Marco X Reader - Blog Posts

Question How do you think Marco the Phoenix would catch and defeat his girlfriend, Marin, so that she would give up her duties as a Marine? Do you happen to have a story about that?

Blue Fire, White Justice

Marco the Phoenix faces off against the woman he loves—a fierce Marine torn between duty and desire.

Marco the phoenix x reader

tags: fluff, sfw, secret relationship, light drama, oc

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 826

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sunset over Sabaody Archipelago bled into the sea, streaking the water with fiery gold. You stood near Grove 17, staring across the surf, coat whipping in the sea wind. The kanji for Justice blazed bold across your back—weighty and solemn.

You had known this day would come.

“He’s near,” you muttered.

Your partner, Lieutenant Commander Haru, glanced up from the comm transponder. “You’re sure it’s him?”

You nodded. “Marco doesn’t make landfall without reason.”

And you were the reason, weren’t you?

The World Government sent you to stop pirate resurgence near the archipelago. What they didn’t know—or didn’t care about—was your past with one of Whitebeard’s most notorious commanders. A man made of fire and regret.

Two nights earlier...

You met him at a decaying outpost near Grove 42, where silence clung to the ruins like moss. It had been your meeting place once, long before the war, when you still believed in middle grounds.

“You’re out of uniform-yoi” he said with a dry smile.

You didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re trespassing.”

He stepped closer, casual and radiant with heat. “Only because I need to see you.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Too late-yoi”

You lowered your voice. “Do you know what they’d do to me if they found out we talked?”

He studied your face, all humor gone. “Do you know what they’re planning?”

You froze. “What?”

“I can’t give details-yoi. But your name’s come up. Some in high command are calling you a liability.”

Your stomach turned.

You stepped back. “Why would I believe you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Now

He arrived under cover of night, his form descending from the clouds in a blaze of blue and gold flame. The Phoenix landed silently, his body cooling to flesh as he walked toward you.

You waited in the clearing, saber at your side.

“You came to fight?” you asked.

He stopped several feet away. “I came to bring you with me-yoi”

You laughed bitterly. “That’s not going to happen.”

He looked around. “No backup?”

“I told them I’d handle you alone.”

“Still protecting me?” he asked, voice low.

You gritted your teeth. “Still giving me reasons not to.”

The clash began in an instant.

You moved first, blade arcing toward his chest. He caught it with a burning forearm, skin searing, but regenerating in a flash of flame. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re hesitating-yoi” he said.

You shoved forward. “So are you.”

He dodged, fast as ever, sweeping you off your feet with a gust of phoenix fire. You rolled to your feet, haki igniting around your fists.

Your strikes were fast, precise. He met them with heat and patience, parrying without rage.

“You’re not trying to hurt me,” you panted.

“I’m trying to reach you.”

You froze for half a breath too long, and he closed the gap, gripping your wrist tightly—but gently.

“Let go,” you growled.

“I will-yoi. When you stop letting them own you.”

Flashback - A year ago

You sat beside him on a broken stone ledge of a forgotten island, legs dangling over the edge. The sea was dark, but calm.

“Ever think of disappearing?” you asked.

Marco smiled faintly. “All the time.”

You leaned against him. “I could run. Change my name. Burn the coat.”

“You’d miss it,” he said.

“Maybe. But I’d miss you more.”

You didn’t kiss him that night. You just sat there, feeling the weight of decisions neither of you were ready to make.

Now

You launched a furious assault, striking harder than before, tears clouding your vision. He blocked each blow but didn’t retaliate.

“You think I’m being used?” you shouted.

“I know you are.”

“I believe in what I do!”

“I believe in you,” he said.

The words hit harder than your blade ever could.

Eventually, he caught you—arms around your waist as you struggled, both of you breathing hard, sweat and ash clinging to your skin.

You slumped against him, exhausted.

“What do you want from me?” you asked.

“I want you to stop sacrificing yourself for people who see you as a tool.”

You shook your head. “I can’t leave. I can’t be like you.”

He stepped back. “Then don’t be like me. Just...be free.”

Later that night, you sat alone beneath a mangrove tree, staring at the white Marine coat folded neatly on the grass beside you.

Memories came in waves—training drills, missions, accolades. None of them felt like home.

But a quiet moment aboard a stolen dinghy, Marco laughing as you tried sake for the first time—that did.

At dawn, you stood on the same dock where the Phoenix first touched down. The air smelled of salt and smoke.

He stood by the water, waiting.

You approached slowly.

Then, without a word, you dropped the Marine coat between you.

He didn’t smile. He just stepped forward and took your hand.

“I’m not choosing you,” you whispered. “I’m choosing myself.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s who I fell for in the first place.”

Together, you walked toward the rising sun.

Hello, hello, how are you? Can I please ask you for a story? Marco from the Shirohige Pirates finds out by chance that he's going to be a father. 🤣

T/n is Ace's sister, a Marine, and a vice admiral. And Marco's partner, although they see each other occasionally. Marco found out. She had been acting strange the last time they saw each other.

Aunque se ofreció a examinarla, ella se negó porque, según ella, no sería objetivo con su diagnóstico. Días después, T/n se embarcaría en una nueva misión: escoltar a nobles mundiales.

T/n was leaning on her desk, feeling a little dizzy. It's lucky her assistant gives all the orders to the others while she's feeling ill. Not even her haki has been working well these past few weeks. Hello...

T/n dio un salto y casi tiró un vaso de jarabe para el mareo que le había traído el médico del barco. T/n retiró el vaso discretamente, pero Marco lo notó. Siempre estaba tan claro, pero yo no lo había notado.

Y/n, "Hey, what's going on here? I think our next appointment is in two weeks, don't you darling?" Trying to sound normal. Covering herself with her coat. A few folders were falling.

T/n tenía que proteger su secreto. Seguramente, si él lo descubría, la arrastraría. No peor. Probablemente se enojaría con ella por no haberle dicho nada.

Vice Admiral, we're ready. The doctor asks if she's feeling better yet. Seeing the pirate in front of her, Wait, Marco, don't do it. But Marco was faster. The man was already unconscious on the floor. Y/N got up worriedly to check on her subordinate, but Maco grabbed her wrist. She was even thinner than the last time he saw her.

sounds cool tried my best >< tis not much but hope u like it, i apologize in advance if its not that accurate lolol

Blue Flames and Baby Rumors

When you starts showing unusual symptoms, Marco begins connecting the dots—and ends up with the surprise of his life.

Marco the phoenix x reader

tags: fluff, sfw, secret relationship, light drama

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The ship rocked gently under the pull of the current, but your head swam like you were being thrashed in a whirlpool. Vice Admiral or not, no amount of rank could prepare you for the unpredictable wrath of morning sickness.

Leaning on your desk, you pressed two fingers to your temple, squinting at a report you weren’t processing. Your assistant was already barking orders outside your office door—thank the heavens. You hadn't given a single command since sunrise.

Then, like a damn ghost in broad daylight—

"Hello."

You jumped, nearly upending a glass of syrup meant to settle your stomach. It sloshed dangerously before you caught it, hurriedly sliding it behind a folder.

And there he stood. Marco the Phoenix.

Golden hair, calm ocean-blue eyes, and a presence that had always made your heart ache in the worst and best ways. Your partner, occasional lover, and the last person you wanted to see right now.

"...Hey," you started, voice too casual. “What’s going on here? I think our next appointment is in two weeks, don’t you, darling?” You tugged your coat tighter over your chest as a few folders slipped off your desk.

Marco didn’t smile. His gaze flicked toward the now half-hidden glass. “Motion sickness?” he asked, and his tone was far too neutral.

“Long voyage,” you replied quickly. “The escort mission has been dragging through choppy waters.”

The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t buying that.

You forced a light laugh, walking around the desk to pick up the fallen papers. “I’m not made of sea-stone. Even Vice Admirals get woozy sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t even let me examine you last time-yoi” he said, stepping closer. “You said I wasn’t objective.”

“I stand by that.”

He tilted his head. “You didn’t even let me try.”

You swallowed. No way in hell were you going to talk about this. You were already gambling every inch of this mission by just standing here, trying to keep a secret from the one man who literally healed people for a living.

"Vice Admiral!" your assistant called from outside. "The nobles are waiting. The doctor asks if you're feeling better yet."

You could see the moment the dots fully connected in Marco's sharp gaze.

"Wait—Marco, don't—"

Too late. In one swift movement, Marco disappeared in a flash of blue and reappeared outside. You dashed after him just in time to see your medic crumple to the ground with a startled grunt.

"Marco!"

You dropped to check your subordinate’s pulse—he was unconscious, not harmed seriously—but Marco’s hand clamped gently but firmly around your wrist.

“You’re thinner than before-yoi” he muttered. “You’ve been exhausted. Your Haki’s off. And now motion sickness?”

You stared at him. “Marco, I swear, if you say it—”

“You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like cannon smoke.

You looked away, breath caught in your throat. “It’s none of your—”

His grip tightened slightly, only to loosen as you flinched.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” he said. “But you are, aren’t you-yoi?”

Silence.

Finally, you exhaled. “...Yes.”

He stepped back. “Is it mine?”

Your head snapped toward him. “What? Of course it’s yours! You—! We—! I haven’t been with anyone else, you idiot!”

Marco blinked. “I just—sorry. I wasn’t accusing. Just… processing.”

He ran a hand through his blond hair, the tension in his usually relaxed frame tangible now.

You crossed your arms, trying to look like the proud Vice Admiral you were instead of the world’s most irresponsible soon-to-be parent. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d drag me back to the Grand Line and throw me in a nest of phoenix feathers.”

“You were going to hide my kid from me-yoi?”

“I was going to figure things out myself first,” you said, quieter now. “I didn’t want you to worry. We barely see each other as it is.”

“Because we’re on opposite sides of the damn sea.”

“Exactly.”

A long pause. You shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the familiar twist of nausea.

“I get it,” Marco finally said. “But you should’ve told me-yoi”

You frowned, defensive. “You think I don’t know that? It’s not like I’m thrilled about this, Marco. I’m a Vice Admiral. You’re a pirate. Ace—Ace would’ve flipped if he knew.”

Marco smiled faintly. “Ace would’ve been smug as hell. He always said we’d end up together.”

That made your eyes sting, unexpectedly. “...Don’t do that. Don’t talk about him like he’s still here.”

Marco stepped closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this-yoi.”

“You’re not exactly on call, either.”

“Then I’ll make myself available.”

Your brows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “You’re having my kid. I might be a pirate, but I’m not irresponsible. I’ll be there.”

You stared at him, seeing not just the Phoenix, the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates—but Marco. The man who always showed up exactly when you needed him, even if you didn’t say it aloud.

He took your hand and pressed it to his chest. “You don’t have to hide anymore-yoi”

You let out a long sigh, finally allowing yourself to lean into his warmth. “I still have to finish this mission.”

He groaned. “Of course you do.”

You smirked. “I am a Vice Admiral.”

“You’re a pregnant Vice Admiral.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Later that night, you found yourself leaning against the rail of the ship, the cool breeze easing your nausea better than the syrup. Marco leaned beside you, arms crossed, watching the sea.

“So… how far along?” he asked.

“Almost two months.”

“...Was that before or after I gave you that weird seaweed stew in Alabasta?”

You snorted. “Definitely after.”

He grimaced. “I hope the baby doesn’t remember that-yoi”

You laughed, and for the first time in weeks, it felt real. “Thanks for coming, Marco.”

He turned his head slightly. “I’ll be back before the baby’s born. Promise.”

“You better be,” you replied. “Or I’m naming it Garp.”

