Heyooo!! I hope you are doing good! :> I hope it is also alright to send a second one if not just ignore it ^^
Okay so can i request a lil angsty fluff scenario in a what if the ASL Brothers meet their lover, who they sadly needed to leave behind to protect her, at Dadan's place with a child, that is old as their last meeting (1-2 years or more without any contact) situation.
Since they got left behind from the boys, she seeked out a place who would maybe accept her and it was Dadan, who took her in, who is also probably angry at them for leaving their s/o without any explanation.
I hope the request makes sense 🙂↕️
The Love He Left
portgas d. ace x fem!reader
tags: angst with fluff, post-marineford, ace lives, reunion after years, secret child, slow burn, hurt/comfort
a/n: sorry for the wait! I tried to make them all different, hope you'll like them all. tumblr doesn't let us use more than 1k blocks per post so I have to post them separately T.T I'm going to post them one per day starting today!
The first thing Ace notices when he comes back to Mt. Colubo is how little has changed.
The trees are still too big, the road is still annoying and the forest still feels like home.
He walks up the familiar path with a grin on his face, hands behind his head “Wonder what old hag Dadan is doing now.”
When he reaches the hideout, loud shouting immediately answers his question.
Nothing changed at all.
Ace laughs “Yep. Definitely home.”
He pushes the door open “I'm back!”
The room goes silent… Dadan freezes, Dogra almost drops his cup and Magra stares.
For one second nobody moves, then Dadan punches him so hard he flies into a wall.
“YOU STUPID BRAT!”
“GAH!” Ace crashes into a table “WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!”
Dadan's eyes are red “FOR MAKING US THINK YOU WERE ABOUT TO DIE!”
“Sorry…”
“DON'T APOLOGIZE!”
“Then what do you want me to say?!”
“Shut up!”
“Okay!”
“NOT THAT EITHER!”
Ace laughs despite himself.
For the first time in months, everything feels normal.
Marineford still follows him. The fear in Luffy's face. Whitebeard. Everything he lost. Everything he almost lost.
But right now? Right now he's home.
A few hours later, the shouting has turned into drinking.
Ace sits at the table with a plate full of food.
Dadan watches him, still angry, still relieved and still pretending not to care.
“Eat slower.” she grumbles.
“I’m eating slowly.”
“You swallowed half the plate.”
“That’s slow.”
“Idiot.”
Ace grins, then he glances around and his smile slowly fades “Hey.”
Dadan immediately looks away. That’s suspicious.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“Don't.”
“Dadan.”
She takes a drink “None of your business.”
Ace blinks “None of my—”
“Eat your food.”
“Dadan.”
“Eat.”
“Where is she? I know her well enough to know she came here.”
“You know nothing about her. Just eat.”
Dogra suddenly becomes very interested in the wall, while Magra coughs.
Nobody answers.
Ace slowly puts his fork down “...Why is everyone acting weird?”
“Not weird.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Dadan stands “Anyway! It's getting late!”
“It's the middle of the afternoon.”
“Very late!”
Ace narrows his eyes “Dadan.”
“Maybe you should leave tomorrow.”
“Leave?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“No reason. You're a pirate, you're probably busy.”
Now Ace knows something is wrong, because Dadan never wants him to leave, not after two years and not after believing he was dead or about to die.
He stands “Where is she?”
“None of your business.”
“Dadan.”
“Forget it.”
“No.”
“Kid.”
“You obviously know, tell me.”
Dadan's jaw tightens and for a second she almost looks guilty “Some things are better left alone.”
Ace freezes, his chest suddenly feels strange and heavy.
Two years ago. A face appears in his mind immediately. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you looked at him.
The way he had left before sunrise because he knew if he saw your face again, he would never go.
The way he told himself it was for your safety.
The way it hurt every day afterward.
“...she's here, isn't she?”
Nobody answers and that answers enough.
Ace turns toward the door.
Dadan immediately steps in front of him “Don't.”
His eyes widen “Why?”
“Just don't.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That's not an answer.”
Dadan looks frustrated “Damn it.”
“Dadan.”
“Don't go looking.”
“Why?”
“Because you'll only make things worse.”
The words hit him harder than any punch.
“...What does that mean?”
Nobody answers.
Ace slowly walks around her “I'm going.”
“ACE!”
But he's already outside.
The village is quiet and the afternoon sun shines through the trees.
Ace walks familiar roads.
Some villagers recognize him immediately. Others stare like they have seen a ghost.
After all, the whole world watched him almost die.
Including you.
His stomach twists.
He wonders if you cried. He wonders if you hated him. He wonders if you moved on.
The thought hurts more than he wants to admit.
“...Guess I deserve that.”
Two years. A lot can happen in two years.
People change. Feelings change. Lives move on.
His feet slow.
What if you don't want to see him?
Then he spots someone and all his thoughts just disappear.
You.
Walking down the path. Alive, healthy and beautiful.
His heart stops.
As soon as you see him, you freeze too.
For a moment neither of you moves.
Ace can only stare.
You look exactly how he remembers, and yet completely different. Older and sadder but stronger.
Your eyes widen.
His lips part “...Y/N.”
Your face changes in shock, relief, disbelief and pain, all at once.
He takes a step forward “It's really you.”
Your eyes shine, and for one impossible second, Ace thinks you might run into his arms.
Instead your expression hardens, like a door slamming shut.
The warmth disappears.
Ace's chest drops “Y/N?”
You don't answer, your hands tighten, and only then does Ace notice the small child standing beside you.
A tiny hand holding yours.
The child hides partly behind your leg.
Ace glances at them briefly.
A cute kid, maybe three years old or something close to that.
He doesn't think much about it, his attention is completely on you.
“Y/N, I—”
You walk right past him.
Ace stands there, stunned.
The child looks up at him while passing, with his curious big dark eyes.
Ace turns immediately “Wait!”
You keep walking.
“Y/N!”
Nothing.
“Come on!”
Still nothing.
Ace groans “Okay, yeah, I deserve that.”
You continue forward “...But could you at least yell at me?”
Nothing.
“Throw something?”
Silence.
“Punch me?”
You finally stop.
Ace almost sighs in relief.
You slowly turn around, your eyes are shining again, but this time with obvious anger.
“Punch you?”
Ace scratches his cheek “Maybe not?”
“After two years?”
“...Fair.”
“After disappearing?”
“Yeah.”
“After not having contact for two whole years?”
“Okay, that one sounds bad.”
“Because it was bad!”
“There were reasons!”
“Really?”
Your voice cracks, and suddenly the anger doesn't sound angry anymore.
It sounds hurt.
Ace immediately feels worse “Y/N...”
“Do you know how… seeing that felt?”
His chest tightens “...Marineford.”
“Marineford.” you laugh sarcastically “I watched it.”
Ace freezes.
“I saw everything from here.”
His throat goes dry “Y/N…”
“I watched you die… they made it look like the heroes who killed the bad villain.”
The words hit harder than anything.
“I saw it happen…” your voice shakes “and I couldn't do anything.”
Ace can't move, can't speak and can't breathe.
“I just sat here and watched.” your eyes fill with tears “Everyone said you were dead. Then suddenly months later… MONTHS LATER the news says you're alive.”
A tear slips down your cheek “I was happy.”
Another follows “So happy. But do you know how angry I was?”
Ace swallows “...Yeah.”
“No, you don't.”
And somehow that hurts because it's true.
You wipe your eyes angrily “I hated you.”
Ace flinches, then you look away “...For about five minutes.”
His heart nearly breaks “Y/N...”
The child beside you tugs gently on your sleeve “Mom?”
The world stops.
Ace blinks.
Mom?
You immediately kneel and your expression softens “Don't worry, I'm okay.”
The child points toward Ace “Who is he?”
You freeze.
The child waits patiently, looking between both of you.
And somehow, for the first time, Ace notices something familiar about him.
The eyes, the hair, the smile… the freckles. But before he can think about it more, you stand “Let's go home.”
The child nods “Okay.”
You start walking again and Ace follows automatically, but you don't tell him to stop.
—-----------
The walk back is painfully quiet.
Ace follows a few steps behind you.
Your son occasionally looks back at him, curious and interested.
Not scared at all.
Every time, Ace awkwardly waves. The child waves back and then keeps walking.
The whole thing would almost be funny if your heart wasn't beating so hard.
Soon the familiar house comes into view.
The moment Dadan spots you, she practically bursts through the door “Y/N!”
You blink “Dadan?”
She rushes over, looking panicked “Listen, kid, we gotta—”
Then her eyes move past you and land on Ace.
Dadan freezes.
Ace awkwardly raises a hand “Uh... hi again?”
The woman looks like she wants to throw herself off a cliff “Oh for the love of—”
You immediately understand “Dadan.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything!”
“You absolutely were.”
“I WASN’T!”
“You were.”
“I WASN’T!”
Ace points between both of you “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You and Dadan answer at the same time.
Ace blinks “That didn’t help.”
Dadan groans “So stupid.”
“Hey!”
“Inside.”
Nobody argues.
A few minutes later, everyone is sitting around the old table.
Your son escaped immediately as Dogra and Magra took him outside to play.
Which leaves only you, Dadan and Ace.
The silence is horrible.
Ace shifts in his chair.
You stare at the table.
Dadan pretends she isn’t here.
A fly buzzes somewhere.
Nobody speaks… the fly is honestly carrying the conversation.
Finally Ace clears his throat “So…”
Silence.
“Nice weather?”
You look at him.
Dadan looks at him.
Ace immediately regrets everything “...That was stupid.”
“Very.”
“Yeah.”
Silence again.
A few seconds pass then he says “You look good.”
You blink.
Ace scratches the back of his neck “I mean… not that you didn’t before.”
Dadan snorts.
“Okay, somehow I’m making this worse.”
“You’re talented.”
“Thanks.”
“You weren't supposed to take that as a compliment.”
“Too late.”
A tiny smile almost appears on your face and Ace notices.
His chest hurts, because for a second it feels like old times, but then the silence returns.
Until Ace finally sighs “Can I ask something?”
You shrug “You’re going to anyway.”
“Fair.” he pauses “The kid…”
Immediately your shoulders tense.
Dadan's eyes narrow.
Ace notices neither “How old is he?”
You blink.
That wasn't what you expected but you answer anyway “...Almost three.”
Ace nods “Oh.”
Silence.
Then… “He's cute.”
“...Thanks…?”
“Looks a lot like you.”
Dadan suddenly coughs so hard she nearly dies.
Ace looks over “You okay?”
“No.”
“Need water?”
“No.”
“You sound like you’re dying.”
“Working on it.”
Ace shrugs and then he looks back at you “So…”
You already hate where this is going.
“Did you adopt him?”
The room goes completely silent.
You stare.
Dadan stares.
Ace waits.
You ask, confused “...What?”
“You adopted him?”
“...Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know…”
“You just guessed?”
“Yeah. By Dadan’s reaction to me saying he looks like you.”
Dadan drags a hand down her face “He’s hopeless.”
“Hey!”
“No, she’s right.”
“Y/N!”
You almost laugh.
Ace points accusingly “You’re both being mean.”
“You’re making it easy.”
“Wow.”
He pouts, like a child… like the same idiot you knew years ago.
Then his expression softens “So... not adopted?”
“No.”
“Oh.” a pause “Then his father is here?”
You choke.
Dadan slams her forehead against the table so hard that Ace jumps “WHAT NOW?”
“Nothing.”
“You just headbutted a table!”
“Deserved.”
“For what?!”
“For knowing you.”
Ace looks deeply offended, then his attention goes back on you.
You stare.
Nobody answers.
“...So?”
You blink slowly “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Yeah?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes?”
Dadan makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like suffering.
Ace glances at her “Why are you both acting so weird?”
Neither of you answer.
Ace frowns and then he starts thinking. You can practically see the gears turning.
“Okay.” he points toward the door “The kid is almost three.”
“...Yes.”
“I’ve been gone…” his voice trails off and his brow furrows “...three years.”
Your stomach drops.
Dadan closes her eyes.
Here it comes.
Finally.
Ace keeps talking, mostly to himself now.
“Almost exactly three years.”
Silence.
“And he isn't adopted.”
Silence.
“And everybody keeps acting weird.”
Silence.
“And Dadan wanted me gone before I saw you and him.”
Silence.
His eyes slowly move toward you, then toward the door and then back toward you.
The smile is gone, the joking is gone, the idiot is gone.
For the first time since he arrived… Ace is completely serious.
“...Y/N.”
Your heart pounds.
“How old is he exactly?”
You swallow “...two years and seven months.”
The answer comes out barely above a whisper.
Ace freezes.
The math is easy.
Gone for three years.
His face loses all color “No…” the word leaves his mouth before he can stop it.
Your eyes immediately drop to the table. Shame twists painfully in your chest.
You hate it, because you shouldn’t feel ashamed and you know that… but suddenly you do.
Maybe because of how shocked he looks, maybe because you never planned for this conversation, maybe because part of you is terrified he won’t want this. Terrified he’ll regret it. Terrified he’ll look at your son and see a mistake.
You grip your hands under the table “...I didn’t know.”
Ace doesn’t move.
“I found out after you left.”
Silence.
“I couldn’t tell you.”
Silence.
“Then…” your voice cracks and you look away “I didn’t even know where you were until you made it to the news and then… then everyone thought you were dead.”
The room becomes even quieter.
Dadan watches both of you carefully, ready to step in if needed… or out.
Ace is staring at the table, at nothing and at everything. Trying to fit this reality inside his head.
A child.
Your child.
His child.
The little boy outside, the one who waved at him earlier, the one with dark eyes, the one who smiled, the one who… suddenly Ace stands.
His chair crashes backward, making you flinch.
Dadan immediately rises “Ace.”
But he doesn’t seem to hear her.
“...That's my son.”
Nobody answers… nobody needs to.
Because the answer has been sitting in front of him this whole time.
And for the first time since you met him again… you realize he isn't looking at you anymore.
He's looking toward the little boy laughing outside.
As if the entire world has just changed, and maybe it has.
Because for two years, Ace believed he had left behind one person he loved.
Now he’s discovering he left behind two.
The door slams open and then he’s outside.
You stare after him and your heart immediately drops.
For one horrible second, fear grips your chest. Fear that he’s running away, that he’s leaving.
Again.
You push the thought away and rush after him “Ace!”
You reach the doorway just as Dadan catches your wrist.
You turn.
She’s watching the yard, watching Ace, and for once, she doesn’t look angry, she looks sad.
“He ain't running.”
Your brows furrow “How do you know?”
Dadan sighs “Because I know that idiot.”
Then she lets you go and says “Go.”
Dogra and Magra are playing with your son.
The little boy sits proudly on Dogra's shoulders while Magra runs around roaring like a monster “THE GREAT BEAST IS COMING!”
“NOOOO!”
Your son laughs so hard he almost falls off Dogra's shoulders.
“FASTER!”
“I'M TRYING!” Dogra complains.
Then your son notices Ace and the laughter slowly fades.
The boy tilts his head, watching him.
Ace stands completely still, staring.
Looking at him for the first time.
His son.
The words still don't feel real.
Your son waves with a tiny happy wave, the same one he gave Ace earlier.
Ace's face immediately crumples.
Your heart squeezes painfully, because now you understand this isn't rejection or anger… this is grief.
The little boy slides down from Dogra's shoulders and walks over, stopping right in front of Ace, looking up.
Ace looks down.
The resemblance is impossible to miss now.
Your son points at the red beads around Ace's neck “Pretty.”
A broken laugh escapes Ace, almost immediately followed by a sob “You think so?”
“Yeah.” the little boy nods confidently “Very pretty.”
Ace presses a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shake.
And suddenly every single thing crashes into him all at once.
Not just the fact that he has a son, not just the fact that he missed three years.
Everything.
He looks at the little boy, at the child standing in front of him, and his mind starts filling the empty spaces.
The spaces where he should have been.
He sees you standing alone.
Without him.
He sees you crying.
Without him.
Laughing.
Without him.
Getting sick in the mornings.
Without him.
Craving strange food.
Without him.
Growing bigger every month.
Without him.
His chest hurts.
He never saw your belly.
Never saw his son growing inside you.
Never placed a hand there.
Never felt the kicks.
Never talked to him through your skin.
Never watched you smile when the baby moved.
Never watched you complain when the baby kicked your ribs.
Never helped you tie your shoes.
Never carried things for you.
Never stayed awake when you couldn't sleep.
Never comforted you when you were scared.
Never promised you that everything would be okay.
Because he wasn't there.
Your son smiles at him with his tiny innocent smile.
Ace feels something break.
He missed the birth.
His son's first breath.
His first cry.
His first smile.
His first laugh.
His first word.
His first steps.
His first birthday.
Everything.
His knees almost give out.
“Ace?” your voice sounds distant, he can barely hear it.
Because suddenly another image appears in his head.
Marineford.
The crowd.
The execution platform.
The world watching.
The world cheering for his death.
The newspapers.
The broadcasts.
The fear.
And then… you watching, alone.
You believing he was gone forever.
Ace's breathing becomes shaky.
His mother suddenly comes to mind. The woman who carried him alone. The woman who suffered alone. The woman who watched the whole world hunt her child before he was even born. The woman who endured everything by herself.
And suddenly he understands that he left you carrying a burden alone.
He finally understands that while he had convinced himself he was protecting you, you had been surviving without him.
Just like his mother did.
The realization hits him so hard that he physically stumbles.
“Ace!”
You rush forward, but before you can reach him, he drops to his knees.
The yard goes silent. Everyone freezes, while your son blinks in confusion.
You stop moving “Ace...?”
His head lowers and his hands shake.
You have never seen him like this.
Tears hit the dirt beneath him.
“I’m sorry.” the words come out broken, barely audible.
“Ace...”
“I’m sorry.” his voice cracks “I’m so sorry.”
Your eyes widen.
Ace lifts his head and the view nearly destroys you.
“I missed everything.”
You immediately shake your head “Ace…”
“I missed everything.” his voice rises with desperation “His birth.”
Another tear falls “His first words.”
Another “His first steps.”
Another “His birthdays.”
A horrible broken laugh “I wasn't there.”
Your throat tightens.
“You were alone.”
“Ace…”
“I left you alone.” his voice breaks again “I wasn't there.”
Your eyes burn.
“You were pregnant and I wasn't there.”
You can't answer.
“You were scared and I wasn't there.”
Ace wipes his face, only for more tears to replace them “I should've been there.”
The guilt is eating him alive.
You can see and feel it.
“I should've been helping you.” his shoulders shake “I should've been holding you.”
Your vision blurs.
“I should've been holding him.”
The little boy quietly walks closer, confused, but sensing something is wrong.
Ace notices him, and that only makes him cry harder “I wasn't there.”
Then Ace lowers his head and the next words nearly stop your heart “Can you forgive me?”
You freeze.
Ace's voice becomes smaller and more fragile “Please.”
The yard is completely silent.
“I know I don't deserve it… I know I hurt you.” his hands clench “I know I left.”
You feel tears running down your own face now.
“But please...”
Ace looks at you, like someone terrified of the answer… “Please forgive me.”
His voice cracks completely “Please.”
And suddenly all you can see is the boy you fell in love with.
Your Ace.
Broken, crying and begging, because he thinks he lost everything… and he still doesn't realize that despite all the hurt… despite all the anger… despite the years apart...
You've never stopped loving him.
Not for a single day.
You want to say something, anything, but before you even can, a tiny hand grabs yours.
You look down and see your son is standing beside you.
Looking from you to Ace.
“Mom?”
Your expression softens immediately and you squeeze his little hand “Yes?”
He points toward Ace, toward the crying man kneeling in front of you “Can't you forgive him?”
