I swear I'm alive. I just had a lot to do these past few months. I'm actively working on part 3 for the Sabo x reader. It should be done in 1-2 days if writer's block doesn't bite me in the ass.
Fire and Flame (Ace x Marine!Reader x Sabo) - Part 2
One Piece | Ace, Sabo | 6.8k | Masterlist
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You had a stowaway on your ship.
Not the rats scurrying around the brig, though you knew they were there too, but somebody considerably bolder. At least the rats fled when they heard your boots striking heavily across the wood.
The ship shifted beneath you as you opened the cabin door, timbers groaning softly around the distant rush of water against the hull. The lantern over the table swayed with the movement, its light sliding across the walls and catching briefly against the metal of Sabo’s pipe.
He only turned his head when you entered, one arm resting along the curved seat as though he had every right to be there.
You removed your coat and hung it beside the door, then unfastened your pistol and lowered it beneath. It was far too late in the evening to pretend you hadn’t expected him. Besides, there was nowhere for him to go in the middle of the ocean.
“Your men are gossiping about you,” he said.
“Then they clearly haven’t got enough work,” you retorted. “I imagine it was about the two drinks again.”
“It was.”
He looked distinctly out of place amongst the dark wood and furnishings of your quarters. Even seated, his attention remained too alert, gaze following the smallest movement beyond the porthole.
You crossed to the small table and the half-circle seats built around it, settling into your usual place before reaching for your drink.
“They’re going to have to accept the theory that my caffeine addiction has worsened then,” you said. “Because they’ll get no other answer.”
And what more could they assume? None would suspect a member of the revolutionary army was sitting in your quarters.
That would be ridiculous.
He hadn’t bothered hiding from you, just as he hadn’t three weeks earlier when you first met him. You’d entered your cabin after setting sail to find him waiting, a book in his lap, and a pipe resting against his side. Why he’d chosen your ship to hitch a ride on, he wouldn’t say but it was a gamble he’d taken regardless.
“You’ve changed course,” he said, looking out the window. “Should I assume we’re sailing to my arrest?”
“Nothing so exciting,” you said. “You might have considered a better choice of transport next time. We’re moving to intercept a ship of scavengers. It’ll be done by tomorrow afternoon and then we’ll make our way to resupply.”
He tilted his head. “This has been a much shorter trip than anticipated then.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Have you not brushed with danger enough? Should you leave tomorrow, you’ll have spent two nights more on a Marine vessel than any criminal would want.”
“Danger would imply you meant to arrest me,” he said. “You keep leaving your gun by the door.”
“I don’t work in my cabin,” you said. “This is my private space. Not even reports dare to be brought to me here.”
He chuckled softly to himself. “You know, sometimes I really think you’re messing around with all your rules.”
“Then you’re putting a lot of faith in that chance.”
“I am,” he acknowledged. “But I’m looking at the fact that you had dinner delivered both here and to your office this evening.”
You hummed. “Did I? My mistake. I suppose I’m finally suffering from the pain of overworking.”
“I don’t think you know the meaning of the word.”
Your smile was tight as you leaned back in the seat. No, but it was excuse enough that none of your men would question your ‘mistake’ earlier. You looked through the porthole toward the night sky, glittering with stars. With only one lantern burning, your cabin was dark enough to give you a clear, unobstructed view through the glass.
Boots at the door made you turn your head. “Patrols,” you noted. “They’re looking for stowaways.”
They were certainly not but it was a quick reminder, if nothing else.
“Do you get those often?”
“Not even once.”
Sabo nodded at the information, his gaze lingering on you until you looked over, unwilling to let him think he could study you without your knowledge. As interesting as this little test of his had been, you still weren’t sure what the end goal of it would be. You had little interest in understanding the mechanisms of the revolutionary army though.
At the very least, his test allowed you to look at him properly. Moonlight caught along the edges of his hair and the bridge of his nose, leaving the scar over his eye darker by contrast. He looked almost composed enough to belong. Almost.
You reached for your cup to find the drink inside cold. You must have been delayed with rerouting for longer than you had thought.
“Do you plan to sit here like a statue all night again?” you asked.
“Most likely. These seats are comfortable.”
“They had better be,” you said. “When I got the ship, they were one of the first things I changed. Since then, I’ve changed a decent amount more. So much so that I dread my promotion and having to do it all over again.”
He looked around with a small nod. “I’ve noticed. Have you named it?”
“The ship?” You raised an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t think of me as so sentimental.”
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “It’s one of those things I’m still trying to work out.”
You laughed softly. “I suppose I’ll let you keep the mystery then. But no, I haven’t named the ship. It’s actually outlined in our training that we should refrain from doing so. They’re tools, not personal vessels, and so we are to treat them as such.”
Sabo glanced toward your bed. “Not personal and yet, those are not standard-issue sheets.”
You followed his attention, interested that of the few personal effects in the room, it was the first one he made mention of. It was obvious, you supposed, in comparison to the rest which remained tucked away in drawers and wardrobes.
“That’s a strange thing to acknowledge,” you mentioned. “You’re aware of what standard-issue sheets look like?”
He smiled and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Not from any intelligence or anything. We have some. Found a wreck once with a considerable number of textiles being moved and amongst them, useable sheets. They’re awful.”
You snorted at the idea. “They are. I don’t know why anybody would bother picking them up.”
“They’re better than nothing.”
You shook your head minutely, refusing even the idea of it. “No. If you’ve tried these, you’ll find you prefer nothing to whatever scratchy felt those things are made of.” You stood, stepped away from the seats. “Come. I’ll show you what I mean.”
Sabo stayed seated, expression suddenly wary. As though the invite implied you had an ambush hiding beneath the covers.
“You’re inviting me to your bed?” he asked.
“If you wish to see it that way.”
You stepped around the post, moved past to your wardrobe and removed your usual sleeping clothes, placing them on your pillow to change in the bathroom.
But first, you sat down with your back to him and withdrew your transponder snail from your pocket, tucking him into his usual spot beside your bed. The poor thing was already half asleep from the long day, its head drooping even before you settled him there.
Sabo didn’t walk very loudly.
You still heard him stand, though, just barely. If you hadn’t been listening carefully for a whisper of fabric, you may not have noticed him until you felt the mattress move beneath you, weight dipping to your right as he sat.
His coat brushed your arm as he placed a gloved hand between both of you, his gaze mildly playful as he looked to you. The lantern’s light flickered over his face.
“They’re alright,” he said. “I’ve seen better.”
You rolled your eyes and caught his wrist.
Sabo stiffened immediately, arm going tense as you lifted his hand from the bed. You looked down, rather than at him, your thumb resting against the inside of his wrist while you gently drew off the glove.
You placed it carefully on the bedside table, beside your sleeping snail. His pulse moved steadily beneath your thumb.
“You can hardly form an opinion when you’re wearing so much clothing,” you told him, your voice loud against the quiet of the moment.
His fingers flexed once.
You moved his hand down, pressing his palm flat against the bedding as you smiled. “See, much better?”
You released his wrist and finally met his eyes again, question hovering in your gaze. The unspoken offer hung heavily in the air between you as you leaned back to give him the slightest space as you waited for an answer.
His hand remained firmly where you’d placed it for a moment longer before he shifted, moving his hand over the sheets slowly enough that you could have pretended it was accidental when he brushed against your thigh briefly.
“Much,” he agreed, soft enough that you might have missed the word if you weren’t so close.
You turned slightly toward him. And the movement brought your knee against his, testing the limits of your interest.
You should have moved away. Instead, you tilted your head and studied the faint crease that had appeared between his brows. For all the confidence he’d shown in coming here in the first place, he was waiting now.
Not uncertain. But patient.
Patient in a way you cared very little for.
“You’re still wearing too much,” you mentioned, looking toward his still-gloved hand briefly.
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth. “So are you.”
You smiled. Then you caught the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.
Sabo moved without hesitation. One hand caught the mattress beside your hip as his mouth met yours, bracing his weight before the force of it could press you backwards. His surprise lasted only a heartbeat. Then his bare hand found your waist and drew you against him with an eagerness that betrayed just how long he had been waiting.
Far more than the walk to your bed.
His mouth was warm against yours; the first touch measured despite the grip tightening at your side. You slipped the cravat from his neck and his restraint vanished.
He followed when you drew back, forcing you to turn until your shoulders met the mattress and his knee settled between yours. You released his shirt only to catch him behind the neck.
Sabo exhaled softly against your mouth and you found you quite liked that sound.
His hat bumped against your forehead and you broke away to grab it, gently tossing it off the bed. Blond strands fell untidily across his brow as he looked after it for only a second before he kissed you again.
He smiled faintly into your mouth, movement far lazier now. As though he was faintly humoured by something.
You broke the kiss again and he adjusted himself; one hand planted beside your shoulder as he looked down at you, cheeks faintly flushed beneath the low light.
“Are you planning on staring at me?” you asked, sliding your hand away from his neck and to the buttons of his shirt.
“I’m considering things.”
“I warn you, this is a pretty poor time for an interrogation.”
He laughed softly, eyes flickering back to your mouth as the first button popped free.
“Just not what I expected here, of all places.”
“What other reason would you have for sneaking into my room?” you hummed. “My office would be far better for intel.”
“Do all your stowaways get this welcome?” he asked.
“No,” you said, firmly enough that something flickered over his face.
Something you weren’t examining closely. You pulled him down again and he accepted the diversion without protest. Any careful pace disappeared as the kiss deepened and your back pressed against the bed.
His hand slid from your waist to your side, slipping under your shirt to press against the skin there.
Sabo drew back just enough to look at you, bare hand brushing over your ribs. “Hard to remember you could have had me shot when you found me.”
“I didn’t,” you said. “Which I think was the right choice, no?”
“I definitely appreciate it.”
He kissed you again and the next several minutes vanished beneath the quiet drag of fabric and the heat of his hands. His coat slipped from his shoulders somewhere beside the bed, his shirt hanging open beneath your fingers by the time cool air reached your skin. His mouth moved from yours to the edge of your jaw, then lower, and you tilted your head before you could decide whether allowing it was wise.
The ship’s bell rang above deck, marking the hour, and you both slowed.
