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arlecchinoftl · 4 months ago

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Almost Enough (Part II)

Pairing: Sabo x Strawhat Reader

Click here for the Part I

You swore you were done with him. But fate doesn’t let go so easily. When you see Sabo again during Dressrosa, everything floods back—every scar, every silence, every heartbeat you tried to forget. Even after the pain, you can’t look away. And when war strikes again at the Reverie, you’re the one who finds him broken and bleeding, just like you were once.

Word Count: ~6,000 words

tags: hurt/comfort, yearning, after timeskip/back to strawhats, let’s pretend dressrosa happened long after lol

my masterlist here ♡

——

a/n: thank you @arlecchinoftl for requesting to add the “call me joe, call me will” scene from the series “The Capture” hope u like it (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

——

It started with a feeling.

You’d grown used to danger—the prickling sense of eyes on your back, the chill that whispered before ambush. But this was different. Softer. Familiar. Like a ghost pressing a palm to your spine, not to hurt, but to remember.

You were in a quiet port town on a supply run, the crew scattered through market stalls and dockside taverns. The sun beat down on cobblestones as you moved through the crowd, a basket tucked in your arm, your eyes alert—half for threats, half for something else.

Something you couldn’t name.

You paused at a flower vendor, pretending to examine the petals. But your gaze drifted—down an alley, across a rooftop, toward a figure that wasn’t there.

Or so you thought.

“Something wrong?” Nami asked beside you.

You shook your head, frowning. “Just… thought I saw someone.”

But no one stood where you’d looked.

Still, the feeling lingered. Like you’d been inches from a memory.

What you didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that just beyond the sunlit square, in the narrow space between two worn buildings, someone was watching.

Sabo stood in the shadow of a balcony, cloak drawn tight, hat tilted low. His hand slipped into his pocket, brushing the edge of a folded vivre card—the one he made for you, back when being by your side still felt like a promise, not a memory. He’d made it so he could find you in case of danger, if the world ever turned cruel. He never thought that this was the way he would use it—just to follow you from afar, unseen, and remind himself of the person he once had.

You laughed softly at something Luffy shouted in the distance, and the sound hit him like a wave.

He closed his eyes.

He didn’t deserve to hear that laugh again. But he needed it. Needed you.

Just to see you, even once, like this—alive, unbroken, radiant in a way the world hadn’t managed to dim.

His heart ached.

He couldn’t stay. Couldn’t risk being seen. He’d promised himself this wasn’t about longing.

But he didn’t move.

And then, for the briefest moment, you turned. Looked directly at the alley.

His breath caught.

But you only blinked, frowning slightly—then looked away.

He let the air out of his lungs. Leaned back against the wall.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should’ve left an hour ago.

But he couldn’t stop watching.

Couldn’t stop loving you from a distance he forced between you both.

You shook your head and turned back to your crew.

He waited a beat longer, then slipped into the shadows, hand still gripping the vivre card like a lifeline.

He would watch from afar. Admire from a distance. For now, that had to be enough.

Almost.

——

The market was crowded, a sea of people pushing through narrow streets filled with the sounds of chatter and the smell of street food. You weaved through the crowd, trying to focus on the stall in front of you, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

When suddenly a group of friends, too loud and too carefree, rushed by, chasing each other through the crowded space. One of them collided with you, knocking you off balance. You stumbled, but before you could hit the ground, there was a blur of motion—too fast, too precise.

Strong hands gripped your arms, steadying you. The grip was familiar, grounding, but you couldn’t place it. You whirled around, eyes scanning the crowd, heart pounding—but the space behind you was empty.

You stood frozen, your hand still hovering in the air as if something lingered just out of reach. The world around you kept moving, but in that moment, the noise of the market felt muffled, distant. There was something you couldn’t explain, something that tugged at you.

You stared into the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of him—of the person who had been there, who had steadied you. But there was nothing. No trace, no hint of familiarity.

You stared into the crowd. Into nothing.

He was already gone.

——

The streets of Dressrosa burned with rebellion—citizens screamed, the Birdcage loomed, and Doflamingo’s men crumbled. But your world narrowed to a single rooftop.

You landed hard, panting, blood trickling down your temple—and saw him.

Sabo.

Fire licked up his arm as he stood with Koala, his back to you.

Your breath hitched.

He turned. His eyes found yours through the smoke and debris.

And the world stopped.

You hadn’t seen him since that night—since you told him goodbye and left him in the med bay with a broken heart and a hollow silence.

He stepped forward.

You didn’t move.

Luffy’s shout echoed from behind you. “Y/N! Come on!”

Your spell shattered. You turned, running to your captain’s side without looking back.

Sabo didn’t chase you.

But you felt him watching. Like always.

——

The scent of ash and decay hung heavy in the air of Kyros’ home, the room dim and still after the chaos.

You sat alone, staring at the floor, unsure of what you were supposed to feel. The Straw Hats had scattered, tending to their wounds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join them.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence, and then it creaked open.

Sabo stepped in, quiet, hesitant.

You didn’t look up.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” his voice was rough, laced with smoke and guilt.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

“I figured you’d want some space,” he added. “I thought maybe you’d want to talk.”

You let the silence stretch between you. It was safer that way.

“Why now?” you asked, finally meeting his gaze. “After everything… why come now?”

“I… I didn’t know how to reach you. I was afraid I’d make it worse.”

You stood, your back straight, feeling the old wounds flare. “You could’ve tried,” you said. “You could’ve sent a letter. A message. Anything.”

“I wrote a dozen,” he whispered, “but I burned them all.”

“Of course you did.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “That you’d moved on. That you’d hate me. That I’d ruin whatever peace you found without me. I never stopped caring, Y/N. I couldn’t.”

“You don’t get to say that now.” The words were sharp. Bitter. “Not after what you did.”

He looked like you had slapped him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that. Please believe me.”

You blinked back the sting in your eyes. “Then why did you go to her first?”