Your heart almost breaks, because there is no judgment in his voice, only innocent confusion.
As if forgiveness is the easiest thing in the world.
As if love is simple.
You smile at him, then you lift your eyes.
Ace is looking at you and here your smile slowly disappears, a sad expression replaces it.
You look into his eyes and say “No…”
Ace freezes, his shoulders tense.
Regret fills his expression so quickly that your heart hurts, so you hurry to continue “There's no need.”
Ace blinks “What?”
You smile sadly “As I said this afternoon...”
Your fingers tighten slightly around your son's hand “I hated you for like five minutes.”
A tiny laugh escapes Ace, wet and shaky.
You let go of your son's hand, then slowly kneel in front of Ace, bringing yourself to his level.
His eyes widen slightly.
You gently take his face in your hands and your thumbs brush against his cheeks, ceaning away his tears.
Another one falls immediately and you wipe that one away too, very softly.
Ace leans into your touch without even realizing it.
“I understand your situation, Ace.”
His eyes immediately lower.
You gently guide his face back toward you “Look at me.”
Slowly, he does.
Your thumbs brush against his skin again “I loved you a lot.”
Ace's breathing stops.
“And I will never stop loving you.”
His eyes widen “Y-Y/N...”
“I'm so happy you're here now.” your own voice starts shaking “Sorry if I got mad or if I acted cold.”
Ace immediately shakes his head, hard “Don't apologize.”
You blink “Ace…”
“No.” his voice is firm despite the tears “You don't get to apologize for that.”
You stare at him.
“I left.” his hand gently covers one of yours “You had every right to be angry.”
Another tear slips down his cheek “You had every right to hate me.”
You smile softly “Good thing I didn't then.”
Ace laughs weakly.
You continue softly “I was scared too.”
His expression immediately changes… it softens.
“I thought our story ended there.”
Without thinking, he reaches for you, his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly “I'm here.”
His voice shakes “I'm here.”
You hold him just as tightly “I know.”
For a while neither of you moves or speaks.
Finally you pull back slightly and see your son is still standing there, watching everything carefully and curiously.
You smile, then gently place a hand on his shoulder “Kael...” (random name from google lmao sorry)
The little boy looks up immediately “Yeah?”
You smile softly, full of love , full of pride and warmth.
“This is Ace.” you glance toward him, then back to your son “Your dad.”
Kael blinks, then he looks at Ace.
Ace looks terrified, absolutely terrified… you almost laugh.
Then you turn toward Ace and your smile becomes softer, filled with so much love it almost hurts “Ace...”
His eyes meet yours.
“This is Kael.” your fingers gently brush your son's hair “Your son.”
Ace completely breaks again, with fresh tears appearing instantly.
“Hi...” Kael tilts his head “You're my dad?”
Ace nods immediately, quickly “Y-Yeah.”
Kael thinks about this then he says “Cool.”
Ace blinks “Cool?”
“Yeah.” Kael points at his tattoo “You have funny freckles.”
Dogra explodes laughing, while Magra nearly falls over.
Ace stares in horror “They aren’t… freckles…”
“They are… are you stupid?” Kael nods wisely.
Ace turns to you “I HAVE BEEN A FATHER FOR TEN SECONDS AND I'M ALREADY BEING BULLIED.”
“He's definitely yours.” Dadan says from the doorway.
“HEY!”
Kael giggles, then he says “Mom talked to me about you, you’re the very cool fire boy.”
Then, without warning, he steps forward and hugs Ace… small arms around his neck.
Ace completely freezes and his eyes widen.
His arms slowly wrap around him carefully, like he is holding treasure.
“Hi, dad.”
Ace makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob “Hi, kid.”
Ace reaches out for you with one hand and gently pushes you to kneel beside them.
You do so and then you wrap your arms around both of them.
Ace immediately pulls you closer and the three of you stay there, holding each other.
A family… maybe messy and maybe a bit late, but a family anyway.
Ace looks at you, you look at him, and this time, when he leans closer, you meet him halfway.
The kiss is soft, gentle and warm.
When you pull away, Ace rests his forehead against yours, finally smiling.
Then Kael tugs on his sleeve “Dad?”
“...Yeah?”
“Can I sit on your shoulders?”
Ace grins immediately.
The old familiar grin, the dangerous one that means bad decisions are coming “Kid, I can do way cooler than shoulders.”
Your eyes widen “Ace!”
Fire suddenly bursts around him as he shoots into the air with Kael in his arms.
Kael screams in delight “I'M FLYING!”
Ace laughs “THAT'S MY BOY!”
“ACE!”
“HE'S FINE!”
“PUT MY CHILD DOWN!”
“OUR CHILD!”
“PUT OUR CHILD DOWN!”
Dadan lights a cigarette “Yep.”
Everyone laughs.
And Ace… he laughs the loudest out of everyone.
He’s alive, he’s home… exactly where he belongs.
He looks down at you with the softest expression you ever saw on him, making you smile softly back at him.
In a world of soulmates, you were the few that followed fate for love. Though you don’t know what you did to deserve finding them, your soulmate, making out with some girl in a bar.
Ace x Reader
TAGS: Gn reader, angst little to no comfort, no use of y/n, yah.
SONG: damned - Miguel
A/N: I wanted to make this a multi-character shot at first but I honestly had no other ideas besides one for him. Enjoy my FIRSTTT attempt at angst, please don’t beat the shit out of me.
_
The concept of soulmates had never been presented to you as a possibility since a kid, it was an absolute.
That was just your world, everyone has a person meant for them.
As a kid onward, grown ups spoke about it with soft smiles. It was described as a phenomenon of “Recognition”, the documented spike of dopamine, the temporary dissociation, the way the body would react before the mind could. It was the eye contact. And then, ink surfacing beneath skin, the name of your soulmate appearing somewhere on your body just to confirm it.
But people follow different paths. Some even marry and never meet their soulmate at all, which was a strong possibility. That was always the truth in finding a soulmate in the world, that it just might never happen.
But you didn’t want that, you wanted to know them, like them, love them.
Would fate allow it to be so simple?
—
People shifted out of your way as Luffy navigated to the bar table through instinct alone. The bar was a small zone of leftovers and half finished drinks from a small banquet you guys managed to get into. Surprisingly it was Zoro’s mess instead of Luffy.
You grabbed another cup, leaning slightly against the counter top while Luffy immediately went feral on whatever food he found first. Your job was to keep your captain out of trouble on this remote town.
But suddenly Luffy began to chew slower, his expression shifted, grimace. “..ew.”
You glanced up, almost surprised he was possible of being disgusted. “What?”
He swallowed slowly, the piece of meet still in his hand, he grimaced even harder till he turned his head to a different side of the kitchen. “I think I just saw my brother.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, recalling the name Ace from an old conversation. “That doesn’t sound bad at all.” You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s your brother.”
“I know, I know!” He whined facing the plate instead of anywhere else. “But he’s making out with someone, that’s just weird to see.”
Oh.
You guys stared at each other for a second, you tried your best to hold it in till you snorted, hard. “That’s what your face is about?”
“I didn’t expect it!” he defended immediately, gesturing vaguely with a piece of food. “He’s my brother, I don’t want to see that! What’s he even doing here!?”
You laughed properly now, the drink barely even stabilizing with how much you shook it.“yeah, that’s fair.”
Curiosity tugged at you before you even made the decision to act on it. You’ve heard of him before, you didn’t want to miss your chance of seeing him. You set your cup down, palm flattening against the counter.
“Where?” You asked, turning your body.
Luffy pointed with absolute certainty. “Near the bathrooms.. on the wall.”
Luffy’s voice faded into something distant before you even realized you weren’t hearing him anymore.
You leaned slightly over the counter, just enough to see past the edge as the all the heads walked by.
To be quick, you saw exactly what Luffy saw. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of Ace’s shirt, his body angled toward her as they breathed into each other.
You should’ve looked away immediately. You weren’t the type to watch things like that, it didn’t really turn you on or anything.
But something in your chest tightened instead of letting you move.
So you stayed.
It didn’t take long for you to realize what that gut feeling meant until Ace himself took a glance over in the same direction, like he felt the same thing.
You met his eyes.
It was impossible to ever think of looking away now.
It wasn’t a slow realization or a curious glance that turned meaningful over time. It was immediate, like the moment your eyes met something in the world clicked into place so violently it refused to be ignored.
He’s my soulmate.
Luffy’s brother is my soulmate.
Ace.
The thought was.. a good feeling at first.
The sensation people described your entire life finally became real in a way that textbooks never captured properly. It wasn’t the fireworks in your stomach that made it special, It was certainty so absolute it bypassed logic entirely, hitting something deeper than awareness.
The person you’d imagined in lonely moments was right there. The person you thought would feel like warmth and safety and inevitability.
For a fraction of a second, everything in you reached toward him, your heart and soul, who wouldn’t want to know their soulmate?
But it didn’t take long for you to take a huge step back, mentally. Reality finally caught up with the dreams.
Now, you were sort of.. mixed.
The girl tugged at his collar slightly, trying to pull his focus back on her with neediness, but he didn’t move right away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, softening for just a second.
The contradiction was pretty damn clear.
They’re your soulmate, the person since you were born was said to be for you.
But he was kissing someone else right on a wall of some dumbass bar, and said person is still in his arms playing with his fingers.
What if they were more than a hookup? God, you felt so guilty.
You couldn’t blame him for it, it’s not like he knew this would happen. No one is obligated to stay loyal to a soulmate they might never meet either.
It didn’t stop the sting of realizing you’d spent years imagining this moment differently. A lot more softer, something mutual between you two. Instead, you found him like this. You weren’t a mind reader, but watching his facial expression twist gave you some insight.
Was he sorry now? Is that it?
It’s fine, it really was.
You had a flashing thought you assumed couldn’t be possibly when meeting the person for you- unthinkable even.
‘I don’t want to meet him.’
No, even that wasn’t enough for you, nothing could prepare you for that thick feeling of envy for someone who wasn’t even thinking of you when he found her to makeout. So why were you so stuck on him?
Your hand slowly curled against the counter edge until your knuckles went pale. Luffy said something beside you— your name, maybe, but it didn’t fully register.
Ace finally looked at the girl with him on the wall with a distracted gaze, one moment that finally forced you to pull your own away.
You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to relieve yourself. Luffy turned toward you, finally noticing your expression shift. “Somethin’ wrong?”
You opened your mouth, but there was nothing to say. “I should go,” you tried instead, pushing yourself off the counter, playing your knuckles. “I need air.”
Luffy blinked. “Huh? Why—“
But you were already stepping back. You didn’t see Ace push himself up from the wall, didn’t see his head turn sharply, finally realizing how utterly fucked up that was for a first meet. You didn’t care to see it anymore.
You only felt the touch of pushing the doors open with a hand, deep breath before sitting on the wooden steps of to the bar. The weight of something that was supposed to feel like destiny was crushing you.
The door creaked open behind you, it wasn’t hard, but urgent enough for you to already assume a certain person. Bootsteps on wood, he stopped just right behind you.
There’s a pause, checking if you’ll look first. You don’t, but he already assumed that. The night air feels thick.. salt and spilled ale still clinging to your clothes.
Ace nibbled on his lip before speaking, a hand tugging on his belt. “..Hey.” He said, voice low.
You let out a quiet breath through your mouth, just the idea of it becoming more and more embarrassing for you. “You don’t have to do this.” You say lowly, he could hear the scratch in your throat.
A second of silence told you enough.
“I know,” he says. And that almost makes it worse for the both of you.
You finally glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few steps away, hat tipped back, freckles visible even in the dim lantern light. Attractive was your first thought, damn it. He wasn’t grinning the way Usopp described, didn’t act as cool as chopper said. But you still liked it.
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself. “It wasn’t like that.” He tried.
Well at least you knew you weren’t in the middle of a relationship.
You tilted your head back, hands clenched against the edge of the steps without meaning to. “Yeah. I figured.”
For a second, he steps closer, a urge in his body to just move. “I didn’t know you were there. I didn’t know it would be you.”
“Neither did I Ace.” you murmured, touching his name imbedded on your wrist. “But I really wanted to meet you anyway.” You took a breath. “But it’s fine, you don’t owe me anything. How would we know.”
“It’s not fine,” Ace said immediately. “That wasn’t fair to you."
Something in his tone almost cracks your resolve, but not entirely.
“I’m sorry,” Ace continued, this time you could feel how raw it was. “That wasn’t how I would’ve wanted to meet you.”
You shake your head once, steady even if your throat burns. “I don’t want an apology because it now means something.”
“It does mean something,” he insists.
“It didn’t look like it did five minutes ago when I watched from the counter of bar.”
He stayed quiet that time, which felt rare from him.
You look at him, really look at him. There’s something soft there, something that you probably could’ve grown to love despite the fact you pushed him away.
But you won’t be the second thought.
You finally stood up from your spot, taking your time stepping around him to head back towards the bar. “You should say hi to Luffy with me, he’d want to see you—“
Ace’s fingers closed around your wrist before you could pull away completely, not tight. Enough to make you look at him. “Is that it for us?” His expression was open in a way that made it almost hopeful. The kind of look that made your chest ache because you liked it. “It was just a kiss.”
But it wasn’t.
Because some stupid quiet part of you still had hope. Not that he was your soulmate, not necessarily. But that if he kissed someone, it would mean something. That it would be intentional. That it would be someone he chose carefully out of feelings.
Because if kisses were that simple to him.. then what were you waiting for?
You liked this about him, like that about him, you weren’t even given the pleasure of having a little anger towards him. No matter what you did, you would always fall right into his hands.
He said your name like it was question, he only knew it because it was written on his arm. That’s the only thing that kept you there.
Ace couldn’t understand the silence, but somehow he understood you. “Is there something else—“
But he didn’t understand enough of you.
“—It was the most embarrassing fucking moment in my life for me, Ace! That’s the something else.” You hissed, all of those conflicted feelings you had into a single yell of honesty. You blinked, you didn’t mean to. “Shit— I..”
It was silent for a good second, you palmed your glossy eyes, letting out a strained sound.
You spoke more calmly this time, or tried to. “I’ve always wanted to.. meet my soulmate, alright?” You forced a laugh at the last part, feeling how childish it was. “But I also don’t want your pity because I’m upset, I’m still old enough to understand.”
You couldn’t even look at him.
“I just..” you said slowly. “I just need time.”
Time is a concept for different people to grasp.
He didn’t understand you when it came to the idea of soulmates. You both lived in the same world, sure, but you both saw it differently.
Since the day Ace was born, he truly believed that his existence was not worth the cost of living. Too much history just to die.
He had grown up believing that just being alive was already an unfair burden. So the idea that somewhere out there was a person “meant” to love him? That someone would be bound to him by fate?
It felt wrong.
But you were different.
You looked at soulmates like they were hope, something worth waiting for. And when you spoke about it just now, voice shaking, eyes bright with humiliation and hurt— you weren’t angry because it was him.
You were angry because you believed in something he had never let himself believe in.
And he had treated it carelessly.
You weren’t asking him to be your soulmate lover. You weren’t demanding promises or binding words, you just wanted some saving grace.
Fate is such a cruel thing.
It gave him someone who looked at him like he was worth waiting for, and he didn’t know how to hold that without breaking it.
“I will.” He whispered, your name following softly right after. “I’ll give you all the time you need.”
Just please don’t leave me.
—
A/N: having to decide between salt in the wound or sunshine and unicorns in the next part.
And he can't help but think, he's been here all this time, so what does Malleus have that he doesn't? Why couldn't it have been him?
He teases you about how funny and scary you were falling for Malleus Draconia, but deep down, every laugh feels heavier because he wishes it were him.
"Seriously, Prefect? Out of all the guys, you go for the big scary dragon?" he teases one afternoon, tossing a lazy grin your way.
You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Oh, shut up, Ace."
He laughs with you, but deep down, every chuckle feels heavier because he wishes it were him.
He notices the little things: the way your face lights up when Malleus appears, how you stay behind after class just to chat with him, how Malleus bends his intimidating aura just for you.
He jokes around to cover up the pain, but when he sees how genuinely happy you are with Malleus, it feels like a punch to his gut.
But, he can't hate Malleus either, no, not when he can see how happy and comfortable he makes you feel. Sees how your laughter lasts longer, sees how you lean onto Malleus more.
Ace tells himself that he's fine with it, he's fine with just being your friend. That this was for the best, because if you're happy, then he's fine with it.
At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.
note: hi, hello, it is I again 😈 was listening to 'you belong with me' when I had this idea AHAHAH
cw: angst. character death. major one piece spoilers. grief over loss.
wc: 242
ace was warm.
he'd stick close to you, flesh burning ever so slightly to soothe you on cold nights, and annoy you on hot summer days.
ace was never cold.
no matter how much you tell him to wear a shirt, he just laughs at you with an endearing grin you've come to love and cherish.
now, ace is gone.
he always made you smile, laugh, and brought out a joyful side out of you that was always there, but hidden.
luffy told you that he died with a smile on his face. how can he be so brazen even in the arms of death?
"when you're with me, i'll make sure you never cry."
ace was warm and never cold. he never made you cry. he promised you that a thousand times.
yet, what good can promises do when he's not here anymore?
you cried for the first time in ages at the news of his deathー mourning over a flame that vanished, one that blinded you enough to make you feel that your love was eternal.
the sheet of vivre card he left you turned into ash. you desperately tried to save every bitー every part of him that was once yours.
you chased his warmth like it's the only thing you've ever known.
ace was warm. ace was never cold.
now that he's gone, the only part of him that is still alive is the fire burning in your heart.
Heey if request are open can you write some of Ace x reader? Reader has a devil fruit that let them manipulate the time in any form, even in bodys so what if she reach Ace as he last breath in marine force but reader can save him by stopping and reversing the time of the injury back to normal? Idk i need my man alive. Much angst and soft
Hiiiii!!!
Slight warnings, because I slightly talked about the wound Ace had a bit, just descriptive liberties every now and then, and just physical pain in general, but that's about it.
<You arrive too late. So, you change what "too late" means.>
Rewritten
Ace x Reader
Pt2
The battlefield was loud and overwhelming, filled with fire, smoke, voices you couldn’t separate or follow- everything blended into something sharp and wrong. But none of it really mattered, because your focus was on him. Ace was on his knees, too still for comfort. The world around him didn’t stop, didn’t falter. But something in you did. You didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember pushing through people, past the chaos, past the heat and the shouting and the destruction- only that one moment, you weren’t there. The next moment, you were. Right in front of him.
“Ace-”
Your voice didn’t sound right; it sounded thin and distant. Like it had already broken before you even spoke. He didn’t respond or look up right away, just…breathed. It was slow and uneven, wrong. Your hands found him before your thoughts did- gripping his shoulders, steadying him, pulling him just enough to look him over. And then you saw it, the wound. The gaping hole that used to be his chest, sizzling and dripping with boiling blood. For a second, everything narrowed, the sound around you dropped as the world titled for a split second, only to snap back into place.
“...No,” you whispered, panic missing from your voice. It was more of a declaration, like you were rejecting something outright. Ace stirred slightly at your voice, like he barely heard its distant echo. His head lifted a fraction, his eyes unfocused as they searched, landing on you. Faint recognition flickered in his expression. “...You…?” It was barely a word, more breath than sound. You swallowed hard, one hand pressing over the wound like you could hold him together just by being there. “I’m here,” you said, quieter now, steadier. “I’ve got you.”
He let out something that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe just a struggling breath. “...Shouldn’t…be here…” “Don’t,” you cut in, sharper than you meant to. Your fingers tightened slightly against him. “Just-don’t.” There wasn’t time, never was. But you decided to make it, make the time to fix him.
