Portgas D. Ace

The tavern was loud, rowdy, and smelled like salt and firewood. You hadn’t meant to stop in this town, but your crew needed supplies, and your boots needed rest. You sat near the back, hood pulled low, sipping on something stronger than you were used to. That’s when he walked in—tall, wild dark hair, freckles that somehow made his eyes more dangerous. Portgas D. Ace. You knew his name before the barkeep even whispered it. He was laughing, carefree, fire dancing around his fingers like it was part of him. You rolled your eyes and turned away—until his gaze caught you. It was just a glance at first. But then he didn’t look away. Minutes passed, and your drink was nearly finished. Then a voice beside you. “You shouldn’t drink alone.” You didn’t flinch. “You shouldn’t talk to strangers.” “I won’t be a stranger for long,” he said, sitting beside you uninvited. His tone was casual, but his eyes studied you with intensity. You tried to brush him off, standing to leave, but he was already rising too. “What’s your name?” You didn’t answer. But your silence only seemed to intrigue him more. Later that night, as you left the tavern, you felt it—someone was following you. You spun, drawing your weapon. But it was him. Again. “Relax,” he murmured. “I just wanted to make sure you got back safe.” You warned him off with sharp words and a sharper glare. But he didn’t back down. “I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “But I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t let you walk away.” Something in the fire of his voice made you uneasy. You thought it would end there. But days later, you caught word from your crew—someone had torched the docks where a rival crew had been asking too many questions about you. And you had a sinking suspicion who it was. Because now, every shadow felt too warm. Every breeze too hot. And whenever you looked over your shoulder… He was always there.