“I was stupid. I panicked. I thought she needed—”

“I needed you too!” The words exploded out of you, hoarse and raw. “I was bleeding. I was shaking. And you walked right past me like I wasn’t even there.”

He stepped forward. “If I could do it over—if I’d seen you—I would’ve chosen you. Every damn time.”

Your voice dropped. “But you didn’t.”

Sabo’s breath trembled. His hand curled into a fist. “I miss you so much it makes me sick.”

You froze.

“Every morning, I see you,” he whispered. “When I open my eyes, I reach for you—and you’re not there. Every night, before I sleep, I close my eyes and hope it’ll be different. That I’ll wake up with your head on my chest. But it never is.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“I see you in crowds,” he went on, voice breaking. “In every quiet moment. I rehearse what I’d say if I could just… make you hear me again. If I could make you believe I’m not that coward who let you walk away.”

You shook your head, voice catching. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. After everything—after how long it’s been—Fuck, Sabo! I don’t even know what I’m supposed to call you. I don’t even know if I’m still supposed to call you.”

That broke something in him.

His voice dropped low. Shaky. Desperate.

“Call me whatever you want,” he said, his voice low and desperate. “Call me stupid. Call me an idiot. You can call me that fucking liar. Call me in the middle of the night. Call me happy, sad, sick—” He moved closer, his lips brushing against your hand in a silent plea, his eyes shutting closed. “For favors, for sex, for a laugh, for a cry—just… don’t ever stop calling me.”

“I have never loved someone like this before,” he added, breathless, like it physically hurt to admit it. “And I don’t know how to stop. I don’t even want to.”

His voice cracked on the next words. “But it’s still me, Y/N. The Sabo who fell in love with you.” He looked into your eyes pleading. “I just didn’t know how to make you feel safe enough to stay. But I now know better.”

“I would make it right now,” he whispered, like a vow. “I’d love you the way you want to be loved. I’d be the man you deserve—the man I should’ve been all along.”

Your heart pounded. His words were a balm to wounds you’d tried so hard to heal, but the pain was still there, raw and lingering.

The weight of everything unsaid sitting heavy on your chest. Regret. Love. Anger. All of it.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

So you turned.

And left him standing there—reaching, breaking, aching for a version of you that had already walked away.

But as you walked, the ache in your chest only grew. I still love him, but… The thought lingered, bittersweet and uncertain. I don’t know if I can go back, if I should ever let him back in.

——

The crew had docked the ship earlier that week, staying in a small hotel nestled at the edge of town while things settled. Quiet. Temporary. Just long enough to catch your breath.

You found it draped over the railing just outside your room—the old scarf you lost during the final battle at Dressrosa. Burnt at the edges. Still smelling faintly of smoke and something soft beneath it. Something him.

You frowned, stepping closer, fingers ghosting over the fabric.

No note. No explanation.

But you knew who had brought it back.

Later, Robin would mention seeing Sabo slipping through the alleyways just before dawn, the scarf in hand.

He didn’t try to talk to you. Didn’t force the moment.

He just… returned something you thought you’d never see again.

An apology, unspoken.

——

“Hey,” Luffy said one evening, mouth full of meat as usual, “Sabo told me to give you something like… two weeks ago. I forgot.”

You blinked. “What?”

He dug through his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Oops. This.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened it.

The handwriting was rushed. Uneven. Like he couldn’t get the words down fast enough.

I saw you laughing with Nami today. You looked happy. Lighter.

For a second, I let myself believe you’re doing okay—maybe even better without me.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it after.

You looked like the you I fell in love with.

And all I could think was… I hope I didn’t ruin that.

I still think about you. All the time.

I don’t expect anything. I just needed you to know I’m still here. —S

You stared at the note long after Luffy wandered off, your chest tight.

He hadn’t asked for forgiveness. He hadn’t asked for anything.

Just made sure you knew he was still there.

——

You hadn’t eaten all day.

The others didn’t mention it, but you caught Sanji glancing at you with quiet concern. Still, no one said anything outright.

That night, when you finally returned to your room, the door creaked open to a faint warm light.

A plate sat waiting on your desk—still warm. Your favorite.

Next to it, a folded napkin. Balanced on top was a small glass jar of honey. The good kind. The kind you only ever found in certain mountain towns.

No note. No explanation.

But you remembered Sabo mentioning, once, in passing, how you always added honey to tea when you couldn’t sleep.

Your gaze lingered on the jar longer than you meant it to.

You didn’t touch the food right away. You stood there, heart a little too full, breath a little too shallow, wondering when exactly he’d slipped in.

And whether he’d waited—just out of sight—to make sure you saw it.

——

You weren’t supposed to be there. The Reverie wasn’t your battlefield—not officially—but when news reached the Straw Hats of suspicious activity involving the Celestial Dragons, you and Robin had infiltrated Mary Geoise under the cover of diplomatic shadows.

You split up to cover more ground. That’s when you saw it—a trail of blood, smeared across the pristine white marble like a gash across the heavens. Your instincts flared, every step echoing louder than the last.

Your eyes followed the crimson streak to a quiet corridor. And there—half-hidden behind a collapsed column—lay a body.

“Sabo?”

You dropped to your knees.

His Revolutionary cloak was shredded, his bare chest streaked with dirt and blood. His breathing was shallow, and burns laced his arms. His hat, the one he swore on once, lay forgotten beside him, crumpled and soaked.

“Sabo,” you said again, voice breaking. “No—no, no, come on.”

You shook him gently, and his eyelids fluttered. “Y/N…?” he rasped, voice cracked like old paper.

You exhaled a breath that hurt. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His eyes—barely open—tried to focus on you. His hand lifted weakly, reaching out like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“You’re not… a dream?”

You caught his hand and pressed it to your chest. “I’m real. You’re not dying, not on me. Not here.”

He coughed, winced. “The world gov—”

You pressed your hand against his side, trying to slow the bleeding. “Don’t talk. You’re safe.”

“Didn’t think… I’d see you again,” he murmured, words slurring as his consciousness faded.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah? Well, lucky for you… I’m not done yelling at you.”