Your other hand came up, pressing over his where it rested weakly against his side, grounding the two of you. You exhaled slowly, focusing. Time didn’t stop; you didn’t need it to. You just…reached for it. Like it was always there; a current of flowing state of being, pulling at you, just beneath everything else. You grabbed it, gripped it tightly, and forced it back. The world didn’t react. Didn’t shift or shatter or bend in any visible way.
But you felt it.
God- you felt it.
It tore through you, sharp and violent. Like something inside your body was being dragged in the wrong direction- muscles tightening, nerves screaming as time resisted, fighting back against what you were doing to it. Your breath hitched. Your grip faltered, just slightly, before you tightened it again. Ace jerked under your hands with a sharp inhale, ragged and pained. “...What-” His voice broke, body tensing as something unseen pulled at him from the inside out. “Stay with me,” you said quickly, your voice shaking now despite your best efforts. “Just- stay with me.”
The wound didn’t close immediately, resisting your pull. Like it wanted to stay, like it belonged there. You forced more power into. Your vision blurred, the edges of the world flickering in and out as your body struggled to keep up with what you were doing. Pain laced through your chest- sharp and sudden. You choked on it, breath catching violently in your throat. Ace’s eyes widened slightly. Not at what was happening to him, but to what was seemingly happening to you in that moment. “...Stop…” It was weak, barely there. But it was firm enough to feel.
You shook your head. “No.” You hand pressed harder against him, even as your own body trembled. “I’m not-” Your voice broke, only for you to swallow it down. “I’m not letting this happen.” The world stuttered around you, only for a second. A flicker, like reality itself, couldn't decide which version to follow. Then, it finally gave.
The wound shifted. Not healed, not yet, but moving. Reversing, like time itself, was unraveling what had already been done. Ace gasped- sharp, full this time- his body arching slightly under the strain of it. It wasn’t painless or clean, for either of you. You were dragging him backward through something that had already happened, forcing his body to remember something different.
Your hands shook violently now. Your own chest burned- deep, aching, something wrong twisting beneath your ribs like your body didn’t know how to handle what you were taking on. But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. “Ace,” you breathed, your forehead pressing lightly against his as your vision blurred completely now. “Just a little more-” He was looking at you, really looking, now. Clarity breaking through the haze of pain. Understanding- slow, but there. “...You’re…hurting.” You laughed- soft and broken. “Yeah,” you admitted. Your grip tightened slightly. “I know.” The wound closed. Not all at once or clean, but it did. It pieced itself back together, connecting in a way that would have been grotesque in any other situation. But it closed. The moment it did, everything snapped. The pressure vanished, finally. But the pain- it stayed. It crashed into you all at once, your body finally catching up to everything you’d forced it through. Your breath left you in a sharp, uneven exhale as your strength gave out completely.
You barely felt yourself falling, and you didn’t feel the thud of hissing the ground. Strong arms caught you before you could. “...Hey-” Ace’s voice, clear and alive, right there. Your eyes barely opened, vision unfocused as you tried to find him. “...You’re…” “Yeah.” HIs grip tightened around you, steady and grounding in a way that made everything else feel distant. “I’m here.” You let out a weak breath, something close to a laugh. “...Good.” His hand came up- careful, almost hesitant- resting against the side of your face. His touch was warm, real, it was alive.
“...Idiot,” he murmured. It wasn’t in a harsh or angry way. It was just…soft. Like he didn’t know what else to do with what you’d just done. You didn’t respond, you didn’t have the strength to. But your hand shifted slightly against his, fingers curling just enough to hold on. And this time, you didn’t feel him slip away.
it’s hard to see you, but I wish you were right here
PAIRING: Portgas D. Ace x f!Reader
SUMMARY: After breaking up with Ace, your body somehow still needed him. And after finding Ace outside of your door in the middle of the night, you could see he needed you too.
GENRE: Angst and Smut.
WARNINGS: Mentions of cheating, hate sex, happy ending.
WORD COUNT: 2.1k words
Breaking up with Ace left you a mess. How can someone who said to love you with his whole being, cheat on you?
The scene replayed in your mind every night since then. Ace, with a girl you didn’t even recognize on his lap, kissing her, holding her with the same neediness he used to hold you with. Ace then staring directly at you while tears were making it hard to see, and you fleeing the place in a beat.
You didn’t know if you were angrier or sadder, but you knew something. You didn’t need any type of explanation. You left without even looking back.
Of course, Ace didn’t even try to contact you after that. He knew how you felt about cheating and that you would never forgive him. And you were kinda grateful for that. It made it easier to hate him and not feel hopeless, since in the end, it was his decision to cheat.
After 6 months, you felt like you could finally breathe without any type of hatred clouding your mind, but you somehow still missed him.
You missed the chemistry, the way he made you feel all the time, the way you somehow clicked, but only when it came to the physical part of the relationship. Apart from that, you could’ve easily gone through life without ever thinking about him.
But even if your body was the one missing him, it didn’t mean it was any easier. Every time you closed your eyes, you could see him. Every single time you were together in bed, you could still feel the way his hand would touch, roam, and caress you. You could still hear him whispering the dirtiest things to your ear, and the way his breathing became erratic when he was close. The way he held you and looked at you was imprinted in the back of your head. And god, you hated it.
It was so unfair the fact that your whole body and part of your mind couldn’t get over him. You’ve lost count of the number of nights you’ve replayed several memories with Ace.
And you were glad to see that Ace was also feeling the same way. To be honest, he couldn’t be more dramatic, but it kinda fit him. The fact that it was the middle of the night and he was only in gray sweatpants, a red zip-up hoodie, and a white tank top, breathing all hectic after banging and knocking on your door like his life depended on it
“Ace, what do you even want?” You tried your best to look annoyed, but it was as if your body only knew one way to react when it was close to him, and that way was making you all hot and bothered.
Ace finally took a look at your clothes, shorts, and a sweatshirt, simple, but that was enough for him to lose his mind. He didn’t even say a word, he just passed through your door, pushing you inside and cornering you against the closest wall.
“I need you.” You closed your eyes and felt him start kissing your head. “Please say something.” How dare he? He just arrived in the middle of the night, asking for sex, and unfortunately, your body was ready for him.
“What makes you think I need you too?” You took a deep breath and sighed. His scent was making you dizzy. It appeared that he had just showered since you could still smell the body wash he usually uses.
“Maybe it’s the way both of your hands have been grabbing my shirt since the very first moment I put you against the wall, and you haven’t let go of me, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re rubbing yourself against my cock. I don't know, baby, you tell me.” You groaned. You couldn’t believe you gave in that easily, but for 6 months, you’ve been needing this, and to be honest, you weren’t the best when it came to thinking about the consequences of your actions.
“I still hate you, Ace.” You didn’t even let him answer, and kissed him. God, you missed this. The way he would embrace you, the way his lips were clashing against yours, the way he held you, trying to get your whole body as close as possible, feeling all of you.
You slowly made your way to your couch, getting rid of his hoodie and tank top, leaving him shirtless by the time you two were finally on the couch, with you on his lap.
You pulled away from him, your breathing was the only thing that could be heard. He cupped your right cheek with his hand, and he touched your lips with his thumb.
“God, I missed these lips.” It looked like he was in a trance. You stared at him, and something in your chest hurt.
“Are you here to talk or to fuck me, Ace?” You quickly stopped his actions. You don’t want to fall again for his schemes. You were together for a year, so he knows how to get under your skin, he knows how to make you give in.
By the look on his face, it appears that he was hurt by the harsh words, but he really couldn’t blame you.
He took your sweatshirt off you and smiled.
“No bra?”
“Why do you look surprised? It’s not like I didn’t sleep like this when we were together.” Ace quickly moved and started to suck on your nipples, making you choke from the sudden action. You started to rub yourself against his bulge, seeking some kind of relief.
Ace moved his head to your other nipple, rolling between his fingers the nipple he was previously sucking on. He repeated the actions for quite a few minutes before he came to a stop and looked at your fucked up expression.
“Here, or your room?” Ace was starting to carry you up, knowing you usually liked it better on a bed, but you quickly pushed him back to the sofa.
“Here, you lost room privilege the moment you decided to cheat on me.” Ace was surprised at your words, not because of the context itself, but because you said it in a playful manner.
“I’m-”
“Shut up, Ace. I need you.” You stood up so he could take off his sweatpants, and took this opportunity to take off your shorts and panties, not wanting to lose time.
You grabbed one of his shoulders to balance yourself, while your other hand was guiding his cock to your entrance. You didn’t need any preparation. The moment you saw Ace at your door, and the countless restless nights for the past months were enough for you to just want to fuck him without any type of foreplay. You slowly took him in, adjusting yourself to his size.
It’s been months since you had sex with someone, so it did sting a bit.
“So… tight,” he managed to say.
“Shut… up.” You started to move your waist, not enough movement for him to get proper relief, but enough for you to get used to his size again.
Ace was able to see that you didn’t open your eyes. Maybe because you were trying to concentrate. But he knew better, and he knew it was because you didn’t actually want to look at him. His chest hurt. When you were together, you used to love looking at him. Something about the way he would look at you, with such neediness and love, was something that would always help you cum faster. So this was new. But he also knew he fucked up pretty bad, and this was the only way to have you this close.
“More,” Ace didn’t even ask you to stop when he grabbed your ass, stopping you from moving back and forth, and started to move his hips up and down. Due to the sudden change of movement, your upper body crashed against his chest. And you hissed.
“Ace,” you wanted to shout at him, be mad at him, but instead of sounding angry, his name came out as a moan. He was abusing your hole, going as fast as he could, hitting that spot that would make you forget everything except for the man that was making you feel such an intense pleasure.
“That’s right, baby, I’m the only one that can make you feel this way.” You clenched at his words, defeated. “Even if you wanted to take control tonight, you know this is the only way for you to come around my cock.” You wanted to punch him in the face so bad.
“Fuck you.” You felt tears starting to roll down your face. You didn’t know if it was because of the overwhelming sensation or because you were having sex with the person who cheated on you, but you didn’t care. It made the pleasure a hundred times better.
Ace felt his chest getting wetter, but he knew better than to ask if you were ok.
“God, sweetheart, I missed you so much.” Ace stopped for a moment to grab your chin up and kiss you properly. You could feel his neediness and his regret.
“Move, please.” Ace chuckled and continued to move. You started to leave small wet kisses on his neck and collarbones.
“Keep doing that…” You hid your smile and started to suck his neck, wanting to mark him up. Ace could feel your pussy clench harder, meaning that you were close. With one arm, he grabbed you by the waist, and with his other hand, he started to play with your clit, wanting you to come before he did.
“Fuck fuck fuck” you whispered in Ace’s ear.
“That’s right, cum baby, please. Let me feel you.”
You hated the way you gave into him so easily. You hated the fact that, finally, after months and months of being sexually frustrated, you were finally going to be able to cum thanks to him.
You weren’t ready for the feeling. A rush of electricity traveled from your core to the rest of your body. Your whole body went limp as your sight became blurry. You couldn’t think properly. It was as if your brain had become a puddle of incoherent thoughts. You let out a loud whine as Ace continued to fuck you, trying to reach his own climax.
“Where do you want it?” You didn’t need more explanation. You knew he was referring to his load.
“Inside me, A-ace.” You whimpered, trying your best to not push him away from you. The overstimulation was not something you were used to.
It was all Ace needed to come undone. He always loved it when you were so vocal about your needs and wants. As you felt the warm shot of cum paint the inside of your walls, you finally relaxed completely against his body.
You hated to admit it, but you missed this. You miss him.
You didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence that filled your living room, too scared of speaking and him being able to tell you were about to cry.
“I’m sorry. I know I fucked up, really bad,” he was slowly moving his fingers through your hair, smoothing it out.
“Don’t. Pease,” you could barely say, voice breaking in the process.
“Just give me one more chance. Let me win your heart and trust back.”
“Don’t you think you are 6 months late, Ace?” You were right. He didn’t call, text, or try to find you.
“I know. But please, just let me try to win you back. I haven’t been able to properly rest, and I haven’t been able to function at all. I can’t live without you.” And you knew he was telling the truth. As you stared deeply into his eyes, you sighed.
“I don’t know Ace. I just kept picturing her lips on you.” A small tear rolled down your cheek, but Ace quickly moved his hand to clean it up.
“Let me make it up to you. I will do anything to fix this mess I made.”
“You know, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” You admit. Ace cupped your face with both of his hands, wanting to look into your eyes.
“I messed up, but if you agree and if you let me, I will show you that you are the only person I ever want to be with for the rest of my life.” You weren’t so sure if you wanted to forgive him that easily, but you knew something, and it was the fact that even if it was hard to see him, you needed his company more than anything.
You could only nod, wanting to give it a try one more time.
“I promise you won’t regret it, baby.” Ace embraced you in a tight hug, and for the first time in months, you could finally rest peacefully.
hiii i love ur works sm!!! when i first finished 'a recipe for reassurance' i thought about it for weeks its just so my type of angst😭😭
anyways i can request an ace x reader? it could be either of them that got amnesia from(an incident, enemy attacks...anything you think is suitable!!) and they're in a relationships but yk, it took them months or years to get memories back (ur choice!!!)
i actually dk TT but take ur time and take a break if you need and ty!!!!
₊˚⊹ ᰔ A/N: 5 more works to to then requests will open! They'll be open for most of the day
You never intended to become a part of the Whitebeard Pirates. You simply stumbled into their orbit, an errant star drawn in by a gravitational pull you couldn't resist. Yet, in the end, it was the easy warmth of their laughter and the surprising weight of their trust that made it impossible to leave. They welcomed you into a family you'd never known, a sprawling, chaotic constellation of found brothers and sisters. And amidst all the bright and boisterous personalities, nothing caught you more off guard than the man with fire in his soul and a grin sharp enough to burn you alive: Portgas D. Ace.
From the very start, you were locked in a cycle neither of you seemed willing to break. Your cutting quip, his cocky retort. Your laugh would echo against the crash of the waves, and his grin would deepen as though daring you to close the distance. But you never did. Neither of you ever took that final step. It became a rhythm, a game so ingrained and natural that the crew saw it as a form of entertainment. Thatch would nudge you whenever Ace sprawled across the deck, his shirt undone, pretending not to notice you looking. Marco would smirk, his voice low and knowing, whenever Ace leaned a little too close, asking if you were blushing. Even Pops, the great Whitebeard himself, would rumble with laughter, declaring the two of you were more exhausting to watch than a full-blown sea battle.
Still, the moments were yours. The night you officially joined the crew, Ace was the first to approach you, his arms crossed, freckles dusted by the golden glow of a ship's lantern. "You sure about this?" he'd asked, his tone still laced with that familiar dare, but his eyes were searching. You met his gaze without flinching, answering with that playful spark in your voice—the one that always made him grin wider than anyone else could. From that moment on, the dance never stopped. It was like fire and wind, endlessly fueling each other, never quite consuming.
Sometimes you wondered why you couldn’t just take that final step. You and Ace were always on the precipice, a horizon perpetually out of reach. But perhaps that's what made it so intoxicating. You had the whole crew watching, waiting, laughing at the sparks you both created. Neither of you seemed ready to give the flame an ending. So you stayed in the cycle—his fire, your storm. Your story unfolded in a series of stolen glances and sharp-tongued exchanges, a love that burned slow and steady, daring the world to try and put it out.
The night it finally happened didn't feel special at all. The crew had feasted to their heart's content, songs had been sung, and most of your brothers had passed out on deck, their snores competing with the rhythmic lapping of the waves. You'd slipped away for a breath of fresh air, only to find Ace already sitting at the railing, a lazy flame flickering from his fingertips. Even his boredom burned.
He looked up when you approached, a familiar tug at his lips. "What, can't stay away from me?"
You rolled your eyes, but you sat down beside him anyway, your shoulder brushing his. The ocean stretched out, a vast, dark expanse ahead, but somehow you found yourself staring at him instead. Of course, he caught you, because he always did.
"Careful," he teased softly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Look at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me."
For once, you didn't have a witty comeback. Your heart pounded against your ribs, and your mouth felt dry, but your hand still found its way to his. His grin faltered, surprise flashing across his face before it softened into something new and something real. When you leaned in, his flames guttered out completely, as if even fire needed to make room for you.
The kiss was clumsy at first, a long-overdue collision of two bodies and two hearts. But when he pulled you closer, it felt utterly inevitable, as if the two of you had been hurtling toward this moment since the day you met.
Keeping it a secret had sounded so easy in theory. You were clever, and Ace was a master of playing it cool when he wanted to. But the Whitebeard Pirates were nothing if not observant.
Thatch was the first to corner you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the galley door. "So… planning on telling the rest of us, or should we just keep pretending you don't sneak off with Ace every night after dinner?"
Marco caught you both napping in the crow's nest one afternoon, your head resting on Ace's chest, his arm curled around you. He only chuckled and shook his head like he'd been expecting this for months. "Yoi… finally."
Even Pops himself made it impossible to pretend. One morning at breakfast, Whitebeard’s booming laugh shook the entire table. “You two think you can keep secrets from me? Bahahaha! My sons and daughters aren’t that sneaky.”
The crew erupted in cheers, whistling, and shouts of congratulations that made your face burn hotter than Ace’s flames. Yet, as Ace laced his fingers through yours under the table, his grin wide and unashamed, you realized you didn't care anymore. The secret was out, but so was your love—burning, undeniable, and stronger than either of you had ever dared to admit.
Life with Ace was a story told in fire and shadow—never simple, always unpredictable. He was a force of nature, equal parts untamed wildfire and gentle, smoldering ember. And yet, it was a life you wouldn't have traded for the calmest, most serene seas in the world.
There were the quiet moments of peace, like mornings when Ace would sprawl across your bunk, still half-asleep, groaning in protest as you tried to nudge him off. His hair was always a chaotic tangle, his freckles catching the dawn light like a scattering of golden dust. You swore you'd never tell him, but in those unguarded moments, he was breathtaking. He’d catch you staring and pull you back down into the sheets, his voice a low rumble. "Five more minutes."
And then there were the clashes—loud and stubborn, you both were sparks on flint. You'd bicker over the most ridiculous things: who was supposed to swab the deck, whose turn it was to polish the weapons, or whether pineapple belonged on pizza. Ace would throw his hands up, miniature flames dancing in his palms, while you stood your ground, a hurricane of sharp words. But the thing about fighting fire with fire was that you always burned yourselves out. The apologies came clumsy, laughter bubbling up through the tension as one of you finally gave in. The make-ups were sometimes shy kisses, sometimes breathless tickle wars on the deck, much to the exasperation of your brothers.
But it was in the small, unspoken things that your love truly lived. The way Ace would subtly slide his plate closer so you could steal bites without asking. How you'd fix his hat after a battle, dusting dirt from his shoulders while he feigned indifference. The way he carried an extra blanket to the crow's nest just for you, knowing how you hated the cold.
Your laughter was a constant melody, echoing off the ship's masts during long nights and carried across the sea when Ace cracked a terrible joke only you found funny. It came softer, too, in the tranquil moments between storms. When you traced constellations together, his head in your lap, he would whisper secrets no one else knew. His deepest insecurities—about his name, about his worth—spilled out in hushed tones. You held them like fragile glass, reminding him over and over that he was Ace, yours, and that was all that mattered.
