Yoyo

❀ Hiya!! Welcome to my Blog!! You can call me Yoyo, my pronouns are she/her. ❀ Im 17 (leap year baby) and very much obsessed with Goshiki and Ace. ❀ Requests are always open so feel free to request not just haikyuu characters but anyone from any anime. (Hq,jjk,tokrev,jjba,hxh,Naruto,One Piece,etc) ❀ My blog mainly consists of fluff, angst, and some smut. ❀ (@goshikisbaee on TikTok) Dni if you are: A Zionist/Pro-Isreal, Racist, a proshipper.

Likes: Music, cats cats cats cats, poetry, fashion, night drives, JJBA, anything pink lmao, haikyuu, One Piece, food, art. dislikes: mean bicthes, spiders lol, cold weather, people who have nothing better to do than hate on people. Obsessing over: ❀ Goshiki ofc, timeskip kuroo and Iwaizumi, ❀ Girono, Bucciarati, Mista, Jotaro, Jolyne, Doppio, Trish ❀ Chifuyu, Rindou, Kakucho, Kazutora, Shinichiro, ❀ Shanks, Ace Ace Ace Ace, Luffy, Law, Robin, Nami!!!

Could you do a koganegawa bf headcanon please?

Thankssss you're amazing!!

Of course I can ❤️❤️

Koganegawa As Your Boyfriend Headcanons

———

Loudest “THAT’S MY GIRL/BOY/LOVE!!” boyfriend ever.

He hypes you up like you’re a championship match.

He greets you with a full-body wave.

Not just his hand—his whole arm, shoulder, torso. Very enthusiastic.

His hugs? Bone-crushing but warm.

He lifts you off the ground every time unless you tell him not to.

He’s obsessed with making you laugh.

Tries jokes, stories, silly voices… if you laugh, he beams.

He shows you off to the entire team.

“LOOK, LOOK, MY PARTNER BROUGHT ME SNACKS!!”

He’s surprisingly clingy in a cute way.

Holds your hand everywhere—even walking down narrow hallways.

He’s protective but not scary.

He stands in front of you in crowds like a big wall (literally), just to keep you safe.

He sends chaotic texts.

All caps, a million exclamation points, terrible spelling.

You still save every message.

He tries so hard to impress your family.

Sits straight, calls your parents “sir/ma’am,” and bows even if it’s not necessary.

You have to explain homework to him while he nods aggressively.

“Right. Yeah. Totally. What does that mean again?”

He brags about you like it’s a sport.

“My partner is smart AND beautiful AND cool AND—”

Someone usually tells him to breathe.

He adores when you wear his jacket.

He’ll offer it even if he’s freezing.

If you’re sad, he panics at first.

But then he’ll bring you snacks, water, and the blanket he stole from the gym.

Physical affection is his default love language.

Hand-holding, arm around your shoulders, forehead kisses—he loves all of it.

He takes pictures of you doing random things.

You reading? Cute.

You tying your shoes? WOW AMAZING.

His jealousy is VERY obvious.

He pouts. Loudly.

“I CAN STAND CLOSER THAN HIM, Y/N!!”

He gives you little gifts he wins from crane machines.

He’s terrible at them, so when he wins one, he beams while handing it to you.

Game days = your name written on his wrist tape.

It’s messy, but it means the world to him.

His compliments are chaotic but sweet.

“You look so pretty I feel like I’m gonna PASS OUT.”

He’s the type to cheer for you even at the dentist.

“YOU’RE DOING AMAZING!!!!!!”

He falls asleep on your shoulder instantly.

Big, warm, heavy… and cute. You’ll never wake him unless you absolutely have to.

———

So sorry for being so late. I hope it can still be helpful 🩷

“I’ve Got You” ♡

[ Iwaizumi x Reader ]

———

Your laptop screen blurs again.

You blink hard, but the words don’t stop swimming. Paragraphs smear into each other; the cursor flashes like it’s mocking you. There are three assignments due, two tests tomorrow, and a group project where nobody has messaged you back.

Your chest tightens.

You rub your forehead. It doesn’t help—the pressure behind your eyes only gets worse. You realize you’ve been clenching your jaw for the last hour.

Your phone buzzes once.

Then twice.

Then a third time.

Iwa💙

You okay?

You ignore it, not because you’re angry, but because you’re one small shove away from crying, and if you answer him you’ll fall apart right away.

Another buzz.

Iwa💙

I’m coming over.

You don’t even have the energy to panic about that.

You don’t move from your desk until you hear the gentle knock on your door—three taps, the same pattern he always uses. Familiar. Steady. You swallow hard, wiping your eyes quickly even though you know it’s pointless.

“I’m coming in,” he says through the door, voice low, warm.

The door opens and he steps inside, hair slightly messy from rushing, backpack slung over one shoulder. His eyes move to you immediately— and soften.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You didn’t answer, so I got worried.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m fine, I’m just… I’m trying to work.”

His gaze flicks to your desk: the piles of papers, notebook pages covered in scribbles, your laptop burning blue light into your face.

“Doesn’t look fine,” he says gently.

You look down at your hands, embarrassed. “I just… I can’t do it. I can’t focus. There’s too much and my head won’t stop and—”

Your voice breaks.

Iwaizumi crosses the room instantly.

He doesn’t hug you right away. He kneels beside your chair first and places one hand on your knee, grounding. Warm. Solid.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “look at me.”

You try. You try so hard, but your vision blurs again, breath trembling. He squeezes lightly.

“Y/N.”

When you meet his eyes, something in you cracks.

You don’t sob, not dramatically—it’s quieter than that. You just lean forward, forehead against his shoulder, and let yourself breathe out all the tension you’ve been holding. Your whole body shakes with the force of finally letting go.

He wraps one arm around your waist and the other behind your back, pulling you into him fully. He doesn’t say shhh or calm down or anything like that—he just holds you like you’re allowed to fall apart for once.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know how long you stay there. Minutes, maybe more. His hand rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades, steady and patient.

When you finally pull back a little, he still keeps a warm grip on your arm, thumb brushing gently.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He frowns immediately. “Don’t apologize for needing help.”

You swallow. “I just… it’s so much. School, assignments, everything. I feel like no matter how much I do, I’m falling behind.”

He stands, nudging your chair gently so you turn toward him. “Okay,” he says, calm and decisive in that Iwaizumi way. “Then we’ll handle this together.”

He lifts you up from the chair and guides you to the bed, sitting beside you. Your head finds his shoulder without even thinking—and he lets it rest there, tilting slightly so you’re more comfortable.

“Let me see what you’re working on.”

You hand him your notebook. He flips through a few pages, eyebrows furrowing not at your work, but at how hard you’ve been pushing yourself.

“These notes… you haven’t slept much, have you?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head.

He exhales softly, brushing your hair behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest warm. “You don’t have to torture yourself like this. You’re not alone.”

You breathe out, exhausted. “I feel like I have to keep up. Everyone else is doing fine, so why can’t I?”

He turns to face you fully, hand cupping your cheek with gentle pressure. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

“You’re doing your best. And your best is enough. You’re not weak for getting overwhelmed—you’re human.”

Your eyes sting again, but this time not from panic—from relief.

He moves closer, forehead touching yours for a moment. “You’re one of the strongest people I know,” he murmurs, “but even strong people get tired.”

He pulls back and stands again. “Come on. First, we take a break. You need to breathe.”

When you try to protest, he gives you that stern, soft look that always melts you.

“No arguments. Rest first. Then we can tackle whatever you need—together.”

He reaches out his hand to you.

You take it.

He pulls you up gently and settles you back on your bed, then sits beside you, letting you curl into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand finds your waist, the other brushing comfortingly along your arm.

The weight in your chest begins to ease—the first time all day.

After a few minutes of quiet, he speaks again.

“You’re not doing this alone anymore,” he says, voice low and steady. “Whenever it gets too much, you call me. Doesn’t matter if it’s midnight. I’ll come.”

You look up at him, heart squeezing. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.”

His thumb strokes along your cheek again, soft but sure.

“I’m here,” he whispers. “Always.”

You rest your head against him, breathing in his warmth, the quiet strength he carries so easily. His arm tightens around you, steady and protective.

For the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe again.

With him, the world stops spinning so fast. With him, everything feels manageable.

And as you drift into his embrace, eyes finally relaxing, his voice rumbles softly:

“I’m proud of you, Y/N. More than you know.”

A tear slips down your cheek—but this time, it’s not from stress.

It’s from comfort.

From safety.

From him.

———

IM ALWAYS LATE OH MY GOSH…. I HOPE YOUR FRIEND HAD AN AMAZING BIRTHDAY!!

Let Yourself Rest

[ Itachi x Reader ]

———

The base was quiet when you finally crossed the threshold. Another mission finished, another village left whispering in fear. You dropped your cloak from your shoulders as you stepped inside your room, feeling the weight of blood and dust still clinging to your skin. Your muscles ached and your thoughts were foggy, too full of what you had seen and what you had done.

You didn’t even realize Itachi had been watching you from the end of the hall until he stepped forward.

“You pushed yourself again.” His voice was low, controlled as always. Only someone who paid attention would notice the way his eyes scanned you, checking for wounds.

“You’re one to talk.” You tried to sound sharp, but it came out tired. You leaned against the door frame, breathing shallowly.

Itachi didn’t argue. He moved closer, closing the door behind him without asking permission. The room dimmed, leaving just the two of you and that tense silence he wore like armor.

He reached out, fingers brushing a streak of dried dirt from your cheek. “You should rest.”

You tilted your head away a little, stubborn. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t accept that answer. His hand wrapped gently around your wrist, guiding you toward the bed. “You are trembling.” He said it like a fact, not a judgment.

Only then did you notice your hands weren’t steady.

You sat down with a quiet exhale, staring at the floor. Itachi crouched in front of you, sharing your height, bringing his eyes level with yours. He reached again, cool fingertips slid under your jaw, lifting your face.

“You do not have to carry everything alone.”

It was almost ironic, coming from him. The man who carried entire worlds of guilt and duty in silence. You opened your mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but the look in his eyes stopped you. The Sharingan was gone, replaced with something softer. Human.

You swallowed. “If I let go of that, what’s left?”

“Peace, even if temporary.” He moved closer and you felt his breath, warm against your lips. “Let me help.”

Your heart thudded. You trusted him more than you would ever admit to the rest of the Akatsuki. You didn’t flinch when his forehead touched yours, his hands settling on your hips like he was checking if you would shove him away.

You didn’t.

Your lips met first in a soft press, almost hesitant. A test. Then it deepened, slow and desperate in the quiet. His thumb brushed your cheekbone and you leaned into him, fingers curling into his cloak to anchor yourself.

Itachi broke the kiss only to whisper against your mouth. “You did well today.”

Praise from him felt rare, almost sacred. Your chest tightened.

He stood then, guiding you back until you were lying against the pillows. He pulled the blanket up to your shoulders like he always knew how to take care of you. You caught his wrist before he could step away.

“Stay.”

He looked surprised for a heartbeat, then his expression softened more than you had ever seen. He slipped off his cloak and lay beside you, close enough that you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Your head found its place on his chest without effort, as if it had always belonged there.

His fingers ran through your hair, slow and grounding.

“You are allowed to rest,” he murmured. “I will stay until you wake.”

Your eyes finally grew heavy, the tension melting from your body while his presence guarded your sleep. The world could be cruel tomorrow. The mission could break you again.

Tonight, you had him.

And he would not let go.

———

And if you dont want to do haikyuu then you can do hcs of hxh characters reacting to you when you give them a gift that is like really specific ykwim?? like its about something they barely talk about and how they would react to it bcuz like yk.. (im sorry if this does nawt make any sense 💔)

I love the HxH idea, so I’ll go with that! Also, sorry I’m so late…

HxH characters reacting to you giving them a gift that is personal

———

Kurapika

He freezes.

