears that keep falling so freely down your flushed cheeks.

and then, before he can even take a step toward you to console, you beat him to it.

you walk right up to his big, stupid, irritated self and gently wrap your arms around his waist, like you’re apologizing to him even though you didn’t do anything wrong.

your cheek presses against his chest, soft and warm and trusting, yet still so small and scared..

all that rage and tension drains out so fast he actually gets lightheaded. he didn’t notice. god, he didn’t realise! he was yelling. at you. his pretty girl, his soft girl.

the only girl he’s ever dated who doesn’t treat every fucking conversation like a competition. the girl who holds his hand with two hands because his palm is so big. the girl who apologises when someone bumps into her. the girl who triple checks she's not burdening someone before she starts speaking. the girl who’d never raise her voice at him, even if he deserved it.

he was yelling at you.

you huff and puff in uneven spouts against his chest, softly like you’re giving him space to push you off if he wants to. you whisper again in a smaller voice than before.

“i’m sorry. i’m really sorry, ryo. i didn’t mean to ruin your day.”

his throat clamps shut.

he feels something sting horribly behind his eyes and he hates it, because he never cries. never. not for breakups, not for fights, not for injuries. but this? this is different. this is you. and realising he scared you or hurt you, even in some tiny emotional way, is making him physically ache with the pain of a thousand knifes stabbing his chest over and over and over..

“baby, no. no, no, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. i’m the one who’s being a fucking idiot. i shouldn’t have yelled. i shouldn’t have even raised my voice at you, baby.. shit.”

you can feel his biceps crushing you tighter. he’s huge and so warm, yet trembling in the tiniest way, like he’s holding himself together with the sheer willpower of not letting you see him too broken.

you sniff against his pec, trying to steady yourself, because you’ve never heard him sound like this before, so guilty and worried.

his voice cracks, cracks as he tries to spew out another line of consolement, and when you blink up at him, there are salty tears at the corners of his eyes. massive, scary, ryomen sukuna falling apart while hugging you, a soft and quiet little thing.

you just shake your head against him, heavy little sobs shaking your shoulders. “i’m sorry i messed up. i’m sorry you had a bad day and i made it worse.”

oh he’s the worst man alive. actually the worst. he can feel it in his bones.

“baby…” his voice cracks again and he hates it but he can’t stop it. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you cling a little tighter, like you’re scared he’s gonna pull away. that alone almost makes him sob hysterically on the spot.

your voice comes out all wobbly. “i just… i don’t want you to be mad at me.”

fuuuck..

that’s the moment sukuna’s entire psyche caves in on itself and implodes indefinitely.

“god, y/n,” he whispers. “i’m so, so sorry.”

the apartment goes still and quiet for a good minute before you can whisper out, “it’s okay...”

“no,” he says immediately,“ no, it’s not. i shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, sweetheart. i shouldn’t have said any of that. i just… i had a shitty day and i was being a dick. that’s on me. you didn’t make anything worse.”

“but you seemed so upset…”

“oh my love, not at you.” he swallows “never at you, baby. i swear.”

...

your fingers contract into the back of his muscle shirt, holding on so gently it rips at his fragile soul, though, your tears have almost stopped.

he squeezes you harder, he’s not letting you go until he’s sure you're really okay.

“you’re… you’re really precious to me,” he whispers into your hair, the words tumbling out before he can stop them, way too honest for how he normally talks. “i don’t ever wanna scare you. i don’t ever wanna make you cry because of me.”

you move to peek up at him with those big watery eyes, and he absolutely breaks down for the fourth time that night. he feels the liquid in his own eyes and tries to blink it away, but nope. a tear slips down anyway.

your breath catches. “ryo…? d-did i make you upset?- i'm so sorry!”

he shakes his head quickly, gripping the back of your head as he tucks you back under his chin. “you didn't do anything, y/n. just don’t look at me right now,” he mutters. “just… let me hold you.”

you mumble a quick “okay.”

your gentle response calms him more than anything else ever has.

his arms slip under your thighs and your back in one careful swoop, lifting you off the floor like you weigh less than air, because to a colossal guy like kuna, you do.

you let out a noise of surprise and curl into his arms on instinct, holding onto his shirt as he carries you through the little apartment, the whole 9 yards of princess treatment.

“cmon angel,” he mumbles against your forehead in a sweet kiss, “let’s get you in bed.”

he pushes the bedroom door open with his foot and stands next to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress as gently as he possibly can. the second your back hits the sheets he reaches for the blanket and tucks it around you so fast and frantic you almost giggle. he’s acting like he's scared you’re gonna get cold or crumble into star dust if he doesn’t wrap you up right this second.

“stay here, sweetheart,” he says while brushing the pad of his thumb across your cheek. “i’m gonna eat your dinner real quick and shower and then i’m coming right back. don’t move.”

you nod with your body engulfed under the blankets, and he gives you one last kiss on the cheek before heading back out.

it’s almost funny how different the apartment sounds now, he’s trying to be quiet. him. the guy built like a tank who normally stomps around like godzilla. you hear the plate clink, hear the microwave door shut, hear him crushing to himself like he’s scolding his own reflection, which he should be. then you hear the shower switch on, and everything is chaotic as if he’s racing against some imaginary clock because you’re alone in the bed for more than five minutes and that simply will not do for sukuna.

you hear the bathroom door whip open.

he’s back in seconds with his salmon hair damp and a white tank top thrown on crooked, water still beaded on his fair skin because he didn’t even bother drying properly. he climbs onto the bed quickly, grabbing you like he needs to feel you to be happy and content with his life.

your back hits his chest as he pulls you right onto his lap and you can just tell he's feeling possessive and territorial.

“hey baby.. are you okay?”

you nod softly, but he shushes you anyway.

“it’s alright,” he smiles, kissing the side of your neck. “you don’t gotta say anything. i got you.”

his hand rubs little circles over your hip bones with the other sliding up to hold your jaw with this gentle care no one would ever believe he’s capable of, ever. your tears dried a long while ago, but he still treats you like you’re a precious gem. he rocks you a little in his lap, soothing you like it’s instinct.

“you’re so beautiful, yknow that?” he whispers suddenly, voice hushed like he’s telling you a secret not meant for the rest of the world. “so damn beautiful and sweet and good. you’re… y/n, you’re so perfect.”

you feel your cheeks heat up and he smiles against your skin, just barely.

“i mean it,” he says again, burying his face into your shoulder. “you’re precious to me, baby. so precious i don’t even know what to do with myself sometimes.”

yeah, obviously.

you lean back into him a little more and your hands settle over his wrists. he squeezes you immediately like he’s scared he imagined the whole thing and he might be in some lucid dream still yelling at you.

his voice drops even lower, so soft you almost miss it.

“you’re it for me,” he murmurs. “you hear me? you’re it. i’m done with dating. i’m yours for the rest of my damn life.”

you blush deeply and hide your face in your hands at how bold he's being.

"ryo..."

“i’m never talking to you like that again,” he says quietly. “never yelling. never making you cry. i’m not losing you because i don’t know how to deal with my dumbass moods. you’re too important to me.”

your fingers slide over his hand, giving it the cutest squeeze and he just melts behind you. melts completely with his chest going all gooey and soft.

“you’re my girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “forever, or for as long as you’ll have me, baby."

he rocks you gently again, humming in his throat while his hands smooth and stroke over you like he’s memorising the shape of you.

he presses one last kiss to your cheek.

“sleep, angel,” he breathes. “i’m not going anywhere.”

sukuna was used to dating brats, the ones who threw tantrums and screamed like banshees in his face, but now he had you. and he knew in his heart that this whole time he was missing out on the pure bliss that was a calm and sweet relationship, with you.

never in his life had sukuna shed a tear over a girl, but tonight he did. he let a few slip because he couldn't handle the thought of making precious little you feel any sort of negative emotion, and he wasn't even trying to hide it. that how much you meant to sukuna, how soft you'd turned him.

and he was damn well never going back.

A/N i took a break from studying to write ts for you chat that's how much i ❤️ u guys 🥀

m.list 😈👅😫💔

[f0url3af]

This is first time requesting something.. so 😩

This is silly but hear me out.. what if ace falls for a princess 😼 idk i think it would be cute if he sneaks into her room to get to know her💗 you can make it anyway you want as long as my heart doesn’t break . I just love this man

𝐇𝐢 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲!

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞!! 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 ’𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬’ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭 ❤︎︎

𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐱 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬:

𝐀𝐬 𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲. 𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

"You shouldn't be here."

"I know, but I wanted to see you."

You glared at the male who pulled himself through your open window, only for your face to soften slightly at the sight of him.

“You could have been caught!” You counter quietly as you silently walked over to him, your voice a harsh whisper that filled the peaceful atmosphere of your bedroom. A soft frown adorned your face at the sight of an angry red mark on his forehead that wasn’t there the last time you saw him, your hand reaching up to gently caress the bruised skin.

A mark he most definitely didn’t obtain while trying to climb up the castle walls.

“But I wasn’t.”

Portgas D. Ace replied.

The captain of the Spade Pirates, and the man who had been scaling the walls of the castle just to see you every night after his crew docked on your island.

Ever since the first time you both locked eyes with one another from across the crowded street, Ace knew that he had to see you again.

It was like he fell in love at first sight, if love was like a cannonball that slammed violently into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him as you so effortlessly did.

You, in your elegant gown, your hair pinned up in the most intricate design he had ever seen, tiara gracing the top of your head as you walked past him, head held high as if you were unstoppable. Your heels softly kissing the cold stone ground with every step you took.

He wasn’t the only one, however. You, sweet, precious you, fell just as hard as the captain of the Spade Pirates did. Drawn in by his fiery attitude, how he looked both rough and gentle at the same time. Your steps stuttered at his handsome face, your nose catching the scent that lingered on him as he passed by. He smelt like smoke and the sea, home and adventure. Like freedom.

Your heart skipped a beat when you both did lock eyes as you passed, both staring at each other wide eyed and jaws slack. Both falling head over heels for each other, despite the major differences between the two of you.

It wasn’t until your father, the King, called your name that you both snapped out of the trance, giving him a shy smile and a soft wave before turning to follow your father.

You still didn’t understand why he wanted to risk being caught by the Royal Guards just to see you. You would have definitely snuck out of the castle to see him again if he wasn’t so persistent on clambering up your tower every night. You would have been served a lesser punishment if you were to be caught sneaking out, unlike Ace who would be handed over to the Marines, or kept down in the castle’s dungeon.

Ace gently held your wrist as your thumb caressed his forehead, his inky strands of hair cascading down your hand. You let out a soft sigh at his stubbornness before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Just… be more careful next time, please?” You mumbled, leading the fiery captain over to your bed, just as you had done the previous nights. “I don’t want you being caught, 𝐀𝐜𝐞.”

Ace chuckled at your concern. He found it sweet how much you cared about him in the short time that you had known him. “I guess I can tryyy to be more careful, just for you.” He teased lightly as you both settled down on your comfortable bed.

“𝐀𝐜𝐞…”

“Fine, fine! I’ll be more careful next time, (𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞).”

You pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck in response, letting out a soft breath of air against his skin.

His arms wrapped themselves around you as you basked in his soothing warmth, your head placed delicately on his chest. This is what you needed after a long day of Royal duties, of walking around in heels until your feet started to blister, and having to wear a dress that was so heavy you felt like you were carrying massive bags of sand.

Your mother and father would have a heart attack if they ever saw you snuggled up next to someone of a lower class, especially a pirate. But you didn’t care at all. You liked Ace, and Ace liked you back. Although you had never said it to one another, you both could easily tell that you liked one another very much. You didn’t care that he was a pirate, or that he was never of nobility to begin with.

