The sun was high, the deck buzzing with the usual chaos of a crew that had absolutely no concept of indoor voices. Somewhere behind you, Thatch was yelling about a missing bottle of sake, and Marco was already threatening to throw him overboard if he didn't shut up.

It was a good day. A normal day.

And then the Thousand Sunny pulled up alongside, and you heard a very familiar, very loud, very stretchy voice.

He pulled you into a hug that was way too tight and way too long, and then—because Luffy had apparently learned something very interesting on whatever island he'd last visited—he pressed a kiss right to your cheek.

Before you could even process it, a shadow fell over both of you. The air around you got hotter—not metaphorically. Literally. Little flickers of flame danced at the edges of your vision.

You turned.

He never got the chance.

A hand clamped around your waist—warm, calloused, possessive—and suddenly the world tilted as you were hauled over a freckled shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Behind you, you could hear Luffy's confused "Ace? Where are you going?" and Marco's long-suffering sigh.

The crew parted around Ace like the Red Sea. Nobody tried to stop him. Nobody even looked like they wanted to try.

You, meanwhile, were dangling upside down over his shoulder, face burning, heart doing something stupid in your chest.

This was fine. This was completely fine.

Somebody get me out of here.