It’s been a few months, surely. The tallies on the mast of Ace’s striker counted to 147 days—147 days too long, if you asked him.

He was quick. Jumping off the striker—not even checking if he had roped it securely or not—scurrying to your little cottage off the coast of the island, right when the sun was beginning to set.

When he did see you smiling and laughing and running out the door just to crash into him, he swore he you in the rightest way.

“Missed you so much, baby.” Ace mumbled into your hair, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades and the other on your head. He left you hardly any time to respond before he kissed you like a true sailor, like he believed in God and thought you were his savior.

In a way, you were. He wondered if you get a taste of him with every kiss, if you’ll tell him what’s his flavor, if you slept as much as he did just to see you because he’s hate to wait so long.

You, the perfect soul that you were, he could hardly get enough of. When you’re getting dirty, he forgets all that is wrong, like the lawless factor in your relationship: a wanted pirate with a bounty bigger than any amount of money he’s seen and an innocent civilian who kissed his fingers and made him proud and loved.

Pretty soon, you were tugging him up the little incline of earth and into the walls of your house with that stupidly big smile on your face, wanting to laugh off things you knew nothing about and play this game of cat and mouse.