Chimkaii

Ace was whipped. You could ask him to jump into the ocean, and he’d do so with a blush on his cheeks and a smile on his face, thanking you as he sank into the waves. But nothing, nothing made him turn into putty in your hands like when you called him a good boy…

“Love, can you pass me the herb?” you asked, not taking your attention away from the pot you stirred on the stove in front of you. You were no top chef, but you liked to dabble in a meal here or there, especially when you could share your creation with your insatiable boyfriend.

Speaking of, Ace pushed up from the spot at the counter where he had leaned while watching you cook, heading over to the spice rack. You had made this recipe a million times and had assumed Ace, who had helped you with at least ninety-five percent of those, might have remembered the recipe. You assumed wrong.

“Here ya go!” You turned your head to find Ace on your left, holding every seasoning possible while looking so proud.

“Dear… Love.. My Sweet baby boy.” His smile widened with each new pet name. “I just needed to parsley.”

“Ah, okay, ummmm,” he set down the ingredients and started searching for the one you requested. “Here!” He held out a bundle of parsley to you like a child showing his parent the art he made at school, a goofy grin dominating his face.

With a soft giggle, you took the herb and smirked, “Good boy, thank you.”

His legs nearly gave out as he physically felt himself weaken at the pet name. His mind emptied as his soft gaze watched you go back to the task at hand. To anyone else, you appeared to be a person cooking a meal with the love of your life. To Ace, you appeared as an angel among men, a moon among stars, his very reason for being.

Your praise had him feeling like he was floating for the rest of the day.

***

The celebration after the battle was certainly earned. The small crew Ace had brought with him for this mission had fought tooth and nail to get the job done. As the fight came to a close and the sun began to set, Ace cheerfully called for a party, and within minutes the booze was pouring and the bonfire lit.

But, as the night unfolded, you could tell Ace was tired. He had fought harder than anyone in order to protect his crew, to protect you.

“Hey,” you gently place your hand on his arm, pulling his attention from the group he had been bantering with. “Come with me,” you nodded your head to a spot a bit away from the party, along the tree line, where the two of you could find a moment of quiet reprieve. You barely tugged Ace along as he was already following in your footsteps before you had even finished speaking, looking like a lovesick pup.

You led him to a tree, sitting down and patting your lap, directing him to lay his head there and rest, at least for a moment. Ace easily followed your directions with a besotted smile and a tender sigh, placing his hat on your head as his body found relief in your presence.

As he got comfortable, he took a moment to look into your eyes. Just as he was about to speak, you threaded your fingers through his hair, softly scratching his scalp. The words immediately evaporated from his mind as you felt him melt under you, his eyes closing softly and his head turning into your touch.

“I’m so proud of you,” you spoke softly, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “My brave hero. My good boy.”

Your praise warmed his chest, a warmth which quickly spread to the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He turned his face to hide in your torso, but between the comforting movement of your fingers and the loving words you offered, Ace felt as though he had truly found heaven. Before he could even stop himself, a purr fell from his lips, a purr you no doubt felt, no doubt heard, but said nothing. Instead, you simply smiled and continued to bring him a moment of peace.

***

Ace was not the only insatiable one in your relationship, though our cravings were more cardio than carb-based. After a few days of Ace being away, let’s just say your appetite was ravenous.

So, as Ace went to debrief with Pops, you practically ran to your cabin, a mischievous smirk etched onto your face.

You spent the short period you had waiting for Ace to set the tone with candles, the fluffiest pillows, and your favorite set of lingerie: the red and orange pair that matched Ace’s fire.

As you heard footsteps approaching, you prepared yourself on the bed, lying on your side to highlight every curve of your body.

“Oof, sorry that took so long. Pops wanted—“ Ace, already yapping as he entered the room, froze at the sight before him. The wires in his brain crossed, rerouted, and fried all at the same time. “I— You— Oh— We are— Do you—“ He stuttered as warmth spread throughout his body.

“Ace,” you spoke with a fiery glint in your eye and a sly smirk, “stop staring and get in this bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nearly whimpered, practically running into your embrace.

He positioned himself over you, hands holding his body up on either side of your head. He took the advantage of the position to look down at you, laid out just for him. He couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on Earth.

“I don’t deserve you,” his breath fanned over you as he spoke gently, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“You deserve the world,” as you spoke, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your fingers through his hair, “my good boy.”

The moans you pulled from him only furthered his belief that you were a gift sent by whatever god had chosen to show him mercy.

So… yeah, it was safe to say Ace was pretty whipped.

Ace being all Commandery -fans self-

There was just something about the way Ace looked when he was in second division commander mode. The way his shoulders seemed broader, the confidence, whether Ace liked it or not, he was a natural leader. So many people would listen to him and the way he commanded them while he talked about their next mission. You found yourself biting your lip as you listened to him.

Gods, his voice. His voice was easily one of your favorite things, he could be soft and gentle, demanding, silly, in charge.. Why did his voice have to be so deep? It wasn't fair. Nothing about the man was fair especially not when he took his damn job of being commander so seriously.

Portgas D. Ace wasn't fair with his messy black hair underneath his orange cowboy hat, his freckles, his broad shoulders, the Whitebeard tattoo, the way his smirk turned down right sinful at times... but sometimes it was just him in general. And the way, gods, the way he barked orders. It made you hot inside and out.

You didn't realize it but your legs started to shift together, hoping to get some sort of friction. You could just imagine it, him telling you what to do in the bed room and the images that flashed through your mind were anything but innocent. He took care of his men and you knew he'd take care of you too (in a very different way), you knew he'd make sure you were satisfied before he even pleasured himself.

Your cheeks heated up and you were hardly paying attention, acutely aware of the growing wetness between your thighs, staining your shorts. Gods, Ace was far too responsible and you were way too into that. Your eyes trailed his body again.

So strong, so handsome, and so desirable when he was like this. He was desirable all the time but there was something about the way the man was the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates that really did it for you.

You bit your lip as you noticed him walking over to you from where you sat on your crate. You could only hope he didn't notice how your thighs were together and that there was a very obvious wet spot on your shorts now.

"You okay, pretty girl?" He asked, smirking at you. You had a feeling he already knew what he was doing to you. You looked up at him as he placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in, his hat covering part of his face, you arched your back before you could stop yourself.

You nodded. "Mhm. Just waiting for us to dock." You told him and he couldn't help but look at how hard your nipples had gotten beneath your shirt. He licked his lips and your cheeks heated up as you grew wetter.

Gods, you needed to get laid.

"Well, we have some time and I have a few minutes. Why don't I help you out a bit, hm?"

The Moby Dick was more than a ship: for you, it was the only home you had ever truly known. As one of the few women on the crew and the youngest member by a significant margin, except Ace that is, you had been adopted into the fold with a ferocity that was both heartwarming and slightly suffocating.

From the moment you stepped on deck, you became the collective little sister of the Whitebeard Pirates.

Pops doted on you with a booming laugh and a gentle hand on your head. Marco looked after you with a sleepy, protective eye. Thatch constantly tried to feed you delicacies from the galley, and Izou spent hours ensuring your wardrobe was as sharp and stylish as his own. You were the heart of the ship, the precious gem they all swore to protect.

But there was one person who looked at you differently.

Portgas D. Ace.

For months, the two of you had been locked in a dance of agonizing tension. It was a clumsy, electric lingo of lingering glances, accidental brushes of shoulders, and conversations that trailed off into heavy silences. Everyone saw it. The entire crew saw it. Whitebeard would often chuckle into his massive sake cup, watching the two of you stumble through a simple conversation, while Marco would sigh, wondering when the idiot Second Commander would finally grow a pair and make a move.

Then, finally, it happened. A moonlit night on the upper deck, a shared bottle of something strong, and a confession that had been bubbling over for half a year.

You were finally, officially together.

However, “together” was currently a very relative term. While the emotional bond was searingly hot, the physical side of things was… Well, at a complete standstill.

You were both shy in your own ways, and Ace, despite his reputation as a bold, fire-wielding powerhouse, was surprisingly hesitant. He treated you like you were made of the finest porcelain, terrified that if he pushed too hard or too fast, he might break the spell.

Of course, this hesitation didn’t stop his imagination.

Ace was twenty years old, brimming with testosterone and hopelessly in love. Every single night, while you slept soundly in your quarters, Ace was in his own bunk, tossing and turning. He spent hours just staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the way your laugh sounded or the way your skin felt when you held his hand. He spent a great deal of time with his hand wrapped firmly around his dick, groaning your name into his pillow, struggling through the solitary release because the reality of you was so much more intoxicating than any fantasy. He was a virgin, a fact he guarded with a fierce, embarrassed pride, but his libido was currently at a breaking point. He wanted you - deeply, desperately - but he had absolutely no idea what he was actually doing.

The afternoon sun was beating down on the Moby Dick, leaving the crew drenched in sweat and grime. As per tradition, the men headed to the massive communal baths to scrub off the dirt from the day and relax. The bathhouse was filled with the boisterous shouting of dozens of pirates splashing around in the hot springs.

Ace sat submerged up to his chest in the steaming water, his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the smooth stone. Even here, in the company of his brothers, his mind was drifting. He was thinking about the way your dress had hugged your curves this morning, and the way you had winked at him before heading to help the nurses. He felt a familiar, insistent throb in his groin, and he cursed silently, sinking deeper into the water to hide the evidence of his distraction.

Nearby, Thatch, Marco, Vista, Jozu and Haruta were lounging in a larger pool, the conversation flowing as freely as the sake they had bought along. As was common in the baths, the talk had eventually shifted toward the… romantic exploits of the crew.

“I’m telling you,” Thatch bragged, gesturing wildly with a soapy hand, “the girl in the last port had a passion for the culinary arts that matched my own. The way she looked at me while I was describing the perfect reduction sauce… it was practically foreplay. By the time we got to the room, we didn’t even make it to the bed.”

Vista chuckled, twirling a lock of his mustache. “Ah, Thatch, you always lead with the stomach. For me, it is all about the grace of it. The anticipation is where the true pleasure lies.”

Marco let out a lazy hum, his eyes half-closed. “You’re both too loud, yoi. The best way is just to be attentive. Listen to what she wants, follow the lead, and you’ll do just fine. No need to make it complicated.”

Ace listened to them, his brow furrowed. He felt a surge of inadequacy. He loved you more than life itself, and he wanted to make you feel everything they were talking about, but as he listened to their elaborate terminology he realized there was a massive gap in his knowledge. He knew the basics, of course, but the actual mechanics of pleasing a woman were a mystery to him.

He looked at his brothers - men who were older and seemed so confident, so experienced. He trusted them. And more importantly, he was currently suffering from a level of horniness that made his brain malfunction. And so he did something he would 100% come to regret later on.

“Hey,” Ace blurted out, his voice cutting through the laughter.

The group fell silent, looking over at him. Ace rubbed the back of his neck, his face already beginning to tint pink. “I… uh… how do you actually please a woman?”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Thatch froze mid-gesture. Marco actually opened one eye. Even Vista’s mustache stopped twitching. They all stared at Ace, the realization hitting them like a cannonball to the chest.

“... Wait,” Thatch whispered, his eyes widening. “Ace… are you telling me you’ve never…?”

“Never what?!” Ace snapped, his temper flaring as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“You’re a virgin!” Haruta shrieked, splashing water everywhere in his excitement. “Our 2nd commander is a total novice! A blank slate! A babe in the woods!”

“Shut up!” Ace yelled, his skin starting to smoke as his Devil Fruit reacted to his embarrassment. “I just… I want to do it right! Y/N is… she’s special! I don’t want to mess it up!”

The tone of the room shifted instantly. The mockery vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense sense of brotherhood. These were his brothers, and the mission had now become clear: Ace needed a crash course in the art of intimacy. Mainly so that he wouldn’t hurt you, their only little sister.

“My god,” Marco sighed, though there was a smirk on his face. “We’ve been letting you wander around like a lost puppy. Sit down, Ace. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but we’re having a meeting.”

The commanders closed in around him, forming a tight, steaming circle. Ace looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, but he stayed, his curiosity and desperation ultimately outweighing his shame.

“Alright, listen up, kid,” Thatch began, his voice taking on the tone of a master chief explaining a complex recipe. “First rule: the main event is not the goal. The goal is the journey. If you just dive straight in, you’re like a guy who serves the dessert before the appetizer. It’s a crime! Scandalous even! You have to start with the build-up. Kissing, obviously, but don’t just stay on the lips. The neck is a goldmine, Ace. The collarbone. The soft spot behind the ear. You tease and you make her ache for it.”

Ace swallowed hard, his imagination immediately firing off images of you arching your back as he kissed your neck. He let out a small, strangled noise.

“Exactly,” Vista added, nodding approvingly. “The psychological element is key. Tell her how beautiful she is. Tell her exactly what you want to do to her before you actually do it. The anticipation builds the tension, and when the tension finally snaps, the pleasure is ten times more intense. You can trust us old folks on that.”

“Now, let’s talk about the… logistics,” Marco said, his voice practical. “The clitoris, Ace. Pay attention. For most women, that’s the center of the universe. If you just focus on the penetration, you’re missing the party. Use your fingers, use your tongue - be gentle at first, then increase the pressure based on how she reacts. If she starts breathing heavily and gripping the sheets, you’re on the right track, yoi.”

Ace was staring at them with wide, dinner-plate eyes, his face a deep shade of crimson. “The… the tongue?”

“Yes, the tongue!” Thatch exclaimed. “It’s called oral, you idiot! You spend time down there. You treat it like a delicacy. You taste her, you explore, you make her come before you even think about putting your dick in. That’s how you become a legend in the bedroom.”

Jozu, who had been mostly silent, grunted in agreement. “And don’t rush the entry. Slow and steady. Make sure she’s wet - and if she’s not, use your hands and mouth until she is. Forcing it is a one-way ticket to a slap in the face.”

“What about… positions?” Ace asked in a small, hesitant voice.

The brothers shared a look and grinned. This was the part they had been truly waiting for.

“Right! Positions!” Thatch stood up, using his arms to demonstrate. “You’ve got your classic Missionary - good for intimacy, looking into her eyes and kissing her, you get the gist. But if you want something with more… impact… you go for Doggy Style. You get behind her, grip those hips, and really lean into it. It allows for deeper penetration, and let me tell you, the view from back there is a masterpiece.”

“Don’t forget the Cowgirl;” Izou chimed in, having joined the conversation. Ace didn’t even see nor hear him coming, that’s how immersed he was. “Let her be on top. It gives her control over the depth and the speed, and you get to watch everything. There is nothing more erotic than seeing a woman take exactly what she wants from you.”

“And if you’re feeling adventurous,” Vista added with a wink, “try the legs-on-shoulders approach. It changes the angle, hits different spots, and lets you see every single expression on her face.”

Ace felt like his brain was melting. He was visualizing all of this - you on top of him, you arched over the bed, the feeling of your skin against his - and he was becoming painfully, visibly erect. The water around him was practically simmering.

“And for the love of Pops, Ace,” Marco warned, “don’t just go full speed from start to finish. Change the pace. Slow it down, speed it up. Tease her. Pull back just when she thinks you’re about to finish. Drive her crazy.

“I… I think I get it,” Ace gasped, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. He felt a mixture of terror and an almost uncontrollable urge to sprint out of the bathhouse and find you immediately.

“One more thing,” Thatch said, his expression becoming suddenly serious. “Communication. If she tells you something feels good, do more of that. If she just so much as winces, stop. The best lovers are the ones who listen the best.”

Ace nodded fervently, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt like he had just survived a battle with a Yonko, but instead of a scar, he had a mental blueprint for the most intense night of his life. He couldn’t take it anymore; the tension in his body was too much, and the mental images were too vivid.

“I’m out! I’m leaving!” Ace yelled, suddenly standing up and splashing water everywhere. He didn’t even bother with a towel, grabbing his clothes in a blur of motion and sprinting toward the exit, his face glowing red like a flare.

As he scrambled through the doorway, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the suffocating atmosphere of “brotherly advice”, a loud, booming voice echoed through the bathhouse.

“And Ace!” Thatch screamed after him, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You and Y/N don’t forget to use protection, okay?!”

The sound of Ace’s humiliated shriek echoed all the way down the hall as he vanished, leaving the commanders laughing hysterically in the steam.

Remember when you had told Ace you had to go and help the nurses? Yeah, you hadn’t actually been asked to help them. In fact, you’d practically forced your way in, offering your services as an “assistant” with a desperation that had raised a few eyebrows. But you weren’t there to fold bandages or organize tinctures. You were there because you were in a state of an absolute, agonizing crisis.

You were eighteen, hopelessly in love, and currently vibrating with a level of sexual frustration that felt like it might actually cause you to spontaneously combust.

The problem was your boyfriend.

Ace was, by every objective standard, a masterpiece of a man. He was twenty, brimming with a magnetic energy that seemed to pull everyone toward him. And then there were his… well, physical assets. The golden-tan skin, the dusting of freckles across his nose, and the fact that he spent approximately 99% of his waking life shirtless. You had spent months memorizing the ripple of his abdominal, the breadth of his shoulders, and the way his chest heaved when he laughed.

You wanted him. You wanted him with an intensity that terrified you. But you were shy - painfully so - and Ace, despite his reputation, was treating you like you were made of sugar. He kissed you sweetly; he held your hand with a tenderness that made your heart ache; he looked at you with such pure and unadulterated devotion that you felt like the center of his universe.

But he didn’t move.

As frustrated as you were, you had even gone so far as to sneak into a boutique at the last port, spending a small fortune on a set of lingerie. It was a deep, sultry crimson that you were certain would make his brain short-circuit, but it currently sat untouched in your chest, because every time you thought about putting it on, your face heated up and you imagined him looking at you with those wide, innocent eyes and you simply lost your nerve.

“Alright, sweetheart, enough with the daydreaming. If you’re going to “help” us, you might as well be honest about why you’re really here,” a voice called out.

You jumped, nearly knocking over a tray of saline solution or whatever they had called it. Nurse Hana, a woman in her thirties with a sharp gaze and a knowing smirk, was leaning against a cabinet, arms crossed. Beside her, Nurse Mimi, who was younger and significantly more mischievous, was giggling behind her hand.

You felt the heat crawl up your neck. “I… I just thought…”

“You’re thinking about our dear second commander,” Mimi chirped, stepping closer. “We got you figured out, sweetie. We’ve seen the way you look at him. And we’ve seen the way he looks at you. “It’s like watching two magnets that are too scared to actually click together. It’s exhausting for the rest of us, really.”

You slumped against the table, defeated. “Is it that obvious?”

“Honey, the entire crew is betting on when you two will finally stop just flirting and actually get laid,” Hana said bluntly.

You gasped, your face turning a shade of red that rivaled the lingerie you were currently wearing.

“I- we- it’s not like that!”

“Oh, please,” Mimi laughed, pulling you towards a cluster of chairs in the back of the ward where they were taking their break. “Sit. Tell us everything. What’s the hold-up? Is he not interested? Is he… lacking in the equipment department?”

“No!” You whispered urgently. “He’s perfect! He’s more than perfect! He’s just… he’s so gentle. I don’t know how to make him realize that I want him to stop being gentle. I don’t know how to start it without it being weird!”

The two nurses exchanged a look. A predatory one.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Hana sighed, though her eyes were twinkling. “You’re trying to wait for the man to lead, but Ace is a dork. A hot, muscular, oblivious dork. Men like that often need a very clear map to their destination. They’re terrified of overstepping, especially when they’re as smitten as he is.”

“So… what do I do?” you asked, your voice small.

Mimi leaned in, her expression becoming intensely focused. She clearly enjoyed this. “First of all, we need to talk about the visual. Do you have anything… provocative? Something that says ‘I am not a doll, I am a woman who wants you to take her’?”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I have… some lace. Red.”

“Are you wearing it right now?”

“... Maybe.”

Mimi let out a triumphant shriek. “Perfect! Absolute gold! Listen to me: you tease him with it. You let him see a strap. You let him catch a glimpse of a thigh. Until he finally crumbles.”

For the next hour, the infirmary became a classroom of a very different sort than the one Ace was currently attending in the baths. While the commanders were giving Ace a technical manual on the mechanics of pleasure, the nurses were giving you a masterclass in the art of seduction.

And they were explicit.

“Don’t just wait for him to kiss you,” Hana instructed, gesturing with her hands. “Take the lead. Grab him by the back of the neck - he loves that, trust me, men with those shoulders have a weakness for being pulled in. Bite his lower lip. Just a little bit. It signals that you’re demanding his affection, not just accepting it.”

You felt dizzy just listening to her. “B-bite him?”

“Yes, bite him!” Mimi added enthusiastically. “And once you get him in the bedroom, don’t just lie there. Use your body. Rub yourself against him. Let him feel how much you want him through your clothes first. The friction is what drives him crazy, trust me. And for the love of God, use your hands. Explore him. He’s shirtless all day, right? Use that. Trace the lines of his muscles, linger on his chest, move down… slowly… until he’s practically begging you.”

“But what if I don’t know what to do… down there?” you whispered, your heart hammering.

Hana leaned back, her expression softening but remaining frank. “Listen, the first time is always a bit of a mess. He’s probably just as nervous as you are. The secret isn’t perfection, so don’t overthink what you should do for now; it’s enthusiasm. If you’re making noise, if you’re arching your back, if you’re telling him exactly how good he feels, he’ll feed off that. Guide him. If he goes somewhere you don’t like, move his hand. If he hits a spot that makes your toes curl, moan. Loudly. Men are simple creatures, they just want to know they’re winning.”

Mimi winked at you. “And remember: the more you treat it like a delicious secret you’re sharing, the more he’ll lose his mind. Seduction isn’t about the build-up. Make him ache for it. Make him feel like he’s starving and you’re the only feast in the world able to satisfy him.”