You stayed like that—kneeling in a palace built on cruelty, clutching a boy who once held your heart and now bled for a world that tried to break him.

And this time, you didn’t leave.

⸻

You didn’t leave. You hadn’t since you dragged him off that blood-soaked floor.

His breathing hitched, and you were on your feet instantly. His eyes fluttered open, slow and unsure, before they finally found you.

“…Y/N?”

You exhaled shakily. “Still here.”

His voice cracked. “You stayed…”

“You needed help,” you said, reaching for a damp cloth to dab gently at the sweat beading on his forehead. “I couldn’t walk away..”

You paused, your voice softening. “I couldn’t turn a blind eye for someone dying just because I was bitter.”

Your fingers lingered on his skin for a moment, as if the weight of your words and actions still held you there.

Silence stretched between you—fragile and full of history. You didn’t ask if he was okay. You didn’t ask why he was here or how badly he was hurt. Because the only thing that mattered now was that he’d woken up… and he remembered your name like it still meant something.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

You paused. “…For what?”

His eyes were tired, but there was clarity in them. “For everything. For not noticing your pain. For not reassuring you enough. And especially… for that day. When I went to Koala first.”

Your hands froze.

He continued. “You were hurt too, I know that now. I saw the bruises afterward, the blood on your collar—but I was in panic mode, and when I saw her first—I let that cloud my judgment.”

You looked away.

“I should’ve seen you,” he said, voice raw. “I should’ve picked you.”

Your throat tightened. “But you didn’t.”

“I did,” he said, suddenly fierce, pushing himself up against the pillows despite the pain. “Y/N, listen to me. If I had to choose again—if I had seen you—there would have been no hesitation. You. Always you. Over anyone. Over anything.”

You stared at him, disbelief warring with the ache in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel second. I was stupid and blind and scared. But if it cost me you, then I deserve the pain I’ve lived with since.”

You sat back down beside him slowly, tears stinging your eyes.

“I know I hurt you. And I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to show you I’ve changed. I’m not the same person who made those mistakes.” He paused, his breath shaky, but there was something in his voice that felt unwavering. “I’m ready to fight for you, Y/N. Even if it means taking it slow. Even if it means proving it day by day, I’ll do it. Because I’d rather die trying than live with the regret of losing you forever.”

“You have no idea how long I wanted to hear that,” you whispered.

His hand found yours, weak but warm.

“And I’m gonna spend however long it takes proving I mean it.”

⸻

He was stronger now—able to sit up without gasping, able to meet your gaze without guilt consuming him entirely.

Finally, he reached for you again. “If there’s still a part of you that feels anything—anything at all—I’ll fight for it.”

You closed the space between you and laid your hand against his cheek.

“There’s still a part,” you admitted. “But it’s scared.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes glassy. “Then I’ll be patient. But I won’t give up.”

It was the first time in a long time that your fingers reached for his without flinching.

You sat beside him, leaned your head against his unbandaged shoulder.

“You’re lucky I found you here,” you said.

He let out a soft laugh. “I’d say it was fate.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Silence fell between you—but this time, it was soft. Easy.

You turned to him. “If we do this… it has to be real. No walls. No more pretending I don’t matter.”

“You’ve always mattered,” he said. “I was just too blind to show you.”

“Then show me now.”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not almost enough, Y/N. You’re everything.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time they weren’t just from pain.

He reached a hand toward you, tentative. “Can I touch you?”

You didn’t answer—you just crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him.

His embrace was immediate, firm despite his injuries. His hand buried in your hair, and your face pressed to his neck, breathing in the scent of ash and safety and him.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you more than I know how to say.”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, and then—so gently—it was like a promise, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It was soft and aching, the kind of kiss that says I’m sorry, and thank you, and don’t go again all at once.

When you pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he said, voice breaking. “I’ll keep saying it until you believe it. Until I deserve to say it.”

You smiled through your tears. “You already do.”

He kissed you again, slow and deeper, like he was trying to make up for every second lost. You let him. You kissed him back like you’d never stopped.

But when your hand grazed over his side, he flinched.

You pulled back immediately. “You’re still healing.”

He nodded, breathing a little heavier. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t want to stop.”

You rested your hand gently over his heart. “We don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

And he looked at you like those words were the first breath after drowning.

——

It was late, the kind of late where the world held its breath. Sabo had been healing—his injuries less visible now, though the deeper ones still lived behind his eyes.

Tonight, he let you undress him slowly, not with haste but with reverence. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t hide.

For the first time, he showed you everything.

The burn scars over his ribs. The faded marks on his arms. The raw places that had never quite mended beneath the skin. His body told stories he’d never spoken aloud, but tonight—he didn’t stop your hands. He didn’t look away.

“I never let anyone see me like this,” he murmured. “Not even myself.”

You touched the edge of a scar gently. “Why now?”

His gaze met yours, steady despite the vulnerability in it. “Because if I want to be yours again, really yours… I have to give you all of me. Not just the pieces I think you can love.”

Your heart cracked open at the truth in his voice.

“I want you to see everything,” he added softly. “Not just who I was when we met, or who I was after I lost you. But who I am now—wounds and all.”

You answered without words, only with your hands, your mouth, the way you held him like nothing about him scared you. What followed was quiet and slow, a rediscovery. His fingers trembled when he touched you, like he was afraid it would break the spell.

And afterward, with your head resting on his chest and your bodies tangled in the soft hush of the room, he kept talking.

He told you things he’d buried. The guilt. The mistakes. The nights he woke up choking on regret. He traced your skin while whispering the truths he had never dared to say aloud.

You listened. You held him. And in return, he let you in completely.

No walls. No secrets. No armor.

Just Sabo—raw, scarred, and finally, yours again.

And for the first time in a long time, you both believed it:

This love was enough.

You were enough.

He was enough.

At last.