At this point in the evening, it was routine to fall asleep in Ace’s arms, for him to stay until the sun started to peak through your window, where he would have to make a quick exit before he was spotted. Before his crew woke up, and before they grew suspicious as to where their captain ran off to every night.

Sometimes you would stay up all night talking about anything, telling each other your dreams and your fears. Talk about your childhood, or arguing softly over the silliest things, giggling like schoolchildren. Holding and loving each other like you had all the time in the world.

But something about this night felt different, like the air was heavy with unspoken tension. You could see it in the way Ace held himself, his shoulders more stiff than they would normally be. A tense sigh from Ace brought your attention back to him, tilting your head upwards to get a better look at his face.

“𝐀𝐜𝐞.” You called out gently, watching the way his eyes dart back to you at the call of his name. “You okay?”

Ace hummed, his voice more rigid when he spoke. “I’m okay, (𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞). I’m just… thinking.”

“About?”

The way he hesitated, his eyes glancing out your window towards the open sea told you everything you needed to know. You knew he had to leave eventually, that he couldn’t stay around forever. He was a pirate, free to do whatever he wanted, to go wherever his heart desired. You were a Princess, tied down by the weight of the crown. You weren’t able to stray from who you were meant to become.

You just wished it wasn’t so soon.

“I don’t want to leave.” Ace whispered, shaking his head softly. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

You didn’t want him to leave either. You didn’t want to go back to those same old repetitive days of Royal duties that wore you down. Of having to be the perfect Princess for your parents. It wasn’t until Ace showed up that you actually started to feel alive.

Ace showed you what it felt like to live, to finally be free of the metaphorical shackles that were given to you at birth. To be something more than just the ideal Princess for your parents.

If he were to leave, you don’t know what you would do.

“Take me with you.” You whispered to him. Your voice, although quiet, popped that growing bubble of tension like a sharp needle. “𝐀𝐜𝐞, please take me with you.”

You wanted to be by Ace’s side as he travelled the seas, going on exciting adventures and exploring new islands. You wanted to watch him conquer other pirates, face off against Marines. You wanted to hold him when things got tough and love him openly, without the fear of being seen by your parents.

You wanted to be with him for the rest of your lives.

Ace laughed loudly at your bold words, his signature dazzling smile spreading across his handsome face.

He knew his crew would not be impressed that he had managed to steal the heart of the islands Princess. And he knew once the royal family found out that you were missing, all hell would break loose.

But Ace liked the thrill, and he liked you. A lot.

“Well, Princess… you better start packing.”

(Spoiler: his crew was not impressed)

[digiflora]

🧩 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔!

STARRING. ノ geto ✦ gojo ✦ choso

summary. ノ as a princess, you need a knight to keep both your body and heart safe from harm. luckily, he's got that covered.

word count. ノ 6.6k

contains. ノ royalty!au, princess!reader x knight, some suggestive content but nothing explicit, fem coded reader bc princess

gia's notes. ノ this draft has been sitting at the VERY bottom of my notes but i've finally dug it up and blown the dust off of it hehe. i have more ideas for this premise so if anyone asks i'll do a part two. eagerly.

GETO SUGURU ⌇ despite his politeness, there's more to him that lies below the surface

when you first met geto suguru, the most prominent thought in your mind was just how surprisingly pretty he was to be a mere knight. his delicate features and unblemished face seemed more fitting to be that of a nobleman's, and when he kneeled to you to swear his loyalty, his every movement was dictated with a gracefulness that suggested he was born royal.

always smiling, always alert, always vigilant, geto now accompanied you in your daily life like a second shadow. and while there had been... admittedly few attempts on your life, you chalked that up to his talent rather than a lack of conspiracy.

you had asked him one night when you had sneaked too much drink during a feast and you were too loose-lipped on your way back to your chambers, why his face was so handsome if he was just a knight.

he had merely laughed at your drunken question, readjusting his grip on you as he half-carried, half-guided you back.

"i'm handsome because nobody's been able to lay a finger on me."

you were quite fond of him, beyond his ability to keep you safe. you may be naive but you weren't stupid- you knew how others looked at the pair of you, how scandalous it was for the princess and her handsome knight to be so close with each other, in public at that.

it was incredibly apparent at balls and other royal events- ever so cumbersome, but still a requirement- that you always made sure to drag geto along to, no matter the security detail. and if you had personally ensured that he wears clothing befitting of a royal, and more importantly matched your gown every time, who wouldn't jump to conclusions?

in all honesty, you liked the attention it drew to the pair of you. you revelled in the glances shot your way, zeroed in on your hand looped around his arm or the way his encircled your waist, looking more like a courtier than a bodyguard.

you liked how the other women of the court looked at you with not just disgust, but with jealousy, because you knew that they certainly knew that geto suguru is a very handsome man. and no matter how much they stare, the fact that he was firmly attached to you would never change.

and if they hated you, let them come. geto would keep you safe, anyway.

whilst you were more than happy to live life as you were (the same as always with no real responsibility), the world continued its course, and you found yourself being suddenly thrust into something that you never imagined would happen this soon- a removal of your freedom.

that wasn't its official title, of course. a marriage proposal is what it had been presented to you as. to some poncey prince from a neighbouring kingdom in the name of keeping peace and good relations with neighbours- it was enough to make you feel sick.

you remembered ranting about it to geto that night in your bedchambers- yes, he was in them whether it was permissible or not- him merely chuckling at your rage while leaning against one of the walls, watching as you paced the room, waving your arms fervently to accentuate your frustration.

"relax, your highness. you'll still have me, after all." his words have an effect on you, admittedly, and it's comforting to find some constancy in him.

on nights where you let your imagination take over, it's quite easy to imagine him as a prince, one who courts you and you fall for and eventually marry- a mere fantasy to escape from this world.

despite your wishes, despite the rumours, the royal engagement continues. you haven't even met your fiancé, yet the marriage is due to happen this spring- symbolising the fresh beginnings of this joyous union.

geto had been gracious enough to accompany you on your newly-developed habit of taking long walks around the castle in favour of sleeping. you might as well memorise every nook and cranny before you'd be forced out of here- kicking and screaming, no doubt.

despite geto's best efforts, the joy you once found from life in the castle was quickly draining, merely fluff to pad the days leading up to the inevitable date.

an arrangement to meet this prince in person was very quickly procured out of nowhere- you couldn't remember his name for the life of you- and you found yourself going through the motions of being even more dolled up for a special ball with little to no enthusiasm. there was once a time where you would be bursting with delight at the beauty looking back at you in the mirror, though now it felt like you were being trussed up in the same sense the cooks were preparing the roasted animals on golden platters for everyone to feast on.

you were just meant to look as appetising as possible. you felt like a prize cow. anything in the name of peace.

you heard someone clear their throat from behind you- your eyes flicked up to your mirror to see geto stood behind you, his gaze particularly soft. you smiled at his outfit, equally exquisite in its brocade and material as yours. a perfect pair.

"i know i say this every time i see you, but you look especially radiant tonight, your highness." and just like that, you're glad to be so dressed up.

"thank you, sir geto." his lips twitch at the official title, but he extends his arm out for you to take nonetheless. "you look very handsome yourself." his cheeks go a shade darker, barely noticeable. you see it, though.

"how could i manage without you?"

the ballroom was decorated even more lavishly in commemoration of tonight- a decadent gold being the setting for this glorious occasion. you hoped that the prince would live up to the grandeur. or at the very least, not be completely hideous to look at. he'd never look as good as geto.

there were a lot of formal introductions. you always had hated curtsying, but the practice you were forced to endure paid off- you were nothing less than perfectly gracious as you met the officials of the neighbouring kingdom, and then, finally, the prince. he winked at you before kissing your hand and asking you to dance. you would rather dance with someone else.

at least the prince wasn't ugly. with the way he looked at you, though, you had to try not to let your nose wrinkle in disgust as you read the lechery in his eyes. was this really who you would be bound to 'til death do you part?

he stank of wine as the two of you danced. you were surprised that he wasn't toppling over, with the way that his words were already slurring. you tried your best to smile and nod along, though you couldn't help your eyes from wandering over his shoulder, settling on the figure of geto stood on the edge of the dancefloor.

you longed for him to be the one before you, and judging by the look on his face, it's what he would have wanted too. even jealousy looked good on him, his narrowed eyes and set jaw infinitely more handsome than the prince's leering one that you barely avoided as he lurched towards you, a little too close for this courtly dance.

geto jerked forwards at this, hands automatically settling on his sword. his eyes met yours, a silent plea to let it go exchanged before he begrudgingly relinquished his defensive stance. his little action still sent a thrill running through you nonetheless, something to cling to as an affirmation that he cared in more than a professional sense.

you let your thoughts wander as you danced, and you didn't do much to try and reel them back in. would it really be so bad to become wedded to a knight? it was unheard of, but there was a first time for everything, you supposed. you wouldn't mind no longer being a princess, as long as you were with him.

that realisation snapped you back to reality, just as the ending notes of the song played. your mandatory dance was over, and you curtsied to the prince before excusing yourself, weaving your way through the crowd of nobles until you reached the outskirts of the ballroom. your whole world felt like it had been tipped on its axis with this revelation, and even then you couldn't help but seek him out.

it was like an invisible force drew you together as you all but crashed into geto, him steadying you and immediately taking in the no doubt frenzied look in your eyes.

"are you alright, your highness?"

"i'm alright, just need to get some air."

geto nods dutifully, keeping hold of one of your arms as he navigates the crowd, slipping the both of you out of a side exit, the noise of the ballroom immediately drowning out as the door shut behind you.

"is that better, your highness?" your heart warmed at the genuine concern written over his face, and you nodded gratefully.

"much better."

the pair of you walk in silence for a few minutes, retracing the same routes of the castle that you had both become so accustomed to recently. it was comfortable to be with him, no matter the occasion.

"you know, i wish i could dance with you." it wasn't quite a confession, but it would do for now. geto paused for a second, and you saw him turn to look at you in the corner of your eye.

"there may be no music playing right now, but it would be an honour to have this dance, your highness." he bows down low, a mockery of etiquette, and you giggle before slipping your hand into his outstretched one. he's smiling as he straightens back up, his other hand curling around your waist with a gracefulness that would put the entire royal court to shame.

the dimly lit corridors became your private ballroom, and geto led you down them nimbly. another giddy laugh escaped you as he raised his arm, letting you twirl freely before bringing you close to him again.

it's a back and forth that you enjoy being led through, wondering to yourself just where he learnt to dance like this but not finding the heart to complain about it. it was a sweet moment amidst the growing realisation that this would most likely be ripped from you as you are forced to move to a different kingdom, away from everything that you've ever known. well, almost everything.

one particular turn has you stumbling ever so slightly, the questionable gap left between you and geto fully closing as your head collides with his chest. his arms instinctively protect you, effectively encasing you against him, leaving you to merely stare up at his face with a dumbfounded look on your face.

"your highness?"

he looked so much more handsome up close, and the torchlight cast shadows that only accentuated his features. you could count his eyelashes from here, feel the slight rise and fall of his chest against your own as you both leaned in ever so slightly- just a few more inches and your faces would be-

a noise from the end of the hallway distracts you, and your focus slips from the man before you to whatever lay behind him

you're horrified by what you see before you. it's that very prince, your fiancé, nestled in one of the darker corners castle, and he wasn't alone. your brain took a little longer to comprehend what was happening, but with the way the woman he was with was pressed up against the wall, caged in by his arms, and the little moans that echoed against the stony walls, it didn't take a genius to figure it out.

