Sparks Between The Stacks. || Portgas D. Ace x Reader.
Summary: After a grueling twenty-four-hour shift, Ace expected nothing more than another typical community outreach event at the local library. He certainly didn't expect to walk through the doors anticipating a sweet old lady, only to find you instead - and suddenly forget why he'd been dreading it in the first place. Maybe some stories are worth staying awake for.
Tags: modern!au, firefighter!ace x librarian reader, meet-cute, love at first sight, tooth rotting fluff, comedy (tried to be funny guys lol)
Wordcount: 3.6k
A/N: based on this request!! dear anon, i hope you like this, i certainly had so much fun writing it!! the idea was absolutely adorable so i hope i did it justice <33 as always, pls like, reblog and comment! divider credits go to @cursed-carmine <33 (also please read until the very end, i promise y'all won't be disappointed)
Taglist: @bonnielover2010, @aisha-grayson, @dawnsarchive, @witchofthefoam
The acrid scent of smoke and charred timber still clung to Ace's skin, a stubborn reminder of a twenty-four-hour shift that had felt more like an entire week. His muscles were humming with a deep, bone-weary fatigue, the kind that settled into the marrow and made every movement of his feel as though he were pushing through waist-deep water. The rumble of the firetruck beneath him was a low vibration that almost lulled him into a dangerous drowse.
He shifted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white and bruised from God knows where, while the phone was wedged between his shoulder and his ear.
"I'm telling you, Sabo, it's a scam," Ace grumbled. His voice was raspy from the smoke and from shouting various orders. "Marco didn't even ask me. He just⌠volunteered me. 'Ace, you're great with people, do the library story hour. A young firefighter is a way better hit for those kids than us old folks, yoi' he says. Like I'm some kind of circus act or something."
On the other end of the line, Sabo's laugh was bright and far too energetic for the hour. "Oh, come on, Ace. It's community outreach. Besides, you love kids. You're amazing with them. You're just grumpy because you haven't had a nap in like two days."
"The kids aren't the problem. I don't mind them," Ace shot back, though a small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He thought of Otama, the little girl who had taken an immediate and very obvious liking to him; it was proof of how easily children gravitated towards him. "It's the principle of the thing, okay? And the setting. I can already see it: some sweet, ancient librarian who's probably been doing story hour since before I was born. She'll probably try to feed me hard candies and tell me to keep my voice down while I'm just trying to explain how a hydrant works. It's going to be an endurance test to see how long I can stay polite."
His brother chuckled teasingly. "Just behave yourself. Try not to fall asleep mid-sentence, and for the love of everything, don't accidentally do something inappropriate. Or set any books on fire."
"I think you forget that I'm the one who fights fires, not sets them."
"Mhm, sure. I'll see you later."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Ace muttered, hanging up the phone.
He pulled the massive red truck into the library's designated parking zone, the engine letting out one final, heavy sigh as he cut the power. For a moment, he just sat there in the sudden silence, leaning his head back against the seat. Slowly closing his eyes, already imagining the dusty aisles and the scent of mothballs and old parchment. He could almost see the elderly woman in a floral cardigan waiting for him with a stern look and a small, wooden pointer.
He sighed again, rubbed his face with his palms, and finally stepped out into the crisp morning air.
The library was a quaint building, a blend of old stone and modern glass that felt a little out of place in the bustling part of the town. As Ace pushed open the heavy oak doors, he was instantly struck by an almost suffocating quiet. It smelled of vanilla, old paper, and a hint of fresh coffee - a scent that was unexpectedly inviting.
He followed the signs toward the children's wing, his heavy boots thudding softly on the carpeted floor. For a second he felt bad because he hadn't cleaned them properly, but he was already mentally preparing his "polite professional" face, the one he used for city council meetings - blegh! - and awards ceremonies, when he rounded the corner into the reading nook.
And immediately stopped dead in his tracks.
There was no elderly woman in a floral cardigan.
Instead, you were standing in the center of a circle of very eager children, holding up a colorful picture book in your hands. You were young, wearing a soft sweater that looked cozy and a pair of glasses that perched precariously on the bridge of your nose. You were laughing at something one of the children had said, a sound that was light and melodic, cutting through the quiet of the library like a sunbeam.
You see, Ace always prided himself as a man who barely wavered when it came to beautiful women. Sure, he flirted a lot and definitely wasn't a prude by any means, but women were just⌠women. He had far too little time for them anyway, prioritizing his job and family above all else.
But right now, Ace could practically feel the air leaving his lungs. You were beautiful, that alone was obvious, but it wasn't even just that; it was the warm and genuine kind energy you radiated that felt like a physical pull, and oh was he getting pulled in. Hard. He realized he had stood there for a second too long, completely frozen in the doorway, because the very next second, you looked up and noticed the towering figure in the turnout gear.