By the time you left the infirmary, your head was spinning. You felt like you had been given a secret weapon, but the weight of actually using it felt monumental. You walked back toward your quarters, your legs feeling a bit like jelly, the nurses’ voices echoing in your mind: Bite his lip. Use your hands. Make him ache.

As you reached your door, you saw a flash of orange and black.

Ace was standing there, leaning against the railing, looking like he had just stepped out of a storm. His hair was still damp, clinging to his forehead, and he was wearing his usual trousers, his chest bare and glistening slightly in the fading light.

He looked… different. He looked wired.

There was a strange, frantic energy in his eyes, a mixture of sheer terror and an almost violent level of horniness, that you had never seen in him before.

“Hey,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, his face flushing a deep crimson. “Hey, Y/N.”

You stopped, your breath catching. You looked at his broad shoulders, the way the muscles of his chest flexed as he breathed, and suddenly, all you could think was: He’s a feast.

“Hi, Ace,” you replied, your voice sounding breathier than you intended.

He shifted his weight, looking everywhere but at you. “I… uh… the baths were… really educational. I mean! Not that I learned anything! I just… the guys were talking. About… stuff.”

You blinked. Educational? A sudden, suspicious thought crossed your mind. Had Ace been talking to the other commanders? Had he received his own version of the “crash course”?

The realization of that possibility sent a jolt of electricity through you. If he was just as desperate and “educated” as you were, then the tension between you was now stretched to the breaking point.

“Is that so?” you asked, taking a daring step closer.

Ace jumped slightly, his eyes finally snapping to yours. The look in them was searing. He looked like he wanted to devour you and apologize for it at the same time. “Yeah. I mean, I just… I really love you, Y/N. And I want… I want to be good for you. I want to make sure everything is… perfect.”

The “perfect” comment hit you right in the heart, but it also gave you the opening you needed. You remembered Hana’s words: Don’t wait for the man to lead.

You reached out, your hands trembling slightly, and pressed your palm flat against his chest. His skin was scorching - literally. He let out a sharp, strangled gasp, his entire body stiffening at the contact.

“Ace,” you whispered, sliding your hand upward, tracing the line of his pectoral muscle up toward his collarbone. “I don’t want perfect.”

Ace’s pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. He looked like he had forgotten how to breathe. “You… you don’t?”

“No,” you murmured, stepping into his space until your chest was brushing against his. You could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. “I just want you.”

Ace made a sound - a low, needy whimper that sent heat straight to your core. He instinctively reached out to wrap his arms around you, but he hesitated, his hands hovering an inch from your waist, still terrified of breaking you.

You didn’t let him hesitate. You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck - just like Hana said - and pulled him down.

What followed wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t the tentative, tasting-the-water kind of kiss you were used to. You slammed your lips against his with a hunger that surprised even you, and as you did, you caught his lower lip between your teeth and gave it a sharp, experimental nip.

Ace practically exploded.

A muffled sound escaped his throat, and his arms now fully slammed around you, hosting you off your feet and pinning you against the wooden wall of the corridor with a thud that probably woke up half the ship. He kissed you back with a desperation that was almost violent, his tongue seeking yours with a clumsy, frantic energy.

He was shaking. God, he was actually shaking in your arms.

“Y/N,” he gasped, breaking the kiss for a split second to press his forehead against yours. His breath was hot, his voice a ragged wreck. “I don’t… I’ve never… I don’t know if I’m doing this right!”

You laughed, a small, breathless sound, and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Neither do I, Ace. Just… just keep going.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He carried you into your room, kicking the door shut behind him with a loud bang.

The moment you hit the bed, Ace was a whirlwind of passion and total incompetence. He tried to be the suave, confident lover the commanders had described, but his nerves were shot. He went to pull your shirt over your head, but he got caught on your arm, nearly pulling you off the bed in the process.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” he yelped, his face turning bright red. “I just- I wanted to be smooth! Thatch said the build-up is everything, and I’m like really trying to build it, but I’m just-”

You giggled, pulling him back down by his collar. “Ace, stop listening to Thatch. Just look at me.”

He stopped, his gaze falling on you. The heat in his eyes returned, that raw, hungry intensity that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, his movements becoming more confident as he stopped listening to his spiraling thoughts and started following the instincts of a man who had been starving for months.

Then, he felt it. The lace.

As he shifted his weight, his hand brushed against the edge of the crimson lingerie you were wearing beneath your clothes. He froze, his hands pausing on your hip. “What… is this?” he whispered, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel.

“A surprise,” you whispered back, reaching down to slowly slide the fabric of your shirt where he had previously failed upward, revealing the intricate, daring red lace that hugged your curves.

Ace stared. Actually, he didn’t just stare; he looked like he had seen a vision of the gods. His jaw actually dropped, and for a moment, he looked completely paralyzed.

“You… you’re wearing… that’s… you look…” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “I think my brain just melted. Y/N, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

The sincerity in his voice was so overwhelming that it almost broke the mood, but then he groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure longing, and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore,” he whimpered. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

You felt a surge of confidence, remembering the nurses’ advice. You reached down, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his trousers, and you felt him jump, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth.

“Is this okay?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he gasped, his eyes wide and blown out. “Yes, please, anything, just… don’t stop.”

The next few minutes were a chaotic mix of tension and absolute clumsiness. Ace tried to implement the “slow and steady” approach Marco had suggested, but every time your skin touched his, he seemed to forget how to function. He tried to kiss your neck while simultaneously trying to remove his trousers, resulting in him accidentally rolling off the side of the bed with a loud thump.

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach.

Ace popped his head up from the floor, his hair a disaster, his face flushed, looking like a giant, albeit horny golden retriever.

“I’m okay! I’m fine! I just… the angle was off!”

You reached down, grabbing his hand and pulling him back up. “You’re a dork, Ace.”

“Your dork,” he countered, lunging back onto the bed and pinning you beneath him. Now, the laughter faded, replaced by a heavy, seething heat. The air in the room felt thick, charged with the scent of the sea outside, fire, and an unbearable amount of anticipation.

Ace hovered over you, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back. He looked at you - really looked at you - and the clumsiness vanished, replaced by a tenderness that was almost spiritual. He traced the line of your lip with his thumb, his expression one of pure awe.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so nervous, Y/N. I really want this to be perfect for you.”

“It already is,” you replied, pulling his head down for another kiss.

As he began to explore your body, his hands shaking but his touch becoming more sure, you felt the world outside the room disappear. There was no Moby Dick, no Pops, none of your brothers - just the heat of his skin against yours and the rhythmic thud of two hearts beating in sync.

He moved down, his kisses trailing over your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. He remembered what Marco had mentioned, and you could tell he was thinking hard about it. He paused, his head tilting as he tried to remember exactly where the “center of the universe” was.

You let out a soft, encouraging moan, arching your back and guiding him with your hips. You had gotten rid of your shorts and underwear a long time ago.

“Right. There. Yes,” he whispered to himself, sounding like a student taking a final exam.

When he finally made contact with his tongue, you let out a sharp, loud cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation was electric, a sudden explosion of pleasure that made your vision blur.

Ace froze, his eyes snapping up to yours, wide with panic. “Did I hurt you?! Did I do it wrong?! Oh god, I’m sorry, I-”

“No!” you gasped, pulling him back down. “No, Ace… it’s perfect. Don’t stop. Please, please, please.”

He let out a long, shuddering breath, a look of intense relief washing over him. He sank back into you with his tongue, his movements becoming more fluid and instinctive. The “education” from his brothers was still there in the back of his mind, but as the heat rose, only the raw, honest desire of two people who loved each other far more than they knew how to handle was left.

The tension eventually reached a fever pitch. Ace was hovering over you, his chest heaving, his eyes locked onto yours with a searing intensity that made you feel like you were melting into the sheets. He was a mess of freckles, sweat, and unbridled passion.

“I’m going to…” he started, his voice breaking. “I can’t… Y/N, I can’t hold it…”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so there was no space left between you, your heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

“Then don’t hold it,” you whispered. “Just give it to me.”

The tension had reached a point where it was no longer sustainable. With a ragged groan, Ace shifted, his movement hurried yet cautious, as he finally managed to rid himself of the last of his clothing.

For a moment, you simply froze.

You had spent months imagining him, memorizing every single visible inch of his shirtless torso, but you were entirely unprepared for the sight of him fully exposed. As he settled down between your thighs, the moonlight filtering through the porthole illuminated him, and your breath hitched in your threat.

He was magnificent.

You had never seen a man like this before - not really. You had heard the nurses talk, and you had caught glimpses of the crew in the baths, but this was different. This was Ace. He was thick and heavy, his length impressive and pulsing with a life of its own. He was already leaking, a small, glistening bead of pre-cum crowning the head of his cock, shimmering in the dim light. He looked desperate, his vein-mapped length twitching with every erratic beat of his heart.

You felt a wave of intense, dizzying curiosity wash over you. Your eyes widened, tracing the curve and the sheer size of him. He looked so powerful, yet as he looked down at you, his expression was one of complete, vulnerable surrender. He was trembling, his chest heaving, looking as though he might actually combust if you didn’t touch him soon.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, sounding completely wrecked. “I…I’m sorry if it’s… too much. I don’t know if I’m… normal.”

The slight insecurity in his voice, despite the imposing sight of him, made your heart swell. You reached out, your fingers hovering just an inch from his skin.

You could feel the heat off him, a literal warmth that made your fingertips tingle.

“Can I…?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Can I touch you, Ace?”

He let out a half-sob, half-groan, his eyes closing tight. “Yes,” he choked out, “God, yes. Please.”

As your fingers finally made contact, Ace let out a sharp, strangled gasp. His skin was scorching, smoother than you expected, and incredibly sensitive. You started slowly, your hand wrapping around the base of him. You were surprised by how your hand couldn’t even fully close around the girth of him; he filled your palm and then some.

You felt him jump under your touch, a violent shiver racking his entire frame. You began to move your hand, a tentative, sliding motion upward to the crown. The feeling of the slick moisture between your skin and his made a small, needy sound escape your lips.

“Oh god,” Ace whimpered, his head falling back against the pillows. “Y/N… you’re… you’re actually doing it. You’re touching me. This… holy shit.”

You gained confidence, remembering the nurses’ advice about enthusiasm. You tightened your grip slightly and increased the pace, sliding your hand up and down the length of him. The friction was intoxicating. You watched him, captivated by the way his abdominal muscles rippled and clenched with every stroke.

Ace began to make sounds you had never heard of him - high-pitched moans and frequent whines that vibrated through the mattress. He gripped the sheets beside your head, his knuckles white, his hips beginning to stutter-step upward, instinctively seeking more pressure.

“Right there… just like that,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop… don’t ever stop.”

You shifted your body, rubbing your thigh against his hip, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. You started to move faster, your palm slick with his arousal, the sound of the wet filling the quiet room. Ace was practically sobbing now, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. He looked absolutely desperate, his eyes blown wide and glazed with a level of pleasure that seemed to be bordering on pain.

Driven by a sudden, daring impulse, you decided to try something more. You slid down the bed, your hair spilling over his thighs, and looked up at him.

Ace looked down at you, his face a mask of pure shock. “What are you… Y/N?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned forward and opened your mouth, tentatively taking the head of his cock inside.

The sensation was overwhelming for both of you. The taste of him was salty and warm, and the feeling of him filling your mouth was an intimacy that felt almost sacred. You swirled your tongue around the tip, mimicking the movements you’d imagined doing countless times already.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Ace let out a scream - a loud, shocked sound that was cut off as his entire body went rigid. He didn’t even have time to move his hips; the mere sensation of your mouth, the warmth and the wetness, was the final straw for his overstimulated nerves.

He bucked upward, his hands flying to your shoulders to steady himself, and then he exploded.

You felt the hot pulses of his release hitting the back of your throat, a sudden flood of heat that left you breathless. He came with a violence that surprised you, his body shaking with powerful, uncontrollable spasms as he emptied himself into you.

He groaned your name over and over, until he finally collapsed back into the bed, completely spent.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of your synchronized, heavy breathing.

You slowly pulled away, licking your lips, and looked up at him. Ace was staring at the ceiling, his chest still heaving, his face a shade of red that rivaled his necklace. He looked utterly devastated.

“I… I did it,” he whispered, his voice sounding hollow. “I actually… I lasted about three seconds.”

He covered his face with his hands, a muffled groan of pure embarrassment escaping him. “I’m such an idiot. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to be a legend in the bedroom like Thatch said, and I just… I just blew it immediately.”

You felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. You crawled back up his body, pressing your chest against his, and kissed his cheek softly.

“Ace, look at me,” you murmured.

He peeked through his fingers, his eyes wide and sheepish.

“It was perfect,” you whispered, smiling. “You were so… intense. And I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way you do. Who cares about being a legend? I just want you. You’re allowed to not immediately get everything right during your first time.”

Ace let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest, burying his face in your neck. “You’re too good to me, Y/N.” I don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you giggled, rubbing his back.

As you lay there, you felt a familiar, aching throb between your own legs. Ace had found his release, but you were still vibrating, your body humming with a need that hadn’t been satisfied from his earlier try.

You shifted slightly, rubbing your center against his thigh, and let out a small, involuntary moan.

Ace stiffened, his senses returning. He pulled back slightly, looking at your flushed face and the way your eyes were clouded with desire. He looked down at your lower half, then back at you, a look of realization dawning on his face.

“You’re… you’re still…”

“I am,” you whispered, your voice sounding small and needy. “Ace… I’ve never… I’ve never had an orgasm. I don’t know how it feels.”

The embarrassment vanished from Ace’s face, replaced by a fierce intensity. He might have been a novice, but the love he felt for you was a powerful motivator.

“I’m going to give it to you,” he vowed, his voice returning to that low tone that made your toes curl. “I don’t care if I’m a dork. I’m going to make you feel everything and do it right this time.”

He moved with a new kind of purpose. He shifted his body, gently pushing you back onto the pillows and sliding down between your legs. You gasped as he parted your thighs again, his eyes admiring you with a reverence that made you feel like a goddess.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your inner thigh.

He started with his mouth once again, kissing the soft skin of your legs, moving higher and higher. You trembled, your fingers digging into the sheets as he approached the center of your heat. When his tongue finally made contact with your clitoris, you let out a sharp, loud cry, your hips arching off the bed.

“Is this… is this still right? Like before?” he asked, glancing up at you, his lips glistening.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Oh god, yes, right there!”

Ace didn’t need further instruction. He dove back in, his tongue working with a rhythmic intensity that made you see stars. He was applying the lessons from the baths perfectly after a little but of fooling around. You were a mess already, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Then, he added his fingers.

He slid two fingers inside you, the friction of his movement complementing the stimulation of his tongue. You felt full, stretched, and utterly consumed by him.

You began to moan loudly, the sound echoing in the small room, your head tossing from side to side.

“That’s it, Y/N… just let go,” Ace murmured against your skin, his voice encouraging. “Tell me what you need.”

“More… please, Ace, more!” you cried out, your voice breaking.

He increased the pressure, his fingers curling upward, hitting a spot that sent a jolt of pure electricity through your entire spine. You felt a tension building deep within you, a coil tightening tighter and tighter until it felt like you were about to snap.

The world blurred. The sounds of the ship faded. There was only the heat of Ace’s mouth and the rhythmic drive of his hand.

Suddenly, the coil snapped.

A wave of intense, crashing pleasure slammed into you, starting at your core and radiating outward to the tips of your fingers. You screamed his name, your body shaking in a violent, prolonged orgasm that felt like a thousand suns exploding behind your eyelids. You gripped his hair, pulling him closer as you rode the wave of pleasure, your breath hitching in a series of sobbing gasps.

As the intensity slowly faded, you collapsed back into the mattress, completely limp and glowing.

Ace pulled back, looking up at you with a triumphant, beaming smile. He looked proud and his eyes were shining with affection.

“Did I… did I do it?” he asked breathlessly.

You couldn’t even speak for a moment.

You just reached down and pulled him up, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him with everything you had.

“You did it, Ace,” you whispered against his lips that tasted like your juices. “You did it perfectly.”

He let out a contended sigh, rolling over to pull you into the crook of his arm.

You lay entwined in Ace’s arms, your breath finally beginning to level out, your skin humming with a glow that had nothing to do with the dim moonlight filtering through the porthole. For a few minutes, the world was nothing but the steady, thumping rhythm of Ace’s heart against your ear and the soft, contented sighs he let out into your hair.

But as the initial haze of the orgasm receded, a new kind of tension began to coil in the pit of your stomach. You were satisfied, yes, but there was still a lingering, hollow ache. The “main event” was still looming, a mountain neither of you had ever climbed, and the anticipation was starting to feel like a physical weight.

Ace seemed to be feeling it too. You could tell by the way his grip on you tightened slightly, his fingers tracing mindlessly, shaky patterns across your lower back. He was quiet, but his body was radiating a heat that was bordering on feverish.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice still a ragged, low wreck.

“Yeah?” you murmured, tilting your head back to look at him.

He looked completely undone. His freckles seemed to stand out more against his flushed skin, and his eyes were wide, searching your face with a mixture of raw adoration and a mounting, desperate nervousness. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified of the fall but dying to jump.

“I… I want to,” he started, his voice cracking. “I mean, if you’re still up for it. I don’t want to rush you, or… or make you feel like I’m just trying to get to the end. I just… I really want to be inside you.”

The honesty in his voice sent a shiver of heat straight to your core. You didn’t answer with words; instead, you shifted your body, sliding your leg over his hip and pulling him closer, your chest brushing against his. You could feel him stirring against you, the hard, pulsing length of him returning with a vengeance, pressing firmly against your thigh.

“I want you too, Ace,” you breathed.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and for a second, it looked like he might just dive in, driven by pure instinct. But then, a flicker of memory crosses his face.

He froze, his eyes widening as he remembered the final piece of advice from Thatch.

“Right! Protection!” he gasped, suddenly scrambling backward.

The sudden movement was so abrupt that he nearly rolled off the bed again. You let out a startled giggle as he frantically began searching through his trousers, which were discarded in a heap on the floor. He dove into the fabric, his movements chaotic and hurried, until he finally produced a small, square foil packet.

He held it up like it was a piece of ancient treasure, staring at it with a look of profound confusion.

“How… how does this actually work again?” he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

You watched, half-amused and half-endeared, as the formidable second commander of the Whitebeard Pirates engaged in a life-or-death struggle with a piece of latex. He tried to open the packet with his teeth, but in his haste, he nearly ripped the condom itself. He let out a small, panicked yelp, his face turning a shade of crimson that rivaled the ripe tomatoes in Thatch’s kitchen.

“Dammit! Thatch made it sound so easy!” he hissed, his fingers fumbling with the edges of the foil. “He just said ‘use protection’, he didn’t give me a manual!”

“Do you want help?” you offered, your voice trembling with suppressed laughter.

“No! No, I got this! I’m a pirate! I can handle a small piece of rubber!” he declared with a burst of misplaced confidence.

He finally managed to get the condom out, but then came the actual application.

Because he was so wired - his heart racing and his hands shaking from the sheer intensity of his arousal - the process was anything but smooth. He struggled to get the positioning right, his fingers slipping, his movements clumsy. At one point, he accidentally pinched himself, letting out a sharp “Ow!” that made you burst into full-blown laughter.

“Stop laughing!” he groaned, though he was grinning despite his obvious frustration. “This is a high-stress operation!”

After several minutes of trial and error, and a fair amount of breathless cursing, he finally managed it. He let out a triumphant huff, looking at himself with a sense of accomplishment as if he had just navigated the Grand Line without a Log Pose.

He crawled back over to you, his eyes darkening as he settled between your thighs. The atmosphere shifted instantly from comedic to searing. The laughter died away, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence. Ace hovered over you, his arms shaking as he braced himself on either side of your head.

“Are you… are you okay? Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice dripping with so much love it made a genuine smile break out on your lips. He was perfect.

“I’m sure, Ace. Just… be gentle,” you whispered back.

He nodded, his expression one of absolute focus. He guided himself to your entrance, the tip of him brushing against you. You felt a sharp intake of breath from both of you. The heat radiating off him was immense, and as he began to push forward, the sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

“It wasn’t the effortless slide the commanders had implied to him. Instead, it was a slow, pressured stretch. You felt your muscles tighten instinctively, a small gasp of discomfort escaping your lips as you felt the sheer girth of him filling you.

Ace stopped instantly. He froze, his muscles locking up, his eyes wide with terror.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll-”

“No,” you gasped, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers digging into his cheeks. “No, don’t stop. It’s just… it’s a lot. It’s just the first time. Just… stay still for a second. Let me get used to it.”

Ace stayed perfectly still, though he looked like he was vibrating. He was holding his breath, his chest heaving, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that felt like it could burn through the sheet. You could feel him pulsing inside you, a heavy, insistent throb that echoed the beat of your own heart.

Slowly, the initial discomfort began to face, replaced by a feeling of incredible fullness.

It was an overwhelming sensation, a physical connection so deep it felt emotional. You shifted your hips slightly, testing the feeling, and let out a long, shaky sigh of relief.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice breathy and warm. “I’m okay. You… you can move now, Ace.”

You expected him to dive in right in. Instead, the moment you gave him permission, Ace let put a sound that could only be described as a whimper.

He didn’t move. In fact, he seemed to sink even deeper into the mattress, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder, his body shuddering violently.

“Ace?” you asked, confused. “Why aren’t you moving?”

He let out a choked, needy groan, his voice muffled against your skin. “I… I can’t,” he rasped, his breath hot and erratic.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and you saw that his eyes were completely glazed, his pupils blown wide. He looked absolutely wrecked to say the least.