Footsteps passed beyond your wall. Two men spoke as they changed shifts, making their way past your cabin and toward the crew quarters. You listened to them go, uninterested in it but far too aware of the stiffness creeping back into Sabo’s shoulders.
Sabo lifted his head from where it had been buried in your neck, expression painfully composed for somebody in the state he was.
“I hate that bell,” you said and he laughed softly, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and humour.
You let your head fall back against the pillow.
“This is probably a poor time,” he said then, his hand moving away from your waist. “You have an early morning catching scavengers.”
The loss of contact annoyed you more than it reasonably should have. “It’s exceptionally stupid too,” you said.
He nodded. “That too.”
He sat back and gave a very poor attempt at fixing his clothes, fingers far from steady. You reached down and picked up your nightclothes from where they’d slipped to the ground.
“I hope I’ve proved my point enough that you’ll stay the night at least,” you commented.
His attention moved over your face, searching for a condition hidden behind the offer. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you only have one more night. You may as well stay in the bed.”
The wariness had returned to his expression, but it was far from the playfulness he’d shown earlier. It seemed that the idea of sharing a bed concerned him more than removing half his clothing or pressing you into a mattress.
“Just an offer,” you said. “I’m getting changed.”
When you returned, his coat and hat had been moved neatly to the chair. Both gloves lay next to it as he sat stiffly on the other side. As though he was ready to leap through the porthole the moment something happened.
You gave him a look and extinguished the lamp, slipping beneath the covers.
Darkness settled over the room, broken only by a thin moonbeam spilling through the porthole. Then the mattress moved, covers adjusting just slightly enough for you to notice them doing so.
If he did manage to actually sleep that night, you didn’t get a chance to ask him because the next morning, you were roused from your sleep by three harsh knocks on the door and a sharp, agitated voice. You didn’t bother to look for him before you stalked your way onto the deck, already barking orders.
The scavenger ship flew no flags and clearly hadn’t expected a marine presence but they didn’t hesitate to open fire.
“Take the sails! We need the vessel intact!”
Smoke rolled across the water between both ships. The scavengers were lighter and considerably faster, cutting across the current in an attempt to pass your port side before you could bring the full line of cannons around.
One of your shots tore through the lower rigging. Another struck the mast just above the deck.
Wood split with a crack loud enough to carry across the water. The mast lurched sideways, dragging half the patched sail with it. Men scattered beneath the falling ropes as the scavenger vessel lost speed.
Their next shot struck low.
The impact shuddered through the ship beneath your boots. Wood groaned and the deck shifted sharply to one side, throwing two of your men against the railing. Somewhere below, somebody shouted about water.
“Damage report!”
“Port side, below the waterline!”
You cursed and caught the edge of the cannon before the list could knock you from your feet. The scavenger ship had lost most of its control, but momentum carried it into the fast-moving current between the islands. Its ruined sails snapped uselessly as the water pulled it away.
“Bring us after them!”
“We’ll worsen the breach if we turn at speed, sir!”
Another report came from below, this one confirming what the tilt had already told you. The pumps were holding for now, but only barely. Continuing the pursuit before the hull was patched would risk turning one damaged section into a split seam.
The scavengers were drifting rather than sailing. Without their mast, the current would only carry them so far before weakening along the next stretch of coast. They would be dead in the water once it released them.
Assuming nobody else reached them first.
“Mark their direction,” you ordered. “Then find me the closest emergency port on our route records. I want the breach sealed and every cannon checked before we continue.”
By the time you stormed back into your room, your mood had darkened considerably.
Sabo was fully dressed and seated where he had been the evening before, as though the night had folded itself neatly away with his coat. He blinked at you with mild curiosity.
You glared at nothing.
“We’ll be making land soon,” you said. “Unexpectedly.”
“You’re taking on water.”
“That current’s only going to take them so far,” you muttered. “We’re going to make repairs at the closest island and then continue the pursuit. You can depart during that time if you want.”
He hummed, tapping a pattern against the chair. “Probably for the best.”
“Don’t get seen.”
“I won’t.”
You hesitated, wondering if you should return to the deck before annoyance drew you to remove your coat from your shoulders, hanging it beside the door instead. You had at least twenty minutes and nothing you did would make the ship sail faster.
Before you could remove your gun, somebody knocked on the door. You opened it barely a crack to look at the subordinate.
“Yes?”
“Sir,” he said. “We have pirate ships on the horizon.”
“Are they sailing for us?”
“No, sir. Alongside us.”
You knew where you were. You didn’t need to ask to know whose flag would be snapping against the wind now. But you had little choice. Without knowing how bad the damage was, you couldn’t change course to another island. And then you would risk losing your quarry even if the currents eventually left them stranded.
“Stay our course,” you said. “If Whitebeard’s men are looking for a fight, I’d prefer we take one at land rather than in the open ocean.”
“Yes, sir.”
You closed the door and sighed. Of course. One thing after another.
“I was thinking,” Sabo said. “That chasing a scavenger ship around doesn’t quite suit the work of a rear admiral.”
A thousand other things to speak of and he chose your work. If it hadn’t been for your skin still being warm from the night before, you might have snapped at him for it. As it was, you gave him a look.
“It’s considered punishment work,” you acknowledged.
His attention snapped to you, curiosity shining in his eyes. You spoke of it with ease because what good would such information serve him anyway? He could hardly bring any trouble by knowing that your superiors were currently not in a good mood with you.
“Punishment work rather than a demotion?”
You took the seat beside him again, gaze sharper than it should have been. “I’m far too good at my job for that.”
“Then why the punishment?”
“I don’t know if I should be telling you that. Feels a bit private to share.”
His lips curled up into a faint smile. “That’s too private?”
“It is.”
He was uncomfortable. You hadn’t had an opportunity to watch him since the night before but he hadn’t tapped such a pattern into the fabric before. Perhaps the acknowledgement of what happened had finally caught up with him. You could hardly fault him for his mask of fake confidence now.
You did not wish to discuss it when you were already on edge.
“If you do sink,” he said, “there might be people close enough to notice. A signal off the port side could earn you some help.”
You hummed, suddenly interested by his claim.
It made sense. He would not take this risk without a backup plan and yet, you hadn’t suspected anybody was trailing you until he mentioned it. You were almost impressed by their secrecy.
“If we sink,” you said. “We’ll see.”
The tapping against the fabric stopped, though he was still wound tight. Then his gaze dropped to the pistol still secured at your side.
“You kept it.”
“We were fired upon less than an hour ago.”
“I thought you didn’t work in here.”
“I don’t.”
He leaned closer, attention remaining on the holster. “Then which rule wins?”
His fingers moved toward the fastening and you caught his wrist before they could touch it.
For a second, you merely stared at him with a raised eyebrow. His arm had gone still beneath your hand, though he made no attempt to pull away.
“That’s a bit forward,” you said.
“Your limits are very interesting.”
You hummed and brushed your thumb against the edge of his glove, catching the narrow strip of bare skin between leather and sleeve.
“They’re sometimes softer,” you said. “But that one I wouldn’t try again.”
“I’ll remember.”
You held him for another heartbeat before releasing his wrist. “See that you do.”
He sat back, but the tension in his shoulders had eased slightly.
“You should be careful,” he said. “I’ve heard a lack of sleep causes your judgement to lapse.”
“It hasn’t done so yet.”
The island made its opinion of you known before the gangplank touched the dock.
Conversation along the harbour thinned as your damaged ship drew closer. A pair of fishermen gathered their nets and moved inland without looking back, while shutters closed above two nearby shops with sharp wooden cracks. Even the gulls seemed louder in the silence left behind.
There was nothing for it. Water still seeped through the temporary packing below deck, and the tilt beneath your boots had worsened during the approach.
The shipwrights were willing to work for beri, although the amount they demanded suggested they considered repairing a Marine vessel a personal insult. You paid without negotiating and ordered half your men to gather supplies while the rest remained aboard to guard the ship and assist with the breach.
It wasn’t the best atmosphere, something you knew even as you stepped away from the ship, walking along the port with your boots clicking steadily against the ground. You meant only to get the lay of the surrounding harbour to be sure the scavenger vessel hadn’t found its way here too.
Instead, you found flickering flames and Fire Fist Ace dropping from the railing of one of his ships. A broad grin spread across his face when he saw you.
“Hey!”
The other pirates who lingered aboard looked nervously at one another, clearly uncertain if they should draw their weapons. There weren’t many of them but even the commander himself was enough to cause trouble if he wanted to.
But he didn’t look like he wanted a fight even with your coat hanging from your shoulders. He actually looked obscenely pleased.
“Most pirates offer far less pleasant greetings of admirals,” you commented to him. “I suppose luck would have it that we bump into each other again.”
He grinned and hopped from the railing with ease. Everybody was looking at him and you could feel the tension crawling up your back. You glanced over your shoulder toward your ship, still in need of repairs and unable to return fire if this turned into a fight.
“Pretty good luck,” he agreed. “I knew you were an officer. Didn’t think you were a rear admiral though.”
You hummed and rested your hand upon the stock of your gun. Bullets would do nothing against him but it reassured you faintly.
“Shocking information all around.”
“So, uh, I’m guessing you’re not here looking for pirates again, are you? Which means we’re good?”
It was a very simplified explanation from your last meeting and yet you found it was true. You weren’t looking for pirates although that didn’t mean you were particularly friends with the ones you bumped into. Even if they were wearing their hats too far back to block out any sun.
“Are we?” you asked.
He hummed. “Maybe. You shouldn’t really be docking here. Marine routes aren’t meant to come through this area.”
“I know,” you said. “But we were taking on too much water and required a patch repair before we sank. It isn’t a long stop although we are prepared for another fight, if that’s what’s waiting for us.”
“Yeah, that’s probably meant to be from me,” he said. “The fighting thing.”
You nodded. “I presumed as much. Are we going to fight, Fire Fist?”
He thought about it. “I don’t know. I guess it depends if you’re nice to me.”
He was teasing and even in your foul mood, you couldn’t help but offer him a faint smile in response. You likely shouldn’t be indulging this so much but he was so eager and your mood had improved significantly while speaking to him.
“I try not to be nice to pirates,” you said.
“Not true. You were nice to me a few weeks ago.”
You scoffed. “I wouldn’t consider that nice.”