Marco's face turned pale. “You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He stared, then smirked. “...Fine. But I’m putting ‘Phoenix’ on the birth certificate.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

One Month With You

In the final month of your life, you cherishes fleeting moments with your crew, hiding a terminal illness until only memories—and a letter—remain.

red hair pirates x reader | whitebeard pirates x reader | strawhats x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, terminal illness a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 2.6k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

RED HAIR PIRATES

The sea was calm that morning, the kind of quiet that made even the waves seem to hold their breath. The deck of the Red Force was alive with chatter and light laughter, but you stood by the railing, letting the wind sweep through your hair. Your fingers curled around the wood, your gaze far off—not at the horizon, but somewhere past it.

One month. That’s what Hongo told you when he unknowingly confirmed your own suspicions. You’d been hiding the worsening symptoms for months—fatigue that sank deep into your bones, the relentless pain in your chest, the occasional blood you’d spit out into the sea, unnoticed.

You knew he’d figure it out eventually. He was too good not to.

But you hadn’t expected him to burst into your quarters the night before, shaking with barely restrained panic.

“What the hell is this?!” Hongo had yelled, thrusting a tattered medical report into your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?!”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to be watched like a ghost who hasn’t died yet.”

Silence. Deafening.

“...You have a month, Y/N, maybe less. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re dying, and you're acting like it's nothing?”

“I have a month, Hongo,” you had said quietly. “Please… just let me have it. Don’t tell the others. Let me spend it with them. Please.”

He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, it was with a whisper: “You’re a fucking idiot.” But he pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go until your shoulders stopped shaking.

From that day, you lived more fiercely than ever. You laughed at Shanks’ dumb jokes and drank with him until the world blurred. You challenged Benn to silent stargazing contests, betting on how many shooting stars you’d catch. You dragged Limejuice to island carnivals and flirted shamelessly until his face burned red. You played cards with Hongo, even when your hands trembled too much to hold them.

They all noticed. The Red-Haired Pirates weren’t stupid.

“You’re real clingy lately,” Limejuice teased one night, bumping your shoulder with his. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”

You smiled, heart twisting. “Would you be mad if I said I might be?”

He laughed, oblivious. “Nah. I’d carry you myself if you keeled over.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned into his warmth.

Shanks was the hardest. He noticed too much. Noticed how often you disappeared below deck when the coughing fits hit, how your eyes stayed on the ocean longer than they should have.

“You thinking of leaving us?” he asked once, half-joking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No,” you lied.

Benn just watched. Always watched. He didn’t say much, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you, searching. You gave him your brightest smiles.

The day you left, the crew didn’t know.

You made breakfast with Chef-level effort, joking with the kitchen staff, slipping kisses to Limejuice's cheek and hugging Shanks tighter than ever. You sat with Benn for hours on the deck, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun creep across the sky.

“I think you’re my favorite,” you whispered, teasing.

He snorted. “Don’t let Shanks hear that.”

He didn’t know that was the last time he’d feel your heartbeat against his side.

That night, you slipped away. A letter for each of them tucked under your pillow. A note for Hongo too:

"Thank you—for letting me pretend I wasn’t dying. I love you all too much to say goodbye."

Morning broke in chaos.

“Where the hell is Y/N?!” Limejuice shouted, tearing through the ship.

“They’re not in the galley, or the crow’s nest!” Benn called out, panic rising in his usually calm voice.

Shanks was quiet, unusually still, staring at the empty hammock where your scent still lingered.

The notes were found soon after. One by one, hands shaking as they read your last words.

You didn’t say goodbye, but each letter bled with love.

“To Shanks — Thank you for making me feel like I belonged in the stars.”

“To Benn — You saw through me. Thank you for not saying anything.”

“To Limejuice — Thank you for reminding me how fun life could be.”

“To Hongo — I’m sorry I made you carry this alone. Thank you for letting me be selfish.”

They thought you ran. Were taken. Benn demanded a search party. Shanks was pale, silent, gripping your letter so tight his knuckles bled. Limejuice punched a wall. Hongo said nothing—for two days.

And then, he snapped.

He threw your medical file onto the table during a heated meeting, eyes wild. “They didn’t leave!....They died. And...I let them.”

The room fell to a breathless silence.

“You knew?” Benn whispered.

“They had a month. They begged me to let them spend it with us, like nothing was wrong. And I let them lie.”

Shanks stumbled back, as if struck. “No. No, they were… they were fine.”

“They were dying, Shanks! They couldn’t breathe without pain, they were—” Hongo’s voice cracked. “They spent their last strength loving us.”

No one spoke.

Limejuice fell to his knees. “We didn’t even say goodbye.”

Later that night, Shanks sat by the railing where you always stood.

“I hope you’re watching the stars from up close now, Y/N,” he murmured, tears streaking his face. “Because we’ll never stop looking for you in them.”

WHITEBEARD PIRATES

You’d always imagined dying quietly, maybe on an empty shore, wrapped in salt and wind. But fate had other plans. Your end would come not with isolation—but surrounded by laughter, drink, and the stubborn, unbearable warmth of the Whitebeard Pirates.

The diagnosis came on a cold, cloudy day—so ordinary it felt like a betrayal.

You'd passed out during training. Woke up with Marco’s worried face looming over you. He’d examined you in complete silence. But his shaking hands and tight jaw told you everything.

“It’s not good, is it?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Marco had said, the word cracking as it left him. “It’s... terminal. A rare degeneration of the lungs and heart. I don’t—there’s nothing I can do.”

You didn’t cry. Instead, you laughed. “So, what—you’re saying I won’t outlive my goldfish?”

He didn't laugh. He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You have a month. Maybe.”

You made him promise to keep it secret.

Just him and Whitebeard.

When Oyaji found out, he sat beside your bed and gripped your hand with those massive, shaking fingers. “You are my child,” he rumbled. “And if this is your last voyage… then let it be the greatest of your life.”

You had never cried before. But you cried then.

From that day, you threw yourself into every moment.

Ace was all fire and impulse, but when he was around you, something softer flickered beneath the surface. He took to dragging you along for sparring matches, even when you claimed your muscles ached.

“I need a challenge,” he’d smirk, sweat glistening down his neck.

“You just want to show off,” you’d tease, raising your fists anyway.

He was always careful not to hit you too hard. Not that you said anything—but he seemed to know. When you tripped one day, coughing blood into your sleeve when he wasn’t looking, he’d jogged over, helping you up without a word. His hand lingered on your arm just a second too long.

That night, you sat beside him, both of you perched on the edge of the ship with your legs dangling into the air.

“You’re weird lately,” he mumbled, eyes on the moon.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

He blinked at you. “To be with us?”

“To be with you,” you said, gently. And he froze, eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” he whispered.

You smiled, because you already had.

Izo became your confidant without even knowing it. With every eyeliner flick and matching kimono, you gave yourself permission to feel alive. They would hum as they painted your face, hands warm against your cheeks.

“You’re glowing,” they said once, adjusting the red ribbon they tied in your hair.

“Death becomes me, huh?” you joked, and they slapped your arm, scandalized.

“You joke about dying too much.”

You didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked. “It’s easier than pretending I’m not scared.”

Their fingers paused, lips parting. “…Are you scared?”

You looked at them in the mirror, the shimmer of gold powder across your eyelids catching the light. “Yeah,” you said. “But not when I’m with you.”

They smiled then, a bit sad, and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Then let’s live like hell until we drop, dear.”

Thatch was joy personified. It was impossible to be sad around him for long, and that’s what made it hurt worse.

He caught you sneaking dessert at 2 a.m. once and acted like you’d committed a crime.

“Oh-ho! So this is where my pudding went!”

“Your pudding? I thought it had my name on it.”

“I’ll accept bribes in the form of kisses or cleaning dishes.”

You kissed his cheek, and he nearly dropped the bowl.

Every stolen moment in the kitchen became a memory—dancing while covered in flour, whipped cream fights, drunken baking experiments that ended in fire. You’d laughed so hard your sides hurt, even as your lungs begged you to stop.

“You’re making memories,” he said one night, tousling your hair. “That’s what this is. You’ve been clingy lately. Like you’re trying to make every second count.”

You froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Would you hate me if I was?”

He blinked. “Nah. I’d probably try to hold on tighter.”

You didn’t tell him then. Just leaned into his side and let him talk about his dream of opening a cake café after he retires.

You knew you’d never see it.

Marco was the one who saw the cracks, and it destroyed him. You kept him close because you trusted him most—and that made it hurt more.

You caught him once crying at your door. He didn’t think you were awake.

You opened it, silently wrapped your arms around him, and whispered, “I’m still here.”

“You shouldn’t be this calm,” he rasped into your shoulder.

“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend what time I have being loved than dying slowly in a bed.”

He pulled back, staring at you with reddened eyes. “You could have told them.”

“They’d look at me like I was already dead.”

He said nothing, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “Promise me… promise you’ll wait. Let me leave on my own terms.”

“…Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll hate you for it.”

You kissed his forehead. “I hope you do.”

You left them on a quiet morning.

Then you slipped away, leaving only a bundle of letters on Marco’s desk.

Your final message was simple:

“Don’t let them hate me for this. Please. Just let them think I ran.”

The ship erupted into panic by nightfall.

Ace punched through a wall. “They’re gone?! What do you mean GONE?”

Izo ran through the corridors, calling your name until their voice broke.

Thatch turned the kitchen inside out like he expected you to be hiding in the cupboards, laughing.

Marco couldn’t speak.

He stood at the rail, gripping the wood so hard it splintered beneath his fingers.

Whitebeard stood behind him, silent, his massive shadow cast across the deck like a shroud.

“Do I tell them?” Marco rasped.

“No,” Whitebeard rumbled. “Not yet. Let them rage. Let them mourn in their own way.”

“But—”

“They wouldn’t understand it now,” he said. “Wait.”

A week passed. Then two.

No sign of you.

Your room remained untouched. Your absence echoed louder than any cannon fire.

They scoured islands. Questioned strangers. Considered kidnappers, Marines, even betrayal.

Ace refused to accept it. “They wouldn’t leave us! Not without a word. Not without—something.”

He went to Marco, desperate. “You know something. Tell me.”

Marco finally broke.

He gave Ace your letter.

Ace read it once. Then again and again. Then crumpled to the ground, screaming into his fists.

“They died?! All this time—they were dying?!”

Marco stood frozen, guilt crawling like acid beneath his skin.

“They didn’t want you to mourn them before they were gone,” he whispered. “They wanted to be loved, not pitied.”

Ace couldn’t answer. He just sobbed, curled around your crumpled letter like it could still warm him.

That night, Whitebeard gathered his sons and daughters.

He read your letters aloud. One by one. Each one aching with truth, memory, and love.

“To Ace — You made me feel alive, even when I was already halfway gone.” “To Izo — Thank you for making me beautiful when I felt invisible.” “To Thatch — You made every day sweeter, even the ones I didn’t think I’d survive.” “To Marco — Thank you for holding my secret when it crushed you. I love you most for that.” “To Oyaji — You gave me a family when I had nothing left. Thank you… for letting me die a Whitebeard Pirate.”

By the end, the deck was silent.

No sobs. Just breathless grief.

They didn’t throw a funeral.

They held a feast.

Not because they weren’t mourning—but because they knew you’d hate to see them broken.

They told stories. Passed your favorite drink around. Laughed, cried, and danced with ghosts.

And when the fire died down, Ace stared at the embers and whispered, “I hope you found peace, flame-heart.”

STRAWHAT PIRATES

You didn’t plan on dying at sea, but the Grand Line has a way of making plans for you. The first signs were subtle: a lingering fatigue you chalked up to busy days, aches you blamed on training, the dull pain in your side that you laughed off when Chopper asked if you were okay.

You knew before he did. Deep down, your body had been whispering the truth long before the words made it onto paper.