"let's go." you sounded so robotic, a ringing in your ears making your voice sound a thousand miles away as you began to retrace your steps, taking you further away from the transgression you just saw. you were vaguely aware of geto talking to you, but your thoughts were too overpowering to properly process anything other than the rising tide of emotion quickly consuming you.

you could barely turn the next corner before you felt yourself start to break down, tears that you fought so hard to contain tracking down your face. even with your back to him, geto read you like a book, placing a hand on your shoulder in some sort of attempt to comfort you.

you took it as an invitation to turn around, burying your face in his chest and letting yourself properly cry as his arms wrapped around you, one rubbing circles on your back and the other petting your hair.

"i wish you were a prince, geto," you sobbed into his tunic. your knight merely chuckled, continuing to stroke your hair as he let you stain the expensive clothing with your tears.

"i do too, your highness." his tone is light, but you still detect the underlying sincerity. it doesn't do much to stop your tears, though, until you feel one of his hands cup your face. these hold more evidence of him being a knight, with rough callouses marring his otherwise flawless hands. his fingers brush back the strands of hair that have come loose from your elegant updo, lingering a moment too long.

"besides, why cry, your highness? you and i both know that your heart does not belong to him." his hand's still on your face, fingers now hooking underneath your chin, raising your gaze to meet his. his smile's coy, and you both can read between the lines of what he's saying. it had been rather obvious for a while now.

that your heart lay a lot closer to home. that maybe the rumours were right.

"you'll always have me."

GOJO SATORU ⌇ he's two whole years younger than you

officially, the title of royal knight carries a certain air of poise, of authority and grace that forces your spine a little straighter whenever you cross paths with them. but never did you think that this man would be the one entrusted with your life and safety in general.

you were more mature than him, and that's saying something. and despite his insistence on being one of the strongest, in your eyes he certainly didn't act like it. but if he was appointed as your personal bodyguard, then that must mean that he did something worthy enough to fulfil the role, right?

despite your slight doubts, you didn't actually have anything against him. on the contrary, you rather enjoyed his presence. he wasn't afraid to make himself known, and you much preferred the thought of him as an animate person than some silent looming shadow that mirrored your every step.

besides, he wasn't half bad to look at.

you especially liked it when he was in the mood to humour you and your questions, opening up a little about his life before becoming a knight- of the small village he used to live in, the beauty of life beyond the castle walls, and his stories intrigued you, invoking a childlike wonder that hadn't been piqued in years.

satoru had told you of one particular festival- a lantern ceremony to celebrate a bountiful autumn's harvest. it was one you had heard of, had seen always from a distance, the faint lights of hundreds of paper lanterns floating into the sky mere pinpricks that blend into the stars from your vantage point of the castle window.

he has a knack for storytelling, too- for better or worse. he spins gold with his tongue, painting a picture so lovely and vibrant that you are compelled to see it in person- whether it is as wondrous as the knight claims it to be.

and gojo has always been up for a challenge.

"satoru."

"princess y/n." he's amused, already knowing what your proposition will be before you utter another word.

"how good are you at keeping me safe?"

"incredibly, why?"

"i'd like you to take me to see this festival in person."

he had to decline at first- he had a duty to fulfil, after all- but you demand, you implore, you even beg in order to get him on board.

he was willing to do so the very first time you mention it, the gleam in his eye giving his true intentions away, but he plays along, getting a kick out of the desperation in your voice. you whine about how you are the princess and it's his job to do what you ask- and he laughs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat with an obliging "as you wish, your highness."

and thus begins your daring expedition to sneak out of the castle and back in completely undetected.

it's an operation carried out under the guise of night, the pair of you in cloaks and dressed inconspicuously. it's a simple plan, too. the gardens below your bedchamber's window is not a commonly patrolled area, and it's laughably easy for gojo to slip out of the window first and jump down the few metres until he lands on grass. he lands like it's nothing, smiling back up at you and motioning for you to join him.

it's a leap of faith, the crossing of a boundary as you swing your leg over the windowsill, feeling the fear kick in as you see just how high up you are. but you see gojo, too, his bright hair and eyes looking up at you encouragingly, and you swallow that fear.

"i'll catch you," he promises.

and he does. it's a soft landing, all things considered, as you land in his arms that are deceptively solid beneath you. you yelp as you fall- it couldn't be helped- but it's short-lived as you find yourself face to face with satoru.

he seems as equally stunned as you at the proximity of your faces, but the moment passes quickly for him, his signature practised grin coming back on to his face as he gently touches your feet to the ground.

"good to go, princess?" you nod, still reeling. he offers you an arm, half-joking, and you take it with a pleased smile.

gojo knows the castle grounds like the back of his hand- leading you to a concealed door in the outer wall, slipping through it like a shadow with you in tow. it wasn't until now that you saw him in his element, not sitting around like a lazy cat like he so often did in your presence.

he's more alert, alive, lithe body moving with purpose. it's nice to see him like this, without all of the bulky armour and constraints of the castle walls. the tension leaves him, his gait changing, and you feel the adrenaline course through your veins as the two of you officially make it outside of the castle.

you try to memorise every step you take, the way the ground feels against your shoes, the feeling of the breeze rushing unfiltered against your face. it's surreal, this taste of freedom, and you feel the urge to laugh like a maniac.

your hand slips from its grasp of gojo's bicep, letting you drift away from your knight in favour of pausing to squat down and inspect the brightly coloured flowers that grew on the path.

it was a mere tulip- nothing that you had ever seen before, the castle favouring more exotic species to showcase than some simple thing that you could pluck from the ground. but it was beautiful, all the same.

you felt gojo pause, letting you have your moment uninterrupted before you stand, beaming up at him.

"the outside world is very beautiful."

"indeed it is, princess. just wait until you see the lanterns up close."

it wasn't too far to reach his hometown, so he said. it was a comfortable walk, the terrain not too demanding. and finally, with the last stretch of land, you saw it.

"oh, wow."

if anything, satoru didn't do it justice in his stories. there's another element that you had never anticipated, of the music coursing throughout the town, breathing life into the people. everything was so much more colourful, more beautiful up close.

the closer you approach it, the more it comes into focus, and you don't try to hide your awe as you take in the surroundings. you don't turn your head to see the way your knight is smiling down at you, a soft look in his eyes.

and while it may make his job a pain sometimes, satoru's thankful that you're so oblivious to his surroundings and the ways he pines after you gone unnoticed. he had never exposed this part of himself before, the small nostalgic part of him that treasured unblemished memories of his childhood, now walking arm in arm with a princess and pointing out each little nook and cranny that he used to play in.

the pair of you finally make it to the inner part of the festivities, where there are countless stalls set up with all kinds of goods being sold. satoru stands back, letting you pour over each individual item, oohing and aahing as the vendors explain what they are.

you do this for... quite some time, until you settle upon a small jewellery stand. it was nothing like you had ever seen worn by nobles, fashioned out of colourful stones and leather cord instead of the gold and silver inlaid with precious gems. it intrigued you, the beautiful polished stone somehow being the most elegant thing you had ever laid eyes upon. and like a bloodhound, the lady running the stall sidled up to you and satoru.

"and for the beautiful couple, what can i interest you in?"

"oh, we-" you laugh, all pitchy as you get flustered, but satoru takes this in stride, simply wrapping his waist around you and pulling you closer together. he always had been one to toe the line.

"i think that my darling here had her eye on that necklace." he nods towards the very one that had caught your attention, you glancing at him in surprise, unaware that he even noticed such details. he merely winked in return as the lady beamed, taking it off its hook and holding it out to you.

"a fine choice, indeed! the rose quartz is said to bring luck to you in all romantic endeavours." you blush as you accept the necklace, satoru paying for it before you could get a single word in. he waved off any protests, merely taking the necklace from your hands before lifting it to fit around your neck.

his fingers brush against the soft skin at your nape, a little shiver rippling from it as he moved your hair onto one of your shoulders, out of the way of the cord.

"it looks beautiful on you." you try not to read into the sincerity emanating from his gaze, bowing your head graciously from the compliment before looping an arm around his, letting satoru guide you through the rest of the village.

you ended up in the main square, watching as some officials released the lanterns, how each one floated upwards until they became pinpricks in the sky. your gaze drifted towards the castle looming, and you felt some heaviness return to your heart.

the night had to come to an end, after all.

satoru sensed your shift in mood, offering a sympathetic smile before the pair of you trudged back, retracing your steps to return to your chambers without getting caught.

for a few minutes, before you properly laid down to rest, you caught yourself toying with the necklace, unable to stop the grin that spread across your face as you thought of the magical night with satoru, and his unseen side.

and as you woke up the next morning, the events of the past few hours were hard to see as more than a dream. but as you rise, you gaze at your reflection in the vanity next to your bed again, and you see the cord of the necklace still peeking out past the neckline of your nightgown.

there's a knock on your door, too, and you see your knight's face peek from around the corner.

"good morning, satoru."

"good morning, princess. did you sleep well?" there's a practised formality in his tone, but you don't miss his expression, the smile that threatens to slip onto his face.

it'll be a secret between just the two of you.

CHOSO KAMO ⌇ there wasn't a single doubt in your mind that this man wouldn't put his life on the line for you

however, it wasn't so certain from the start. when you were first introduced to choso, he was polite. he looked you in the eyes, kneeled to you, pledged his allegiance, but what struck you most was the anger that his gaze met you with.

it was like being scalded, making you shrink back from the sheer intensity. you couldn't get a read off of him apart from that cool anger, one that you weren't even sure was directed at you or not.

it was only through gossip overheard by the maidservants that you learnt of his prospects before being appointed as your bodyguard.

the most promising of his rank, on course to become the youngest commander in the military in the past century. he would have been set for life, the salary enough to support his entire family- yet he's now responsible for babysitting a spoilt princess.

it's what they had said, after all.

and the more you thought about it, the more awful you felt. you understand now why he looked at you like that, that pointed gaze with all its burning intensity. why he looked like he would rather be anywhere else within the castle than at your side.

it's improper to assume responsibility for anything as a member of the royal family, but you do so anyway and apologise to him one night- borderline tearful, your emotions besting you as you finally cave in and tell him about how you think he hates you.

and he stops you mid-sentence, confusion written across all of his features.

"milady... i'm afraid you've got it all wrong."

it was an awkward conversation, to say the least. you had never really been exposed to someone like him before- to have such a rigid sense of duty and seriousness that it translated as hatred was unheard of, even for the castle.

and despite this revelation, choso's stiff upper lip did not waver. his intertwined sense of duty was a tricky thing to peel away from him.

but it's a task that you were willing to commit to. you'd be spending a lot more time with him, after all, and you'd much rather get to know choso as a person if that was the case.

and so began your futile efforts of breaking down choso's barriers. you felt like a petulant child, always asking him questions that he would either blank or answer with an occasional grunt.

you were glad that news travels fast within the castle- any gossip about the princess' handsome new knight was a snippet of information that you hung onto eagerly.

it appears that you weren't alone in harbouring an interest in the young knight- if the excited chattering of maidservants and the way that they squealed over every interaction with him was any indicator.

for some reason, hearing them gush over the way his muscles looked when he was practising swordfighting in the barracks, or how strong he was when he helped carry in heavy sacks of grain rubbed you the wrong way. it lit a fire underneath you that made you all the more eager to get to know him well and truly before anybody else did.

you seemed to have struck gold about sir choso when you overheard one maidservant admit to having grown up in the same village as him- how she remembered that his family used to own a horse that him and his brothers loved more than anything else when growing up.

amidst the oohs and aahs of this revelation, a plan started to hatch in your mind. one that came into fruition the very next day as choso accompanied you on your morning walk around the royal gardens.