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arlecchinoftl · 4 months ago

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your kid pulls a “im so hungry i could eat michael kaiser” on you and you gotta start over. what’s another 18 years

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arlecchinoftl · 4 months ago

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try to find my watermark 😈 hint: head

veil and blue lock revived my creativity

also, hear me out my wee darlings; karasu has crooked nose vibes.. right?? right????..

references:

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arlecchinoftl · 4 months ago

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we can share one seat

plot: you and ace just can't wait until you get home, can you?

portgas d ace x afab!reader

smut// car sex, riding, protected!sex (wrap it up folks), cursing

modern au sort of?

word count: 2.2k

this has been sitting in my drafts for the longest and then I kept hearing "sports car" by tate mcrae and then I got inspired to finish it lol

The road is quiet, the sky painted in charcoal as the sun long disappeared. Streetlights glide past the windows in rhythmic flashes. The car hums beneath you, the only sound accompanying it being the rap song playing through the speakers from his phone—something that fills the silence without interrupting it.

You sit in the passenger seat. Ace has his left hand steady on the wheel, his right relaxed on his thigh, tapping faintly to the music. His eyes are locked on the road, expression calm and focused. There’s a bit of moonlight catching the side of his face, highlighting his jawline, the furrow of his brow, the quiet confidence in how he drives.

And God—he looks good like that.

You watch him, biting the inside of your cheek, warmth spreading low in your stomach. It wasn’t even supposed to be like this. You were just heading home after a long day out. But something about the way his hand grips the steering wheel, the way his forearm flexes with every turn, and how completely in control he looks—it’s driving you crazy.

You break the silence, voice smooth, just a little sultry.

“You always look this good when you drive, or is this just for me?”

Ace glances over at you with a half-smile, raising a brow. His voice is casual, teasing back.

“Didn’t realize driving was a turn on for you.”

You grin and lean a little closer, elbow resting on the center console, your fingers lightly brushing the inside of his forearm. Slow, casual...intentional.

"Only when you're the one doing it."

"Yeah?" he laughed under his breath, low and rough.

You reached out and traced your fingers lightly over his right hand, then down to his inner thigh. Your nails skimmed along, just enough to make him aware.

"Mmhmm, there's just something about it."

Ace exhaled slowly through his nose. His hand twitched but he remained focused.

"You're playing with fire." he muttered.

"I'm used to the heat. But I bet you're already thinking about it, huh? Me climbing over the console, straddling your lap, kissing your neck."

He clenched his jaw, his hand flexing into a fist.

You grinned.

Your fingers brushed along his thigh and danced up to his waistband. He was tense under your touch, holding back, trying to fight it.

"Bet you'd lose control real quick." you teased. "You wouldn't make it ten minutes before you-"

He suddenly reached out and grabbed your wrist. Not roughly, but just enough to keep it where it was.

Then, without a word, he let go and reached toward the center console, flipping it open with one hand. His eyes stayed on the road, but he felt around with quick, purposeful movements. You frowned slightly, confused.

“What are you—”

He shut the console with a quiet click, then leaned over just enough to tug open the little compartment on your side. Still nothing. His jaw tightened.

"Fuck."

And then-without warning-he made a sharp turn, flicking the blinker and swerving smoothly off the freeway exit.

You jolted slightly from the sudden shift, heart skipping a beat.

“Wait, where are we going?”

His tone was low, a little strained, but calm.

“Store.”

“…store?”

“Store,” he repeated, eyes still on the road, voice tight. “Before I do something stupid and raw.”

When you got there, it was fifteen minutes to closing. You nearly tripped over your own two feet trying to keep up with his strides going in.

You two stumbled into the store. The music overhead seemed louder due to not many people inside. You grabbed a hold of his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. Ace, with his trademarked grin, led the way with a determined look in his eyes.

Upon reaching the aisle that held the sexual wellness items, he stopped in front of the display of condoms.

He pursed his lips together as he scanned the shelves. With your other hand, you lightly caressed his arm, feeling the veins that were visible. You were always a sucker for his arms.

In a second, he finally grabbed a box off the shelf. He turned to you as his eyes gleamed with mischief. "Got it. Let's go."

Given that the store was closing soon, the only person working among the many registers was a young woman. She looked tired or bored or both and barely glanced up from her phone. Ace made a beeline to her and you suddenly felt a wave of anxiety. He placed the box onto the conveyor belt with such casualness and the sound of the box made the woman look up.

You squeezed his fingers and your eyes began darting around, wishing you'd grabbed something else to make the purchase less conspicuous. Maybe some gum, a magazine, anything to divert attention away from the lone item. Or maybe having gone to self-checkout instead.

The cashier took notice of the two of you with an unreadable expression and you felt your cheeks heat up, imagining what the girl must be thinking. If Ace felt any type of way, he didn't show it, maintaining a cool composure.

"Just this." he said, breaking the silence.

"Find everything okay?" the woman asked and scanned the box with indifference.

"Yes, thank you."

The woman told him the total and he put his card in the machine, his hand still gripping yours, confidence never faltering.

"Have a good night." she mumbled and handed him his purchase in a bag.

"Thanks! You too!" he replied, his voice bright.

Once outside, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"That was so awkward." you exclaimed.

Ace chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. "Nah, it was fine. Besides," he added a wink, "We got what we need."

You smiled, feeling the embarrassment melt away with each step to the car, pretending not to enjoy the sight of him stalking back with that lazy power in his stride and the small bag crumpled in his grip.

Ace clicked the door unlocked. You slipped into the passenger seat and expected him to open the driver's door, but he had other plans.

He was already sliding into the backseat.

You blinked. "What are you doing?"

He let a second go by before answering. He just looked at you, eyes dark, lips parted in a smirk.

"Get back here."

His gaze held yours, until something in you cracked.

Without a word, you opened the door again and climbed out. he watched him move—your usual confidence undercut now by something hungrier, more urgent. You opened the back door and stepped in, and the moment it shut behind you, you were already beginning to straddle his hips.

“I know that look,” you whispered against his lips. “You were dying in there.”