The crew's teasing was relentless, yet their smiles were genuine whenever they saw you two together. Because beneath the fire and the stubbornness, everyone could see it: Ace had found his home in you, and you in him. On a ship full of found family, there was no truth truer than that. With Ace, love wasn't a grand, loud spectacle. It was something deeper, a quiet hum beneath your skin whenever he was near. It was in the way his hand always found yours without thinking, in the flutter in your stomach when his laugh broke across the deck, bright and unrestrained. It was the absolute knowing that no matter how far he wandered or how stubbornly you argued, your souls would always pull each other back like the tide.
The proposal wasn't planned, which made it perfectly, beautifully him. One night, the crew was celebrating on deck, laughing and drinking under a canopy of stars. You and Ace had slipped away to the railing, the night sky a mirror in the dark water below. He leaned against the wood, his hair tousled by the sea breeze, a lazy grin on his face. But his eyes were soft, a look he saved only for you.
"Y'know," he murmured, fiddling with the brim of his hat, "I was thinking… you're stuck with me."
You laughed, nudging his shoulder. "That's not exactly breaking news, Ace."
"No, I mean…" He paused, visibly flustered, then shoved his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a simple, unpolished metal band, something he'd hammered together himself from a piece of scavenged metal. It shone faintly in the moonlight. "I'm not good with words, you know that. But… I don't want this to just be today, or tomorrow, or until we hit the next island. I want it to be forever. So, uh… marry me?"
You blinked, your heart flipping, breath caught somewhere between laughter and tears. It was so completely Ace—messy, blunt, and unrefined, yet so full of love it nearly knocked the wind out of you.
"Yes," you whispered, the word feeling utterly, perfectly right.
He slipped the ring onto your finger, his grin wider than you'd ever seen it, freckles crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He pulled you into a kiss that tasted of salt and fire.
The crew, of course, noticed the second you returned. Marco raised a brow at the way Ace kept fidgeting with your hand, and Thatch nearly choked on his drink when he spotted the ring. Within seconds, the entire ship erupted in cheers, laughter, and shouts of congratulations. Pops’ booming laugh rolled over everyone else's, his smile wide and full of knowing pride.
But even surrounded by your boisterous family, it still felt like it was just you and Ace. Two souls who had been dancing around each other from the start, finally stepping into the forever you had both been building all along.
The months leading up to the wedding were a season of quiet happiness, a period where your bond with Ace deepened with every passing day. The engagement was not about perfect plans or flawless details; it was about the small, constant reassurances. He would randomly catch your hand, his thumb brushing over the ring he’d made as if he still couldn't believe you had said yes. You would tease him about it, but secretly, every time his eyes lit up at the sight of you, a familiar flutter would start in your chest.
The crew embraced the celebration with their own chaotic flair. Thatch insisted on regular "engagement feasts," cooking until half the ship groaned from their full stomachs. Marco, ever the anchor, watched to ensure you and Ace didn’t accidentally set the kitchen ablaze while “helping.” Even Pops would rumble with laughter, referring to you as his children and declaring your love to be stronger than any sea.
You and Ace spent those months weaving your lives tighter together. Long nights tracing constellations on his freckled shoulders. Morning sparring matches that always ended with you on your back, Ace hovering above you with a triumphant grin until you kissed him into silence. Your whispers about the future were a mix of the ridiculous—like building a house out of pineapples just to make Thatch jealous—and the profound, wondering if this love could last forever in a world as harsh as the sea.
The wedding day arrived on a sunlit shore, the beach decorated with lanterns, flowers, and far too much rum. You had never seen Ace so nervous; his fingers twitched with small sparks as Marco straightened his hat and told him not to faint before the vows. You walked barefoot across the sand, the ocean behind you and the Whitebeard Pirates gathered as your family.
It should have been a perfect, serene moment. But with you and Ace, nothing was ever simple.
Halfway through the ceremony, a sudden storm rolled in. Clouds darkened the sky, and a fierce wind whipped across the beach. Decorations went flying, lanterns toppled into the sand, and the rum barrels burst open, spilling their contents like another tide. The crew scrambled, their curses and laughter mingling, while Whitebeard threw his head back and roared with joy.
You stood there, soaked from head to toe, your hair plastered to your face and your dress clinging to you as rain poured down. Ace’s flames sputtered in the downpour, but his grin never faltered. He grabbed your hands, holding tight as if the sea itself couldn't pull you away. “Guess the world doesn’t want to make this easy for us, huh?” he shouted over the thunder.
“Since when has anything been easy with you?” you yelled back, breathless and grinning through the rain.
And right there, drenched and shivering, with the crew cheering wildly behind you, you said your vows. There were no fancy words or perfect setting—just fire and storm, two souls bound together, laughing in the face of chaos. When Ace kissed you, sparks danced against the rain, and for one beautiful moment, it felt like even the storm bowed to your love.
It wasn’t the wedding you planned. It was better. It was yours.
Married life with Ace was not dramatically different from before—except everything felt heavier and lighter all at once. The ring on your finger was no longer just a promise; it was a constant reminder that he was yours, and you were his, through every storm and every sunrise. The crew joked that you acted like newlyweds every day, and perhaps they weren't wrong.
Ace still stole food off your plate, still sprawled across your bunk like he owned it, and still argued with you over the most trivial things. But now, when you fought, it would always end with one of you muttering, "We're stuck together, remember?" and the tension would melt into laughter. Nights were spent curled together, his warmth seeping into your bones, his whispers softer now, less guarded. He would admit how he used to doubt he deserved this—a family, love, you—and you made it your mission to remind him, over and over, that he did.
It was during one of those quiet nights that the topic of children arose. You were lying in the crow’s nest together, the stars scattered above like freckles in the sky. Ace had his hat tilted over his eyes, but his arm was around you, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your hip.
"Hey," he said suddenly, his voice low and unsure. “You ever think about… you know… little ones?”
You turned to look at him. “Little ones?”
He peeked at you from under his hat, his cheeks slightly pink. “Like… kids. Us having kids. I mean, I don’t even know if I’d be any good at it. Pops says I’d probably set a crib on fire.” He laughed awkwardly, but the question in his eyes was raw and vulnerable.
You stayed quiet for a moment, letting the waves fill the space between you. The idea had crossed your mind before—what it would be like to see Ace holding a baby, freckles mirrored on a tiny face, his grin softened into something even gentler. The thought filled you with a deep, quiet joy.
“I think,” you said softly, brushing your fingers against his, “you’d be better than you think. You’d love them enough to make up for every mistake. That’s what would matter.”
His breath hitched, and for once, Ace had no quick reply. He simply pulled you closer, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’d want them to be like you,” he muttered. “Strong. Kind. Stubborn as hell.”
You laughed, pressing a kiss to his hair. “And I’d want them to have your laugh. Your fire.”
From then on, the idea lingered between you like another secret, but not a heavy one. The crew, of course, picked up on it. Thatch joked about building a playpen on the deck. Marco muttered something about the "gods helping us if they inherit Ace’s appetite." Even Pops laughed, his booming voice shaking the ship: “My family just keeps getting bigger!”
It wasn’t a decision you made right away. The sea was dangerous, your lives chaotic. But the dream was there, tucked into the quiet moments and late-night whispers—a future you both started to believe you deserved. A home, a family, children who would know love from the very start. And maybe, just maybe, a chance for Ace to rewrite the story he thought he’d been given, with you by his side.
The day began not with the boisterous energy of the crew, but with the soft, private warmth of dawn. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, painting golden stripes across the cabin, and you awoke to the steady rise and fall of Ace's chest beneath your cheek. Even in sleep, his skin radiated heat like a banked fire, and the gentle rumble of his breathing was the sweetest sound in the world. You shifted slightly, pressing your nose against the constellation of freckles that dusted his shoulder. He stirred with a low, sleepy groan.
"Morning, firefly," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as one arm lazily tightened around your waist.
"Morning," you whispered, grinning when his lips brushed against your temple.
What started as a sleepy kiss quickly deepened. Ace rolled onto his side, pulling you flush against his body, his hand slipping to cradle your jaw. His kisses were warm, teasing, punctuated with low chuckles when you tugged at his messy hair or murmured something snarky against his lips.
"You're insufferable," you breathed between kisses, laughing when he nipped at your bottom lip.
"And you're addicted," he shot back, his grin wicked and his eyes full of mischief as he pressed another deep, languid kiss against your mouth. His laugh vibrated through you, a playful, hungry sound, and you were seconds from letting the morning carry you both into something far less innocent—
—when a voice bellowed from the hall, sharp and insistent: "Ace! Island duty today! Get your ass up!"
Ace groaned so loudly it could have been mistaken for a dying animal, flopping back onto the mattress with an arm flung over his face. "You've gotta be kidding me," he moaned.
You laughed, breathless and flushed, watching him pout like a child denied dessert. He peeked at you from under his arm, his grin slowly returning as he leaned over to steal one last kiss. "Don't think this is over," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and full of a promise that made your blood sing. "We're picking up exactly where we left off."
With that promise hanging in the air, he finally dragged himself up, ruffling his hair before pulling on his shorts and reaching for his hat. He tugged on his boots with exaggerated reluctance, groaning dramatically the whole time, and shot you one last wink before stepping out into the hall, a familiar fire in his step.
You lay there for a few moments, the silence stretching out around you, your lips still tingling, your chest warm in a way no sunlight could ever replicate. But the day wouldn't wait for you either. With a soft sigh and a smile on your lips, you rose, pulling on your clothes and preparing to lend a hand with the crew, whether it was mending sails, scrubbing decks, or dealing with Thatch’s latest culinary disaster. The morning had begun with fire and laughter, and even though duty had stolen Ace away, you carried that warmth with you as you stepped out to meet the day.
The sun was already climbing high, a blaze of light across the endless sea as you tied your hair back and joined the bustle of the crew. Marco flagged you down almost immediately, his finger pointing to a tear in one of the sails. You balanced on the rigging beside him, your movements in perfect sync. He handed you pins and patches while you stitched, the comfortable silence between you a language all its own. "Ace'll be fine, yoi," he said at one point, his calm voice cutting through your thoughts as if he'd plucked the worry straight from your mind. You brushed it off with a quick smile, but his sharp eyes lingered, knowing.
On deck, Thatch was barking about "culinary emergencies" again. You helped him carry crates of fruit and barrels of water, both of you laughing as he swatted your hands away when you tried to sneak a taste of the food. He teased you mercilessly about your flushed cheeks, a sly grin on his face as he asked if Ace had kept you up late. You smacked his shoulder, but the thought of Ace—already hours gone—lingered, a faintly unsettling hum in the back of your mind.
The chores shifted to the infirmary, where Marco passed you off to Izo, who was reorganizing supplies. You helped stack bandages, wipe down surfaces, and refill water basins. Izo chatted idly, complimenting your neatness compared to Ace’s absolute disaster of a locker. You laughed along, but the clock in your head ticked louder. They should have at least sent word back by now, shouldn’t they?
Jozu roped you into sparring practice, insisting you keep sharp while the ship was docked. He didn’t go easy, and soon you were catching your breath, sweat trickling down your back as the sun blazed overhead. He offered a grin, fist bumping you when you finally managed to land a clean strike. Still, when you sat on the edge of the deck, gulping water, you found your eyes fixed on the horizon. It was too quiet without Ace’s laugh, without the sound of the scouting team returning.
More chores, this time scrubbing the deck alongside Haruta, who told endless stories of past adventures, his voice bright and animated. You tried to laugh at the right parts, but your gaze kept flicking toward the island. The ship creaked with every wave, the air hot and sticky, and a gnawing unease coiled tighter in your chest.
By now, the easy laughter of the crew had dulled. The sailors began exchanging quick, worried glances when they thought no one was watching. You joined Blamenco in carrying supplies below deck, and even he, usually steady as stone, was quiet. No word. No sign. They should have been back.
As you returned topside, you caught Marco speaking lowly with Vista, their expressions grim and their voices hushed. Your heart sank, your stomach twisting with dread. The hours had slipped by too quickly, and with each one, the silence from the shore grew heavier.
Ace was out there. Too long. Too quiet.
And you could feel it now, a sharp and cold certainty beneath your ribs—something was terribly wrong.
You were kneeling near the ship’s rail, hands moving automatically as you mended a frayed rope in the late afternoon sun. The gnawing worry that had settled in your gut since morning had become a living thing, a dull throb that pulsed with every beat of your heart. Every creak of the ship, every cry of a distant gull made you lift your head, your nerves strung tight as wire.
Then, at last, you saw it—a smaller vessel cutting through the waves, too quiet, too fast. Normally, Ace’s fire would be a beacon, a trail of flames lighting the way back to the Moby Dick. But this ship came in dark, silent, its approach a stark contradiction to the vibrant energy you were used to.
Crew members rushed to the edge, shouting, ropes thrown down to secure the vessel. Marco leaped from the deck, his blue flames flickering as he steadied the smaller ship with a focused intensity you rarely saw. Shouts erupted—urgent, panicked, not the usual rowdy noise of returning brothers. Your stomach plummeted as you pushed through the crowd gathering at the rail.
And then you saw it.
Several men were carrying someone off the smaller ship, their faces pale, their hands slick with red. So much blood. It stained the wood beneath them, dripping in thick, crimson trails that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
“What’s going on?” Your voice cracked as you stumbled forward. “Who—who is it?”
Marco didn’t answer, moving with them, his movements a blur of grim urgency.
You followed, shoving past bodies until you caught a glimpse—just a hand at first, limp, bloodied, but glinting in the late-day sun. A simple metal band, scratched and darkened with what looked like rust.
But it wasn’t rust.
Your hand rose to your own ring instinctively, and the world tilted.
“No,” you whispered, your legs carrying you forward before your mind could even process the movement.
And then you saw his face.
Ace.
His skin was a terrifying, ashen white beneath the grime and blood, his freckles nearly swallowed by the crimson streaks running across his cheek. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against his skin, his lips slack. And above his brow, the wound—a jagged gash stretched across the side of his head. It was torn open, raw and terrible, caked with dirt and blood that continued to pour down, matting his black hair, dripping steadily down his jaw. It looked like he had been struck with brutal force, the skin shredded and the bone beneath frighteningly close to view.
You couldn’t breathe. The sounds of the crew blurred into a dull roar in your ears. All you could see was the ring on his hand, the blood on his face, and the terrifying stillness of the man who was supposed to be your fire, your forever.
“Ace…” Your voice broke, a trembling, ragged whisper as your knees threatened to give out. You were moving, pushing through the desperate crowd, drawn by a force you couldn’t resist. The world narrowed down to the sight of him in their arms, his head lolling, his blood staining everything it touched.
“Let me through!” you screamed, shoving against shoulders, not caring who you pushed aside. Your heart was pounding so violently it hurt, your breath tearing from your lungs.
Marco was there, his hands pressed firm against Ace’s head wound, blue flames trying desperately to cauterize the bleeding. His usual calm was cracked—guilt etched into every line of his face. “Yoi, stay back—”
“No!” you shrieked, the sound raw and breaking, as you grabbed for Ace’s limp hand. The ring was slick with blood, the warmth beneath it fading. “Don’t you tell me to stay back—he’s my husband!”
Marco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t fight you when you pulled Ace closer, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe the blood from his face, your tears streaking down to mix with it. “Ace, wake up—please, you promised me forever!”
The men carrying him faltered under the weight of your desperation. Finally, Marco gave a sharp order: “Take him to medical, now!”
You clung to him all the way, your fingers locked around his. His blood painted your palms, your sleeves, even your face when you pressed against his. It soaked through everything, hot and sticky, the metallic smell of iron choking you.
But when you reached the infirmary, Marco stopped you at the door. He turned, his golden eyes burning with something that was equal parts authority and sorrow. “You can’t come in, yoi. We need space to work. If you’re in there, he won’t stand a chance.”
“No—Marco, don’t—please, I can’t—” Your words tumbled out, broken, desperate, as he held you back.
It was Izo who caught your shoulders, steady but gentle. His own face was tight, his usual poise shattered. “Little dove,” he murmured, his voice soft, “let them do their job. He needs them. He needs you strong when he wakes.”
Your chest caved in, a sob ripping through you as they pulled Ace away, the heavy doors of the infirmary slamming shut behind him. You were left staring at your hands, trembling, slick with his blood. It was everywhere, a cruel reminder of the life that was now hanging by a thread.
Jozu stood nearby, his massive frame bent awkwardly as though he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Thatch, for once, was silent, his face as pale as a ghost. They wanted to say something, but nothing could fill the gaping void.
All you could do was collapse against the wall, your knees pulled to your chest, your hands still stained, shaking so badly you could hardly breathe.
And then, the waiting began. Minutes stretched into hours, every sound from behind that door making you flinch, every muffled shout or hurried step tearing you apart. You didn’t know if Ace was fighting or fading. You didn’t know if you’d ever see his grin again, feel his fire against your skin, or hear his laugh cutting through the storm.
All you knew was that your heart was sitting on that table with him. And all you could do was pray it kept beating.
The hallway outside the infirmary felt like a coffin—tight, suffocating, every breath a shallow, sharp ache. You were on the floor, back pressed to the wall, but you couldn’t feel the cold wood against you. You couldn’t feel anything but the tacky weight of blood on your skin.
Ace's blood.
You stared down at your hands, trembling in your lap. Crimson, dried in streaks and clumps beneath your fingernails, painting the lines of your palms. You flexed your fingers, but they shook uncontrollably, and the thought kept clawing at you: He didn’t hold me back. His hand had been limp in yours. He hadn't squeezed, hadn't stirred. He was there, but he wasn’t.
"Y/N…" Thatch's voice was soft, so unlike his usual boisterous self. He crouched nearby, hands resting loosely on his knees. "He's a tough bastard, you know? He's gonna pull through. He always does."
You didn't answer. You couldn’t. Marco’s orders, the slam of the infirmary doors, the terrifying image of that wound—it all blurred into a deafening roar. Your heartbeat hammered in your ears.
Your eyes burned, not from tears but from the sight that wouldn't leave your head. That gash across Ace’s temple, blood matting his hair. Your hands twitched, and suddenly you were on your feet, stumbling to a water basin nearby.
You plunged your hands in, scrubbing hard, too hard. The clear water went pink, then crimson, swirling with every desperate movement. Still, you scrubbed, your nails digging into your own skin, dragging the cloth against your palms until it burned. "Get it off—get it off—"
Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as you rubbed harder, harder, your skin reddening, peeling raw beneath the frantic force. The blood clung stubbornly in the cracks of your fingers, mocking you, whispering that it was his life staining you.
Strong, calloused hands closed gently around your wrists. "Stop, Y/N." It was Vista, his usual easy smile replaced with quiet firmness. He pulled the cloth from your grip, holding your raw, stinging hands steady in his. "You'll hurt yourself more than help. That's not what he'd want."
You shook your head, chest heaving, your voice breaking into something jagged. "I can't—Vista, I can still feel it—his blood—it won't come off—it won't—"
He tightened his grip just enough to ground you. His eyes softened, even as his jaw clenched. "Listen to me. It's not your fault. You being here, holding on to him—that's what's keeping him tethered. Don't tear yourself apart."
Behind him, Izo stood with his arms crossed, his face unreadable but his eyes glimmering with pain. Jozu lingered like a silent wall, his massive frame hunched in discomfort, as though he, too, didn't know how to fix what was breaking in front of him.
You stared at Vista, your chest rising and falling too fast, your skin raw and aching. And still, beneath the numbness and the pain, the cruel thought gnawed at you like a tide: He didn't hold my hand back.
And you didn’t know if he ever would again.
The sound of the infirmary doors creaking open snapped everyone’s heads up. Your heart lurched into your throat as Marco stepped out, his white coat spattered, streaked, soaked in red. Ace's red.