Fire Fist shrugged. “I mean, you shot down a net for me, then you lied about where I was, and you touched my chest. Which… the last one was probably like a thing for you rather than me but still.”
You rolled your eyes. “Definitely not for me. That was because you apparently don’t know how to follow orders.”
He nodded. “I do get that a lot.”
“I’m not surprised. Fine. What would it take for me to be ‘nice’ to you then?”
He paused, seemingly not having expected you to offer it. You really hoped whatever answer he gave wasn’t going to take too long because this entire thing was already a waste of time and you did not look forward to returning to your headquarters later.
“Want to get something to eat?”
You frowned, momentarily confused. Because you’d maybe expected monetary wealth or being asked to leave the island early but that… that was an interesting request, to say the least.
It wasn’t like you didn’t have time before the repairs were done and your men were sweeping the ship for residual danger already. Something that reminded you that certain stowaways should probably disembark soon.
And if it saved you a potential conflict, it was hardly a problem.
“Alright,” you said. “What would you like to eat?”
For a second, Ace blinked as though he wasn’t expecting that as a response and then he grinned, looking back at his ship and the flag billowing on it and waving. The others frowned even as he nodded for you to follow him, mouths open with unspoken questions.
“I know a pretty good place,” he said. “But uh… the owner doesn’t like marines very much.”
You looked toward your very obvious uniform. “He doesn’t like marines but he tolerates pirates?”
“Well, yeah. Pops’ protection is what keeps this whole place safe.”
That sounded like an absolute paradise for criminals and yet, you imagined it wasn’t too much of a concern if you had one with you. You slipped the coat from your shoulders, hiding the largest insignia over your arm.
You still looked like a marine but at least, it was somewhat less obvious.
“Is this better?”
Ace grinned. “I was going to say I could buy stuff and bring it to you but that works too. You look much better like that, anyway.”
“I’m sure you think so. Less like a rear admiral.”
“Do you want me to carry it?”
You raised an eyebrow at the mildly humorous idea of a very wanted pirate strutting around with a high-ranking officer’s coat on his arm. If Morgans got even a hint of that… well, it would be funny to see Sengoku turn red but no.
“It’s fine,” you said. “Lead the way.”
With him at your side, the town’s attention became far more welcoming. It was an almost startling change in comparison. His easy grin seemed to put most of them at ease and a few even came up to tell him that there were marines in the area before they noticed you at his side, if they even noticed at all.
“They’re not causing trouble,” he reassured. “We’re watching them.”
“We?” you clarified.
He gestured to where you were standing. “Well, I know exactly what you’re up to so technically.”
You hummed. “I suppose that could hold up. Though there are far more men on my ship than just me which would mean this meal is as much a distraction for you, no? You won’t be able to tell if anything starts there.”
“They won’t. You’re the biggest threat there.”
“Am I?”
“You’re in charge, aren’t you?” he asked. “When I saw you last time, everybody listened the moment you spoke.”
You appreciated the notion even if the entire situation had started expressly against your permission the last time. Though he was right. You had no rookies travelling with you this time. If your men saw the pirates, they’d stay their hands.
“True,” you said. “My crew do understand orders. Unlike certain pirates I know who think a safety retreat is optional because they would rather experience life as a fish in a net.”
He held his hands up in his defence. “Hey, I don’t know why you’re complaining. It gave you an excuse to touch me.”
You laughed. “That was not a reason to touch you.”
“I mean, you could have touched anywhere else. You chose skin to skin.”
You took a second to look him over, gaze lingering with a very mild appreciation of his sun-kissed skin and toned frame before you noted the problem with his idea. “Considering that you aren’t fond of shirts, I have a feeling anywhere else would have been far more suggestive.”
“But still…”
“No,” you corrected though you found you couldn’t help but smile. “Come now. We’re walking very slowly and I only have so much time.”
“You have somewhere to be?”
You weighed up the idea of sharing the morning’s events with a pirate. Although this one seemed far more interested in food than whatever business you had. It didn’t make him any less of a threat – you knew that – but he was a threat that had very little to do with this work.
“We were ordered to intercept a scavenger ship,” you explained. “We shredded their mast and sails but they were lighter and the current took them while we took on water. They’re dead in the water once our repairs are done.”
Ace’s smile faded slightly. “A scavenger ship?” he said. “There shouldn’t be any of those this close.”
“It wasn’t far from the island at all. Could have even stopped here.”
You made no mention of the potential marine intelligence on board. Pirates were drawn to potential treasure by nature, even that which didn’t glitter. And he had a ship in far better condition than yours currently.
“It’s weird because one of the other divisions found a weird ship like a week ago,” Ace said. “Close to here too but it was empty. No people or loot or anything. But it was flying a flag we hadn’t seen before.”
“This one didn’t bear any mark,” you said. “Had we not received orders to move into its path, if we’d seen it on the open waters, I would have let it past.”
“They told you to reroute for it?”
You shrugged. “It happens, at times.”
He hummed and turned toward a restaurant, pushed the door open and gave a cheerful greeting to the owner, a surly-looking man with thinning hair. His attention locked on you immediately, glare sharpening at the coat on your arm before he seemed to accept that you’d come with somebody trustworthy.
“Still weird,” he said. “Maybe they lowered their flag to try sneak past you?”
“If they did, we’ll find it when we catch up.”
“If you do find one when you grab them… any chance I could get a look at it? Pops would want to know if they’re connected.”
The owner hadn’t brought you a menu. You glanced toward him to find he was already preparing something in the kitchen. Funny. You hadn’t realised that going out for lunch with Ace meant you might have something pre-emptively ordered for you.
You could only hope it wasn’t poisoned.
“I’ll consider it,” you said, fingernails tapping against the wood of the table. “Depending on how good the food here is.”
Ace leaned back in his chair with a relaxed smile. “It’s good. How would I find you?”
“Details after the meal,” you said, amused by how eager he seemed to be.
The owner returned with both arms crowded by plates. Grilled meat still spat quietly in its own fat, surrounded by roasted vegetables, thick slices of bread and a bowl of rice large enough to feed several ordinary people. Steam carried the scents of pepper, charred herbs and something rich enough to make you realise how little you had eaten since before sunrise.
He set everything down with more force than necessary, gaze pausing on the coat folded across your lap.
“She’s good,” Ace said.
“Such a stellar recommendation,” you responded to him. “Coming from a division commander of an incredibly dangerous pirate crew.”
He grinned and the owner made a short sound that might have been a laugh. Whatever reservations he had about serving you were apparently outweighed by Ace’s two-word endorsement. You still let him dig in before you reached for anything.
It was good food. That you couldn’t deny though you ate far slower than he did, plates disappearing under his grasp.
“Is it flag-level good?” Ace asked.
You laughed. “It’s acceptable. But I have been awake since before sunrise and I slept quite poorly. My appetite may well override my judgement.”
“You like it.”
You smiled at him. “Maybe. I appreciate it not being poisoned.”
“You thought it might be?”
“I considered the possibility.”
He chuckled. “I’m not that kind of pirate.”
“I see that.”
Your acknowledgement was short but his grin softened regardless. The restaurant filled slowly around you, most of the people who entered greeted him by name. Some stopped by just long enough to ask after names you didn’t recognise and a few you did.
None of them really looked to you. You didn’t mind it. It gave you time to watch them before you tilted your head to him after a small group of women continued on their way.
“If there is a flag,” you said. “I suppose I could have a messenger bring a sketch or something similar to you.”
“You wouldn’t do it yourself?”
“I somehow don’t think I’m going to be allowed to sail aimlessly around Whitebeard’s territory looking for one of his commanders under that excuse,” you reasoned.
“You don’t know until you try.”
You took another bite, looking past him toward the harbour visible between the buildings. The masts of your ship rose proudly above the rooftops. You might be able to find a reason if you thought hard enough but there were limits to what you would do. Ignoring something was far more work than excusing it.
Ace followed your attention. “Any of your guys get hurt?”
The question surprised you enough that you paused, if briefly, before responding.
“A few. Nothing our doctors can’t handle.”
“It was a hard hit,” he said.
You nodded. “It was. When I return to headquarters, I’ll have the shipwrights patch it up properly. Even if it grounds me for a few weeks.”
“That’s going to make it hard for you to bring me the flag though.”
You laughed softly. “I suppose it might be a lesson in patience then.”
Ace’s eyes brightened. “Wait, you’re actually going to do it?”
“No.”
His expression fell and you laughed softly as he returned to his food. “You’re so awful. I’m glad you didn’t catch me.”
“You should be,” you said. “Though as I said, it might have gotten me quite the promotion. Not that I want it right now but at least I wouldn’t be sailing after random scavenger ships.”
“You wouldn’t be having lunch either.”
“I would be. Just at headquarters with far worse company.”
Outside, a bell rang from the direction of the harbour. You turned toward the sound, recognising the request for return. Were the repairs completed already? That had been considerably faster than you expected.
Maybe the shipwrights here just wanted an excuse to get marines off their island.
You stood and put down more than enough money on the table to cover the obscene amount Ace had eaten, not yet putting the coat over your shoulders.
“You’re paying?” he asked.
“Repairs are completed,” you said. “I have somewhere to be. You’re welcome to continue eating.”
But he was already standing, falling into step alongside you with an easy grin. Outside, the sun had lowered enough to cast long shadows between the buildings. You were running low on time to catch up.
“Are you still watching me?” you asked Ace curiously.
“Yup. Till you leave,” he said. “Do you want to take a different route back? This road’s got a much better view.”
You shouldn’t have considered it. Not even for a moment. And yet, your feet slowed for just a second as you thought about following him to see if his recommendation was any good even if the route was visibly longer.
Then you shook your head. “No. I’m taking a direct path.”
His disappointment was measurable but he forced a smile. “Alright. Next time.”
You didn’t plan on ever returning to this island but you inclined your head regardless. As you approached the docks, you lifted the coat and pulled it back into place over your shoulders, weight settling heavily over your arms.
Ace’s eyes followed the fabric. “That thing looks uncomfortable.”
“It’s not.”