He’s used to being observant, not being observed. When you hand him a gift—a small, worn-leather notebook embossed with the exact clan sigil he once mentioned to you only in passing—his hand hovers over it like it’s something sacred.

He opens it slowly, tracing the engraving with trembling fingers.

“You remembered that?”

It’s quiet, almost a whisper. His usual composure cracks; his voice softens in a way that betrays how touched he really is. You’ve pierced through all his careful barriers with one gesture. Later that night, he keeps it beside his bed—he doesn’t even use it yet. It’s too meaningful.

Killua

He tries to play it off so cool. You hand him something like a keychain modeled after that random chocolate robot toy from his childhood that he only brought up once—and he just blinks.

“H-huh? Wait… how do you even remember that?”

His face goes pink immediately. He turns away, clutching it tightly even as he shrugs.

“It’s not a big deal or anything… but—thanks.”

He starts carrying it everywhere, hooked to his skateboard bag. Every time you catch him staring at it, he quickly looks away and pretends he wasn’t.

Gon

His whole face lights up. He’s pure excitement and warmth; when you give him a fishing lure modeled after the one his dad used (something he only ever mentioned once when talking about Whale Island), he gasps like you handed him the world.

“This is amazing! How did you—wait—you made this?!”

He immediately hugs you, no hesitation, beaming like sunlight. He doesn’t even realize how deeply meaningful it is until later, when he’s alone, holding it and whispering,

“They really listen to me…”

He treasures it forever.

Leorio

He jokes first because his instinct is to deflect emotion. You give him an engraved stethoscope case with “Dr. Paradinight” written in the font he once said reminded him of his mentor’s old notes.

“Ha! You’re really tryna make me cry before I even graduate, huh?”

His laugh breaks mid-sentence, voice cracking just a bit. He clears his throat, turns away, rubs the back of his neck.

“This means… a lot. Thanks, really.”

Later, he keeps bragging about it to everyone (“Look what my friend got me!”) but the way he polishes it carefully every night says more than words.

Hisoka

He’s the kind of person who’s hard to genuinely surprise. But you manage it. Maybe you gift him a deck of tarot cards customized with imagery that actually reflects him—trickster, illusionist, lonely performer behind the mask.

His smile is slow, curious.

“My, my… you’ve been watching me closely.”

For once, the teasing tone fades and something more sincere seeps in. He studies the deck like he’s trying to decode your intent.

“You see me better than most. How delightful.”

He’ll never admit it aloud, but that’s the first gift he’s ever truly valued.

Chrollo

He looks at you like he’s been caught off guard—a rare event. You give him an antique bookmark made from a preserved spider silk thread woven into a silver web motif, referencing both his love for literature and the metaphor of the “spider” that holds the troupe together.

“How… fitting.”

He says it quietly, turning it over in his hands. His eyes soften, thoughtful.

He doesn’t need to thank you aloud; the next time you see him, he’s using it in his current book. When someone asks about it, he says simply,

“A gift from someone who understands me.”

Feitan

He acts unimpressed.

“Tch. It’s just a thing.”

But when you hand him a perfectly balanced short dagger with an obsidian hilt engraved with tiny foreign runes—something he once mentioned while talking about his homeland—he can’t hide the tiny flicker of emotion. His fingers linger too long.

He mumbles a thank-you in broken, hesitant speech before vanishing into his room.

Later, the dagger becomes his favorite. He keeps it clean, sharp, and always close.

Machi

You give her a spool of rare silk thread dyed in her favorite muted shade of lavender, the color she once mentioned reminds her of the first sunrise she saw after a job went wrong.

She doesn’t say much, but her eyes flick up to you.

“You remembered that.”

Her tone is flat, but her cheeks warm slightly. Later, you see her using the thread and realize she’s saving a small portion of it—never using it up completely. A silent “thank you.”

Shalnark

He gets so excited. He’s smiling, glowing even. You hand him a custom-made phone case patterned after the exact coding interface he once showed you (something only a nerd like him would notice).

“No way! You remembered that? That’s crazy!”

He laughs and immediately swaps his old case for it. Then he leans in, grinning:

“You really pay attention to me, huh?”

But when he’s alone, he just stares at it with a faint blush—soft, grateful, quietly touched.

Phinks

You hand him a worn baseball cap with the old team logo from his hometown. Something he only mentioned once, nostalgic and forgotten.

He pauses mid-sentence, blinks a few times, and then mutters,

“Damn… haven’t seen that in years.”

He looks away quickly, rubbing the brim to hide the way his eyes sting a little. Later, he starts wearing it whenever the troupe’s not around. If anyone comments, he shrugs:

“Got it from someone important.”

Pakunoda

She’s touched instantly. When you hand her a delicate silver charm bracelet with a single spider charm, she smiles softly—the kind of smile that reaches her eyes.

“You have a good memory. And a kind heart.”

She leans in and kisses your cheek. You might not realize it, but for someone who’s seen countless memories of others, being remembered herself is the rarest gift.

Shizuku

You give her a small, clear case labeled “Deme-chan’s maintenance kit” with cleaning supplies for her vacuum weapon. She just blinks for a moment, then beams.

“You made this? For Deme-chan?”

She’s ecstatic in her calm, monotone way. She immediately starts using it, mumbling,

“You’re the best.”

It’s simple, but to her—it means everything.

Nobunaga

You give him an antique katana maintenance cloth — not just any, but one embroidered with the insignia of a small dojo he once trained at as a teenager. He mentioned it offhand, one night when he was reminiscing over sake, and you remembered.

He goes silent immediately.

“You… how’d you even know that place?”

He doesn’t look at you for a few seconds, just stares at the cloth, then exhales sharply through his nose — the way someone does when they’re fighting back a smile and tears.

“You got me, damn it.”

Later, he polishes his sword with it before every fight. You’ll never hear him say thank you again — but you’ll see it every time in how carefully he handles it.

Franklin

He’s… stunned, honestly. You hand him a thick pair of reinforced gloves, specifically modified so he can handle delicate objects without accidentally damaging them — something he once mentioned regretting, when he broke a keepsake by mistake.

He just stares for a moment.

“You remembered that?”

His voice comes out quieter than you’ve ever heard it. He takes them gently, testing the fit.

“You thought this through. That’s… really considerate.”

He looks away quickly before you can notice how his eyes soften. Later, you’ll catch him fixing small things around the base with those gloves on — and he smiles faintly each time.

Bonolenov

You gift him a small, handwoven cloth patterned after the melody markings painted on the drums of his tribe — something he’s never shown anyone but described once with melancholy pride.

He unfolds it slowly, fingertips brushing the fabric like it’s something from home.

“This pattern… only my people knew it.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment, breathing in like he’s hearing a long-lost song.

“You have given me a piece of my soul back.”

He ties it around his wrist and keeps it there during every performance.

Kortopi

You hand him a small, old sketchbook — the exact brand and texture of paper he mentioned once preferring for his “recreation practice.” It’s humble, plain even, but when he opens it and sees you already sketched something on the first page (a little doodle of you two together), he freezes.

“…This is… for me?”

He’s not used to anyone thinking of him first. His eyes flicker with confusion, warmth, and disbelief.

“You’re… weird. I like it.”

He starts filling the rest of the sketchbook with small, quiet drawings that no one else ever sees.

Uvogin

You give him a heavy, worn-looking metal bracelet — not flashy, just solid and durable — engraved with a small symbol from Meteor City. It’s the kind of thing only someone who really listened would even think to make, because he mentioned that place once, in passing, with a kind of rough-edged pride.

When you hand it to him, he laughs at first.

“What’s this, huh? You think I’m the jewelry type?”

But the laughter fades quick when he turns it over and sees the engraving. His thumb runs over it once. Then twice. His chest rises a little slower.

There’s a strange quiet that settles over him — not sad, just real. He grins after a moment, rough and warm.

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that? Nobody remembers that kind of stuff.”

He slips it on and never takes it off again. If anyone in the Troupe ever asks about it, he just smirks and says,

“Gift from someone who pays attention.”

Illumi

He stares at the gift for a long moment, unreadable. It’s a custom needle case, hand-carved from dark wood, with a pattern subtly resembling the Zoldyck crest. Something both useful and personal.

“You took time for this.”

His tone is monotone, but there’s a strange, quiet shift in his gaze. You can tell he’s genuinely… moved.

He doesn’t know how to show it, but later, when someone reaches for the case, his hand immediately snaps forward to protect it.

Kalluto

You gift him a small, delicate folding fan hand-painted with soft watercolors — a quiet scene of the Zoldyck garden at sunrise. The exact view he once admitted he misses when away from home.

He opens it gracefully, lips parting in surprise.

“You remembered that?”

His tone is calm, but you can see the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.

“It’s… beautiful. You must’ve spent a lot of time on it.”

He keeps it carefully wrapped when not in use and sometimes, when he feels homesick, he’ll just open it and stare at it quietly.

Alluka

Alluka absolutely lights up. You give her a plush doll modeled after Nanika, complete with her two different eyes and a tiny dress like hers.

Her mouth forms a soft “o” and then she beams so bright it’s like she’s glowing.

“You made this for me? So Nanika won’t be lonely?”

She hugs it tight and then hugs you tighter. Nanika even whispers, in that eerie, quiet voice,

“Thank you…”

Alluka will treasure it forever — she keeps it by her bed and introduces it to everyone who visits.

Kite

You hand him a small glass terrarium with miniature plants from the same ecosystem as Whale Island—something he once mentioned fondly when talking about Gon. He studies it silently, lips parting just slightly.

“You listen too well for your own good.”

There’s warmth in his tone though. He sets it carefully on his desk. “Thanks. This… feels like home.”

———

It was difficult coming up with the gifts, but I think I like how it turned out:)

[Ace x Reader]

Long one!! Enjoy!!

———

The port town was buzzing with life that night—merchants closing stalls, sailors drinking too loud, lanterns flickering against the sea breeze. You spotted him right away.

Tall, broad-shouldered, freckled skin catching the light from the streetlamps. He leaned against a wall outside the tavern, arms crossed, a faint grin tugging at his lips as if he already knew every joke in the world.

You almost walked past—he looked too… untouchable. But something about him pulled you in. That warmth in his smile. That fire in his eyes.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and walked straight up to him.

He raised an eyebrow when he noticed you coming. “Hm?” His voice was low, lazy, and curious.

You stopped in front of him, hands tightening at your sides before blurting it out. “Would you… like to get dinner with me? Or… maybe just hang out?”

Ace blinked. For a second, you thought you’d embarrassed yourself. But then he laughed—bright and surprised.

“You’re serious?” He tilted his head, grin spreading wider, freckles catching in the lantern glow. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you’re handsome,” you shot back, heat rising to your cheeks but refusing to back down.

That caught him. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly flustered despite the easy grin. “Heh. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.” He looked at you again, longer this time, and his grin softened. “You’re pretty bold, y’know that?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “So? Are you saying yes?”

Ace chuckled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Dinner sounds good.”

He pushed himself off the wall, towering just a bit closer than you’d expected, warmth radiating from him. “But fair warning—” his eyes glinted mischievously—“I eat a lot. You sure you can afford to take me out?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing nervously. “I didn’t say I was paying.”

Ace grinned, throwing his head back in laughter. “You’re funny, too. Alright, dinner it is. Lead the way.”

And just like that, the two of you slipped into the glow of the tavern lights, a spark already burning between you—warm, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

—

The tavern smelled like roasted meat, sea salt, and spilled ale. Warm light bathed the wooden tables where sailors and merchants shouted over dice and mugs of beer.