"say, choso, have you ever ridden a horse before?"

out of all of the questions and hints about him that you've posed, you've never seen such a reaction from him before. he starts, and out of the corner of your eye you see him almost puff up with excitement, and your ears strain, eager to hear what he has to say before you see him school his features once again, and the moment is bitterly over.

"it was part of my training to become a knight, milady. why do you ask?"

it was no matter if he didn't want to open up yet, you can be patient. and spend a little longer playing dumb about just how much you know about him.

"well, i was thinking of doing something slightly different today." he raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue. "i wanted to go horse-riding." he pauses for a good few seconds, ever so stoic, before nodding his head in acknowledgement.

"as you wish, milady."

you clap your hands togeher excitedly, beaming up at him.

"perfect!"

you set off in the direction of the stables, your knight following closely behind you, and dare you say with a slightest improvement in the upbeat of his gait. despite all of his professionalism, he still had his tells.

the smell of fresh hay and the less pleasant odour of manure reaches your nostrils before you can properly see the horses, but you let your nose wrinkle in displeasure and resolutely keep marching onwards to the stable entrance. you had a purpose to fulfil by being here, after all.

now, as a princess, it was imperative that you had acquired several different skills as part of your royal upbringing. how to eat properly, how to speak properly, act properly, including when riding a horse.

but, try as you might, you just couldn't quite manage to get a proper grasp on that last part. but, if it meant getting to know choso, you'd simply grin and bear it and hope to god that it didn't buck you off directly into a patch of mud.

the horses can smell your fear, you had been told as a child. even the stubbiest pony accustomed to your eight-year-old self's stature still towered above you, nostrils flared and rubbery lips dripping with saliva, making you hide behind the legs of your tutors as you cowered away from such a ferocious beast.

such childlike fears seemed to resurface now, as the snort of a nearby horse makes you twitch, visibly enough that it doesn't go unnoticed.

"are you alright, milady?" he's eyeing you sideways now, having caught up with your stride with his much longer one. you wonder just how eager he must be to ride a horse that it would warrant him breaking his usual pattern of tracing your footsteps and now meeting them with his own as the pair of you walk.

the thought brings a pang of guilt to accompany it, so you plaster on a smile and nod at him brightly.

"of course i am! it just caught me off guard, is all. not to worry, i'll have two horses be arranged for us."

you look at the nearest stable hand expectantly, and the young boy seems to comprehend your message as he dashes off to affix saddles and leashes to two fine stallions, befitting of royalty, to ride. you don't miss the doubtful look choso still gives you out of the corner of your eye.

it's better than focusing on the huffs and snorts of the beast before you as it's brought forwards, close enough for its putrid breath to curl in warm tendrils against your face. you feel your skin shrivel at the sensation.

but being a princess means putting on a brave face, and to never crumble in the face of adversity.

you march over to see the stirrup, level with your chest, inviting you to step up and onto the horse's back. it's funny, all these years later you would have dwarfed that little pony, so now they've brought an even larger horse to maintain order.

you can feel your heart hammering in your chest as you approach it, and you think that the horse can feel it too, because it snorts, twisting its head, the stable hand sounding panicked as the rope is prised from his grasp by the powerful strain from the stallion.

and then there's those painstaking moments, of the horse bucking and neighing, free now, and you really regret not providing more foresight into this plan.

how exactly will you get to know choso more if you've been trampled to death before he opens his mouth again?

you think this is the end of your short and silly life, if not for the hand that shoots out, grabbing the reins, another smoothing over the horse's snout. you watch in awe as your knight, your personal bodyguard, does just that and saves you from what would have been an imminent and painful death.

and like some horse whisperer, the stallion was now rendered meek and docile, following where it was led as choso turned to you, expression impassive as always.

"are you scared of horses milady?"

how foolish of you to think you wouldn't be all these years later. there's no use lying, and you dejectedly nod at his question. a beat of silence, before confusion graces his features.

"then why decide to go riding today?"

"because i heard that you like horses..."

it sounds so truly pathetic coming out of your mouth, but your heart still skips a beat as you see an entirely new expression on his face. a smile, one that he bites back as he looks off to the side, shaking his head in disbelief.

and then he looks back at you, really looks at you, with that coldness in his eyes parting like clouds to give way to something softer, warmer.

"allow me to help you then, your highness."

you give him a shy little nod at his proposition, and choso turns to the tearfully apologetic stable hand, signalling to him to return the other horse. you're confused as he approaches you, horse in tow, and you eye the animal with suspicion as it meets you face to face.

"the first thing about any animal is to establish a connection with it, milady." choso speaks so softly, voice barely above a whisper, and you watch in amazement as the horse's ears prick up, as if hanging on every word that he says alongside yourself.

"you've got to talk to it, introduce yourself." he motions for you to try, and your eyes flick back to the horse.

"hello, horse," you whisper to it. you feel like an idiot, but choso's nod of encouragement and second rare smile convince you to keep going. "it's nice to meet you."

it seems to have turned its attention towards you now, its nose snuffling at you, and you rear back a little.

"it's okay, milady, he just wants to smell you."

you look at choso again, expression doubtful, and he holds his hand outstretched, prompting you to place your palm in his.

he's warm, deliciously so, a decisive strength resting behind each finger as he guides your dainty hand towards the maw of the beast. its nostrils flare, snuffling against your hand, and you giggle girlishly at the odd sensation. choso's smiling now, no charade as he lets his joy shine through, matching yours.

"see? he likes you, your highness."

the pair of you stay like that for a few minutes, tentatively stroking the horse, until you feel comfortable enough to suggest riding them. choso nods, a flicker of responsibilty taking over his expressions as he guides you towards the saddle.

you're uncertain all over again, for different reasons now, as the distance required to get your foot in the stirrup seemed a little too high to achieve. and then choso's behind you, a hushed "may i?" whispered into your ear as his fingers curl at your waist.

you're flustered now, nodding all the same, gasping at how easily he lifts you until your feet dangle adjacent to the sturrup, and you let yourself slip a foot into it and swing the rest of yourself up and over to be seated on the horse.

you peer down at choso, desperately trying to ignore the fact that his head was directly next to your lap. it was absurd- you were the one riding atop a horse as he remained on the ground, you were the one of royal descent- yet in this very moment you were entirely at his mercy.

you clear your throat, nodding to him.

"if there aren't any more horses, how are you going to ride one?" and now he smirks at you, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.

"well, if you're so scared of horses, i thought that i'd continue to help you get over that fear."

the penny doesn't drop until he places his foot in the very same stirrup that you had used to hoist yourself up, doing the same in an admittedly much more fluid motion, and positing himself flush against your back.

if it weren't for the light armour he wore, you were certain that he would be able to feel the way your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

you look down to your lap, watching as his arms reach forwards, practically embracing you, before his hands take a willful grip of the leather reins.

"how does that sound, milady?" he's practically purring into your ear, and he must know the effect he's having on you, if not before then definitely now as you sharply inhale, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the slight sensation of his breath.

you don't even trust yourself to speak eloquently without making a fool of yourself, so you nod instead. the message is not lost on choso, and he chuckles right into your ear before starting to guide the horse as easily as breathing.

the animal lurched forwards, and your hands shot out, instinctively latching onto the nearest solid thing. whether they were your knight's hands or not wasn't important. but choso took this in stride, guiding your hands to take hold of the reins, and then encapsulating them with his own.

it sent a little thrill jolting through your spine, especially as he shuffles even closer to you, just to make sure that he could see properly.

your plan was working brilliantly after all.

and for all the trouble it took to situate yourself on the horse, your initial fears melted away in the presence of choso, as he spurred the horse to start a slow walk out of the stables, and onto the vast grounds surrounding the palace.

and as you gaze back to catch a glimpse of your knight, catching the way he smiles down at you so freely, faces a breadth apart, you realise that your fates are well and truly intertwined together.

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... there's no release, i feel you in my dreams

(i don't have any other jjk fics FOR NOW ㅜㅡㅜ) best friend!aventurine x reader

➤ alternatively, you can find my jjk masterlist here!

[f0url3af]

Hi how are you

So I saw that your requests are open and you haven't posted anything yet, so to start I was wondering if you could write something like how it is to be their significant other with the op characters

I don't know if you have a limit of characters per ask but if you do just Ace is enough

𝐇𝐢 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲!

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬. 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭.

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭 ❤︎︎

𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬:

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐟 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐃. 𝐀𝐜𝐞?

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟/𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Dating Ace was all passion and flames… literally!

Ace is like a wildfire. One minute, he's tame, lounging around on the Moby Dick with you in his arms, curled up under the mast. The next, he's a roaring fire, causing mischief everywhere he goes. You never know what's going to happen next with Ace.

Being his significant other, you'd think he'd try to spare you from his antics. Oh no...

Ace will drag you into every bit of adventure or mischief that involves him in any sort of way. Whether it's on Whitebeard's ship, in a cozy town on an island, or against the Marines, you will never be safe from his fire, his passion.

It's not like you mind, however. You love Ace. He's your daily dose of fiery mayhem, and you wouldn't have it any other way. The days are never boring with him around, bringing his charm and reckless attitude with him wherever he goes. And you, of course. He wouldn't leave his most prized possession behind, his one true treasure.

A normal day with Ace is one filled with chaos, adventure, and amusement. A day of eating until his narcolepsy kicks in, and you have to stop him from going headfirst into his food until he wakes back up and starts eating again. A day of exploring the latest island that the Moby Dick stopped at, running from street vendors when Ace decides he doesn’t want to pay for his food, or from the Marines if they found out where you were.

When Ace finally relaxes after a day terrorising his latest victim, whether it's Marco or the Marines, he relaxes. Hard. Due to his narcolepsy, it's common for him to fall asleep anywhere on the ship. But when he wants a day to relax and unwind, the first thing he does is search for you. He wants to relax with you in his arms, preferably in your shared room, away from the others.

Once you're both settled on the bed in a position that feels comfortable, Ace is out like a light.

Napping or sleeping with Portgas D. Ace is another thing in itself entirely. He drools. He sleeptalks. He snores. Sometimes it's loud and annoying, especially when he's snoring right into your ear, his body draped over yours so you can't escape or move. Other times it's quiet and soft, like he's trying to hide away from the world, curled up against your side.

The one thing that stays constant, however, is that Ace's need to be holding you. Whether it was an arm draped over your stomach, you lying on his chest, or him accidentally smothering you as you sleep, he needs that skin-on-skin contact. It makes him feel like he was both protecting you and being protected by you.

Of course, you know who his father is, and the expectation that people have put on his shoulders to be like him.

When he first told you was when the Moby Dick was at its quietest. Curled up with each other on your shared bed, letting the waves caressing the ship lull you to sleep as the stars lit up the night sky, he finally spilled the secret of who his father was.

He told you everything that he knew about the infamous Gol D. Roger, how there are people out there who wanted him dead for just being the Pirate King's son, for just existing. How he felt like the world wanted him to be something he's not. He spilled his fears, his distaste for his father. He told you about his mother, his life in Foosha Village, and about Luffy and Sabo.

"You're not like your father, Ace. You don't have to be like him." Is what you whispered to him that night, your hand running through the inky black strands of his hair as he curled up against your side, head resting on your chest, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I don't care who your father was. I only care about you."

Those words stuck with him till this very day, gently carved into his mind by your soothing words.

Although you and Ace have your days when you're upset or angry, it's rarely at each other. There are almost never any arguments between you two, and if there are, they are solved straight away.