“Y/N… you feel… holy shit, you feel so good,” he whimpered, a stray tear of sheer overstimulation pricking the corner of his eye. “If I move… if I even move an inch right now… I think I’m literally going to cum again. I can’t… I can’t handle it.”

You blinked, a small, surprised laugh escaping you. “Are you serious? You’re the second commander! You have legendary stamina!”

“Not when I’m inside you!” he wailed softly, his voice cracking. “It’s too much! It’s like… like I’m being hugged from the inside! I’m losing my mind, Y/N! I’m actually losing it!”

The sight of him - this powerful, stubborn pirate, completely defeated by the simple sensation of being inside you - was the most erotic thing you had ever seen. You felt a surge of playful confidence, remembering the nurses’ words about taking the lead.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, and gave a sharp, deliberate tug, pulling him deeper.

Ace let out a loud, undignified shriek, his back arching off the bed. “OH GOD! STOP! NO, DON’T STOP! BUT STOP!”

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, your voice dripping with affection. You began to move your hips in a slow, grinding circle, testing the friction.

Ace made a sound that was once again half-sob, half-moan. He gripped the headboard behind you so hard that the wood groaned under the pressure. “I’m going to die,” he gasped, his eyes rolling back. “I am actually going to die right here on this bed. This is it. Tell Pops I love him.”

“You’re not dying, Ace. You’re just sensitive and dramatic,” you teased, increasing the pace slightly.

As the rhythm established itself, Ace finally found his footing, his movements transitioning from erratic shudders to deep, purposeful thrusts. He wasn’t “smooth” in the way a seasoned lover might be - he was too eager, often pushing too fast or missing the angle - but every single movement was fueled by a level of devotion that was intoxicating.

“Is this… is this okay?” he panted, his voice returning to that low, commanding tone, though it was still punctuated by the occasional whimper. “Am I… am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head tossing from side to side. “Right there… oh god, Ace, yes!”

Hearing your pleasure seemed to give him a second wind. He stopped worrying about the “manual” and started listening to your body. He remembered Marco’s words about changing the pace, slowing down just as you were reaching a peak, only to drive back in with a sudden intensity that made you scream his name.

The room felt like it was catching fire. The heat radiating from Ace’s skin was literal now, the air shimmering around him as his emotions flared. Every time he hit that specific spot you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your spine, and Ace would let out a ragged, needy sound, as if he were the one receiving the pleasure.

“I love you,” he gasped, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your toes curl. “I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t believe this is real.”

The emotional weight of his words, combined with the physical intensity of the act, pushed you over the edge. You felt the coil tighten, the tension building into a crescendo that felt like a tidal wave crashing over you. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his tan skin, and let out a loud, prolonged cry as your orgasm slammed into you.

Ace didn’t wait long to follow after you. The moment he felt your internal muscles clench around him in the throes of release, he lost the last shred of his control.

“Y/N!” he moaned, his voice echoing through the entire room.

He delivered one final, deep thrust, pinning you against the mattress with the full weight of his body. Then he stiffened, his muscles locking up in a violent spasm as he emptied himself into the condom. He groaned your name over and over, a long, shuddering release that left him completely spent, his breath coming in jagged, sobbing gasps.

For a long time, neither of you moved. You lay there in a tangle of sweaty limbs and tangled sheets, the only sound the creaking of the Moby Dick as it swayed in the ocean waves.

Eventually, Ace shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked firmly against his chest. He let out a long, contented sigh, his eyes half-closed and dreamy.

“So,” you whispered, your voice sounding small and satisfied. “How was the ‘main event’?”

Ace let out a soft, sheepish chuckle, kissing the top of your head. “I think… I think I might have failed the technical part. I definitely… messed up on the way.”

You giggled, snuggling closer to him. “I don’t know. I think you did just fine for a novice.”

“A novice, huh?” He grinned, a flash of his usual confidence returning. He tightened his grip on you, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “Well, the thing about novices is that they’re very eager to practice. I think I might need a few more… educational sessions. Just to make sure I’ve mastered the technique.”

You laughed, your heart full. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping back into that low, dangerous register as he began to nuzzle your ear. “I think we should probably start with a review of a few different positions. You know… for science.”

You laughed. “Hm. For science. Of course.”

The sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon, and the Moby Dick was shrouded in a heavy, pre-dawn mist. At roughly 5:00 AM, the ship was usually silent, save for the rhythmic splashing of the waves and the occasional snoring of a crew member.

Except for the commander’s deck.

Edward Newgate, the strongest man in the world, stepped out onto the main deck for his early morning sake, his massive frame cutting through the fog. He stopped mid-strike, his eyes blinking in confusion. There, huddled around a small table on the docks of the upper deck, were his top commanders.

It was a sight that would have terrified any enemy fleet. Marco, Thatch, Vista, Jozu and Izou were all present, but they didn’t look like the formidable leaders of the Whitebeard Pirates. They looked like survivors of a shipwreck.

Marco was slumped over the table, his face pressed against the wood, one eye open and twitching. Thatch was staring blankly into a bottle of sake, drinking straight from the neck with a thousand-yard stare. Vista’s legendary mustache was drooping, and Izou was rubbing his temples with a look of profound spiritual exhaustion. Jozu was simply sitting in silence, staring at a wall as if trying to erase a memory from his soul.

They were surrounded by empty bottles and half-eaten plates of snacks, looking like they hadn’t slept in three days.

“Gurarara!” Whitebeard’s booming laugh echoed across the deck. “What in the world is this? A secret meeting?”

The commanders didn’t even jump. They didn’t have the energy to be startled.

Marco let out a slow, rattling sigh. “Pops… please. Just… stop talking. The vibrations of your voice are too much for my brain right now, yoi.”

Whitebeard paused, leaning down to peer at his sons. “You all look like you’ve been fighting a Yonko for forty-eight hours. What happened?”

Thatch slowly lifted his head. A single tear of regret rolled down his cheek. “Worse, Pops. Much worse.”

“Explain,” Whitebeard commanded, though he sounded amused.

“We gave him a crash course,” Izou whispered, his voice a mixture of horror and betrayal. “We thought we were being helpful. We thought we were guiding him. We thought we were protecting our little sister by ensuring Ace knew what he was doing.”

Whitebeard blinked. “Ace and Y/N? I figured they’d finally gotten around to it.”

At the mention of the couple, the entire group of commanders flinched simultaneously, as if they had been struck by a physical blow.

“You don’t understand, Pops,” Vista groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. “The walls on the commander’s floor are thick. They are very thick. But Ace… He really doesn’t do anything halfway. The sheer… volume… the enthusiasm… the screaming…”

“He’s a monster,” Jozu grunted, his voice hollow. “A loud, passionate monster.”

The commander shared a look of collective trauma. They had spent the last several hours trapped in a psychological war, listening to the evidence of Ace implementing every single piece of advice they had given him - and then some.

Because they saw you as their precious baby sister, every moan, every gasp, every loud thud against the wall had felt like a personal attack on their sanity.

Thatch suddenly slammed his bottle onto the table, his expression one of pure agony.

“I regret it!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I regret teaching him! Why did I tell him about the neck?! Why did I mention the clitoris?! I’ve created a beast and now I have to live with the mental images!”

“I told him to change the pace, yoi,” Marco muttered into the table, sounding defeated. “I didn’t realize he’d take “driving her crazy” as a literal mission objective. I can still hear it. I can still hear her screaming his name. I think I have permanent hearing loss in my left ear.”

Whitebeard stared at them for a long moment, then he let out a laugh so massive it nearly knocked Thatch off his chair.

“Gurarara! It seems the boy is really thorough!”

“It’s not thorough, Pops! It’s an auditory assault!” Izou snapped, though he looked too tired to actually be angry.

Just as a heavy, blessed silence fell over the group, a sound drifted across the deck from the direction of the commander’s quarters.

“ACE! OH MY GOD, ACE-!!!”

The scream was followed by a loud, unmistakable THUMP that vibrated through the floorboards of the ship. The commanders froze. As one, they all slowly turned their heads toward the sound.

Thatch let out a broken whimper and leaned forward, burying his face in the sake bottle. Marco simply closed his eyes and began to pray to a god he didn’t even believe in.

For most people, joining the Whitebeard Pirates felt like coming home to a house with a thousand open doors. For you, however, the arrival of Portgas D. Ace felt more like someone had invited in a chaotic hurricane to take up permanent residence in the living room.

Everyone loved him. It was infuriating. Within a week of him finally coming to his senses, the commanders were treating him like a long-lost younger brother, and the crew was enchanted by his reckless energy and that blinding, confident grin. But you? You couldn't shake the image of him trying to kill Pops. Like the others, you had watched the entire ordeal from the sidelines - the desperation he showed, the sheer audacity of his attack on Edward Newgate, and the way the old man had dismantled his efforts with a bored, effortless strength.

What bothered you wasn't that he had fought - you were a pirate too after all, used to stupid fights between your brothers and rivaled crews; it was that he had tried to throw his life away with such a casual disregard. And then, after being repeatedly defeated by the most powerful man in the world over and over again, he had immediately tried to kill him again. It was illogical. It was maddening. It was, in your professional opinion, the peak of humanly stupidity.

So, while the rest of the ship basked in Ace's radiance after he finally stopped his suicide mission, you treated him like a hazardous waste spill.

It quickly became routine and a staple of the morning deck rotations. You would be leaning against the railing, enjoying the salt-spray air, when a certain mop of black hair with a stupid orange hat and a pair of black shorts would bounce into your periphery.

"Morning!" Ace would chirp, his voice far too loud and cheerful for the hour.

You wouldn't even look at him properly. "Don't."

Ace would blink, tilting his head with a look of genuine confusion. "… Don't what?"

"Exist near me," you'd reply flatly, finally turning your gaze to him with a look of profound exhaustion.

From a few feet away, Marco would let out a rumbling chuckle, his eyes hooded and clearly amused, much to your dismay. "Still at it, are you two, yoi?"

Thatch, leaning against a barrel of apples, would nudge Marco with a huge grin on his face. "Look at that tension between our youngsters. I'm telling you, Marco, they're flirting. I can literally smell it in the air."

You shot Thatch a look that could have frozen the entire Grand Line. "I will throw you overboard, Thatch. And I will do it with a huge smile on my face."

"See!" Thatch beamed, completely unfazed. "Such… passion!"

The commanders, ever the old meddlers, decided that the disharmony between you and the new recruit was a problem that needed immediate solving. They viewed your disdain as a challenge and began orchestrating a series of "bonding exercises" that were, in reality, just various ways to torture you.

Attempt #1

"Y/N," Marco had said, his tone deceptively casual, which already made you suspicious. "Ace is still a bit lost regarding the layout of the ship. Why don't you show him around? You know every nook and cranny."

You wanted to argue with Marco, but you respected the older man too much to throw a fit over something this trivial, so you had just sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand regrets, and led Ace through the corridors. It was peaceful for exactly five minutes. You pointed out the armory, the infirmary, and the galley. Ace followed along, nodding and asking questions that were mostly distractions.

Then, the two of you hit the kitchen.

Ace, in an attempt to be helpful by rearranging some spice jars to "make them look cooler," managed to knock over a canister of highly flammable cooking oil just as a stovetop flame leaped up. In a flash, a curtain of fire erupted, licking the ceiling with a sudden and very violent hunger.

As the crew scrambled to put out the fire and poor Thatch screamed in horror about his precious saffron, you simply stood there with your arms crossed over your chest, staring at the soot-covered Ace.

"You're proving my point," you said tonelessly.

Attempt #2

"You two young ones have a lot of pent-up energy," Izou had observed, leaning against a training post with a fan covering the lower half of his face. "Why not train together? A little friendly sparring to get the blood pumping."

You had agreed only because you thought it would be a satisfying way to knock some sense into the boy. He seemed to need it badly.

The session started with you moving like you always did during a sparring match; entirely focused and disciplined. You were trying to execute a series of serious strikes with precise and calculated movements. Ace, however, treated the entire thing like a game. He kept making jokes, dodging your attacks with a lazy, playful grin, and laughing right in your face every time you almost caught him.

"You're too stiff, Y/N!" he grinned, sliding backwards with a flourish. "Lighten up! It's just a spar!"

His taunting was the final straw. In one fluid, explosive movement, you stopped thinking about sparring and started thinking about silencing him. You pivoted, using his own momentum against him, and slammed him flat onto his back with a resounding thud that echoed across the whole deck.

You knelt over him and looked down with cold eyes, your forearm pressed against his throat.

Izou blinked, looking over at Marco. "… Does this count as progress?"

Marco hummed, watching Ace stare up at you with a look of dazed fascination. "Questionable, yoi."

Attempt #3

"Inventory duty," Thatch had announced. "The storehouse is a mess. You two are uh…. the only people available right now to get it organized."

The glare you shot his way could've killed a weaker man, but once again, you didn't argue. For an hour, Ace and you worked in a focused silence. You were meticulously cataloging crates of dried meat and barrels of flour, your pen scratching rhythmically against the parchment. Ace was supposed to be counting sacks of grain.

But when you turned around to ask him for the total, you only found the storehouse empty.

Already starting to feel irritated, you stepped outside and looked up. There, on the railing of the upper deck, was Ace. Of course he wasn't working. He wasn't even looking for grain. He was crouched low, eyes wide and focused, silently chasing a bright blue butterfly that was fluttering haphazardly toward the bow.

You stood there in the silence of the storehouse, the pen still poised over the paper, feeling a vein throb in your temple.

"…"

It didn't take long for the rest of the crew to notice the anomaly. Ace was an easy-going kid; he got along with basically everyone. He took criticism with a laugh and followed orders with the biggest grin on his face. But with you? He never stopped poking, never stopped trying to get a reaction out of you. And you, who were known as the most patient person on the Moby Dick - the woman who could handle a drunken crew of five hundred without breaking a sweat - became a different person the moment Ace entered the room.

You were a ticking time bomb, and Ace was the one holding the match, looking far too happy about the potential explosion.

Eventually, Pops had seen enough. The Captain's booming laughter had filled the deck as he looked down at the two of you, his eyes twinkling with a mischief that matched the commanders.

"Enough of this bickering!" Whitebeard roared, though his tone was fond. "You two need to find some common ground. We're making a simple supply stop at the next island. Y/N, Ace, you'll handle the shopping. Just the two of you."

The old man had barely finished his sentence before you immediately and simultaneously objected.

"Pops, please!" you pleaded, your voice reaching a pitch of desperation. "Anyone else! Send a cabin boy! Send a random crewmate! Even a seagull will do!"

"I don't wanna go with her!" Ace complained, crossing his arms and pouting like a little child. "She's scary! She looks at me like I'm a piece of rotten fish!"

"Because you are a piece of rotten fish!" you snapped. "Actually, you're even wor-"

"Quiet, my children," Whitebeard commanded, though he was clearly enjoying himself. "It's settled. You leave at dawn."

The trip to the island was already a complete disaster from the moment the rowboat hit the sand.

First, because something just had to go wrong immediately, Ace forgot the shopping list. Not accidentally "misplaced" it - he forgot it entirely. So when you asked for it, he gave you a sheepish grin and reassured you he remembered the important parts.

The "important parts", as it turned out, were mostly snacks for himself.

As you navigated the village market, you found yourself losing years of your life. Every time you tried to focus on the essential medical supplies or the bulk grains, Ace would just… wander off. He got distracted by a street performer, a shiny trinket, and most infuriatingly, a group of cats behind a fishmonger's stall.

You stopped dead in your tracks, watching him coo at a scrawny orange tabby, his entire demeanor shifting as he made some exaggerated baby noises at the clearly confused feline creature. For a second, you almost felt a flicker of sympathy - there was something weirdly endearing watching a powerful man like him act like this. Then he tried to bring the cat along for the shopping trip.

"No," you said flatly, already continuing on your way.

"But look at his little paws, Y/N."

"Put the cat down, Ace."

"You're so mean!"

By the time you reached the outskirts of the village to pick up the specialty lumber Jozu had requested, you were mutter-screaming into the wind.

"I can't believe this," you hissed, clutching the bags of supplies angrily. "You're actually going to become a commander? You're a liability! You're like… like a walking disaster area!"

Ace just shrugged beside you, his grin returning. "Apparently. Pops thinks I've got potential."

"Potential for what? To set the ocean on fire?"

"Maybe!" he laughed loudly.

The bickering continued for hours. You argued about basically everything. The most efficient route back to the shore, the best way to split the remaining berries, even about who was carrying the heavier load (it was you obviously, because Ace had spent half the trip scouting for more cats).

And the worst part? Through it all, he just kept on smiling. That stupid, effortless, sunshine-filled smile that suggested he wasn't even bothered by your anger in the slightest. It only served to irritate you further, making you feel like you were shouting at a wall.

Then, while taking a shortcut through a wooded ravine to avoid a sudden rainstorm, disaster struck once again, as if you didn't have enough on your plate already. A mudslide triggered by the heavy rain collapsed the narrow path behind you and blocked the way forward with a wall of debris and fallen timber. You weren't trapped in a life-threatening way - you had plenty of food and water - but you were stuck. The path was impassable, and the rain was too heavy to climb the steep, slippery cliffs.

Ace wanted to blow the way up, but you immediately shut that idea down, not trusting his… precision.

You had to wait. For hours. Together.

The rain hammered against the makeshift shelter of a rocky overhang, turning the air cool and damp. for the first hour, you sat on opposite sides of the cave, the silence thick and filled with lingering resentment.

Eventually, boredom won. It was you who actually caved.

"So," you began, your voice echoing slightly. "Why were you so determined to kill Pops?"

It was a very blunt question, devoid of the usual sarcasm you normally brought into a conversation that involved him. But you had been thinking about it for weeks. To you, the attack on Whitebeard wasn't just an act of youthful rebellion; it was a goddamn suicide mission. A really bad one at that.

Ace froze. He had been poking at a piece of driftwood with a stick, but he stopped and you saw the way his shoulders tensed. He didn't look at you first. The silence stretched on, eventually becoming heavier and heavier.

"I… I had a debt," he said quietly. His voice had lost its playful edge, replaced by a raw honesty instead. "A debt of blood and pride. I thought… I thought the only way to settle it was to take down the man on top. I didn't care if I died doing it. In fact, I wanted to."

You weren't expecting the unfiltered honesty coming from him. You had expected a joke, or a deflection, or a boast about his strength. The sudden vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, managing to strip away your anger and leaving something else in its place.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," you whispered.

Ace let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah. I know. Trust me, even I know that now."

You looked at him - really looked at him - in the dim light of the cave. He looked smaller somehow, less like the chaotic hurricane and more like a boy who had spent his entire life fighting a war no one knew he was even waging.

"I… I wasn't angry because you attacked him," you admitted, your voice barely audible over the rain.

Ace turned his head, his dark eyes searching yours. "… What?"

"I wasn't angry that you tried to kill Pops. He can handle himself, he's the strongest man in the world after all. Hell, he didn't even blink," you said, your gaze drifting to the rain-slicked rocks. "I was angry because you kept throwing your life away. You walked onto the ship like… like you were already dead. And you fought like you didn't think you deserved to survive. It pissed me the fuck off…"

Ace froze completely. Even the distant sounds outside died down, leaving only the loud beating of his own heart. He was silent for a long time.

"… You barely knew me," he whispered.

"Didn't matter," you replied matter-of-factly, finally meeting his eyes. "Nobody deserves to be that eager to die. Especially not someone who… who has as much potential as you do."

The tension in the air shifted. It was no longer the tension of an incoming fight between the two of you, but something fragile and new starting to take root. Ace didn't say thank you, and you didn't ask for it. But for the first time, the distance between you felt like it was shrinking. And you didn't mind it.

When you finally made it back to the Moby Dick, the crew noticed the change immediately.

You were still bickering. You still called him an idiot all the time, and he poked at you until you threatened to throw him overboard. But it was the tone that had changed. The sharpness was gone, replaced by a new, strange energy. You weren't trying to push him away anymore, not really; you were just arguing for the sake of it. Because it was Ace. Because it was… fun.

Marco noticed. Thatch noticed. And Thatch, being, well, Thatch, decided that this was the perfect moment to introduce a legendary tradition.

"Alright, listen up!" Thatch announced one afternoon, stepping into the center of the deck with a triumphant flourish. You had been in the middle of an intense card game against Haruta and Jozu as you looked up, curious what the commotion was about. In his hands was a piece of fabric so large it looked like a goddamn circus tent.

It was a gigantic, oversized white shirt. It had two massive sleeves and a neckline that could probably fit three people.

"The Get-Along Shirt!" Thatch beamed. "A relic from the early days. Whenever two commanders couldn't stop fighting and it started to affect morale, they were forced into the shirt. It's a valuable lesson in cooperation and, well, shared misery."

You stared at the monstrosity in complete disbelief. "… No."

Ace, having just stepped onto the main deck, stared at it with equal horror. "Yeah, absolutely not."

"Too late!" Marco chirped, appearing behind you with a speed that suggested he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Before you could protest, you and Ace were hoisted up and shoved into the shirt. It was a chaotic ordeal, a scramble of limbs and fabric. You were pressed so tightly against him that your shoulders touched and your hips brushed against each other with even the smallest movement. The shirt was so long that it draped down to your mid-thighs, leaving you both feeling exposed yet absurdly close.

"You stay like that until dinner!" Thatch declared, laughing as he walked away to tell the rest of the crew. That goddamn chatterbox.

The next few hours were a test of endurance, and you were completely failing it.

Walking was the first real challenge. Because you shared the same space within the fabric, you had to synchronize your steps perfectly in order to move properly. If you moved left and he moved right - which happened a lot -, you both simply tipped over like dominoes.

"Move your leg, idiot!" you hissed, not even fully realizing that your face was only inches from his.