Ace followed you in, hands shoved casually into his pockets, but his eyes darted around with that mischievous curiosity. When you pulled him to an empty table by the window, he sat opposite you with a grin that hadn’t faded since you asked him out.

“Didn’t think I’d end up on a date tonight,” he teased, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Didn’t think you’d say yes,” you shot back, scanning the menu chalked on the wall.

Ace smirked. “I mean, I usually don’t turn down free food or a pretty face.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Cocky much?”

He laughed, low and bright. “Maybe a little.”

The food came quick—platters of grilled fish, roasted chicken, bowls of steaming rice, baskets of bread. And Ace… wasn’t kidding when he said he ate a lot. You watched, wide-eyed, as he demolished half the table in minutes, barely pausing to breathe between bites.

“You weren’t lying,” you said, sipping from your drink as he tore into another leg of chicken.

He swallowed, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Told you. Fire burns fast, y’know? Gotta feed it.”

There was something contagious about his energy. The way he laughed with his whole chest, the way he leaned forward when you talked, like he actually wanted to hear every word. You found yourself smiling more than you had in weeks, bantering back and forth between bites.

At one point, you teased, “So, Mr. Big Appetite, what if I couldn’t keep up with you?”

Ace leaned back, smirk playful, eyes glinting. “Then I’d share. Always gotta make sure my dinner date eats, too.” He slid one of his plates toward you, almost protective in the gesture.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Smooth.”

By the time the plates were empty and the tavern had grown rowdy with song, you leaned back in your chair, stomach full, cheeks sore from smiling. Ace stretched, arms behind his head, eyes crinkling at you.

“This was fun,” he admitted, his tone softer now, almost shy under the bravado.

You hesitated, then leaned across the table, voice low. “Run.”

Ace blinked. “…What?”

“Run,” you whispered again, grabbing his hand and yanking him to his feet.

Confusion melted into adrenaline as you bolted through the tavern, weaving between tables. Ace’s laughter boomed behind you, full of fire and thrill, as you both burst through the doors and into the cool night air.

You ran down the cobblestone street, hand in his, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the buildings. Neither of you looked back. Neither of you cared.

When you finally slowed, breathless and laughing, Ace bent over, hands on his knees, still grinning wide. “Hah—hah—holy crap, you’re insane!” He straightened, freckles glowing in the moonlight, eyes alight with adrenaline. “But… why the hell aren’t they chasing us?”

You smirked, catching your breath. “Because…” You pulled a folded receipt from your pocket, waving it with a flourish. “…I already paid.”

Ace’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

“I just wanted the thrill of it.” You laughed, sticking your tongue out. “You should’ve seen your face.”

For a moment, Ace just stared at you, then threw his head back in wild, loud laughter that shook his whole body. “You—oh, you’re evil. Evil!” He clutched his stomach, still laughing, eyes bright with something softer now. “God, I love that.”

You shrugged, still smirking. “Guess I like keeping things interesting.”

Ace looked at you for a long moment, grin softer now, warmer, before muttering, almost to himself: “Yeah… you really do.”

The night stretched around you, the sea breeze cool, your pulse still racing—not just from the run, but from the spark between you, blazing brighter than any fire.

—

The night air was cool, carrying the faint salt of the sea. The chaos of the tavern and your laughter-filled sprint had faded, replaced by the quieter sounds of the harbour: the creak of ships swaying, the occasional bark of a dog, the rhythm of waves against the docks.

Ace walked at your side, hands tucked lazily into his pockets, but he wasn’t as casual as he wanted you to think. His shoulders still buzzed with the leftover thrill of running with you, his pulse a little too fast, his grin tugging at the corner of his lips every time he glanced your way.

“You know,” he said after a while, voice low and thoughtful, “I’ve been in plenty of fights, sailed through storms, even gone a few days without food—but somehow tonight’s still the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You chuckled softly, brushing your shoulder against his. “What, outrunning imaginary tavern guards?”

Ace shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground for a moment before flicking back to you. “Nah. Sitting across from you. Laughing. Feeling… normal.”

The last word slipped out a little rougher than he meant, and he quickly scratched the back of his neck like he hadn’t just bared a piece of himself.

You caught it, though. The way his smile faltered into something vulnerable, the kind of look a person only gave when they trusted you enough to let their walls down.

“Normal’s underrated,” you murmured, tilting your head toward him.

He glanced at you then, freckles standing out like constellations under the streetlamps, and his lips tugged back into a softer smile. “Guess it is.”

For a while, you just walked in comfortable silence. The world felt quieter, smaller—like the two of you were the only ones alive in that moment. Every so often, your hands brushed as you walked, sending a jolt up your arm. Ace never pulled away, but he never quite reached for you either. He just… let the tension hang between you, warm and unspoken.

When you reached your place, he stopped a few feet from the door, rocking back slightly on his heels. His grin was there again, but weaker now, like he was covering up nerves.

“Well… guess this is you,” he said, his voice carrying an edge of hesitation he usually buried under bravado. “Thanks for tonight. Really. I—uh—” He trailed off, looking anywhere but at you, suddenly so much more awkward than the bold, fiery man who’d eaten half a tavern earlier.

You stepped closer, closing the space between you until he had no choice but to look at you. His eyes widened slightly, freckles standing out even more with the faint blush creeping across his cheeks.

“God,” you whispered, your hands coming up to cup his face, thumbs brushing along his jaw. He froze, breath caught in his throat. “You’re adorable.”

Before he could even react, you leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t wild or rushed—it was steady, lingering, warm. Ace melted into it almost instantly, hands finally slipping from his pockets to hover at your waist, uncertain but desperate to keep you close. His lips tasted faintly of the sweet rum you’d both shared, and the way he sighed against your mouth made your heart race.

When you finally pulled back, his eyes stayed half-lidded, dazed, like he couldn’t quite believe what just happened.

You grinned, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “When can I see you again, pretty boy?”

Ace’s face went scarlet, the confident smirk gone, replaced by something almost boyish. He scratched at his neck again, but his grin grew wider and wider until he was full-on laughing, nervous and exhilarated all at once.

“Tomorrow,” he said without hesitation, then added quickly, “Or, uh, tonight if you want. Or anytime. Hell, I’ll cancel everything else. Just… say the word.”

You laughed, shaking your head at his sudden rush of eagerness, but your chest warmed all the same.

“Tomorrow then,” you promised.

Ace finally let his hands settle at your waist, grounding himself in the reality that you were right there. He leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly against yours, whispering with a grin that betrayed just how gone he already was:

“Pretty boy, huh? Careful, I might get used to that.”

—

Morning sunlight poured over the harbor, bright and golden, and Ace was already there. He was early. Very early. He’d been pacing near your street for almost half an hour now, clutching something behind his back like it was a lifeline.

When he finally saw you step out of your home, he tried to look casual—leaning against a wall, shoulders relaxed, a grin tugging at his mouth—but his ears were red, and his free hand fidgeted restlessly.

“Hey,” he greeted, trying to sound smooth but coming off more boyish than he intended. “Sleep okay? Didn’t dream about me too much, did you?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “That’s the line you’re going with?”

Ace’s grin faltered, and he laughed awkwardly, then suddenly thrust out what he’d been hiding. A messy bouquet of wildflowers, some stems longer than others, tied with a fraying piece of rope.

“They, uh… reminded me of you,” he said quickly, his voice softening at the edges. “Kinda all over the place, but… still beautiful.”

You blinked, taken aback by the rough sincerity of it. For a guy who could burn entire ships to ash, he looked ridiculously nervous offering flowers. You smiled, taking them carefully. “Ace… they’re perfect. Thank you.”

His blush deepened, but he quickly cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “So, uh… what do you wanna do today? I was thinking, maybe… I don’t know, a walk through town? Or the beach? Or—”

You cut in gently, eyes bright. “Picnic. Let’s have a picnic.”

Ace froze, surprised. “A picnic? Really? That’s… actually a great idea.”

“Good,” you grinned. “Because I already packed one.” You held up a basket you’d been carrying, and his jaw nearly dropped.

“You made all that… for me?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Of course,” you said simply. “Just for you.”

For a moment, Ace didn’t know what to do with himself. His chest felt tight, warm, like someone had reached in and lit a small fire inside him. Nobody ever made things just for him—not like this. He scratched his neck, laughing sheepishly. “Guess I should’ve known you’d outdo me.”

—

The two of you found a spot on a grassy hill just outside of town, overlooking the sea. The waves sparkled in the distance, gulls circling lazily overhead. You spread a blanket, set down the basket, and began laying out dish after dish.

Ace’s eyes widened with each one. Sandwiches. Fresh fruit. Rice balls. Even a small pie.

“Wait, wait, wait—” he said, holding up his hands as though to stop you. “You cooked all this? For me?”

You smirked. “You’re repeating yourself.”

“Because I can’t believe it!” he laughed, flopping down onto the blanket. “I thought you’d bring, like… bread. Maybe some cheese. Not a feast fit for a damn king!”

“Well,” you teased, “guess that makes you royalty for today.”

Ace grinned, but something in his eyes softened as he dug in. Each bite he took seemed to make him happier, like he wasn’t just tasting the food but also the care you’d put into it. He kept glancing at you, like he was trying to commit the whole scene to memory—the breeze in your hair, the way you smiled when you watched him eat, the sound of your laughter carrying across the hilltop.

At one point, you leaned back on your elbows, simply watching him. He was talking about his brothers—about Sabo, his family, about Luffy’s boundless energy—and his hands moved as he spoke, animated and alive. The sunlight caught on his freckles, making them glow like constellations across his skin.

You found yourself staring.

Ace noticed after a while, his words trailing off. He tilted his head, brow furrowing. “What’s wrong? Do I have food on my face or something?”

You shook your head slowly, lips curving into a smile. “No. It’s just… you’re so handsome. And your freckles—they’re beautiful.”

For once, Portgas D. Ace was speechless.

He blinked, mouth slightly open, then shut it quickly, his face heating so fast you almost swore steam was about to rise from him. He dropped his gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck, a nervous laugh slipping out.

“Y-you can’t just say stuff like that,” he muttered, voice embarrassingly soft for someone who usually roared with laughter.

“Why not?” you asked lightly. “It’s true.”

Ace looked back up at you then, and the way you were smiling—genuine, warm, without a trace of teasing—made his chest ache in the best way. He wanted to kiss you right there, surrounded by half-eaten sandwiches and sunshine, but all he managed was to reach for your hand.

His calloused fingers tangled with yours, careful, almost shy.

“I’ve never had anyone look at me like that before,” he admitted quietly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

“Then get used to it, pretty boy,” you replied, giving his hand a squeeze.

Ace laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief, but his grin didn’t fade for the rest of the afternoon.

—

The sun was beginning to sink lower, spilling warm golds and fiery oranges across the horizon. You and Ace had been picking at the last of the food for a while, conversation drifting from wild stories to comfortable silences. The blanket beneath you was warm from the afternoon sun, and the salty breeze carried the sound of the waves up the hill.

You leaned back, eyes on the horizon. “The sunset’s beautiful tonight.”

Ace hummed, lying beside you with his arms folded behind his head. “Yeah,” he said softly, but his gaze wasn’t on the sky. It was on you.

You caught him staring and felt your cheeks heat, but instead of teasing, you asked quietly, “Ace… are you leaving? Or will you be staying for a while?”

The question hung heavy between you.

Ace’s jaw clenched, his smile faltering for the first time all day. He turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at you properly. “Honestly?” His voice was rough, unsteady. “I really don’t want to leave you.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. You searched his eyes, saw the conflict there—the pull of his duty, the weight of his life at sea, and the truth he couldn’t hide: that he wanted to stay, even if only for you.