It wasn’t until you collapsed in the hallway between the kitchen and the infirmary that Chopper realized something was seriously wrong. When you woke up, it was to the sterile smell of the medical bay and his wide, terrified eyes.

“I ran every test,” he said, voice trembling. “And then I ran them again. It’s… it’s bad. Really bad.”

You nodded. Your throat was too dry to answer.

“I—I can’t fix it. Not with what we have on board. Maybe if we got to a major medical port, but even then, I don’t know if—”

You reached out, resting a hand on his tiny shoulder. “How long?”

He hesitated, ears flattening. “A month. Maybe.”

You didn’t cry. Not then. Not even when he begged to tell the others.

“No. Please. Let me have this. Just a month, Chopper.”

“They’ll never forgive me.”

“They will,” you said. “If they knew now, it’d ruin everything. I don’t want pity. I want memories.”

So you began to live. Fully, recklessly, as if the pain eating away at you was just a shadow at your back.

You started with Sanji. He was the easiest to be around, the one whose affection was loud and constant. Every meal became a moment: you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even when he protested. You chopped vegetables until your hands hurt, stirred sauces while leaning against him, snuck little bites when he wasn’t looking.

“You’re here a lot lately,” he said one afternoon, handing you a bowl of soup.

“I like watching you work,” you replied.

He grinned. “You trying to steal my heart, love?”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”

He went quiet for a beat. Then, more softly, “You look at me like you’re memorizing my face.”

You didn’t answer. Just smiled.

Zoro came next. You sparred with him almost every day now, ignoring the way your lungs burned, the way your legs shook. He didn’t say anything the first time you collapsed mid-match, just silently carried you to the infirmary.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.

“I need to,” you whispered.

“Why?”

You looked at him, really looked. “Because I don’t want to forget what it feels like to fight beside you.”

He frowned. “You’re acting like you’re running out of time.”

You forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”

That night, he found you on the deck, staring at the stars.

He sat beside you, arms crossed. “You’re not saying something. I don’t like it.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I’d carry you, if you asked.”

Your heart ached. “I know.”

Luffy was harder.

He didn’t notice at first. You were careful around him—too careful. You laughed with him during meals, ran across islands with him, challenged him to stupid games on the deck. But he began to notice the way you lingered during hugs. The way you stared at him too long. The way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.

One evening, you lay beside him on the figurehead, watching the horizon.

He turned his head toward you. “Are you gonna leave?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re saying goodbye.”

You looked away. “I’m not. Not yet.”

He was quiet for a while. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and didn’t let go until you both fell asleep.

ou made time for everyone else too.

With Nami, you spent lazy afternoons in the library, pretending to study charts. She taught you how to draw maps. You traced the oceans of the world with your fingers and imagined places you’d never see.

“You’re getting good at this,” she said.

“I want to leave something behind,” you murmured.

She didn’t understand then. But she would.

Usopp was a light in the dark. You asked for bedtime stories, exaggerated tales of heroism and romance. He performed them with full sound effects, arms flailing, voice booming.

“You always laugh now,” he noted one night.

“It’s easy, when I’m with you.”

He blushed, scratching the back of his head. “You’re acting like I’m the best part of your day.”

You smiled. “You are.”

Robin gave you quiet comfort. She didn’t ask questions. She simply read to you, let you rest your head in her lap, brushed your hair back from your face.

“You’re calm,” you told her.

“You’re storming,” she replied.

You didn’t deny it.

Franky built you a swing on the back of the Sunny, facing the sea. You spent hours there, feet brushing over the waves, eyes on the endless blue.

“Super chill, right?” he said, adjusting the ropes.

You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He caught your hand before he left. “You’re not okay.”

You looked up at him. “No.”

“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You don’t have to be.”

Brook played lullabies for you. Sweet, simple things. You danced with him once, slow and clumsy.

“If I still had a heart,” he said softly, “I think it would ache.”

You rested your head against his chest. “Mine already does.”

Chopper was breaking. Every day, he looked at you like you were already fading. You caught him crying in the storage room once, holding one of your jackets.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, hugging him.

“I hate lying.”

“I know.”

You waited until they docked at a small island for supplies.

You left at dawn.

Left behind the stargazer chair. The flowered book. The slingshot. The meals. The love.

Left behind a stack of letters in Chopper’s room.

When the crew realized you were gone, Luffy panicked first.

“They wouldn’t leave! They’d never leave!”

Zoro was already on the dock, scanning the shoreline. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

They searched the island. They waited at the ship. They called for you until their voices cracked.

You didn’t come back.

That night, Chopper gathered them in the infirmary.

“I didn’t want to break the promise,” he said, voice trembling. “But… they’re gone. They were dying.”

No one moved.

“…What?”

“They only had a month. They asked me to let them live… without pity.”

Nami burst into tears. "They should’ve told us,”

Zoro punched the wall.

Luffy stood in stunned silence, until he screamed your name into the ocean wind.

They read your letters together. All huddled in the infirmary, hearts shattered.

“To Sanji — You made me feel wanted, even when I felt like a ghost.” “To Zoro — You were my anchor. I always knew where I stood when I was beside you.” “To Luffy — Thank you for being the sun. I needed the light more than you’ll ever know.” “To the Crew — You made me part of a family. You made me more than a dying story.”

They held a quiet vigil on the deck.

Brook played your song one last time. Robin scattered petals into the sea. Chopper lit a lantern and let it drift across the water.

They stayed on that island for days.

Then, they sailed forward—quieter, heavier—but with your memory in their hearts.

You were their nakama.

You were their heart.

You always would be.

Y/n is part of the navy, a daughter of Roger's navy, Shirojige wouldn't allow it. He ordered one of his sons to capture her and bring her to him. The one chosen for this mission was his closest son, Marco. He had previously sent other ships. My sons, they all returned badly injured. Oh, he simply evaded them. That young lady had a bad temper. Shirojige laughed while drinking. Y/n was in her office on the ship. Her men had debarked for supplies. She stayed on the ship finishing some paperwork. Her next mission was to go to Mary Georgina. She was supposed to escort some world nobles. She got up and took two jugs, filling them with sake. I thought this time she would send Ace, but she sent her brightest jewel. Hello, I look at him, smiling. Drink and go, please. Tomorrow we'll set sail and I'll be very busy, darling.

turning his folder so he wouldn't see the information for his next mission

got a bit confused with some parts, i apologize if its not accurate, but i hope i delivered ur request well! 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)

Chasing Embers

A Navy captain and Roger’s daughter, Y/N, faces off against Marco, Whitebeard’s fiercest son — but not every battle is meant to be fought with swords.

Marco the phoenix x fem! reader tags: fluff, slight angst, sfw, forbidden relationship a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the docked ship as the men scurried about, leaving their captain behind to handle "boring work," as they called it. Y/N stayed behind in her quarters, papers spread across her desk — reports, maps, and tomorrow’s orders, neatly organized. Her next mission was… delicate, and one she wasn't looking forward to: escorting some stuck-up World Nobles to Marijoa.

She let out a sigh and pushed the folder a little further from reach. No need for prying eyes.

Outside, the sea was too still. Too quiet.

It didn’t surprise her when a presence flickered at the edge of her Haki — steady, powerful, familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.

Another one of Whitebeard’s sons.

Again.

With an almost lazy motion, she grabbed two jugs, filled them with sake, and stood up, just as a shadow slipped inside through the open window like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Yo," the man greeted smoothly, tilting his head with a slight, teasing smirk.

Marco.

Not one of the reckless ones this time. No — the one. Whitebeard's right-hand man. The one smart enough not to pick a fight first.

Y/N smiled sweetly, offering a jug out toward him. "I thought this time he'd send Ace," she mused, voice light, almost amused, "but no. He sent his brightest jewel instead."

Far across the sea, aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard let out a hearty laugh, a massive sake cup in hand, surrounded by his sons. "That young lady has a bad temper," he boomed, slamming the cup down with a grin that stretched wide across his weathered face. "You boys were too soft with her."

Marco chuckled low and warm as if hearing his father’s voice echo in his memory. Stepping closer, he accepted the jug from her with a brush of his fingers against hers. "Ace volunteered," he said simply. "Oyaji said no."

"Smart man," she said, tapping her jug against his before tipping it back for a long sip. "Drink and go, darling. Tomorrow we'll set sail, and I'll be very busy."

She moved casually, spinning her folder closed with a flick, keeping the classified orders out of his sharp blue gaze.

Marco’s eyes flickered briefly to the desk but didn't push it. Instead, he leaned his hip against the table, the wood creaking softly under his weight. His stare was steady, but there was no hostility there — only a quiet patience that made her skin prickle.

"You always this welcoming to people sent to kidnap you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Only to the pretty ones," she said, grinning.

Marco huffed a small laugh through his nose, amused but unconvinced. "Flattery won't save you-yoi."

"Wasn’t trying to save myself," she replied smoothly, leaning back against her chair. "Just trying to enjoy my last few hours of peace before everything goes to hell."

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy — like the weight of everything they both carried. Two people born into impossible legacies.

He swirled the sake in his jug lazily, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You're Roger's daughter."

"You sound surprised."

He shrugged a broad shoulder. "Not surprised. Just… funny-yoi. You ended up in the Navy, of all places."

Y/N smirked, taking another sip. "Thought it would piss more people off that way."

Marco chuckled again, the sound low and warm. "Definitely pissed off Oyaji," he admitted. "But he's more worried about you getting yourself killed-yoi"

"I can take care of myself."

"I know." His voice was serious now, no teasing in it. "That's the problem."

Their eyes locked, something sparking between them — raw, unspoken.

Y/N set her jug down carefully. "So," she said, her tone light but her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk, "what's the plan, Marco? Tie me up? Drag me kicking and screaming? Gonna knock me out?"

Marco finished his drink in one smooth pull and set the jug aside, pushing off the table to stand tall in front of her. He was close enough now that she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his gaze.

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes.

He smiled — slow, confident, infuriatingly calm. "I'm gonna ask you nicely-yoi."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

"Come with me. We'll tell Oyaji you put up a good fight. Save you from the idiots who'll try again after me."

Her jaw clenched. Part of her wanted to laugh. Part of her wanted to throw the jug at his head.

"You think I can just walk away from everything? From my duty?"

"You think they'd hesitate if it was you in their way?" he asked softly.

It stung because it was true.

Marco took a step closer, close enough now that she could feel the heat rolling off him. His hand brushed her wrist, not grabbing, just… there. An invitation.

"You're not the enemy-yoi," he murmured. "You never were."

For a long moment, Y/N just stared at him, the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. Her crew, her mission, her life — or the freedom that whispered at her through Marco’s touch.

"I can't," she whispered finally, voice tight.

Marco didn’t look disappointed. He just nodded, like he already knew.

"Then," he said, giving her a wry little smile, "I guess I'll have to carry you after all."

Before she could react, the window behind him shattered — a warning shot from one of her lieutenants returning with supplies. The crew was back. Reinforcements.

Y/N cursed under her breath, grabbing the hilt of her sword from behind the desk, while Marco just sighed like this was all mildly inconvenient.

"Guess that's my cue-yoi" he said, flashing her a grin.

"You’re not getting off that easy!" she snapped, lunging at him.

He dodged easily, the blue flames of his devil fruit flaring briefly around his arms as he vaulted back out the window, vanishing into the night.

But not before calling out over his shoulder:

"I'll be back for you,-yoi!"

Y/N stood there breathing hard, sword still in hand, heart hammering against her ribs.

Damn him.

Damn him and that stupid smile.

Stuck on You

Some prankster superglues Marco’s hand to yours. You both pretend to hate it… but secretly enjoy staying glued together.

Marco x gn! reader | ONE SHOT

Tags: fluff, flirting, chaos, sfw

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

word count: 3.3k

MINORS DNI!!