"I can't move my leg if you're stepping on it!" he shot back, though he was fighting a smile you damn near punched out of his stupidly handsome face.

You tried to navigate the stairs to the upper deck, but the oversized fabric got caught under Ace's boot. With a sudden yelp, he tripped, pulling you down with him. You crashed into him, your chest colliding with his hard torso, your hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself.

You landed in a heap on the deck, the fall making the shirt bunch up around you. For a moment, the two of you were completely entangled. Your face was pressed against the crook of his neck, and you could feel the radiating heat of his skin, a constant warmth that made him feel like a living furnace.

As you scrambled and tried to push yourself up, your hand slipped, and you accidentally brushed against his chest. You felt the solid muscle beneath the thin fabric, the rabid beat of his heart directly under your fingertips. At the same time, Ace shifted to help you up, and his large hand accidentally cupped the side of your breast.

He froze. You would've laughed in any other situation because he genuinely looked like he wasn't even breathing.

The silence that followed was electric. Ace, for all his confidence, was still a young man. A deep crimson flooded his face, spreading from his neck to the tip of his ears. He jerked his hand away as if he had been burned and looked at you with wide and startled eyes.

"S-sorry!" he stammered, his voice cracking.

You felt a flush of your own creeping up your neck, but you didn't pull away immediately. The closeness was overwhelming, so much so that you needed a second to return to your senses. You could smell him - the scent of smoke, sea salt, and a hint of something spicy - and you realized that for the first time, you weren't thinking about how stupid he was. You were thinking about how warm he was. And handsome. Especially the latter, though you would never loudly admit that.

Eventually, you both gave up trying to escape the shirt and simply sat down against the railing, leaning into each other for support.

The noise of the ship faded into the background. It was just the two of you, sharing a single piece of cloth and even breathing in synchronization. You could hear the soft sounds of his lungs, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when you shifted. You noticed the tiny freckles across the bridge of his nose, the way his eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks.

What a beautiful man, you thought.

"You don't actually hate me," Ace said quietly.

You sighed, resting your head against his shoulder. The fabric of the shirt felt soft against your skin. "… No. But I do think you're stupid… You?"

He laughed softly, a sound that vibrated through his chest and into your own. "I've liked you since the second week I've been here."

You bolted upright, nearly knocking you both over again. "Excuse me?!"

Ace didn't look away this time. His gaze was steady, his expression surprisingly tender. "I kept talking to you because you were the only person who didn't treat me like I was amazing. Everyone else was often just so… impressed. But you? You just thought I was a moron. It was refreshing. And you're… you're super pretty and cool. Even when you yelled at me all the time."

You stared at him, your heart performing a frantic drum solo against your ribs. You wanted to throw another of your usual sarcastic comments at him. You wanted to tell him he was a moron, because he was. But the words died in your throat.

"You… you have some serious issues," you whispered, but you didn't really mean it. There was no heat in it, which Ace noticed.

"I know, Y/N," he replied, a small and genuine smile touching his lips.

You started laughing. It wasn't a scoff or a sneer this time, but a real laugh that bubbled up from your chest and wouldn't die down for a long time. You leaned into him, the absurdity of the situation finally breaking you.

Ace stared at you, his expression softening. "… You have a nice laugh."

You immediately stopped, and your entire face heated up. "Don't make this weird, Portgas."

"I physically can't," he whispered.

Your hands brushed again. This time, neither of you moved away. Ace's fingers slid into yours, his grip firm and warm. The tension that had been building for weeks, the continuos bickering, fighting, but also the shared glances, finally snapped.

Ace was the one who leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn't.

The kiss was hesitant at first, a soft exploration of lips and breath. His mouth, coupled with the way his hand was sliding down your arm, was all too much. Good much. So fucking good. You just whimpered. As soon as the sound left you, Ace groaned into your mouth, his other hand sliding up to cup your jaw, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

He maneuvered you with a sudden, almost desperate strength, pulling you onto his lap as best as the oversized shirt would allow. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his black hair, as you lost yourself in each other. Nothing else mattered. There was only the heat of his skin, the taste of him you already knew you would become addicted to, and the rhythmic thrum of the ocean beneath you.

It was the perfect first kiss - until, suddenly, the door to the deck area swung open. Right. You completely forgot where you had been.

"Alright, time for dinner! I hope the you two have learned the meaning of coop-"

Thatch stopped dead in his tracks. Marco appeared beside him, a smirk already forming on his face.

You and Ace jumped apart, both of you completely flushed from head to toe, hair disheveled, and lips swollen. You were still stuck in the same gigantic shirt, looking like a very confused, very guilty, and very red-faced intertwined mess.

Marco let out a triumphant chuckle. "Told you they like each other, yoi."

Thatch wiped a fake tear from his eye, looking profoundly moved. "They're growing up so quickly."

You buried your face in the collar of the shirt, wishing the fabric could swallow you whole. Ace just grinned, though his head was still bright red, and squeezed your hand.

“Hey, I have amazing stamina.”

You caught the fastener of his hat and pinned it to his chest with your palm so it stopped dangling in your face. “You’ll have amazing sunburn after this. And Marco on your back about neglecting your work.”

“They can survive without me,” Ace said. “Besides, don’t you also have stuff to do?”

You narrowed your eyes faintly. “Why don’t you do some push-ups? If you’re going to show off, do it properly.”

He grinned and lowered himself down until his nose brushed yours. “You just like watching me work out.”

“If you’re going to have your chest out, you can’t blame me for looking at it.”

He repeated the action and you watched his biceps flex. You couldn’t deny that helped your mood. The third time he did it, you tilted your head up to brush your lips against his, relishing in the warmth of his breath.

“Feeling better?”

“A little,” you conceded. “I think there’s a problem with this cure of yours.”

“Hm?”

“You can’t keep it up forever.”

“Watch me.”

You laughed softly despite yourself and his smile stretched wider. The annoyance still lingered there but you could hardly be that irritated at the world when Ace was showing off for you.

“What else can I do?” he asked. “There has to be something, right?”

 You thought about it as he continued his minor workout above you. “Well, I am craving chocolate but Thatch says we’re out and we’re not going to make land for a few days.”

Ace frowned. “Maybe there’s something in the storerooms he forgot about?”

“Not a chance,” you scoffed. “Thatch notices when I steal half a cup of rice from one of the bags. There’s no way he’s forgotten about something.”

“There’s always a chance, right?”

Ace’s next push up was a little slower and his head drooped slightly before he shook it.

“Falling asleep while you’re working out?”

“What? Never.”

“Should I move so I don’t get trapped then?”

He huffed. “I’m fine. I’ll stay awake.”

He lowered himself again and you caught the fastener properly, pulling him into an awkward plank while you kissed him. He kept the height, mouth warm against your own as you slid a hand to the back of his neck. His arms shook minutely and you let him go.

“If you fall asleep on me, I’m blaming you for not getting anything done today.”

Your kiss had distracted him enough that he didn’t seem too bothered by the threat at all. And you were absolutely right.

He only got through one more push-up before his arms slumped aside and his weight dropped onto you heavily, his face buried in your chest. You chuckled softly and plucked the hat from his head. You settled it over your face to get some protection from the sun.

You were probably going to be there for a while.

Your mood had improved by dinner, enough that you found yourself joining in for a round of cards before you headed to bed.

Ace was already in his cabin by the time you stepped in, lying on his back and tossing something into the sky and catching it again. The second he saw you, he sat upright, smile as proud as a cat that had found its way into a bird cage.

“You look far too pleased,” you noted.

“That’s because I found you something.”

He held out a foil-wrapped bar, half-opened to show a chocolate inside. You frowned, staring at it in momentary confusion.

“Where did you find that?”

“Thatch said it was technically yours,” Ace said. “I found it in the back of the fridge and asked about it. He did say it has alcohol in it or something but it's still chocolate.”

You stepped closer and snapped off a piece. It was very thin, almost brittle, and flecked with red flakes. A small chocolate bloom had begun to crawl over the surface.

“This must be really old…”

Ace shrugged and tossed a piece into his mouth. “Tastes fine to me. And if it was off or something, Thatch probably would have thrown it away.”

You couldn’t remember when you’d last bought chocolate. It was possible you’d forgotten about it, you supposed… You twisted a piece around in your fingers, trying to remember.

Ace plucked it from your fingers. “I think it tastes pretty good,” he said and held it up to your mouth. “You’ll like it.”

You struggled to ever say no to him when he was looking at you with those beautiful eyes. His eyelashes were unfairly long. You opened your mouth. He placed the square on your tongue with a proud grin.

It tasted good, you couldn’t deny that. Dark and smooth with a faint citrus bite but something still felt a little strange. Almost like it was sparkling in your mouth, popping and fizzing.

“Can I see the wrapper for this?” you asked.

“Yeah.” Ace tore it from the bar and held it out to you. “Do you not like it? I’ll get you something different when we stop again.”

You nodded. “You can have the rest if you want. It tasted a bit weird to me.”

“Thanks,” he said. “It wasn’t so bad.”

The label was worn white from age and years in the cold storage but once you got it into the right spot under the swaying lantern, you recognised it instantly. This was yours. You remembered buying it ages ago by accident and shoving it somewhere in the galley fridge to gather frost.

Unfortunately, in the second it took you to remember what it was, Ace had already bitten through half of it.

“Wait, wait!”

Ace froze and swallowed hard. “What? Is it actually poisonous?”

“No but it’s… Do you feel okay?”

He looked over himself. “I feel fine. What’s wrong with it?”

You held the label out to him. “I realised why I didn’t take this from the kitchen. It’s not normal chocolate. You’re meant to just have a small piece and it gets you a little worked up.”

“You bought sex chocolate?” he asked with a small laugh.

“Accidentally,” you said. “I was after the regular version. But you’re definitely not meant to be eating the whole thing. Are you sure you’re not feeling weird?”

He shrugged. “No more than usual. Maybe it doesn’t work on me because of the devil fruit thing? Like it burned off.”

You somehow didn’t believe that. “Just let me know if you feel sick, okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, tossing the chocolate to the side. He pulled you closer to press a kiss on your forehead and another to the corner of your mouth. “See? I’m all good.”

Before you could answer, Ace lifted you into a bridal hold, spinning you once before he dropped onto the bed, pulling you with him. You laughed despite yourself and the sound made his smile almost glow.

You adjusted into a more comfortable spot and pressed up to his chest. “Thank you for trying. Even if it didn’t work.”

He pulled you closer. “I’ll get you proper chocolate the moment I can, ‘kay?”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

You felt perfectly normal when you woke up the next day, Ace passed out against your neck. Nothing that suggested anything strange had come from the chocolate. You tossed it out on your way to the dining hall, unimpressed even when Thatch appeared to present you with a plate.

“We have chocolate?” you asked as you picked up the pastries.

“Couverture chocolate,” he corrected. “Which I wasn’t going to let you eat as a snack. But I made you something with it.”

You stared at him, mildly unimpressed though it did remind you.

“Speaking of chocolate,” you said as you kicked out the seat across from you for him to take. “Do you know what you gave Ace yesterday?”

Thatch laughed as he sat down. “You mean did I finally get rid of that thing that’s been sitting in my galley for over a year now? I did warn him what it was, before you come accusing me of trying to trick him.”

“Oh yeah? What did you say?”

“That it was spiked and he said that was fine. Why?”

You sighed and took a bite of the pastry he’d offered you. It was good enough that you could imagine forgiving him. Not today but someday soon.

“He thought you meant it had alcohol in it.”

Thatch looked like he was trying to fight back a laugh and you kicked at his shin under the table which he very unfairly dodged. “Ah, well, are you really complaining?”

“Yes,” you said. “You should have told him.”

“The label was still attached. I assumed one of you would read it before eating half the thing.”

“Why do you look like you’re in such a mood?” Marco asked as he took the seat beside you. “Again.”

“Why do you look like you haven’t slept the whole night?” you retorted.

He didn’t answer the question. “I told you she wouldn’t be impressed with you magically presenting chocolate.”

“That’s not what she’s upset about,” Thatch countered.

“He drugged us,” you said.

Marco’s attention immediately cut toward Thatch who threw up his hands in defence.

“Hey, don’t make it sound so bad! Ace found that old chocolate she bought ages ago. I warned him it wasn’t normal chocolate but apparently, he didn’t pass on the message.”

“How much did you eat?” Marco asked.

“Practically nothing,” you said around a mouthful of breakfast. “A square.”

“And Ace?”

You paused. “Like half the bar. But he wasn’t feeling any side effects so… Do you think it would make him sick?”

Marco shrugged. “Sick? I doubt it, yoi. It was probably a novelty more than anything else. I’ll monitor him for today though, in case. Is he awake yet?”

“Nope.”

“Could also be expired,” Thatch offered. “You bought it ages ago.”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

“You can’t blame this on me.”

“Funny because I’m already doing that.”

Marco laid the back of his hand against your head and you leaned away from him with a glare. He took your wrist, pressing two fingers against your pulse.

“You’re not showing any symptoms of overstimulation. Though it could have a delay. Just let me know if anything changes throughout the day.”

A sudden heat enveloped you from behind and Ace buried his face into your hair, stifling a yawn against you. He squeezed you once before he dropped into the seat next to you and looked up to realise the three of you were staring.

“Uh… morning?”

“Morning,” Marco said. “Are you feeling okay, yoi?”

Ace blinked. He looked fine. He ran his fingers through his hair to push it back from his face.

“Me? Yeah, I’m good.”

“If it did expire, then it’s basically normal chocolate,” Thatch said and realisation dawned on Ace’s face at the topic of conversation.

“His pupils are very dilated for normal chocolate,” Marco noted.

Now that he mentioned it, Ace’s pupils were… larger than you’d seen them before. Not worryingly so but enough that the usual oaken shade appeared distinctly darker.

And you couldn’t even blame the lighting of the dining hall. The sky outside was brilliant blue and light shone through the windows in warming, comforting rays.

“You told Marco about the chocolate?” Ace asked.

“Just in case it was dangerous or something and we had to have a trial for Thatch.”

Thatch rolled his eyes. “I can’t be held responsible for this. I warned you it wasn’t normal chocolate and you had a label. If you inhaled half of it before reading, it’s not my fault.”

“You said it had alcohol,” Ace countered.

“No, I said it was spiked,” he corrected. “I didn’t say a word about it having alcohol. I thought she would recognise it, considering it was hers.”

“If you die, Pops will know exactly who to blame,” Marco said flatly. “But you should be fine. Just tell me if you start to experience anything uncomfortable. You ate far more of that stuff than you’re meant to at once.”

Ace nodded and reached for your plate. “Then why sell it as a whole bar?”

“Most people don’t buy that sort of thing for one night,” Thatch said. “Not that you two need the encouragement.”

“I guess… hey, wait, this has chocolate in it.”

“I’ve already complained,” you muttered. “Apparently, it was not for snacking.”

Thatch groaned like a man standing under persecution. “You wanted something with chocolate and I made you something with chocolate. Now you’re complaining about getting it?”

“Yes.”

Everything felt fine until just after lunch when you were mending a sail. A flush of heat crawled over you, blossoming out from low in your stomach. You stiffened and adjusted your seat, the movement sending a pleasant tingle through you. Your heart pulsed uncomfortably behind your ribs.

You looked down at the thread in your hands and grimaced. Not expired then.

It was an ignorable sensation. The type of interest you’d felt before. One that would normally have you drag Ace away in the evening but wouldn’t pay mind to right now.

But if this was what you were feeling…

You stood and left the sail there, rolling your shoulders to try to shake some of the excitement from your fingers. The second division were meant to be on the deck today.

Only, there was a small problem with that plan.

“Ah, they’ll be back within the hour,” Rakuyo said. “Some idiots were messing around on one of the islands near here.”

You gave him a sharp look, annoyed more than usual given the discomfort in your stomach. “Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” he defended himself. “I didn’t plan this. Ace’ll handle it and be back before you even know it. Missing him already?”

You ground your teeth. “No.”

“Did he do something?”

“No.”

You marched down the stairs and into the infirmary, wincing faintly when a brush of warm air pressed against your skin. Your heartrate hadn’t slowed yet. It was making you feel jittery and uncertain.

Marco was busy at his desk, pen scratching over something when you stormed in.

“Why’d you send Ace out now?”

Marco looked at you over the top of his glasses. “I haven’t sent Ace anywhere, yoi. What’s wrong?”

You gestured behind you as though that explained anything. “It’s not expired,” you said, voice softer in case anybody else was around. “And now he’s run off to handle some idiots elsewhere? Couldn’t Vista have done that?”

“Is it affecting you then?”

You were silent for far too long before you answered. “Maybe…”

“How strong is it?”

You adjusted your weight. “Decently. It’s manageable but uncomfortable. I feel like my heart is going a little fast. But I had one square.”

Marco sighed. “Technically, he doesn’t need my permission to attend to his own division. We’ll have to wait for him to come back to make sure it’s not causing him problems.”

You groaned. “Great…”

Waiting the hour made it far worse. Marco ordered you onto a bed in the infirmary for the period and the sheets scratched awfully against your skin. The smell of the medical supplies hurt your nose. You couldn’t ignore anything. Every sound, every movement… it was all getting under your skin.

“It’ll wear off,” Marco said. “You can wait in your own cabin if you’d like.”

“It feels like my heart wants to jump out my chest.”

“Try to avoid that. My healing is only so strong, yoi.”

The first sign the second division had returned was the thunder of boots overhead, followed by raised voices and the hard crackle of fire. You swung your legs off the bed before Marco had even pushed back his chair, leading the way toward the deck.

Ace looked fine. Mostly. He wasn’t hurt but he kept shifting his weight, dragging his hand over the back of his neck or flexing his fingers. Flames danced over his skin constantly; flickering and flashing quickly. His grin was easy but he continued looking around, searching for something.

A member of the second division clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You can stop looking for the next fight, Commander. They’re all gone.”

Ace laughed lightly. “What do you mean?”

He rolled the beads around his neck in his fingers and you glanced at Marco whose lips were pressed into a thin line. A spark of flame jumped from Ace toward a nearby rope, thankfully quickly patted out by somebody else.

You stepped forward and he looked to you almost immediately. He crossed the distance far too quickly for somebody attempting to look casual.

“Hey,” he said. He stopped in front of you and rocked back on his heels. “Are you… feeling okay?”

His pupils were enormous. They made him look far too wired. He crossed his arms and then uncrossed them again. You could feel the heat from his skin, radiating like a furnace as the flames continued.

The warmth in your stomach curled.

“Mostly,” you answered. “You look…. energetic.”

“Yeah, it was a bit of an intense fight,” he said.

Marco cleared his throat. “Because of them or because of you, yoi?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you get hit?”

“What? No, I’m fine. It’s just a little warm.”

“Says the man made of fire?” Rakuyo asked from somewhere on the quarter deck. “Are you planning on extinguishing those flames?”

Ace looked down at his forearms as though he hadn’t even realised he was still lit up. The fire flickered out. He smiled but it looked a little strained at the edges. You reached for his arm but the second your fingers brushed over him, he jolted away.

“Not now,” he muttered, offering you an apologetic smile.

The warmth was very inviting. Too inviting. You wanted to step closer and bury yourself in the heat radiating from his body.

“He’s just worked up because they got away!” somebody yelled.

“Alright,” Marco said and he moved between both of you. He met your eyes. “Ace is coming for a check up in the infirmary and you’re going to go sleep it off in his cabin.”

“Is something wrong with you?” Ace asked, concern immediately bleeding into his tone.

“Nothing that can’t be solved with rest, yoi,” Marco said.

Despite how much more you wanted to do the exact opposite; you forced yourself to step away from Ace. It probably was better to put distance between you. Before you forgot you were standing in the middle of the deck.

Already, it was feeling like a rather unimportant consequence.

Rakuyo whistled. “This is getting really bad, Marco. Start putting them on opposite ends of the ship until they remember how to survive an hour apart.”

Fossa hummed in agreement. “One hour and they’re both this twitchy.”

You threw a rude gesture at both of them for the teasing before you took Marco’s instructions to heart. You stepped away, making your way back into the underbelly of the Moby Dick.

The passage below deck was cooler, the dim air a soothing balm after the glare above. By the time you reached Ace’s cabin, though, the heat had already gathered beneath your skin again. You shoved the windows open and leaned into the salt wind, letting it drag over your face and throat as though it could pull some of the tension from your body.

It was nearly twenty minutes before the door opened behind you.

Ace stepped inside and closed it carefully. “Marco says neither of us is dying.”

“Good.”

You closed the distance and sealed your mouth against his. He made a muffled sound against your lips.

If every other scent had been annoying you, his was addictive. The faint burnt wood that clung to him was mouth-watering and you broke the kiss to trail kisses over his throat; nipping at the skin there and drawing soft pants from him, his hands tightening hard around your hips.

“Mar – Marco said we should be resting,” he muttered out.

“Good for Marco,” you mumbled, rejoining your lips to his.

Ace turned and your back hit the door with a thump. His tongue pressed into your mouth, his skin almost scorching where it met yours. He kissed you like he had been holding his breath since the deck, hands dragging beneath your shirt until you tore it over your head. Bare skin met his chest and the contact punched a soft moan from you.

He had never struggled to be vocal, but this was something else. Every breath broke against your mouth in a groan, low and rough enough that you felt it vibrate through his chest.

You buried your fingers in his hair, grip tightening as one of his legs pressed between your own and you rolled down against his thigh, pleasure sparking through you. The hour of denial had wound you far too tight. You had to fight to keep your thoughts.

You pulled away and he followed, mouth dropping to your collarbones in hungry, open-mouthed kisses.