Instead of pressing, you rolled onto your back, pointing up at the first few stars winking into existence in the deepening sky. “You know,” you began, voice lighter, “your freckles… they’re like constellations.”

Ace blinked, caught off guard. “My freckles?”

“Mhm.” You smiled, your eyes tracing invisible lines across the sky. “Like… think about it. The stars up there? Each one tells a story. They make patterns, maps, legends. And your freckles are the same. Every little dot is a star, and together, they make up you.”

Ace was silent, watching you as you gestured animatedly, your voice picking up in rhythm.

“They’re scattered, but perfectly so. Like if you really looked, you could trace them into something bigger—a dragon, a compass, maybe even the whole damn sea. And they’re beautiful because they don’t need to make sense to be worth staring at. Just existing… just shining there on your face is enough.”

You laughed a little, lost in your own ramble. “It’s funny, you probably think they’re just freckles, right? But to me, they’re these tiny universes, right there, like I could get lost in them forever.”

Ace’s throat tightened. He couldn’t stop staring.

“And when the sun sets,” you continued softly, “it’s like the world is trading one constellation for another. The stars in the sky, and the ones on your face.”

That’s when he felt it—the hot sting in his eyes. He blinked rapidly, tried to will it away, but the tears came anyway, sliding down his cheeks before he could stop them.

You gasped, immediately sitting up. “Ace? Oh my god—I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

Your hands cupped his face before he could protest, thumbs brushing against his skin as though you could wipe the tears away faster than they fell. Panic filled your voice. “I was just yapping, I didn’t mean—please don’t cry, I—”

Without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed your lips gently to his cheeks, kissing away each tear. One, then another, soft and deliberate, your warmth replacing the salt of his sorrow.

Ace’s breath caught. He froze, every nerve in his body on fire. Nobody had ever done something so tender for him—so achingly gentle. His heart pounded in his chest, a rhythm louder than the waves below.

By the time you pulled back, your lips still damp with his tears, he was trembling slightly, eyes wide and shining.

“See?” you whispered, smiling softly despite your nerves. “They’re gone. All better.”

Ace couldn’t stop himself. He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, desperate, full of everything he couldn’t put into words. Gratitude. Relief. Longing. Love.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, still catching his breath. “You… you don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he admitted, voice raw.

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his freckles. “Maybe I do.”

He laughed shakily, the sound breaking around the edges, and pulled you closer. For the first time in a long time, Ace felt like he wasn’t just surviving. He was living.

And as the stars multiplied overhead, he decided he wanted nothing more than to keep chasing sunsets like this—with you by his side.

—

The blanket was still warm when the world slipped into darkness. The stars burned bright overhead, but you barely noticed them anymore—your head was pillowed against Ace’s chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat lulling you into sleep.

Ace didn’t sleep right away. He lay there for a long time, staring at the night sky with his arm wrapped protectively around you. His fire had always burned for survival, for protecting others, for proving himself—but tonight, it burned quietly, a gentle glow in his chest. For once, he felt… at peace.

Eventually, his breathing slowed. Your smaller breaths matched his rhythm, and soon both of you drifted off under the blanket of stars.

—

The first rays of dawn painted the horizon pink and gold. Birds stirred in the trees, and the ocean below reflected the sky like molten glass.

Ace stirred awake first, though he didn’t let on. He cracked his eyes open, found your face still tucked against his chest, then quickly shut them again. A small smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t want to ruin the moment—didn’t want to risk you pulling away.

So he lay there, pretending to sleep.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head. For a moment, you just watched him—the rise and fall of his chest, the mess of his dark hair, the freckles scattered like stardust across his skin. He looked so peaceful, so unlike the fiery, reckless pirate you’d seen last night.

Your hand lifted before you could stop yourself. Gently, you traced one freckle on his cheek, then another, connecting them like invisible lines in the sky. A quiet smile curved your lips.

“Little constellations,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely louder than the morning breeze.

You leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to one. Then another. Then another. Your lips mapped out his face the way your fingers had, trailing over his freckles, his jaw, his temple.

He didn’t move, though his chest tightened with every touch.

Your hand slid into his messy black hair, fingertips combing through the strands. He exhaled quietly, fighting not to react, not to let you know he was awake.

“You’re so beautiful, Ace,” you murmured, still kissing along his skin. “You don’t even realize it. Not just your face—though God, you are handsome—but everything about you.”

You pressed another kiss to his forehead.

“You’re worth it. You’re worth everything.”

The words struck him like lightning. His chest constricted, breath hitching as he fought to keep still. Worth. Everything. Words he’d never believed belonged to him. Words he’d never thought anyone would give him.

But you did.

“And you deserve it,” you continued softly, voice trembling now with sincerity. “You deserve love, and warmth, and peace. You deserve to wake up happy. You deserve everything good this world has to offer.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth gently, your thumb brushing against his jaw.

“Everything.”

That was it. The dam broke.

Ace’s eyes snapped open, dark and glossy with unshed tears. He caught your wrist before you could pull back, his grip firm but trembling. His heart thundered as his lips parted, and the words tumbled out raw, unpolished, but true:

“I think I love you.”

Your eyes widened, the world holding still. For a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But his expression—so vulnerable, so desperate—told you otherwise.

You felt your throat tighten, your chest swell. Then you leaned down, kissing him softly, slowly, with all the tenderness you’d been pouring into your whispers.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breath mingling with his shaky one. “You don’t have to think, Ace,” you whispered, smiling through the tears gathering in your eyes. “You do.”

Ace let out a shaky laugh, half-sob, half-relief. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him as though he could fuse you to his very soul. For the first time in his life, the word “love” didn’t terrify him. It set him free.

And as the morning sun rose higher, Ace knew—this was only the beginning.

—

The island was quiet that morning, the kind of sleepy peace that only came after days of sunshine. The streets were slow to wake, fishermen repairing nets at the docks, children chasing each other barefoot through the sand.

You had dragged Ace, insisting the two of you help wash down the side of the little inn you sometimes worked at. He had groaned and complained, pretending it was too much effort, but he still hauled the buckets and carried the heavy water barrel without question.

Somewhere along the way, you’d handed him the hose.

And everything went sideways.

“Don’t you dare—!” you warned, backing up, your hands lifted like you could shield yourself.

Ace smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. “What? Me? I’d never—”

The spray of cold water hit you square in the chest.

You shrieked, laughter bubbling out even as you stumbled back, drenched from head to toe. “ACE!”

His laugh was wild, boyish, the kind that came from deep in his belly. “Oh, come on, you look great soaked!”

You lunged at him, grabbing for the hose, but he twisted away with ease, still laughing. The two of you wrestled for it, slipping on the wet ground, shrieking and giggling like children.

And then—victory.

You snatched the nozzle out of his hands, spraying him head to toe. He gasped dramatically, staggering back like he’d been mortally wounded. “You traitor!”

“Serves you right!” you giggled, chasing him with the stream of water as he darted behind barrels, ducking and weaving, his laugh echoing through the alley.

The townsfolk passing by smiled, shaking their heads. It was impossible not to, watching you both so alive, so free.

Finally, Ace stopped running. He turned suddenly, scooping you up with one strong arm around your waist. You squealed as your feet left the ground, the hose slipping from your hands.

“Gotcha!” he crowed, spinning you in dizzying circles. Water sprayed wildly from the still-running hose, soaking you both, sparkling in the sunlight.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt, clutching at his shoulders as he whirled you around. “Put me down!”

“Not a chance!”

The world spun in a blur of blue sky, golden sun, and his grin—the freest, happiest grin you’d ever seen. And then, just as your laughter peaked, he stopped spinning, still holding you tight against his chest.

For a heartbeat, everything was still.

And then Ace kissed you.

It wasn’t soft this time. It was dizzying, breathless, a kiss that tasted like sunlight and saltwater and laughter. His hands gripped you as though he’d never let go, and you melted into him, your fingers tangling in his dripping hair.

When he finally pulled back, he was panting, his forehead pressed to yours. “God, you’re trouble,” he whispered, smiling so wide it almost hurt.

“You love it,” you shot back, breathless.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do.”

What neither of you noticed—at least, not at first—was the massive shadow of the Moby Dick looming just off the coast.

On its deck, Whitebeard himself stood tall, bisento in hand, watching the scene with a rare softness in his eyes. Around him, the crew had gathered, murmuring, pointing.

“Oi… is that Ace?” Marco asked, squinting.

“Sure looks like him,” Thatch grinned, arms crossed. “When’s the last time we saw him that damn happy?”

Haruta chuckled. “He’s like a kid again.”

Even Izo smiled faintly, tilting his head. “He’s smitten. Look at the way he’s holding her.”

The crew’s laughter and comments filled the deck, but none of it touched Ace. On the shore, he was still lost in you—spinning, kissing, laughing—utterly oblivious to the fact that his family had just witnessed his entire heart laid bare.

And Whitebeard, watching quietly, rumbled a low laugh. “So that’s what you’ve been hiding, eh, Ace? A little piece of happiness.”

—

The laughter between you and Ace was still echoing down the street, both of you breathless and dripping wet, when a familiar sound reached his ears—low voices carrying over the breeze, the faint creak of a massive ship’s hull, the unmistakable chatter of men who’d sailed together for decades.

Ace froze mid-step, still holding you half off the ground from where he’d spun you. His head snapped toward the shoreline.

His blood ran cold.

There, looming tall and impossible to miss, was the Moby Dick.

And lining the rail of the ship? Dozens of faces he knew better than his own reflection. Marco with his arms crossed and that smug little smirk. Thatch doubled over laughing. Izo with his painted lips curved in sly amusement. Haruta, Jozu, Vista—the whole damn crew.

And towering over them all, Whitebeard himself, leaning casually against his bisento, watching like some proud father catching his son sneaking sweets before dinner.

Ace’s stomach dropped.

“…shit.”

You blinked at him, still catching your breath. “What? What’s wrong—”

Then you followed his gaze.

Your jaw nearly hit the ground. That ship was enormous. Larger than any vessel you’d ever seen dock in this town. The crew was endless, filling the deck with bright clothes, weapons strapped to hips, voices loud and teasing. You didn’t need Ace to tell you who they were. This was them.

His family.

Ace quickly set you down, running a hand through his soaked hair, suddenly awkward in a way you had never seen before. “Crap, crap, crap… they saw everything. Oh my god. I’m never gonna hear the end of this—”

From the deck, Marco cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Oi, Ace!” His grin was wicked. “You finally found someone who can handle your hot-headed ass, huh?”

The crew roared with laughter.

“About damn time!” Thatch hollered, elbowing Haruta. “Look at him—he’s blushing!”

Ace groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His freckles stood out even darker now with the flush spreading across his cheeks. “They’re never gonna let me live this down…”

Before he could panic himself into a hole, you reached out and took his hand.

And then, casually, like you’d done this a hundred times before, you stepped right up beside him and called out toward the ship, your voice bright and warm:

“Hi! I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet all of you—Ace talks a whole bunch about his family, so I’m glad to finally be face to face with you.”

The entire crew went silent for a beat, like they’d just been smacked with a wave of unexpected sincerity.

And then—chaos.

“Ohhh, he talks about us, does he?” Marco grinned wide, clearly delighted.

Thatch slapped the rail, laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. “Ace, you sap! No wonder you disappear off on these little ‘errands’!”

Haruta cupped their cheeks. “She’s adorable. Can we keep her?”

You laughed softly, waving a little like this was the most normal introduction in the world.

Ace, meanwhile, had gone beet red. He stared stubbornly at the ground, jaw tight, trying to hide how flustered he was.