Ace learnt this the hard way after you didn't talk to him for a few days over an argument that you both agreed was petty and not needed at the time.

Life on the Moby Dick with Ace, surrounded by your found family, although hectic at times, is everything you wanted in life: a loving family, somewhere to call home, and someone to call 'yours'.

[lumiluffy]

⋆˙⟡ — Portgas D Ace

a/n: hey guys... i've been dead for so long. sorry about that ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀) take this short silly fluffy ace x reader drabble, hopefully it's good enough to compensate for my absence.

summary: you accidentally drool on ace while napping with him. he reacts in the most ace way possible.

The sea breeze was warm, and the sun was just beginning to set, casting a golden hue across the deck of the Moby Dick. You were laying with Ace in a hammock, nestled comfortably against his bare chest, your body tucked under his arm as the two of you relaxed under the warm sun. His heartbeat was steady, his warmth intoxicating, and before you knew it, your eyelids had begun to flutter closed. "Comfortable?" He murmured with a lopsided grin, his fingers lazily brushing through your hair. "Mhm," You mumbled sleepily, eyes already closed as you cuddled more into him. You didn't mean to fall asleep. And you definitely didn't mean to drool. But when you finally blinked awake, stretching with a soft, content sigh, something felt... off. Your cheek was damp. Ace's chest was sticky, and when you looked down- "Oh my god," Your heart plummeted. There it was. A small but unmistakable drool spot, right over his pec. You immediately recoiled off him like you had touched burning hot iron, slapping a hand over your mouth. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- I didn't even notice!" You shrieked, mortified beyond relief, your face blazing red. "I'll- I'll clean it! I'll get a towel- I'll just jump in the sea actually, I can't recover from this-" But Ace, who's been awake for who knows how long, just laughed.

"Pfft! Is that what you're freaking out about?" He wheezed. You were sure he'd be doubled down on the floor laughing if he wasn't trapped under you in the moment. He grinned from ear to ear, "Babe, you drooled on me, not stabbed me." You pouted miserably, hiding your face against his shoulder, which only made him laugh harder. "Ace! That's so gross! I can't believe you just let me lay on you like that and just- let me slobber all over you!" "First of all," he grins, wrapping his arms around you, "It's not gross. Second, I've literally had people bleed on me from fights- a little drool from my adorable girlfriend is nothing." "Don't say it like thattttt," you whined, voice mumbled into his skin. You were practically melting in embarrassment. "Aww, come on," He cooed teasingly, grabbing you by the shoulders and gently pushing you back, before booping you on the nose. "It's kinda cute. Like.. you love me so much your body just couldn't help but leak a little while cuddling me." You gasped, smacking his chest lightly, "Ace!!!" He somehow started laughing even harder than before, holding his stomach as he burst out with laughter. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry! But seriously, don't be embarrassed, alright? I loved it. You were so relaxed and warm and happy, how could I get mad at that?" He said wrapping his arms around you once more, playfully rocking you back and forth with his body. You peeked up at him, squinting your eyes at him, "Even if I let my DNA all over your chest?" "I'm gonna pretend you didn't phrase it like that," He grinned, "But yes. Even then."

You let out a whiny sound, hiding your face against him again as he just nuzzled your temple with his nose. "Next time," you mumbled, "I'm drooling on your face. Then we'll see how cute you think it is." He just continued smiling, "Deal. As long as it means I get to cuddle with you."

[sixeyesonathiel]

this love survives bad haircuts

synopsis : satoru makes a very questionable decision the night before school. by morning, he’s convinced he’s ruined everything—especially the way you look at him. it’s not just about hair, he learns. it never was.

wc — 4.8k ✦ tags -> character study, humor, comfort, fluff, crack treated seriously, high school au, established relationship, military haircut disaster, teenage love, idiots in love, insecure satoru

satoru gojo has made a terrible, terrible mistake.

he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running shaky fingers through what used to be his glorious crown of silver-white chaos and is now... this. this travesty. this crime against humanity. his hair sits close to his scalp in a crisp military cut, all sharp edges and geometric precision, and he looks like he’s about to ship out to boot camp instead of walking into first period chemistry.

the thing is, satoru has never been ugly before. not once in his seventeen years of existence. he’s been gangly, sure, when he hit that growth spurt at fourteen and couldn’t figure out where his limbs belonged. he’s been awkward, definitely, when his voice cracked during that disastrous presentation in freshman english. but ugly? never ugly.

more importantly, he’s never been ugly in front of you. you, who calls him pretty boy when you’re feeling soft. you, who traces his jawline with sleepy fingers during saturday morning cuddles. you, who literally purrs—purrs—when he nuzzles into your neck like the overgrown puppy he knows he is.

the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across his face and making his shorn head look even more alien. he tilts his head left, then right, hoping maybe the angle will make it less catastrophic. it doesn’t. if anything, it makes him look like a confused ostrich. he wonders if this is what normal people feel like all the time—this horrible uncertainty about their own reflection.

“what have i done,” he whispers to his reflection, and his reflection—that traitorous thing—just stares back with the same horrified crystalline eyes, now looking enormous without his usual curtain of hair to frame them.

the dare had seemed so simple last night. suguru and shoko, sprawled across his bedroom floor with energy drinks and homework they weren’t doing, had been going on and on about how you were obviously only dating him for his money. for his face. for the way his hair caught afternoon sunlight and made him look like some sort of ethereal prince.

it had stung, the way they’d laughed about it. not because he thought they were right, but because some treacherous part of his brain had whispered what if? what if you really were that shallow? what if the girl who remembered his coffee order and drew little hearts on his notebook margins and let him drape himself across her lap like a house cat was just playing some elaborate long game?

the thought makes him sick. because satoru gojo is pathetically in love with you. embarrassingly so. the kind of love that makes him text you good morning before his eyes are fully open, that makes him buy you little trinkets from the convenience store just because they reminded him of you, that makes him physically ache when you’re not around.

he’d always been too much. too loud, too rich, too everything. his parents had made sure he knew that—love wrapped in conditions, affection measured in achievements. so when you’d started dating him six months ago, he’d been waiting for the catch. waiting for you to get tired of his energy, his neediness, his desperate desire to be wanted for something other than his last name.

instead, you’d started calling him baby. started letting him sleep with his head on your chest. started feeding him pieces of your lunch while calling him spoiled, but with such fondness that it felt like the sweetest compliment in the world.

“she’s totally shallow,” shoko had said, blowing smoke rings toward his ceiling while picking at her black nail polish. “i bet if you showed up tomorrow bald, she’d dump you before homeroom.”

“not bald,” suguru had corrected, ever the voice of reason, though his smirk suggested otherwise. “but like, really short. military style. bet she wouldn’t even look at you twice.”

and satoru—stupid, lovesick, pride-wounded satoru—had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker. because deep down, in the parts of himself he doesn’t like to examine too closely, he’d wondered the same thing. wondered if your fingers tangled in his hair during kisses because you loved him or because you loved the way he looked in magazine spreads and instagram stories.

now he’s standing in the school hallway, hood pulled up despite the no-hats policy, practically vibrating with anxiety. his palms are sweating. actually sweating. when was the last time satoru gojo had sweaty palms? never, that’s when. but here he is, seventeen years old and terrified of his own girlfriend.

he tries to remember the last time he’d felt this kind of bone-deep terror. maybe when he was eight and broke his mother’s favorite vase, standing in the wreckage with tears streaming down his face while she counted to ten in that voice that meant disappointment. or maybe it was never this bad, because at least then he’d known the parameters of his punishment. now he’s flying blind into territory he’s never had to navigate: the possibility that someone he loves might not love him back.

students flow around him like water around a rock, chattering about weekend plans and upcoming tests, and none of them seem to notice that satoru gojo is having a complete mental breakdown. someone laughs too loudly near the science wing. a locker slams shut with metallic finality. the morning announcements crackle through tired speakers, and principal yaga’s voice drones about dress code violations.

he spots you at your locker, and his heart does that stupid fluttering thing it always does—like a hummingbird having a seizure. you’re wearing the sweater he bought you last week—soft pink cashmere that probably cost more than most people’s rent—and you’re humming under your breath while you sort through textbooks. there’s a small furrow between your brows as you squint at your schedule, and he knows you’re probably trying to remember if you have calculus or literature next.

this is the thing about loving someone, he thinks. you start memorizing their expressions like they’re a language only you can speak. he knows that furrow means concentration, not annoyance. knows that the way you’re tapping your fingers against your locker door means you’re running through your mental checklist, probably remembering that you forgot to finish your chemistry homework and trying to calculate if you have enough time before class.

he also knows that if he walked up to you right now and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, you’d make that little huffing noise that means you’re pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased. knows that you’d lean back into him anyway, letting him nuzzle into your hair while you complained about him being clingy in that fond, exasperated voice you use when you’re trying not to smile.

you look so pretty, so normal, so completely unaware that your boyfriend has committed follicular suicide. your hair falls in soft waves over your shoulder, and satoru’s stomach clenches with the sudden, visceral realization that he’ll never be able to mirror that gesture again. no more running his fingers through matching lengths of hair. no more of you braiding small sections when you’re bored in class.

no more of you tugging on the strands when you want his attention, calling him your pretty boy with that secret smile that makes him feel like he could conquer the world.

“just walk over,” he mutters to himself, bouncing slightly on his heels. “just walk over and—”

“satoru!” your voice cuts through his spiral, bright and cheerful, and he freezes like a deer in headlights. you’re waving at him with your free hand, that brilliant smile on your face—the one that makes your eyes crinkle at the corners and shows off the slightly crooked incisor you’re self-conscious about. the one that makes him feel like he’s swallowed sunshine. “come here, i missed you!”

missed you. it’s been twelve hours since he walked you home, since you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him goodbye on your doorstep, since you whispered “text me when you get home, baby” against his lips. twelve hours, and you missed him.

his heart does seventeen different acrobatic maneuvers in his chest.

his feet move without his permission, carrying him toward you on unsteady legs. the hood feels like it’s suffocating him, but he can’t take it off. won’t take it off. maybe if he just keeps it on all day, you’ll never have to see what he’s done. maybe he can transfer schools. maybe he can fake his own death.

he’s spiraling. he knows he’s spiraling. this is what happens when satoru gojo doesn’t have control over a situation—his brain turns into a hamster wheel of catastrophic possibilities. he’s going to lose you. you’re going to take one look at him and realize you’ve been dating a fraud, someone who’s only attractive with the right lighting and good genetics, and now that one of those things is gone, the illusion is shattered.

“why are you wearing your hood?” you ask, reaching up to tug at the fabric with curious fingers. your touch is gentle, familiar, and he wants to lean into it like a cat seeking warmth. wants to press his face into your palm and let you pet him until the world makes sense again. “you know mr. yaga will give you detention if he sees. and then you’ll be all mopey and i’ll have to sneak you extra cookies at lunch to cheer you up.”

the casual way you plan to take care of him makes his throat tight. this is what you do—you notice when he’s sad, when he’s stressed, when he needs just a little more attention than usual. you pretend to be annoyed about it, but you always have his favorite snacks in your bag, always save him the good seat in the cafeteria, always let him tangle his fingers with yours under the desk during boring classes.

“no, don’t—” but it’s too late. your fingers catch the edge of his hood and pull, and then you’re staring at him with wide eyes and an expression he can’t quite read.

the silence stretches between them like a chasm. satoru wants to die. wants to sink into the floor and disappear forever. wants to transfer schools and change his name and maybe join the witness protection program. your eyes are doing that thing where they go very still, very focused, like you’re trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem.

