#sabo x reader

[nicorobin6]

Quick little sketch for our beloved revolutionary boy ♪(๑ᴖ◡ᴖ๑)♪

[dawnsarchive]

Fire and Flame (Ace x Marine!Reader x Sabo) - Part 1

One Piece | Ace, Sabo | 3.7k | Masterlist

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.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow

[fluttering-alone]

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.

[chocolateshortcakesblog]

Beneath the covers

Part-2

Pairings~ Sabo x fem!reader (ft. Koala)

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!

[soclosetovvhat]

i'm so gone, and you have no idea

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.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

[vinnysberry]

js saw a sad edit w sabo. js got a new one shot idea 😋😋

[namism]

accomplices (2) | sabo

➳ categories: canonverse, female afab reader, pre-dressrosa arc ➳ warnings: nsfw (making out, oral, penetration) ➳ word count: 5.2k

➳ summary: You make it out of your kingdom in exchange for an alliance with the Revolutionary Army. As the head of the local guerrilla, you don't contest to the proposition when the army's Chief-of-Staff has his eyes on you.

➳ PART ONE | PART TWO ➳ cross-posted on ao3

The Revolutionaries sail on a fleet of ships. Sabo tells you upon boarding that they do this to accommodate their recruits, one of which happens to be you on this fateful day.

The aftermath of your mischievous fake-pretend plan wasn't pleasant, but save for a couple of bruises and a nasty cut on your upper lip, you made it out alive. That seems to be enough for your comrades who perk up in relief upon seeing you dallying on the upper deck of the Wind Granma, and for a brief moment, you wish you're back home with them.

A silent dinner is followed by an executive meeting between factions, which ends shortly after you agree to assimilate your corps into the army. You wonder how Sabo manages to do it at the young age of 22, but you find yourself suppressing the thought of him inside your head—there's no time to think of that now. No time to think of him.

By midnight, you're led to a private bunker in the lower deck where a single bed awaits you, and just like that, the night passes by. You don't wake until the following afternoon, having welcomed it unpleasantly as a ruckus erupts outside your door.

"Are you a damn child, Sabo? Didn't you see the puddle of spillage on the floor?!"

"I know, I know, I saw it—"

"No, you didn't! That's why you slipped!"

You peek past your door to find a pitiful Sabo on the ground. As he stands, he's completely soaked.

Then two pairs of eyes land on you. Koala, a ginger in her 20s, offers a brief wave before bending down to pick up Sabo's hat. She's gone shortly afterward, deciding to leave the man in the mess he started. But he doesn't care, because his eyes are now on you like some starstruck man.

He clears his throat. "Hey—"

You shut the door.

And Sabo just stands there, confused, drenched, and alone, wondering what to do.

By the time your empty stomach forces you to leave your bunker, the sun has set below the horizon and torches have been lit around the ship. You find a quiet place somewhere after peak hours and you're left alone with your thoughts.

There isn't much explanation for your withdrawn attitude except for the fact that you're recovering from trauma. You infiltrated enemy territory. You got caught sneaking around. You made out with the Revs' Chief-of-Staff, and you kicked enemy asses but it was too dangerous to stay in your kingdom. So now you're sailing with the Revolutionary Army, whom you'll be spending the rest of your life with.

Everything happened so fast that you're simply dazed. Even more so because Sabo seems to eye you with want in the past 24 hours you've been on the ship. You're not a fool; you know you left a good impression during your first encounter. And in all honesty, you're guilty for not knowing how to respond.

It's not like you don't want him just the same. It's just that, for someone who will never return home, you have more concerns to think about.

But maybe it's time to find a distraction, something to clear your head.

"Your soup is getting cold."

Speak of the devil.

"You don't say."

"The chef always knows best." Sabo leans on the taffrail, his back facing away from the sea. The cool breeze makes a mess of his blond hair as it travels southwest, and that's when you notice the extent of his scar. "I doubt you'd know more than the guy who made it."

"You made this?"

"Yeah." He looks down at your half-eaten bowl. "Is it bad?"

You shrug. His jaw drops open.

"No, you must be joking. I poured my heart and soul into that soup."

You smile. "That would explain the taste. Nobody wants to eat human heart."

He scoffs. "Dark."

You look into the sea, then up toward the sky. The moon is gone. Nothing but the warm fire of the torches light up the night. It's just you, Sabo, and the rest of the Army in the cold, dark sea, and suddenly, your world is hauntingly small, like it's slipping away from your hands as you sail far, far away from home.