Your expression shifted from amusement to surprise, and then to a welcoming smile that made Ace's heart do a clumsy, erratic leap against his ribs.
"You must be the firefighter we've been waiting for!" you exclaimed, your voice clear and friendly. You stepped toward him and extended a hand. "I'm Y/N. I've been looking forward to this all week. The kids are absolutely dying to meet a real hero."
Ace blinked, his usual confidence momentarily deserted. He looked down at your hand, then back up at your face, feeling a sudden, traitorous flush creep up his neck. For a heartbeat his mind scrambled for the right thing to say and came up empty, leaving only an awkward little laugh. But luckily he recovered quickly, sliding back into his natural charm, though he couldn't quite smooth over the flustered edge from his voice.
"Uh, yeah. Ace. I'm Ace⌠that- that's me?" he managed, shaking your hand. It came out more like a question than a statement, and the way you chuckled at that told him you found that quite amusing, but Ace was already occupied with another thing: your hand. Specifically your small hand in his big one. Your grip was soft and your skin was slightly colder than average, and the brief contact sent a jolt of electricity straight up his arm.
Now that he thought about it, he was incredibly glad he'd gone alone. His brothers would never let him hear the end of it, not when he was currently busy making a complete fool of himself in front of you.
Meanwhile, you beamed at him, seemingly unaware of the internal chaos you had just sparked inside of him. "It's great to meet you, Ace. We're all set. If you're ready, your "audience" is getting a little restless."
Ace looked over at the children, the original reason he was even here to begin with. They were staring right at him with wide, dinner-plate eyes, specifically gazing at his gear and his helmet. He felt a sudden shift in his mood. He was still tired, painfully so, but the sight of their curiosity sparked something in him.
For the next hour, Ace forgot his own exhaustion. He forgot about his earlier annoyance at Marco and his grumbling about the commute. He sat on the floor with the children, his tall frame dwarfed by the colorful beanbags and oversized picture books.
And God was he a natural. Instead of talking down to them, he treated their questions fairly and always gave them a genuine answer. When a small girl asked him if women could be firefighters too, the boys behind her snickered. Ace didn't laugh. He crouched down to her level, his expression dead serious.
"Absolutely," he said quietly. "Some of the best firefighters are women. You just have to be brave, work hard, and never let anyone tell you you can't do it."
The girl's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Really." He held up his hand for a high-five. "And if anyone says otherwise, you send them my way."
The girls all gasped, leaning closer with excited grins.
He then spent the next thirty minutes showing off his gear. He let them touch the heavy fabric of his jacket, explaining how it protected him from the heat. A little girl got to try on his helmet, which was so large it completely swallowed her head, sliding down to cover her eyes. The room erupted in giggles, and Ace laughed with them, a sound that made you, who was quietly watching from the sidelines, immediately join in.
You were leaning against a bookshelf with your chin resting in your hand, just observing him. To be honest, you had expected a professional, perhaps a bit stiff, but Ace was different. Not only was he incredibly patient and playful, he also had this way of making every single child feel like they were the most important person in the room. You watched the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the way he handled the children like he had known them since forever.
And yes, it also didn't help that he was handsome. In fact, that was probably an understatement. He had tan, freckled skin and a grin that seemed permanently etched onto his face. Black hair, messy and untamed, fell across his forehead, and his eyes held a spark of mischief that made him look like he was always one step away from causing trouble. He wore his firefighter gear like it was second nature, the suspenders loose over a fitted white tee, sleeves rolled up to reveal arms lined with lean muscle and a tattoo.Â
You cleared your throat, pulling yourself back down to earth at just the right moment. Ace was currently demonstrating his breathing mask.
"Now, listen up," Ace said in a commanding yet kind tone. "Sometimes, when we come into a building, we wear these masks. They make us sound a bit like Darth Vader, and they cover our entire faces. But I want you to know that under that mask, there's just a person who wants to help you, okay? So if you ever see someone in a mask, don't be scared. Just remember it's us and that we are here to keep you safe."
He put the mask on, making a few exaggerated Darth Vader noises that had the kids shrieking with laughter, before pulling it back off with a wink.
You found yourself smiling, your heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with the children. There was something incredibly endearing about the contrast between his slightly rugged exterior and the soft way he interacted with the kids.
However, Ace wouldn't be Ace if there wasn't at least one thing going wrong.
A small girl with pigtails raised her hand, asking him in a tiny and curious voice: "Mr. Ace? Do firefighters really slide down the poles like in the movies?"
Ace leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "That's a great question. Actually, we usually do-"
And then, it happened.
Mid-sentence, Ace's head tilted. His eyes fluttered shut and his chin sank toward his chest. Silence fell over the nook.
The children stopped laughing. They stared at him, frozen, unsure of what to do. The little girl with pigtails leaned forward with wide eyes.