“your hair,” you say finally, and your voice is so quiet he barely hears it over the hallway noise. your hand is still raised, hovering somewhere near his temple, fingers trembling slightly like you want to touch but don’t quite dare.

he knows that gesture. you do it when you’re trying to process something that doesn’t compute. like the time he showed up at your house at midnight because he’d had a nightmare and needed to see you. you’d stood there in your pajamas, hair mussed from sleep, hand hovering just like this while you tried to figure out if you should scold him for being reckless or hug him for being vulnerable.

you’d chosen the hug. you always choose the hug.

“i can explain,” he starts, words tumbling out in a rush while his hands gesture wildly. “it was a dare and i was stupid and i know you probably hate it and me and—”

“satoru.” you’re still staring at him, and now he can see tears gathering in your eyes. actual tears. your lower lip trembles, and you press your free hand to your mouth like you’re trying to hold something back. “your beautiful hair.”

and then you’re crying. not just tearing up, but full-on sobbing in the middle of the hallway, shoulders shaking as you stare at his shorn head like he’s just told you someone died. your textbooks tumble from your arms, scattering across the linoleum with dull thuds.

this is it, he thinks. this is the moment everything falls apart. except... except you’re not looking at him with disgust or disappointment. you’re looking at him like you’re grieving. like something precious has been lost. and that’s almost worse, because it means you did care about his hair, means maybe suguru and shoko were right about something, means—

“oh god,” he panics, reaching for you instinctively, his hands hovering uselessly around your shoulders because he doesn’t know if touching you will make it better or worse. “don’t cry, please don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—”

“it’s gone,” you wail, and several students turn to stare. your voice echoes off the lockers, and satoru can see phones being pulled out in his peripheral vision. “it’s all gone! how could you do this to me? to us? to your perfect, gorgeous, fluffy hair that i loved so much?”

and there it is. the thing that makes satoru gojo absolutely, completely, stupidly in love with you. because it’s not his hair you’re mourning—it’s yours. you’ve claimed it, the same way you’ve claimed his hoodies and his passenger seat and his whole entire heart. in your mind, his hair belongs to you as much as it belongs to him, and someone has taken it away without asking permission.

you’re not crying because he’s ugly. you’re crying because someone stole something that was yours to love.

satoru feels his own eyes starting to water. this is worse than he imagined. so much worse. you’re crying over his hair—actually crying—and he doesn’t know what to do with that information. his throat feels tight, and there’s a burning sensation behind his eyes that he hasn’t felt since he was twelve and broke his arm falling off his bike.

he thinks about all the times you’ve touched his hair. casual touches—pushing it out of his eyes during study sessions, playing with the ends while you’re both watching movies, the way you’d run your fingers through it when he was stressed about exams. but also the possessive touches—tugging him down for kisses, wrapping the strands around your finger while you’re talking, the way you’d pet him absently while he dozed with his head in your lap.

you’ve never said “i love you” out loud. neither of you have. but you’ve said it in a thousand other ways, and apparently one of those ways was cherishing his stupid hair like it was made of spun gold.

had it really meant that much to you? had he been so stupid, so careless with something you treasured?

“i’ll grow it back,” he promises desperately, hands still hovering around your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you. he’s crying now too, which is embarrassing, but you’re crying and that makes his chest feel like it’s caving in. “i’ll take vitamins and do scalp massages and—and i’ll research hair growth treatments! i’ll do anything, baby, please don’t be sad.”

the pet name slips out without his permission, soft and pleading, and your expression crumples even more. you’ve never said it makes you feel good when he calls you that, but he sees the way your eyes go soft, the way you unconsciously lean toward him like a flower seeking sunlight.

“it’ll take months,” you sob, and you sound so genuinely devastated that his heart cracks clean in two. your mascara is starting to smudge, creating dark shadows under your eyes, and you’re hiccupping between words. “months, satoru! what am i supposed to do for months?” your voice breaks on his name, and he’s never heard you sound so genuinely distressed. “what am i supposed to play with during movies? what am i supposed to braid when i’m bored? what am i supposed to tug when you’re being insufferable and i need you to pay attention to me?”

each question is like a little knife to his heart because they’re all so you. practical and petulant and so full of casual intimacy that he wants to wrap you up and never let you go. you’re not asking what you’re supposed to look at or what you’re supposed to find attractive. you’re asking what you’re supposed to do with your hands when the thing you love most is gone.

“i don’t know!” he’s definitely crying now too, tears streaming down his face as he stares at your crumpled expression. his voice cracks embarrassingly on the words, and he wipes his nose with his sleeve like the sophisticated seventeen-year-old he is. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, please don’t break up with me! i’ll buy you anything you want—that bag you were looking at, or we can go to that expensive restaurant you like, or—”

“satoru.” you interrupt him, and there’s something different in your voice now. something that makes him stop babbling and focus on your face. “baby.”

the pet name stops him cold. you only call him that when you’re feeling particularly soft, when your prickly exterior cracks just enough to let him see how much you care. you’re still crying, but now you’re looking at him like he’s the one who needs taking care of.

you stop crying so abruptly it gives him whiplash. your tear-stained face goes blank, then confused, then something that looks almost like offense. “break up with you?”

“isn’t that what you’re going to do?” he sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve like the sophisticated seventeen-year-old he is. his hands are shaking now, and he can’t seem to stop them. “because i ruined my hair and now i’m ugly and—”

“satoru gojo,” you interrupt, and your voice has gone from devastated to something else entirely. something that makes him nervous. your eyebrows draw together in a way that means trouble, and you plant your hands on your hips in that stance he knows means he’s about to get lectured. “are you insane?”

he blinks at you, confused. water still clings to his eyelashes, making everything look slightly blurry. “i... what?”

“do you think i’m dating you for your hair?” your voice has gone dangerously quiet, and satoru knows from experience that quiet-angry-you is infinitely more terrifying than loud-angry-you. but there’s something else there too, something that sounds almost like hurt.

“well,” he says slowly, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie, “suguru and shoko said—”

“suguru and shoko can eat glass,” you snap, and now you’re glaring at him with red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. your hands gesture wildly as you speak, and he can see the exact moment when your sadness transforms into righteous indignation. “and so can you if you think i give a damn about your stupid hair when i’m in love with your stupid face.”

the words hang in the air between you like a confession. like a secret that’s been building for months and finally spilled over.

in love with.

you said you’re in love with him.

“but you’re crying,” he points out weakly, gesturing at your mascara-streaked face.

“i’m crying because you look ridiculous!” you explode, gesturing wildly at his head. your voice cracks slightly on the word ridiculous, and satoru can’t tell if you’re about to start laughing or crying again. “you look like a military recruit! like you’re about to ask me to drop and give you twenty! it’s so bad it’s actually offensive to my eyeballs!”

satoru stares at you, mouth hanging open. there’s something almost hysterical about the way you’re standing there, tear-stained and furious, defending his honor while simultaneously roasting his appearance. “so you’re not... you’re not going to dump me?”

“for having a bad haircut?” you look at him like he’s grown a second head, and there’s something so incredulous in your expression that he almost wants to laugh. “what kind of person do you think i am?”

and that’s when it hits him. not like a physical blow, but like a slow sunrise, warm and inevitable. you’re not upset because he looks different. you’re upset because he looks bad. because someone he loves is hurt by something that hurts him. because in your mind, anything that makes him less than perfect is a personal affront to your carefully curated world.

the realization makes him feel dizzy. you’re not shallow—you’re protective. you’re not crying because his hair was the only thing worth loving about him. you’re crying because someone took something beautiful and made it ugly, and in your mind, he deserves only beautiful things.

you’re crying because you love him, and you want him to be happy, and you think his happiness is tied to being pretty. you’re crying because in your seventeen-year-old brain, ugly hair equals unhappy satoru, and unhappy satoru is literally your worst nightmare.

it’s such a fundamentally you way to love someone that he almost laughs through his tears. of course you wouldn’t care about his looks in the way his friends think you do. of course you’d care about his looks in the most loving, illogical, completely endearing way possible.

“but you said—”

“i said your hair was gone, not that i was leaving you, you absolute disaster of a human being.” you reach up to touch his head, fingers gentle against the short strands, and your touch is so careful it makes his chest tight. “though i am going to miss running my fingers through it. and tugging on it when you’re being annoying. and the way it stuck up in the morning like you’d been electrocuted.”

you pause, thumb tracing over his temple like you’re memorizing this new version of him. “and i’m going to miss the way you’d let me braid it when i was anxious. and how soft it was when you’d nuzzle into my neck like a puppy. and the way it would catch the light during golden hour and make you look like some sort of angel.”

each word is like a little love letter, and satoru feels his heart expanding in his chest until he thinks it might burst. you’re cataloging all the ways you loved his hair, but really you’re cataloging all the ways you love him.

satoru feels something warm and desperate unfurl in his chest. the hallway around them seems to fade away, the curious stares and whispered conversations becoming white noise. all he can focus on is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s still worth something even when he’s standing there with tears on his face and the world’s worst haircut.

“so you still... you still want to be with me? even though i look like this?”

you’re quiet for a long moment, studying his face with those sharp eyes he fell in love with. your thumb traces along his temple, following the harsh line where his hair meets skin, and he can see you cataloging every detail of this new version of him.

he wonders what you’re thinking. whether you’re trying to reconcile this version of him with the one you’ve been kissing for six months. whether you’re disappointed that the boy you’ve been bragging about to your friends now looks like he belongs in a military recruitment poster.

he thinks about the way you show him off, so casually possessive. the way you introduce him as “my boyfriend” with just a little extra emphasis on the my. the way you straighten his collar before school dances and tell him he’s the prettiest boy in the room, and you say it like it’s a fact, like there’s no room for argument.

then you lean up on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his forehead, right at his hairline where the damage is most obvious.

“you’re still pretty,” you murmur against his skin, breath warm and reassuring. “still mine. still the same boy who bought me coffee every morning for a month because i mentioned once that i was tired. still the same boy who carries my books and walks me to class and lets me steal his hoodies.”

you pull back to look at him, and your expression has gone soft in that way that makes him want to do something stupid like propose. “still the same boy who texts me good morning before he’s even fully awake. still the same boy who remembers that i like my sandwiches cut diagonally and always saves me the corner piece of cake. still the same boy who holds my hand under the table during lunch and draws little hearts on my palm when he thinks i’m not paying attention.”

satoru’s breath catches. he didn’t know you noticed that last one.

“really?” his voice cracks embarrassingly, and he hates how young he sounds. how vulnerable. but you just smile at him, that soft private smile that’s only for him, and reach up to cup his face in your hands.

“really, baby,” you say, and the pet name makes his heart skip. “though i am going to make fun of you for this until it grows back. and i’m going to take so many pictures. and i’m going to show them to our kids someday and tell them about the time daddy was a complete idiot and broke mommy’s heart by cutting off all his pretty hair.”

“our kids?” satoru’s brain short-circuits. the words echo in his head like a bell, and he can feel his face heating up despite everything. “you want to have kids with me?”

you flush pink, pretty color spreading across your cheeks like spilled paint. your eyes go wide like you can’t believe you just said that out loud. “hypothetically. maybe. in the future. if you want. if you don’t mess up your hair again.”

the last part is said with such stern seriousness that satoru can’t help but laugh.

he stares at you—his prickly, bratty, wonderful girlfriend who just cried over his hair and then promised him forever in the same breath—and thinks that maybe suguru and shoko don’t know anything at all. thinks that maybe love isn’t about perfect hair or perfect faces or perfect anything. maybe it’s about someone who’ll sob over your bad decisions and then kiss your forehead anyway.

maybe it’s about someone who gets genuinely upset when you’re hurting, even if you’re hurting over something as stupid as a haircut. maybe it’s about someone who sees you make a terrible mistake and instead of walking away, plants themselves firmly in your corner and prepares to fight the world on your behalf.

maybe it’s about finding someone who thinks you deserve beautiful things, even when you’ve just proven you’re an idiot. someone who plans your future together in the same breath as scolding you for making bad choices.

maybe it’s about someone who loves you so much they cry when you’re ugly, not because they care about your looks, but because they can’t stand the thought of you being anything less than perfect.