You leaned close, whispering with a teasing smirk, “Ace… you talk about us to her that muchhhhhhh?”

That was it—he snapped.

“You—!” He turned on you, scooping you up from behind with his arms around your waist. You squealed, laughing as he lifted you clear off your feet again.

“Shut up before I spray you with that hose again!” he barked, trying to cover his embarrassment with bravado. But his ears were red all the way to the tips, and his grin broke through even as he threatened you.

You threw your head back, laughing so hard you could barely breathe, wriggling in his hold. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” he teased back, spinning you once, twice, until the world blurred again.

The crew on deck cheered like they were watching the best damn show at sea. Shouts of “Spin her, Ace!” and “Don’t drop her!” echoed over the water.

And through it all, Whitebeard finally let out a booming laugh that silenced everyone in an instant. His voice carried effortlessly across the waves.

“Ace,” he rumbled, deep and fond, “it does my old heart good to see you smile like that, son.”

Ace froze mid-spin, your laughter still bubbling in his arms. His breath hitched, chest tight. For all the teasing, for all the embarrassment—those words hit deeper than he could ever admit.

Slowly, Ace set you back on your feet, his hands lingering on your waist. He glanced up at the ship, swallowing hard. Then down at you, cheeks still flushed, eyes warm in a way that made your chest ache.

And though he muttered something about never living this down, he didn’t let go of you. Not even for a second.

—

Ace’s fingers laced tightly through yours as he finally, reluctantly, led you down the dock toward the looming Moby Dick. His embarrassment hadn’t faded, but the proud warmth in his chest—brought on by your laughter, by your easy introduction, by the way you weren’t the least bit afraid of his family—made his steps steady.

The crew was already waiting. A sea of familiar faces, each one grinning, curious, or openly scheming ways to tease him senseless.

You whispered up at him, “You look like you’re walking into an execution.” (Oops…)

Ace muttered under his breath, “It might as well be.”

You squeezed his hand. “Relax. They’re your family, right? Then they’re mine now too.”

That stopped him short. His chest squeezed painfully, but he kept moving, guiding you up the gangplank.

—

The moment your feet touched the deck, Marco was there, arms crossed, smirk wide.

“So this is the infamous ‘someone special’ Ace disappears for?” Marco’s eyes flicked between you and Ace. “Now I see why.”

You laughed softly, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Marco. Ace didn’t mention you were so handsome.”

Marco blinked, then laughed, genuine and bright. “Oh, I like her already.”

Ace groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”

—

Thatch was next, bounding forward with a wide grin and a dramatic bow. “Name’s Thatch, Fourth Division Commander, resident chef, and devastatingly good-looking pirate.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Funny… Ace told me the Fourth Division Commander was supposed to be useful.”

The crew exploded in laughter, half doubling over as Thatch clutched his chest in mock injury. “Oh, she’s got claws. Perfect match for Fire Fist!”

Ace grinned despite himself, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively.

—

Izo stepped up, perfectly poised, kimono immaculate even at sea. He gave you a graceful nod. “Izo. Don’t worry, dear, we’ll make sure Ace minds his manners with you.”

You chuckled. “If you can manage that, you deserve a medal.”

Izo’s painted lips curved in delight. “Charming. You’ve already got my vote.”

—

Haruta darted up next, bouncing on their heels. “So you’re the reason Ace has been smiling like an idiot!”

You laughed, a little embarrassed but flattered. Ace, meanwhile, ducked his head, his ears practically glowing red.

—

Even Jozu and Vista gave approving nods.

Everywhere you turned, there were warm smiles, teasing remarks, approving glances. They weren’t just tolerating you—they were embracing you as one of their own.

—

And then the laughter ebbed as Whitebeard himself stepped forward, towering like a mountain. His presence was overwhelming, his shadow stretching across the deck. But his eyes were warm, glimmering with pride as they landed on Ace.

“So,” Whitebeard rumbled, his voice deep enough to shake the wood beneath your feet, “this is the one who makes my son smile.”

Ace stiffened at the words, but you only bowed your head politely. “Yes, sir. Thank you for taking care of him so well. He really loves you.”

Whitebeard’s booming laugh rolled out over the ship, startling seagulls into flight. “Good answer.”

—

The mood was bright until Marco—tilted his head and asked casually, “So, Ace… when are you coming back to us?”

The question seemed innocent. But Ace’s entire body went rigid. His fingers tightened painfully around yours, jaw clenching. He didn’t answer.

The crew noticed immediately. The laughter died into silence. Even Whitebeard’s gaze sharpened, catching the shift in his son’s shoulders, the quiet turmoil etched across his face.

You didn’t hesitate.

You reached up, patting Ace’s back gently, grounding him. Then, with an easy smile toward the crew, you answered for him:

“Whenever you need him.”

Gasps of surprise flickered through the deck. Even Ace’s head whipped toward you, eyes wide.

You smiled up at him, softer now. And before he could speak, you reached up on tiptoe and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead.

His breath stuttered out, the tension in his body unraveling as he leaned into the touch.

“You won’t miss me?” he asked quietly, voice raw, almost childlike in its vulnerability.

You cupped his face, your thumb brushing across his freckles. Your eyes lifted toward the twilight sky above, where the first stars were beginning to twinkle.

“Of course I will,” you murmured. “But I told you already, Ace. Your freckles are constellations. Even if you’re gone, all I have to do is look up at the stars, and there you are—burning bright, impossible to miss. You’ll always guide me home, just like they guide sailors through the night.”

The deck went silent. Every hardened pirate, every seasoned commander, every scarred warrior—stunned into quiet awe.

Because the way you spoke of him was reverent, unshakable. And the way Ace looked back at you—eyes glassy, lips parted, expression soft and undone—was enough to silence even Marco’s teasing.

For once, Fire Fist Ace wasn’t the reckless little brother of the crew, or the stubborn son desperate to prove himself. He wasn’t even a pirate.

He was just a man in love.

And his entire family saw it.

—

The night had stretched on far longer than you wanted. The crew was still buzzing with laughter and music on the deck of the Moby Dick, but you and Ace had wandered off to the quiet edge of the dock.

The ocean reflected the moonlight like shards of silver glass, waves lapping gently against the wood. It should have been peaceful, but the weight of what was coming pressed heavy in your chest.

Ace leaned against a post, arms crossed, head tilted toward you, but his eyes couldn’t quite meet yours. “They’re leaving soon,” he said quietly.

You nodded, hands twisting together in front of you. “I figured.”

The silence stretched, filled only by the gentle sway of the ship and the distant sound of his brothers calling out drunken jokes. Ace shifted uneasily, then finally looked at you—freckles catching the moonlight like constellations, just as you had told him before.

“I don’t want to go,” he admitted, his voice raw. “Not when I finally found… this. You.”

Your heart squeezed. Stepping closer, you rested a hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “I know you have to,” you whispered. “Your family needs you. And I’d never ask you to choose between me and them.”

His jaw clenched, eyes burning with conflict. “But it feels like I’m leaving half my heart behind.”

You smiled, soft but aching. “That’s okay. Because you left the other half right here with me.” You tapped his chest lightly where your hand still rested. “So no matter how far you sail, we’ll always carry each other.”

Ace’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He leaned down suddenly, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath trembling against your lips. “God, you’re gonna kill me.”

You closed your eyes, memorizing the warmth of him, the scent of salt clinging to his skin. “Promise me something,” you murmured.

“Anything.”

“When the nights get too long, and the sea feels endless, just look at the stars. Remember what I told you? Your freckles are constellations. If you get lost, they’ll guide you back to me. Always.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and this time you didn’t hesitate—you kissed it away, just like before. He shivered, clutching you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulled back. His hands lingered at your waist, trembling slightly. “When can I see you again?”

You smiled through the ache in your chest. “When the stars bring you back to me, pretty boy.”

He laughed softly, brokenly, and kissed you—slow, desperate, memorizing.

And then he stepped away, walking up the gangplank, every step heavier than the last.

You stood on the dock, watching as the Moby Dick slowly pulled away. Ace never stopped looking back until the ship was a silhouette against the horizon.

Your hand lifted, brushing against your lips where his kiss still lingered.

And though the ache of separation hollowed you out, the stars above burned brighter than ever, freckles scattered across the sky.

You whispered into the night, hoping the sea would carry your words to him:

“Come home to me, Ace.”

———

Oh how I love Ace

[ Ace x Reader ]

———

The first time you saw him, he was asleep on the docks.

Hat tipped low, sun beating down, chest rising and falling like waves. A stranger dropped in the middle of your quiet port town, freckles scattered across his face like someone had painted constellations there.

You only meant to walk past. But then he stirred—lifting his head, eyes half-lidded, grin lazy.

“You staring at me ‘cause I’m good-looking,” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, “or ‘cause I’m drooling?”

You startled, caught red-handed. “Neither. You’re blocking the path.”

He laughed—a low, rumbling sound that chased the heat to your cheeks. And somehow, from that moment, you couldn’t seem to shake him.

He became part of your days without you noticing.

You’d find him lounging on crates while you worked, offering no help except commentary. You’d see him at the market, carrying baskets for you like they weighed a hundred pounds just so you’d laugh at his exaggerated groans. At night, he’d wander into the tavern, sliding into the seat beside you and whispering the worst jokes until you nearly spat out your drink.

But there were other moments too. Quieter ones.

When the night was still, you’d sometimes find him sitting by the water, flames flickering at his fingertips, reflecting in the waves. You’d join him without a word, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and he’d ask about your dreams. He’d listen like every word mattered, like the world narrowed to just you in that moment.

And it scared you, how easily you began to crave him. The warmth of his laughter. The heat of his presence. The feeling that somehow, you weren’t just seen—you were known.

One night, lying in the grass with him at your side, stars scattered endlessly above, you realized it: you could love him.

But forever wasn’t Ace’s word.

It happened under the same stars, when the air was heavy with summer heat and the sound of waves brushing against the shore. He was unusually still, hat tipped back, arms folded behind his head. His hand rested close to yours, so close you swore he could feel the way yours trembled.

“Ace?” you asked softly.

His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice wasn’t its usual teasing drawl. It was low. Careful. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You turned toward him, heart kicking. “What is it?”

He stared at the sky for a long moment, then finally looked at you. His eyes burned—not with fire, but with something harder.

“I can’t stay here. And I can’t…” He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves cut. “I can’t be with you. No matter how much I want to.”

It felt like the world tipped sideways. The air squeezed from your lungs. “Why?”

His lips parted, but the answer was in his eyes before he said it: longing, sharp and pained.

“Because my life isn’t mine to keep still. I’ve got things I need to do. Places I need to go. If I kept you close, I’d only drag you into it. And you deserve more than waiting for someone who might never come back.”

Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. “So that’s it? You just walk away?”

His smile wavered, a fragile curve. “If it were only up to me, I’d never let you go.” His hand reached, brushing your cheek, warm and careful. “But if I love you… I can’t chain you to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. All you could hear was the rush of waves, the pounding of your heart, the sound of everything breaking.

And then—his lips pressed against yours. Desperate. Burning. A kiss that said everything he was too afraid to let live. You clutched his shirt, terrified of letting him slip through your fingers, but when he pulled away, you knew it was over.

“You’re the hardest thing I’ve ever had to leave behind,” he whispered, voice raw.

By the time dawn painted the horizon, he was gone.

The space beside you on the grass was empty, the smell of smoke fading into the salt air. For a moment, you thought he had vanished without a trace.

And then you saw it.

His hat—carefully set beside you, brim tilted like he’d left it there on purpose. The one thing he never parted with, the piece of him that had been a constant from the first moment you met him.