You ground against him again and your hand trailed down his chest to find where his cock strained against his shorts. The moment you brushed against him, his breath broke against your skin and his hips jerked into your palm. You fought the button for a moment before you got him free. He was burning up, skin clammy and feverish against you.

“Ace,” you muttered and he lifted his head from your chest.

“Yeah?”

“I can’t believe you went out to fight instead of fucking me earlier.”

“I didn’t know it was going to take effect,” he protested. “How was I meant to know your sex chocolate was so strong.”

You dragged your hand over his cock and rolled your thumb over the head, smearing precum over your fingers as he groaned. He folded into your neck, hips pushing into your grip as your own rocked against his thigh. Each slow stroke pulled another rough sound from him and fed the ache between your legs.

Fuck, you really were worked up. Your breaths came in short bursts and your head thudded against the door.

Ace groaned against your skin, hand moving from your hip to brace himself behind your head, fingers fanning out as he pressed closer to your body. Your wrist was at an awkward angle but you moaned softly at the shift against your core.

You sped up the pumps of your hand, squeezing as you reached his tip. His groans against your throat turned desperate.

He pulled the fabric of your bra down, causing the straps to slide off your shoulders as he closed his mouth around your nipple. You nearly whined at the sudden heat of his mouth. The sensation went straight between your legs. Your thighs clenched tightly around him, your strokes shaking as you struggled to focus.

But he was close. You could feel it in the shake of his breath and you paused your grinding to turn your attention to him. It normally took a lot more than this to get him anywhere near the edge but you supposed the chocolate had some benefits.

His thighs tensed beneath you and his grip tightened hard enough to sting, every breath breaking shorter against your throat.

Ace leaned back and groaned your name, the rest of his sentence cutting off when his hips suddenly stuttered.

Warmth flowed over your hand and you stilled, lowering your head to meet his gaze. You giggled and kissed him loosely, his tongue tangling with yours. His breath was almost burning in your mouth and you hummed.

“You did that on purpose,” he muttered when you shifted away.

“I did,” you admitted. “But I’ll make it up to you. Besides, you ate half that bar. There’s no way one round’s going to be enough.”

You nudged him back until you could sink to your knees. Ace swallowed and you stared up at him, smiling innocently before you ran your tongue up the underside of his cock. A broken groan caught in his throat, turning into something needy as your lips moved over the tip.

You let your tongue trace the mess from his skin before taking him into your mouth again. Salt and the scent of him thickened the ache between your legs.

The effort gave some direction to your frustration. Ace groaned, hand tangling in your hair as you moved.

His cock bumped the back of your throat and you looked up at him through your lashes. You slid back and then forward again, drool gathering in the corners of your mouth as you took him deeper, relishing in the slight ache in your jaw.

Ace’s hand tightened in your hair, not guiding, only holding on as if he needed somewhere to put the tension. Heat pulsed beneath your palm where it rested against his thigh, climbing with every broken sound you pulled from him.

A bitter, singed smell cut through the haze just as Ace took a sharp step back. You blinked at the sudden loss of him before you noticed the flames tearing over his skin.

“I… sorry,” he muttered. “Just need a second.”

You slowly got up. The arousal in your stomach twisted uncomfortably but you ignored it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, clearly focused on breathing. “Sorry about your hair.”

“My…?”

You reached up slowly to find a few strands twisted and curled. Oh. That was the smell.

You laughed and stood up. “You set me on fire?”

“Maybe.”

The flames seemed to be calming now though the burning in your stomach certainly wasn’t. You leaned back against the door and let your hand slip between your legs. The first brush over your clit tore a gasp from you.

Fuck. It felt so good, better than it should have. Heat pooled through the room despite the open windows, caught in the cramped space with the smell of salt, smoke and him. All the friction from earlier had left you soaked, and you dipped your fingers beneath your bottoms to roll over your clit again.

“You’re being cruel,” Ace accused.

You opened one eye to look at him and purposefully pitched your next moan a little higher. “Guess you have to get those flames under control faster,” you breathed out. “Otherwise, you might miss it.”

His gaze dropped to your hand and stayed there, jaw tight as another line of fire crawled over his shoulder. You would have chuckled if not for the small whine that escaped instead.

“Ace,” you moaned, his name catching in your throat.

“I know,” he said. “I’m getting there.”

You let your mouth fall open, eyes slipping closed as you chased the feeling. Your clothes suddenly felt unbearable and you shoved them down, unhooked your half-on bra and let it fall beside you. You pressed two fingers into your pussy, whimpering around the sensation. It wasn’t enough of a stretch but when you curled them just right –

Hands hooked beneath your thighs before you could take another breath. Your shoulders pressed to the door with a stuttered gasp and Ace sealed his mouth against yours in a devouring kiss. His skin stung where it pressed against yours, almost painful at every point of contact.

It felt like he was trying to push you through the door with how hard he held you against it. The hard line of his cock dragged against you as he crowded closer. He lifted you higher, never breaking the kiss once.

Your lungs burned hotter than the air around you.

You reached between your bodies, caught the base and guided him until the head pressed at your entrance.

The stretch alone almost sent you over and you leaned your head back to catch your breath, barely stopping your climax before it rolled over you. His nails dug into the undersides of your thighs as he pulled you flush against him.

“How do you feel even better than I remember?”

“Because you ate sex chocolate,” you muttered.

“No,” Ace said, firmly enough that you looked back at him. “That’s you. You always feel so good.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else, fingers knotting in his hair. The first pull of his hips left you aching around the loss. When he drove back in, your moan tangled with his, and the next thrust followed before either of you had caught your breath.

His name fell from your lips as he dropped his head, mouth finding your pulse point in a way that was definitely going to leave a mark. Your legs trembled and you hooked them around him, the position driving each push of his hips deeper.

He shifted one arm more securely beneath you, the other braced against the door as he gave a strong, solid thrust that ground the base of his cock against your clit.

Spots danced over your vision as your fingers tightened in his hair; whining moans that you couldn’t control filling the air. The fire was back on Ace’s shoulders now and you forced yourself to let go, smothering the small flames as he took on a much faster pace. His hips shoved against your own and you groaned.

“You’re smouldering,” you warned him.

“Don’t care,” he muttered.

His next thrust shook through you and your nails bit into his shoulders, ideas of smothering the flames vanishing at once.

You really weren’t going to last much longer. Not with this pace and the delicious grind against your aching clit. Your thighs trembled around him, back arching as you drew closer. You felt tears beading in your eyes as your breaths turned panting.  

Then the tension snapped.

Your shoulders tore away from the door as pleasure clenched hard through your stomach, pulse after pulse dragging a broken cry from you. You smothered it against the back of your hand while your body tightened around him.

Ace’s hips didn’t even stutter. Your heart was pounding in your ears, loud enough that you could barely make out what he was muttering against your neck. You tugged his hair to get him to move his head back, kissing him hard the second he did. He groaned into your mouth, thrusts growing almost punishing.

You squeezed yourself around him and he groaned, low and rough. The friction was working you well into the realm of overstimulation.

The flames were growing higher now, his hold around you tight enough to bruise. Your body was singing at every sensation, fireworks sparking under your skin in a trembling mix of pain and pleasure. You broke away from the kiss, forehead leaning against his own.

“Ace,” you whimpered.

“Nearly there,” he said. “Promise. Just a little bit more.”

You whined desperately, clenching hard around him.

He kissed you again in response, hips stuttering against yours one more time before he buried himself against you. The kiss turned lazy and messy as he rode out his climax, tongues pressing sloppily together between panting breaths.

Ace pushed away from the door, walking you both the short distance to the bed before he lowered you down and pulled out, falling onto his back at your side.

A spark of fire landed on the pillow and you lazily patted it out with your palm.

“Feeling better?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “You okay?”

You hummed and shifted closer, curling up against his side. His skin at least felt somewhat cooler than the near scorching heat from before. “Very much so. I’m starting to think that chocolate wasn’t too bad of a purchase.”

“I’ll try a normal amount next time,” he mumbled. “So, I don’t feel like tearing off my own skin.”

“You can always tear off my clothes instead. Much better option.”

Ace chuckled softly and pulled you against him, face buried in your hair. “Give me like five minutes first.”

“Only five?”

“Mm. You’ve only had one. That’s not fair.”

You smiled against his chest. “You’re planning another round?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re sure?”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, already sounding far too comfortable. “Then I’ll prove it.”

His breathing evened out before a minute had passed.

You lifted your head and found him completely asleep, mouth parted slightly and one arm still wrapped possessively around you. You stared at him for a moment before poking his cheek.

You sighed and settled back against him.

If nothing else, your mood was considerably better than it had been the day before.

Vinsmoke Sanji

It was in the evening — he was prepping the ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast when you trudged inside. He didn’t glance or look, just from the foot steps alone; he knew his pretty girl had come in.

“I’ll be right there beautiful, just need to prep these—”

You take him in a hug from behind. Face pressing into his spine.

His chopping, halts.

Blinking, eyes going wide.

“Er—”

You nudge your face into his back and he flinches, his back arching when you press yourself even deeper.

A shiver running down his shoulders—a pleasant one.

“H-hey, what’s with the sudden attention—?”

“Shhh.” You mumble into his shirt, he smells good. Like cologne, like those fancy cigarettes he so likes and cooking wine. A bit sweet, almost. You want more of it, more of him.

“Just enjoy this moment whilst you still can, Sanji.”

He drops his chopping knife. Prepping forgotten.

He turns, however rigid, and faces you.

You don’t let go of him no, you immediately press your face back into him, into his chest.

Arms wrought around his waist.

Sanji leans back against the counter, one hand going to the small of your back, and the other to take a quick smoke before plucking out his cigar. Jaw going up so not to blow smoke in your face.

Damn. Sorry Luffy but he has to admit it. He could die right here, right now, and be the happiest man alive.

He looks down to you “Why are you spoiling me today? Did you like the parfait that much? I’ll make some more if you want, if it means I'll get more of this.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” you nuzzle into his chest, smiling. “I just missed you. That’s all. Promise.”

And he chuckles at that.

Locking you in an embrace, hands on the small of your back. Trying to breathe as slow as possible as he leans his cheek against your hair.

“Don’t hesitate missing me more often.”

Smoker

(note: opla smoker... i'm not over him, not anytime soon)

Reports regarding the recent incidents at the harbour has been delivered — and that’s what he was over seeing, back leaned against his chair, legs tossed up his office table and on his third cigar of the hour.

And when you peeked inside, you’ll earn yourself a look over his report papers. And earning even an accusing brow when he sees the little mischievous smile on your face.

“Whatever gotten you giddy — better not force me to scold you.” he says as you tiptoe forward, hands behind your back as you come close. And when he returns his glance to his reports once again—that’s when you entrap him in an embrace.

Your nose nestling to his neck. Breath hot on his throat.

He freezes. Blinks twice. Before digging his molars into his cigar and giving you a hard glance.

“Hey, doll, is everything as it should—”

You withdraw. Cupping his stupidly handsome face, before leaning in, kissing him on the cheek. His nose. His temple. His chin and jaw and everywhere else. Lipstick marks all over his face. He’s bashed pink.

“You’re so handsome, I want to eat you.”

“… right—” and before he can continue, you manoeuvre into his lap and bury your face into his neck.

A proud, pleasant, victorious smile appears on your face when you hear him drop the reports, drill down his cigar and widen his knees to make space for your seat.

You resist calling him a good boy.

His larger palm goes to the small of your back, just resting there before taking hold of your jaw, grip firm as he makes you look at him.

“What’s with all the attention today? Are you well?” he says, rubbing your lower lip with his thumb — all business and broody and you snort. Not taking him seriously with all those lipstick marks across his face. “Just shut up and enjoy this moment before it passes.” That’s all you say before you bury into his chest again.

And he leans back, heart beating a little too fast. A little too hard.

And you know what?

Sure.

He’ll take it.

Whatever his pretty girl says.

Dracule Mihawk

He was cooking, chopping up vegetables with such precision and focus you almost think he’s going on a limb, and not a carrot. That’s when you trudge inside the kitchen, and he hears you. Not withdrawing his gaze from the cutting board, not once.

“Dinner won’t be ready before eight, and no, you won’t get a test bite this time.” He says, his knife not stopping — not until he feels your hand on his shoulder blade.

At that; he halts. Not blinking.

You slide your hands up his back, feeling how his toned muscles underneath his ivory shirt flexes beneath your fingers. His heart stutters, just a little before turning to face you.

You have mischief spelled in your eyes, a smile all too playful and giggling.

He tilts his jaw and gives you a brow. “Is everything well?” He says as you catch his hands in yours. Interlacing your fingers.

You come closer, and he presses himself against the counter at your sudden boldness.

“Dear?” You say, leaning in, cheeks all flushed and a corner of his lip jerks. Frowning.

You’re beautiful. And it’s having its effect on him.

His hands reaches out to your face, removing a lock of hair so to see you clearly. “Hm?”

You bring his hands close to your collarbones, still holding them, as you tiptoe, “Kiss me.” You say before closing your eyes and pout your lips.

Dracule Mihawk doesn’t get flustered or bashful, no. Absolutely not. But he does part his lips, eye twitch (just a little) as you keep tiptoeing up. His head short-circuits and when he’s silent for just a second too long, do you open your eyes, scowling and withdrawing.

“Whatever. You lost your moment, buddy.” You wave him off, turning on your heel but just before you get the chance to even take one step further—does he grab you from behind.

Hand on your shoulder and an arm slung across your collarbones.

He pulls you into his chest, feel his warmth radiate into your spine, and he takes a hold on your jaw. Forcing you to meet his lips.

He kisses you, and it’s not tender—but bruising. And when he parts, you’re the one who’s all flustered. A satisfied smirk makes it to his cold mouth, rubbing your lower lip with his thumb.

“Clingy today, aren’t you? What’s with the change of heart.”

You turn to face him, hands going to his shoulder blades as you bring him into an embrace. And he let’s you. Holding you back.

You press your face into his chest.

“Missed you, that’s why.” You nustle against him, “I missed you so much.”

He blinks. Sharp eyes narrowing — and somehow softening. “I see.”

And he brings you closer by the small of your back, placing his chin on top of your hair.

He won’t admit it, but he wouldn’t mind if you missed him a little more often.

Portgas D. Ace

Ace was polishing the beads to his necklace, sitting at the edge of his bed when you stepped inside. He spots you, and an immediate grin comes into face as he puts his necklace back on and flexing it at you. “Babe, look, they’re glistening aren’t they—?”

Your steps are hard, fast—plunging as you throw him into an embrace.

He catches you, leaning back against the bed. Completely motionless and tense as he feels you rubbing your face in his neck. Hands tugging onto his back. And then he twitches when he feels you kissing him there. Pecking him. Nibbling him and he flinches.

“Er, babe, I—uh—” What the hell is going on?

You look up to him, your face sly and he goes pink.

You’re so pretty. Too pretty.

His heart is bulging out of his chest as he grabs hold of your shoulders.

“Did something happen? You’re being quite attentive today.”

You tilt your head, deciding to play with him a bit.

Your hands travel from his back, down to his shoulders and tugging onto his collar. Pulling him forward. Just a little.

“My boyfriend is so handsome.” You say, one palm going to where his heart sits. Its beating, hard and fast. You resist not smirking when glancing back to him, “How could I not miss his touch, hm? Tell me that, Ace.” You tug his collar again, grinning and Ace is malfunctioning.

What the… wow. Okay. You know what. He’s not complaining.

But god, he doesn’t know what to say to your sudden boldness.

He just stares like an idiot.

“Er.”

You scowl, “Here I am, giving you my undivided attention and all you say to me is… ‘er’!?”

“No what—I mean, I should, I—?”

You press your face back into his chest. He’s so warm. He smells so good. You want more of him, so you tug him closer, shushing him. “Shut up and enjoy this moment whilst you still can.” You hum, nestling close to his chest.

And you feel him embracing you back. Pressing his cheek against your hair line.

“Yes. Of course. Anything my pretty girl says.”

And he means it, even when his face is completely red, and his heart thumping out his ribs.

Anything you want—he’ll take it.

And when his most lonesome hours comes yet again, he’ll think of you and this moment again and again.

Red-hair Shanks

Shanks wakes up alone on deck with the worst hang over of his life. Slouched over a table. Damn. How much did he drink last night? He can’t remember jack-shit, anyways — he reaches for the nearest mug, still half-full, and zero knowledge if it belongs to him or not, but he chugs down the drink anyways.

“Phew,” He swipes his chin, that’s better.

He hears the footsteps of a certain beauty inching close and he looks up.

Blanket over your shoulders. He puts on that charismatic, toothy smile of his.

“Hello gorgeous, mind giving me some attention this lovely morning—” And before he gets to finish, you lean in, placing the blanket over his shoulders. Cheek pressed into his red, red hair.

Either he’s dreaming or really freaking drunk right now — but are you… are you actually giving in and offering affection? You?

Wow. He loves this dream.

He slings his arm over your shoulder, hesitating before actually pulling you in.

“Shanks.” You say, voice soft and he tenses. “You need a bath.”

You say that and yet you take in the scent of his hair, press your cheek harder against his head.

“Mmnh… I probably should; wanna join me?” He clutches you closer, and you manoeuvre into his lap. Nestling into his throat. Nudging your nose over the crook of his neck, he’s so warm. And with the morning breeze, it feels so pleasantly good, you can’t get enough of it, enough of him.

You feel him sink into your embrace, the blanket bristling heat between you two and you pull away only so you can grab his face and kiss his cheek. One on the left, then on his right, before making it to his brows.

You lean back, and the man is staring you down, taking in your features as the faintest tint of a blush is made on his ears. Heart beating a little bit too hard.

His hand travels down your spine to the small of your back. His fingers lazy, hand loose, before pulling you closer, spreading his knees so you can have more space.

“Spoiling me today aren’t you? What’s the special occasion and can we make it more often?”

You snort. “Savour it. It’s just for this moment, and this moment only.”

You lean back in, pulling him deeper into your embrace and he softens. Scoffing a little. As he sinks into your warmth.

If this a dream — he really doesn’t want to wake up.

You laughed softly, humoured by the idea. They’d already established you weren’t kidnapped by telling you enough things about your early life that you had to believe, somewhat, that the haze in your brain was blanketing out countless memories from the past years. Unless the infamous Heart Pirates were also the world’s best stalkers.

You rubbed your eyes and looked over his shoulder at the crew. They were familiar. Like people you’d met once and your brain could faintly make out their shapes.

The bear, though, was by far the current biggest redeeming factor of this ship. Submarine. Whatever it was. You remembered his name vaguely… Bepo, right. Him and his eternally bad habit of walking up from behind and looming above you like a predator about to drop his jaw to your head.

“Are you okay?” he asked, whispering though there was really no point in doing so. Voices bounced easily off the metal walls.

“Bepo,” you said. “I was remembering your name.”

His eyes sparkled immediately and he nodded fast enough that you worried his head might pop off his shoulders. “Yes! You remember that?”

“It’s coming back to me,” you said.

That was some of the best proof you’d had that this wasn’t a kidnapping disguised as a medical emergency. You knew some of their names though you didn’t remember how you’d learned them. Law was different though. You remembered him through wanted posters and rumours more than you did in this space.

Yet when you looked at him here, you found it hard to place him anywhere else.

He cleared his throat and you realised you’d been staring.

“You already know my name,” he said. “You knew it long before you joined us.”

“You’re quite infamous,” you agreed and you did remember how you’d thought of him and his terrifying power. But it wasn’t so scary anymore. “Now you’re telling me we know each other well?”

“We do.”

You waited for a more detailed answer but he gave you nothing so you looked toward the rest of the crew. They immediately dipped their heads, looking toward the ground or the ceiling in the most suspicious way imaginable.

Alright. You’d have to figure out what they were keeping to themselves at a different time.

“We know each other well and I’m apparently not kidnapped,” you reasoned. “And the last memory I can firmly grab at, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t inside a metal tube. So that means you’ve somehow convinced me to join a pirate crew?”

“I didn’t convince you of anything. You walked in and wouldn’t leave.”

Somebody in the crew snorted with laughter and you glanced over, smiling at the idea. It sounded right.

“But I don’t have a jumpsuit,” you reasoned, noting the dress code that was apparently enforced.

“Oh, that’s because it’s in the wash,” Bepo hurried to assure you. “It had a bunch of blood on it so we had to clean it.”

“Right,” you said slowly. “Because I got a head injury.”

Law’s attention flicked to your brow briefly. “You did. At least it occurred close enough that I could treat it. There could be worse places.”

You hummed. “I’m not doubting your skills but wouldn’t most doctors tell their patients important information?”

He didn’t flinch even as the rest of his crew began to quietly avert their eyes. You stared at him patiently, waiting for a response. The bare basics weren’t enough to explain the massive hole in your memories. You wanted to know in far greater detail.

The silence stretched before he shook his head.

“There’s a risk with information,” he said. “Your amnesia means your mind knows there are missing memories. If we fill in the gaps for you, you may start repeating what we tell you instead of recovering the memories yourself. I’m not risking that. A week, maybe more.”

You weren’t sure you appreciated that. “So, if you tell me about my memories, you think I’ll just accept them as fact.”

“I worry it could happen,” he acknowledged. “So, for now, it is best if you rest and regain them in your own time.”

You wanted to push for more. This wasn’t right. You knew the memories were floating just beyond your grasp but you had no way to reach for them unless somebody helped.

Then again, it wasn’t an ideal time. Your headache from earlier was beginning to return as whatever pain medication he’d given you began to wear off. It radiated through your brain in a steady throb and you lightly rubbed your temples.

“If you won’t give me memories, what about facts?” you asked. “Like how long I’ve been here for? How much time is even missing?”

Law didn’t seem willing to budge. “You’ll remember with time. For now, you’re struggling and walking around the ship was already against my recommendations. I think you should rest before we discuss it.”