One of your officers raised a hand when he spotted you, words already flowing before he noticed who you were accompanied by. “Sir, the repairs are complete. Supplies have been loaded and – ”
Ace stopped as the officer’s hand dropped for a weapon. The others behind him reacted an instant later, guns drawn in a sharp chorus of metal. Ace straightened beside you, earlier grin tightening into something more arrogant as they levelled barrels in his direction.
You raised a hand and the weapons lowered.
“Then we will be off,” you said. “We will not require another stop.”
“You’re leaving now?” Ace asked.
“Yes.”
He hesitated before he spoke again, a faint smile lingering that was real despite his discomfort. “Will you be coming back?”
It made you pause; question strange enough that it caused a similar reaction from your men. You would later insist it had sounded more like a warning not to make a habit of docking there, yet you heard something underneath. A nod to your earlier promise.
You should have rejected the notion entirely.
“If the need arises,” you said. “I don’t follow the rules of pirate territory.”
And instead of looking annoyed as he should have at the blatant disrespect to their claim, he grinned as though you’d offered him something far better. He stepped away, gesturing toward your ship.
“You should go,” he said. “You have limited time, right?”
“I do.” You turned to your men without looking back. “With me. I don’t want to waste another night’s worth of supplies floating here.”
Your men didn’t hesitate to fall into step, showing their concern over Fire Fist only through a few cautious glances in his direction. He really needed better self-preservation instincts. You just hoped he didn’t start taking this as a sign all rear admirals would be so accommodating.
Four days later, the owner of the restaurant looked at you with far more recognition than you preferred. Even without your coat, left aboard the small ship you had borrowed, his shoulders tightened.
You smiled as calmly as you could and placed a sketch of the flag on the counter, followed by enough beri to ensure it reached the correct hands.
“For Fire Fist,” you said.
The man looked down at the image and then back at you. He shrugged and took it, tucking it somewhere behind the counter. “You’re not welcome here.”
“I didn’t plan on lingering.”
Tag List: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow ; @aceidentallyinlove
Fire and Flame (Ace x Marine!Reader x Sabo) - Part 1
One Piece | Ace, Sabo | 3.7k | Masterlist
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When you first arrived on an island, you often found you could tell a great deal about how your job would go based on the expressions of the people at port. How they looked to the flag that snapped against your mast and the Marine symbol on your coat predicted a great deal.
Here, conversations dipped as your ship drew alongside the dock. Men loading crates slowed just enough to stare. Mothers ushered children a little closer. Those who smiled did so thinly, all politeness stretched over old resentment, and you let out a quiet sigh.
You turned your head skyward, squinting against the sun where it hung hot in the sky. “We aren’t due to start our investigation for another hour. Explore the town if you will but enjoy the break before we begin.”
“Should we really wait?” one of your men asked, his attention flicking to you. “If the Revolutionary Army are here, they might bolt when they hear about our arrival.”
They would not. But you inclined your head.
“That isn’t my problem. Perhaps the wind should have favoured us less.”
Several looked uncomfortable by the notion but you cared very little about their opinions on it. They were not all your usual men, several having been sent to you for training purposes, but if their wits had them, they would not question your decisions.
Establishing a solid presence in the town would allow less hostility from these groups. Especially if no trouble was caused.
Although, you did notice something interesting.
As you walked from the port, you saw further along the coast, where two pirate ships docked. Their flags waved in the wind; one recognisable and the other much less so.
That concerned you.
Whitebeard had a pretty strong foothold in this part of the ocean but he had yet to expand his reach to this island. Though this, at least, appeared to be a small scouting ship and it was unlikely to carry too much trouble.
Your men stopped behind you, following your gaze over the waves.
“Pirates,” you told them. “Avoid them. They are not our business.”
Hesitation flashed through a few of the younger men and you gave them a stern look before you dismissed them. You shed your coat as you made your way through the town, steps clipping gently against the ground.
Beyond the harbour, vineyards climbed the rolling hills in neat green terraces, olive trees twisting silver beneath the afternoon sun. A weathered watchtower overlooked it all from the cliffs, unmoving against the blue sky, as though even it had grown lazy beneath the heat.
You found a quaint coffee shop and bought yourself a small drink, taking a seat in the back corner of the patio to look through the vine-wrapped terraces.
The clock on the wall gave you an hour before you had to work and your coat hung loosely over the back of your chair.
But, as your unfortunate assumption proved correct, your peace couldn’t last.
A gunshot cracked across the town like split timber. Another answered it almost immediately, then three more in quick succession. An explosion rolled through the narrow streets hard enough to rattle the café windows, sending birds scattering from the rooftops. The coffee shop’s window rattled and you sighed, lowering your cup back down and standing.
You walked toward the gunfire while everyone else fled it. Panicked townsfolk streamed past in waves, shoulders colliding, baskets abandoned where they fell, children crying as parents dragged them onward. The crowd broke around you like water around stone.
The market square had become almost unrecognisable. Stalls burned where they stood, striped awnings collapsing into the flames. Smoke drifted heavily around the fountain at the square's centre, swallowing whole sections of the fight before revealing them again in flashes of steel and gunfire.
You stopped right as a spray of bullets flew past, looking around what had once been a market. Smoke and flame curled heavily across a small fountain in the center, blocking you from even seeing who was firing at who.
White coats caught your attention.
A small group of your men were crouched behind one of a cluster of scorched crates, their guns aimed toward the market stalls. You could see the crack of fire shooting back. And in amongst it all, familiar faces – identifiable through their bounties and the marks they bore.
Joyful. It would appear Whitebeard’s men were there too.
Though they had no interest in your men, their swords and guns aimed toward the other crew. Blades met beside the fountain.
One of the marines turned his gun to the swordsmen as you approached and you kicked his barrel hard, sending the shot into the ground. Their heads immediately snapped toward you.
“What are you doing?”
“Sir!”
You didn’t bother ducking behind cover as you looked down on them.
“I told you not to engage with pirates!”
“We thought they had taken a civilian hostage,” one managed to stammer out.
“Thought?” you repeated, the word alone annoying you. “Based on what?!”
No answer came.
Your jaw tightened. Before you could press forward, a blunderbuss roared from across the square and you jumped away, ducking behind a wall.
Fire erupted across the street in one sweeping wave, heat striking your face a heartbeat before the flames themselves roared past. The stone beneath them blackened instantly, smoke curling upward in shimmering sheets.
You turned your head toward the source and sighed. Perfect. Fire Fist Ace. Because you had been hoping for some low-level scouting group.
But he hadn’t aimed it at your marines. The flames cut the unfamiliar crew off from a group of civilians huddled inside one of the nearby shops.
Your men hadn’t resumed firing. They stared between you and the pirates as though waiting for somebody to form their thoughts for them.
Wonderful.
You’d somehow been assigned an entire group of school children.
“I think,” you said, very careful to phrase your words without snapping, “That you should focus your efforts on the enormous number of civilians caught up in this. I do not want collateral on this mission. I have enough paperwork with this alone.”
They startled into movement and you pulled out your snail as a tear of gunshots exploded at the wall by your side.
You were going to file so many complaints about the group you’d gotten this time. Overeager children always caused you trouble and you despised babysitting. Ideally, whatever dispute the Whitebeard Pirates had with this group would have been left to them to organise. But they had not been fighting before your arrival.
And you had an idea what caused it.
You stepped out the way of crumbling debris as flames engulfed the wall beside you, still looking over the battlefield to try and squint through it all.
“Sir!”
You turned your head toward the shout. A group of your regular squadron members had arrived, their coats barely clipped together properly.
“What?”
“Orders?”
You waved them off. “Use your heads! I don’t need to nanny you.”
A sound tipped you off and you stepped closer to one of the damaged buildings, looking behind the rubble to find a civilian woman shaking nervously. You caught her beneath the arm before she could stumble over the fallen stone, steadying her long enough for her breathing to return.
Behind her, two children huddled beneath a collapsed beam while an elderly man struggled to drag himself clear of the rubble. Your squad understood before you spoke. They spread into a rough corridor through the smoke, ushering civilians through.
Fire Fist wasn't the only one throwing flames around. You could see him holding his ground against one of the pirates while an eruption of flame grew from the smoke. It seemed the other crew were contributing to all this nonsense.
You took a step and stopped dead, hearing the sound over the shouting.
A fuse.
You covered your ears as a cannon roared from far too close. Stone exploded outward. The blast rattled your teeth. Before the cannonball could plough into the crowd, a twisting column of fire caught it mid-flight, forcing molten iron sideways into a ruined wall.
Was that one of yours?
You turned to look for the source but it was far too chaotic to make out. If you returned to your ship and found so much as one cannonball missing, you would be giving new meaning to the term disciplinary action.
Boots thundered against the cobbled streets, dozens of them, the rhythm echoing between buildings before the men themselves appeared through the smoke. You pulled out your transponder snail to talk, stomping out a flame by your foot.
“What are you lot doing?”
“Moving in to surround, sir. We’ll contain the square and prevent the danger from spreading outwards.”
Shit.
They were right to do it and you could hardly order them not to. But knowing your company, they wouldn’t easily distinguish between pirate crews. Whitebeard’s men were targets by existing and any marine would see value in bringing them in. Without considering the international incident that might follow.
And if it started because of your men, earlier than the allocated time you’d been given to conduct your operation…
“The majority are on the west side,” you said. “The guarantee of a few is far better than losing them all because of greed.”
“Sir?”
You didn’t answer. It wasn’t technically an order.
Just a very strong suggestion you knew they would follow.
Then you stepped between two abandoned carts, ducked beneath a splintered beam, and stepped over one of your men being dragged away by his fellows. He was breathing. You saw his injuries as consequence enough.
Whitebeard’s crew were smaller than the other group in number but you still didn’t risk getting too close before you raised your voice to them.
“Is this a territorial dispute?”
Fire Fist turned immediately, as did at least three of the others. They readied their weapons but you kept your hands purposefully away from your own gun.
There was a second where you waited for a response and then he grinned beneath the brim of that ridiculously bright hat, easy as could be. “That’s one way of putting it!”
“Lucky day for you then,” you said. “Retreat to the east. My men came prepared for devil fruit users.”
He looked toward the west side now where the sound of boots were louder than ever. They had taken your suggestion to heart and thus, the Whitebeard Pirates had an escape. And you avoided a potential incident with a very high stakes crew.