“i want,” he says simply, and leans down to kiss you properly.

you taste like strawberry lip gloss and tears and something that might be love, and when you pull away, you’re both grinning like idiots. your hands are still tangled in what’s left of his hair, and he thinks maybe this length has its own advantages.

“i love you too,” he whispers against your lips, because if you can accidentally confess in the middle of a breakdown, then so can he. “i love you so much it makes me stupid.”

“i know,” you say, and you’re smiling so wide it makes your eyes crinkle. “you cut off all your hair because your friends dared you to. if that’s not love-induced stupidity, i don’t know what is.”

“good,” you say, straightening his collar with careful fingers. the gesture is so familiar, so domestic, that it makes his heart skip. you always do this, fix his appearance like you’re sending him off to war instead of first period. “now let’s go find suguru and shoko so i can yell at them for talking my boyfriend into this monstrosity. and then you’re buying me that expensive hot chocolate from the café across the street because emotional trauma requires premium comfort food.”

“anything you want,” he says immediately, because he’s pathetic and in love and would probably agree to rob a bank if you asked nicely enough. “anything.”

you stand on your tiptoes and press one more kiss to his nose, quick and sweet. “i want you to promise me you’ll never cut your hair again without asking me first.”

“i promise,” he says solemnly, and means it. “i’ll never make any major appearance changes without consulting my girlfriend first.”

“good boy,” you say, and the praise makes his chest warm. “now come on, we’re going to be late for class and i refuse to get detention because you had a crisis about your hair.”

satoru laughs, bright and relieved, and thinks that maybe this terrible, terrible mistake might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. because now he knows, with absolute certainty, that you love him for all the right reasons.

even if he does look like a military recruit.

[gayasswitchbitch]

Hi! Hope u have a nice day. If it's ok with you and haven't been done yet, may i request a hcs where ace x oblivious reader. Where ace actually not a womanizer (or manizer idk what to call it, peopleizer), but he's actually try to flirt for real this time, where reader is vv oblivious because they take anything as a joke and laugh it off. May i see the hcs where we can see his frustrations toward reader? Thank you very much, it's completely okay if you're not ok with this <33

I love you, you idiot!- Portgas D. Ace x reader.

An//: sorry this took me so long. I get weirdly aggressive about making my Ace fics feel perfect and end up stressing out and putting it off lmao but it’s finally here and I’m happy with the final result. Let me know what you think! I hope it fits what you were looking for <3

Cw: Reader is called beautiful, use of y/n like once. Think that’s it idk 🤷‍♀️ enjoy!

1.6k words!

Ace was a pretty man. No doubt he caught the attention of all the girls when he’d pass through town. Once he walks through the room it’s like the sun has suddenly risen after a lifetime of lonely, cold nights. Ace had the kind of beauty that made everyone wonder where he had been all their lives.

Ace didn’t seem to notice any of it. When he did, he paid them no mind. It was invisible to him, because there was you.

You noticed though. The longing stares, drink offers and slight arm touches. Seeing others fawn over him, the man you wish were only yours, makes you sick. Truly you understood why he was so well liked. He was stunning. What made it worse was that if you spent enough time with him, as you have, you’d find that his heart was even more beautiful than the freckles that kiss his cheeks or the muscles that dance over his toned body. He is loving, caring, compassionate. He felt everything deeply and wore his heart on his sleeve. Part of you wishes those girls could see that side of him too, that he’s not just abs and a pretty face, but to think of them knowing him in the ways you do makes you feel even more sick.

Ace wasn’t afraid to show off the love he held in his heart with those around him either, and being particularly fond of you, he’d find himself frequently doing whatever he could to make your day easier. He doted on you and he enjoyed every second of it. He wants your attention, and secretly needs your praise. You noticed it starting with small efforts such as mentioning how beautiful he thought you look in a new outfit or sitting just slightly closer each time you’d sit down for dinner together and offering you bites of his meal. Gradually it became larger things like stealing you a knickknack when the crew would dock on a new island, or carrying things when you got tired.

He was trying everything he could to get your attention. Despite his best efforts, Ace doesn’t seem to phase you at all. How could you not notice his obviousness? The way his heart races, face glowing brighter than the embers of his flames, the way he stares with hearts in his eyes, like you’re the most magical thing in the world. You are a dopamine hit that he craves more and more with each passing day.

What he didn’t know was that when your heart would start to get too hopeful that he liked you back, and when you’d stare into his pretty eyes for far too long and start to imagine a future, you’d reel yourself back. ‘This can’t mean anything’ you’d tell yourself. Seeing how loved he was, how wanted and adored, you couldn’t bring yourself to imagine this was more than him being friendly. Not when he could have anyone he wanted.

On his end, he’d become so frustrated he needed a solution. So here he sat with Marco, both men doing their best to come up with a plan on how to make you see that he loves you. Marco is standing by the door of his room, leaning against the wall. Ace is drowning in despair on the bed, moping.

“I dunno man. What more can you do? You’ve basically got ‘I love you.’ Tattooed on your forehead here.” Marco isn’t wrong, Ace knows this, but it still pisses him off.

“Come on man! Be serious! I’m dying out here.” Ace whines, sinking further into the sheets.

Marco has seen it all play out. Everyone has. It seems the only person not in the know is you. Everyone is frustrated for Ace, Marco in particular is tired of hearing his complaining. “Look. You’re gonna have to stop being a wuss and just tell them.”

Ace shoots him an ugly look. “I am not a wuss!” He yells.

Marco smirks. “If youre not a wuss, why haven’t you walked up to them and said ‘hey why haven’t you noticed I’m so pathetically in love with you, please date me’”

Ace groans even though he again knew Marco was right. He’d done everything BUT just come out and say it. He feared that if you couldn’t see it already, maybe it meant you didn’t feel the same. He can feel the frustration bubbling inside him. Part of him wants to scream, part of him wants to cry.

He thought by now you’d figure it out. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified.

Ace sighs. “It’s not that simple, Marco.”

“It is that simple you idiot! You’re gonna sit here and play games forever unless you just say it! They’ve always accepts your gifts, they’ve never complained about you being so damn clingy, they look at you like you’re a damn god, Ace! Just do it already you’re killing me here!”

His heart pounds at the thought. Would it be better to let this go on forever, to never say a word and still be able to keep you close? Or would it be better to take the risk of losing you for the risk of getting to love you more openly? Ace takes a deep breath and lets go of all his energy for the night. This conversation had exhausted him. He grew tired. ‘It might be best to just die’ he thought.

“Have you ever thought-“ Marco adds. “That maybe they act this way cause they see how others treat you? Maybe it’s hard for them to think you’d be interested when they have to see girls fighting to buy you a drink every night.” Marco knew you well enough to know that this was exactly the case, but Ace isn’t always the easiest to talk to. He often didn’t care to listen to reason. Luckily this time he did.

The realization hit Ace like a train. He knew people flirted every now and then, but he always rejected them and immediately turned his attention to you. If this was the sole reason for you to not understand his feelings for you, he might burn down every bar in sight. Upon hearing this, all the once depleted energy had suddenly surged back into him. ‘What a stupid idea’ he thinks. How stupid of you to think any of those girls mattered, that they mattered more than you. You were his everything, all he thought about, all he needs. He knew if he didn’t use this wave of energy, he’d chicken out the next day. He had to tell you right now or he might never have the courage again.

Ace thanked Marco and ran out of the room.

He pushed past each crew mate despite their dismay, running around the ship like a mad man to find you. And there you were sitting by yourself, reading a book under a shaded area of the deck. He feels his chest tighten and he’s not sure if it’s because of how beautiful you look, or because he’s about to put everything on the line.

“Y/n!” Hard footsteps pounding on the deck make their way toward you. You don’t need to turn to know who it is. It’s always him. He’s there, a flower in hand, one he had stolen while on his rampage through the ship, and a slight flush on his cheeks. He’s out of breath but still manages to speak. “So.. uh.” He thinks his nerves might kill him. He can’t even look you in the eye. He shoves the flower in your face, looking away. He’s a complete mess, but continues. “I.. wanted to give you this flower because… well, it reminded me of you.. you know.. cause you’re so pretty and stuff.” He stammers the words out, and coughs, clearing his throat in attempt to get his nerves down. It doesn’t work.

Your face lights up. It’s truly a beautifully romantic gesture, but your heart begins to ache. There’s no way this could mean what you want it to right? “Wow Ace! That’s so sweet of you.” You tried to mask the sorrow, but did poorly. “You’re such a good friend to me.”

Aces body freezes in place, his face contorting. ‘Friend.’ He thinks. ‘They called me their friend…’ he hates himself for it, but he thinks you might be a little dumb. The thought of being just your friend nearly disgusts him and for a second he forgets what he came here for, the thought lost in the chaos of his mind. He wants to turn and run, his body tells him to, but he thinks of Marco. He thinks of how he’d never stop making fun of him he if chickens out, and he thinks of the conversation they had before. He takes a deep breath. ‘They don’t get it. They need the words.’

“Y/n.” He says sternly, like he meant business. He no longer had the will to mess around. He watches as you bite your lip in anxiety and watches as your saddened eyes slowly lock with his. “You know what..” he huffs in impatience. He didn’t care anymore. If this meant he had any chance of loving you then it was worth the risk. Ace quickly grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you toward him and aggressively places a kiss on your lips before pushing you back, looking into your eyes again. “Do you get it now?” He says annoyed.

Your lips tingle with shock and excitement and now you’re the one frozen in place. Words fail you for a moment and all you can muster is the biggest grin anyone has ever seen. It makes Ace smile as well. That’s a smile a man would go to war for, and he would.

[snail-day-deactivated20251016]

Okay. Breathe, Satoru. You can do this. It's just a sleepover. Just your girlfriend. Just the person you're absolutely, irrevocably obsessed with. Who you're trying really, really hard not to scare off.

Standing in your apartment, hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep from touching everything. You’re flitting around, casual, relaxed, while he’s trying to memorize the shape of your furniture, the smell of your space, the way you hum when you walk into the kitchen.

Satoru's baby-blues locking onto the bathroom door. “I’ll, uh... shower first, if that’s okay?” like it’s the most neutral, chill request ever. It’s not. He’s sweating. His ears are pink. You nod like it’s no big deal - of course it’s no big deal - but to him? It’s a very big deal.

He gently closes the bathroom door behind him. Worries if he makes too much of a sound, he will be banned from your fine establishment. Your things are everywhere. Shampoo bottles, conditioner, your razor, a little candle half-burned on the sink, your loofah hanging from the shower knob, the loofah. He stares at it for too long.

Are we at the loofah-sharing stage? Satoru wonders, frozen in place. It’s pink. Fluffy. It looks soft, and it’s yours, and he’s fighting every stupid urge in his body. “Don’t be weird,” muttering aloud, as if he can command himself into normalcy. Still, his fingers twitch. He holds it. Briefly. Gently. Just for a second. Just to say he did.