You looked over his shoulder to the others. “Can I have a second opinion?”

“No.”

His stubbornness was stirring up faint feelings that curled around your chest. Something that complemented his manic reputation although, you could hardly find it in yourself to be nervous around a man whose hat resembled a seal’s pelt.

A brief memory surfaced of finding a vaguely similar mushroom while browsing a market. You remembered holding it up, voice distorted through time, and you saw his unamused expression faintly.

Even then, he seemed far less guarded than he was now.

“Alright,” you relented, satisfied to have retrieved one memory, useless though it may be. “I do want the headache to fade. I don’t think I remember where my bunk is.”

You looked toward the only other woman on the crew, hoping she might help but Law answered before you could think of it for too long.

“You’ll be remaining in the recovery bay for observation,” he said. “They’ll move what you need there.”

“Captain?” Bepo asked, his voice soft. “Wouldn’t she be more comfortable somewhere familiar?”

“Nowhere is familiar right now,” Law clarified. “That’s the problem.”

But he was wrong. Everything was familiar. Even the way he tilted his chin faintly when he spoke to somebody behind him was familiar. You just couldn’t place why it had become familiar in the first place.

What you did know was that you woke up the next day to a lot of stuff that didn’t really need to be in the recovery bay.

It wasn’t a complaint exactly because, if you needed anything, it was incredibly easy to find, but also, this felt like an excessive number of things to be brought through for a temporary stay. Far, far too many actually.

Every item you owned had been brought through and laid out on the surrounding berths so you didn’t have to look for it. If you did have a storage chest, it must have been emptied for everything to be dragged up here.

And yet…

Shachi and Penguin stepped in with another armful of clothes and you looked toward them. They both smiled as they laid it all out.

“Where are you getting all of this from?” you asked.

They froze, looking to each other for a second.

“Storage,” Shachi said.

At the same time, Penguin said, “Your room.”

You raised an eyebrow at them. “So, I have a room? I don’t stay with the rest of the crew?”

“Technically?” Shachi said slowly, already taking a few steps back.

They hurried out and you listened to their footsteps disappear down the corridor before you shook your head. They had always been such awful liars. You remembered briefly telling them as much in the past when you were walking around an island, trailing them slowly.

Another small memory of the crew and yet it answered nothing about why all your things were piled here.

You looked at the surrounding items before your gaze lingered suspiciously on a mug. For a second, you didn’t know what was wrong with it being there (nor why it annoyed you so much that it was) but then you remembered buying it. It had a twin.

A twin that was decidedly nowhere in this collection of things.

You considered it for a while before you swung your legs from the medical berth and rolled your shoulders. If they were running your stuff from somewhere, there would be a space missing your things.

And though you couldn’t remember it when thinking of it directly, your legs carried you through the Polar Tang with little thought.

Your steps echoed through the metal halls with a marked rhythm as you took your time looking through the rooms. You knew this submarine well. You loved walking through the submarine and knowing what room would come next.

Your fingers brushed along the cold walls, tracing the bolts in the metal as you glanced out the windows and into the churning ocean below.

You’d seen all kinds of things through this glass. All manner of aquatic life had swum by you before and you remembered how charmed you had been to watch them in the past; once you’d even seen a massive sea king disappear into the depths.

Your reflection caught your eye against the window.

You reached up to touch the bump and the stitches, trailing your fingers over the lines slowly. They ached, even now, but they annoyed you more than hurt.

Apparently, all your memories had leaked from your head through this one smack and that got under your skin far worse than any pain could have. Not to mention, you were partially sure it had been your fault to begin with.

If you remembered, and that was a stretch, you remembered a faint self-complaint of stupidity before the pain arrived.

You continued to walk, looking for something you couldn’t describe before you came across a door. It didn’t have a key and a lock but rather, a keypad, waiting for a code that you couldn’t remember the numbers of. And yet when you raised your hand, you pressed the numbers without thinking and the door slid open.

Law wasn’t in his office, but the space felt warmer than any of the rooms you’d passed before. The air held the faint smell of coffee, ink and antiseptic, and the chill that had followed you through the corridors seemed to stop at the door.

It was plain and sparsely decorated and yet you recognised it. Knew where you wanted to go and where you wanted to stand. You walked in slowly, carefully examining the room.

Sitting on his desk, filled with untouched coffee, was your mug’s twin.

The coffee looked cold, abandoned there some time ago. There was no steam left, and the bitter smell had gone flat. Next to it, there was a stain on the wood, spreading around a second coaster that held nothing.

You remembered the look he gave you after he realised the coffee mug had spilled but you couldn’t quite grasp what had happened before it.

You didn’t linger for long, stepping out of the office with the memories hanging over you as you made your way to the dining hall instead. This, at least, you could place concretely as the room where you’d first met the crew, with its large tables and metal furnishings. Although now, it seemed Law was sitting there instead.

He sat at one of the benches with papers and books around him as he paged through an unrecognisable medical journal.

This wasn’t where he’d normally do this but it was where he usually sat. You strolled closer, shoes clicking against the floor. And yet, instead of looking up, he just moved some papers away to clear a spot next to him.

You were already seated there before either of you realised the habit.

You looked over his shoulder at the study he was going through, saw a flash of your name written on a folder and tilted your head.

“I have a file?” you asked.

“Everybody has one,” he said, back straightening as he looked to you. “I thought your instructions were to rest.”

“I’m rested enough. Does the amnesia really need to be noted?”

“Yes.”

You were sitting very close when you thought about it but it didn’t feel natural to sit elsewhere. Though you wanted to complain about the time and how he was still working… you caught the grumble on your tongue for a second.

It wasn’t dinner yet. He could work here, if he wanted to.

He watched you for a moment more before he went back to the books, flipping through the pages, and you watched from his side, reading the paragraphs that caught your eye and wondering why your memories seemed to struggle so much with this.

“I think it should be put in as temporary amnesia,” you said.

Law flicked the page harder than needed. “Once you’ve regained your memories, I can change it,” he said. “Until then, it will remain as I’ve diagnosed.”

“I’m certain it’ll come back,” you said. “I made my way around the submarine with no problem and found my way here. I know what in my stuff is missing and where it probably is.”

“Do you remember the name of the submarine?”

You paused, thinking on it although it hung just beyond your reach. He nodded after an awkward length of time passed.

“There are still things missing.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be fully moved into the recovery bay?” you suggested. “My own bed might be enough to trigger memories.”

“No. It’s safer to have you somewhere you can be observed.”

“Why can’t you observe me where I usually sleep?”

He didn’t actually answer your question, seemingly invested in ignoring whatever truth was being held around your regular quarters. You were becoming increasingly suspicious that there was something else there.

Footsteps caused you to raise your head. Shachi and Penguin both smiled warmly when they saw your seat and you smiled in return, even knowing you were about to corner them.

“I was looking for you two,” you said. “Earlier, you brought me a mug and some part of my brain is itching to tell me it has a twin somewhere. What happened to it? Or have I forgotten breaking it.”

They both immediately froze.

“No,” Shachi said. “You didn’t break it. It’s just being washed.”

“Because it was in the storeroom,” Penguin said. “It’s dusty in there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “But you said you got those things from my room.”

“It’s dusty in there too?” Shachi offered but his voice was far too meek to be believable.

Law didn’t raise his head but you heard the faintest sigh of disappointment under his breath. You almost laughed at it.

“You’re both awful liars,” you told them. “I’m glad to see that memory was right.”

“It’s because when they start talking, they don’t stop,” Law said. “And because they feel the need to tell you far too much.”

They both nodded, hurrying to their own table as they took their captain’s non-subtle hint to continue moving. You watched them go before looking down at where you were sitting. Your memories might be hazy but you could notice that you hadn’t been hurried along at all.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I just keep remembering little things about you,” you said. “Like I think I got you that pen.”

“Mm.”

“And I’m also wondering why you won’t just tell me everything. You’re my captain, right?”

“Right now, I’m your doctor. That means you follow my orders until your head heals. I want to be sure that your recovery occurs smoothly and without outside interference.”

“Why aren’t you in your office?” you asked. “All of this seems to belong there, right? You must have brought it all out.”

For a second, Law stopped turning the page and he breathed out slightly. There was a strange tremble to the sound; one that had you tilting your head to him.

Your body moved before you thought it through and you shifted your hand closer, resting it over his for a second. He didn’t move, hand adjusting under your own for a second as though he wanted to leave it there, before he stood. He picked up his work and headed for the door, gone before you could register how natural it felt to hold his hand.

The memories crept closer, flitting away when you grabbed for them but you had a feeling that if he’d stayed for a second longer…

He avoided you as the days passed, harder than ever, but you somehow kept finding him.

If you explored the ship, you’d figure out the best path to guess where he’d be and more and more fell into place as you did. Names and places. You called the ship the Polar Tang while you were chatting with Uni and you recalled the exact path to get from the medical bay to anywhere else.

You remembered Bepo’s favourite food after you remembered where the snacks were kept. The week ‘deadline’ crept closer and more of your memories returned, but you still felt you were missing something very important.

The problem was that the very important thing seemed to be what everybody had been banned from talking about at all. So, you had nothing to trigger it.

Law’s checkups were far too quick for a conversation. He didn’t even ask about what you’d managed to recall, fixating on the head wound, and then immediately leaving you to go and hide somewhere in the ship. And you felt pretty comfortable in calling it hiding because that was what it clearly was.

And whenever his fingers brushed your hairline, or gently pressed against your skin, you knew that you wanted to touch him.

The urge should have been ridiculous because your memories of his reputation to the public and what you knew of his more reserved nature contradicted it entirely. And yet whenever you reached for him, he never glared. He always simply created the distance himself.

And your memories desperately refused to let you just leave it that way. They screamed that there was a reason even if your brain struggled to grab why.

Six days in and you were done with it.

You grabbed Bepo first; snatched his enormous paw that was easily the size of your whole head and tugged him along with a telling fearlessness. Penguin and Ikkaku you dragged from the galley. You found Shachi near the boiler room, until you had every Heart Pirate you could find gathered in the dining hall and completely ignoring their duties.

Law might not allow you to force him into sharing information. But you knew that they were all already at the bursting point.

You planted your hands onto your hips. “I’ve remembered a lot over the past few days,” you said to them. “But seeing as our Captain has decided to be stubborn, I’m going to ask you to fill in the blanks.”

Their smiles faded immediately.

“Captain did say we’re not meant to tell you anything,” Bepo said softly.

“Right,” you agreed. “But I’m done hanging around waiting for things to click into place so he’s going to have to suck it up. Now, where was all my stuff before it was brought to the recovery bay?”

Penguin glanced toward Shachi and they both lowered their eyes quickly. You stared at them both, waiting for the weight of your glare to wear them down.

“Different places?” Penguin offered.

“No.”

“Captain’s quarters,” Shachi said. “Mostly. Some of the stuff really was in storage though! Uh, we just left that stuff there because you probably wouldn’t need it.”

You nodded and things began to click slightly into place. A system that you kept messing up whenever you reached for something. Because he was organised in a way you couldn’t easily predict so you’d given up trying.

A memory pushed through as you looked over where everything hung and felt a hand reaching past you for a shirt. The sound of his voice close to your ear as he told you that if you reorganised his wardrobe again, he would throw everything you owned into the ocean.

You’d laughed at him and purposefully moved his coat to your side.

“So, I stay in his room then,” you said. “Which is why he chose to keep me in the recovery bay?”

“Well yes…” Penguin said. “He is right though. It would be really weird to explain that to you if you had no memories! And then he wouldn’t sleep in there.”

“It’s also why he told us to bring out literally everything,” Uni explained. “Because he didn’t want you to ask and then have to tell you where something was.”

“Then why did you only bring me one of the mugs?”

“The other one’s Captain’s,” Penguin said.

Shachi nodded. “He’d already made coffee in it anyway. Just left it sitting on his desk.”

“Fine. Then why isn’t he in his office half the time?”

Ikkaku sighed and you looked to her to find her expression soft. “He is today. I think he’s been moving around because he’s avoiding it. There’s a lot of you in there.”

“A lot of me?”

Bepo nodded slightly. “You’re in there a lot,” he said. “And we took out most of what we could find but like, we can’t remove everything. That’s probably why he was working in laundry yesterday.”

You frowned. “That’s ridiculous. Not the memory part but like… he hates the sound of those machines.”

“Yeah but he’s also avoiding you so…”

“I know that. He could have just changed the code.”

Bepo’s eyes watered, his ears twitching slightly. “He could have but you love being in there. So, why would he want to stop you?”

The word triggered something in your chest before you could stop it. Like a small puzzle finally clicking into place. Because that had been the word you were missing.

The one that made you lean over Law’s desk and steal books from his hands when he hadn’t looked at you. The one that had him throw a coat over your shoulders while he worked, one hand resting against your back as you slipped toward sleep. The memories seeped back in slowly.

“Alright,” you said, as they still returned. “And this whole not telling me anything was because he was scared he was going to force me to remember it?”

“He didn’t say it exactly, but I think he was worried you’d feel obligated,” Ikkaku said. “That you would love him only because we said you should.”

Obligated into what? Into waking in a warm bed, your face pressed between his shoulder blades because he often turned away from you in the night?

You nodded and stepped away. “I love you all. You are all idiots.”

“Where are you going?” Shachi asked.

“To find him.”

You found him in his office this time, opened the door and stared for just a second until he looked up from his desk. Then you closed the door behind you and locked it.

“Okay,” you said and you walked without thinking around his desk. “I spoke to everybody.”

He leaned back in his chair, expression impassive. “Have you now?”

“They’ve done a very good job,” you acknowledged. “But I decided I was done waiting and demanded that they actually tell me where my clothing came from. And why it is that you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Old habits returning, I can see,” he said. “You’ve always bullied them.”

You smiled faintly and stepped around the desk, leaning against its side. “I know.”

You reached out slowly and took the hat from his head. He didn’t move away, allowing you to run your fingers over it as you looked down at him, warmth curling deeply in your chest as you did so.

“We share a room,” you said. “But you won’t tell me that.”

“I don’t want to implant things into your mind without them coming naturally. Otherwise, you might remain reliant on me for everything related to it.”

You moved against the desk and your leg brushed against his own. He didn’t move away. You’d done this countless times. The first time, he’d complained only briefly about it but then he came to accept it as somewhere you stood.

“See, the thing is, the actions are waking things up in my mind,” you said. “I remember them clearer when I do it. I know I want to touch you. I know I’ve done it before.”

“I’m not going to question every one of your actions and wonder whether it’s something you genuinely remember or something you think you should be doing.”

You bumped him with your knee. “Valiant, aren’t you?”

“Not at all. But this is important.”

You ran your fingers once more over the top of the hat before you moved it to the side, dropping it over a medical journal about amnesia. “Yet you’re leaning back in your seat because you already know where I’m moving.”

“I know where you would normally. Do you?”

You didn’t waste any time. You stepped closer, settling into his lap like you had a hundred times before. He didn’t stiffen but you felt him adjust, hands moving for a second as though to catch your waist.

“I do. I also know that you let me do this only when you aren’t busy. If you had something else to do, you wouldn’t have moved your chair back.”

“You sit where you want to. I’ve tried bringing other chairs in here but you care little about them.”

“Because I like to be here even if it gets in your way.”

He sighed softly and for a moment, there was silence as he looked up at you, expression lingering over your features. Then he raised a hand gently, brushed his fingers across the injury where it sat with an unreadable expression.

“It’s not very pretty,” you commented. “It’s going yellow.”

He scoffed. “Do you really think I care if a head injury looks pretty?”

“Does it look like it’s healing, at least?”

“Physically, it is,” he said. His fingers lingered there, thumb brushing gently over your eyebrow. “Do you remember the fight that caused it?”

“Not fully,” you admitted. “But I remember seeing your coat and I know there was the smell of something sweet in the air. Other than that, the fight itself is a bit of a blur.”

His jaw tightened, hand lowering until it hovered over your hip, suspended for a second too long before he gave in and just placed it there. It felt far more right than having him holding the chair, his palm warm against you.

“That’s unfortunate. I’d hoped you could tell me how it happened. I wasn’t watching you.”

You didn’t even remember the opponent but really, you didn’t care to. All you cared about was the fact that Law had spent a week silently carrying the knowledge that you liked to sit in his lap like this.

And that you didn’t remember that you enjoyed it. Something that was pulling tightly at your heart.

“I can guess,” you relented. “I probably just got too close and stopped watching. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

“No,” he said. “Sometimes I think you believe I’m capable of miracles for how often you get hurt.”

“But this is the worst it’s been?”

“Not physically. Your body recovered well from the other injuries.”

“I think it’s the worst,” you clarified. “Though the broken ribs were bad. Especially when we landed on that stupid island while I was still recovering and I sneezed for days on end. And you laughed at me for it.”

You caught the faintest curve of his lips before he got it back under control.

“I suppose there was also that time I almost drowned while ice fishing with Bepo,” you hummed. “But that was also more his fault. Do you have any idea how much he weighs?”

“He’s a mink,” Law said and the hand on your hip squeezed faintly. “It’s not like he’s heavy for his species. Although he took considerable offence to your expression when he said the number. Do you know he almost cried?”

“He did cry when he got me out of the water.”

“I know.”

“He thought you were going to kill him for letting me fall.”

Law inclined his head. “I considered it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did. Just briefly.”

You laughed softly and raised your hand to rest it against his cheek. He leaned faintly into the touch and you couldn’t help but smile. Those memories were returning faster than ever now. They clicked into place as you considered the man in front of you, who had spent an entire week carrying the memory of your relationship alone.

Your eyes watered and you raised a hand to wipe away the tears before they could fall. He beat you to it, fingers delicately sweeping them from your lashes.

Your breath hiccupped.

His touch lingered against your cheek as more tears began to fall and you tilted your head back slightly to breathe through them.

“This one is absolutely the worst,” you finally managed to say. “By far. And not even because it’s going to take me ages to get all my stuff back into our room. But because this past week has just been so stupidly lonely.”

“If I had been paying enough attention – ”

“Stop it,” you muttered before he could continue. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have been watching you.”

“Since when do you nanny me on a battlefield?”

You couldn’t stop crying. You fought to get rid of the tears to no avail, finally dropping your head onto his shoulder as you gave up controlling them. His arms immediately moved around you, drawing you closer.

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered. “I planned to come in here and be all ‘oh, I love you so much’ and now I’m just crying.”

“You’re making a convincing case, if that helps.”

He sounded faintly amused but underneath, you could feel something raw in his voice. A relief you rarely got to hear from him. You stifled a small, overwhelmed hiccup against him and tried to figure out what emotion was even causing it.

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t stop them either way.

Minutes dragged by as he rubbed soothing circles against your back, your shoulders trembling hard beneath his touch. Then you sat up slowly, scrubbing away the tears as best you could and taking a deep breath. His eyes were warmer when he looked at you now, cautious but no longer completely guarded. For a second, something bright caught in them. Then Law blinked, and it was gone.

“I love you,” you said. “And I really need you to know that I love you.”

“I can see that,” he said.

You leaned in and kissed him. And for just a second, he went still. Then his hand slid to the back of your neck and he kissed you back, caution disappearing entirely.

He drew you closer until there was no space left between you, fingers curling into your hair as though he needed the proof of you there. The kiss was warm and firm and painfully familiar, unlocking fragments faster than you could follow them: his mouth against yours in dark corridors and in spare moments before duties.

When you finally pulled back, his forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath unsteady against your lips.

“At least I can officially update your records to say temporary amnesia now.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you should remove it entirely. It isn’t going to happen again.”

“No. It’s not,” he agreed. “I’m getting you a helmet.”

“Absolutely not.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t look like he was joking.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow

The Moby Dick was more than a ship: for you, it was the only home you had ever truly known. As one of the few women on the crew and the youngest member by a significant margin, except Ace that is, you had been adopted into the fold with a ferocity that was both heartwarming and slightly suffocating.

From the moment you stepped on deck, you became the collective little sister of the Whitebeard Pirates.

Pops doted on you with a booming laugh and a gentle hand on your head. Marco looked after you with a sleepy, protective eye. Thatch constantly tried to feed you delicacies from the galley, and Izou spent hours ensuring your wardrobe was as sharp and stylish as his own. You were the heart of the ship, the precious gem they all swore to protect.

But there was one person who looked at you differently.

Portgas D. Ace.

For months, the two of you had been locked in a dance of agonizing tension. It was a clumsy, electric lingo of lingering glances, accidental brushes of shoulders, and conversations that trailed off into heavy silences. Everyone saw it. The entire crew saw it. Whitebeard would often chuckle into his massive sake cup, watching the two of you stumble through a simple conversation, while Marco would sigh, wondering when the idiot Second Commander would finally grow a pair and make a move.

Then, finally, it happened. A moonlit night on the upper deck, a shared bottle of something strong, and a confession that had been bubbling over for half a year.

You were finally, officially together.

However, “together” was currently a very relative term. While the emotional bond was searingly hot, the physical side of things was… Well, at a complete standstill.

You were both shy in your own ways, and Ace, despite his reputation as a bold, fire-wielding powerhouse, was surprisingly hesitant. He treated you like you were made of the finest porcelain, terrified that if he pushed too hard or too fast, he might break the spell.

Of course, this hesitation didn’t stop his imagination.

Ace was twenty years old, brimming with testosterone and hopelessly in love. Every single night, while you slept soundly in your quarters, Ace was in his own bunk, tossing and turning. He spent hours just staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the way your laugh sounded or the way your skin felt when you held his hand. He spent a great deal of time with his hand wrapped firmly around his dick, groaning your name into his pillow, struggling through the solitary release because the reality of you was so much more intoxicating than any fantasy. He was a virgin, a fact he guarded with a fierce, embarrassed pride, but his libido was currently at a breaking point. He wanted you - deeply, desperately - but he had absolutely no idea what he was actually doing.