You were on your feet before you even realized it, your chest heaving, words tumbling out sharp and panicked. "Tell me—Marco, tell me—"
His face was grim, far more solemn than the calm he usually carried. The weight in his golden eyes made your knees feel weak. For a moment, you thought he was about to say the words that would end you.
Then, softly, he said: "He's alive."
A shaky, unsteady breath tore from your lungs, your body nearly folding from the sheer, staggering relief. But before you could feel the full weight of it, Marco added, "—but he's in a coma."
The world tilted again. Relief and horror crashed into each other, leaving you dizzy. "A… a coma?" you whispered, as if saying the word would make it less real.
Marco only nodded, his expression tightening, guilt painting the edges of his face. "We stopped the bleeding. Stitched what we could. But that wound…" He glanced down, his jaw clenching. "It was too deep. He's breathing, but he may not wake up for a while. We don't know how long."
Something inside you cracked. Without thinking, you shoved past him, ignoring the sharp protest in his voice. The smell of iron and antiseptic hit you like a wave as you burst into the infirmary.
And there he was.
Ace lay on the cot, still as death. His skin was pale, the warmth that always radiated from him dulled to a faint ember you could barely feel. His freckles stood out stark against his bloodless cheeks. A thick bandage wrapped around the side of his head, but beneath it you could see the edge of the wound—the angry, jagged line that cut across his temple, a fresh scar that would never fade. His black hair was matted, trimmed away where the stitches dug into his flesh.
You stumbled forward, your hands trembling as you reached for him. He looked wrong. Too quiet, too still. Ace was never still. He was fire, motion, laughter. And now… now he looked like a shell, the flame tucked so deep you couldn’t reach it.
You dropped into the chair beside him, your hands finding his. It was cold. Not icy, but cold enough to make your stomach twist. You pressed your forehead against his knuckles, tears spilling freely now, tracing hot paths down your cheeks.
"This isn't you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "You're supposed to laugh too loud, eat too much, steal my blankets, argue with me about nothing." Your shoulders shook as the words poured out. "Not this. Not like this."
The scar, the bandages, the pale skin—it all felt like a mockery. As if fate had stolen the man you loved and left you with a shadow in his place.
You clung to his hand, desperate, frantic, begging silently for even the smallest twitch of his fingers. But there was nothing. Just the faint rise and fall of his chest—the only proof your fire was still alive.
You never let go of his hand.
The first night, you sat at his bedside until your eyes burned, your fingers laced so tightly with his that you were sure you could tether him to the world through touch alone. At some point, exhaustion claimed you, and you slumped forward on the cot, your cheek pressed to his arm. When you woke, his hand was still in yours—unmoving, but there. That became your anchor, the single constant in a world that had fallen apart.
Days blurred into weeks. The world outside the infirmary kept turning—missions, laughter, the roar of the sea—but for you, time froze the moment Ace closed his eyes. You refused to leave his side, eating the little food others brought you without tasting it, and washing your hands raw each morning, yet still feeling his blood on your skin.
The crew grew worried. At first, they gave you the quiet, the space you demanded. But soon, they began filtering in.
Marco was there most often, quiet and watchful, sometimes standing at the doorway for hours before finally telling you to rest. You never did.
Thatch brought meals, always with some terrible joke, though the laughter never reached his eyes. “If you’re wasting away, flamebrain’s gonna be pissed when he wakes,” he’d mutter, sliding a plate closer to you.
Izo sometimes sat in the chair across from you, polishing his guns in silence, the metallic click and scrape oddly comforting. Occasionally, his sharp gaze would soften as he told you stories of Ace—little pieces of him that filled the hushed silence.
Even Jozu tried, his massive presence almost comical in the too-small infirmary. He'd drop off blankets or fresh clothes, pretending they weren’t for you when they clearly were.
And at night, when you thought no one was looking, even Pops himself would linger in the doorway. His shadow filled the frame, quiet and heavy, but he never entered. He didn’t need to—you could feel the grief, the love, the worry radiating from him.
But through it all, you never left Ace’s side. You held his hand as though it was the last thread binding you together. Sometimes you talked to him, your voice soft, telling him about your day, about the crew, about the stupid things that kept happening without him. Other times, you simply lay curled beside him, listening to the faint rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm that told you he was still here.
Weeks passed like that, your body weakening, your heart fraying. But your resolve never did.
Because if he was fighting in the dark, you would fight with him.
It happened on a morning that felt no different from the others.
The room was hushed, the ship rocking gently, and the light through the infirmary window painted Ace’s skin a pale gold. You were half-asleep, your head resting near his arm, his hand still tangled in yours. You'd fallen into the rhythm of his shallow breaths, a rhythm you'd learned by heart these past endless weeks.
Then—there was a shift.
His fingers twitched.
At first, you thought it was a dream. You lifted your head, eyes blurry with exhaustion, but then it came again—stronger. His hand flexed weakly against yours. Your heart leapt into your throat.
“Ace?” your voice cracked, trembling with disbelief. You scrambled up, brushing hair out of your face. “Ace, I’m here.”
His eyelids fluttered, lashes trembling against his cheeks before finally, finally, his dark eyes blinked open. You gasped, tears already spilling, a laugh breaking from your chest. “You’re awake—oh my god, you’re awake.”
You leaned over him, pressing a desperate kiss to his forehead, sobbing into his skin, your relief overflowing. “I knew you’d come back to me—I knew it—”
But then you felt it. The way his body stiffened beneath you. The way his breath quickened, unsteady, not with relief but with fear.
You pulled back, searching his face. His wide eyes darted around the room, then back to you. And there it was—the look that shattered you more than any wound ever could.
He didn’t recognize you.
“W-who…” his voice was hoarse, cracked from disuse. He swallowed hard, his brows furrowing. “…who are you?”
The words sliced through you, clean and merciless.
You froze, the tears on your cheeks burning. “Ace… it’s me. It’s—” Your voice broke as you gripped his hand tighter. “It’s Y/N. Your wife.”
But the panic in his eyes only deepened. His free hand went weakly to the bandage at his head, confusion and fear etched across his face. “I don’t… I don’t know you.”
The world tilted, your breath knocked from your chest. You felt the blood drain from your face as your grip loosened, his hand slipping against yours.
For weeks, you had prayed for him to wake. For weeks, you had imagined his smile, his warmth, his teasing voice filling the air again.
And now he was awake.
But your Ace was gone.
Your throat closed, the air in your lungs turning to a sharp, brittle thing. Yet you managed to choke out the words, your voice trembling like glass.
“Marco! Someone! Please!”
The infirmary door burst open. Marco came first, his sharp gaze instantly locking onto Ace. Behind him, Izo and Thatch crowded in, Jozu’s heavy steps not far behind. A wave of relief washed over their faces, a momentary glimpse of hope that fractured as they took in the scene before them. Ace was awake, but not whole.
Marco stepped to his side immediately, his hands gentle but firm as he checked Ace’s pulse, his breathing, his bandages. “Easy, yoi. Don’t push yourself. You’ve been out for weeks.”
Ace’s eyes flicked to him, squinting as though pulling memories from a thick fog. Then, there it was—recognition. “Marco,” he rasped, his lips twitching into a faint, tired grin. “You look… older.”
Marco blinked, a strange relief flickering across his face. “Older, huh? Tch. Brat.”
Thatch laughed wetly, his grin shaky. “Of all the first things you remember, you call him old? That’s Ace, alright.”
But then Ace’s gaze slid past them, his expression clouding. He saw Izo and nodded faintly, muttering, “Still sharp as ever, huh?” He looked at Jozu and smirked, though it was weaker than it should have been.
And then his eyes landed on you.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just confusion—sharp, cutting, unrelenting.
You didn’t move. You couldn't. Your hand still hovered near his, trembling, but when he pulled his away—slow, almost cautious, as if your touch burned—your stomach hollowed out.
The others saw it. They saw the way his body angled toward them, familiar, at ease, even joking through the rasp in his throat. And they saw the way he shrank back from you, as if you were a stranger intruding on something sacred. The shift in the room was suffocating.
Your chest caved in silently as you lowered your hand to your lap, your thumb rubbing circles over your wedding band until your skin was sore. The gold felt heavy now, cruel.
Marco glanced at you quickly, his eyes tightening, but he said nothing. The truth was already there, glaring and merciless. Ace remembered them. He remembered the crew, the years before you ever set foot on Whitebeard’s ship.
But he didn't remember you.
You forced your head down, staring at your ring, because if you looked up, you were sure they would all see how hollow your eyes had become. The crew tried everything they could think of.
Marco sat beside Ace, speaking in that calm, steady voice of his. “Ace, you’re back now. You’ve been out a long time, yoi. Do you remember when we first set sail together? The battles, the storms… the laughs?”
Ace blinked slowly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pull memories from the fog. He smiled faintly at Marco’s words, like pieces of a puzzle were fitting, but it wasn’t all there.
Thatch chimed in, trying to tease him like always. “Remember the time you stole my food for a week straight? Or how you almost got eaten by that sea monster? You laughed so loud it made me think you were crazy.”
Ace chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “I… I remember you guys. Some of it anyway. The… fights, the laughs…” His gaze drifted to the others, recognition flickering in moments, small and jagged.
Izo tried to show him old photographs, old maps of islands they had visited together, pointing out faces and names. “Look here, Ace. You were younger than you are now. You remember this place, don’t you?”
Ace’s eyes followed the pictures carefully, his lips twitching in thought. There were flashes of recognition—moments of his past he could grasp—but you were absent from them. No memory stirred when his eyes lingered on you across the room.
You watched quietly, clutching your wedding band, fingers fidgeting over it as if the weight of it could tether you to something that no longer existed. The laughter, the teasing, the warmth of the crew—it all reached him, but not the connection you had shared. Not the love that had once been his home.
Eventually, after hours of gentle coaxing and prodding, you realized something. He needed space. Time. Healing. And you couldn’t force him to remember you—not yet, maybe not for a long time.
So you offered a soft, fragile smile, letting the pain sit heavy but quiet in your chest. “Get well, Ace,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the hollow ache inside you. “I… hope you have a good recovery.”
He looked at you then, confusion and fear still clouding his eyes, but he nodded faintly, trusting enough to accept your presence without knowing why.
You rose, brushing a hand gently over the edge of the cot as if leaving a whisper of yourself behind. And then you stepped away, leaving the room, leaving him to the crew, leaving the man who had once been your fire to slowly find his way back to himself.
Outside the infirmary, you paused, taking a long, trembling breath. The sun was high, the ship rocking gently beneath your feet. A piece of you had been left behind in that room, but you held onto hope—that one day, he would remember. That one day, your fire and his would burn together again.
You hadn’t cried yet. Not really. Not since that first awful moment when Ace opened his eyes and didn't know you. You thought you could hold it together, to hold back the panic, the heartbreak, the emptiness inside, but it had been weeks of silent agony, waiting, hoping, pretending that smiling at him from the doorway was enough.
And then Marco came to find you.
He found you leaning against the ship’s rail, staring out at the endless blue, your hands nervously fidgeting with your wedding band. His expression was careful, measured, but the weight behind his golden eyes made your chest tighten.
“Y/N…” he said softly. “I… I don’t know if he’ll ever remember. Not fully. Not… the things you two shared.”
The words hit you like a wave, cold and merciless. You froze, your hand flying to your mouth to stifle the first reaction—but what came out wasn’t a gasp or a sob. It was a laugh. A dry, hollow laugh that started quiet, almost like a chuckle, but it shook your chest as it grew, bitter and distant. Your knees buckled, and you gripped the railing tighter, trying to stop it, but it didn’t stop. It spiraled into something rawer, louder, until it finally broke apart and became a sob.
You fell to the deck, hands pressed over your face, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The sound ripped through you, carrying weeks of fear, of grief, of the crushing knowledge that the person you loved might never recognize you again. Marco knelt beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. “I wish I could fix this, I wish—”
You didn’t hear him. The sobs were too loud, too deep, wracking your body. You could feel your own blood pounding in your ears, your fingers still clutching the ring as if letting go would mean losing him forever. He was alive, but he wasn’t yours—not yet, maybe not ever. The truth cut sharper than any wound you had ever seen, and you let the tears fall freely at last.
Even after the first raw sobs faded into quiet exhaustion, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Ace was still here, still breathing, still the man you loved—even if he didn’t know it.
You stayed close. Not inside the infirmary—not unless someone called for help—but just outside the door, sitting on the floor, your back against the wall, listening to the soft rhythms of his sleep. Every shallow breath, every flutter of his lashes against pale skin, every faint twitch of his fingers, was a lifeline.
You made his food yourself, carefully and quietly, bringing it to the nurse or leaving it on a tray near the door. You remembered his favorites—the spicy bits, the little indulgences, the exact way he liked the meat cut. Even if he didn’t remember you tasting it first or laughing when he stole half, you made sure it was right.
Sleep had become a stranger. You didn’t go to your bed, didn’t touch the one you had shared. How could you, knowing he was lying pale and fragile, scarred and sleeping, just beyond the door? How could you sleep while the man who had been your home didn’t know you were his? And yet, every night, a dull ache twisted in your chest. You thought of the plans you had made, the whispered dreams of starting a family, of finally having little pieces of him running around the deck, of teaching them to be stubborn, strong, fiery—just like him. Now, those dreams felt fragile, unreal, waiting in the shadows of a life that might never return.
Still, you stayed. You whispered to him when no one else was around, telling him small things, about the crew, the ridiculous things Thatch had done that morning, the jokes Marco made, the way the waves were sparkling like glass over the horizon. Even if he didn’t recognize your voice, you hoped it carried to him somehow. Every night you fell asleep sitting up, your cheek pressed to the wall outside the infirmary, your fingers brushing the wedding band that had once meant forever. Every morning you woke and did it all over again.
Because you couldn’t leave him. Not now, not ever. Even if he didn’t know who you were, you would be there. Always.
The crew’s glares were quiet but sharp, cutting through you in small, constant ways. Thatch would catch your eye sometimes and frown, shaking his head just slightly, muttering something under his breath before looking away. Jozu’s heavy brow would furrow every time he passed the infirmary door, the weight of his concern pressing down in silence. Even Marco—careful, patient, composed Marco—would occasionally glance at you, his expression almost pleading, like he wished he could tell you it wasn’t your fault, or that there was some way to fix it.
You ignored them, mostly. Their worry was justified, but it couldn’t touch the ache inside you, the hollow spot where Ace’s recognition should have been. You moved through the days like a ghost, bringing food, adjusting pillows, reminding the nurses of his habits, always just outside the infirmary door, always watching.
Inside, Ace stirred in the quiet of the afternoon. Something felt… wrong. A restlessness he couldn’t place clawed at the edges of his mind. He sat up slowly, blinking against the light, trying to grasp the world around him. Shadows of memories flitted across his mind, but they were broken, incomplete, like a fire half-burned.
His eyes fell on something shining on the bedside table—a small, familiar glint he didn’t immediately place. He reached out, his weak fingers trembling, and picked up the ring. The metal was warm from where someone had handled it, scratched and dulled, yet impossibly heavy in its significance. He turned it over in his hands, the engravings catching the light, the simple circle reminding him of something he couldn’t name. A pang ran through him, deep and strange, like a pull he didn’t understand. It was his, somehow, and yet not something he remembered putting there.
His chest tightened. There was a tug at his gut, a whisper of a feeling that felt right, familiar—but it came with no face, no name, no sound. Just the echo of a life he couldn’t recall, the shadow of someone who had once been everything.
Outside the infirmary, you fidgeted with your wedding band, unaware that the small, familiar shape of metal was already touching him, drawing a faint spark of recognition, a piece of a memory just beyond his reach. And for the first time since waking, something inside Ace stirred like a tiny flame—small, hesitant, but undeniably there.
The day Ace was released from the infirmary felt unreal.
The doors swung open slowly, and he stepped out, still pale and fragile, but upright. The sunlight hit him differently than he remembered—it was brighter, harsher, somehow, throwing everything into sharp relief. The deck looked the same, but it wasn’t the same. The faces… the crew… so many of them were new. Some looked at him like he was a stranger, while others didn’t look at him at all. A few even made him flinch—the way their eyes lingered on his scars, the way their lips twisted as if they were judging him for something he didn’t understand. Not just for being hurt, but something more he couldn't name.
And there were the whispers. Shadows seemed to float at the edge of his awareness, murmuring in tones too soft to catch. He couldn’t tell if it was his imagination or if someone was really speaking. The dissonance set his nerves on edge. He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself in the familiar rhythm of the ship beneath his feet, the sun on his skin—but everything was distorted, foreign.
And then he saw her.
You were there, as you always had been, though you weren’t inside the infirmary this time. You were leaning against the railing, one hand fidgeting with your ring, your eyes soft and careful as they followed him. The crew around you seemed to give you space, but your presence was unmistakable. Ace’s gaze landed on you, and for a moment, his brow furrowed. The girl from the infirmary—the one he’d woken up to holding her hand—was still there. Weird. Quiet. Watching.
He didn’t remember you. Not fully. Not yet. But something inside him recognized the way you moved, the way you lingered, the way your eyes never left him. A small, inexplicable twitch of familiarity tugged at the edges of his mind. He swallowed hard, confusion twisting in his chest. Who is she?
You gave him a small, gentle smile, careful and almost hesitant, as if you were trying not to scare him away. And in that instant, Ace understood two things: She was watching over him, and whatever she was, she wasn’t leaving. The rest of the crew’s strange looks, the whispers, the shadows—all of it faded for a heartbeat. Only she remained. And for the first time since waking, he felt… unsettled, yes, but tethered. Not sure why. Not sure how. But tethered.
Dinner was always the loudest part of the day on Whitebeard’s ship—a glorious chaos of jokes, clattering plates, and overlapping voices. Once, it had been your favorite part of life aboard. Once, you and Ace had carved out your own space in the chaos—bickering over food, stealing bites from each other’s plates, laughing so loud that Thatch would groan and toss bread at you both.
Now, you slipped into the hall quietly, carrying your own bowl, and found a place at the far end of the table. You told yourself you needed the distance. You couldn’t sit beside him, not when he looked at you like you were a stranger. Ace came in a few minutes later. For a heartbeat, your chest lifted, an old instinct urging you to wave him over, to slide your plate closer to make room. But instead, he gravitated toward Marco, dropping heavily onto the bench beside him. It was quiet then—at least, for you.
Marco smirked faintly, shaking his head. “So, you just sit down and expect me to share my food, yoi?”
Ace grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “Old habits, I guess.” He leaned over, swiping a piece of meat right off Marco’s plate, and the table erupted in laughter.
Thatch groaned dramatically. “Oh, that’s back? Great. Guess I need to start locking my kitchen again.”
“Don’t even try,” Ace shot back with that mischievous grin that had once belonged to you, making your stomach twist. “I’ll find it.”
The banter rolled on, easy and familiar for them—but not for you. Every laugh he shared, every spark of the boy you knew in his smile, stabbed at you in silence. Because that spark never turned your way. You sat in the corner of the long table, a spoon moving slowly through your food. The noise around you blurred, muffled by the weight in your chest. When Ace laughed hard at something Izo teased him about, you couldn’t help but glance up. His eyes were bright, his face alive in a way you hadn’t seen in weeks.
And then he caught you staring. For a split second, confusion flickered across his face—the kind of look you’d give someone you vaguely remembered seeing once or twice. You quickly dropped your gaze, pretending to focus on your untouched bowl. Your fingers found your wedding band under the table, turning it round and round until your skin was sore. You felt sick—not at him, never at him. But at the way he looked at you now, without knowing. At the past that lived in your bones but not in his. At the memories you carried alone.