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It all started with a prank.

A very bad prank.

One minute you were standing on deck, minding your own business, chatting with Marco about nothing in particular — and the next minute, someone (you had your suspicions) superglued your hand to his.

Literally.

Palm-to-palm.

Fingers intertwined.

"You have got to be kidding me-yoi," Marco muttered, staring down at your very stuck hands with the emotional range of a man who had survived actual wars but could not survive this level of annoyance.

You tugged.

Marco tugged.

Your hands stayed locked together like some sort of romantic death grip.

"…Well," you said, very eloquently.

"Well," Marco echoed, voice utterly dry.

From somewhere behind a barrel, muffled snickering erupted. You both turned in time to see a few crewmates (Ace, you would bet your next paycheck) sprinting away at full speed, laughing their asses off.

Marco sighed heavily. "Should've seen that coming, yoi."

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. "You think they superglued us together… on purpose?"

Marco gave you a long look, deadpan as hell. "…No-yoi. It was a coincidence that someone left industrial-strength glue exactly where we were standing."

You snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. "Fair enough, Mr. Smartass."

He smirked, tugging lightly at your conjoined hands again. No dice. You were fused like some godawful romantic statue.

"Guess we’re stuck-yoi."

You both stared at your hands, at each other, at your hands again.

Slowly, you realized the entire deck was staring.

Crewmates leaned against rails, poked their heads out of doors, peered from crow’s nests. Watching. Waiting.

You could almost hear the bets forming.

You hissed under your breath, "Don't make a scene. Act natural."

Marco smiled, the slow lazy kind that made your heart do stupid cartwheels.

"You think we’re good at ‘natural' -yoi?"

You elbowed him (gently, because, you know, superglue). "Walk. Casual. Now."

He obligingly started walking, swinging your joined hands obnoxiously like you were newlyweds on a stroll. You tripped trying to keep up with his stupid long strides, and Marco had the audacity to chuckle under his breath.

"Oh, you're enjoying this," you accused, half-laughing, half-glaring.

Marco tilted his head innocently. "Why wouldn’t I enjoy being glued to such charming company-yoi?"

You blinked.

Heat flared up your neck.

Was that… flirting?! From Marco?!

You decided to play it cool. "Obviously, I'm the lucky one. Being stuck with the infamous cool guy of the crew."

He arched an eyebrow. "Cool guy?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. All mysterious and strong and… broody. You know. Classic heartthrob material."

Marco actually laughed, full-throated and amused.

"You've been spending too much time with Ace, yoi," he said, but his thumb was rubbing slow circles into your knuckles — absent-minded, soft — and he made no move to pull away.

You pretended not to notice.

The ship doctor declared the situation "temporarily incurable" unless you wanted to rip off some skin.

You did not want that.

So you and Marco were officially handcuffed together for the next few hours, possibly longer.

The announcement spread through the ship like wildfire. Everywhere you went, people tried to hide their snickering — and failed spectacularly.

At lunch, you had to sit next to Marco. (Technically, on Marco, because the bench was too narrow and you kept bumping into him.)

Passing plates was a disaster.

You dropped a spoon into Marco’s lap at one point, and he just gave you a look so dry it could set fires.

You grinned sweetly. "Oops."

"You’re doing this on purpose."

"Maybe," you sang, swinging your legs.

Marco grunted — but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

After lunch, things got worse.

You tried to help Marco with paperwork.

Emphasis on tried.

"Hold still, yoi," he muttered, trying to shuffle through documents with one hand while your hand clumsily trailed after his.

"This is your fault," you whispered dramatically.

"You touched me first."

"You glued yourself to me!"

"You leaned into the glue puddle-yoi."

"You—!" you sputtered.

The tension snapped — you both cracked up, laughing so hard the pen rolled off the desk.

Sometime around sunset, you found yourself sitting on the figurehead of the ship, watching the ocean shimmer gold. Marco sat next to you, your hands still hopelessly, ridiculously intertwined.

The atmosphere shifted — soft, quieter.

A breeze tugged at your hair.

Marco turned his head lazily, regarding you out of the corner of his eye.

"You know," he said casually, "if you wanted to hold my hand… you could’ve just asked-yoi"

You almost fell off the ship.

"I did not plan this!" you yelped, cheeks burning hotter than a volcano.

Marco chuckled — that low, warm sound you could feel in your ribs.

"I know," he said, a little softer. "But still."

You glanced down at your hands — how perfectly they fit together, the way his thumb lazily traced circles over your skin without even thinking.

"…It’s not so bad," you admitted, voice small.

Marco smiled.

Not the lazy, cocky smirk he gave everyone else — a real, soft smile that made your heart flutter traitorously.

"Nah-yoi," he agreed, squeezing your hand. "Not bad at all."

When the glue finally wore off (courtesy of some miracle solvent the ship doctor whipped up late at night), you both sat there for a second.

Free.

Hands separated.

No excuse anymore.

Marco looked at you.

You looked at Marco.

Long pause.

"…We’re allowed to hold hands without glue, you know," you blurted, immediately wanting to jump overboard from sheer embarrassment.

Marco laughed — really laughed — and before you could hide your face, he caught your hand again, lacing your fingers together easy as breathing.

"No more excuses-yoi," he said, lips brushing your temple in a featherlight kiss.

You clung tighter.

Maybe being stuck together wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Hello, hello, hello, beautiful, gorgeous, divine

I love your story Marco nooo I love all your stories you are fantastic

I love you, please beg for something. Can you create a Marco the Phoenix story for y/n? Where y/n saves Thatch's life by stopping Teach's attack? Thatch was injured, but not seriously, losing the yami yami nomi. However, y/n was seriously injured protecting her nakama. Marco and Ace, his brother, are very worried. More so Marco 😏 Since the young woman wasn't waking up, When she regained consciousness, she played a joke on Marco for being so worried, Pretending not to recognize them 🤣 Later, Y/n spoke to Whitebeard, discussing the traitor and how dangerous he would become in the future. When she returned to Marco, she lay down next to him, thanking him for taking care of her all that time, and that even though she couldn't answer him, she always heard him calling her. Please, I implore you.

lmaoao this is funny i like it! dahaha u can support me through ko-fi, but please know that tips are never expected but always deeply appreciated! also I hope this is to ur liking!

Teach Tried It, I Survived It

After stopping Teach’s betrayal and nearly dying, you wake up in Marco’s arms—and decide that pranking him with fake amnesia is exactly what he deserves before finally falling into the comfort of home and love.

Marco the phoenix x reader tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence, happy ending, betrayal, a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun blazed high over the open sea, casting golden light across the deck of the Moby Dick. The battle was well underway — a scrappy band of pirates had made the monumental mistake of challenging the Whitebeard Pirates. Bad for them. Good for everyone else who needed a bit of exercise.

You ducked under a wild swing from some random enemy pirate, spun on your heel, and delivered a solid punch to his gut. He crumpled with a satisfying oof.

"Oi! Y/N!" Thatch shouted from a few feet away, grinning like a maniac, a strange fruit in his hand. "Check this out!"

You sliced another pirate across the side with your blade (nothing fatal, you were feeling merciful today) and jogged over.

"What did you find this time?" you asked, breathing hard, a spark of excitement lighting your eyes.

Ace clambered over a fallen mast to join you. "Yo, Thatch, whatcha got?"

Thatch held the thing out like it was a newborn kitten. The fruit was round and black with swirling violet patterns, almost like the night sky had been trapped inside it.

"I found something interesting," he said proudly.

Ace squinted. "Ohhh... is that a Devil Fruit?"

You leaned closer. "Looks like one. Wonder what it does."

Behind you, a presence stiffened. You glanced over your shoulder.

Teach — good ol' big, laughing Teach — was standing there, his usual grin stretched way too tight. His forehead was shiny with sweat despite the easy fight. When he noticed you looking, he barked out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Heh! Devil Fruit, huh? Zehahaha! Who knows? Maybe it's a lame one, like making your farts turn into explosions!"

Ace snorted. "Wouldn't put it past the sea."

You shook your head, laughing, not noticing the way Teach’s hands clenched at his sides.

That night, the Moby Dick was peaceful. The waves lapped lazily against the hull. Most of the crew was sprawled across the deck or below, snoring, laughing, or drinking.

You had just curled up in your hammock when a strange noise cut through the stillness.

Scuffle.

You bolted upright, instincts screaming. Without a second thought, you grabbed your weapon and padded silently toward the sound.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

There, in the dim lantern light, was Teach — stabbing Thatch through the side.

"Teach?!" you gasped.

Thatch grunted, struggling, but Teach was too strong. His eyes were wild, desperate, like a man possessed.

Without hesitation, you leapt into action.

"THAT'S ENOUGH! TEACH! HOW DARE YOU!?" you roared, slamming into Teach with everything you had.

The two of you crashed into the deck. Your blade flashed; Teach snarled and swung a fist, and you met it with a grimace, blocking the worst of the blow. It was chaos — wood splintered under your feet as you battled, the sounds waking a few of the closer crewmates.

But Teach was slippery. He was fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose, and with one last shove, he pushed you back, making you stumble.

Your foot caught the edge of a broken beam, and before you could react, Teach's fist landed squarely on the side of your head. The world spun instantly, your vision going blurry as the impact sent you crashing to the ground.

“Y/N!” Thatch cried weakly from where he was still slumped, blood dripping from his side.

You blinked hard, trying to regain your senses. A searing pain throbbed in your head, and the edges of your vision blurred even further. You could barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears as your body felt like it was on fire.

Just as you tried to push yourself up, Teach took his chance, grabbing the mysterious fruit from Thatch’s weakening grip. His sinister laugh filled the night air as he turned and bolted into the shadows, vanishing before anyone could stop him.

You couldn’t chase him.

Your body was failing you.

With a grunt, you collapsed to the floor, dizziness consuming you. Your world tilted, everything spinning as blood pooled beneath you. The last thing you heard was the frantic sound of footsteps.

.

.

When you cracked your eyes open, it was to the blinding white of the infirmary ceiling. Everything hurts, your head hurts.

The room was filled with silence, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. Marco sat slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed in exhausted vigilance. He hadn’t left your side in days — barely eating, barely sleeping. Even Ace, who was normally a ball of chaotic energy, was quieter than a graveyard at midnight, sitting against the wall and anxiously tossing a small ball between his hands.

Then, finally, the miracle happened.

You groaned.

Marco was upright so fast he nearly knocked over the chair. "Y/N?!"

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light. Slowly, you turned your head, taking in the sight of Marco — disheveled, wide-eyed, hopeful — and Ace, who had shot to his feet, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

You blinked a few times. A mischievous thought bubbled up. You couldn't resist. Then you tilted your head in confusion.

"...Who are you?" you rasped, your voice hoarse from disuse.

The world froze.

Marco actually stumbled back a step, his mouth parting in horror. "W-What?"

Ace dropped the ball he'd been tossing — it hit the floor with a pathetic little bounce. "No way," he muttered, eyes wide as saucers.

You frowned, genuine confusion painted across your features. "Where am I? What happened? Are you... my doctors?"

Marco choked on air. "Doctors?! w-well, I am! but..." His voice cracked, his wings briefly puffing out in shock. "Y/N—it's me! It's Marco-yoi!"

You gave him a pitying, bewildered look, like he was some delusional lunatic. "I'm sorry, I... I don't know any 'Marco.'"

Ace ran a hand down his face, whispering to himself, "Oh my god, oh my god, Pops is gonna kill us."

Marco dropped to his knees by the bed, panic etched into every sharp line of his face. "Y/N, please, listen! It's me! You—you always called me 'birdbrain'! Remember? And Ace—he's the loud one! You always yell at him!-yoi"

You gave a tiny, skeptical squint at Ace. "He does look like he yells a lot," you mumbled thoughtfully.