"Is he⌠is he dead?" she whispered.
The other children quickly began to panic. A few of them started to whimper, thinking their beloved "hero" had suddenly succumbed to some invisible force.
You reacted instantly. Stepping forward with a small smile on your lips to reassure the kids everything was fine, you knelt beside him, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder.
"Ace," you whispered, your voice a soft tease. "Wake up, sleepyhead. You haven't answered the question yet."
Ace jolted awake with a loud snort. His eyes snapped open and he looked around wildly for a second, completely disoriented, before realizing where he was. He saw the terrified faces of the children and the shimmering amusement in your eyes.
A deep, crimson flush erupted across his cheeks. He blinked and cleared his throat, trying to regain his dignity. Damned be his narcolepsy.
"Uh, right. T-the pole," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, we do use it. But not nearly as much as in the movies."
The children let out a few disappointed sighs at that answer, but it was also obvious they were relieved and amused that he was back from the dead. And as the session wound down, Ace found himself in another predicament.
The library had provided a tray of cookies for the children. As Ace talked, the kids began to offer him their treats.
"Here, Mr. Ace! Have my chocolate chip!"
"I have a sugar cookie! You need it more because you're so tired."
Ace, being too polite to refuse a child's offering - and let's be honest, he would also never say no to free food - began to eat. One cookie. Then two. Then five. By the time the parents started arriving to pick up their children, Ace had unknowingly consumed nearly a dozen cookies. He sat there, leaning against a beanbag, feeling a sudden and massive sugar crash hitting him. He was so full of sweets, his mind beginning to float in a sugary haze.
As the last child waved goodbye, the room returned to its natural, quiet state, typical for a library. Only the two of you were now left in the reading nook.
"Well," you said, stepping toward him. "I think that went over wonderfully. You were a total hit, Ace."
He stood up, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. His expression was softer now as he looked at you now that the audience was wrong. "Thanks. They're good kids. A bit loud, but good."
"I can tell you enjoyed it," you teased, gesturing toward the empty cookie try. "Even if you did try to eat the entire supply of treats."
Ace looked at the tray and then back at you, a sheepish grin crossing his handsome face. "They kept giving them to me! I couldn't just say no to a four-year-old. That's against firefighter code."
You laughed, the sound so light, so genuine that he felt his heart skip a beat. "I'm sure it is."
For the next twenty minutes, the two of you worked together to tidy up. You put away the colorful mats, and he helped you stack the chairs, his large hands making the task effortless. You two talked endlessly, the conversation flowing so easily and naturally it felt as if you had known each other for ages. You talked about your jobs, and you explained your love for literature and the piece of the library, and he told you about the adrenaline of the sirens and the satisfaction of a successful rescue.
"Why did you choose it?" you asked, leaning against a table as you sorted through a pile of glittery craft paper. "The firefighting I mean. It seems⌠dangerous."
Ace paused, his gaze drifting toward the window. "I just like helping people. I've always liked the idea of being the one who runs in when everyone else is running out. Plus," he added with a small, dry chuckle, "I've always been a bit of a pyro. My brothers used to tell me I was a disaster waiting to happen, so I figured it was better to use that trait for something useful."
You smiled, finding his honesty refreshing. "You did the right thing. It suits you. You have a very⌠grounding presence, Ace."
He looked at you then, his dark eyes searching yours. The air between you thickened, and the silence became heavy with an unspoken tension neither of you could deny anymore. The flirtation had been subtle, a dance of lingering glances and accidental brushes of the skin, but it was there.
"You know," you said, tilting your head. "I have to say, you do look very good in my library, but you don't seem like much of a reader."
Ace scoffed, though there was no heat in it. "Hey, I read! I read⌠manuals. And the occasional comic."
You let out a soft giggle. "A comic is good, don't get me wrong, but it's not a real book, so it doesn't count-"
"Who decided that?"
"I did," you smirked, then continued, "you need something with a bit more⌠soul." You reached over to a nearby display and pulled out a slim volume with a weathered cover. "Try this. It's a collection of short stories about travel and self-discovery. I think you'd like it. It's about finding home in unexpected giggles."
Ace took the brush, and the movement made his fingers graze against yours. The contact was brief, but it sent a familiar jolt through him. He looked at the cover, then back at you.
"I'll read it," he promised, his voice dropping to a low rumble that sounded a little bit too intimate. "I swear. I'll actually read the whole thing."
"I'll hold you to that," you replied, your gaze lingering on his lips.
The moment had reached its peak. Ace knew that if he walked out the door now, he might not find the courage to come back. He turned toward the door, took two steps, and then stopped. He stood there for just a heartbeat before he spun around, feeling a sudden, sharp surge of determination, the same kind he felt when he faced a blaze, and walked right back to you, stopping just a few inches away. He didn't want this to end with a book recommendation.