He nodded to you. “Fall back! Marines!”
Even as he shouted, you heard the sound of the net cannons fire. The Whitebeards fell back quickly. One by one, they broke away from the fight, retreating through the smoke and confusion as the first ranks of marines surged into the square and fell atop the others.
“They’re running for it!”
“Don’t let them – ”
A pistol cracked. Fire Fist didn’t even flinch as the bullet passed harmlessly through his shoulder in a burst of flame. He answered their shots with a sweep of fire that forced them back long enough for the last of his men to start disappearing down the street.
“I’ll catch up!” he called out for them.
You had to resist the urge to sigh. He didn’t need to cover their escape when you’d basically handed it to them.
A net was fired through the flame. It arced through the air as you drew your pistol and fired. Your shot hit the weight at the end and sent it spirally off course, crashing into the ground before it could touch him.
Fire Fist blinked at you and you holstered your pistol again.
“Do you not know the word retreat?”
“That was a good shot,” he said, ignoring your question.
He was grinning at you and you checked over your shoulder toward the smoke before you marched your way closer. He didn’t move. Not until your palm landed squarely against the almost-feverishly hot skin of his chest. He gave ground with an amused smile that suggested he could have stopped you at any point.
He took a small step back as you pushed him toward an alley, moving as slowly as he suspected he could get away with.
“Leave.”
He laughed under his breath but took a step away from you. He held his hand up to his head in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the square. Fingers hooked into the back of your shirt. Before you could protest, you were jerked a full step backwards, into the tight alley with him.
A net tore through the air where you’d been standing, iron weights clipping the corner of the wall before crashing to the ground. You looked at it for a second and then turned your head back over your shoulder.
“Am I speaking some kind of strange language to you?”
“Nope,” he said with a grin that was a little too proud of himself. “Didn’t want you to end up caught by your own men.”
“Whichever poor fool hit me with it would be cleaning barnacles off the hull until the day I retire,” you reassured. “Do you need directions to your ship or have you developed a sudden desire to see the inside of Impel Down?”
Fire Fist held up his hands in brief surrender. “Hey, you can’t blame me for being curious. You shot a net away for a pirate. Kind of feels like it goes against marine rules.”
“Not specifically,” you said. “Perhaps ideals but no rules have been broken today.”
“Hm… you sure?”
“I’m also not working currently,” you said. “And in several minutes, I will begin an investigation into potential revolutionary business on this island. I have no time for catching pirates.”
“But you just did? The other group.”
The transponder snail in your pocket rung loudly and for a second, he froze, muscles drawing tight as though the sound might change your opinion on shooting him. For all the good that would do. You tapped your finger against your lips to symbol him to be quiet.
The snail crept out your pocket and you lifted it up, tone sharp when you answered. “I suggest you make this brief. I’m in a foul mood.”
“Understandable, sir. It appears the Whitebeard Pirates have escaped. We have seven unknowns in custody currently. Should we conduct a full search of the port and surrounding areas to ensure they’re not in hiding.”
“No,” you said. “Why waste time looking when you can assure seven? You have twenty minutes before I expect you all ready to start our investigation.”
“Twenty minutes?”
“I would walk quickly.”
Fire Fist tilted his head at you and you nodded at him, receiving an acknowledgment from your men as you disconnected the line. You slipped your hand into your pocket and drew out a small treat, offering it to the snail before you returned him to his place.
“Okay now that one has to be against the rules?”
“It would be if I could see any pirates,” you said. “Suppose it’s lucky for you that there aren’t any around me.”
He chuckled. “Guess so. You hate your job or something?”
“Not in the slightest. I actually thoroughly enjoy my job and I’m damned good at it,” you assured. “But I’m not chasing bounties for the thrill. Go. If we ever meet again, then I can see if I earn myself a promotion for catching you.”
You stepped away, making for the square so you could retrace your steps to the coffee shop where you’d left your drink.
“Hypothetically,” he called after you, “Where do you usually get stationed?”
You gave a short laugh. “Absolutely not. Goodbye, Fire Fist.”
His laughter followed you as you walked back through the destroyed town, the streets quiet now that most civilians had taken shelter in their homes. He did give you an excuse, in some way, for all this carnage. At least, there was that.
Still, whichever fool had fired first, and you would find him no matter how long it took, would face the full consequences for this nonsense. You could think of several unique ideas as consequences.
The coffee shop itself looked untouched by the unexpected fight even if the streets were littered in dust and blood. But your coat did not sit untouched.
A blond man replaced it as you approached but he made no move of retreating from your table. You didn’t need a perfect memory to recognise his face. Its familiarity stemmed not from a prior meeting but from far too many discussions taken with operatives who didn’t exist to most of the world.
“I don’t keep any personal identifiers on my coat, if I can help it,” you said as you walked to the table and took a seat, sliding your drink back to you.
It was no longer warm but you took a sip from it all the same. It tasted faintly of dust and your lip curled in irritation.
Barnacles would be a mercy for whichever idiot started this.
The revolutionary’s shoulders drew tighter and you watched, carefully, in case he reached for a weapon. But right now, his hands stayed very permanently where you could see them. It was appreciated. You didn’t wish to draw your gun yet.
Then, he unexpectedly, drew out the chair across from you and sat down.
“Is this a meeting or a threat?” you asked.
“Neither,” he answered smoothly. “Just a drink.”
You inclined your head to him, looking toward the clock still ticking away inside the café. You supposed you were not technically working yet.
Reasonably, off-duty or not, you should be making a move to arrest at least one of the two high-profile criminals running around this street. But you were annoyed enough to be petty. Not only with the day’s incidents, though they didn’t help, but with being there in the first place.
“A lot of damage was caused today,” he said. “And not by pirates alone. Your men fired first.”
You hummed. “I’m well aware. Not even the best orders can quell an overeager fool but once I am working again in around ten or so minutes, I will quickly show them the repercussions of such idiocy.”
“You’re not working right now?”
“No. I’m still having my coffee break. Which is why you’re here, peacefully.”
He laced gloved fingers together in his lap. “Rather strange code of morals for a fairly high-ranking marine to have.”
You smiled. “Morals are a heavy topic for a first impression, are they not?”
“I suppose so.”
“Besides, has nobody ever told you that it’s considered rather rude to discuss work over a coffee date?”
He smiled at that, faintly but clearly caught off-guard enough to laugh at it. “Is that what this is? A date?”
“I’m hardly arresting you and it’s not a meeting,” you said. “So, I assume it’s social.”
He chuckled softly. “Not the strangest thing I’ve heard.”
He was rather handsome, you had to admit, but he dressed far too formally for walking around a seaside town even before the fighting had broken out. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had intended to blend in or not.
You removed your transponder snail from your pocket and put it on the table, offering it the biscuit that had come with your drink. It eagerly munched away.
It was looking a little sick. You couldn’t help but worry for it.
“You have unusual priorities,” he said. “I’ve been trying to understand the type of marine who rises through the ranks by pushing pirates away from arrest. Nor shoots nets from the sky before they can land.”
You scratched the snail and looked up. “I’m not here for pirates. They’re an unfortunate coincidence.”
“You’re here for us.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you haven’t reached for your cuffs nor your weapon.”
You shrugged and nodded toward the clock. “Seven minutes. Then I’m busy looking for revolutionaries. If I see signs of their presence, I file a formal report on this island and a full search is conducted at a later date.”
He hummed. “Strange thing to confess to me.”
“We won’t find anything,” you said. “You’re not based here. Only passing through.”
“You’re very sure of that.”
“I was sure of it when I informed my superiors that this was a waste of time but oh well. They’re not my resources.”
He considered that carefully before he answered. “If you see the problem in that then you surely recognise that it’s ridiculous for you to be sent to this island, not because a local pirate crew were causing trouble, but because of the potential for revolutionaries. The Whitebeards were here to actually help the people who live here.”
“I’m not in charge of the orders I’m given,” you said. “But I can choose how I follow them.”
“And the people you’ve been ordered to chase have caused the least trouble today.”
You nodded in acknowledgement. It was true enough that you couldn’t deny it. But you’d known from the beginning it would be the case.
“I’m no turncoat,” you warned. “Before you take my disappointment in my men as such.”
“I didn’t think you were,” he said. “Though I have learned more about you today than I think you realise.”
You hummed. “And yet, the only thing I know about you is still your name. This certainly is one of the worst dates I’ve been on.”
He chuckled then, a small, rich sound behind a gloved hand. “Rather unfair for you to complain. I didn’t even get a drink.”
“I suppose the tight schedule has something to do with it,” you said, looking once more toward the clock. “Unfortunately, if we meet once I’m working, I’ll make a far worse first impression. I’d advise avoiding it.”
“Would be more helpful if you could avoid that meeting too.”
You shook your head and finished your coffee. “As long as I have my orders, I’ll be trying to make it happen. Though with a face like yours, I’m sure you’re no stranger to being chased.”
Sabo smiled and stood. “I think we'll meet again,” he said. “When you have another coffee break.”
“I’ll make sure to order you a cup next time,” you promised.
I don't know if you'd be open to writing this or not. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. And please don't feel forced to write if you don't want to. It's completely fine. I understand<3
I was thinking that there are not generally really many Sabo torture fics cause he is a revolutionary and that should be very common fics surrounding someone like him but somehow, it's not.
So, for my request, I just wanted something where maybe Sabo is arrested and being interrogated, tortured and stuff, y'know? It doesn't really affect him but it starts affecting him somehow (it can be anything either mentions of his brothers or involving innocent people to get him to speak, personally I'd like the latter)
But his s/o manages to save him before he can be emotionally damaged. And after that him just cuddling his s/o cause he needs emotional recharge.
A/N: Guess who I wrote getting his ass beeeaaaat! It's Sabo. I reaally hope this is to your liking cause I did really enjoy writing it. Bloodied and beaten Sabo is very lovely after-all. I hope you can see him in your mind as you read this. I did my best to follow what you asked for! Lots of fluff in the later half of it as well! I also wonder....did you request this after I said that I write gore? If so, that's awesome. Either way though, thank you for giving me the opportunity to write Sabo getting all bloodied. I'll stop rambling, but thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy it!