You need a distraction. You really do.

"I'm grateful," you croak. "Thank you."

Sabo cocks his head to the side as he watches you eat, finding entertainment in the way you pucker your lips before blowing on a spoonful of his signature soup. He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking to himself.

It's a shame you met like this. You're the perfect woman in his eyes. Beyond your trained kisses and experienced hands, you lead your army with confidence and wisdom, quirks he admire as a young leader himself. But your first encounter wasn't ideal, and it's a huge let down because you're both grieving the aftermath of it.

Sabo lost some of his comrades. You lost your home. Lustful thoughts should be the last thing he's thinking of, but sadness awakens his desire to be held and touched with the same hurried hands that aroused him when he was at death's door.

It's a very vulnerable time, yet he's in the mood to let his feelings out.

"So," he starts. He shifts in his laid-back position, arms now crossed over his chest.

You remain quiet. His hands fidget beside him, and he can't stay still. What Sabo wants is overwhelmingly obvious, but you wait for his invitation.

Then he asks, "You in the mood?"

You drink the last of your soup and down a cup of water.

"Depends."

He nods. "On what?"

"If you're willing to kiss my savory corn breath."

"Like I haven't tasted my own cooking before."

You stow away the bowl by the foot of the rail and look at him encouragingly. Sabo stares back with the same desire, like he's thinking of how to kiss you and how to boldly take you to his room.

Warmth pools at the pit of your stomach, and suddenly, you remember how badly he wanted you when you first kissed.

You started it, but you charmed him. Then he fell for you and decided he wanted more. He had placed his hands on your waist and traced your figure up to your corset, but he stopped himself from straying further, knowing it could cost you your lives had he lost focus.

It's all coming back to you.

Sabo stands tall in an attempt to gather his courage. The opportunity is on the table—he just needs to grab it.

"The more I look at you, the more I want to fuck you."

There it goes.

Your eyes flicker to his lips.

"Then what's the hold up?"

Without warning, Sabo catches your lip in between his and sighs at the memory of them. There's no need to rush now, no ticking time bomb telling him that you're a few seconds away from getting caught by your enemies. But he's starved of your touch and he simply can't handle himself, so he's erratic as your lips brush clumsily, his actions fueled by lust and an unfulfilled hunger.

The wind blows your top and exposes some skin. He satisfies himself by touching you all over the place, dragging his fingers across your back. Then he holds your blown top up with his hands and fondles with the underwire of your bra, lifting it eventually to feel your breasts. You gasp.

"Too fast?" he asks.

"Yeah, but . . . " You look down at his pants, then up again at his chest. You haven't touched him one bit, but your legs squeeze themselves close at your vivid imagination, the rush of dirty thoughts turning you on. There's no reason to slow down now. Sabo's cheeks are hot, his breathing irregular. You're as needy as he is.

He probes your chest again and kneads your breast slowly. You sighed.

"You're into that?" he repeats, this time glossing over your nipple.

"Yeah," you moan, "fuck, Sabo. Just kiss me."

Sabo does as told and initiates another kiss, smiling through it as your hands claw at his vest. He hikes up your bra and plays with your erect nipples, rubbing against them in between his fingers. Then his other hand slips into your pants, finds the hem of your underwear, and tugs lightly.

His lips travel to your neck. Your hands, frail as ever, unbutton his vest and pop open the top buttons of his dress shirt. They move down his body until you're pulling down his pants and feeling him through the material, touching him to arousal.

Your hand traces his dick, and you feel his hardness rub onto you as he thrusts his hips gently. Groaning lowly, he flushes his body against yours to feel you even closer. Should he think too hard, he'll come without fucking you, and that's the last thing he wants to happen.

"I'll end up fucking you here if you keep doing that," he whispers breathily.

"I kinda need it . . . as a distraction," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He nibbles at your neck. "To clear your pretty head?'

With both hands on his shoulders, you steady yourself. "I need to get over stuff."

"Good thing I'm here." He kisses the small bruise on your collarbone. "I'll make you forget."

He pushes you against the rail and forces a leg in between you. He looks down at your tits and swoops down to suck on them, then lets his hands play with your panties again.

"Spread your legs just a bit."