Ace put a hand over his heart, wounded. "Hey!"

"Y/N..." Marco reached for your hand, his own trembling. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pulled your hand away, shrinking back against the pillows dramatically. "S-sir!, I don't even know you! Why are you touching me?!"

Ace looked between you and Marco, starting to sweat buckets. "She really doesn't remember us?! Oh my god—I'm not ready to raise someone! I can barely keep my plants alive!"

Marco paled. "Ace, this isn't about raising—"

"We'll have to teach her everything again!" Ace wailed. "How to walk! How to talk! Oh no—do you even remember how to eat?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. "I don't know... can you show me?"

Ace immediately picked up a banana from a nearby fruit basket and started dramatically demonstrating how to eat it, like some crazed tutorial video.

"First you PEEL it," he said loudly, yanking the peel down and waving it in your face. "Then you put the FOOD PART in your MOUTH—"

"Enough!" Marco barked, his voice cracking with desperation.

He turned back to you, gripping the edge of the mattress. His eyes were so blue and so full of heartbreak that you nearly cracked right there.

"Y/N..." he whispered, voice raw. "Even if you don't remember me... I'll stay with you. I'll protect you until you remember. I swear it."

Your throat tightened.

You stared at him for a long, tense moment.

Then you cracked a wicked smile.

"...Dumbass," you wheezed, voice croaky but full of teasing mischief. "Of course I remember you, pineapple head!"

The silence was so thick you could hear a pin drop.

Ace's banana hit the floor.

Marco stared at you, eyes wide, processing... and then, "WHAT?!"

You burst into a fit of raspy laughter, clutching your sides painfully. "Oh my god, the LOOK on your face—!" you cackled, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

"You little—!" Marco sputtered, half lunging at you and half hugging you at the same time.

"You should've seen yourselves!" you wheezed. "Ace was about to teach me how to chew!"

Ace pointed an accusing finger at you. "You gave me a heart attack, Y/N! I was ready to start teaching you object permanence!"

Marco collapsed onto the side of the bed, groaning into your blanket. "I can't believe you did that-yoi. I was ready to—!" His voice broke again.

You smiled softer now, reaching out and brushing his messy blond hair back from his face. "I'm sorry, Marco... couldn't resist. You were just too easy."

He lifted his head, cheeks flushed slightly, a trembling smile forming. "You're the worst," he said hoarsely, voice thick with relief.

"And you love me for it," you teased.

"...Yeah," he whispered back, no hesitation at all.

You blinked.

Your heart fluttered.

Ace, oblivious as usual, was still dramatically re-enacting how he was going to "re-educate" you with flashcards and alphabet songs in the background. You and Marco stared at each other, soft and quiet amidst the chaos, and for a moment, the world was right again.

You were safe. You were alive. You were home.

.

.

Later, once the fuss had died down (and Ace had finally been dragged off to sleep), you found yourself summoned to Whitebeard’s quarters.

The old man sat on his throne-like chair, the steady pulse of his IV a soft, constant background noise.

"You fought well, little one," Whitebeard said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. His gaze was heavy, serious. "But you were lucky."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully.

"Teach..." you began.

Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed.

"He was after that fruit," you said grimly. "It wasn’t random. He knew what it was. And if he went so far as to attack Thatch, his own crewmate..." You shook your head. "He's dangerous. More dangerous than we realized."

Whitebeard grunted, the sound low and displeased.

"A traitor among my sons," he murmured, anger flashing in his gaze. "We will hunt him down."

You hesitated. "He has the Yami Yami no Mi now. I don't know much about it, but I saw enough. That fruit... it's not normal. His power—"

"—Will be immense," Whitebeard finished.

You nodded grimly.

There was a long silence.

"You did well protecting your brother," Whitebeard said at last, his expression softening. "Rest now. Heal. We have a long road ahead."

You bowed again and left, heart heavy but determined.

When you returned to the infirmary, Marco was there, perched like a golden phoenix on the edge of the bed.

He looked up, immediately easing when he saw you.

"Hey, yoi," he said softly.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you limped over and, without asking, slid onto the bed beside him.

Marco froze, startled — and then melted, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders so you didn’t jostle your injuries.

For a while, you just lay there, breathing together.

Finally, you spoke, voice quiet against his chest.

"Thank you."

He tilted his head down, puzzled. "For what-yoi?"

"For staying," you murmured. "For talking to me even when I couldn’t answer. For calling me back."

Marco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"You heard me?" he whispered.

"Every word," you said, smiling faintly. "Even when I was somewhere dark... you were there."

Marco closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You scared me so bad," he whispered, voice raw. "I thought I'd lost you-yoi"

"You didn’t," you promised.

He kissed your forehead, the gentlest brush of lips, barely a touch.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said.

Marco smiled — a real one, full of love and hope and lingering fear.

"Good," he said, pulling you closer. "Because I’m not letting you out of my sight-yoi."

You chuckled softly, your heart full despite the pain.

"Guess you're stuck with me," you teased.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Marco said against your hair.

And for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt truly safe.

Hello, great and wonderful writer. Could you please write something romantic? Y/n is in the Navy. A high-ranking officer handling confidential information. A few years ago, she was recruited, or rather, kidnapped, by Shirohige's pirates. The reason was the younger sister of one of his crew members. Ace Fire Fist, his older brother. I looked at her from across the stone bars of the sea. Ace's head, part of his face, and ribs were bandaged. "You should at least listen to me. Was such violence against your brother necessary?" Go away, you whispered. Shirohige isn't my father. I hate you for bringing me here. Ace and Maco. Tell that scoundrel Phoenix he's a coward. Traitor. Y/n. I'm the daughter of the pirate king and part of the navy. I'll be promoted to Mary Geoise. Do you think they won't come for me because they have me in the Whitebeard? Let me go, Ace. Slightly blushing, ignoring Marco, who was arriving with Ace. Attacking me, attacking my subordinates by betrayal is unforgivable. This time, she glared furiously at Marco.

Please

hii! this is cool! tho i still have a bit of confusion, and i hope i delivered ur rqst well, I hope u like this~

Fractured Allegiance

Captured by the Whitebeard Pirates, Vice Admiral Y/N — daughter of the Pirate King — struggles between her loyalty to the Marines and the unexpected pull of those she once called traitors… especially the ever-patient Marco.

Marco the phoenix x reader

tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 997

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The stone bars between you and your brother were thick, carved from Seastone, humming with a subtle oppressive energy. You could feel it biting into your skin even from this distance, dulling your strength, your spirit, everything that made you you.

Ace was slumped on the other side, ribs and face wrapped in clean white bandages, his fire extinguished for now. You stared at him across the gloom of the ship's brig, arms crossed, uniform jacket rumpled but still bearing the Vice Admiral insignia with stubborn pride.

"You should at least listen to me," Ace muttered, voice cracking. "Was such violence against your brother necessary?"

You laughed — a hollow, bitter sound. "Go away," you said, coldly. Your voice didn't tremble. It hadn't in years.

You shifted your glare past him, past the flickering torchlight, to the familiar figure approaching from the stairs — golden hair, blue eyes sharp but cautious. Marco. Phoenix. The so-called First Division Commander.

You hated the way your chest clenched at the sight of him. You hated them all.

"Tell that scoundrel," you hissed, your eyes locking onto Ace again, "tell that phoenix he's a coward. A traitor. Just like you."

Ace winced, but he didn't rise to defend himself. Not today. Marco's steps slowed, his expression unreadable.

"Y/N," Marco said, voice low, too soft for your taste. "You can hate us all you want. But you're not going back-yoi"

You bristled. "Shirohige isn't my father! My blood runs from the Pirate King," you snapped. "And I'm a Vice Admiral. Marine. I earned my place. I will be promoted to Mary Geoise—" Your voice cracked, but you pushed forward, unwavering. "Do you really think the Navy won't come for me?"

Silence.

Marco's face twitched — just for a second — something like regret flashing behind his calm mask. Ace looked away entirely, staring at the floor, guilt heavy on his shoulders.

They didn’t answer. They didn't have to.

Your heart sank, cold and sharp like a knife between your ribs. They wouldn't come for you. Not when you were Roger’s daughter. Not when you were tainted.

Your fists clenched at your sides. "Let me go," you whispered, the words slicing the air like a blade. "Let me go, Ace. Marco. I'll pretend none of this happened. I'll—"

"You’ll do what?" Marco’s voice, quiet but cutting. You flinched.

"You'll report us?" Marco continued, stepping closer to the bars. His gaze never left yours. "Lead a Buster Call? Burn us alive? Like what happened to O'Hara?"

You bared your teeth. "Don't you dare compare me to the cowards who ordered that slaughter. I have honor. I—"

"You have pride," Marco corrected gently. "Same as Pops. Same as Ace."

You shook your head violently. "I don't need your lectures." The air was stifling. The walls seemed to press in. You hated them. You hated them so much it burned. And yet—

Your chest ached. You didn't know if it was from the Seastone... or the way Marco was looking at you. Not with pity. Not with anger. With something worse. Something almost tender.

You turned away sharply, feeling your cheeks heat against your will. You cursed yourself a thousand times over.

Hours passed. Maybe days. Time meant nothing inside the brig.

Ace brought you food. You didn't touch it. Marco checked your wounds. You slapped his hand away.

Every interaction was a battlefield — silent, brutal, exhausting. You refused to let your guard down. You refused to let them see you as anything but a Vice Admiral. A soldier. A daughter worthy of her father’s legacy.

But at night, when the others slept above deck and the ship swayed gently under the stars, you caught glimpses of Marco sitting across from your cell. Silent. Watching.

You thought at first he was standing guard. But it wasn’t that. It was worse.

Marco didn’t look at you like an enemy. He looked at you like someone he already mourned.

One night, when the bruises on your ribs throbbed too much to hide, you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, breathless.

Before you could bark at anyone, warm hands — frustratingly gentle — slid under your arms, lifting you with ease. You struggled, snarling curses, but Marco didn’t flinch.

"You stubborn little thing," he muttered, voice almost fond. "You're hurt. Stop pretending you're made of stone-yoi"

You froze. He could have mocked you. Could have gloated. Instead, he held you like you were fragile, precious.

You hated it. You hated that you didn't pull away immediately.

When he settled you back against the wall, slipping a folded coat behind your head for comfort, your heart hammered wildly against your ribs.

"You're a fool," you whispered hoarsely. Your throat burned, but the words came anyway. "A fool for thinking this ends well."

Marco smiled faintly — a soft, heartbreaking thing.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But you're not alone anymore, Y/N. Whether you like it or not."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want the way your body remembered the warmth of his hands, the steadiness of his presence, the way your brother looked at you with aching hope instead of disappointment.

You didn’t want to belong anywhere but the Navy.

And yet… something inside you — broken and bleeding — whispered that maybe, maybe you were so tired of fighting.

The next morning, you sat cross-legged on the cell floor, staring at the iron key Marco had left just within reach.

No one else was around. Ace was above deck. Marco was gone, trusting you with a choice.

Freedom. Or trust.

You could leave. Slip into the waves, find a Marine ship, turn them all in. You could be the perfect Vice Admiral.

Or—

You looked at the open horizon through the porthole. The sea sparkled in the sunlight. Wild. Untamed.

Free.

Your fingers brushed the key. Your hand trembled.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t know which side you were fighting for.