I'm Really Glad You're Here
Sabo x Reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Tags: Blood (kind of descriptive throughout), violence (typical one piece violence), established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, ends with fluff.
Brief Summary: Sabo finds himself in a bit of a predicament. Captured and arrested by Marines as one of them tries to get some sort of information out of him. Whatever shall he do? If only someone came and saved the day.
ao3 link if you'd prefer
Sabo was not even entirely sure how he’d ended up in a predicament such as this. Getting spotted by Marines wasn’t ideal to begin with, getting captured was even less so. Usually this would be something he could easily get out of, one Dragon Claw and his captors would be dead. Unfortunately he was completely caught off guard this time, and the next thing he knew he was chained up in a cell.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in here, the whole time he’d been awake he hadn’t seen anyone at all. It seemed like that was about to change though, as footsteps echoed down the path to Sabo’s cell.
The footsteps came to a stop in front of his chamber and he listened as the door unlocked. Whoever it was, some Marine officer Sabo didn’t care to know the name of most likely, stood in front of him.
“The Flame Emperor, huh,” the voice spoke and Sabo rolled his eyes at the use of that title. “What a good capture,” the officer laughed.
Sabo said nothing in response to this, he really didn’t care to hear whatever cocky statement might come out of their mouth. He was more focused on figuring out how he was going to get out of this. The chains holding him were, unsurprisingly, made of Sea Prism Stone. That made things a lot more difficult. There had to be someway for him to get out of this, he just had to—
“Are you fucking stupid? I asked you a question,” the officer’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Sabo looked up at them, and it was then he realize that his neck was stiff. He wondered how long he’d even been here.
Sabo continued saying nothing, which seemed to displease the officer further. Before he could even think of opening his mouth, a punch came directly at his face. Sabo wasn’t particularly surprised nor phased by this, but almost immediately did he feel the beginnings of a nosebleed. That was annoying.
“Not surprised that that’s how you Marines do things,” Sabo scoffed. He finally spoke, and this earned him yet another fist thrown his way.
“Do you have anything else smart to say?” The officer asked, some gross smile was plastered on their face and Sabo rolled his eyes. He really would prefer to get back to what he was thinking about before. Though, the Marine took his silence as an opportunity to keep talking, much to Sabo’s dismay.
“We, I, need information out of you. It was a big task given to me, and there’s a big promotion on the line if I can get you to talk,” Sabo really did not give a shit. They could be as violent as they wished, but that would not make him speak. He hoped they’d figure that out soon enough. “No response?” their annoying voice rang in his ears once again.
“What the hell am I even supposed to say to that? I don’t care,” Sabo answered, expecting another punch thrown his way, and it came right on time. His mouth tasted of metal, and the warmth of the blood pouring out of his nostrils didn’t feel great. He coughed and he could feel the blood come up his throat as he did so. God, this was annoying.
Questions about various pieces of confidential information were asked to Sabo over and over, and each time he said absolutely nothing or made some sort of snarky reply. He was really getting used to the violence at this point, and he was more just wondering when they’d figure out this was not going to break him.
The more his mouth tasted of blood, the more he coughed it up and spat it out, the longer he’d just stay quiet. Even as the vision in his good eye began to blur, he really just wondered when they’d get bored. This was tedious and a waste of everyone’s time. The only thing he could smell at this point was the metallic scent of his own blood. He was sure he was covered in it, his nose was probably broken at this point too.
After what felt like hours, the officer seemed to finally process that this was getting either of them absolutely nowhere.
“This clearly isn’t fuckin’ working,” their grating voice spoke. If Sabo’s limbs weren’t completely chained up, this officer would’ve been long gone by now.
Sabo spat out more blood and watched as the person in front of him cracked their knuckles. Sabo almost wanted to laugh at that thought that punching him had caused them pain. Though before he could make any sort of remark, “I guess it’s time to change tactics,” their voice felt like nails on a chalkboard to his ears.
The officer sighed, “It sucks that it’s come to this, it’s real unfortunate,” Sabo rolled his eyes at this. He was sure they were going to come up with some sort of useless tactic that he would continue to sit through for what felt like forever again. The Marine’s fist clenched a little at the sight of his eye-roll, but they seemed to truly be done with the violence for now as they held back. How kind, Sabo scoffed to himself.
“If you aren’t goin’ to talk, then, well, there’s plenty of other people I can fuck with. There’s a whole village of civilians nearby after-all,” Sabo’s eyes widened a bit at this. He knew the Marines were low, they were scum, but were they implying what he thought?
“Oh? That caught your attention, Flame Emperor?” They practically spat out the title at him. “I could easily take a few of them, bring ‘em here, and tear them limb to limb in front of you! Would that make you talk?” A horrendous smile crossed the officer’s features, “As long as I get you to talk, that promotion is mine, guaranteed. I can do whatever I please,” they laughed.
“That’s really the level you’d be willing to stoop to? All for some information that you wouldn’t even know what to do with? For a promotion in a system as awful as this one? Pathetic,” Sabo spat out that last word and he could’ve sworn more blood came out of his mouth as he finished.
“I’d do anything for it,” the officer’s smile seemed to get wider. “Do you understand me? It seems like you do. If you’d rather not see innocent people get hurt, then it’d be best so speak.”
Sabo simply rolled his eyes, though, admittedly he was panicking a bit. He had to find a way out of these stupid chains and fast. This Marine officer was clearly being serious, he had to think of something, anything.
“Hm. Alright, I guess, if that’s what you really want. If you really, really want to watch those innocent people beg, and plead, as I torture them, I guess I should go get some of them,” and with that the officer made their way to the cell-door, stepped out, and locked it behind them.
Sabo opened his mouth to speak, he’d just give some sort of fake information. Some lie so they’d be satisfied, he could do that, easy. Though by the time he called out, it seemed like the officer was too far away to hear. That, or they didn’t care.
As he continued to wrack his brain for some sort of means of escape, a sound hit Sabo’s ears. It sounded like someone being knocked out, a loud “thud” hit the floor. Footsteps followed shortly after, the click of those shoes sounded oddly familiar.
“God, it’s nasty down here…” he heard the owner of the footsteps say as they got closer. He knew that voice, he knew it extremely well. His vision was still kind of blurry, but he recognized your figure in the doorway of his prison.
He had a million questions, most of them being “What are you doing here? I told you it was dangerous and to stay at the base, so what the hell are you doing here?” but he couldn’t even begin to ask them. He was just really, really, glad to see you.
“Sabo! You’re covered in blood, we need to get you out of here, like now,” you cupped his face in your hands and he cherished the sensation. “Give me a second, I’ll unlock everything,” he watched as you moved around.
“Did you knock out that officer?” He questioned, he wondered how bad he sounded. You seemed to wince a little at the state of his voice.
“Yeah, I did. You’re more than welcome to finish them off before we get out of here, if you have enough strength,” you smiled at him. He was really happy to see that smile. And something about you knocking out that stupid Marine made a sense of pride well up in his chest.
Once the chains were removed, Sabo could feel a bit of his strength start to return. He clenched and unclenched his hand at the feeling. He then looked at you, with a concerned look plastered on your face. “I’m fine,” he gave a half-hearted smile and your brows seemed to furrow further.
“You’re alive, yes. But I’d say you’re far from fine,” you sighed. “At least lean on me a little so we can get you out of here. You really need to be looked at,” you chided and he laughed a little.
“You worry too much, it’s not that bad, I’ll live,” Sabo spoke, though he was leaning on you a lot more than he’d like to admit. You started to say something, but he interrupted. “I’m…I’m glad you showed up, really,” he confessed.
You looked at him, the concern on your face twisted into slight-shock, and then you looked like you wanted to cry. “Don’t say something like that out of nowhere…I can’t handle it. I was really worried about you, Sabo.”
He lifted one of his gloved hands up to pat your head, and as always, you leaned into it. He laughed at this, yeah, he was really glad you showed up, especially when you did.
“Let’s get you to the ship okay? Then you can—“
“I have something I need to handle first,” Sabo once again interrupted you.
You rolled your eyes, “Alright, I suppose I can help you get over there so you can finish off that Marine first. Then we can go to the ship,” you sighed, though it lacked any ill-will.
“Knew you’d agree,” Sabo switched to ruffling your hair at that. It’d been a little bit since he’d gotten to crush anyone’s skulls, he smiled a little at the thought. He’d do that, and then he could go back to relishing in the fact that you were here. Maybe today wasn’t all bad after-all.
*******
Sabo had always known you worried too much, but it had been awhile since he’d seen you this concerned over him. He was, truthfully, enjoying it though. Not that he’d tell you that. The whole trip back to the base you were constantly fretting over him. He later learned that even after he eventually fell asleep in the ship’s infirmary, you did not sleep. You had stayed awake to keep an eye on him most of the return to the base.
After making it back and him heading off to talk to Dragon, Sabo had expected you to crash. Though when he returned to your shared quarters, you were wide awake and waiting for him.
“Everything go okay? He was really worried about you too,” you stood up and walked over to him as he shut the door behind him.
“Yeah, it’s fine. I got an earful from him and then Koala on the walk here. I think I’m good,” Sabo rolled his eyes and you laughed at that.
“Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?” You changed the subject.
“I should be the one asking you that. You haven’t slept since you came and got me,” he retorted.
“I’m fine! I’m not the one who lost a bunch of blood and got beaten—“
“If I say yes will you lay down?” Sabo interrupted and you seemed to pause in thought for a moment.
“Yes,” you seemed to come to a conclusion.
“Great. Then yes, I’m tired. Let’s go to sleep,” he grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you to the bed. Once he laid down, you quickly followed suit.
You then turned to face him and opened your arms, seemingly motioning for him to be held by you. It was his turn to stop and ponder, though his previous exhaustion quickly won him over and the next thing he knew, his face was pressed into your chest.
He wrapped his arms around you and felt you do the same to him, though one of your hands was petting his head instead. Sabo practically melted into your affection, he had really missed you.
You seemed to hear his thoughts, “I was really worried about you, and I missed you,” you spoke as you continued your ministrations.
“I missed you too,” he replied but his voice was muffled due to your close proximity. You laughed a little at the sound and he was glad to hear it.