The afternoon sun was beating down on the Moby Dick, leaving the crew drenched in sweat and grime. As per tradition, the men headed to the massive communal baths to scrub off the dirt from the day and relax. The bathhouse was filled with the boisterous shouting of dozens of pirates splashing around in the hot springs.

Ace sat submerged up to his chest in the steaming water, his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the smooth stone. Even here, in the company of his brothers, his mind was drifting. He was thinking about the way your dress had hugged your curves this morning, and the way you had winked at him before heading to help the nurses. He felt a familiar, insistent throb in his groin, and he cursed silently, sinking deeper into the water to hide the evidence of his distraction.

Nearby, Thatch, Marco, Vista, Jozu and Haruta were lounging in a larger pool, the conversation flowing as freely as the sake they had bought along. As was common in the baths, the talk had eventually shifted toward the… romantic exploits of the crew.

“I’m telling you,” Thatch bragged, gesturing wildly with a soapy hand, “the girl in the last port had a passion for the culinary arts that matched my own. The way she looked at me while I was describing the perfect reduction sauce… it was practically foreplay. By the time we got to the room, we didn’t even make it to the bed.”

Vista chuckled, twirling a lock of his mustache. “Ah, Thatch, you always lead with the stomach. For me, it is all about the grace of it. The anticipation is where the true pleasure lies.”

Marco let out a lazy hum, his eyes half-closed. “You’re both too loud, yoi. The best way is just to be attentive. Listen to what she wants, follow the lead, and you’ll do just fine. No need to make it complicated.”

Ace listened to them, his brow furrowed. He felt a surge of inadequacy. He loved you more than life itself, and he wanted to make you feel everything they were talking about, but as he listened to their elaborate terminology he realized there was a massive gap in his knowledge. He knew the basics, of course, but the actual mechanics of pleasing a woman were a mystery to him.

He looked at his brothers - men who were older and seemed so confident, so experienced. He trusted them. And more importantly, he was currently suffering from a level of horniness that made his brain malfunction. And so he did something he would 100% come to regret later on.

“Hey,” Ace blurted out, his voice cutting through the laughter.

The group fell silent, looking over at him. Ace rubbed the back of his neck, his face already beginning to tint pink. “I… uh… how do you actually please a woman?”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Thatch froze mid-gesture. Marco actually opened one eye. Even Vista’s mustache stopped twitching. They all stared at Ace, the realization hitting them like a cannonball to the chest.

“... Wait,” Thatch whispered, his eyes widening. “Ace… are you telling me you’ve never…?”

“Never what?!” Ace snapped, his temper flaring as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks.

“You’re a virgin!” Haruta shrieked, splashing water everywhere in his excitement. “Our 2nd commander is a total novice! A blank slate! A babe in the woods!”

“Shut up!” Ace yelled, his skin starting to smoke as his Devil Fruit reacted to his embarrassment. “I just… I want to do it right! Y/N is… she’s special! I don’t want to mess it up!”

The tone of the room shifted instantly. The mockery vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense sense of brotherhood. These were his brothers, and the mission had now become clear: Ace needed a crash course in the art of intimacy. Mainly so that he wouldn’t hurt you, their only little sister.

“My god,” Marco sighed, though there was a smirk on his face. “We’ve been letting you wander around like a lost puppy. Sit down, Ace. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but we’re having a meeting.”

The commanders closed in around him, forming a tight, steaming circle. Ace looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, but he stayed, his curiosity and desperation ultimately outweighing his shame.

“Alright, listen up, kid,” Thatch began, his voice taking on the tone of a master chief explaining a complex recipe. “First rule: the main event is not the goal. The goal is the journey. If you just dive straight in, you’re like a guy who serves the dessert before the appetizer. It’s a crime! Scandalous even! You have to start with the build-up. Kissing, obviously, but don’t just stay on the lips. The neck is a goldmine, Ace. The collarbone. The soft spot behind the ear. You tease and you make her ache for it.”

Ace swallowed hard, his imagination immediately firing off images of you arching your back as he kissed your neck. He let out a small, strangled noise.

“Exactly,” Vista added, nodding approvingly. “The psychological element is key. Tell her how beautiful she is. Tell her exactly what you want to do to her before you actually do it. The anticipation builds the tension, and when the tension finally snaps, the pleasure is ten times more intense. You can trust us old folks on that.”

“Now, let’s talk about the… logistics,” Marco said, his voice practical. “The clitoris, Ace. Pay attention. For most women, that’s the center of the universe. If you just focus on the penetration, you’re missing the party. Use your fingers, use your tongue - be gentle at first, then increase the pressure based on how she reacts. If she starts breathing heavily and gripping the sheets, you’re on the right track, yoi.”

Ace was staring at them with wide, dinner-plate eyes, his face a deep shade of crimson. “The… the tongue?”

“Yes, the tongue!” Thatch exclaimed. “It’s called oral, you idiot! You spend time down there. You treat it like a delicacy. You taste her, you explore, you make her come before you even think about putting your dick in. That’s how you become a legend in the bedroom.”

Jozu, who had been mostly silent, grunted in agreement. “And don’t rush the entry. Slow and steady. Make sure she’s wet - and if she’s not, use your hands and mouth until she is. Forcing it is a one-way ticket to a slap in the face.”

“What about… positions?” Ace asked in a small, hesitant voice.

The brothers shared a look and grinned. This was the part they had been truly waiting for.

“Right! Positions!” Thatch stood up, using his arms to demonstrate. “You’ve got your classic Missionary - good for intimacy, looking into her eyes and kissing her, you get the gist. But if you want something with more… impact… you go for Doggy Style. You get behind her, grip those hips, and really lean into it. It allows for deeper penetration, and let me tell you, the view from back there is a masterpiece.”

“Don’t forget the Cowgirl;” Izou chimed in, having joined the conversation. Ace didn’t even see nor hear him coming, that’s how immersed he was. “Let her be on top. It gives her control over the depth and the speed, and you get to watch everything. There is nothing more erotic than seeing a woman take exactly what she wants from you.”

“And if you’re feeling adventurous,” Vista added with a wink, “try the legs-on-shoulders approach. It changes the angle, hits different spots, and lets you see every single expression on her face.”

Ace felt like his brain was melting. He was visualizing all of this - you on top of him, you arched over the bed, the feeling of your skin against his - and he was becoming painfully, visibly erect. The water around him was practically simmering.

“And for the love of Pops, Ace,” Marco warned, “don’t just go full speed from start to finish. Change the pace. Slow it down, speed it up. Tease her. Pull back just when she thinks you’re about to finish. Drive her crazy.

“I… I think I get it,” Ace gasped, feeling completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. He felt a mixture of terror and an almost uncontrollable urge to sprint out of the bathhouse and find you immediately.

“One more thing,” Thatch said, his expression becoming suddenly serious. “Communication. If she tells you something feels good, do more of that. If she just so much as winces, stop. The best lovers are the ones who listen the best.”

Ace nodded fervently, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt like he had just survived a battle with a Yonko, but instead of a scar, he had a mental blueprint for the most intense night of his life. He couldn’t take it anymore; the tension in his body was too much, and the mental images were too vivid.

“I’m out! I’m leaving!” Ace yelled, suddenly standing up and splashing water everywhere. He didn’t even bother with a towel, grabbing his clothes in a blur of motion and sprinting toward the exit, his face glowing red like a flare.

As he scrambled through the doorway, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the suffocating atmosphere of “brotherly advice”, a loud, booming voice echoed through the bathhouse.

“And Ace!” Thatch screamed after him, cupping his hands around his mouth. “You and Y/N don’t forget to use protection, okay?!”

The sound of Ace’s humiliated shriek echoed all the way down the hall as he vanished, leaving the commanders laughing hysterically in the steam.

Remember when you had told Ace you had to go and help the nurses? Yeah, you hadn’t actually been asked to help them. In fact, you’d practically forced your way in, offering your services as an “assistant” with a desperation that had raised a few eyebrows. But you weren’t there to fold bandages or organize tinctures. You were there because you were in a state of an absolute, agonizing crisis.

You were eighteen, hopelessly in love, and currently vibrating with a level of sexual frustration that felt like it might actually cause you to spontaneously combust.

The problem was your boyfriend.

Ace was, by every objective standard, a masterpiece of a man. He was twenty, brimming with a magnetic energy that seemed to pull everyone toward him. And then there were his… well, physical assets. The golden-tan skin, the dusting of freckles across his nose, and the fact that he spent approximately 99% of his waking life shirtless. You had spent months memorizing the ripple of his abdominal, the breadth of his shoulders, and the way his chest heaved when he laughed.

You wanted him. You wanted him with an intensity that terrified you. But you were shy - painfully so - and Ace, despite his reputation, was treating you like you were made of sugar. He kissed you sweetly; he held your hand with a tenderness that made your heart ache; he looked at you with such pure and unadulterated devotion that you felt like the center of his universe.

But he didn’t move.

As frustrated as you were, you had even gone so far as to sneak into a boutique at the last port, spending a small fortune on a set of lingerie. It was a deep, sultry crimson that you were certain would make his brain short-circuit, but it currently sat untouched in your chest, because every time you thought about putting it on, your face heated up and you imagined him looking at you with those wide, innocent eyes and you simply lost your nerve.

“Alright, sweetheart, enough with the daydreaming. If you’re going to “help” us, you might as well be honest about why you’re really here,” a voice called out.

You jumped, nearly knocking over a tray of saline solution or whatever they had called it. Nurse Hana, a woman in her thirties with a sharp gaze and a knowing smirk, was leaning against a cabinet, arms crossed. Beside her, Nurse Mimi, who was younger and significantly more mischievous, was giggling behind her hand.

You felt the heat crawl up your neck. “I… I just thought…”

“You’re thinking about our dear second commander,” Mimi chirped, stepping closer. “We got you figured out, sweetie. We’ve seen the way you look at him. And we’ve seen the way he looks at you. “It’s like watching two magnets that are too scared to actually click together. It’s exhausting for the rest of us, really.”

You slumped against the table, defeated. “Is it that obvious?”

“Honey, the entire crew is betting on when you two will finally stop just flirting and actually get laid,” Hana said bluntly.

You gasped, your face turning a shade of red that rivaled the lingerie you were currently wearing.

“I- we- it’s not like that!”

“Oh, please,” Mimi laughed, pulling you towards a cluster of chairs in the back of the ward where they were taking their break. “Sit. Tell us everything. What’s the hold-up? Is he not interested? Is he… lacking in the equipment department?”

“No!” You whispered urgently. “He’s perfect! He’s more than perfect! He’s just… he’s so gentle. I don’t know how to make him realize that I want him to stop being gentle. I don’t know how to start it without it being weird!”

The two nurses exchanged a look. A predatory one.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Hana sighed, though her eyes were twinkling. “You’re trying to wait for the man to lead, but Ace is a dork. A hot, muscular, oblivious dork. Men like that often need a very clear map to their destination. They’re terrified of overstepping, especially when they’re as smitten as he is.”

“So… what do I do?” you asked, your voice small.

Mimi leaned in, her expression becoming intensely focused. She clearly enjoyed this. “First of all, we need to talk about the visual. Do you have anything… provocative? Something that says ‘I am not a doll, I am a woman who wants you to take her’?”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I have… some lace. Red.”

“Are you wearing it right now?”

“... Maybe.”

Mimi let out a triumphant shriek. “Perfect! Absolute gold! Listen to me: you tease him with it. You let him see a strap. You let him catch a glimpse of a thigh. Until he finally crumbles.”

For the next hour, the infirmary became a classroom of a very different sort than the one Ace was currently attending in the baths. While the commanders were giving Ace a technical manual on the mechanics of pleasure, the nurses were giving you a masterclass in the art of seduction.

And they were explicit.

“Don’t just wait for him to kiss you,” Hana instructed, gesturing with her hands. “Take the lead. Grab him by the back of the neck - he loves that, trust me, men with those shoulders have a weakness for being pulled in. Bite his lower lip. Just a little bit. It signals that you’re demanding his affection, not just accepting it.”

You felt dizzy just listening to her. “B-bite him?”

“Yes, bite him!” Mimi added enthusiastically. “And once you get him in the bedroom, don’t just lie there. Use your body. Rub yourself against him. Let him feel how much you want him through your clothes first. The friction is what drives him crazy, trust me. And for the love of God, use your hands. Explore him. He’s shirtless all day, right? Use that. Trace the lines of his muscles, linger on his chest, move down… slowly… until he’s practically begging you.”

“But what if I don’t know what to do… down there?” you whispered, your heart hammering.

Hana leaned back, her expression softening but remaining frank. “Listen, the first time is always a bit of a mess. He’s probably just as nervous as you are. The secret isn’t perfection, so don’t overthink what you should do for now; it’s enthusiasm. If you’re making noise, if you’re arching your back, if you’re telling him exactly how good he feels, he’ll feed off that. Guide him. If he goes somewhere you don’t like, move his hand. If he hits a spot that makes your toes curl, moan. Loudly. Men are simple creatures, they just want to know they’re winning.”

Mimi winked at you. “And remember: the more you treat it like a delicious secret you’re sharing, the more he’ll lose his mind. Seduction isn’t about the build-up. Make him ache for it. Make him feel like he’s starving and you’re the only feast in the world able to satisfy him.”

By the time you left the infirmary, your head was spinning. You felt like you had been given a secret weapon, but the weight of actually using it felt monumental. You walked back toward your quarters, your legs feeling a bit like jelly, the nurses’ voices echoing in your mind: Bite his lip. Use your hands. Make him ache.

As you reached your door, you saw a flash of orange and black.

Ace was standing there, leaning against the railing, looking like he had just stepped out of a storm. His hair was still damp, clinging to his forehead, and he was wearing his usual trousers, his chest bare and glistening slightly in the fading light.

He looked… different. He looked wired.

There was a strange, frantic energy in his eyes, a mixture of sheer terror and an almost violent level of horniness, that you had never seen in him before.

“Hey,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, his face flushing a deep crimson. “Hey, Y/N.”

You stopped, your breath catching. You looked at his broad shoulders, the way the muscles of his chest flexed as he breathed, and suddenly, all you could think was: He’s a feast.

“Hi, Ace,” you replied, your voice sounding breathier than you intended.

He shifted his weight, looking everywhere but at you. “I… uh… the baths were… really educational. I mean! Not that I learned anything! I just… the guys were talking. About… stuff.”

You blinked. Educational? A sudden, suspicious thought crossed your mind. Had Ace been talking to the other commanders? Had he received his own version of the “crash course”?

The realization of that possibility sent a jolt of electricity through you. If he was just as desperate and “educated” as you were, then the tension between you was now stretched to the breaking point.

“Is that so?” you asked, taking a daring step closer.

Ace jumped slightly, his eyes finally snapping to yours. The look in them was searing. He looked like he wanted to devour you and apologize for it at the same time. “Yeah. I mean, I just… I really love you, Y/N. And I want… I want to be good for you. I want to make sure everything is… perfect.”

The “perfect” comment hit you right in the heart, but it also gave you the opening you needed. You remembered Hana’s words: Don’t wait for the man to lead.

You reached out, your hands trembling slightly, and pressed your palm flat against his chest. His skin was scorching - literally. He let out a sharp, strangled gasp, his entire body stiffening at the contact.

“Ace,” you whispered, sliding your hand upward, tracing the line of his pectoral muscle up toward his collarbone. “I don’t want perfect.”

Ace’s pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black. He looked like he had forgotten how to breathe. “You… you don’t?”

“No,” you murmured, stepping into his space until your chest was brushing against his. You could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. “I just want you.”

Ace made a sound - a low, needy whimper that sent heat straight to your core. He instinctively reached out to wrap his arms around you, but he hesitated, his hands hovering an inch from your waist, still terrified of breaking you.

You didn’t let him hesitate. You reached up, grabbed the back of his neck - just like Hana said - and pulled him down.

What followed wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t the tentative, tasting-the-water kind of kiss you were used to. You slammed your lips against his with a hunger that surprised even you, and as you did, you caught his lower lip between your teeth and gave it a sharp, experimental nip.

Ace practically exploded.

A muffled sound escaped his throat, and his arms now fully slammed around you, hosting you off your feet and pinning you against the wooden wall of the corridor with a thud that probably woke up half the ship. He kissed you back with a desperation that was almost violent, his tongue seeking yours with a clumsy, frantic energy.

He was shaking. God, he was actually shaking in your arms.

“Y/N,” he gasped, breaking the kiss for a split second to press his forehead against yours. His breath was hot, his voice a ragged wreck. “I don’t… I’ve never… I don’t know if I’m doing this right!”

You laughed, a small, breathless sound, and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Neither do I, Ace. Just… just keep going.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He carried you into your room, kicking the door shut behind him with a loud bang.

The moment you hit the bed, Ace was a whirlwind of passion and total incompetence. He tried to be the suave, confident lover the commanders had described, but his nerves were shot. He went to pull your shirt over your head, but he got caught on your arm, nearly pulling you off the bed in the process.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” he yelped, his face turning bright red. “I just- I wanted to be smooth! Thatch said the build-up is everything, and I’m like really trying to build it, but I’m just-”

You giggled, pulling him back down by his collar. “Ace, stop listening to Thatch. Just look at me.”

He stopped, his gaze falling on you. The heat in his eyes returned, that raw, hungry intensity that made your stomach flip. He leaned down, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, his movements becoming more confident as he stopped listening to his spiraling thoughts and started following the instincts of a man who had been starving for months.

Then, he felt it. The lace.

As he shifted his weight, his hand brushed against the edge of the crimson lingerie you were wearing beneath your clothes. He froze, his hands pausing on your hip. “What… is this?” he whispered, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel.

“A surprise,” you whispered back, reaching down to slowly slide the fabric of your shirt where he had previously failed upward, revealing the intricate, daring red lace that hugged your curves.

Ace stared. Actually, he didn’t just stare; he looked like he had seen a vision of the gods. His jaw actually dropped, and for a moment, he looked completely paralyzed.

“You… you’re wearing… that’s… you look…” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “I think my brain just melted. Y/N, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

The sincerity in his voice was so overwhelming that it almost broke the mood, but then he groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure longing, and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I can’t… I can’t take it anymore,” he whimpered. “I want you so bad it hurts.”

You felt a surge of confidence, remembering the nurses’ advice. You reached down, your fingers brushing against the waistband of his trousers, and you felt him jump, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth.

“Is this okay?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he gasped, his eyes wide and blown out. “Yes, please, anything, just… don’t stop.”

The next few minutes were a chaotic mix of tension and absolute clumsiness. Ace tried to implement the “slow and steady” approach Marco had suggested, but every time your skin touched his, he seemed to forget how to function. He tried to kiss your neck while simultaneously trying to remove his trousers, resulting in him accidentally rolling off the side of the bed with a loud thump.

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach.

Ace popped his head up from the floor, his hair a disaster, his face flushed, looking like a giant, albeit horny golden retriever.

“I’m okay! I’m fine! I just… the angle was off!”

You reached down, grabbing his hand and pulling him back up. “You’re a dork, Ace.”

“Your dork,” he countered, lunging back onto the bed and pinning you beneath him. Now, the laughter faded, replaced by a heavy, seething heat. The air in the room felt thick, charged with the scent of the sea outside, fire, and an unbearable amount of anticipation.

Ace hovered over you, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back. He looked at you - really looked at you - and the clumsiness vanished, replaced by a tenderness that was almost spiritual. He traced the line of your lip with his thumb, his expression one of pure awe.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m so nervous, Y/N. I really want this to be perfect for you.”

“It already is,” you replied, pulling his head down for another kiss.

As he began to explore your body, his hands shaking but his touch becoming more sure, you felt the world outside the room disappear. There was no Moby Dick, no Pops, none of your brothers - just the heat of his skin against yours and the rhythmic thud of two hearts beating in sync.

He moved down, his kisses trailing over your stomach, his breath hot against your skin. He remembered what Marco had mentioned, and you could tell he was thinking hard about it. He paused, his head tilting as he tried to remember exactly where the “center of the universe” was.

You let out a soft, encouraging moan, arching your back and guiding him with your hips. You had gotten rid of your shorts and underwear a long time ago.

“Right. There. Yes,” he whispered to himself, sounding like a student taking a final exam.

When he finally made contact with his tongue, you let out a sharp, loud cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The sensation was electric, a sudden explosion of pleasure that made your vision blur.

Ace froze, his eyes snapping up to yours, wide with panic. “Did I hurt you?! Did I do it wrong?! Oh god, I’m sorry, I-”

“No!” you gasped, pulling him back down. “No, Ace… it’s perfect. Don’t stop. Please, please, please.”

He let out a long, shuddering breath, a look of intense relief washing over him. He sank back into you with his tongue, his movements becoming more fluid and instinctive. The “education” from his brothers was still there in the back of his mind, but as the heat rose, only the raw, honest desire of two people who loved each other far more than they knew how to handle was left.

The tension eventually reached a fever pitch. Ace was hovering over you, his chest heaving, his eyes locked onto yours with a searing intensity that made you feel like you were melting into the sheets. He was a mess of freckles, sweat, and unbridled passion.

“I’m going to…” he started, his voice breaking. “I can’t… Y/N, I can’t hold it…”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so there was no space left between you, your heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

“Then don’t hold it,” you whispered. “Just give it to me.”

The tension had reached a point where it was no longer sustainable. With a ragged groan, Ace shifted, his movement hurried yet cautious, as he finally managed to rid himself of the last of his clothing.

For a moment, you simply froze.