Ace didn’t deny it. His hands found your hips, gripping tightly as he settled into the seat, legs spread just enough for you to slide right into his lap. His mouth met yours in a kiss that was nothing like the playful banter from earlier—this one was hungry. Deep. His fingers dug into your thighs, dragging you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

“You started it,” he muttered against your mouth.

“Gonna finish it, too,” you breathed, already rolling your hips slow and deliberate against him, feeling just how worked up he was beneath his jeans.

Ace groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut for a second. His hands slipped under your shirt, the heat of his palms searing against your skin.

You grinned, your lips brushing the edge of his jaw.

The windows were tinted, the streetlights just far enough to cast the interior in shadows. The lot was quiet. Just a few scattered cars but no one close by at all. The world outside faded—because all you saw was him.

Your skin burned, heat radiating from every inch of your body as your hips moved against his, nails pressing into the thick muscle of his chest, while his hands clutched your thighs with enough force to leave a mark.

"Just like that," he murmured, voice low and full of want, his gaze drifting over your face, lingering on your chest, then lower, before rising again with slow reverence.

His hair was a tousled mess,

His expression caught somewhere between awe and desperation. The scruff growing along his jaw only added to the rough allure that made your breath catch.

A moan slipped out of you, uncontained, as he filled you so completely your spine curved in response. The cool air drifting in from outside brushed against your damp skin, a sharp contrast to the heat building as you lifted your hips and sank back down on him, over and over, the sound of his low groan vibrating between your bodies.

“Baby,” he warned, voice gravelly and thick, like a touch that grazed every part of you. “Shit… fuck.” His eyes fluttered back, teeth digging into his bottom lip, before he found your gaze again like he couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing you.

“You feel…so good,” you managed, the words catching on a shaky breath.

You rolled your hips with purpose, breathless from how deeply he filled you. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, spiritual, all-consuming. He reached parts of you no one else ever had, mending every rough edge, every ache. When he was like this-inside you, wrapped around you, consuming your every sense-it felt like he was made for you. And you for him.

His palms slid upward, gripping your hips and guiding your movements with gentle insistence. They traveled across your waist, up your ribs, along your curves, stopping briefly to squeeze and hold, until finally reaching your neck.

"Yeah?" he whispered, watching you with dark, hungry eyes as both your mouths parted with a shared moan.

He applied the slightest pressure-careful, controlled. His thumbs brushed just under your jaw while his hips bucked up, chasing more depth, more contact, more of you. You didn’t know if you moved first or if he pulled you down, but suddenly your faces were inches apart, noses brushing, breath mingling. His grip was perfect—firm enough to thrill, gentle enough to trust.

“So damn gorgeous,” he groaned, his hips taking over, thrusts deep and focused as you hovered at the edge of climax. “Give it to me,” he growled, grip tightening slightly, his eyes burning into yours.

It was like you shattered.

Stars erupted behind your eyelids as your moan broke in your throat, your entire body trembling violently. He leaned up to kiss you, drinking in every sound, every shiver, every twitch of your hips as he helped you ride it out.

His hand loosened around your neck, and he kissed you like he was trying to taste the pleasure on your tongue.

His encouragement came in heated whispers—“That’s it, you’re doing so good, don’t stop…”—his voice as smooth and sweet as honey, drawing you higher and higher.

He stayed with you through it all, his arms around you, chest pressed against yours, holding you like he never wanted to let go. His kisses were slow and soft against your lips as your body gave out, heavy and breathless.

Then he rocked you gently against him, your skin never leaving as his hips continued their deliberate rhythm.

He nuzzled your nose before capturing your lips again, only to have you bite softly at his bottom one, pulling a delicious groan from him that vibrated against your lips.

“Oh… fuck,” he whispered, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You threaded your fingers through the damp strands of hair falling across his forehead, gripping them tightly before running your fingers through again, over and over. His body trembled with the sensation, breath syncing to the deep thrusts he gave you.

"Please cum for me," you whispered, your voice nearly lost against his mouth.

He didn’t hesitate—his hips picked up speed before slowing into long, powerful strokes, sinking so deeply into you that your whole body buzzed. He lowered his mouth to your breast, pulling a nipple between his lips, making you arch into him.

Your hands tugged hard at his hair, and he responded with a sharp thrust. His hands found your throat again—not to control, but to anchor himself to you, like he needed something solid to hold on to.

Your thighs stayed grounded as he thrusted. He felt impossibly deep.

“Yeah…” you gasped, lifting your hips to meet his with everything you had left.

His groan came from deep within his chest—raw, intense—until the pleasure overtook him. His final thrusts were sharp and sure, and then he stilled, his body pressed tightly to yours as his orgasm rocked through him. Your fingers curled in his hair, holding him there.

He collapsed into you, your face buried against his neck, both of you gasping as your bodies clung together. You trailed your nails gently down his spine and back up again, causing him to shiver and sigh into your skin. He brought you back and kissed along your jaw, your cheek, then met your lips again when you turned your face to him.

A soft moan left you against his kiss, and a calm, sated warmth wrapped around you both as he caressed your body lazily, then pushed up on his hands to look at you.

“I loved that so much.” he said quietly, like a secret just for you, before leaning down and kissing you again—slow, deep, and full of everything he didn’t need words to say.

367 notes · View notes

arlecchinoftl · 4 months ago

Text

Stranded with fire

Portgas D. Ace x Reader

warnings: ooc (a bit, i think, idk can’t tell), slow burn, don’t know if i placed commas right (placed them like i would in german), Cringy!!! awkward moments

You were on a mission, sailing with a small crew under Captain Portgas D. Ace. As the ship’s doctor, your role was vital, but you hadn’t signed up for what came next.

The night came with no warning. A violent storm cracked across the skies and churned the sea into chaos. Waves slammed against the ship like fists, threatening to drag it under. Sea spray drenched the deck, and the salty wind howled.

“Ace, get inside!” you screamed, fighting to stay upright. But he didn’t respond. The ocean water had already weakened him. “damn alway these Devil Fruit users…” you complained.

Then, it happened.

A monstrous wave hit the ship broadside, nearly flipping it. Ace lost his footing and slipped over the edge.