Weakly, your legs give way for his knee to slip in between them and for his thigh to press against your cunt. A sigh escapes your lips as you grind down on his leg. Embracing you tightly, Sabo matches your rhythm by rocking his thigh forward until you're squirming mindlessly in front of him.

Then the kitchen doors fly open, and Koala sticks her head past them. She spots Sabo's silhouette as far as her vision allows. "Are you going to keep the kitchen waiting for your dishes, or will you clean everything?" she yells across the ship. "Just so you know, the dishes don't wash themselves!"

Sabo cusses, then quickly spins on his heel to hide you behind him. You fix your bra and bring your top back down.

He clears his throat. "In a minute!"

"Okay, but you better be here in five because it's getting late!" Koala yells back before retreating into the kitchen.

As soon as she's gone, your hands cross over your chest.

"Your girlfriend?"

Sabo rolls his eyes. "Don't have one."

"Kind of felt like I was interrupting something when you made noise the other day." Still suspicious, you narrow your eyes at him. Sabo shakes his head. "You know, when she yelled at you outside my door?"

The man scoffs. The other day, when he slipped on Koala's warm bath water, he did make a scene. But that was just another one of his dumb antics as a clumsy nut, and Koala happened to be his victim. He didn't mean for it to happen outside your room.

"How do I prove to you that we're not together?" asks Sabo.

You shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe start taking me to bed?"

Nodding, he bites down on his lip.

"That should be easy."

Sabo has a private room somewhere on the Wind Granma, a quaint but lived space that feels just like him. He takes you there in a hurry, making sure to avoid your people on the way, and right as you enter the room, he slides your top down to your waist and attacks your chest.

"Fuck," you moan.

"Take your pants off," he orders. He cages you in between his arms with your back to the door. You unbutton your pants before his hands take authority again to force your clothes off you. Left in just your underwear, you shiver upon contact with his bare hands.

"Not fair," you complain as he stops you from touching his dick, now forming a bigger bulge in his pants. Sabo chuckles to himself and kisses you deeply, his hand caressing your cheek.

"On the bed. I'll eat you out."

With eyes glossed over, you hastily walk over to the bed and lie down on your back. Sabo situates himself in between your legs again, this time with your pussy spread open for him. He laces his fingers with your underwear, pulls it to the side, and rubs your folds delicately.

Sucking on his two fingers, he coats them quickly with spit and brings them to your pussy. He smears your wetness all over the place, rubbing your clit in the process. He wishes it were his dick, but Sabo holds himself back until he's tasted you, making sure that you're ready to take him before then.

He slides two wet fingers inside you, and you tense. "Ugh." A groan sounds from the back of your throat, and you can't finish your words. "Sabo, that's so . . . "

"What?" he asks, concerned. "First time?"

"No"—you shake your head—"it's just . . . it's been a while."

"I'll make it good for you," he says. "I'll take it easy."

You nod. "Please do."

It's considerate of him. Sabo has been dominant until this point, so you didn't expect him to be so compliant. He sticks to his word by being gentle with his fingers until he sees that you're comfortable enough to take more. Eventually, he fucks them into your pussy even harder at a faster pace, only stopping every so often to push you further to the edge.

He adds a third finger when you're close, watching your face contort into pleasure, and even more when you come undone in his hand. Sabo spreads your wetness again, then presses his tongue to your cunt when you least expect it.

"Fuuuck," you cry out. He laps the cum off your pussy until you're tugging at his hair. It's too much, you think, but it feels so good since you haven't felt this euphoria in a long time, and Sabo makes it even better by being so skilled. He has an irresistible appeal to him, too. "Are you— ugh, are you experienced?"

He looks up from your cunt, your release dripping excessively from his chin. "Why? You think I am?"

"How many women?" you ask without really thinking. You're not here to pry, but you do want to know. Under that charming smile and handsome face is a freak who knows how to finger pussy. And by the way he slides his tongue past your folds, he must be experienced.

"What's it to you?" he asks back, kissing your inner thighs with wet lips.

"You fuck well," you say truthfully.

"You have yet to experience the full ride," he teases. He brings himself to his knees and guides you up. "You ready to take me?"

Your pussy stirs with want. You miss his lips, his tongue. But you glance down at his pants and, god, you'd rather have him inside you than anything else right now. "Fuck yes."

Sabo falls to the space next to you and removes his clothes, leaving his pants last so you can help tug them down. You crawl toward him and straddle his waist, then let his cock spring free as you strip him down. As expected, he's above average with a decent girth. His head is flushed, his shaft firm. He's perfect for you, just the right size that you can take. Delicious.