Hello, great and wonderful writer. Please could you write some romance? Y/n is part of the navy. A high-ranking officer handled sensitive information. A few years ago, she was recruited, or rather kidnapped, by Shirohige's pirates. The reason was the younger sister of one of their crew members. I looked at her from across the stone bars of the sea. Her head, parts of her face, and ribs were bandaged. You should at least listen to me. Was so much violence against your brother necessary? Go away, you whispered. I hate you for bringing me here. Tell that scoundrel Phoenix that he's a coward. Maco x Y/n

hii! this is a good fic, but im afraid I might need more details and context... i apologize, but im having a bit of confusion picturing some scenarios. i just need some clarification on these parts, then ill start writing it 1. "she was requited/kidnapped by shirohige's pirate and the reason was the younger sister of one of their crew members." - is she "kidnapped" because yn had an affiliation with one of the crew members' younger sister? or is it because she caught the younger sister of a member of the crew? or something else? 2. "I looked at her from across the stone bars of the sea. Her head, parts of her face, and ribs were bandaged. You should at least listen to me. Was so much violence against your brother necessary? Go away, you whispered. I hate you for bringing me here. Tell that scoundrel Phoenix that he's a coward." - this part is a bit confusing for me, should yn be the one to say this? or someone else was saying it? thanks!!

OP/One Piece

Straw hat Pirates

Monkey D. Luffy

Roronoa Zoro

Vinsmoke Sanji

Others

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Dracule Mihawk

Red hair Shanks

Sabo

Charlotte Katakuri

Gol D. Roger

Portgaz D. Ace

Marco

Whitebeard

Koby

Status: The request box is open only for the monthly one-shot voting if the characters are chosen.

You Don't Need to Try to Belong

Sorry if the tone near the end doesn't quite match the rest of the fic something happened in the middle of me writing it and like all good writers do I used this as an emotional outlet. But hey, who doesn't want Marco to hold them amirite? This was meant to be shorter, but the rest of the crew hijacked it like the pirates they were.

Phoenix Marco x Reader (fluff, near-death experiences, dash of sickfic & hurt/comfort)

As the unofficial ‘Fixer-Upper’, the jack-of-all-trades of the Whiteboard Pirates with a helpful Devil Fruit to boot, you tend to overwork yourself helping any issues that arises. Sometimes at the detriment of your own health.

You don’t think you’d ever get used to seeing the sun rise over the horizon from your vantage point up in the Moby’s crow’s nest. 

The gentle blush of pink peeking over the horizon, watercolor-soft as the veil of the night pulled back. Blackness faded away to reveal the glittering waves of the ocean stretched seemingly infinitely all around you. It was a freedom given to you by the Whitebeard Pirates, one you could never repay.

Sunrise also had the added bonus of signifying the end of your lookout ship, the promise of your bed waiting for you.

Below you, on the deck, the morning bell rang out, signifying the official end of the night shift’s work. The hubbub of the ship coming to life stirred up as you climbed down the mast, seeing the specks of the other lookouts doing the same at the other crow’s nests. A few members glanced your way as your feet hit the deck, and you returned the greetings thrown at you, albeit with slightly less energy.

Your stomach growled as the aroma of food from the galley drifted over when you entered the halls. However, you didn’t join the others for breakfast like normal and instead went deeper into the Moby’s bowels to where the crew’s quarters were. You’d been bothered by a persistent headache all night, and you knew that going into the noisy mess hall would no doubt make it worse.

The shared cabin was thankfully empty for the most part, and you made it over to your hammock before collapsing into it and tugging the blanket up to your chin before blacking out, looking forward to the long, uninterrupted rest you’d get.

“WAKE UP!”

You grunted in pain as you were upended from your hammock, bedding and all falling down with you. Blearily, you sat up and squinted at the pair of legs in front of you, smacking your dry lips. You didn’t know how long it was since you’d fallen asleep, but you knew it was not long enough.

A freckled face and messy black hair invaded your vision, the inquisitive expression of one Portgas D. Ace showing who exactly it was that woke you up.

“Hey! Got a moment?”

Even though it was phrased as a question, you still found yourself forcibly dragged to your feet, his grip on your wrist the sole thing that kept you moving as you stumbled through the halls and out into the deck. Sunlight pierced your half-closed eyes, and you winced, squeezing them shut as you trusted Ace not to run you both into something. You two finally paused and you cracked your eyes open to show that you’d stopped in front of Striker, in all her dripping glory as she hung hoisted up over the deck.

Ace finally released your wrist, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry to drag ya all the to fix up the Striker for me? I’d ask Blenheim, but he’s with the other fleet right now.”

At the request of a fixing, you forcefully shook off your sleepiness. Tiredness still lingered, and that damn headache still nipped at your temple, but you pushed it all back. Alert eyes assessed the damage in front of you as you tuned into Ace’s chattering.

“I got cornered by a few small Marine scout boats and had to take the Striker through some sorta reef. Thought I got through it fine, but I guess the coral—”

A sudden thud.

You paused in your observation to haul Ace out of the way of the crew and lay him out straight before returning to the Striker. True to his word, the bottom of Striker’s hull was deeply scratched when you bent down to take a look at it. The wood was gouged in a few points, areas where leaks would’ve no doubt let in water. It was a miracle Ace made it back. You hummed at the thought, making a note to get Pops to talk with the young man about his recklessness.

The Striker swayed gently from the lines holding her up as you pushed gently, tilting your head to catch the sound of sloshing water in her bowels. It wouldn’t do to mend everything only to have her rot from the inside out by trapped moisture. When nothing came back, you nodded approvingly and crouched down, hand reaching up to touch the largest of the holes. There was a dim glow before the wood seemed to seal up wherever you dragged your fingers over it, returning to its previous pristine state. You did the same for the others, each spark and glow only tugging at the tiredness in your bones. It was light work, but you were still exhausted by the time you finished, opting to take a seat by Ace where he lay. You were only beginning to blink off into sleep when the young man sat back up.

“—scratched ‘er up real bad and—Oh.”

Ace blinked at the newly repaired full before turning to you, sending a thousand-kilowatt smile your way.

“F’xed it,” you mumbled, shooting him a thumbs up. Your head tilted to the side and you dozed off. While your Devil Fruit, the Mend Mend Fruit was extremely useful, it did take a toll on you.

Strong arms once again wretched you to your feet, and you squawked as Ace bodily hauled you off, cheerful as ever.

“Thanks so much! Let’s go get some food. I’m starvin’’”

You went limp in the newly minted commander’s hold, resigning yourself to your fate as he dragged you along to the mess. There were a few others there who were the stragglers from lunchtime.

Ace shifted you to drape over his shoulder like a sack as he assembled a plate for the two of you. The world flipped around as he set you down at a table, and you murmured your thanks, dragging heavy limbs to your utensils to force a few bites down.

A call of your name and a harried-looking Thatch halted right by your table, relief on his face. “There you are. Glad I could catch you. Think you can get that pipe done for us now?”

Your eyes widened as you straightened. Right. You were supposed to have stopped by this morning after breakfast to help fix up the leak in the piping that the division didn’t have the supplies to replace. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Thatch.”

Shooting to your feet, you pushed your plate to Ace and quickly set towards the galley, Thatch on your tail. The Fourth Division greeted you, wrapping up post-meal duties as they avoided one particular section in specific. Someone already peeled away the wooden boards to expose the problematic pipe, and rags were stuffed along the spaces in the wall and sprawled on the floor. As you approached, you noticed that there was something on the pipe. You squinted at the stain and sniffed.

“Is this–Is this dried molasses?!?” 

Thatch whistled and adverted his eyes under your scrutinizing stare. “We had to make do.”

You exhaled despairingly, pressing your fingers into the sticky mess. It was concerning how often you all ran short on miscellaneous supplies, despite being an Emperor’s crew. A glow sparked up, and you sealed the gap.

The sticky, dark substance stuck to your fingers as you withdrew them, and your stomach suddenly churned. Rushing to an empty sink, you quickly washed it off as you called back, “I’m not cleaning that.”

“Fair,” Thatch said. He withdrew a rag from his chef apron. “Thanks for this.”

You hummed as you exited the galley.

Somehow, those two actions seemed to unleash a catalyst upon your peace. The promise of rest seemed further and further away as you were directed all over the ship, fixing this odd thing or that odd part. Your headache never went away, only getting worse as nausea was added to the list.

Skull called out his thanks as you bolted away from him, clapping a hand over your mouth as you beelined for the railing. You made it just in time to empty your stomach over the side. The only food in your stomach—the meager bits you managed to shovel down before Thatch interrupted—splashed sadly into the water.

Shivering, you closed your eyes to block out the sight of the swaying waters below you. The railing dug into your stomach as you slumped down into it. Everything felt hot and cold at once, and you admitted to yourself that maybe it was time to lie down. No more using your Devil Fruit for today.

As you were straightening up, a scuffle broke out from behind you. It was two recruits, roughhousing or fighting, you couldn’t care either way. But before you could move, one of them stumbled and slammed into you. Your eyes widened as your grip slipped, and because of the way you were leaning over the railing, you felt gravity tugging you to the wrong side as you pitched overboard.

Your wide eyes were fixed on the spot where you just were, too stunned to make a peep. There was a shout of alarm on board.

It was never fun falling from the Moby Dick. Its massive size meant nothing less than a painful impact, and even a few broken bones if you were unlucky.

But you wouldn’t call yourself lucky either way if you fell over the Moby in the first place.

You slammed into the waves.

The first thing that hit you was the pain. Like crashing into solid brick, your back ached from bearing the brunt of the impact. Then the insidious cold seeped in, past your clothes, past your skin, until everything went numb. Bubbles swirled past you in a dizzying spectacle, and it would’ve been pretty if not for the death grip of the weight pulling down on your limbs.

Motes of bubbles passed your lips, but you had the foresight to not open your mouth, to not breathe. But that was all you could do as you sunk deeper, black edging into your vision.

They always said that drowning was a horrible way to go, the choking of water in your lungs. But to you, it felt soft. Like the welcoming of the tiredness you’d carried around all day.

It’s so easy,

Your eyes fluttered, lips cracking open, allowing the saltwater to rush in.

You could get the rest you wanted.

You didn’t feel the arms clamping around your waist to drag you upward.

But you did notice as the two of you breached the surface, water spewing out of your mouth as you coughed. It burned going up, and you clung limply to the form you now identified to be Rakuyo as he stretched up his other arm. “Bring us up!”

He crushed you to his chest as the two of you shot up from the water, hauled up by his living flail. You both landed on the deck again, him on his feet while you were still in his hold. However, that quickly changed as your body spasmed.

“Woah there!” The man exclaimed, quickly crouching down so you wouldn’t meet a second painful impact if you spilled out of his arms.

“Someone grab Marco!”

Quickly, you were set on your side. Just in time as you retched. More seawater (seriously you don’t know how you swallowed so much) came up, through your nose, through your mouth. Warm hands rubbed your back as you gathered the strength to prop yourself up, as the spasms continued. It would’ve been mortifying to have the crew see you like this if you hadn’t seen these same full-grown men projectile vomit their dinner after a few too many drinks. As of right now, you were busy trying not to feel like death warmed over. Someone’s oversized sash fell around your shoulders as they used it to dry you off of the cold water.

“What’s going on, yoi?”

Marco’s voice was like a balm to your raw nerves as indistinct voices murmured over your head. Someone draped something soft over you (a towel?) and you sneezed.

Like the world’s most pathetic, bedraggled, wet cat, you were picked up from underneath your arms and passed over to warmer ones.

“H-Hol’ on,” you slurred, getting wrapped up in the fabric around your shoulders. Your head lolled against a warm chest. “Might throw—throw up.”

Marco shushed you. “Don’t worry about it, yoi.”

Blue and gold flames fluttered to life around you, your aches and coldness fading away. However, you still felt that bone-deep tiredness, and your lungs still rattled wetly. 

“I’m taking you to the infirmary. We have to monitor your lungs, just in case.”

Aw, man. You hated to be a bother.

