The afternoon sun cast a warm glow across the deck of the Moby Dick, where Ace had succumbed to one of his notorious narcoleptic episodes. He was slumped against a barrel, hat tilted over his face, soft snores escaping his lips. The crew had long since grown accustomed to stepping around their sleeping brother.

You spotted him there, looking so peaceful and adorable with those freckles dusted across his cheeks, and something just overwhelmed you. An unstoppable wave of affection that demanded immediate action.

Settling beside him quietly, you leaned in and pressed a big, fat smooch right on his cheek.

But one wasn't enough.

You kissed his other cheek, softer this time. Ace stirred, eyelids fluttering as he blinked blearily awake, confusion painted across his face. "Wha...?"

Oh, he was awake now? Perfect.

The bombardment began. You attacked every freckle you could find—each one deserving its own kiss. His eyelids, the tip of his nose, the corners of his mouth, his temples, forehead, chin, jawline—anywhere and everywhere you could reach.

"W-wait—hey—what are you—?!" Ace sputtered, face erupting in the deepest crimson you'd ever seen. His fingertips suddenly caught fire, small flames flickering to life as he flailed helplessly under your affectionate assault.

Around the deck, the Whitebeard Pirates had definitely noticed. Pops himself was looking away with a barely concealed grin, while Marco and the others suddenly found the horizon very interesting, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.