When the meal ended, Ace stood with Marco, laughing as they headed toward the deck. The crew followed in their noisy stream. You waited until the room was almost empty before rising, gathering plates quietly. Because once, you had left dinner with him, shoulder brushing shoulder, his hand warm in yours. Now, you left alone.
That night was harder than dinner. You waited until you knew he’d be walked back to his quarters before you slipped inside—your quarters, the ones you had shared. The air was heavy with memories you could barely stand to breathe in. The king bed in the middle of the room looked too big now, too soft, layered with blankets you had chosen together. The shelves were stacked with trinkets you had collected, little souvenirs Ace used to tease you about keeping. Clothes—yours and his—were folded together, some still half-damp from the wash. And the smell. Not just his musk, not just the faint warmth of smoke and salt that clung to him always—but yours. Lavender oil, the faint sweetness of your shampoo. It was the smell of two people, tangled lives woven into one space.
Your chest squeezed tight as you stuffed your belongings into a bag, working quickly, not letting yourself stop to think. You grabbed your brush, your clothes, even the little shells you had lined along the windowsill. Each one felt heavier than it should have, each one a reminder that this had once been your home. Your room. Your life.
By the time Marco was leading Ace down the hallway, you had already slipped out the back, clutching your bag to your chest. You lingered only long enough to hear Marco’s voice—soft but steady—telling him, “This is your room.” Then you forced your legs to carry you away.
Ace stepped inside, his hand brushing the frame. It wasn’t what he remembered. It wasn’t what he knew. The crew’s bunks were rows of simple cots, hammocks strung between beams, blankets tossed carelessly. This… this was different. A single king-sized bed sat at the center, draped in dark linens, pillows arranged with care. Trinkets and keepsakes lined the shelves, books stacked neatly on a small desk. Light curtains framed the window, softening the room with a homely glow.
And the smell. It wasn’t just his. It was there, faint but undeniable—lavender, sweetness, warmth. The kind of scent that seeped into sheets, into clothes, into skin. The kind of scent that said this wasn’t just his room. Two people had been living here.
He froze in the doorway, his fingers tightening on the handle. His chest felt heavy, like he was intruding on someone else’s space. Someone else’s life. And though he couldn’t place it, though his memories refused to fill the gaps, something about the way the air clung to him, something about the faint tug in his chest told him that whoever had lived here with him… had just walked out.
And for the first time that day, the grin slipped from his face.
The next morning came without rest. You hadn’t slept a single second, your body aching from sitting upright on the spare cot tucked away in a quiet corner of the ship. Your eyes burned, your chest felt hollow, but you forced yourself upright anyway. The others didn't need to see you collapse—not again. When you emerged into the daylight, the sea glittered too bright, too cruel for how heavy the world felt. You went about your duties like always, keeping your head down, your hands moving without thought. If you stopped, if you let yourself think, you knew you’d shatter.
And then you heard it—Ace’s laugh. Clear, unbothered, well-rested.
He came walking out from the room you used to share, his shoulders loose, his hair mussed from a good night’s sleep. He stretched as if nothing in the world was wrong. For him, maybe it wasn’t. For him, maybe it was just another morning. But the crew saw it before you did. The empty band of skin around his finger. No ring.
The glances were instant, sharp and darting between one another. Some froze, others’ jaws tightened. Marco’s lips pressed into a thin line, Thatch’s usual cheer dimmed, and Haruta nearly choked on their own breath. You caught none of it, too focused on scrubbing down a rail until your knuckles stung. They didn’t want you to see. They stepped in front of you, shifted their bodies to block the way, and started speaking louder to distract you. Thatch cracked jokes a little too forced, Izo clapped a hand on Ace’s shoulder to turn him aside, and Marco called his name to send him in the opposite direction. Because they all knew—knew that if you looked up, if your eyes landed on Ace’s bare hand—your heart, already fragile, might not withstand it.
And so you kept working, unaware, while their pity pressed in like a storm. You kept yourself busy, scrubbing down the deck, tying off rope, fetching supplies—anything to keep your hands moving, anything to keep the silence in your chest from breaking open. But around you, the crew moved differently. Too carefully. When Ace wandered closer, the others shifted in ways that didn’t make sense at first. Vista suddenly struck up a loud conversation with him, clapping him on the back and steering him away from you with too much enthusiasm. Haruta “tripped” in front of him, crouching low, making sure their body blocked your line of sight. Izo swayed in deliberately, positioning his sleeve so long it almost brushed Ace’s hand, always keeping it hidden. Every time Ace lifted his arm to stretch or to gesture, Marco called his name from across the deck, pulling his attention—pulling his hands—somewhere else. Even Thatch, usually careless with his words, laughed too hard, too loud, bumping Ace so his hands were shoved into his pockets.
You didn’t notice. Not really. You only caught the edges of their strange behavior, too wrapped up in your own haze to question it. The way their eyes darted to you, then back to him. The tension buzzing just under their smiles. All you knew was that the air around you felt heavy, the kind of heavy that came when people were keeping something from you. Their laughter was off, their words too practiced. You didn’t see the empty finger. You didn’t see the pale line of skin where the ring should’ve been. But they did. And every single one of them carried the weight of it in their silence—because they weren’t sure how much more you could take.
It happened on a quiet afternoon. The sun was dipping low, painting the deck in gold, and you were carrying a basket of folded laundry across the ship. You weren’t even looking for him—you were trying to keep your head down, to stay busy like always. Ace came bounding up from below deck, laughing with Thatch about something stupid, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. For once, no one was fast enough.
You looked up just as his hand swung wide, the light catching on bare skin where his ring should have been. Your steps faltered. The basket slipped from your arms, clothes spilling across the deck. There it was. Clear as day. The ring was gone.
The sound of his laugh didn’t reach you anymore. The chatter around you blurred, the waves, the gulls, the crew—it all fell silent. All you could see was his hand, empty, naked, as though the promise had never been there at all. Your stomach dropped, your throat tightened. For a second, you couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t just a band of metal. It was everything. Every late-night whisper, every soft vow, every dream of the future you were supposed to build together. Gone.
Your body reacted before your mind caught up—you staggered back, gripping the railing like the ship itself was tilting beneath you. The crew froze, eyes wide, horror flashing across their faces. They’d tried so hard to shield you, but the truth was there, blinding, undeniable. And you couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop the way your hand drifted instinctively to your own ring, twisting it, clutching it, as though if you held on tight enough you could drag him back to you.
But his hand remained bare.
You told yourself you’d be fine. That if you smiled enough, if you stayed busy, if you kept your voice light, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. At first, you clung to that hope like a life raft. You forced yourself to laugh when others laughed, to eat at dinner, to speak when spoken to. You convinced yourself that someday Ace would wake up and be your Ace again. But the days bled into weeks. Then weeks into a month. And with each passing sunrise, the hope wore thinner.
He was everywhere you went—his voice carried on the breeze, his footsteps echoed down the deck, his laugh rang out across the ship—but it wasn’t him. Not the man who whispered promises against your skin, who traced circles over your hand, who had looked at you with so much fire and so much love you swore the world itself was jealous. This Ace smiled differently. Talked differently. Laughed without the memories that had built your life together. His eyes passed over you without recognition. His hand, the one you used to hold so tightly, now twitched away from yours like you were a stranger. And every time it happened, a little more of you faded. You became quieter. Your smile thinned until it was only a shadow of what it had been. The crew noticed—the way your shoulders slumped, the way your eyes stared through the sea instead of at it, the way you twisted your wedding ring over and over until the skin beneath it was raw. No one could blame you. How could they? You had practically lost your husband—but he was still here, breathing, walking, laughing, while the man you loved remained locked away in a place you couldn’t reach. And every night, lying alone in a bed that still smelled of him, you wondered which was worse—losing him forever, or having him so close, yet already gone.
The next time the ship docked, the air was alive with music and laughter. A party broke out, as it always did—booze flowing, tables piled high with food, crew members singing and dancing under the stars. You tried to lose yourself in it, to pretend for a night that you were just another pirate enjoying shore leave, not someone carrying a hollowed-out heart. And then you saw him. Ace sat near the center of it all, his grin wide, his laugh loud, a bottle in his hand. A woman leaned close, her fingers brushing his arm as she whispered something into his ear. He smirked, cheeks tinged with a playful flush, and leaned back into her attention without hesitation. Right there. In front of you.
The sound of the party dulled, muffled, like you were underwater. You stood frozen, eyes fixed on him, on her, on the sight of his smile—the same one he used to give you—now turned on someone else. Your chest burned. You couldn’t breathe. Whitebeard’s shadow fell across you. His presence was vast, comforting in its sheer size. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you stand there, the silence between you loud enough. Finally, in his rumbling voice, he asked, “You holding up, daughter?”
The words cracked something in you. You shook your head, eyes stinging, your voice breaking low. “I… I can’t do it. He’s right there, but he’s not him. Not anymore. And every time I see him, it feels like I’m breaking all over again.”
Whitebeard’s eyes softened, though sorrow weighed heavy in his gaze. “No one will fault you for struggling. No one can carry this kind of pain without stumbling.”
You nodded faintly, but his words barely reached you. That night, when the party quieted and the crew stumbled back to their bunks, you sat alone in the dim glow of your lantern. Your hands trembled as you slid your wedding ring from your finger. The skin beneath it was pale, raw from how tightly you’d held onto it all this time. You threaded the ring onto a thin chain and clasped it around your neck. It rested heavy against your chest, close to your heart—no longer a promise worn for the world to see, but a memory you kept tucked away, just for yourself. And with that, you finally admitted what you’d been running from. The man who had once been your husband was gone, even if his body still walked the deck. And you didn’t know if you’d ever get him back.
You tried. God, you tried. You told yourself every morning when you woke up alone that today would be different. You would smile. You would laugh. You would move on. You wouldn’t let his shadow haunt you anymore. You tried spending more time with the crew—joking with Thatch when he cooked, sitting with Haruta when they told stories, even helping Marco with his endless work just to keep your hands busy. Some nights you drank too much, hoping the burn would numb the ache in your chest. Other nights you sat by the railing, whispering to the sea like it could take your grief with the tide.
But it was never enough. Because every time you saw him, it started all over again. When he passed you on deck, laughing with someone else, your chest clenched. When his voice carried across the ship, careless and warm, it ripped open wounds that hadn’t begun to heal. When he smiled—that smile—at anyone but you, you thought you might break in half.
You couldn’t escape him. Not here. He was in every corridor, every shadow of the room you once shared, every corner of the ship that still held your memories. You couldn’t scrub his touch from the wood, couldn’t silence his laughter echoing in your head, couldn’t stop the way your body remembered him even when his didn’t remember you. It had been months. Months of pretending, of forcing yourself forward, of trying to accept that he was gone. But the truth was merciless: he wasn’t gone. He was here, alive, whole, smiling, breathing the same air as you—and yet, he wasn’t yours. And each time you saw him, it was like losing him all over again. You weren’t just haunted. You were hollow, a ghost walking among the living, carrying a love that had nowhere left to go.
The months bled together until they felt endless. Sunrise after sunrise, ship after ship, laughter after laughter that didn’t belong to you. Almost a year of it—nearly twelve months of watching your husband live a life without you in it, of waking up every day to a man who looked like Ace but wasn’t Ace, who didn’t remember your love, your vows, your future. By then, you were worn thin. You smiled less, spoke less. You still did your duties—helped where you could, cared for your family—but your heart wasn’t on the Moby Dick anymore. It had sunk somewhere deep, somewhere you couldn’t find.
One evening, the air was quiet. The crew’s usual noise had dimmed, stars glittering high above the mast. Whitebeard sat in his great chair, sake jug in hand, his presence filling the night like a calm tide. You approached, your steps heavy, and for a moment you just stood there, unsure if you could even say it. But his eyes opened, steady and knowing, and he rumbled, “Out with it, daughter.” You swallowed hard, twisting the chain around your neck—the one that held your ring. “I… I can’t do this anymore. Not here. Not with him.” Your voice cracked, but you forced yourself on. “Every day it feels like I’m breaking. He doesn’t remember our wedding, doesn’t remember our love, doesn’t even remember me. I thought I could be strong enough to wait, to keep hoping, but… I’m not.”
Whitebeard studied you for a long while, his face unreadable. Then he set down his jug with a heavy thud and leaned forward, his massive frame shadowing yours. “No one can fault you for this choice,” he said quietly, his voice like rolling thunder. “You’ve carried more pain than most could endure. If leaving is what will keep you alive, then you have my blessing. You will always be my daughter, no matter where you go.” Your throat tightened, tears burning your eyes, but you nodded. For the first time in months, the weight lifted, if only slightly. You were leaving the crew. Leaving the ship that had been your home. Leaving the man who had once been your everything but now looked at you like a stranger. It wasn’t the life you wanted. But it was the only way you could keep surviving.
The day you left was heavy with grief, though no cannon fired, no battle raged. It was just the sound of the sea, the cries of gulls, and the weight of your crew’s hearts breaking as they gathered on the deck. Your bag was light, just a few belongings. Everything else—the memories, the laughter, the love—you were leaving behind. You stood at the railing of the Moby Dick, the smaller ship that would carry you to the nearest island bobbing gently in the water below.
Thatch was the first to break. He shoved through the crowd, his usual grin gone, his hands shaking as he grabbed your shoulders. “You can’t just go,” he said, his voice cracking. “We’re family! You’re my family!” His eyes shimmered, and he tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strangled. You smiled faintly, placing a hand over his. “I’ll always be your family. That won’t change. But I can’t… I can’t keep breaking here.”
Izo stepped forward next, their composure slipping for once, eyeliner streaked from tears they tried to hide. “You’ll regret it,” they whispered, though their voice wavered. “Not leaving—but losing yourself to grief. Don’t let it swallow you, Y/N.” You bowed your head, touched by their honesty. Haruta clung to your waist like a child, sobbing openly, while Vista squeezed your shoulder so hard it hurt, as though trying to keep you tethered to the deck by sheer strength. Marco, silent as ever, didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you with eyes filled with guilt—guilt that he hadn’t been able to save Ace whole, guilt that he hadn’t been able to save you. Finally, he whispered, “Stay alive. Promise me.”
And Ace… he lingered in the back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He didn’t cry, didn’t ask you to stay. When your eyes met his, you saw nothing familiar there. Nothing that belonged to you. He only gave a polite nod, as though you were another crewmate moving on to a different path. That cut deeper than all the tears combined. Whitebeard’s booming voice called out over the deck as you climbed down to the waiting boat: “Wherever the seas carry you, daughter, this will always be your home!” The crew roared agreement through their tears, waving, calling your name, begging you to come back. You forced yourself not to look back as the distance grew, though your heart splintered with each stroke of the oars.
Life after the Moby Dick was quiet. The sea felt lonelier without the thunder of your family’s laughter, without Ace’s warmth at your side. You drifted from island to island, helping where you could—mending nets for fishermen, fighting off bandits in small towns, ferrying supplies to villages overlooked by the World Government. You became known in whispers: the woman with eyes like storms, who carried a ring on a chain around her neck and never spoke of it. A wanderer, a helper, someone who poured her love into strangers because she had nowhere else to put it.
Adventures found you—storms that nearly sank your ship, an island with giant beasts you barely escaped, children who clung to you like their own. You laughed sometimes. You healed slowly. But at night, when the stars stretched endless and the sea rocked your tiny vessel, your fingers always found the ring. And though you had left the Moby Dick, left the Whitebeard Pirates, left the man who had once been your whole heart, you carried them with you. In your scars. In your stories. In the ache that never quite faded.
You carved out a life on the sea, but it was nothing like the one you’d had. No family crowding the deck with laughter, no warmth of a thousand voices calling your name, no Ace reaching for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Now, it was just you and the horizon, and the silence in between.
Your adventures took you everywhere. You defended a small village from pirates who thought they could burn it down. You delivered food to an island plagued by famine, staying long enough to teach the children how to mend nets and fish again. You faced storms that cracked the sky wide open, lightning flashing so close you felt the hair on your arms rise. There were nights when you fell asleep on a deck slick with seawater, and mornings when the sunrise painted the ocean so beautiful you almost forgot the ache in your chest. But forgetting Ace—forgetting him—was impossible. Every laugh reminded you of his. Every fire on a distant shore looked like his flames. Every time a man with dark hair passed you in a busy port, your heart leapt into your throat before crashing back down when you realized it wasn’t him.
You tried to stop. God, you tried. You told yourself you wouldn’t trace the ring on your necklace when you were alone at night. You told yourself you wouldn’t whisper his name into the sea breeze. You told yourself you’d stop looking for him in strangers. But grief didn’t listen. Love didn’t listen. Even when you fought, when your blood pumped hot and your body ached with exhaustion, you caught yourself wondering what he’d say if he saw you now. Would he laugh and tease you? Would he scold you for being reckless? Would he be proud? And when you lay beneath the stars after each adventure, the chain always found its way into your hands. The ring pressed cold against your lips as you closed your eyes, trying to let the ocean rock you into sleep. You lived. You fought. You helped. You smiled. But underneath it all, no matter how far you sailed, you carried him. Ace was gone, yet he was everywhere—woven into the sea, the sky, the fire in your chest that refused to burn out. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t let him go. Not really.
Back on the Moby Dick, life went on—but not the same. Ace had recovered in body, his fire burning bright again, his laughter returning to the deck. Yet something lingered in the spaces between the crew. It wasn’t loud, not even spoken outright most of the time, but it was there. A fracture. Because when they looked at him, they couldn’t help but remember. They remembered the way you had wept quietly into your hands when he didn’t recognize you. They remembered you pacing the halls, waiting, praying. They remembered the blood on your skin when you tried to hold him. They remembered how hollow you became, how you wasted away until you finally left.
And Ace—Ace didn’t.
He didn’t remember the nights spent wrapped around you, whispering about futures and children. He didn’t remember the way his ring had glittered in the sunlight when he slipped it onto your finger. He didn’t remember the woman who had given everything to him, who had nearly destroyed herself waiting for him to wake up. It wasn’t his fault. Everyone knew that. But still, resentment simmered, quiet and hidden like embers under ash. Some crew members avoided looking at his bare hand. Some couldn’t stand to hear him laugh too freely. A few even admitted to Marco, late at night, that they couldn’t forgive him—not fully. Because he was alive, healthy, whole. And you weren’t.
Marco, who carried the heaviest guilt of all, reminded them: “It’s not his fault.” But even his voice faltered sometimes.
And yet, one thing was undeniable. Your absence was the infection that spread through the crew—leaving only Ace untouched. He was the only one who didn’t feel the ghost of you in every corner. The only one who didn’t flinch when passing the room you once shared. The only one who didn’t ache with the weight of what had been lost.
Your absence haunted the Whitebeard Pirates. But Ace… Ace lived unbothered in the space where your love used to be. And maybe that was what hurt the most.
It happened on an ordinary night, weeks after you had gone. Dinner was lively, the hall filled with chatter, mugs clinking, and laughter echoing through the beams. For a moment, it almost felt normal again. Until one of the younger crewmates—barely more than a boy—snorted into his drink and muttered under his breath, “Wonder what little Mira would’ve thought of this mess…”
The table went dead quiet. Forks froze mid-air, mugs hovered just before lips. Marco’s head snapped up so sharply it was a wonder he didn’t break his neck. Because Mira was the name. The one you and Ace had whispered late at night, curled together beneath the sheets. The name for the daughter you dreamed of, the one you would both someday hold.
Ace blinked. His brow furrowed. “…Mira?” he repeated, the syllables soft on his tongue. His hand hovered over his chest, as if something tugged at him from the inside. “Why does that… sound familiar?” Every set of eyes darted to him. Some widened in hope. Others darkened with sorrow. Thatch swallowed hard, his usual grin absent. Izo’s fingers curled tight around their chopsticks. Marco’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his heart hammered in his chest.