Weakly wriggling in his grip, you voiced your protests, “‘M fine. L-Lemme jus’ go sleep it off.”

“You can rest in the infirmary. I healed your superficial injuries, but I can’t fix the drain your Devil Fruit already pulled from you or expel any potential water. Don’t fight me on this, yoi.”

You let out an unintelligible noise, sagging deeper into his hold. The hubbub of the ship fell away into muffled peace as he entered the infirmary, greeting the nurses there.

“Goodness! What happened?” Lisa asked as she pulled out more towels and a pair of spare clothes.

“We had a tumble off the deck,” Marco said, setting you down on a bed in the corner and stepping back for the nurse to let her set the clothes down by your side. He grabbed the privacy curtain, readying to pull it close as he asked you, “Think you can get changed, yoi? Lisa or another nurse can assist if you think you’ll need help.”

You looked down at your shaking hands, then to the set of folded clothes beside you. It was a simple enough shirt and pants, nondescript for their versatility. “I’ll be f-f-f-fine.”

The shiver that broke your words into a stutter wasn’t convincing, but Marco didn’t push it as he pulled the curtains closed around you to give you a bit of privacy. His voice came from the other side, “Let me know when you’re done, yoi.”

It took you much longer than you’d like to admit, wrangling yourself into the change of clothes, but just when Marco began shuffling on the other side of the curtain, you managed to pull the collar of the shirt over your head with your stiff limb and wrapped your hair in a towel.

“I’m d-do-done.”

The curtains were pulled open again and Marco stepped through. In the span of time it took for you to change, the man had collected equipment of his own. His stethoscope hung around his neck, and he carried a blanket rolled up under an arm and a thermometer.

“Just a precaution, yoi,” he said when he saw you eyeing his getup. You took the blanket when he handed it to you. The back of his hand came up to rest on your forehead and he hummed as he began putting on his stethoscope. “I want to listen to your lungs and keep you here to rest up.”

Letting out a put-upon sigh, you tilted your head back, staying still as Marco pressed the cold metal of the chest piece into your skin, expression calm as he focused on your breathing. After a few moments, he pulled away and tugged off the instrument.

“Your breathing sounds alright from what I could tell, yoi. But your temperature’s a little out of its normal range. How are you feeling, yoi?”

With the assessment done, you pulled away and curled up on the bed, tugging the blanket up. “Blegh, fine. I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a bit.”

“You do that, yoi,” Marco said, patting your shoulder. “I’ll watch over you.”

Letting out a huff, you allowed the lull of sleep to finally pull you under.

***

Warm hands on your forehead and cheek stirred you from the fretful slumber you were in, and you murmured, trying to pull away from the disturbance. Your breath whistled when you sighed, nose closed by a painful pressure and the rattle when you breathed seemed more prominent than ever.

There was a quiet tut before they came back with greater insistence, pulling you into a sitting position. You resisted, but your limbs felt leaden when you tried to lift them up. A slow, pounding pain pulsed in your temples on top of that, intensifying when you cracked your eyes open. You squeezed them shut again, but that peek was enough to see the slight chastisement on Marco’s expression as you identified him to be the one taking care of you.

His voice was low, kept to a manageable level that wouldn’t upset your head as he said, “Looks like you’re getting a fever, yoi. That’s strange.”

Blue flickered through your closed eyes as a gentle wash of his flames coursed through you. The pounding in your head lessened

“Tried my best to alleviate some of your symptoms, but since most of them aren’t physical injuries, I don’t think helped much.”

“It’s fine,” you rasped, blinking the crustiness from your eyes as you sat up. “Thanks for tryin’”

He hummed, pulling away. “What I’m surprised about is that you’re getting so sick from a dip in the waters. As far as I’m aware, the waters in this part of the Grand Line should be temperate enough to avoid that issue, yoi. Unless…” He narrowed his eyes at you, suspicion flashing in his gaze as he picked up on your guilty air. “You were on deck at a time where you would usually be asleep, yoi. Why weren’t you resting?” 

“Listen,” you began. “You’re not allowed to scold anybody involved in it…”

Marco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like I already know who it is, yoi?”

“Ace took me out to help fix Striker,” you agreed, ignoring Marco’s muttered ‘I knew it’. “Then we swung by the galley where there was something I forgot to fix for Thatch. Some of the crew caught me about, and it kind of escalated from there.”

The way the man tilted his head was distinctively avian. “Now, why would you do that, yoi? We’ve discussed using your Devil Fruit when you’re tired.”

You pursed your lips and adverted your eyes, shrugging. “I dunno. I couldn’t just say no.”

His eyes softened. “You know… You’re deserving of rest when you’re tired. You don’t need to bend over backward to please us. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Unbidden, you felt tears spring up in your eyes, and you blamed it on the mess running through your system, pulling away so you could wipe them.

However, Marco’s hands came up to hold your face, thumb wiping away the bit of saltiness that spilled over your lashes.

“Silly love,” Marco murmured as he tugged you into his chest and enveloped you.

Pliantly allowing it to happen, your face ended up buried in his chest. His hand rubbed your back comfortingly as he shifted to take a seat and pulled you into his lap. You sank deeper into him, instinctively relaxing at the soothing warmth he emitted.

“Nobody would think less of you for resting. There’s no payment to be on the crew beyond what you can safely provide. And you’ve done plenty, are doing plenty. Pops is not going to kick you out if you don’t repair Skull’s necklace or somebody’s sandals for the fiftieth time. You belong with us. We want you.”

You closed your eyes in embarrassment, hands coming up to cover your face. Marco’s chuckle jostled you a little bit, and the arm around your waist squeezed you, dragging you even closer to him. His flames flickered over you again, and you went boneless against him, hands dropping from your face. The ache in your chest that you didn’t even know you were carrying lightened with his presence.

“You just rest now, yoi. I’ll take care of you.”

You sighed, a trembling shaky thing. “Thank you, Marco.”

And Tonight, We’ll Be Warm

It is technically still the 25th where I am so have a holiday-related fic! This is just an excuse to write that obligatory Christmas fic that nobody asked for

Whitebeard Pirates x Reader (no particular pairing but very Ace-centric)

The Whitebeard Pirates never needed an excuse to party, but surprisingly, they always celebrated one specific holiday.

The sight of white flecks on the deck heralded the arrival of the Moby Dick to its destination, the cheery winter island in front of you a familiar sight. You couldn’t see it at this distance, but you had no doubt that if you asked Marco, he’d say that it was decked out in its annual holiday decoration already.

Around you, the hustle and bustle of docking preparations were in full swing, excitement filling the chilly air more than usual. Every year, on the same day and if time was willing, Pops liked to return to this specific island, deep in the heart of his territory, known for its celebration this time of year. It was done often enough that the locals left a special place for the Whitebeards and the crew always brought in supplies when they came. What would commence would be a two-day, island-wide celebration where the Whitebeards and even other friendly crews would toss aside their worries to rejoice. Though Pops’s family may have been a wide assortment of characters from all over the Blues, it was a unanimous agreement that all of you would indulge in this holiday because of how much joy it brought the old man. Though as pirates, there was never a reason needed to party.

You’d been with the crew long enough to have attended a few, the first few times never something you’d never forget. Overwhelming in the best of days, there would be lots of work done once you docked to unload the supplies and crates, but then the locals would whisk it all away and the crew would be able to release themselves upon the festivities. There would be stalls upon stalls of vendors selling indulgent foods, gifts, and knickknacks for the holidays. And—of course—the booze. It was a pirate island, after all.

A relieved cheer broke out as the Moby coasted gently to a stop, a few of those who could handle the jump vaulting over the side onto the dock, while those who remained up top tossed down the mooring line for them. You double-checked the ropes on the winches responsible for lowering the cargo and leaned over to ensure that nobody was in the way.

“Lowering the crates!” You yelled down to the people milling down below. The worn wooden crank was familiar in your work-calloused hands as you cranked it, lowering the creaking platforms of foods and ingredients down. A ‘thump’ and the lines slackening signaled the contact with the dock below you, and you left the unpacking to the ground crew.

Beelining for the rope ladder, you scaled down it to join the others, an eager grin pulling at your cheeks. Wagons waited for their loads, but you left that to those like Fossa and Blenheim, the likes of them able to move much more efficiently when they had no smaller crewmates running underfoot. Your eyes darted across the space, seeking one specific person. For once, a majority of the crew had a shirt and jacket on, only the hardiest of them forgoing it, so it was easy for you to find that tattoo stretched across a tanned back.

“Ace!”

The young man spun around, seeking the call of his name. You started toward him, waving to attract his attention. He returned your grin easily as the two of you met up. Close to him, you couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. Despite your layers, it was still bitingly cold with the snow fluttering down. But with Ace nearby, his heater tendencies, courtesy of his Fruit, were a warm balm against the low temperatures.

“You were right, this does look fun!” Ace said, hands on his hips as he regarded the festivities beyond the dock. I’m glad I’ll have someone to lead me around.”

“Hm.” You rubbed your hands, fingertips red. “I’ll show you all the good places to hit up. Ignore what Commander Marco says. He’s a geezer who’s got outdated tastes.”

“Does he now, yoi?”

You stiffened, spine prickling with unease as footsteps came close. The warmth of the other flame-related Devil Fruit user on your back betrayed his approach. You shot Ace a nervous smile, grabbing his shoulders and swinging behind him to escape the fingers that skimmed the collar of your jacket. Grabbing the black-haired man’s hand, you readied to bolt but flailed when he didn’t move.

“C’mon! We gotta run!”

Ace glanced back at you, shrugging helplessly, still gripping your hand.

“You should know better,” Marco tsked as he stopped in front of Ace (and you, who ensured you were soundly on the opposite side of Ace from him). He crossed his arms, a lazy smile twitching into something mischievous. “We have to wait for Pops, yoi.”

As if that mention summoned him, the ground trembled with the impact of your captain landing down from his leap off the ship. He did a sweeping glance over his nakama, still milling about the dock as they waited for his arrival, and unleashed his booming laughter. “What are you all waiting for? Go have fun, my children!”

Noise erupted over the dock, and you suddenly found Ace very agreeable as you ran away from Marco. The two of you darted into the crowd, away from the blonde.

“Go! Go! GO!” You yelled as Ace swept you onto his back, laughing as he bolted. You wrapped an arm around his neck to keep balance, while the other one pointed in front of him to where you wanted him to go. Rakuyo jumped out of the way just in time to avoid being plowed over, and Atmos bellowed in laughter when Ace ducked under his arm, revealing you clinging to his back.

Despite you acting as a backpack for him, Ace was barely winded when you finally told him to stop. He regarded the street around you with wide eyes as you slid off him, dusting your clothes. “Where to know?”

You pointed to a little stall that had a small metal stove by its side. “First order of business: Drinks!”

The little old lady there waved as you approached, a smile of familiarity greeting you. “Welcome back, dearie. I see you’ve brought a friend!”

Nodding, you stepped aside to showcase the now-shy ravenette to her. “Hi again Miss Rose. This is Ace! He joined us a little while ago.”

“Showing him around, I see…” Miss Rose said

“Yep,” you said. “I gotta do it since I don’t want to put him through the history lesson that Commander Marco might’ve exposed him to. And I thought it’d be good to start everything off with drinks from your stall!”

Miss Rose tilted her head, an apologetic expression falling onto her face. “I’m sorry, dearie, but my stove just went out, you see. I sent my son off to fetch flint, but it’s going to be a while before I can get anything warm for you.”

“I can help!” Ace said, straightening up as he lifted a hand, small flames flickering to life. He, however, quickly extinguished it, and added on nervously, “I-If you want.”

The woman didn’t flinch at the small display of Ace’s powers, long-familiar with Devil Fruit displays on an island such as this, and toddled over to the stove, pulling open the door, and stepped aside for Ace. “Oh, if you could, that would be delightful.”