Then comes the body wash. He squirts out the tiniest amount and rubs it between his hands like it’s precious perfume. The scent hits him and he nearly slides down the wall. You smell like this. You smell like this all the time. How is he supposed to survive? Because now he smells like you.

Pressing his face into the steam and pretends it’s your neck. He’s sick. Maybe a little pathetic. He knows it. But he’s also just so in love. What can a guy do?

When he steps out, face flushed and hair damp, he feels like a teenage boy at his crush’s house for the first time - which, in his mind, he kinda is. You’re waiting for him in pajamas, makeup wiped off, looking soft and sleepy and so perfectly you. He thinks he might pass out.

And then… brushing teeth together. Should be simple. Should be normal. But nothing is normal around you. He’s beside you at the sink, trying to play it cool while your shoulder brushes his. You hum to yourself while brushing, glancing at him through the mirror, and he nearly foams at the mouth. Or maybe that’s the toothpaste. He’s not sure.

Then he sees it.

A little blob of foam at the corner of your lips.

Something happens to him. Something dark and unspeakable. He wants to kiss it away. He wants to lick it off your mouth like a psychopath. He stares. Blinks. Shakes his head like a wet dog. Absolutely not. No. Stop it.

What’s wrong with you, scolding himself. She’s just brushing her teeth. Like a person. A very pretty, perfect person.

He spits. Rinses. Avoids eye contact. Looks at the drain. Looks at your spit down the drain. Another weird thought. One that must be suppressed.

And then it’s time. Bedtime. Final boss.

Your bed is small. Cozy. Absolutely infested with plushies. He pretends to be annoyed but he secretly loves them. Even if they are plotting to kick him off the edge of the mattress. He climbs in carefully, unsure which plush is your favorite. Unsure what you'd do if he accidentally knocked one little guy off the floor. The blanket smells like your laundry. Like home. Like the future he wants with you.

You’re already under the covers, blinking at him sleepily, smile soft and content. Wearing his shirt and not much else. The fabric rides up your thighs and he has to look away before his brain fully melts. He deserves a prize for not making a move. Deciding to lay on his back, stiff, hands folded like he’s in a coffin. He doesn’t touch you. Not even a pinky. Be good, chanting to himself. Be good. You like her. You love her. You’re not a perv, you’re not a perv.

You shift closer.

A leg brushes his. A sigh escapes your lips. Your hand settles gently on his stomach like it belongs there.

He almost cries, something between a half whimper and a wheeze leaves his throat.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his arm around your waist. You don’t flinch. Don’t pull away. You lean into him.

He swears he hears wedding bells.

You fall asleep just like that, face nestled against his shoulder, breath even and slow. And he lies there, heart racing, brain fried, blinking up at the ceiling, Satoru would be getting no sleep tonight.

His thoughts are a mess: She’s so pretty. Is she really mine? What if I kissed her forehead? No, too soon. Maybe not. God, her skin is soft. I should move in. Tomorrow. Today. Right now. No, bad. Calm down. Be cool. Be a good boyfriend. Don’t get a boner. You’re cuddling. It’s fine. Just breathe. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.

He wants to. Touch you, that is. Just your waist. Just a hand on your back. Just to pull you closer and feel your heartbeat against his chest. But he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still. He doesn’t want to push anything. You haven’t done that yet, and he’d rather die than make you uncomfortable.

Except nothing’s okay. Because he’s so in love it physically hurts. Because you’re sleeping peacefully and trusting him with this little moment, and all he wants is to stay like this forever.

How are you sleeping so peacefully while he’s over here thinking about nothing but how perfect yoh are?

[yujisdreamgirl]

how could people just fall out of love?

that’s a question satoru asks himself everyday.

truthfully, how do they?

he looks down at your peaceful sleeping form, snoring softly - not having a clue what’s going on in the world. your arms and legs are around him, clinging onto his body for dear life as if he’d slip away. he takes your face in his palm, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

he’s enamoured - he’s never seen a sight so beautiful. your lips slightly part, and he thinks about how much he loves those features of yours.

everyday, he thanks God for blessing him with you - and he doesn’t even believe in stuff like that.

often, you would catch him staring at you lovingly. whenever you’d ramble about something that happened, he would just nod while the pupils in his eyes dilate and his ears would turn red. you always wonder what’s going on in that head of his, and the answer will always be you.

you who consumes his wakened days, you who has a special section in his heart that takes up about 99% of it.

in his mind, he thinks, he could never fall out of love with you. instead, his love for you increases everyday that it reaches to a point where it is incomprehensible that even he, the strongest sorcerer, cannot fully understand or control.

[arkaiveofurown]

Carrying Your Love With Me

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

Ace always carries the ones he loves—Dadan’s bead necklace, a hat that reminds him of Luffy’s, a jolly roger tattoo for Whitebeard and a crossed-out “S” for Sabo. He doesn’t talk about it, but it’s written on him. So when he asks you for something to carry, it means everything.

Word Count: ~2,300

tags: fluff, ace is sentimental

my masterlist here ♡

The thing about Ace is—he doesn’t say much when it matters most.

He’ll laugh louder than anyone, challenge five men at once, eat half a kitchen’s worth of food, and fall asleep mid-sentence in a sunbeam like a cat.

But when it comes to love? He wears it quietly.

Ace was half-asleep in the sun, back resting against the mast, a soft breeze teasing his black hair. His hat tipped down, shielding his eyes, but his hands—calloused and sun-worn—were fiddling with the red-beaded necklace around his neck.

You’d seen him do that before.

He’d trace the beads slowly when he thought no one was watching. Each one had a scratch, a mark, like it had been through battles with him. You didn’t know much about it until Marco once offhandedly mentioned it was from Dadan—his foster mother. She’d shoved it into his hands the day he left.

The hat wasn’t just a fashion choice, either. He’d picked it up because it reminded him of Luffy. It made him feel closer to his little brother, even from across the sea.

The “S” in his ASCE tattoo? You didn’t need to ask twice. The answer came quietly when he talked about Sabo—his voice a little rough, his thumb brushing over the ink like it kept a piece of his brother alive.

And the bold mark on his back—the Whitebeard tattoo—wasn’t just pride. It was loyalty. Family. Proof that he’d found something worth following. Worth protecting. He bore it like a banner, never once hesitating to call Whitebeard “Pops.”

Ace didn’t talk about his life often. But he wore it. Carried it. Clung to it.

Just like how he chose to carry the name “Portgas”—a quiet, powerful tribute to the mother who sacrificed her life so he could live.

He loved hard. Deeply. Fiercely. And even when he didn’t say the words, he wore them—for the people he never wanted to forget.

And it made your heart ache in the best way.

——

You sat together on the edge of an island cliff that evening, looking out over the sea. The sky was painted in orange and crimson, the kind of colors that matched the fire in his hair and soul.

“I don’t usually ask for things,” Ace said suddenly.

You turned to look at him. “Okay…”

“But I’ve been thinking,” he added, eyes still on the water. “I’ve got stuff from my brothers. Dadan. Pops gave me this tattoo. But I realized I don’t have anything from you.”

Your heart stuttered. “You want something from me?”

“Something small,” he said. “Something I can carry.”

You tilted your head. “You’re sentimental.”

He snorted. “No I’m not.”

“You are,” you teased. “You literally never take off that necklace.”

“That’s different,” he mumbled, ears going pink. “She’d kill me if I lost it.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “So what do you want from me?”

“Anything,” he said quietly. “Just… something that’s mine.”

You looked at him—this wild, flame-hearted boy who tried so hard to seem carefree while his whole heart was full of love he couldn’t say.

“Give me a night,” you said. “I’ll make something.”

He turned, brows lifted. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “If you promise to keep it.”

“I never break promises to people I love,” he said. Then, flustered, he added quickly, “Care about. People I care about.”

But you caught it.

And you smiled.

——

You stayed up late in the ship’s workshop, using scrap bits of red and white metal you’d bartered for on a past island stop. The pieces weren’t perfect—one side was a little dented, and your hands shook slightly while linking the thin plates together with wire—but it was solid. Clean. Strong.

Like him.

You shaped the metals into a linked, band-style bracelet—red and white alternating, polished until they gleamed. When the light hit it, the colors glinted like fire and bone.

(pic from op official art)

You made two.

The next day, Ace met you in your usual spot on deck. The wind tugged at his open shirt, and the sun made his freckles glow.

You held out the bracelets. “Here.”

He blinked. “You made these?”

“Metal, so they won’t burn,” you said, placing one in his hand. “Yours is slightly lighter. Mine’s got the dent on the fourth plate.”

He turned it over, slowly—fingers careful, reverent. “Red and white,” he murmured. “White for the crew… Red for—?”

“You,” you finished. “The color of fire. Passion. And—”

He looked at you.

“Love,” you said.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

Then, with trembling hands, he slid it onto his wrist and looked at you like he was seeing the sun rise for the first time.

“Help me put yours on?”

You nodded, and he carefully clasped it around your wrist, fingers lingering. “This means a lot,” he said, voice thick. “More than I know how to say.”

“You don’t have to say it,” you whispered.

You already knew.

“We match,” he said, voice warm and soft. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you replied.

Because you wanted to carry him too.

——

It became a habit.

Before meals, he’d touch it.

Before battle, he’d glance at it.

When he was nervous, his thumb would rub over the plates—red, white, red, white—like counting seconds.

“Hey, firefly,” you teased one day. “You keep petting that thing, it’s gonna shine right through the deck.”

He shot you a look. “It helps me focus.”

“Really?” you asked, leaning in. “Or does it remind you of someone?”

Ace flushed but didn’t deny it.

“It keeps me steady,” he said. “When I’m scared, I remember you made it. And then I’m not.”

Your teasing fell away.

You stepped forward and placed your hand over his.

“You’re never really alone, you know,” you said. “Not as long as I’m around.”

Ace looked at you like the sun had risen for the second time that day.

——

He was gone for three weeks.

Scout mission across the Calm Belt. You stayed behind on the Moby Dick, bracelet clinking against your wrist like a whisper.

You touched it when you missed him. Slept with it curled under your hand.

And then, on the 15th night, it cracked.

A single metal plate split down the edge with a soft ping. Your stomach dropped. You didn’t know why—but you felt it in your chest.

Far away, Ace stumbled during a fight. Mid-flame.

He winced and looked down—his bracelet glowed red, the smallest spark skimming its surface.

“Ace!” someone yelled. “You good?”

He caught his breath. “Yeah. I just… felt something.”

He touched the bracelet. It was warm. Warmer than it should’ve been.

He gripped it tight.

“I have to go back.”

——

You waited at the harbor, wind biting your cheeks.

And when you saw him—bruised, exhausted, hair wind-tossed—you ran.

Ace caught you mid-stride, lifting you off the ground like a lifeline. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands gripping his back.

“You felt it too?” you whispered.

He nodded, face buried in your neck. “Cracked. I thought something happened.”

You pulled back enough to show him your bracelet. “It did. I missed you.”

He touched the crack reverently, like it was a scar you both shared.

Then he kissed it.

“I’m not letting it break again,” he promised. “I’ll fix it. Even if I have to melt it back together with fire.”

You smiled through your tears. “You’ll burn it.”

“I’ll burn everything else first,” he said. “But not this. Never this.”

——

Years later, the bracelet was a little darker, a little scratched. But it was still there.

He never took it off.

Not even in storms. Not in fights. Not when the fire got wild. The red and white gleamed like memories.

People thought the beads were his style. The hat, a statement. The tattoos, just ink.

But those who knew him—really knew him—understood.

Everything he wore was love.

And when he glanced at his wrist, when his fingers brushed metal and his eyes softened—you knew.

He was carrying you with him.

Always.