Ace rubbed at his temple, frustration flashing across his features. “I don’t— I don’t know why I know that name. But… it feels… important.” His voice cracked on the last word, like it carried a weight he couldn’t understand. The crew exchanged glances, each face a storm of emotions. Shock. Hurt. Hope. But beneath it all, silence pressed down heavy. Because for the first time since his injury, Ace had brushed against a piece of the life he no longer remembered. A piece of you. And none of them knew whether to tell him the truth—or let the name fade back into the emptiness that had taken you from him.
That night, the ship was quiet. Only the faint creak of wood and the distant splash of waves against the hull broke the silence. Ace sat upright in the bed that was too soft, too large, too strange to feel like it belonged to him. He stared at the ceiling, restless, that name—Mira—still gnawing at the back of his mind.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His bare feet touched the polished floorboards. The air smelled faintly of lavender, of a life that felt like it should be his but wasn’t. Something pushed him—curiosity, unease, guilt—he didn’t know. He dropped to his knees and peered under the bed. That’s when he saw it. A box. Not tucked away with care, not hidden, but placed where it could be reached quickly. As if whoever owned it opened it often.
He dragged it out, his chest tightening. His fingers trembled when he lifted the lid. Inside were photographs. Stacks of them, yellowed with time but full of life. Him, laughing with his arm around you. You, in a dress that shimmered beneath the sun, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world. The two of you together, cheek to cheek, eyes bright and free.
And letters—some signed in his handwriting. I’ll always come back to you. Can’t wait until it’s just us again. Mira’s gonna have your smile, I just know it.
There were trinkets, too: a seashell necklace he dimly remembered buying in some market, though the memory was fractured. A folded napkin with a doodle of a tiny family—him, you, and a baby—drawn in your scrawl. And at the very bottom, tucked carefully beneath it all, a photograph from your wedding. He in his white shirt, messy hair barely tamed, grinning like a fool. You in your gown, radiant, holding his hand so tight.
His breath caught. His hand trembled as he traced your face on the paper. On the bedside table sat his discarded wedding band. The one he had shrugged off weeks ago, thinking it felt heavy and foreign. Now it burned his eyes to look at it. His throat closed up. He pressed his palm against his chest, trying to steady the aching that clawed its way through his ribs.
“Why… why can’t I remember?” he whispered, the words cracking into the empty room. His voice was ragged, almost desperate. “Why can’t I remember you?” And for the first time since waking up, tears burned his eyes. Not from the pain of his injuries, but from the ghost of a love so strong it left scars even in the dark spaces of his mind.
It happened on a lazy afternoon, the kind where the ocean seemed endless and the Whitebeard Pirates lounged about to kill time. Ace sat with a few of the division commanders, playing a half-hearted card game. He had been quieter lately, more thoughtful, but no one pressed him.
The conversation turned casual—Marco said something sarcastic, Izo flicked a card, someone cracked a joke about cooking fish for dinner. Ace wasn’t paying much attention. His fingers absently toyed with the edge of his cup, his eyes distant.
Then, without warning, he spoke.
“She always hated fish,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Said the smell clung to her hair…”
The cards stilled. Marco’s gaze snapped up. Thatch froze mid-laugh. The air went heavy, as though every man on deck had just heard a ghost whisper through the breeze.
Ace blinked, realizing too late that he had spoken aloud. His brows furrowed, confusion flickering over his face. “I—” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t even know why I said that.”
“You remember,” Marco said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence.
“No,” Ace shook his head quickly, defensive, though his voice wavered. “I don’t— I don’t remember anything. It just… it just came out.”
Whitebeard, towering in his chair, rumbled low in his chest, his expression unreadable but his eyes… softer than usual. Sad. Proud. Heavy. “Your soul remembers, even if your mind resists.”
Ace’s chest tightened. He gripped the cup until his knuckles whitened, staring down at it like it held the answer. His heart beat fast, painfully fast, and though he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t ignore the way the words had slipped from his mouth so naturally—like breathing.
Around him, the crew exchanged looks. Not mocking, not teasing. Just quiet, aching hope. Somewhere below deck, you didn’t even know what had just happened. But the crew did. They knew a crack had just formed in the wall that separated you from him.
It kept happening. Not all at once, not in some great wave of clarity, but in fragments. Small moments, like embers burning through the dark.
One night, during a storm, the thunder shook the ship. Ace muttered without thinking, “She always hated thunder… used to crawl under the blankets and make me tell her stories until it passed.” His voice cracked, and though he looked bewildered afterward, Marco’s jaw clenched, his wings twitching as he excused himself before anyone could see his eyes.
Another time, during training, Ace burst into laughter at something Thatch did. He doubled over, hands on his knees, then suddenly stilled. “She used to laugh like that. At me. Said I looked like a fool when I tried to dance with her in the kitchen.” His smile faded into confusion, his hand going to his chest.
At meals, when someone reached across him for bread, he pulled back sharply, muttering, “Careful, you’ll spill it on her dress—” Then his voice trailed off as he realized there was no dress, no you, no one beside him. The crew saw it again and again. Each slip was a knife. They never told you. Because you were gone. You weren’t there to see Ace frown at the ring still lying on the bedside table, as though it were mocking him. You weren’t there to see him trace the edge of a photo he had found, his hands trembling, staring at your smile until his vision blurred. And you weren’t there when Whitebeard finally said one night, as the crew watched Ace wrestle with the shadows of memories he couldn’t hold, “Your heart knows what your mind denies. But she is not here to carry the weight for you anymore.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Because they all knew—Ace was starting to remember. Piece by painful piece. But you? You were gone. And that truth cut deeper than any wound Ace had ever taken in battle.
It was late—long after most of the crew had gone to sleep. The sea was calm, the stars scattered thick across the sky, their reflection rippling on the water’s surface. Ace sat alone at the bow, a half-empty bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. He wasn’t drunk—he couldn’t get drunk if he tried—but he was heavy, weighed down by thoughts that never stopped gnawing at him. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the railing, trying to silence the noise in his chest. And then—he heard it. Laughter. Not on the deck, not real, but in his head. Clear. Bright. Yours.
The sound made his eyes fly open, his breath catching in his throat. He pressed his palms against his temples, willing it to come back, to stay. And then it did—your face, blurry at first, then sharp, glowing like starlight in the dark. The curve of your smile. The way your hair caught the sun. The softness in your eyes when you looked at him, like he was worth something. “…Y/N,” he whispered. The name spilled out like a prayer. Like it had been waiting on his tongue this whole time. His chest tightened so hard it almost hurt, but his lips trembled into a smile. “Y/N,” he said again, louder this time, tasting the familiarity, the truth of it. He clutched at the railing with one hand, the bottle slipping from his other and rolling forgotten across the deck. His breathing came fast, shallow. Tears stung his eyes—he didn’t even notice until one slipped down his cheek.
The sound of his voice had carried in the quiet night. Marco, on late watch, froze where he stood. He turned slowly, his heart in his throat, as he saw Ace clutching the wood, whispering your name like a drowning man finally breaking the surface. “Y/N…” Ace’s lips curved into the smallest, broken smile. “I remember her face.” His voice cracked, desperate and tender all at once. “God, she was so beautiful…” The crew didn’t move, didn’t speak. Because for the first time since the injury, Ace wasn’t clinging to fragments. He wasn’t fumbling in the dark. He had your name. He had your face. And for him, it felt like finding home and losing it in the same heartbeat.
It was almost a year to the day since he had last said your name. Since that night under the stars when your face had flashed in his mind like a dying flame. A year of aching fragments, half-memories, fleeting feelings that slipped through his fingers before he could hold them. A year of silence when it came to you. And then it happened.
It wasn’t in battle, or in some quiet moment of reflection. It was mundane—Ace was helping Thatch in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, laughing at some stupid joke about overcooked rice. He reached for a pan, humming under his breath, when suddenly—his hand froze. The smell of herbs. The clatter of dishes. Your voice. “You’re supposed to stir it, not burn it, idiot.”
The memory hit him so hard he staggered back, his knuckles white against the counter. His chest heaved. And then more came, like a flood bursting through the dam. Your smile on your wedding day. Your fingers lacing with his under the table at dinners. Your tears on his chest the night you both whispered about children. The ring on your hand. The blood on his. The way you laughed in the mornings, kissed his nose when he was grumpy, scolded him for being reckless. Every moment. Every detail. Every ounce of love.
Ace’s knees buckled, and the pan clattered to the floor. His breath came ragged, desperate, as if the memories themselves were suffocating him. “Y/N—!” he gasped, the name ripped from his throat like a plea.
Thatch’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “Marco!” he shouted, rushing to catch Ace as his brother collapsed, trembling violently.
Marco was there in an instant, wings flaring as he crouched beside Ace, gripping his shoulders. “Ace! Talk to me!”
But Ace couldn’t. He was shaking, clutching his head, rocking back and forth as if to hold the flood inside. “She—she was mine, Marco. She was mine—I loved her—I love her—” His words broke into sobs, raw and guttural, the kind no one had ever heard from him before.
The crew gathered, silent and stricken. Even Whitebeard stood at the doorway, his massive frame casting a shadow across the room, his expression carved from grief and pride all at once.
Marco’s voice was low, steady, even as his own throat burned. “Easy, Ace. Breathe. We’ve got you. Just breathe.”
But Ace couldn’t stop. Couldn’t contain it. A year of emptiness tore open inside him, replaced by everything at once—every kiss, every laugh, every promise, every loss. His body shook with the force of it, like he might break apart under the weight of remembering. And the crew? They didn’t know if this was a blessing—or the cruelest curse of all.
An hour later, Ace sat slumped in the infirmary, sweat cooling on his skin, his breathing finally even. His hands shook where they rested in his lap, his knuckles raw from clenching too hard. Marco hovered nearby, silent but watchful, while the rest of the crew gave space—though their presence lingered just beyond the door, heavy as the tide.
Ace stared at the floor, his dark hair shadowing his face. For the first time in a year, his mind was clear. Too clear. Every memory was sharp, searing, undeniable. He remembered your voice whispering yes when he asked you to marry him. He remembered the warmth of your body against his each morning, your laughter bubbling between kisses, the way your fingers brushed over his scars like they were sacred. He remembered the blood—your scream—your hands stained red as they dragged him away. And then… nothing.
A year.
His hand lifted to his mouth, trembling as realization cut through him like fire. “She’s been without me…” His voice cracked, hoarse from earlier. “She’s been without me for a year.”
Marco opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Ace’s eyes lifted—wet, wild, burning with anguish. “She thought I didn’t love her. She thought I forgot her. She—” His breath hitched, a broken sound. “She left.” The words hung there, brutal and final.
Marco’s gaze dropped. He didn’t need to confirm it—Ace could see it in the way no one met his eyes anymore, the way the crew’s silence thickened whenever your name lingered too close. “You let her leave.” Ace’s voice wasn’t an accusation, but it was hollow, empty in a way that made even Marco flinch. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard. “No—no, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. God, it’s mine. I drove her away.” He pressed his palms to his eyes, a sob tearing free. “She was my wife, Marco. My wife. And I made her believe I didn’t even know her.” The thought gutted him, worse than any wound he’d ever taken. And for the first time, Ace realized—he hadn’t just lost memories. He’d lost time. A year where you had carried all that pain alone. A year where you’d watched him live without you. A year where no one had been able to stop you from walking away. And he had no idea if he could ever find you again.
That night, Ace sat on the edge of the bed he hadn’t touched in months—the bed that still smelled faintly of you, as though the walls themselves refused to let you go. On the nightstand, the ring waited, cold and lifeless, just as he had left it when he tore it off in ignorance. His hand trembled as he reached for it. The metal was familiar, heavy, a piece of his soul returned to him. He pressed it to his lips, closing his eyes as hot tears slid down his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the silence, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry, Y/N. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve—” His words broke into a shuddering sob, the rest swallowed by the dark. That night, he didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. He sat awake with the ring clutched tight against his chest, replaying every memory, every smile, every whisper, terrified that if he closed his eyes, you would fade again.
By morning, exhaustion pulled at his body, but his mind burned with determination. He stormed to Whitebeard’s quarters, his eyes bloodshot but his jaw set, the ring gleaming on his finger once more. “Old man,” Ace said, his voice hoarse but firm. “We need to find her. We need to bring her back. As a crew—we can search every island, every sea. I can’t—” His voice faltered, just for a moment. “I can’t live without her. Not again. Please.”
Whitebeard looked down at him, his massive frame a mountain in the dim light. His gaze was steady, ancient, and unbearably kind. “Ace…” His deep voice rolled like thunder, but there was no malice in it. Only sorrow. “The day she left,” Whitebeard began, “she came to me. She was broken—torn apart by what had been lost. And she asked me for one thing.” His eyes softened, heavy with memory. “She begged me not to send anyone after her. Not even you. She wanted her choice respected.”
Ace’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “She—she asked that?”
Whitebeard gave a slow nod. “She said she loved you too much to see you chase a ghost. That she needed to find herself again, even if it meant walking alone.” The words struck like a blade to Ace’s chest. He staggered back a step, his hand clenching tight around the ring on his finger. His lips trembled, his voice breaking. “So what? I’m just supposed to let her go? Pretend she doesn’t exist? She’s my wife!”
Whitebeard’s massive hand reached out, resting gently—firmly—on Ace’s shoulder. “No. You don’t let her go. You carry her in your heart. And if fate allows, one day, your paths will cross again.” Ace’s shoulders shook, his teeth clenched against the sob rising in his throat. His heart screamed to run, to dive into the sea and tear the world apart until he found you. But Whitebeard’s words held him in place, chains heavier than any iron. That morning, the crew saw Ace for what he truly was: a man who had just remembered the greatest love of his life—only to learn he might never hold it again.
Ace tried. God, he tried. For a week, he wore the ring again. For a week, he forced himself to eat with the crew, to laugh when Thatch cracked jokes, to train until his body ached. But everyone saw it—the hollowness behind his eyes, the way his smile never reached his face, the quiet that clung to him like a second skin. He wasn’t Ace anymore. Not the loud, reckless fireball who set the deck alive with laughter. Not the man who could turn any day into a celebration. He was a ghost wrapped in skin, his soul chasing something the sea had already taken.
Conversations with him grew strained. Marco would sit across from him, searching for the spark, and find nothing but silence. Izo would tease him, only for Ace to glance away, his lips twitching but never truly smiling. Even the younger crewmates avoided his gaze, unsettled by the emptiness in their brother’s captain.
By the seventh night, Ace couldn’t bear it any longer. The moon was high when he stood on deck, the sea stretched endless and silver before him. His bag was slung over his shoulder, his hat pulled low. The ring on his finger glinted faintly in the moonlight. He stared back at the ship—the only home he had known since leaving Dawn Island. His chest tightened. He could hear the distant snores of the crew, the soft creak of the ship rocking. He could almost see your silhouette, waiting at the railing like you used to when he returned from island duty. But you weren’t there. You hadn’t been there for a year. And he couldn’t live with that void any longer.
With steady hands, Ace untied one of the small crafts from the side of the ship. The ropes loosened quietly, and he lowered it to the water. His heart pounded, but he didn’t falter.
“Ace.” The voice froze him. He turned, and Marco stood there, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the pale light. “You really think I wouldn’t notice?” Marco asked softly.
Ace’s jaw clenched. “I can’t stay here, Marco. Not like this. I need to find her. I don’t care what Whitebeard promised. She’s out there, and she’s my wife. I won’t let her believe I forgot her forever.” His voice cracked at the end, thick with desperation.
Marco looked at him for a long time, the weight of his gaze heavy. Then he sighed, shaking his head. “You’ll tear yourself apart.”
“I already am.”
The silence between them stretched, broken only by the waves. Marco’s lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he stepped aside. “Then go,” he said, his tone both resigned and sorrowful. “But don’t come back empty-handed.”
Ace’s throat tightened, gratitude and guilt warring in his chest. Without another word, he lowered himself into the small boat, gripping the oars. He cast one last glance at the ship—the family he was leaving behind. Then he turned, facing the open sea, the unknown horizon. Because if there was even the faintest chance of finding you again, he would burn the world to ashes to follow it.
The months that followed nearly destroyed him. Every island blurred into the next. He asked questions in every port, scoured every tavern, and searched faces in every market. Some people knew nothing. Others thought they recognized your description, pointing him toward dead ends that ate up weeks at a time. More than once, he ended up in fights—some with drunks who mocked his desperation, others with bounty hunters who thought they could collect on his head. At night, Ace barely slept. He’d sit by the fire, staring at the ring on his finger, whispering your name like it could summon you from the dark. He kept every memory close, afraid that if he let his guard down for even a second, he would lose them again. But no matter how many times he found nothing, he never stopped.
Then—one evening, months later—he did.
It was a quiet island, far from the chaos of trade routes and Marine bases. Small, peaceful, the kind of place Ace would have overlooked if not for the way his gut twisted when he stepped onto its docks. He couldn’t explain it—it was just instinct, fire in his veins telling him not to move on this time. He wandered into the village, the scent of baked bread and seawater mingling in the air. Children ran barefoot through the streets, laughter echoing between the cottages. He almost turned back. It didn’t seem like the kind of place you would hide.
And then he saw you.
You were standing in front of a shop, a basket of fruit balanced on your hip. The late sun caught your hair, painting you in gold. You looked different—thinner, tired, a sadness etched into your face that time hadn’t erased—but you were you. His breath caught. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His hand went to his chest, pressing over the ring like it would keep him from falling apart.
“…Y/N.”
Your head snapped up. The basket wobbled in your arms, an orange tumbling free and rolling across the dirt. And when your eyes met his, the world stopped. Every month of searching, every scar carved into him by grief and guilt, every sleepless night—it all crashed down in that single look. He had found you. But whether you would let him back into your life—Ace didn’t know. Not yet.
The past year had not been kind to you. When you first left the Moby Dick, you’d thought freedom would taste sweet—that distance from the ache of seeing Ace every day and not being seen in return would heal you. But instead, the world felt empty. You wandered from island to island, taking odd jobs when you had to, surviving in silence when you couldn’t bear to speak. Nights were the worst—lying awake in strange beds, clutching the chain around your neck where your wedding ring dangled, whispering his name into the dark.
You had learned to keep moving, to smile politely when people asked too much, to pretend the hollow in your chest wasn’t swallowing you whole. Some days, you almost convinced yourself you were fine. Other days, you broke apart in the privacy of rented rooms, your tears soaking into sheets that would never hold his warmth. The ring never left your neck. Even when you tried to forget him, you couldn’t take it off. And then—on that quiet island—you saw him.
At first, your mind rejected it. Your heart stumbled, certain you were imagining things. He looked thinner, worn down, his eyes carrying a heaviness you hadn’t seen before. But there was no mistaking him. Ace.
Your lips parted, but no words came. The basket of fruit nearly slipped from your arms. You froze, caught between running to him and running from him. Then your eyes dropped to his hand. The ring. The same band that had sat untouched on the nightstand for months, that you had left behind when you fled. It gleamed on his finger, polished by wear, like he’d been holding it close every day. Your throat tightened.
Slowly, his gaze fell to your chest—where your chain glimmered in the sun, the curve of your own ring dangling against your collarbone. For a moment, neither of you breathed. The crowd around you faded into silence. And then—something shifted in his face. His lips parted, his eyes wide, wet, like he was breaking apart right there in front of you. He remembered. The wedding. The laughter. The whispered dreams of children. The scent of your hair, the way your smile lit up the darkest places in him. He remembered every vow, every kiss, every moment he had failed to hold onto.