“Ace!!” Without hesitation, you jumped after him, ignoring the panicked cries of your crewmates behind you.

You hit the water hard, the cold shock slamming the air from your lungs. The sea tugged at you, dragged you down, but you reached him, unconscious, limp in the water. You wrapped your arms around him, doing everything to keep both your heads above the waves, trying your hardest to stay alive.

But it was impossible. The light of the ship faded into darkness as exhaustion and water claimed your senses. And then everything went black.

You woke to sunlight burning your face. Coughing violently, you spit out seawater and gasped for air.

“Shit…” you rasped, trying to gather your strength. Every muscle ached, but panic drove you forward. “Ace?” you croaked, eyes scanning the empty shoreline. You forced yourself upright, wobbling like the undead.

You were alone.

No ship. No crew. No Ace.

A pit opened in your chest, already assuming the worst. Until something orange caught your eye. His hat. You stumbled toward it and picked it up with trembling hands.

“Please…” you whispered, then shouted. “Ace!!”

You pushed forward, yelling his name over and over until you finally saw him. His body lying still in the sand.

You dropped to your knees beside him. “Ace! Damn it, come on…” You pressed your ear to his chest.

Heartbeat. But no breath.

Without thinking, you launched into first aid, tilting his head back and starting mouth-to-mouth. One. Two—

He gasped and coughed up water violently.

“Fuck—what happened?” he choked, eyes fluttering open.

You exhaled in relief, flopping onto the sand beside him with a shaky laugh. “You scared the shit out of me…”

But then reality hit again. “We’ve got a problem,” you said. Ace was still groggy, looking around. “We’re stranded. No ship. No log pose.” You pointed at his wrist. “And unless you’ve hidden a Vivre Card in your underwear, we’re screwed.”

“Nope… must’ve lost both,” he muttered, sitting up. His eyes drifted over to you and lingered a little longer than usual. “But I’m not the only one who lost stuff.”

You blinked, then looked down—your clothes had been mostly torn off by the sea. All that was left was a bikini top and your shorts. “Oh… right. Great.”

Ace quickly looked away, ears turning red.

“seems like we have to wait for the others to pick us up with their vivre card”

“Well,” he said, grabbing his hat, “at least you’re with me. That means survival is guaranteed.”

You took his hand and smiled as he helped you up. “Let’s explore. Maybe we’re not as doomed as we think.” He says and you nod.

The island was wild and lush. Together, you went through dense forest, fought off beasts (Ace did), and found signs of life: water, fruits, animals. Enough to survive.

It almost felt like an adventure. You laughed more than you thought you would. Being with Ace made everything feel less terrifying. But you didn’t notice the eyes watching from the shadows, following you silently back to camp.

By dusk, you were building a campfire together. You nudged him with your shoulder. “I’m really glad it’s you I ended up stranded with.”

Ace tried to play it cool, but his heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, your fire powers? Super useful,” you teased.

Oof. You saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He didn’t reply.

You smirked. “What? You happy to be alone with me or something?”

“Shut up,” he muttered, turning away with ears completely red now. “just go to bed” he lies down turning away from you.

You laughed softly as the night deepened and eventually fell asleep beside the fire.

Stranded on an island, with no log post or a vivre card, forced to wait for your crewmates… couldn’t get worse. Except for that part where you wake up tied to a wooden stake like a witch in the center of a strange village. Islanders circling around you, chanting something about a “sacrifice to the fire god.”

“What the actual f—” You didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

One of them approached with a torch, flame flickering closer and closer to your bound legs. Your heart pounded. This wasn’t a joke. You were about to burn.

You closed your eyes.

Then—

Boom.

A blast of heat surged past your face.

“Couldn’t stay out of trouble for one night, huh?”

Your eyes flew open.

“Ace!” you cried, relief flooding your entire body.

He stood there in all his fiery glory, flames crackling around his fists, eyes burning brighter than the torch that was meant to kill you.

“Time to return the favor,” he grinned.

The ropes burned away in a sudden flash of heat, but you didn’t feel pain. Only warmth. Ace’s flames licked at your bindings without touching your skin, as if they knew exactly what to avoid.

You looked up at him, breath caught in your throat, still stunned. He stood there, shirtless, soaked, yet burning like a god. One arm pulled you close by the waist, the other raised and ready to launch a fiery counterattack at the crowd of stunned islanders.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then chaos.

“Fire Lord!” one of them screamed. The rest dropped to their knees in worship, hands raised, heads bowed. “Fire Lord! Fire Lord!”

You blinked. “…What the hell?”

Ace was equally frozen, eyes darting between them and you. You leaned in, whispering, “I think… they think you’re the Fire Lord they summoned.”

His brows furrowed, and his nose scrunched in disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

“Just go with it,” you said quickly. “It’s better than getting sacrificed. You know I’m not big on the whole ‘violence first’ method.”

He sighed like you’d asked him to babysit a sea king. “Fine…”

With a roll of his eyes, but a small smirk twitching at the corner of his lips, he scooped you up effortlessly, making you yelp.

“What are you doing!?” you asked, cheeks flushing as he walked toward the ornate chair the villagers had brought forward.

“Not letting you out of my sight,” he said, tone serious, gaze straight ahead. But the moment he sat down and settled you in his lap, you could feel his muscles tense. He realized how long his hand had been on your waist and awkwardly moved it, looking off to the side like he’d just noticed the sky was interesting.

“They might try to take you again,” he mumbled an excuse.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And there’s only one chair, right?” you teased.

That snapped him back into his usual self. His smirk returned. “Exactly. Unless you’d rather sit somewhere else?” He leaned in, voice low and hot against your ear. “Or is my lap just that distracting?”

You squirmed a little, pulse racing. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, but didn’t move.

The two of you were carried through the village on that chair like royalty, a full parade forming around you. Villagers danced and sang strange chants, but the words “Fire Lord” rang out clearly again and again. Even though you couldn’t understand the language, the reverence in their voices was unmistakable.