Sabo really needed this, he really did. He wondered if he could get you to stay like this forever, maybe. He thought about asking, but the longer you held him the more he felt his consciousness begin to fade. Sabo supposed asking could wait until he woke up, for now, he would just enjoy this, enjoy you. He really, really was glad you were here.
Synopsis~ Sabo starts wearing an eye-patch one day. What could be the reason behind it?
Word count~ 1.8k
☆Masterlist ☆Prev ☆Dividers from @cursed-carmine
You sit across Koala talking about something. Your mind drifts to how Sabo has been wearing an eye-patch over the left side of his face covering the entirety of his scar, it bothered you a lot. You know he has been a bit insecure of his scar and him covering it up completely gives you chills and nothing about it feels right.
You thought the distance between you and him was ideal, better this way. You thought you didn't deserve to be with him anyways but not when he's looking like this, like he's suffering, like he's barely alive, like he's gonna pass out right now.
"Ne, what happened between you and Sabo?", Koala asks softly.
"I don't mean to come between you both but, it's just that it's been days", she looks at you with a concerned gaze. Her hand resting on yours softly, providing silent warmth and support.
"uhm, it's complicated and I'm not sure myself", you weren't lying, you actually didn't know why he gave you cold shoulder or why he refused to talk. But you thought it was for the better or maybe because you were useless.
"Koala, do you know why he suddenly started wearing that eye-patch?", concern evident in your voice.
He had never done this before, and you knew it was more than just a fashion statement. He clearly had something going on, however, you doubt he would talk about it to anyone.
Besides, you knew how insecure he is of his own scar which he has been hiding for the past few days now and he would rather deal with his feelings himself instead of relying on someone.
Koala shook her head in defeat, she had no idea either. After you, Koala is the closest person to Sabo. So, you figured he would share with her but it seems like you were wrong.
"I asked him but he replied 'Just because'", she shares.
You pinch your nose in dilemma, you need to know what is bothering him exactly. How could you was the question. It wasn't helping that he wasn't talking to you or maybe you should leave as it is since you wouldn't want to be a bother.
.
.
.
You knock softly on his door, "Come in", he calls out, voice muffled by the material between you and him.
You hated it, you want to hear his voice even if it's just a word. You longed for it. But the material between you and him muffled his voice. You couldn't get a good gist of it at all. It's like you'll reach it if you hold out your hand but you're too far to actually reach it.
Slowly, you enter, upon seeing it's you, he diverts his gaze from you. Refusing to utter a word. You, slowly, walk over to his desk. Standing beside him, clutching the papers in your hands.
"Here, the report. Could you go through this for mistakes?", you say softly. You look at him waiting for his reply but it never came. His expression under the shadows of his hat. He simply tapped a spot on his desk with his index finger gesturing you to keep them there.
The eye-patch on the left side of his face felt something out of place for you, you part your lips to ask but you stop yourself from doing so. He doesn't want you prying, he hates you, yes, this is how it's supposed to be.
You keep the papers on the spot, and leave silently.
—————
You come back sometime later, "Uhm, the report. Did you cross check it?", you ask hoping for a reply. Just a sound if anything.
However, he simply keeps the papers infront of you, "Are there any mistakes?", you ask hoping he would say anything, at all. He simply taps a spot on the paper with his gloved index finger.
"Mistakes are marked." was written in red. All you could do was nod, "Mhm got it", the disappointment on your face was obvious.
You wish he would just say anything, anything would be okay for you.
The ignorance hit you more than any words ever could.
His silence cut deeper than any blade ever could.
His eye-patch burned more than any fire ever could.
His avoidance hurt more than any wound ever could.
Attempting to talk to him resulted in blunder each time, you also hated how pale he looked, how he looked like he has barely slept, how he had bandages over his knuckles everyday. You had heard he'd break every mirror he came across and you didn't know why.
You wanted to ask him;
How he is doing?
What happened to him?
Why is he wearing an eye-patch?
"Sabo-", he ignores you as if you don't exist.
"Sab-", he walks past you as if you didn't just call out to him.
"Sa-", he pretends not to hear you.
"S-", he waves his hand dismissively at you.
It stings, you thought it was ideal. This was how it was supposed to be.
Then, why am I trying again? Why is it hurting so much?
"Why does it hurt so much?", you question yourself knees to your chest, sitting on the floor at a corner, back against the wall.
You didn't bother going back to your room, too tired to do so, "This is how it's supposed to be, then why?", you ask to yourself, clenching onto your sleeves as if they have wronged you, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Your face wet with tears that streams down your cheeks with seemingly no end.
Your heart aches.
Throat dry.
Thoughts overflowing your mind.
You felt as though you have been engulfed in darkness.
Too indulged in sobbing, You didn't hear footsteps approaching you until Koala stood right infront of you.
She let's out a surprised gasp, “Y/n?”, she asks.
You look up at her with tear streaked face with soft sniff.
She crouches down to your level, “What's wrong? What happened?”
You try to gather yourself up. Looking at Sabo each time gave you a feeling of alienation;
What happened to everything between you two?
Can you even go back how it was?
Will you even hear his voice again?
When you don't respond, she tries again, looking at you with concern, “Are you alright?”, she asks softly.
“K-koala..”
“Koala, I— I am dying to hear his voice”, you admit, fists clenched. “I want him to just look at me once. I— what did I do wrong?”, you ask, more to yourself than her.
“Did you try talking to him?”, she asks gently pondering on what could have been the reason behind his silence.
You nod, “He ignores me, everytime”, you reply sniffing slightly.
“I- I just want to hear his voice once again. I don't mind if he yells at me or anything. Just once more”, you say, almost pleadingly.
“Then, I have an idea!”, she says with a grin. You look at her as she spoils you with her plan.
“Sounds good but will he really say anything?”, you ask.
She nods approvingly with a wide smile, confident in her idea, “He definitely will!”
Koala offered to yell out at him, and ask him about it but you refused. You want to be the one he talks to about it. You want to hear it for yourself what you did wrong.
So, you do as she says. Slowly, making your way to his room, knocking.
“Come in”, he calls out. Your heart thumps at his voice, you haven't heard it for real in so long. So distant and far, muffled by the material between you and him. It doesn't even feel real. You wish you could get rid of this material standing between you and his voice.
A cup of coffee playing in your hand as you enter. You, slowly, make your way to him.
“Here, your coffee!”, you say as cheerfully as possible.
He looks at you, giving you a look as if burnt. His left side of face still covered with the eye-patch. It seems to burn in your heart for some reason. You didn't like it one bit.
He's so gorgeous, why is he wearing that?, you thought to yourself as you wondered.
“Koala told me to give it to you so..”, you say. He taps his index finger at a spot gesturing you to keep it there. You gulp, this is the important part!
You have to pretend to drop the coffee on his papers, according to Koala's plan.
You didn't thought the plan was amazing even in the slightest but you didn't had any other ideas, so, you decided to indulge in it anyways.
Better than nothing, right?
Nervously, you try to keep it. Before you can drop it on his desk, your hand slips and the cup drops to the floor with a clatter. Some droplets sprinkled on your feet, not enough to burn you though, you yelp immediately as the burning material drops, “Ouch”
Reflexively, and involuntarily, Sabo is already crouching down to inspect the damage for you and collect the shattered pieces.
He asks in a concerned tone, “Are you alright? Does it hurt? You should be more careful. It was hot, are y—”
He pauses.
You knew it was probably reflexive for him with how much he always protected you, how much he cared for you, how much he looked after you.
Silence.
He realizes what he just did.
He crouched down,
spoke,
worried for you.
You look down at him still crouched down, surprised, “Sabo?”
Even if it was out of habit, he spoke, to you. That was more than enough for you. Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. It feels like you haven't heard it in forever.
Realizing what he did, he just stays in that position for a while unsure what to do. “Leave!”, he orders.
You blink in surprise, he has never used that tone with you, not ever, not once. Even if you're on a mission and he's supposed to act like your superior, he wouldn't use that tone.
You swallow hard, the smile wavering, “Sabo— I, Can we—”, he cuts you off almost instantly not allowing another word out of your mouth;
“I said leave!”, he repeats. Turning away, his back facing you; the sight that tugs at your heart everytime.
The image of him, of his back, of broad shoulders as if protecting you. The images of the day he protected you flashes in your mind, then the day you and he got in an argument where everything started. The same back looked a little slopped now.
Taking a step back, blinking away your tears, “I- I'll leave”, you managed weakly.
This is how it's supposed to be and yet you couldn't handle it now that it was like this. Taking another step back, you turn and leave immediately unable to keep yourself together.
That's how it's supposed to be, right?
A/n~ I thought no one liked this series so this was sitting in my drafts for a long time. Yesterday, someone asked for part-2 so here it is 🥹.. I really love this story though.
Taglist~ @rubyys-domain
Lemme know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Thanksie for reading!
hidden pain, the absolute shame of being perceived, being seen at your worst and still being loved all through it.
౨ৎ word count: 2563
౨ৎ tags / warnings: explicit self harm, huge amounts of self hatred, suicidal thoughts, reader is an it major, very self indulgent, really fricking sad. please stay safe! do skip this if any of these topics are triggering to you. not related to my previous fanfic!
౨ৎ divider credits: @uzmacchiato
౨ৎ read it on ao3 here!
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ∘˚˳° ｡⋆୨୧ ପ꒰⑅•ᴗ•｡꒱໊੭
You stared at the blinking cursor on your screen. At the few colored words in the familiar dark green background of your Python IDE. An importation of a bunch of libraries you had no clue of what they were for. Seven lines of code. Seven simple lines that seemed to mock your entire existence. You useless abomination. Can't even finish a simple Python assignment, one that all your classmates and friends can complete while sleeping. Look at them. They're all doing it perfectly. They even got recognized by their efforts and got a programming job in the second year of college. Meanwhile you can barely start a code by yourself without checking the professor's documents. You'll never amount to anything in your miserable, pathetic life. You're a burden to everyone you know, to this university, to your friends, if they even consider you their friend. To your parents, everything they know about you is a hoax. You can't be considered anything near smart. To Sabo. Oh god, Sabo. You shut your eyes hard, as if that action could shut off all your thoughts.