You picked it up with trembling hands, pressing it to your chest. It didn’t promise his return. It wasn’t hope. But it was his. And it was enough to feel like he was still with you, even as he disappeared into the horizon.

The ache didn’t fade. It probably never would. But when you held that hat close, you could still feel the warmth of him, like an ember pressed into your heart.

And maybe, you thought through the tears, that was Ace’s kind of love.

Not forever.

But fire—bright, consuming, unforgettable.

Time passed. Life went on. But you never forgot.

It was months later when the news reached your little town—rumors at first, then confirmation like a blade through your chest. Portgas D. Ace. Captured. Executed. Dead.

Your body went numb. The world blurred.

You stumbled down to the docks where you’d first sat with him, his hat clenched in your hand, afraid it would fly away. The sea stretched out endlessly, indifferent to your tears.

You clutched the hat to your chest, shaking, whispering his name into the wind.

He was gone. Truly gone. But his hat was still warm against your skin, as if a tiny ember of him refused to burn out completely.

And in that warmth, you let yourself believe—just for a moment—that he was still with you.

———

[ Figarland Shamrock x Commoner reader ]

———

The first time you crossed paths with Shamrock, you were supposed to look away. That’s what everyone else did when nobles walked the streets—bow their heads, avoid eye contact, pretend they weren’t there at all.

But you didn’t.

You met his eyes and held them, even when his mouth curled into that sharp, mocking smile.

He should have punished you for it, humiliated you in front of everyone. Instead, he only leaned close enough for his words to brush against your ear.

“You’re either too brave,” he murmured, voice silk wrapped around a blade, “or too stupid. Either way, I’ll enjoy watching you break.”

You hated him then. Or told yourself you did. But when the sun set and the streets grew quiet, you hated yourself more. Because Shamrock didn’t forget you—and he didn’t stay away.

He came to you at night, slipping into your room like a thief. The first time, his gloved hand covered your mouth, his body pressing you down as he whispered for silence. By the time his mouth replaced his hand, your body was trembling for reasons you didn’t dare name.

That became your curse.

By day, he ignored you. He passed you on the streets without a glance, sometimes with a cruel smirk that cut deeper than silence. You were beneath him, nothing but another commoner in his eyes. But by night, when the world was asleep, you became his obsession.

A secret. His dirty little secret.

And he was relentless.

His touch was demanding, greedy, as though every kiss was proof of ownership. Sometimes, when he pressed you against the wall and devoured your lips, you thought he might leave marks on your soul the same way he left them on your skin.

Yet there were moments—fleeting, fragile—when he was almost tender. His hand on your waist, his lips brushing your temple, his breath warm as he whispered words he’d never dare repeat in daylight. Those moments ruined you. They made you believe there was something real buried beneath the cruelty.

Until one night, you broke.

“You can’t keep doing this to me!” you cried, shoving at his chest when he cornered you in your room again. “You act like I’m nothing to you in front of everyone, but here—you make me believe I’m something more! What am I to you, Shamrock? A plaything? A shameful secret?”

His jaw clenched. He stepped closer. You stumbled back until your knees hit the bed.

“You think I don’t love you?” he growled, his eyes burning like wildfire. “You think I could stomach anyone else touching you, looking at you? You’re mine. Mine.”

Before you could answer, his lips crashed against yours, bruising, desperate. His hands gripped your waist, dragging you onto his lap, the heat of his body searing through your clothes. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, his tongue forcing its way past your lips, claiming every part of you.

Your body betrayed you, melting against him even as your heart trembled. His hands roamed, tugging at fabric, exploring with a hunger that made you dizzy. You shouldn’t let him. You should shove him away. But when his teeth grazed your throat and his hand slid beneath your clothes, a whimper slipped past your lips, and his chuckle was dark with triumph.

“That’s it,” he whispered, dragging his mouth down your neck. “My sweet little commoner. My dirty little secret.”

You shivered, half in fear, half in want. His fingers trailed lower, possessive, teasing, until your protests dissolved into soft gasps. Every touch branded you as his, every kiss sealing the truth you tried so hard to deny.

Later, when you lay tangled in the sheets, his arm heavy around your waist like a chain, he pressed his mouth against your ear. His voice was softer now, but still laced with threat.

“No one can ever know about you. Not the nobles. Not my brother. Not anyone. If they did…” He kissed your shoulder, slow and deliberate. “I’d have to destroy them. Do you understand?”

You nodded, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how twisted it was… you loved him. And you were his—his secret, his sin, his obsession.

His dirty little secret.

———

[ Shanks x Reader ]

———

The tavern was alive that night, buzzing with drunken laughter, the clink of tankards, and the slam of boots against worn wood. The Red-Haired Pirates had claimed it as their own the second they’d docked, and it showed—half the crew was already sprawled on tables, the other half trying to out-sing the musicians in a chorus that was more shouting than melody.

And in the middle of it all, he stood.

Shanks. Red hair loose around his face, shirt hanging open just enough to make you wonder if he knew what he was doing. His laughter carried over the noise, too easy, too bright, but his eyes—they kept finding you.

Every damn time.

You sipped your drink, trying to pretend you didn’t notice. Trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, how his grin softened when it was aimed at you instead of his men. He had a way of undoing you without lifting a finger, and you hated it almost as much as you needed it.

He finally broke away from the crew’s teasing and wandered toward you, footsteps heavy against the floorboards. He leaned against the bar, his one hand resting dangerously close to yours.

“Not enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, warm, tinged with the roughness of rum.

You shot him a look. “Do you call that singing?”

He chuckled, leaning closer until you could feel the heat of him, smell the salt clinging to his skin. “You wound me, love. I’ve been told my voice is enchanting.”

“By who? Your drunk crew?”

Shanks smirked, and god, he knew what that smile did to you. “By you, if I remember correctly.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t flinch. “That was years ago. And I was drunk.”

“Still counts.”

He was teasing, but you could see it—the flicker of something raw behind his eyes. Something vulnerable. And before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

He tilted his head, grin fading. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll leave again,” you whispered, staring down into your glass. “You always do.”

For a moment, the tavern seemed to fade away. His smile softened into something heavier, something that sat on his chest like an anchor. His calloused hand reached for yours, covering it with a gentleness that didn’t match the pirate everyone else saw.

“You think I don’t hate it too?” he murmured. “Every time I sail away without you, I wonder if you’ll still be here when I come back.”

Your throat tightened. “Then stay. Just once—stay.”

His jaw clenched. His hand squeezed yours. And then, softly, painfully, he said, “I can’t.”

It split something open inside you. You yanked your hand back, heart hammering. “Then don’t ask me to wait forever.”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he surged forward, lips crashing into yours, and all the air left your lungs.

The kiss was desperate—messy, unrestrained, the kind that tasted of rum and longing. His teeth caught your bottom lip, his tongue slid against yours, and you could feel the storm of everything he couldn’t say bleeding into the way he kissed you. His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek like you were something precious even as his mouth claimed you like a man drowning.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice raw. “I’ll always come back to you. Even if the sea takes me—my heart’s yours.”

Your chest ached. Your eyes burned. And before you could think better of it, you whispered, “Then prove it.”

The change in him was instant. His pupils blew wide, breath ragged, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding back for too long. He grabbed your wrist, tugging you off the barstool, ignoring the catcalls from his crew as he pulled you toward the back rooms of the tavern.

The second the door shut behind you, he had you against it, his mouth crashing into yours again. His hand slid under your thigh, lifting you against him, grinding the hard line of his body into yours until you gasped into his kiss.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your lips. “Do you know what you do to me? Watching you sit there all night, acting like you don’t want me.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, making him growl. “Maybe I don’t.”

His teeth scraped your jaw as he dragged his mouth down your neck. “Liar.” His tongue traced your pulse before he sucked hard enough to leave a mark. “You’ve been mine for years, whether you admit it or not.”

You gasped when his hand slipped under your skirt, fingers brushing your soaked underwear. His smirk was sinful. “So wet already? Haven’t even touched you properly.”

“Sh-Shanks—”

His fingers shoved your panties aside, sliding between your folds, gathering the slick there before pressing tight circles against your clit. You choked on his name, clinging to his shoulders as his pace grew merciless.

“That’s it,” he muttered, watching your face as you trembled. “Give it to me. Let me see how beautiful you look when you fall apart for me.”

Your moans filled the small room, your hips grinding down against his hand, chasing the rhythm he set. His thumb never let up, rubbing you harder, faster, until you shattered with a cry, thighs shaking around him.

He didn’t stop. He slid two fingers inside you, curling them deep until you nearly sobbed. “Shanks—too much—”

“You can take it.” His voice was dark, possessive, but his mouth was soft against your temple. “One more for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you drench my hand.”

You broke again, clenching around his fingers, your cry muffled against his chest. He pulled his hand free only to bring his slick fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a groan.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

You barely had time to breathe before he was fumbling with his belt, freeing himself. He didn’t bother with gentleness as he lined up, slamming into you with one hard thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—fuck—” Your nails dug into his shoulders, your back pressed against the door as he fucked into you, every thrust sharp, punishing, desperate.

He kissed you through it, messy and hot, swallowing every sound you made. “You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “So tight around me—like you were made for me.”

Your moans mixed with his ragged breaths, the room filling with the sound of skin against skin. His pace grew rougher, driving you higher, your head tipping back as pleasure clawed through you.

“Shanks—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he commanded, his thumb finding your clit again. “Do it for me. Mark me. Let them all hear who you belong to.”

That was enough. You came undone with a broken cry, clenching around him so tight it dragged his own release from him. He buried himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, holding you tight like he could anchor himself in you.

For a long moment, you stayed like that—his forehead against yours, both of you trembling, breath mingling.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes softened, though his grin was lazy, wicked. “Still think I don’t want you?”

You tried to glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “You’re insufferable.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, tender, his thumb brushing your jaw. “Maybe. But I’m yours. Always.”

And for that night, at least, you let yourself believe him.

———

By the way, I love your blog 🩷

Of course AND THANK U 🩷

Post-War Obito Uchiha Headcanons

———

He doesn’t think he deserves you at first.

You’ll often catch him looking at you with quiet disbelief, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

Obito’s love is slow, gentle, and achingly loyal.

He never rushes into touch, but once he starts? He’s clingy in the most subtle ways, like brushing his knuckles over your hand or laying his head in your lap silently.

He has nightmares often.

When he wakes up sweating or shaking, you don’t even have to speak. Just a touch grounds him. Your presence is his anchor.

He hates the scars.

You kiss each one. He doesn’t say anything the first time, but after that, he starts letting you see him more often.

He works with Kakashi rebuilding orphan systems.

Quiet redemption. He never talks about it unless you ask. But the kids love him—even if he pretends not to notice.

He’s incredibly private with affection.

PDA is limited to you straightening his cloak or him brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in public. But in private? He holds you like you’re made of glass.

He gardens.

His version of peace. He lets you help him tend to lilies and lavender, and you always catch him talking to the plants under his breath.

His laugh is rare—but beautiful.

Deep, raspy, surprised. You treasure it like a prayer.

He tells you the truth, eventually.

Everything about Rin. About what he became. He doesn’t want secrets between you. You crying for him, instead of fearing him, changes everything.

He sleeps curled toward you.

Scarred side pressed to your chest, arms around your waist, silent sigh against your neck. It’s not just sleep. It’s safety.

His nickname for you is “little light”

“You remind me of the sun,” he says once. “Even if I always thought I was destined for shadow.”

He remembers everything.

The dates. The soft things you like. How you take your tea. The exact shade of your eyes in moonlight.

He’s absurdly protective, but quiet about it.

If someone disrespects you? They’ll never know it was Obito who ruined their career with one anonymous letter and an ANBU favour.