You looked around in awe. The village was primitive, sure, but not exactly uncivilized. Their clothes were simple, robes in earthy colors, and their homes were built with care. Still, it was clear this wasn’t any modern island.

Meanwhile, Ace remained sharp and alert, eyes constantly scanning the crowd for danger. His hand occasionally brushed against you as the chair wobbled, and though he didn’t say anything, his protective instincts were clear. He didn’t trust any of them…not yet.

Eventually, the procession stopped in front of a structure that looked like a ceremonial house. A raised pavilion with open sides, sheer curtains fluttering in the wind, and a circular bed in the center.

You both stared at it.

“They seriously think you’re their god,” you said, wide-eyed.

Ace looked at the stairs, then at you, deadpan. “Let’s just burn this place down and bolt.”

“Ace.”

“Kidding.” (…mostly.)

You hesitantly took his arm and started up the stairs together, aware of every eye watching. The silence was crushing. But when you reached the top platform, the crowd exploded into cheering and chanting again, as if your very presence confirmed their beliefs.

“Now what?” you muttered.

“No clue,” Ace replied, still watching them all closely.

Then came the line of villagers. One by one, they stepped forward, placing offerings at your feet: fruits, carved trinkets, bundles of cloth, even a small live animal (which Ace gently set free when no one was looking). It was overwhelming. Bizarre. And honestly… kind of hilarious.

“They’re serious about this,” you whispered.

“They really think I’m their Fire Lord…”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of dancing, music, and offerings. You started laughing at the absurdity of it all. Ace… not so much. He remained stone-faced, arms crossed, but you caught him watching you whenever you laughed.

By nightfall, the villagers dispersed, leaving you and Ace alone in the pavilion under a canopy of stars.

You sat on the edge of the large circular bed, legs dangling. Ace sat beside you, arms resting on his knees, frown still etched on his face.

“We should leave,” he said, his voice low.

You shook your head slowly. “I don’t think they mean harm.”

“They literally tried to roast you alive this morning.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think they can. Fire doesn’t hurt me… not when you’re around, right?” You turned your head, eyes soft as they met his.

He looked at you like he wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. Just silence. And maybe a little awe.

“…You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.

You smiled. “So I’ve been told.”

Night fell slowly over the village, the firelight outside flickering against the silk curtains of your pavilion. The sounds of the drums and singing had died out, replaced by the quiet chirping of insects and the soft crash of waves far off in the distance. Moonlight beautifully shining into the pavilion.

You sat at the edge of the round bed, still stunned by the day’s madness. Ace stood by the open curtain, looking out over the village, arms folded tight across his chest.

“…You’re not gonna sleep?” you asked.

“I don’t sleep well when people are chanting my name like I’m some god,” he replied dryly.

You chuckled, but he didn’t.

“Ace, I don’t think they’re gonna hurt us. Not anymore. I mean they think your a god”

“That doesn’t mean I trust them.” He turned to you, his gaze lingering for a second longer than it should’ve. “Especially not after this morning.”

You felt the tension in the air shift, just slightly. Your heartbeat picked up. The memory of him pulling you into his lap came flooding back, and you suddenly found the pattern on the blanket extremely fascinating.

You cleared your throat and scooted back, trying to lie down like it was no big deal. “Well, if I’m gonna be sacrificed again, I’d rather be well-rested.”

Ace smirked. “Fair.”

But when he turned and walked toward the bed too, you froze.

You knew the bed was round. You knew it was the only one. But somehow you hadn’t fully processed what that meant until he sat down beside you.

Very close.

Too close.

You swallowed. “You, uh… you can take more space if you want.”

“I’m fine.” He stretched out one leg and leaned back on his arms, eyes on the sky. “Not like I’ve got a lot of options.”

You turned on your side, facing away from him, but you could still feel the heat of his body behind you. Fire user or not, he was always warm. Comforting. Safe. But now your thoughts weren’t exactly innocent.

You could feel every little brush every time your arm bumped his by accident, every shift of the blanket that moved the air between you. And neither of you said anything about it.

The next morning came far too soon.

You were both up early, standing at the edge of the pavilion as the villagers gathered once again. This time they weren’t chanting or singing.

Instead, one of them stepped forward solemnly and extended a small bundle wrapped in soft cloth. The fabric fell open to reveal

“…Are those baby clothes?” you asked, voice a pitch higher than normal.

The villager beamed and nodded enthusiastically, holding the tiny shirt up proudly.

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Ace stared at it, eyes wide in frozen panic.

There was a very long silence.

Then—foosh—a tiny puff of fire flashed in his hand, and the baby clothes were instantly incinerated, ashes fluttering down between you.

“Ace!” you hissed, grabbing his arm.

“They were weirdly confident! What else was I supposed to do?!”

The villager didn’t seem offended. In fact, they bowed and walked away as if that was somehow the correct response.

You covered your face with your hands. “Oh my god. They think we’re married, don’t they?”

“They think we’re parents,” Ace corrected, looking horrified.

From that point forward, everything was awkward.

If he accidentally brushed your hand? You jolted like you touched lightning.

If you sat too close? One of you would scoot away immediately, pretending it was “to reach something.”

Every look held too long felt like a declaration. Every accidental touch? A scandal.

You were way too obvious, too. You caught yourself staring at his jawline, his hands, the way he wiped sweat off his brow. And when he caught you? You looked away so fast it made you dizzy.

You couldn’t even meet his eyes without feeling your face burn.

And Ace? Well, he was trying to keep his cool. But you noticed the way his fingers twitched when you stood too close. How he avoided your gaze just a little too late. How the tip of his ears always, always, betrayed him.

“So,” you said later that day, poking a fruit with your knife at the edge of the pavilion, “still thinking we should burn the whole place down?”

He was lying on his back in the shade, one arm thrown over his eyes. “At this point, I might burn myself out of secondhand embarrassment.”

You tossed a fruit at him. “Coward.”

He caught it without looking. “You started this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I started this? I’m not the one who sat me on their lap like a royal consort.”

“You didn’t complain.”