You had spent months imagining him, memorizing every single visible inch of his shirtless torso, but you were entirely unprepared for the sight of him fully exposed. As he settled down between your thighs, the moonlight filtering through the porthole illuminated him, and your breath hitched in your threat.

He was magnificent.

You had never seen a man like this before - not really. You had heard the nurses talk, and you had caught glimpses of the crew in the baths, but this was different. This was Ace. He was thick and heavy, his length impressive and pulsing with a life of its own. He was already leaking, a small, glistening bead of pre-cum crowning the head of his cock, shimmering in the dim light. He looked desperate, his vein-mapped length twitching with every erratic beat of his heart.

You felt a wave of intense, dizzying curiosity wash over you. Your eyes widened, tracing the curve and the sheer size of him. He looked so powerful, yet as he looked down at you, his expression was one of complete, vulnerable surrender. He was trembling, his chest heaving, looking as though he might actually combust if you didn’t touch him soon.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, sounding completely wrecked. “I…I’m sorry if it’s… too much. I don’t know if I’m… normal.”

The slight insecurity in his voice, despite the imposing sight of him, made your heart swell. You reached out, your fingers hovering just an inch from his skin.

You could feel the heat off him, a literal warmth that made your fingertips tingle.

“Can I…?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Can I touch you, Ace?”

He let out a half-sob, half-groan, his eyes closing tight. “Yes,” he choked out, “God, yes. Please.”

As your fingers finally made contact, Ace let out a sharp, strangled gasp. His skin was scorching, smoother than you expected, and incredibly sensitive. You started slowly, your hand wrapping around the base of him. You were surprised by how your hand couldn’t even fully close around the girth of him; he filled your palm and then some.

You felt him jump under your touch, a violent shiver racking his entire frame. You began to move your hand, a tentative, sliding motion upward to the crown. The feeling of the slick moisture between your skin and his made a small, needy sound escape your lips.

“Oh god,” Ace whimpered, his head falling back against the pillows. “Y/N… you’re… you’re actually doing it. You’re touching me. This… holy shit.”

You gained confidence, remembering the nurses’ advice about enthusiasm. You tightened your grip slightly and increased the pace, sliding your hand up and down the length of him. The friction was intoxicating. You watched him, captivated by the way his abdominal muscles rippled and clenched with every stroke.

Ace began to make sounds you had never heard of him - high-pitched moans and frequent whines that vibrated through the mattress. He gripped the sheets beside your head, his knuckles white, his hips beginning to stutter-step upward, instinctively seeking more pressure.

“Right there… just like that,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t stop… don’t ever stop.”

You shifted your body, rubbing your thigh against his hip, wanting to feel as much of him as possible. You started to move faster, your palm slick with his arousal, the sound of the wet filling the quiet room. Ace was practically sobbing now, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. He looked absolutely desperate, his eyes blown wide and glazed with a level of pleasure that seemed to be bordering on pain.

Driven by a sudden, daring impulse, you decided to try something more. You slid down the bed, your hair spilling over his thighs, and looked up at him.

Ace looked down at you, his face a mask of pure shock. “What are you… Y/N?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned forward and opened your mouth, tentatively taking the head of his cock inside.

The sensation was overwhelming for both of you. The taste of him was salty and warm, and the feeling of him filling your mouth was an intimacy that felt almost sacred. You swirled your tongue around the tip, mimicking the movements you’d imagined doing countless times already.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Ace let out a scream - a loud, shocked sound that was cut off as his entire body went rigid. He didn’t even have time to move his hips; the mere sensation of your mouth, the warmth and the wetness, was the final straw for his overstimulated nerves.

He bucked upward, his hands flying to your shoulders to steady himself, and then he exploded.

You felt the hot pulses of his release hitting the back of your throat, a sudden flood of heat that left you breathless. He came with a violence that surprised you, his body shaking with powerful, uncontrollable spasms as he emptied himself into you.

He groaned your name over and over, until he finally collapsed back into the bed, completely spent.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the sound of your synchronized, heavy breathing.

You slowly pulled away, licking your lips, and looked up at him. Ace was staring at the ceiling, his chest still heaving, his face a shade of red that rivaled his necklace. He looked utterly devastated.

“I… I did it,” he whispered, his voice sounding hollow. “I actually… I lasted about three seconds.”

He covered his face with his hands, a muffled groan of pure embarrassment escaping him. “I’m such an idiot. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to be a legend in the bedroom like Thatch said, and I just… I just blew it immediately.”

You felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. You crawled back up his body, pressing your chest against his, and kissed his cheek softly.

“Ace, look at me,” you murmured.

He peeked through his fingers, his eyes wide and sheepish.

“It was perfect,” you whispered, smiling. “You were so… intense. And I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way you do. Who cares about being a legend? I just want you. You’re allowed to not immediately get everything right during your first time.”

Ace let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest, burying his face in your neck. “You’re too good to me, Y/N.” I don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you giggled, rubbing his back.

As you lay there, you felt a familiar, aching throb between your own legs. Ace had found his release, but you were still vibrating, your body humming with a need that hadn’t been satisfied from his earlier try.

You shifted slightly, rubbing your center against his thigh, and let out a small, involuntary moan.

Ace stiffened, his senses returning. He pulled back slightly, looking at your flushed face and the way your eyes were clouded with desire. He looked down at your lower half, then back at you, a look of realization dawning on his face.

“You’re… you’re still…”

“I am,” you whispered, your voice sounding small and needy. “Ace… I’ve never… I’ve never had an orgasm. I don’t know how it feels.”

The embarrassment vanished from Ace’s face, replaced by a fierce intensity. He might have been a novice, but the love he felt for you was a powerful motivator.

“I’m going to give it to you,” he vowed, his voice returning to that low tone that made your toes curl. “I don’t care if I’m a dork. I’m going to make you feel everything and do it right this time.”

He moved with a new kind of purpose. He shifted his body, gently pushing you back onto the pillows and sliding down between your legs. You gasped as he parted your thighs again, his eyes admiring you with a reverence that made you feel like a goddess.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your inner thigh.

He started with his mouth once again, kissing the soft skin of your legs, moving higher and higher. You trembled, your fingers digging into the sheets as he approached the center of your heat. When his tongue finally made contact with your clitoris, you let out a sharp, loud cry, your hips arching off the bed.

“Is this… is this still right? Like before?” he asked, glancing up at you, his lips glistening.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Oh god, yes, right there!”

Ace didn’t need further instruction. He dove back in, his tongue working with a rhythmic intensity that made you see stars. He was applying the lessons from the baths perfectly after a little but of fooling around. You were a mess already, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Then, he added his fingers.

He slid two fingers inside you, the friction of his movement complementing the stimulation of his tongue. You felt full, stretched, and utterly consumed by him.

You began to moan loudly, the sound echoing in the small room, your head tossing from side to side.

“That’s it, Y/N… just let go,” Ace murmured against your skin, his voice encouraging. “Tell me what you need.”

“More… please, Ace, more!” you cried out, your voice breaking.

He increased the pressure, his fingers curling upward, hitting a spot that sent a jolt of pure electricity through your entire spine. You felt a tension building deep within you, a coil tightening tighter and tighter until it felt like you were about to snap.

The world blurred. The sounds of the ship faded. There was only the heat of Ace’s mouth and the rhythmic drive of his hand.

Suddenly, the coil snapped.

A wave of intense, crashing pleasure slammed into you, starting at your core and radiating outward to the tips of your fingers. You screamed his name, your body shaking in a violent, prolonged orgasm that felt like a thousand suns exploding behind your eyelids. You gripped his hair, pulling him closer as you rode the wave of pleasure, your breath hitching in a series of sobbing gasps.

As the intensity slowly faded, you collapsed back into the mattress, completely limp and glowing.

Ace pulled back, looking up at you with a triumphant, beaming smile. He looked proud and his eyes were shining with affection.

“Did I… did I do it?” he asked breathlessly.

You couldn’t even speak for a moment.

You just reached down and pulled him up, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him with everything you had.

“You did it, Ace,” you whispered against his lips that tasted like your juices. “You did it perfectly.”

He let out a contended sigh, rolling over to pull you into the crook of his arm.

You lay entwined in Ace’s arms, your breath finally beginning to level out, your skin humming with a glow that had nothing to do with the dim moonlight filtering through the porthole. For a few minutes, the world was nothing but the steady, thumping rhythm of Ace’s heart against your ear and the soft, contented sighs he let out into your hair.

But as the initial haze of the orgasm receded, a new kind of tension began to coil in the pit of your stomach. You were satisfied, yes, but there was still a lingering, hollow ache. The “main event” was still looming, a mountain neither of you had ever climbed, and the anticipation was starting to feel like a physical weight.

Ace seemed to be feeling it too. You could tell by the way his grip on you tightened slightly, his fingers tracing mindlessly, shaky patterns across your lower back. He was quiet, but his body was radiating a heat that was bordering on feverish.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice still a ragged, low wreck.

“Yeah?” you murmured, tilting your head back to look at him.

He looked completely undone. His freckles seemed to stand out more against his flushed skin, and his eyes were wide, searching your face with a mixture of raw adoration and a mounting, desperate nervousness. He looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified of the fall but dying to jump.

“I… I want to,” he started, his voice cracking. “I mean, if you’re still up for it. I don’t want to rush you, or… or make you feel like I’m just trying to get to the end. I just… I really want to be inside you.”

The honesty in his voice sent a shiver of heat straight to your core. You didn’t answer with words; instead, you shifted your body, sliding your leg over his hip and pulling him closer, your chest brushing against his. You could feel him stirring against you, the hard, pulsing length of him returning with a vengeance, pressing firmly against your thigh.

“I want you too, Ace,” you breathed.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and for a second, it looked like he might just dive in, driven by pure instinct. But then, a flicker of memory crosses his face.

He froze, his eyes widening as he remembered the final piece of advice from Thatch.

“Right! Protection!” he gasped, suddenly scrambling backward.

The sudden movement was so abrupt that he nearly rolled off the bed again. You let out a startled giggle as he frantically began searching through his trousers, which were discarded in a heap on the floor. He dove into the fabric, his movements chaotic and hurried, until he finally produced a small, square foil packet.

He held it up like it was a piece of ancient treasure, staring at it with a look of profound confusion.

“How… how does this actually work again?” he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

You watched, half-amused and half-endeared, as the formidable second commander of the Whitebeard Pirates engaged in a life-or-death struggle with a piece of latex. He tried to open the packet with his teeth, but in his haste, he nearly ripped the condom itself. He let out a small, panicked yelp, his face turning a shade of crimson that rivaled the ripe tomatoes in Thatch’s kitchen.

“Dammit! Thatch made it sound so easy!” he hissed, his fingers fumbling with the edges of the foil. “He just said ‘use protection’, he didn’t give me a manual!”

“Do you want help?” you offered, your voice trembling with suppressed laughter.

“No! No, I got this! I’m a pirate! I can handle a small piece of rubber!” he declared with a burst of misplaced confidence.

He finally managed to get the condom out, but then came the actual application.

Because he was so wired - his heart racing and his hands shaking from the sheer intensity of his arousal - the process was anything but smooth. He struggled to get the positioning right, his fingers slipping, his movements clumsy. At one point, he accidentally pinched himself, letting out a sharp “Ow!” that made you burst into full-blown laughter.

“Stop laughing!” he groaned, though he was grinning despite his obvious frustration. “This is a high-stress operation!”

After several minutes of trial and error, and a fair amount of breathless cursing, he finally managed it. He let out a triumphant huff, looking at himself with a sense of accomplishment as if he had just navigated the Grand Line without a Log Pose.

He crawled back over to you, his eyes darkening as he settled between your thighs. The atmosphere shifted instantly from comedic to searing. The laughter died away, replaced by a heavy, expectant silence. Ace hovered over you, his arms shaking as he braced himself on either side of your head.

“Are you… are you okay? Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice dripping with so much love it made a genuine smile break out on your lips. He was perfect.

“I’m sure, Ace. Just… be gentle,” you whispered back.

He nodded, his expression one of absolute focus. He guided himself to your entrance, the tip of him brushing against you. You felt a sharp intake of breath from both of you. The heat radiating off him was immense, and as he began to push forward, the sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

“It wasn’t the effortless slide the commanders had implied to him. Instead, it was a slow, pressured stretch. You felt your muscles tighten instinctively, a small gasp of discomfort escaping your lips as you felt the sheer girth of him filling you.

Ace stopped instantly. He froze, his muscles locking up, his eyes wide with terror.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I’ll-”

“No,” you gasped, reaching up to cup his face, your fingers digging into his cheeks. “No, don’t stop. It’s just… it’s a lot. It’s just the first time. Just… stay still for a second. Let me get used to it.”

Ace stayed perfectly still, though he looked like he was vibrating. He was holding his breath, his chest heaving, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that felt like it could burn through the sheet. You could feel him pulsing inside you, a heavy, insistent throb that echoed the beat of your own heart.

Slowly, the initial discomfort began to face, replaced by a feeling of incredible fullness.

It was an overwhelming sensation, a physical connection so deep it felt emotional. You shifted your hips slightly, testing the feeling, and let out a long, shaky sigh of relief.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice breathy and warm. “I’m okay. You… you can move now, Ace.”

You expected him to dive in right in. Instead, the moment you gave him permission, Ace let put a sound that could only be described as a whimper.

He didn’t move. In fact, he seemed to sink even deeper into the mattress, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder, his body shuddering violently.

“Ace?” you asked, confused. “Why aren’t you moving?”

He let out a choked, needy groan, his voice muffled against your skin. “I… I can’t,” he rasped, his breath hot and erratic.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and you saw that his eyes were completely glazed, his pupils blown wide. He looked absolutely wrecked to say the least.

“Y/N… you feel… holy shit, you feel so good,” he whimpered, a stray tear of sheer overstimulation pricking the corner of his eye. “If I move… if I even move an inch right now… I think I’m literally going to cum again. I can’t… I can’t handle it.”

You blinked, a small, surprised laugh escaping you. “Are you serious? You’re the second commander! You have legendary stamina!”

“Not when I’m inside you!” he wailed softly, his voice cracking. “It’s too much! It’s like… like I’m being hugged from the inside! I’m losing my mind, Y/N! I’m actually losing it!”

The sight of him - this powerful, stubborn pirate, completely defeated by the simple sensation of being inside you - was the most erotic thing you had ever seen. You felt a surge of playful confidence, remembering the nurses’ words about taking the lead.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, and gave a sharp, deliberate tug, pulling him deeper.

Ace let out a loud, undignified shriek, his back arching off the bed. “OH GOD! STOP! NO, DON’T STOP! BUT STOP!”

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, your voice dripping with affection. You began to move your hips in a slow, grinding circle, testing the friction.

Ace made a sound that was once again half-sob, half-moan. He gripped the headboard behind you so hard that the wood groaned under the pressure. “I’m going to die,” he gasped, his eyes rolling back. “I am actually going to die right here on this bed. This is it. Tell Pops I love him.”

“You’re not dying, Ace. You’re just sensitive and dramatic,” you teased, increasing the pace slightly.

As the rhythm established itself, Ace finally found his footing, his movements transitioning from erratic shudders to deep, purposeful thrusts. He wasn’t “smooth” in the way a seasoned lover might be - he was too eager, often pushing too fast or missing the angle - but every single movement was fueled by a level of devotion that was intoxicating.

“Is this… is this okay?” he panted, his voice returning to that low, commanding tone, though it was still punctuated by the occasional whimper. “Am I… am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” you moaned, your head tossing from side to side. “Right there… oh god, Ace, yes!”

Hearing your pleasure seemed to give him a second wind. He stopped worrying about the “manual” and started listening to your body. He remembered Marco’s words about changing the pace, slowing down just as you were reaching a peak, only to drive back in with a sudden intensity that made you scream his name.

The room felt like it was catching fire. The heat radiating from Ace’s skin was literal now, the air shimmering around him as his emotions flared. Every time he hit that specific spot you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your spine, and Ace would let out a ragged, needy sound, as if he were the one receiving the pleasure.

“I love you,” he gasped, his voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made your toes curl. “I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t believe this is real.”

The emotional weight of his words, combined with the physical intensity of the act, pushed you over the edge. You felt the coil tighten, the tension building into a crescendo that felt like a tidal wave crashing over you. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his tan skin, and let out a loud, prolonged cry as your orgasm slammed into you.

Ace didn’t wait long to follow after you. The moment he felt your internal muscles clench around him in the throes of release, he lost the last shred of his control.

“Y/N!” he moaned, his voice echoing through the entire room.

He delivered one final, deep thrust, pinning you against the mattress with the full weight of his body. Then he stiffened, his muscles locking up in a violent spasm as he emptied himself into the condom. He groaned your name over and over, a long, shuddering release that left him completely spent, his breath coming in jagged, sobbing gasps.

For a long time, neither of you moved. You lay there in a tangle of sweaty limbs and tangled sheets, the only sound the creaking of the Moby Dick as it swayed in the ocean waves.

Eventually, Ace shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked firmly against his chest. He let out a long, contented sigh, his eyes half-closed and dreamy.

“So,” you whispered, your voice sounding small and satisfied. “How was the ‘main event’?”

Ace let out a soft, sheepish chuckle, kissing the top of your head. “I think… I think I might have failed the technical part. I definitely… messed up on the way.”

You giggled, snuggling closer to him. “I don’t know. I think you did just fine for a novice.”

“A novice, huh?” He grinned, a flash of his usual confidence returning. He tightened his grip on you, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “Well, the thing about novices is that they’re very eager to practice. I think I might need a few more… educational sessions. Just to make sure I’ve mastered the technique.”

You laughed, your heart full. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping back into that low, dangerous register as he began to nuzzle your ear. “I think we should probably start with a review of a few different positions. You know… for science.”

You laughed. “Hm. For science. Of course.”

The sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon, and the Moby Dick was shrouded in a heavy, pre-dawn mist. At roughly 5:00 AM, the ship was usually silent, save for the rhythmic splashing of the waves and the occasional snoring of a crew member.

Except for the commander’s deck.

Edward Newgate, the strongest man in the world, stepped out onto the main deck for his early morning sake, his massive frame cutting through the fog. He stopped mid-strike, his eyes blinking in confusion. There, huddled around a small table on the docks of the upper deck, were his top commanders.

It was a sight that would have terrified any enemy fleet. Marco, Thatch, Vista, Jozu and Izou were all present, but they didn’t look like the formidable leaders of the Whitebeard Pirates. They looked like survivors of a shipwreck.

Marco was slumped over the table, his face pressed against the wood, one eye open and twitching. Thatch was staring blankly into a bottle of sake, drinking straight from the neck with a thousand-yard stare. Vista’s legendary mustache was drooping, and Izou was rubbing his temples with a look of profound spiritual exhaustion. Jozu was simply sitting in silence, staring at a wall as if trying to erase a memory from his soul.

They were surrounded by empty bottles and half-eaten plates of snacks, looking like they hadn’t slept in three days.

“Gurarara!” Whitebeard’s booming laugh echoed across the deck. “What in the world is this? A secret meeting?”

The commanders didn’t even jump. They didn’t have the energy to be startled.

Marco let out a slow, rattling sigh. “Pops… please. Just… stop talking. The vibrations of your voice are too much for my brain right now, yoi.”

Whitebeard paused, leaning down to peer at his sons. “You all look like you’ve been fighting a Yonko for forty-eight hours. What happened?”

Thatch slowly lifted his head. A single tear of regret rolled down his cheek. “Worse, Pops. Much worse.”

“Explain,” Whitebeard commanded, though he sounded amused.

“We gave him a crash course,” Izou whispered, his voice a mixture of horror and betrayal. “We thought we were being helpful. We thought we were guiding him. We thought we were protecting our little sister by ensuring Ace knew what he was doing.”

Whitebeard blinked. “Ace and Y/N? I figured they’d finally gotten around to it.”

At the mention of the couple, the entire group of commanders flinched simultaneously, as if they had been struck by a physical blow.

“You don’t understand, Pops,” Vista groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. “The walls on the commander’s floor are thick. They are very thick. But Ace… He really doesn’t do anything halfway. The sheer… volume… the enthusiasm… the screaming…”

“He’s a monster,” Jozu grunted, his voice hollow. “A loud, passionate monster.”

The commander shared a look of collective trauma. They had spent the last several hours trapped in a psychological war, listening to the evidence of Ace implementing every single piece of advice they had given him - and then some.

Because they saw you as their precious baby sister, every moan, every gasp, every loud thud against the wall had felt like a personal attack on their sanity.

Thatch suddenly slammed his bottle onto the table, his expression one of pure agony.

“I regret it!” he wailed, his voice cracking. “I regret teaching him! Why did I tell him about the neck?! Why did I mention the clitoris?! I’ve created a beast and now I have to live with the mental images!”

“I told him to change the pace, yoi,” Marco muttered into the table, sounding defeated. “I didn’t realize he’d take “driving her crazy” as a literal mission objective. I can still hear it. I can still hear her screaming his name. I think I have permanent hearing loss in my left ear.”

Whitebeard stared at them for a long moment, then he let out a laugh so massive it nearly knocked Thatch off his chair.

“Gurarara! It seems the boy is really thorough!”

“It’s not thorough, Pops! It’s an auditory assault!” Izou snapped, though he looked too tired to actually be angry.

Just as a heavy, blessed silence fell over the group, a sound drifted across the deck from the direction of the commander’s quarters.

“ACE! OH MY GOD, ACE-!!!”

The scream was followed by a loud, unmistakable THUMP that vibrated through the floorboards of the ship. The commanders froze. As one, they all slowly turned their heads toward the sound.

Thatch let out a broken whimper and leaned forward, burying his face in the sake bottle. Marco simply closed his eyes and began to pray to a god he didn’t even believe in.