Since he was so tall, you had to tilt your head back to see him. The proximity was dizzying for the both of you. He could smell the vanilla of your perfume and the faint scent of old books clinging to you, just like the smell of smoke clang to him.
"Y/N," he started, his voice slightly awkward and clearly lacking its usual polish. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit that you found incredibly cute. "I⌠I don't really do this. The whole⌠asking people out thing. Usually they just⌠like me and then never leave me alone."
You blinked, your heart starting to race. "Oh?"
"Yeah," he murmured. "But I really like talking to you. And I'd really like to do it somewhere that doesn't involve children screaming or a tray of cookies I can't refuse."
He paused, his expression hopeful as he gathered all his remaining courage. "Would you like to get dinner with me sometime? Maybe at a small, quiet place?"
A slow, radiant smile spread across your face. "I would love to, Ace."
Ace let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a life time. A massive, triumphant grin broke across his face. He looked like he had just won the lottery.
"Great. Perfect. Awesome," he stammered, his confidence returning in a rush. He stepped back toward the door, pointing a finger at you with a painful glint in his eyes. "But fair warning: I'm holding you to the dinner, and you're holding me to the book. I'll have it finished before our date."
"I'm counting on it," you called out as he exited.
As the heavy oak doors closed behind him, you leaned back against the table, your heart still hammering wildly against your ribs with no intention of stopping.
And as Ace climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine, he glanced at the book resting on the passenger seat. He would've never touched a book under different circumstances, but as he drove away, he decided that he was very, very eager to start reading.
Group: Emergency Meeting
Thatch: SOS
Thatch: CODE RED
Thatch: ACE IS READING A BOOK!!!!!!
Marco: What
Thatch: I WALKED INTO THE COMMON ROOM AND HE'S JUST SITTING THERE READING!!!! WITH THIS STUPID GRIN ON HIS FACE!!! I'M SCARED
Jozu: A book? Ace?
Thatch: I THINK THE LIBRARIAN RECOMMENDED IT TO HIM, APPARENTLY SHE WASN'T SOME OLD LADY BUT A PRETTY GIRL HIS AGE??? LOL
Vista: This I have to see. Is he still in the common room?
Thatch: YEAH HE HASN'T MOVED IN LIKE AN HOUR, I THINK HE'S BROKEN
Marco: What even is the book about?
Thatch: ⌠no idea
Jozu: You didn't even look at the cover?
Thatch: DUDE I WAS FLABBERGASTED, EXCUSE ME FOR HAVING PRIORITIES
Vista: So we're sure it's from the librarian from the story hour thing?
Marco: The very same. Spent the whole morning grumbling about it. Now apparently she's got him reading poetry or whatever.
Thatch: OMG IT MIGHT BE POETRY
Thatch: WTF
Thatch: WHAT IF HE STARTS WRITING POETRY?? I CAN'T HANDLE ACE WRITING SONNETS
Jozu: Ace is not going to write sonnets.
Thatch: YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!! LOVE MAKES PEOPLE DO CRAZY THINGS
Whitebeard: Why is my phone making so many noises? Marco, son, can you help me? - Pops
Marco: Pops, I showed you countless times how you can mute your notifications.
Thatch: POPS!!! OUR ACE HAS A CRUSH
Whitebeard: A crush? My son? That is wonderful news. Is she a nice girl? - Pops
Marco: Pops, you don't have to sign your messages. We know it's you.
Whitebeard: Okay. - Pops
Thatch: anyways back to the topic!!! he is still reading!!!!
Thatch: I THINK I HEARD HIM MUMBLE SOMETHING ABOUT A DATE
Jozu: And do we know when that date is?
Thatch: NO BUT HE LOOKS SO SERIOUS
Thatch: IM ALREADY PLANNING THE WEDDING!!! I AM DEFINITELY GONNA BE THE GROOMSMAN
Marco: No you're not. I'm the first mate.
Jozu: What about me?
Thatch: no
Marco: No.
Vista: I should be the groomsman! I give the best speeches.
Whitebeard: No fighting, sons. I will be the groomsman. - Pops
Marco: Pops, you can't be the groomsman.
Whitebeard: Then I will be the flower girl. I've always wanted to throw petals. - Pops
Thatch: I'M SCREENSHOTTING THIS
Whitebeard: Son, what is a screenshot? - Pops
Marco: I'm leaving this group.
hey hey, y'all probably didn't expect to see me yapping at the end of the fic again, but i promise i have a good reason. so, my bestie read this for me, and we both couldn't stop picturing whitebeard as a flower girl and since she's an artist she cooked something up for me!!
best thing i've seen all week. please all check out her wonderful art on @hufflenuss <33 ily leo, this picture is absolute gold