He always calls you ‘home’.

Not “my home”—just “home.” Like a fact. Like a prayer. Like something he thought he’d never have.

NSFW Headcanons

He’s starved for touch.

When you finally take that step? It’s like a dam breaking. He touches you like he’s memorizing your soul.

Scar worship turns into you worship.

He’s self-conscious about his body until he sees how you respond. Then? He lets you touch every inch, while his eyes never leave your face.

He goes slow. Always.

Unless you beg. And even then, his pace is intentional. Every thrust, every stroke of his hands—it’s about you.

He groans, deep and low.

It’s rare, but when you find the right rhythm or say the right thing? His breath catches and you hear it—raw, needy, unguarded.

His hands are deceptively gentle.

They’re large and calloused—but the way he trails them down your thighs, traces your lips, or cups your face during intimacy? Worshipful.

He likes it when you’re on top.

Not just for the view, but because he’s so used to control and violence. Letting you take over? That’s trust.

Neck kisses—always.

Slow, hot, lingering kisses behind your ear or on your collarbone. His voice gets hoarse when he moans your name into your skin.

Aftercare is sacred to him.

Holding you. Cleaning you up. Wrapping you in his cloak even if you’re still in bed. He never leaves after.

He won’t say “I love you” during sex—he’ll show it.

Eye contact. Whispering how good you are. Resting his forehead on yours while you fall apart together.

If he ever hears you moan his name?

He’ll absolutely lose it. Slow and quiet becomes rough and desperate for just a moment—until you both break.

———

Of course I can hehe. THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST SORRY I TOOK SO LONG!!

Shinichiro and Ryusei As Your Boyfriend + normal headcanons

———

Shinichiro Sano

Shinichiro is the definition of soft boyfriend energy. He’s gentle, thoughtful, and always puts you first—even when he doesn’t have to.

He’s a hopeless romantic, but in the dorkiest way. Think surprise flowers, love letters tucked into your bag, forehead kisses before you wake up.

He gets flustered when you compliment him. Like, you say “You look handsome today,” and he suddenly forgets how to function. “Wh—Me?! Stop, I—No you!”

He’s a hand-holder. Always. Even in summer. Even when his hand is sweaty. He needs to feel you’re close.

Whenever he works late at the bike shop, you bring him food—and he immediately lights up like a puppy. “You spoil me,” he says, hugging you with grease-stained hands.

He sends you the most wholesome texts. Like:

“Don’t forget to eat. Love you, dummy 💛”

Or:

“I just saw a dog that looks like you. Cute and angry.”

He cooks for you. Badly. But the effort is there. He’ll burn rice, drop eggs on the floor, and still smile proudly like he just made a 5-star meal.

He likes when you sit on the counter and talk to him while he fixes bikes. Sometimes he gets distracted staring at you and messes something up.

When you’re sad, he doesn’t always know what to say, but he gives you his hoodie, holds you tightly, and says softly, “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

He once built a custom keychain just for you with your initials engraved. It’s crooked, but you wear it like it’s gold.

He always introduces you as “my partner” with the biggest proud smile. Like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

NSFW Headcanons

Shinichiro is the type who asks every time. Even if you’ve done it a hundred times, he always leans close and whispers, “Can I touch you?” That voice, low and a little breathless, gets you every time.

Very needy. He might act all patient and in-control, but when he’s really into it, he starts begging:

“Please—keep touching me, baby. I missed you. I missed this.”

He’s a giver—as in, he worships you. He takes his time. No rush. He’ll go down on you with his hands holding your thighs wide, saying things like:

“Let me take care of you. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

(And he does not stop until your legs are shaking.)

He loves when you pull his hair. Like, he pretends he doesn’t, but the second your fingers tangle in it? He groans into your skin, hips grinding deeper, voice rough: “You’re driving me insane…”

Garage sex…It’s happened. You came to bring him lunch, and next thing you know, your back’s pressed against the workbench, his hand up your shirt, mumbling, “I can’t wait until we’re home…” He’s breathless and a little desperate, always making sure you’re okay—but he lives for that raw heat.

He’s super verbal during. Lots of soft gasps, moans, whispered “God, you feel so good” and “You’re perfect” between kisses. Sometimes he just says your name over and over like he’s overwhelmed by how much he loves you.

Aftercare KING. Warm cloth, water, cuddles, forehead kisses, the whole thing. He’ll tuck you in his hoodie and pull you close, stroking your back until your heartbeat slows.

Then softly:

“You okay, baby? You were so good for me.”

Solo Headcanons

Shinichiro is the mom friend of every group he’s ever been in. Snacks, tissues, band-aids? Always has them.

He laughs at his own jokes—even when no one else does. He’ll be like “Get it? GET IT?” while everyone groans.

He’s terrible at lying. One look and you can tell if he’s hiding something. He’ll avoid eye contact and start sweating immediately.

He talks to animals like they’re people. “Hey buddy, you doin’ okay today?” to a random alley cat, in public.

His bike is his baby. But he still lets his friends sit on it and even teaches kids how to ride—because his heart’s that soft.

He’s clumsy. Drops tools. Trips over nothing. Accidentally sets off the shop’s fire alarm trying to “fix the toaster.”

He’d take a bullet for his friends without hesitation. He’s loyal to a fault—and would always rather get hurt than see someone else suffer.

He has the best big brother energy. When Mikey or Emma’s sad, he sits with them quietly until they talk—no pressure, just presence.

He still keeps childhood drawings from Mikey and Emma taped to the inside of his toolbox. Sentimental to the core.

Ryusei Satou

Ryusei gives off effortlessly cool boyfriend vibes—but deep down, he’s incredibly protective and way more affectionate than he lets on.

He doesn’t do big PDA, but he always has a hand on you: hand in your back pocket, arm draped around your shoulder, thumb brushing your palm when you hold hands.

He calls you “babe,” “sweetheart,” “trouble,” and when he’s really soft: “my girl” (and yes, it hits different every time).

He’ll fight anyone who disrespects you—but only after giving you that cocky smile like, “You want me to handle that, or should I let you throw the first punch?”

He has a soft spot for quiet nights. You lying on his chest, his hand rubbing circles on your back, your favorite song playing in the background.

He teases you nonstop, but it’s always laced with love:

“Aw, did I make you blush? You’re cute when you’re mad at me.”

If you’re upset, he doesn’t try to fix everything. He just listens, pulls you into his lap, and says, “I’ve got you. No one messes with what’s mine.”

He spoils you lowkey—paying for everything, giving you his jacket, dropping everything to pick you up if you’re sad or tired. No questions asked.

Dates with him are unpredictable: motorcycle rides, rooftop sunsets, underground concerts, late-night 7-Eleven runs—whatever feels chaotic but intimate.

He falls for you harder every day but would rather die than say it out loud. So he just kisses your temple and mutters, “Don’t go fallin’ for anyone else, alright?”

Solo Headcanons

Ryusei always looks effortlessly stylish without trying. You’d swear he just rolls out of bed in a leather jacket and still looks fine.

He’s got a messed-up sleep schedule. Stays up late doing who-knows-what, then somehow shows up fresh in the morning like nothing happened.

He loves motorcycles more than people. Catch him tuning up his bike at 2AM with a lollipop in his mouth and some old-school music blasting.

Doesn’t brag, but you know he’s been in fights just by the way he moves. Calm, confident, like he’s always five steps ahead.

He’s lowkey a flirt, even when he’s not trying. It’s the eyes, the voice, the way he leans in when he talks—it all feels like he’s teasing you.

He actually reads when no one’s around—dark thrillers, war memoirs, stuff you wouldn’t expect from a gang guy.

Doesn’t cry easily, but when he’s alone? Yeah, sometimes the weight hits him. He just closes his eyes, exhales slow, and keeps going.

If you earn his respect, he’s loyal for life. Doesn’t matter who you are. If Ryusei calls you family, he’ll bleed for you without hesitation.

Has a surprisingly good singing voice but refuses to sing seriously in front of anyone. He’ll hum, though—usually when working on his bike or when he’s lost in thought.

———

Yes i cannnnnn!!!

Obito Uchiha With A Very Loving But Possessive Girlfriend

———

Obito carries layers of guilt. He’s used to people walking away—but you? You hold his scarred hands, kiss the calluses, and say, “I’m not going anywhere. So get used to me.” He still doesn’t believe it sometimes. But you say it every day until he starts to.

Your possessiveness doesn’t scare him—it soothes something in him. Being wanted that deeply? It makes him feel human again. You tug him closer in public, glare at women who stare, and cling to him at night. And Obito just leans into it with a quiet smirk.

He’s not outwardly affectionate in public unless you initiate it—but if someone so much as flirts with him, he instantly wraps an arm around your waist like, “This one’s mine.”

He doesn’t argue when you patch up his wounds yourself, mumbling, “Next time, I’m going with you.” Obito just chuckles, lets you scold him, and says:

“You love me too much to be mad for real.”

You are mad. But you still kiss his forehead.

Your love can be overwhelming, and sometimes he struggles to accept it—but he’ll pull you close in the middle of the night and whisper, “Thank you. For staying.” He thinks you’re asleep. You never are.

You leave little reminders of yourself everywhere—your jacket over his chair, your scent on his pillow, your notes in his weapons pouch. He keeps every one.

When you’re gone too long, he panics. He doesn’t say it, but the tension in his jaw gives it away. When you return, he presses his forehead to yours and breathes, “Don’t do that to me again.”

NSFW Headcanons

Obito is slow and intense. He touches like he’s memorizing you—every scar, every moan, every breath. You whisper “You’re mine.” He leans in, eyes burning, and replies:

“Only yours. Do whatever you want with me.”

When you ride him, he loses all control. Hands gripping your hips, voice deep and broken as he begs:

“Don’t stop. Please—just like that. Let me feel all of you.”

He’s a groaner. Deep, low, helpless sounds from his throat when you tease him or take him too slowly. The kind that make you weak.

Your possessiveness arouses him. You bite down on his neck, leave marks on his thighs, scratch his back until he bleeds—and he only pulls you closer. “You like claiming me that badly? Good. Keep going.”

Sometimes he gets rough. Not angry—passionate. He pins your wrists down, thrusts deeper, his voice barely above a growl:

“I want to feel you tomorrow. Every step you take, I want you to remember I was here.”

Praise kink? On both sides. You say things like, “So good for me. So perfect. You’re mine, Obito.” And he melts—panting under you, eyes glazed, whispering, “Say it again. I need to hear it.”

Aftercare is everything. He wipes you down, kisses your temple, massages your thighs with scarred, gentle hands. Then he says, barely audible, “You’re the only thing that saved me.”

———

I was wondering how the haikyuu boys would relax after a long day ? Like what would they do with you to destress and all

(with goshiki, tendou, koganegawa, basically all the underrated cuties, add whoever you want)

+maybe one or two nsfw 👀 if you do obviously it's gonna be time skip but if you don't want to that's fine

Hope you have a great week byeee <3

Thank you for the request ❤️

How The Haikyuu Boys Relax After a Long Day (With You)

———

Goshiki Tsutomu

He pretends like he isn’t tired at first (“What? Me? Tired? Never. The future ace NEVER RESTS!”) But within ten minutes of sitting down, he’s laying sideways on the couch, his head on your lap, mumbling about how sore his legs are.

You suggest watching a movie, but he picks something super dramatic so he can pretend he isn’t dozing off halfway through.

You hear him whisper, “you’re the only one I’d ever let see me like this…” before he knocks out completely.

Tendou Satori

Tendou loves to mentally detach after a long day. He’ll suggest something totally random like painting miniatures, building a blanket fort, or watching bad horror movies and giving them dumb voice-overs.