You feel a familiar, sickening pressure build in your chest at the thought of being a burden to him. A hot, expanding thing made of a despair so profound it was almost physical, like the other people in the study room could see it. You looked around. Everyone was silent, focused on doing their own things in their laptops. See? Everyone else is being productive while you can't even get past seven lines of code. Seven! Useless doesn't even cut it, you're gone way past that. Fraud. Pathetic. Failure. Disappointment.
And it's not like you do anything else, either. All you do is sleep and go to class. And even then, you zone out all the time. You have no justification to feel like this. You're living a life people would commit crimes for, and yet you can't get through the bare minimum, which is to make your family and Sabo proud for once.
I am rotten, you thought, the words a familiar, sickening comfort. I am rotten on the inside, and one day, everyone will know.
You stood up, your joints aching from sitting still for so long. You needed to go home. The urge was screaming and rushing through your entire body.
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ
Finally at your apartment, your hands were violently shuddering as you got the key out of your bag, opening the front door and rapidly closing it, you rushed to the dumpster you called your room. Its windows haven't been opened for months. Your clothes and textbooks thrown around as if a tornado came into your quarters. All shelves had a fine layer of dust. The smell of humidity was a constant you were oddly familiar with. The only sign that made your room look not completely abandoned was your unmade, chaotic bed. The place where you've recently started to waste your life away, staring at the walls while letting your self hatred consume you completely in the full darkness of your room. The desperation inside you an increasing presence then and now.
Sitting on it, you covered your mouth as a choked sob escaped your lips, tears falling off your eyes like rivulets. The self disgust was overwhelming, there was no space for anything else.
Rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie, you cried even harder at the sight of your arms. Healed white scars criss-crossed the outside of your forearms, these all being over three years old, back when you swore to yourself you would never touch a blade, ever again. The rest of your arm made that statement seem like a joke. On the inside of your wrists, red and pink raised scars outshined the faded ones. They were absolutely hideous, like a testament of your weakness and your absolute failure. Your stomach turned as revulsion, hot and acidic, clawed up your throat. You were looking at the arms of a monster. A creature so fundamentally broken it had to carve its own self-hatred into its own flesh.
Your fingers, trembling once again, reached into your bag, grabbing a black sharpie. You wanted to try something out before going all in. The chemical smell of its ink overflowing throughout the stuffy room as you uncapped it, writing in harsh, huge, messy letters Fraud. Useless. Burden. Vile. Failure. Pathetic. Disgusting. Rotten.
You stared at the words. A dark and jagged branding against the soft skin of your arms. It felt right. The real you, brought to the surface of your skin for anyone to see. But your self hatred still wasn't satisfied. You could scrub it off in a few minutes, with no marks left to warn everyone of your rottenness. It felt wrong. A cowardly form of manifestation of your self loathing. It couldn't ever replace the cold honesty of a blade. So you finally reached out to it, pressing it repeatedly to the few untouched patches of your skin until it built up blood.
At last, it was able to punish yourself appropriately. The controlled sting was a close friend who brought you clarity. The deep red blood, a representation of your rotten soul. You intensely sighed while staring at your arms, as you came into the shameful realization of how broken you truly were.
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ
Locked in the wave of your self hatred, you didn't notice the many missed calls and messages from Sabo, who had heard that you hurriedly left the university without even waiting for him. "If I were you, I'd check up on her. She looked… shaken up. Sad." said a frowning Koala, who had just run up to him. Perhaps you had been a little sad lately and hadn't told him? Now that he reflected on it, you seemed quiet, quieter than usual these last few weeks. He didn't think anything of it, you would tell him if something was wrong, right? Maybe not, he worriedly thought as he looked at the many unanswered texts. Something was clearly off.
Knocking on your front door, he realized that you hadn't locked it, the key forgotten on the floor inside your apartment. You definitely weren't fine, you would never forget to lock your door. Which made all of this even weirder in his eyes, his body slowly filling with worry. The air inside your apartment felt stale. All the blinds were closed, but some light still seeped through them, as it was still daytime. He called your name. No answer. Silently walking towards your room, his eyes widened at the sight he found you in. Your puffy face and bloody arms.
Time stopped. The world narrowed to the cold feeling of the blade between your fingers and Sabo's big, bug eyes, which looked even bigger with the surprise that overflowed in them now. The silence in your room felt suffocating.
All the blood drained from your face. Your chest felt like a black hole of dread, rapidly filling up. Horror brimmed in your eyes as you tried to yank your sleeves down, pathetically failing at even that. Too late to hide now. He saw it. He's seen all of you. It's over. He will never see you the same way ever again. He won't even tell you that you both will break up, he will just shut that door so hard and so rudely before never looking at your face anymore. And you will deserve every single bit of his hate and disgust.
"What are you doing in here," you choked, your voice sounding raw from all the crying. "How did you get here. Get the fuck out, Sabo!" Every second of his silence felt like a knife that somehow went even deeper than any of your blades and hurt so, so much more.
He didn't move. Sabo stood frozen in the doorway, his face draining of color as he took in your state. You looked so sad. So broken. So terrified. The light in his eyes went away, replaced by a realization so devastating and so incredibly full of pain. Pain that you caused him. He slowly got closer to your bed. You violently flinched, "Don't look at me. Please. Look away."
Sabo couldn't stop looking. He couldn't take his eyes off the evidence of your self hatred, all carved and written on your own flesh. Focusing on the words you wrote, tears spilled down his face.
"Why? Why would you do th-" he started, choking on his own words. "How long has this been going on?"
You started shaking your head nonstop, while tears continued to come down, hot and ugly. Your whole body was shaking. "I don't- I can't-"
"How long?"
"Since middle school." The words came out in a rush, as if you couldn't keep them inside for any longer. "It got worse during high school. And then I stopped after I graduated. 'Cause everything was fine for a while. But then reality started crashing down on me. It got so much worse. I thought I had everything under control but I actually don't! I'm such a failure, I can't even write a fucking line of code! But I have always known about it all along. It's always been engraved inside of me. That I'm useless, a waste of space, that the time I was actually clean was just me living on borrowed tim-"
He pulled you into his arms before you could finish. He couldn't keep hearing you talk about yourself like this any longer. You fought him, weakly, but he didn't let go, only hugging you tighter, as if you would disappear if he let go. He held you against his chest and let you sob into his shoulder, your tears soaking through his shirt, your hands gripping the back of it like it was the only solid thing in a world that had entirely turned to water.
"I'm sorry," you kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to see me like this. I'm so sorry-"
"Stop apologizing."
"You don't get it. I'm rotten. I'm rotten on the inside, Sabo. My scars are just- they're just an extension of what my inside- my soul looks like. But what's inside is so much worse. I'm so ugly. I'm so disgusting. I hate myself so much it feels like I'm genuinely choking on my self hate. It's all I can feel. I'm a collection of failures wrapped in rotting, ugly skin. This is the only way I can redeem myself. I only go to college and sleep, nothing else. And I'm failing at even that. I hate my major. I hate everything about computers. I hate coding. Everything about it is just like some sort of extinct language. Nothing makes fucking sense. I'm horrible at it. I can't do anything right. But I love you Sabo. I love you so, so much. I never meant for you to find out about this. I'm so deeply sorry that you found out about this."
He held you impossibly tighter at your confession. His own face was fully wet now. His shoulders were shaking. "You're not rotten. You're not disgusting. You're not any of the things you say you are or write. You need help. And I'm so, so sorry I didn't see it sooner."
"You can't help me. No one can. I'm way too far gone for any of that."
"Watch me. I'll prove you wrong."
ᅠᅠᅠᅠ
Sabo cleaned your cuts with nervous, but steady hands, sitting on your bed using the first aid kit you hid under your bed, fully stocked. Because of course it was frequently restocked, because you had been managing this huge secret by yourself for years. Because of course you had learned how to care and bandage your wounds, so you wouldn't burden anyone with infections or bloodstains.
You sat silent and hollow eyed, staring at him without blinking, you feared that if you did, even for just a fraction of a second, you'd miss any hatred or disgust in his eyes. There was none. Only a raw, deep sadness mixed with grief. Grief for not knowing about any of this until now. Grief from all the pain and suffering you went through during all these lonely years. Grief from all the times you smiled and laughed loudly with him while hiding deep scars and hurt. You flinched at his work with saline, but you didn't pull away.
When you thought he was done, he produced a soft cloth and erased the words written on your skin, one by one, with a touch so impossibly gentle, as if you were made of porcelain, his eyes tearing up again at the process as he read all of them again. Then, he wrapped your arms in clean bandages, just tight enough to protect your cuts from the outside world, rolling down your sleeves and holding his hands firmly in yours. With a determined look, he started, with a shaky breath.
"You're my entire world. Do you understand that? This isn't a burden you're putting on me. You're not a burden. I can't ever imagine my life without you." He stops to catch his breath, tracing gentle circles over your knuckles with his thumb.
"But it hurts me deeply that you hate yourself this badly. 'Cause I know you don't deserve to bear it. I can't ever lose you to yourself, to your own mind. You're everything to me." Locking his eyes with yours, he continued.
"I love you so much. This–your scars, your self hate–changes nothing between us. Okay? Those things would never make me love you any less. The only thing that changes between us is that I'm going to be here, every day, reminding you that you are more than your pain. More than your scars. That you deserve to feel the love people feel for you. That you deserve to feel enough. For yourself. I see you. The you buried under all this hurt. And I'll always be here for you. On the good days, the bad days, the worse days, especially the days you can't find a single reason to stay. I'll be your reason until you can find your own. You're not alone in this. Not anymore and never again." He gently lifts your wrist and presses his lips softly to the covered bandages, as if he could kiss the hurt away.
You completely broke. Your face crumbled as you leaned into him, sobbing into his chest, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and the other at the small of your back. Holding you tight, his warmth surrounded you like a promise. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, a gesture so tender it made your heart crack open.
"You're going to be okay," he murmurs. "I'll help you find a major that doesn't make you want to carve the word 'useless' into your arm. I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be by your side, in whatever you choose to do."
You cried for a long time after that. But for the first time in years, your tears felt less like drowning and more like a release. And through all of it, Sabo held you, a steady, unwavering presence in the dark, promising a dawn you're not quite ready to believe in, but are tentatively willing to wait for.