“…Y/N,” Ace whispered, his voice shaking. His hand rose, almost reaching for you, but stopping midair. “I—God, I remember. I remember everything.”
The world tilted under you, your knees weakening, the weight of a year crashing into your chest. After everything, after all the pain, after the silence—he remembered you. Your hands trembled around the basket until you set it down before you dropped it. You couldn’t breathe—not properly. Your heart thudded in your chest, too fast, too hard.
He took a step closer. You almost stumbled back, but your feet rooted to the ground. His eyes—those same burning eyes you’d fallen for—were wet, desperate, overflowing with something you had thought you’d never see again. Recognition.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking as though the words themselves were jagged knives. “Y/N—I lost you. I didn’t even know what I’d lost, and you—you were here all along, carrying it for both of us.” His hand went to his chest where his ring sat, then to his face, dragging down as he tried to steady himself.
You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “Ace…” Your voice broke halfway through his name. “You don’t get to say that. Not after—after a year. After I—” You had to stop before the sob broke free. You shook your head, your eyes blurring. “I watched you forget me every single day. I watched you laugh like none of it mattered. I can’t—”
He flinched, his entire body folding in on itself. “Don’t—please don’t say that. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t choose to forget you. I didn’t choose to hurt you.” His voice wavered, and then he dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the street, in front of strangers who stopped to stare. His head bowed low, his shoulders shaking. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me. I swear it.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking. For months you had prayed for this moment—dreamed of him remembering, of him coming back to you. But in reality, it was messier, heavier, the ache still so raw. You didn’t know if you could just fall back into it, not when you were still carrying the weight of what had been lost.
And yet—your hand went to your necklace, fingers brushing your ring. The part of you that had clung to it through every sleepless night, every aching sunrise, wanted nothing more than to drop down beside him and hold him until the world made sense again. But could you? Could you forgive? Could you let yourself hope? You felt tears break free, sliding hot down your cheeks. You whispered so softly, only he could hear:
“…I never stopped loving you.”
Ace’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, his lips trembling. And in that instant, there was no doubt—he would chase that spark of love to the ends of the earth.
Ace didn’t leave your side after that. Not once. The first night, he begged you just to let him stay near—even if you couldn’t forgive him fully yet. He slept on the floor of your little inn room, close enough to reach for your hand if you’d let him, but far enough to give you space. You lay awake most of the night, listening to his breathing, steady, real, alive. It felt unreal.
The next morning, he rose before you, cooking something with whatever food he’d managed to find. When you sat at the small wooden table, staring at the meal, he grinned nervously. “I remembered… you always said food tastes better when someone makes it with love.” His smile faltered, afraid of rejection. “I don’t know if it’ll taste good, but… it’s from me. To you.”
You tried not to cry. Tried not to remember the months of emptiness, of watching him joke with others, of holding your ring against your chest while he walked past you like you were nothing. It wasn’t his fault, you reminded yourself again and again. He hadn’t chosen to forget. He hadn’t chosen to tear your heart out and leave it bleeding. And yet—when you took a bite, when his shoulders slumped with relief, when you saw that old light flicker in his eyes—you almost believed you could forgive.
Days passed. He followed you on errands, insisted on carrying your baskets, your tools, anything to keep his hands busy and prove he was still the man who’d once held your world together. At night, when the quiet stretched too long, he would murmur stories he half-remembered—your laugh echoing in his mind, the way you danced at your wedding, the baby names you had once whispered in the dark.
You tried not to blame him. You truly did. But sometimes you caught yourself staring at the scar that nearly took him, your chest aching with the memory of his blood on your hands, of the way his eyes had looked through you without recognition. You wondered if you’d ever shake the ghost of those months. And yet—he was here. He was Ace. The man who burned like the sun and always found you in the shadows.
One night, he caught your hand before you could retreat, his fingers trembling as he pressed it against his lips. “I can’t erase what happened. I can’t give you back the year I stole from you without even knowing it. But, Y/N…” He kissed your knuckles, holding your hand as though it were the most sacred thing in the world. “I will never forget again. Not you. Not us. Not our love.”
Your chest broke open, all the ache and longing spilling over. And against all the fear and hesitation, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t healed. But it was love—raw, battered, scarred, and still burning.
The months that followed nearly destroyed him. Every island blurred into the next as he asked questions in every port, scoured every tavern, and searched faces in every market. He was a man consumed by a singular, desperate quest. At night, Ace barely slept. He’d sit by the fire, staring at the ring on his finger, whispering your name like it could summon you from the dark. He kept every memory close, a fragile, precious collection he was terrified of losing again.
Then—one evening, months later—he finally stopped. It was a quiet island, far from the chaos of trade routes and Marine bases. Small, peaceful, the kind of place Ace would have overlooked if not for the way his gut twisted when he stepped onto its docks. He couldn’t explain it—it was just instinct, a fire in his veins telling him not to move on this time.
He wandered into the village, the air thick with the scent of baked bread and seawater. Children ran barefoot through the streets, laughter echoing between the cottages. He almost turned back. This wasn’t the kind of place you would hide.
And then he saw you.
You were standing in front of a shop, a basket of fruit balanced on your hip. The late sun caught your hair, painting you in gold. You looked different—thinner, tired, a sadness etched into your face that time hadn’t erased—but you were you. His breath caught. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His hand went to his chest, pressing over the ring like it would keep him from falling apart.
“…Y/N.”
Your head snapped up. The basket wobbled in your arms, an orange tumbling free and rolling across the dirt. And when your eyes met his, the world stopped. Every month of searching, every scar carved into him by grief and guilt, every sleepless night—it all crashed down in that single look. He had found you. But whether you would let him back into your life, Ace didn’t know. Not yet.
The past year had not been kind to you. When you first left the Moby Dick, you’d thought freedom would taste sweet, that the distance from the ache of seeing Ace every day would heal you. But instead, the world felt empty. You wandered from island to island, taking odd jobs when you had to, surviving in silence when you couldn’t bear to speak. The nights were the worst, lying awake in strange beds, clutching the chain where your wedding ring dangled, whispering his name into the dark.
And then—on that quiet island—you saw him.
At first, your mind rejected it. Your heart stumbled, certain you were imagining things. He looked thinner, worn down, his eyes carrying a heaviness you hadn’t seen before. But there was no mistaking him. Ace.
Your lips parted, but no words came. You froze, caught between running to him and running from him. Then your eyes dropped to his hand. The ring. The same band you had left behind. It gleamed on his finger, polished by wear, like he’d been holding it close every day. Your throat tightened. Slowly, his gaze fell to your chest, where your chain glimmered in the sun.
For a moment, neither of you breathed. The crowd around you faded into silence. And then something shifted in his face. His eyes went wide, wet, as if he was breaking apart right there. He remembered. The wedding. The laughter. The whispered dreams of children. He remembered every vow, every kiss, every moment he had failed to hold onto.
“…Y/N,” Ace whispered, his voice shaking. “I… God, I remember. I remember everything.”
The world tilted, your knees weakening, the weight of a year crashing into your chest. After all the pain and silence, he remembered you. Your hands trembled around the basket. You couldn’t breathe. Your heart thudded in your chest, too fast, too hard. He took a step closer, his eyes wet, desperate.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking as if the words were jagged knives. “Y/N, I lost you. I didn’t even know what I’d lost, and you… you were here all along, carrying it for both of us.” His hand went to his face, dragging down as he tried to steady himself.
You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “Ace…” Your voice broke. “You don’t get to say that. Not after… a year. After I…” You shook your head, eyes blurring. “I watched you forget me every single day. I watched you laugh like none of it mattered. I can’t…”
He flinched, his entire body folding in on itself. “Don’t… please don’t say that. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t choose to forget you. I didn’t choose to hurt you.” His voice wavered, and then he dropped to his knees right there in the middle of the street, in front of strangers. His head bowed low, his shoulders shaking. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me. I swear it.”
You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking. And yet, your hand went to your necklace, fingers brushing your ring. The part of you that had clung to it wanted nothing more than to drop down beside him and hold him. You felt tears break free. You whispered so softly, only he could hear:
“…I never stopped loving you.”
Ace’s head snapped up, his eyes wide, his lips trembling. In that instant, there was no doubt—he would chase that spark of love to the ends of the earth.
Ace didn’t leave your side after that. The first night, he slept on the floor of your small inn room, close enough to reach for your hand if you’d let him, but far enough to give you space. You lay awake listening to his breathing, steady, real, alive.
The next morning, he rose before you, cooking something with whatever food he’d managed to find. When you sat at the small wooden table, he grinned nervously. “I remembered… you always said food tastes better when someone makes it with love.” His smile faltered, afraid of rejection. “I don’t know if it’ll taste good, but… it’s from me. To you.” You tried not to cry. You reminded yourself again and again that it wasn’t his fault. And yet, when you took a bite, when his shoulders slumped with relief, when you saw that old light flicker in his eyes—you almost believed you could forgive.
The next three months were slow and steady. You set up a small place on the island, a room with a kitchen, a bed, and space to breathe. Every day was a small lesson in rebuilding what had been broken. Ace learned to read your silences, to know when to give you space and when to hold you close. You learned to let his hands brush yours without flinching, to accept his laughter even when it reminded you of the year you’d lost.
You both got used to the changes. You weren’t exactly the same—you carried a quiet strength, a caution, and a weight he hadn’t known before. But he adored it, learned to navigate it, to meet your walls with patience instead of recklessness. You laughed again. He laughed again. You argued sometimes, small spats over chores or silly disagreements. But each time, you made up, learned each other again, rebuilt the rhythm of love one heartbeat at a time.
Three months in, the ring on your chain gleamed in the sunlight. He caught your wrist one morning, holding it gently. “I’m glad you’re still here,” he whispered, his voice soft, full of reverence. “I’ll never forget this again. I’ll never let you go, Y/N.”
You pressed your forehead to his, breath hitching, feeling the truth of it, the steady warmth of a love battered but alive. “I know,” you murmured. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” And for the first time in a year, the future seemed possible.
The day you both returned to the Moby Dick, the ship felt smaller than you remembered. The sails flapped lazily in the wind, and the sun painted everything in a warm, golden light. Ace walked beside you, his hand brushing yours now and then, as if to remind you that you were real, that you were here, that you hadn’t vanished again.
As you stepped onto the deck, murmurs rippled through the crew. Eyes widened, whispers passed quickly. Ace’s shoulders squared, his usual confidence returning—but this time, it was tempered with a cautious humility, an understanding that he had been given a second chance.
Marco approached first, his calm expression softening into a mixture of relief and something like awe. “Ace…” His voice was low, thick with emotion. He glanced at you, too, offering a small, respectful nod.
Ace grinned, tight and small, and gave a sheepish shrug. “We’re here. Together.”
You followed slowly, scanning the familiar faces. Some of them froze for a moment, staring at you as if to reconcile the person who left with the one walking back onto the deck now. Old friends, new commanders—everyone watched, hesitant. Whitebeard appeared, his massive form blocking the sun. His eyes were warm, and a small, approving smile tugged at his lips. “So you’ve both come back,” he rumbled, his voice deep and steady. “Good. About time.”
You stayed close to Ace, hands intertwined, as if neither of you would let go again. You answered questions quietly, laughed softly at the teasing, and let the crew see that he was back—and that you were back, too. That night, the Moby Dick felt alive again. The air was thick with the scent of the sea and cooked meals, with the low hum of voices and the creak of timber. Ace leaned against you, forehead resting lightly against yours, and whispered, “We’re home.”
You smiled against him, letting the warmth settle in your chest. “Home,” you echoed. And for the first time since leaving, it didn’t feel like a word full of ghosts. It felt like a promise.
The next morning, the sun broke over the horizon, scattering gold across the deck. Ace stood on the rail for a moment, feeling the wind whip through his hair, and then glanced at you. You were there, smiling softly, your shoulders relaxed, carrying a basket of fresh fruit from the shore. Something about you was different—lighter, freer. The weight that had pressed against your chest for the past year seemed gone, or at least smaller, manageable. Your eyes sparkled with a quiet strength, the kind that came not from being untouched by pain, but from surviving it, facing it, and moving forward anyway.
The crew noticed it, too. Whispers ran quietly among them: She’s back. She’s… stronger than before.
You caught Ace’s gaze and grinned, the kind of grin that made him forget everything else. He could see it—the woman who had been through hell but had returned to them, to life, to him, unbroken. The lightness in your step, the confidence in your movements, the calm determination in your smile—it all told him one thing clearly: you had reclaimed yourself, and nothing could dim that fire now.
Ace stepped forward, catching your hand mid-step, and brought it to his lips. “You’re… amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick. “I never want to forget how strong you are.”
You squeezed his hand gently, leaning into him. “And I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly. “Not now. Not ever.”
Ace laughed, the sound full and real, and the crew around you felt it—the return of both of you, together, stronger, and finally whole again.
summary: the world didn’t fall when ace did, yet—your heart seemed to. but his fire remained. sabo was close. close enough to be his ghost.
pairings: sabo x reader, ace x reader
🐙: inspired by this song nd this post. marineford spoilers! dressrosa spoilers! reader is ace’s ex lover. yearner sabo ?! (i need him so bad). mentions of death.
📍: 1.3k words.
💌: rushed af.. hope i still did it justice 😾 BIG THANKS TO MY BEST FRIEND FOR INSPIRING ME W THIS FIC OMFG 🥺 i love angst i love suffering.. @kurishia
you met ace before you even knew how to be careful with your heart.
he was fire incarnate—chaotic, reckless, alive in a way that made it feel like the world itself had tilted just to let him in. shirtless, freckles scattered across his cheeks like constellations, laughter spilling from him and around him as if cruelty had never touched this world.
you remember thinking, “this man is going to ruin me.”
you were right.
ace loved like he lived—recklessly, openly, without a single thought for what might be taken away. he held you like tomorrow was guaranteed. like death was a myth meant for other people.
and you followed him anyway.
you followed him into danger, into chaos, into a love that burned so bright it felt immortal. he called you his anchor, joked that no matter how far he drifted, you’d always pull him back.
and you believed him.
and then marineford happened.
anchors don’t matter when the sea decides to swallow everything whole.
♡
grief doesn’t come all at once.
at first, it’s numbness. a fog so thick that you can barely remember what it felt like to be touched by him. then comes rage—at the world, at fate, at ace himself for being brave enough to die.
after that comes the worst part.
the searching.
you don’t mean to do it. you swear you don’t. but everywhere you go, you’re looking for him. for the way he used to tilt his head when he listened. for that crooked grin. for the warmth that made everything feel survivable.
you walk through a port and swear you see him leaning against a wall—only to blink and realize it’s just someone with dark hair and a familiar posture.
you hear laughter behind you, spin too fast, and your heart leaps—only to drop as reality hits.
every time, it hits harder.
they can have pieces of ace—but it will never be whole.
you try to move on because people expect you to. because the world doesn’t stop just because yours did.
you let people take you out. let them hold your hand. let them kiss you.
none of it works.
they’re always close—so close it almost feels cruel—but never right. something inside you recoils whenever they touch the wrong places, the wrong ways. whenever they don’t feel like fire.
eventually, they notice.
eventually, they leave.
♡
you hear about the mera mera no mi in dressrosa, and it feels like the universe twisting the knife all over again.
ace’s devil fruit. being paraded around like a prize.
you don’t hesitate.
of course you go.
of course you enter the colosseum.
if there’s even the slightest chance to reclaim something that belonged to him, you’ll bleed for it. you don’t care if it’s irrational. you don’t care if it hurts.
the colosseum was chaos—shouts, sand kicked up in clouds, fists colliding. every cheer made your chest tighten. you weren’t here for the crowd, weren’t here for the fights. you were here for a piece of him—a fragment of your ace.
you pushed through the fighters, hands pressed to your chest as if holding yourself together could keep the ache from spilling out. it wasn’t pain in your body—it was deeper, inside you, gnawing at your bones.
then, you saw it. fire. sudden, bright, impossibly alive.
the same fire that had once ignited the flames in your heart.
but it wasn’t ace. it could never be ace. his dark hair, that familiar shadow across his face, was gone—replaced by something lighter, softer. not his voice, not his shape. this wasn’t him.
but the fire… that impossible light, that reckless, consuming heat—it mirrored everything you had lost.
♡
days after the colosseum fight, the roar of the crowd still echoed faintly in your mind, but the streets of dressrosa had calmed. your chest throbbed from the fire you had seen—the impossible, haunting blaze—but at least now you were out of the chaos. you needed air. you needed to think.
the tavern was dim and warm, heavy with the scent of roasted meat and ale. it was crowded, but not suffocating. you slipped inside, looking for a corner, hoping to collect yourself. that’s when you saw him.
he was… eating. really eating. plates stacked high, hands moving almost too fast, shoveling food in with a hunger that made your stomach ache and twist all at once. messy, greedy, alive—it was like him. like your ace.
he caught your gaze, and for a moment, his eyes softened. he gestured to the empty seat beside him, and without a word, you slid in.
“you’re not from around here,” he said, voice calm, careful even, but with an edge you couldn’t ignore.
“something like that,” you murmured, still watching his hands, still captivated by the reckless, yet controlled way he moved.
he smiled, small, quiet, and the world around you seemed to slow. “i like to eat,” he said simply, as if that explained everything about him, as if it should.
for the first time since marineford, you laughed. not because it was funny, but because it was familiar. reckless. full. alive.
“i can see that.”
♡
days had turned to weeks, and weeks had turned to months. finding a new purpose was never easy—but sabo was here now. the revolutionary was there.
the days with him stretched out slowly, beautifully. shared meals, long walks across the deck, quiet conversations under the stars. every laugh, every touch, every glance carried his ghost—traces of ace intertwined with sabo’s own warmth, and somehow it was enough to make your chest ache all over again.
but tonight, sabo was too close. too close in a way that only ace had ever been.
the cabin was dim, the lantern casting soft, warm shadows. the ship rocked gently beneath you, and the scent of sabo was everywhere. familiar. comforting. like ace.
he kissed you like he could memorize every inch of your skin, soft and slow at first, then a little hungrier as the warmth between you built. every word, every murmur against your skin, carried care, reverence, and the ache of someone who knew what it meant to love someone gone.
his lips found the inner part of your thighs, and it felt good. too good. your mouth betrayed you, and it slipped.
“ace…”
he froze, tilting his head to meet your gaze. regret and surprise washed over your face, but his eyes—his eyes—weren’t angry. not disappointed. just soft, a little sad, and full of something stronger than words.
and then he smiled. that familiar, grounding smile, the one that made you feel safe in the midst of longing and loss.
“you can call me anything you want.”
♡
the cabin was quiet, but the silence pressed against you both, heavy with every fragment of her he could sense in his arms—every shiver, every tremble, every hesitant breath. he held you like letting go even slightly would mean losing you to the same world that had stolen ace.
“i know,” he whispers, forehead resting against yours, breath soft and steady. “and it’s okay… i’m okay with it.”
then, quieter, rawer, as if each word costs him:
“if that’s who you see when you look at me… i won’t stop you.”
your chest twists, heart squeezing.
“sabo—”
he shakes his head gently, a small, haunted smile tugging at his lips—the same one ace used to wear when he gave something up without complaint.
“i know i’m second,” he says softly, almost a confession. “i’ve always known.”
then, even softer, closer, letting it seep between you:
“but let me love you anyway.”
not because you had chosen him first.
but because you had stayed.
because love doesn’t always win—sometimes it waits.
and sabo does.
every time.
because holding any piece of you was better than holding nothing at all.