He grips your hips and steers you forward so you're lying on top of him. With one hand, he guides himself to your pussy and slides in slowly. He allows you to get accustomed before moving on his own accord and thrusting himself upward.

You let Sabo take control while you relax into him, making sounds in his ear that seem to turn him on. The more he thrusts, the louder you get. He doesn't stop even when you feel the first wave of pleasure spreading under your skin, which you try your hardest to contain as he drives himself into you. But your orgasm drips down his cock in a messy cascade, and you realize how silly it is to think that you could keep yourself from releasing so easily.

Sabo doesn't mind it though. He maintains his pace even when you're creaming on his cock, the sound of smacking flesh a cadenced noise that fills the room. His moans blend into the mix as you bite down on the skin by his throat. He's hypnotized and sensitive, and it gets too much for him that his thrusts slow down, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

At that moment, you swipe the chance to move your hips to the rhythm, and when he stops fully, you're in control. You roll your hips and grind against him repeatedly until you're snapping yourself back down on his cock. Then you balance yourself on two feet and set a maintainable pace. Sabo lets you do what you want; he doesn't really mind you bobbing up and down on him as long as you allow his hands to feel your ass, and when he sees you enjoying yourself too much, he decides to tease you with his fingers again. His hand flies to your clit as you briefly pause to circle your hips.

"Oh," you gasp. "Ohhh, shit, Sabo . . . no . . . "

He smiles in satisfaction. He relishes your reaction too much to stop. "Yeah? Feels good?"

You're panting in shock, aroused, as he continues to pleasure you. You're barely verbal at this point. The desire to finish is close. You're afraid to do anything else in fear of breaking the tension. Sabo notices immediately and flicks his fingers with haste, locking eyes with your glazed ones before they look down again to watch your pussy unfold. Then he decides, fuck it, and pushes himself into you again, this time controlling the pace that you thought you owned.

You let Sabo pound you from underneath as you lay on his chest in defeat. You take every inch of him, submitting to his power while you hold back the pleasure. When he trembles, he holds your ass so firmly he could burst. "Shit, shit," he pants. "Shit, baby. You're insane. Driving me so crazy."

"Uh-huh," you whine. "Give it to me . . . please. Please."

Sabo stays on beat while you concentrate, building up pressure until your body gives out. When you let go, your legs quiver before falling limp on either side of him. He groans and strokes your side in support, but he doesn't stop the movement of his hips. He brings himself closer to the edge, closer and even closer, until it's too dangerous to keep going.

At that instant, he orders, "Get on your stomach, baby. Get on it." In shock, you follow, then lay your stomach on his pillow while he takes charge from behind.

Sabo slips himself right back inside your pussy and fucks you to his heart's content. He starts decently slow before quickening later on, with every buck of his hips exciting delight. Your hands fist the pillow the longer he lasts, and the blanket under you saturates with sweat. He's less collected now, his head hanging close to your cheek. His breathing is heavier than before, and his moans are spilling all over the place. His arms, looped around yours for stability, tense with every jolt. He's refusing to cum so early when it's his first chance to prove to you what he's got, so until he shows you that this is worth it—staying with the army and being with him—he's not going to stop.

Sabo is pressed against your back by the time he's growling in your ear. He's hungry for release, so much so that he pulls your panties vigorously that you're sure it'll break. Some strokes later, he slides out of you before spilling on your back.

He pumps his cock in desperation, milking every last drop of seed with his jaw slacked open. Drained, sweaty, and flushed red, he's very much beat. But he leans forward to catch your lips, breathing sharply through his nostrils.

You tilt your head backward as he comes close. It's a deep, sweet kiss, something borderline comforting and lustrous. Then you feel his cock resting behind you, and your tongue itches for more.

Leaning back a few centimeters, you whisper, "Let me suck you off. Please."

Sabo looks down at you, bangs obstructing his vision, but you sound so needy that he doesn't even have to see you to know that you're begging sincerely. "You want it?" A desperate nod. "Alright. Kneel."