He sprawls out on the floor, legs across your lap, eating snacks and making weird little jokes to get you laughing.

When it gets late, he rests his head on your stomach and gets uncharacteristically quiet.

“I like when it’s just us. It makes the noise go away.”

He likes when you trace soft lines on his arms with your fingers. He says it helps him “reset.”

Koganegawa Kanji

This boy crashes. Like, walks through the door, drops his bag, and just flops onto the bed face-down like a cartoon character.

You rub his shoulders a little, and he groans like he’s dying (dramatic baby).

Once he’s got some energy back, he’ll beg you to play Mario Kart or Just Dance with him—even if you’re both exhausted.

Afterward, he’ll get you both drinks (like hot cocoa or smoothies depending on the season) and give you the softest, dopiest smile.

Sits next to you and nudges your shoulder, whispering, “You’re my reward after hard days, y’know?”

Yamaguchi Tadashi

Yams is the quiet “curl up and recharge” type. He doesn’t need big distractions—just you and something peaceful.

He loves having soft instrumental music or lofi playing in the background while you both cuddle under a blanket.

You read or scroll on your phone, he lays his head on your chest and listens to your heartbeat.

He eventually starts dozing and murmurs, “Don’t move yet. Please. Just stay like this for a little longer.”

It’s his perfect safe space.

Yaku Morisuke

Yaku gets a little grumpy when he’s tired, so he needs help to unwind. He’ll sigh a lot, complain about his teammates, mutter “Why am I the only one with brain cells?”—but once he sees you, it softens immediately.

You make tea. He brings the heating pad. He lies in your lap and grumbles while you play with his hair and listen.

Then he says:

“Okay, okay, I’m done complaining. Your turn. Tell me about your day.”

He doesn’t fall asleep, but you know he’s the most relaxed when he gets quiet and just holds your hand for a while.

Semi Eita

Semi decompresses by making music—and if he really trusts you, he lets you in on the process.

You sit beside him while he noodles around on his guitar or keyboard, sometimes asking your opinion.

Eventually, he gives you headphones and plays you something he wrote.

He tries to play it cool, but he keeps side-eyeing you for your reaction.

When you smile and tell him it’s beautiful, he blushes and mumbles, “Thanks… I, uh, was thinking about you when I wrote it.”

Aone Takanobu

Aone doesn’t say much, but his presence is so comforting. He comes home, gently pulls you into a hug, and holds you until his heartbeat evens out.

The two of you sit in quiet peace—either drinking tea, watching nature documentaries, or just sharing space.

He likes brushing your hair out of your face and just looking at you.

If you initiate cuddles, he melts instantly.

You once fell asleep on his chest, and he didn’t move a muscle for two hours so you wouldn’t wake up.

NSFW (TIMESKIP/AGED-UP)

Tendou Satori

When it’s really been a hard day, Tendou’s energy shifts. He gets quieter, a little more intense.

He’ll grab your wrist gently, pull you onto his lap, and whisper, “Can I be selfish tonight?”

He wants to feel close. Not rushed, not wild—just slow touches, breathy kisses, and full body contact until his stress melts into you.

He murmurs praise and gratitude the whole time, voice low and genuine:

“You’re the only one who gets me like this. Thank you.”

Semi Eita

Semi doesn’t usually initiate right away—but when he’s stressed and you gently run your hands down his back? Game over.

He’ll pin you against the couch or bed and let out a deep sigh like he’s finally letting himself breathe.

It’s not fast. It’s lingering. Like he’s trying to memorize every part of you to forget everything else.

His hands are confident but never rough, and he whispers, “You always know what I need…” right before he kisses your neck.

The way he touches you—it’s more like worship than release.

———

I love your tik tok and I love Goshiki too your so real, could you please do “how Goshiki would act if they had a crush on you?” If you didn’t do that yet.

And you are so pretty!! ❤️❤️

JSHSHSJHJSJJS ur too sweet thank you sm OF COURSE I CAN ❤️

SORRY I TOOK A BREAK IM BACK NOW❤️

Goshiki Having A Crush On You

[Tsutomu Goshiki x Reader]

———

“Wait—Did They Just Smile at Me?”

Goshiki wasn’t subtle. Not even close.

If he had a crush on you, everyone on the Shiratorizawa team would know within a week. Not because he told them outright, but because he’d go absolutely red in the fave every time you walked into the gym.

You waved once—just a casual hello—and he spent the next two practice drills spiking the ball a little too hard trying to impress you.

“Did you see that?! Bet they did!” He’d whisper, chest puffed with pride… then trip over a cone immediately after.

He’d try to talk to you—try being the key word. His voice would crack, he’d mix up his words, and sometimes kind of… stand there, blushing, gripping his water bottle like it was a lifeline.

But he wanted to be brave. He wanted to say something cool. So he’d practice pickup lines with Ushijima (bad idea) or try to copy Tendou’s confidence (worse idea).

When he finally managed to talk to you, it would come out in a flustered rush:

”HiImeanHEY! Not in a yelling way. Just like—a normal hi. You, um, look nice! Today! I mean, always. Not thst I—uh—okaythankyoubye—!”

He’d run off to the other side of the gym, smack his forehead, and dramatically declare to himself, “I BLEW IT!”

But you’d smile. And wave again.

And Goshiki would freeze, face turning bright red.

“…They smiled at me. Again. Im gonna marry them.”

If you only like him as a friend…

You noticed it, of course. The blushing, the sudden bursts of energy whenever you were around, the dramatic one-liners. It was hard not to notice. But you cared about him—genuinely. And you didn’t want to hurt him.

So one day after practice, when he tried (and failed) to casually compliment you again, you gave him a soft smile.

“Goshiki… You’re such a great friend. I really mean that.”

He froze. Paused. Nodded slowly.

It stung—it really did—but he put on a brave smile. “R-right! Of course! I’m a great friend!”

And even though his spikes were a little quieter for the next few days… he bounced back.

Because even if he didn’t get the ending he wanted—being close to you still made him happy.

And hey, someday he’d really be the ace. Maybe someone else would wave at him like that again.

If you liked him back…

You’d find his awkwardness endearing. Every stumble, every half-panicked compliment, every time he ran away after saying one word to you—it made your heart warm.

So the next time he stuttered a “Hi!” And turned to flee, you reached out, gently grabbed his sleeve, and smiled.

”Hey, Goshiki. Want to walk with me after practice?”

He short-circuited. Nearly fainted. But nodded so fast it made his hair bounce.

He spent the entire walk trying not to explode, hand barely brushing yours, wondering if this was real life.

(And yes—he told Tendou immediately. With tears in his eyes.)

———

Of course we love our underrated king🫶 KISSES!!!!!!

Could You Stay?

[ Kyōtani Kentarō x Reader ]

———

Kyōtani doesn’t do small talk.

He doesn’t know how to fill silences with anything but the sound of his music. He doesn’t know what to do when someone looks at him for too long, or how to react when they smile like they’re not afraid of him. So when you started sitting near him—no questions, no pressure—he didn’t say a word. But he didn’t move away either.

That was his first yes.

You’re not loud. You don’t push. But you’re always there. In the stands during games, hanging around after practice, nodding at him when your eyes meet in the hallway like it’s nothing special. But it is. To him, it is.

It takes time. He’s not used to people sticking around. He’s not used to being asked how he’s doing, or someone saving him a seat without asking if he even wants one. You never make it weird. And he never says thank you out loud, but he remembers.

You ask him once if he wants to walk home together. He says “sure” like it doesn’t matter, like he hasn’t been thinking about asking you first for weeks.

He doesn’t know how to flirt. You figure that out quickly. He says things bluntly or not at all. But when he listens, he really listens. He remembers the songs you like. The way you take your tea. The fact that you hate cold hands but never carry gloves. So one day he just… hands you his. No eye contact, no words. Just his gloves, warm from his pockets.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

He’s not big on labels either. But at some point, people start calling you his. You never hear him correct them.

After a game, after he’s left everything on the court—shoulders tense, jaw tight, sweat still dripping from his hair—you meet him outside the gym. He doesn’t say anything. Just drops his bag by his feet, exhales, and looks at you.

You step in and press your forehead to his.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like an answer.

He leans into it. Into you.

Later, you’ll sit in the back corner of a quiet café, his knee pressed to yours under the table. He doesn’t say much. You don’t ask him to. You just reach for his hand, and when he lets you hold it without pulling away, that’s his second yes.

He’s never been the type to need grand declarations. But when you’re sitting there, head resting against his shoulder, and he mumbles, “Could you stay a little longer?”—

You know exactly what he means.

And you’re not going anywhere.

———

Idk if you already did that on here or on tiktok but could you do a bf goshiki headcanon? Like the ones with tendou or Lev here

You put me in my haikyuu phase AGAIN XD love your works

I’ll never refuse a Goshiki request 💞

Goshiki As Your Boyfriend Headcanons ♡

———

Always Trying to Impress You

Whether it’s volleyball, lifting groceries, or cracking a lame joke, he needs your approval like it’s oxygen.

LOUD About His Love

He doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s the type to shout “THAT’S MY S/O!” after you do literally anything remotely impressive.

Gets Embarrassed Easily

He’ll act bold, but the second you compliment him or kiss his cheek, he short-circuits and gets all red-faced.

Hyperfixated on You

Once he starts talking about you, it’s over. The team has to listen to him gush about how cool and amazing you are for the next 20 minutes.

Practices Love Confessions in the Mirror

Even after you’re dating, he’ll still rehearse things to say to you like it’s the first time.

Jealous Easily (but tries to play it cool)

If someone flirts with you, he puffs up like an angry cat. “Not that I’m jealous or anything!! B-But don’t talk to them like that!”

Brings You Snacks After Practice

Will literally sprint to the nearest konbini to get your favorite snack if you even hint that you’re hungry.

Wants You to Watch Him Practice

He plays twice as hard when he knows you’re watching. 100% trips at least once trying to show off.

Talks About You to Ushijima

Ushijima doesn’t always respond, but Goshiki will still go, “Right? They’re so amazing, right, Ushijima-san?”

Will Try to Win Every Game ‘For You’

He dedicates every win to you like he’s giving a post-match MVP speech.

Wears Matching Accessories

Gets way too excited over matching phone charms or bracelets. Shows everyone.

Terrible Liar

If he’s planning a surprise for you, it’s so obvious. “What’s behind my back? Uh—NOTHING! DEFINITELY NOT FLOWERS!”

Saves All Your Texts and Photos

His gallery is full of blurry selfies, screenshots of your messages, and photos of you he tries to sneak when you’re not looking.

Will Sing Loudly in Karaoke For You

Even if he’s tone-deaf, he’ll give a full-performance of a love song like it’s a confession scene in a drama.

A Tad Clingy, In a Cute Way

Likes holding your hand everywhere. If you let go, he’ll quietly pout until you grab it again.

Lowkey Wants You to Cheer for Him Loudly

He lives for when you call out his name during games. “Did you hear that?! That was them!!”

Protective (in his own Goshiki way)

If you’re tired, he’ll offer to carry your bag, walk you home, and scold the weather if it’s too hot or cold.

Super Proud to Be Yours

He tells people proudly, “Yeah, they’re my s/o. I know, right?! I’m the luckiest person ever.”

Loves When You Wear His Jersey

Internally combusts if he sees you in it. Tries to act cool, fails.

Tries to Write You a Poem Once

It was a disaster. Rhymed “volleyball” with “fall” like six times. But you loved it.

Big on Celebrating Anniversaries

One-month, three-months, 17-day anniversary? He’s got a plan and a tiny gift ready.

Always Cheering You On Too

You hype him up, but he hypes you right back. Tests? Work? Existing? He’s your #1 fan.

———