“…I hate that you’re right.”

Silence hung in the air, but not awkwardly. Only the distant sound of the ocean and some chirping birds filled the space between you.

Then, Ace cleared his throat, too casual to actually be casual, and said quietly, “would you be against it?”

You blinked, not even sure you’d heard him right.

He wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were on the sky, then the ground, then anywhere but you. He was fidgeting with the fruit in his hand like it had personally offended him.

You tilted your head slightly, squinting. “What?”

Ace shifted, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, almost like he didn’t want the air to hear it.

“Like… being together. You and me.”

The words hit you harder than any storm wave. You just froze.

Knife still in one hand, half-cut fruit in the other, your brain completely short-circuited.

He glanced at you again, hopeful for a split second—but when you didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, his face fell.

“…Forget it,” he mumbled, eyes dark with embarrassment. “That was dumb. Nevermind.”

He looked up again, ready to awkwardly laugh it off. Until he saw you.

Stiff as a statue. Face glowing red like you were about to spontaneously combust. The fruit slipping slightly in your hand because you forgot how to grip things. The knife still hovering over it like your body forgot what it was doing halfway through.

“I—uh—I mean—” you stuttered, words catching in your throat as you avoided his gaze, looking around like the trees might offer a script.

Ace blinked. Then that slow, mischievous grin began to stretch across his face.

“Ohhh?” he said, voice dropping into a tease. “So you do like me?”

Your face somehow managed to get even redder.

“I never said that!” you burst out, panicked.

“You didn’t have to,” he grinned wider, now fully enjoying himself. “You’re stuttering. Blushing. Is that fruit shaking in your hand?”

“It’s not!”

“It’s definitely shaking.”

“I’m just—shut up!”

Ace chuckled, leaning a little closer, his elbows on his knees as he watched you squirm. “So, what would you have said? Hypothetically, if I did ask you out.”

You glared at him, then back at the knife in your hand, then tossed both it and the fruit dramatically to the side. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are. Still sitting next to me. Still red as a tomato.”

You groaned and dropped your face into your hands.

He laughed, softer now, eyes crinkling. Then, after a beat, his voice lowered again, quieter, more honest.

“But seriously… would you be against it?”

You peeked at him between your fingers, heart pounding. He wasn’t teasing now. Just watching you, eyes sincere and a little nervous.

You exhaled slowly. Then gave him the smallest, shyest smile.

“…Not against it.”

And for once, he was the one caught off guard, his grin faltering for a moment, replaced by something gentler. Something real.

He rubbed the back of his neck, ears pink. “Cool. Cool. Just making sure. You know… for future planning.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Future planning?”

“You know. Like which island we name the first kid after.” He teased.

“Ace!”

He doubled over laughing, dodging the fruit you chucked at him like it was second nature.

That night, the village was quieter than before. No chants. No drums. Just the crackling of the campfire in front of the pavilion and the sound of crickets in the trees.

You and Ace sat side by side on the edge of the bed, knees just barely touching, the soft silence lingering comfortably between you.

He stole a glance your way, then back down at his hands in his lap. You were doing the same. Only sneaking looks when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Then, his pinky brushed yours.

Neither of you moved.

Slowly, like gravity was pulling your hands together, his fingers found yours and gently, shyly, laced them together. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the roughness of callouses, and the careful hesitation behind the way he held your hand like it might vanish if he squeezed too hard.

You turned to him, breath catching, heart hammering.

He wasn’t looking at you, not at first. His eyes were on your hands. “Is this… okay?”

You nodded, almost whispering, “Yeah.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a second, the whole world slowed. He leaned in just slightly, gaze flickering to your lips and back to your eyes. He didn’t speak, didn’t rush it. Just that slow, silent question lingering in the air between you.

You tilted your head. Leaned in too. Your noses brushed.

And then—

Boom. A loud crash echoed through the forest followed by shouting from the far side of the village.

Both of you jumped, hands flying apart as you scrambled to your feet, wide-eyed.

Ace was already moving toward the edge of the pavilion, scanning the treetops. “What the hell was that?”

You followed him, nerves suddenly on edge again. The sweet, fragile moment shattered.

From beyond the trees, orange flames lit up the sky. Figures were running, shouting. The villagers were panicking.

Then, slicing through the night like a blazing comet, a massive figure came soaring above the treetops — Marco.

“ACE!” his voice echoed as he dove down, blue flames trailing behind him.

“Marco?!” you gasped, heart leaping.

Ace’s eyes widened. “They found us…”

Moments later, your crewmates came crashing through the forest edge, swords drawn, fire and smoke at their backs. Apparently, the search party had mistaken the tribe’s strange setup as hostile and a fight had broken out before things could be explained.

Ace raised his hands. “We’re okay! We’re okay!” he yelled, moving in front of you to shield you just in case.

Marco landed with a thud and looked between you two, eyes narrowing. “What the hell happened? You were worshipped or something?”

“…Kinda,” Ace muttered, already rubbing the back of his neck, awkward again.

The islanders, seeing Marco’s flames, bowed once more, shouting something in their language and clearly assuming he was some other deity.

You facepalmed. “Please, let’s just go.”

Back on the ship.

You sat on the edge of the deck, wrapped in a dry blanket, the island slowly disappearing behind you. The crew had finally calmed down, laughing and poking fun as usual.

You and Ace sat together in silence again, both staring out at the horizon. Hands not touching. Not saying anything. The moment from before was still hanging between you, untouched and unspoken.

You shifted a bit closer, voice soft.

“…Let’s not tell the others.”

He blinked, looking your way.

“Not now. They’d be annoying about it.”

Ace smirked, clearly amused. “You mean Marco would never shut up about it.”

“And Thatch would probably throw a party.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

Another quiet beat passed before he leaned a little closer, brushing his shoulder against yours, not by accident this time.

“But,” he said with a small smile, “we’re not pretending it didn’t happen, right?”

You smiled back, heart skipping. “No. Just… keeping it between us. For now.”

He looked out at the sea again, quietly content.

——————————-