You rush down the bed while Sabo repositions himself at the edge of it, legs spreading lazily. You kiss around his shaft a few times before taking him in your mouth. He's still hard, and his tip is red. The only difference now is that he's wet with your essence and drool. A messy situation, it's intense and vulgar—even more than your past encounters, which aren't many—but Sabo makes it enjoyable. He knows what he likes, and he listens to what you want. He gives, and you take. And when he likes it a certain way, you give it to him that way. It's a constant give-and-take between you in equal measure, and right now, he's giving himself raw for you to devour, to enjoy, much to your excitement.

His back hits the bed the first time you take all of him, and his arms splay out and graze the sheets. He's too tired for anything, his mind a blank space. The only thing he's perceptive of is the way you blow him clean, and from that alone, he's certain that you've done this before. Your lips part around his cock when you tease his tip, almost puckering them to create some suction. It's only when you've run your tongue up and down his shaft a couple times do you use your hands and lips together to build tension. Sabo would've lost it if he hadn't stopped you, but your snarky little smile tells him that it won't be the last time you'll pull it off.

So he watches, now on his elbows, as you let your tongue run wild, hands-free. But you're back to kissing his shaft when he notices your way of doing things. From hollowing your cheeks to swallowing him whole, you're deliberate with every gesture. You're bold, confident, and purposeful. It's no question that you led a rebel faction before meeting him. With the curse of leadership, Sabo understands having to call instant decisions that can make or break long-term plans, from which one learns to be decisive. And you, the army's newest recruit, are one decisive woman.

He can't forget your display of bravery back then. A bold, lustful move in front of your enemies, something Sabo had only read in fiction. You were direct and intentional, and it was exactly to his liking. For all the time he has spent ordering people, it felt good to be at the receiving end for once. And your deliberateness thrilled him.

So he loosens up for you while you suck him dry. He trusts your decision to control, even when you're using your hands again, even when you're sucking him off messily. Your head bobs up and down as spilled pre-cum runs down his cock. You clean it with a swipe of your tongue, only to make a mess again as you reach his tip, spewing cum and drool from your lips. Sabo is breathless as you repeat it over and over again, each time making an even bigger mess, and it's so sloppy that he has to keep himself from finishing too fast again.

"Baby, baby— you're so good at that." You look up at him. His chest is flushed; his cheeks are hot. He's out of breath. "You suck me off so good, baby. You learned that from somewhere?"

"I racked up experience," you answer, stroking him up and down slower. His eyes squeeze shut. "Just like you."

"You do it better."

"Mmmh, I'd argue the opposite." You remember how he ate you out just a while ago. That was the work of a skilled man, something that nobody could simply replicate. It excites you just thinking about it. "But if you insist . . . "

Your lips find him again, and Sabo's eyes shoot open. You maintain eye contact as your head bounces up and down, throating him deeper and deeper as you moan eagerly. Sabo stills you as he hits the back of your throat, then gently rolls his hips to fuck himself to release. But when he feels it coming, he slides out of your mouth quickly and pulls you back to the bed.

"Get up," he commands, "I'm going to fuck you."

You giggle, following his orders. "You don't want to cum just yet?"

"Not until I have this pussy again." He puts you on your back and spreads your legs himself. You're still wet, your own orgasm glistening on your inner thighs. He plays with your folds and groans at the way you open just for him, then teases you with a finger.

"Ugh, Sabo," you whine, "again?"

"I'm thinking about it." He slides his finger deeper, creating a pace you seem to like. But he imagines you taking cock again, his cock, so he pumps himself impatiently until he can't keep up with his wild thoughts.

Sabo guides himself toward you and sinks in without problem. Leaning forward, he places both arms on either side of you and rocks his dick into your pussy, so wet and so good for him, with familiarity. You moan to his rhythm, your hands roaming through his body and not knowing where to place them. Soon you tug at his hair, swiping his bangs away to see his drunken eyes, and you swear they're almost carnal with the way he holds such a lewd stare, like he wants to gobble you up alive.

Your hands glide down his face, ignoring the dripping sweat on his hot cheeks, before you brush your fingers across his parted lips. Then you wrap your hands around his neck and bring his head down for a kiss. You start rutting your hips back and forth in a desire for more until it's impossible to breathe.

As you break the kiss, Sabo pins your hands down on the mattress and quickens his pace. Your name escapes his lips as he fucks you, groaning every time he accidentally slips out. But he keeps going, possessed in a trance that he can't seem to snap out of.

You look down at your legs to watch where you and him connect. Your panties are in total ruin, but it's such a hot sight that you feel yourself aiming to finish yet again.

"Fuck, Sabo . . . " you beg. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes—"

"You hear that, baby?" Sabo pipes down as the sound of your wet pussy echoes in the room. "I know you love it; I know you love this cock—"

"You're so good."

"Show me how good I am by cumming on me," he instructs. His hand flies down to your tits, holding onto them tightly. "Show me how you—"

Someone knocks on the door.

"Shit."

Your head snaps to the other side of the room.

"W-who's outside?" you ask.

Sabo grunts. He's worried, but his thrusts don't stop. "Don't know, but keep it down."

"I-I can't—"

"Kiss me if you can't," he orders, eyes going dark. With a hand on your cheek, he guides your face to look back at him. "Kiss."

You bring your face closer to his, and Sabo mutes your sounds by kissing you. He leaves you with no room to breathe as he focuses on fucking you simultaneously. The knocking dies down before starting again, this time more hesitant for reasons unknown. But it only brings you and him closer in an attempt to quiet down without stopping.

It's annoying at first with your moans withheld, but Sabo kisses you with such intensity that you relax back into the bed and forget the interruption. Soon enough, his hips begin to stutter while your legs writhe under him. You're reaching your climax when he can't hold it any longer, and he whispers hurriedly, "Where do you want me?"

"On my tongue, please, on my tongue," you beg. Sabo scurries off the bed while you follow him to the edge. Pumping himself, he brings his tip to your mouth and releases. He shoots his cum on your tongue, then down your throat as you take him in. As he does, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, gripping your shoulder in a struggle to keep quiet.

You swallow all of him, and you suck him softly as his breathing slows down. The interruption at his door is gone. At last, you're alone together again.

Sabo steps away from you. He runs his hands through his hair as he collects himself. Your legs twitch and your arms begin to ache, but you welcome the exhaustion regardless.

"Almost thought we were going to get caught," says Sabo. He glances at the door.

"Do you think they heard us?" comes your question. It's laced with worry, Sabo notices, but he dispels it quickly.

"I'd say you did a good job at keeping quiet." He sits beside you and pats his leg invitingly. You rest your head on his limb. "You're off the radar since it's my room. They'd be more suspicious of me."

You hum. Tapping your fingers on his leg, you chuckle. "I think it's quite the story."

"Sorry?"

"Considering that we met because those bastards cornered us in the first place . . . it's silly, somewhat, that we didn't want to get caught this time around."

"I prefer that my colleagues not see me butt-naked in bed," he jokes.

"And your enemies?"

"I'll burn the image of my ass in their heads. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

You roll your eyes. "That's one way to go about it. I'm sure they'll like what they see."

"Oh yeah?" Sabo sweeps back your hair. A smile forms on your lips. "You should clean up. The baths are to the left of your room, but I can show you the way."

"I do know the way," you tell him. You had gone there yesterday for a quick bath. "Unless . . . unless you would like to join?"

Sabo chuckles. "You're okay with that?"

"I would be lonely all alone," you say, "and it's my second day on the ship. Don't I deserve a better tour?"

He shakes his head. "That 'tour' you speak of can go so many different ways."

"Like what?"

"Well"—he breathes in—"it could go smoothly with no hiccups. Then it could also not, depending on the turn of events at the showers."

You smirk. "That sounds . . . "

"Exciting?"

"Mysterious."

"Then you'll have to figure it out yourself. Come with me?"

Sabo offers his hand, and you take it. A few minutes later, you're dressing yourselves before sneaking past the doors and inside the communal showers, only to undress yourselves all over again under the spray of the water.

-

this series was originally planned as a three-parter with plot, but my dumbass didn't write down the prompt 10 months ago... so here we are. part 3 was supposed to be set after sabo became a df user in dressrosa, but it won't come unless i remember the og plan (i most likely won't). if you have any ideas (requests for what you'd like to read plot-wise and in smut), my comments are open to suggestions

on another note, i'm also open to feedback. any notes on improvement will be well-received (but pls be polite, otherwise i might think you're a bot LOL). smut is uncharted territory for me as i don't write it often, so at one point i doubted the dialogue. it highkey sounded too modern but you can be the judge of that. please comment your thoughts!!

[namism]

Helloo<3

Are the next parts of accomplice ever coming out?

No pressure! Just wondering-

i tried not to answer this until i've written most of it, but part 2 will come out tomorrow! i have yet to write the conclusion but it shouldn't take too long