Caught off guard by the open friendliness, Ace glanced at you in a silent question. You bumped him forward with your shoulder. “Yeah. Miss Rose has the best cider all around, and you can’t start the festivities without getting a cup.”

Ace exhaled with a smile, sticking his hand into the open maw of the stove. With a flash of orange, the lumber within it lit up. The door was closed, and Miss Rose quickly put a pot over the top. Within moments, the warm smell of spices suffused the air and the pot’s content bubbled merrily away. Miss Rose moved with a speed that belied her age as she quickly set up two steaming cups of liquid. You barely just finished fishing out the appropriate payment before they were shoved into your grasp. Passing one to Ace, you slid the coins over to her quicker than she could react. Grabbing Ace, you led him away despite the woman’s protests refusing your payment and called back, “Thanks, Miss Rose!”

Your action prompted a curious look from him as the two of you hurried from her stand. “What was that about?”

“She’s too kind for her own good, and if I didn’t do that, she would’ve tossed my coin back at my face,” you explained. Taking a long sip, you let out a satisfied sigh at the warmth spreading through your guts and prompted Ace, “Try it.”

He took a tentative sip. Your catlike grin widened as his eyes lit up, and he went in for seconds. “Woah, this is good…”

“Mhm,” you hummed, turning to look at the busy street in front of you. You pulled the cup closer to your face to allow the steam to warm up your cold nose. “It’s good that we got here before the crew. Otherwise, we’d be fighting Kingdew for a spot in line.”

Ace didn’t reply, and you glanced over to see him staring at the colorfully lit lanterns above you that cast festive colors onto the street. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was nice seeing the awe on his face, and you realized this must’ve been why Marco was chuckling at you when it was your first time on the island. 

The growl emitting from him broke you out of your reverie, and you chuckled, hefting a bag of Berry in your hands.

“Alright Ace, since it’s your first time here, you can get any food you want, my treat. But—” You held up a finger when he brightened, “Only as much as this pouch can pay, and don’t spoil your appetite for later.”

“What’s for later?” Ace asked as he began walking to the nearest food stall, something to do with skewers.

“Five, please,” you said pleasantly to the vendor. Glancing back at Ace, you said. “There’s always a big feast and bonfire set up. It’s great. You’ll love it.”

The food was given to you, and you exchanged it with the correct amount of bills, passing four of the roasted chestnut and meat sticks to Ace while you kept one to yourself. Silence stretched between you two for a few minutes as the food was savored. As you were crunching through a chunk of chestnut, you heard Ace murmur, “Lu’ would’ve liked this.”

You swallowed your bite. Aside from his explosive (literally) introduction to the crew, there were a few other things about him that he never kept quiet about, one of them being his very cherished brother. “Oh yeah? I mean, this island is known for good chestnuts year-round, so food like this is common anytime. You can bring him here when you meet him again.”

Ace polished off his second skewer, expression wistful as he murmured, “Yeah…”

“Oi, you two!”

Like twin dogs, the two of you turned to the call. Thatch waved at you, Izou by his side. The former looked a little silly, with a sprinkling of snow piling up atop his pompadour, while the latter looked immaculate in his dark-blue kimono, its woven threats gleaming when it caught the lights. Amusement lit up the two Commanders’ faces when they saw the food in Ace’s hold.

“Putting another person’s wallet to work already, I see,” Izou said with a small smirk on his painted lips.

“Well, better than the alternative,” Thatch quipped, hands on his hips. “The locals may like us, but that can change if someone decides to dine and dash.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you pipped up. “I’m treating Ace today since it’s his first time.”

“How thoughtful,” Izou said. “You would have had the same result tossing your wallet in the sea.”

“I know better! I only brought a set amount.”

“Hey!” Ace protested. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

You, Thatch, and Izou exchanged glances. A beat of silence passed.

Thatch was the first to crack, folding in half as mirth shook his body, and you had to make efforts not to spill your drink in your laughter. Even Izou cracked, one fist coming up to cover his mouth as he snorted. Ace leveled a betrayed look at you all.

“By the way,” Thatch began, once he finally reigned his laughter back in control. “Where are the two of ya headed?”

Shrugging, you motioned down the street you two were on. “Just roaming for the most part, but the goal is to the town center to show Ace the stage before going to the bonfire.

“Hm. Mind if we join y’all?”

You shrugged. “I don’t mind. Ace?”

Silence greeted you, and you whirled around to find him face down in the snow, breathing deeply. Somehow, he still held his drink and food aloft. Sighing, you sent the other men a helpless look.

“We can wait until he wakes up to see what he wants,” Izou amended. “Let’s move him to the bench over there.”

Thatch smiled, lifting a hand. “If ya can grab the food and cup, I’ll carry our resident flamethrower out of the street.”

Chugging the rest of your cider, you crouched down and carefully wormed the sticks and cup out of Ace’s hands. There was no food left, so you tossed those, but Ace’s cup was still three-quarters full and steaming, so you decided to keep that for yourself. At your go-ahead, Thatch effortlessly lifted Ace’s snoozing form, while Izou cut ahead to dust off the coating of snow from the seat. Thatch set Ace down first before sitting down, and you immediately claimed the other empty spot of the sleeping Logia-user, sighing in happiness at the warmth that bled off him.

“I’m surprised that you’re not with Commander Marco, sirs,” you admitted, moving to sip from the cider cup.

You squawked as Thatch took it from you, using his long reach to lean over Ace. He took a sip from it and hummed. “Ah, that’s good. From Miss Rose?”

Sulkily side-eyeing him, you nodded.

“And stop with the ‘Commander’ stuff. We’re off-duty, and we’re all friends anyway.”

“Well, as my friend, you should give me back my drink.”

“Is it really yours in the first place, if you took it from Ace?” Izou asked. He waved the cup away when Thatch offered it to him.

As the brown-haired man was leaning back, Ace suddenly shot forward, knocking into him. The cup flew out of Thatch’s grasp, spilling its contents onto the snow in front of you all. Izou hissed, jerked the hem of his kimono away, and shot the others a poisonous look.

“Haahhhhh? Since when did we sit down?”

“Since you decided the snow would be a good cushion for your face,” Izou replied.

“Ah dang, was I out for long?”

“No,” you said. “Thatch and Izou were wondering if they could tag along with us.”

Ace stood up, stretching his arms above his head. “I don’t see why not! As long as your offer still holds up.”

Sighing in exasperation, you stood up with a shake of your head and a smile on your face. “Fine. But if you want to explore, we gotta get going.”

Your words were a reminder of the changing sky, the days shorter in the thick of winter. The others all agreed, and once everyone gathered themselves, you all set off again. Your motley crew would’ve struck an unusual sight, with Thatch’s stature and hair, Izou’s elegant dress, and Ace completely bare-chested in the snow, but the locals of this island were long-used to it, a few folks even greeting the Commanders by name.

The festival was still as eye-catching as ever, with the soft haze of snowfall spreading a dreamy air over everything. True to his nature, Ace ended up dragging you to a few more food stalls. You four wandered with no hurry, simply basking in the peaceful, jovial air that was seldomly seen on the seas.

“I wonder how long these chestnuts can keep,” Thatch mused as he rotated a candied chestnut in his fingers. Popping it into his mouth, he passed you one from his cup. “I have plenty of recipes that’ll be nice for the colder weeks when we’re sailing.”

“I think if you can store them in the ice closet, they can last up to six months!” you chirped.

You could see his mind beginning to form ideas. “That’s plenty of time. I doubt they’ll last that long. Since it’s so cheap here, I think I’ll arrange for an order to the Moby tomorrow.”

A folded hand fan whapped Thatch on the side of the head, Izou tucking it back from wherever he summoned it from when the brown-haired man turned to him. 

“What gives, you bastard?!?”

“Stop talking about work,” Izou sniffed. “We’re here to relax and enjoy the festivities, damn you.”

Thatch leaned down into Izou’s space. “Well, you didn’t need to hit me!”

While the two senior members squabbled like little kids, you turned your attention to Ace, seeing him contemplating the roasted squid in his hands like it contained the secrets of the world.

“What’s wrong?” You said, popping your head over his shoulder. “It raw?”

Ace blinked, shaking his head and taking a big bite out of it. “Nah. Just thinkin’.”

“Don’t hurt your head over it,” you said. “Now’s a time to turn it off.”

He hummed, and you linked your arm with his and marched forward.

“Well, we’re almost at the town center. You’d like it, I think. And if you don’t, it’ll be something to distract you, yeah? No worries.”

Izou and Thatch fell in line when they saw the two of you heading off. One was fixing the collar of his kimono, while the other had a red mark on his forehead. Neither said anything when you raised a teasing eyebrow in question.

You led them down the streets until it opened up into a wide space, the large, towering pine tree in the middle marking your arrival to the town center.

Ace froze as he gawked at the monster of a tree in front of you all. “Holy shit.”

Tall enough to make even Pops look small standing next to its trunk, the ancient growth was decked out in flickering candles and carved, wooden ornaments of all colors. Bands of embroidered cloth swayed gently, depicting the winter flowers that bloomed this time of year.

“This is one of the island’s pride and joy,” You told Ace, banking on the information Marco told you during your first time. Damn, if he knew, he would never let you live this down. “It was said that this tree was already massive by the time people settled onto this island, and it was decided that they would keep it and treasure it. The festivals came later, but this tree was integrated into every celebration as well. Looks like we came just in time.”

Chattering quieted as a door hidden in the tree trunk opened. A pair of men walked forward to the platform mounted there, rolling some sort of canon in between them.

“It’s safe,” you reassured Ace as you saw him shift in nervousness. “Just watch!”

With a muffled pop, a flurry of flat, petaled shapes shot up into the air. The crowd roiled, eager hands reaching up as the large charms fluttered down. This was what you came here for. This town’s yearly charms, hand-carved from a specific type of lightweight crystal only found here. When refined down into the flowers and the snowflakes fluttering down upon you now, they caught the light in a kaleidoscope of rainbows. They were beautiful.

And very desired.

“Quickly,” you hissed, pushing Ace forward. “Try and grab one! They say that whoever got one will have good luck for the upcoming year.”

Unsure, the man reached out, only to have it snatched in front of his fingertips. The old lady who took it from him gave him a sharp glare and toddled off.

A spark of competitiveness lit up in Ace’s eyes. “Oh, that does it.”

The two of you shared a look of determination, exchanging a nod before delving into the crowd.

“Over here, Ace!”

“Too far!”

“Watch out for that lady!”

Your teamwork fell in line seamlessly, the months together on the seas and all the training and fighting giving you and Ace a leg up. Though it always seemed like there were five people trying for every one charm. Eventually, there was nothing left in reach, but you spotted one still fluttering above the crowd. You were not the only one, as you locked eyes with a burly man who was bullying his way through the crowd toward it. The two of you scowled at each other, and you stuck out your tongue at him.

Looking back at it again, you saw that it was out of reach for even the tallest folks.

But not too tall for what you had in mind.

Spinning around, you pointed at the crystal and yelled out, “Ace!”

The man turned around to spot it, and you quickly took a knee, putting your cupped hands low to the ground. A move that you’d done once or twice before.

“Go for it!” You yelled, hiding a wince when an elbow dug into your back.

Ace stepped back, lining himself up before running towards you. His boot landed in your palms, and you pushed yourself upward, propelling him up with you as he jumped. You turned around to see his trajectory, a wild grin on your face. Ace had a similar expression, one hand on his hat while the other was outstretched as he approached the snowflake. With bated breath, you watched as his fingers grazed the edges of the charm, seemingly missing it before, with a burst of flames from his legs, he propelled himself up a bit and the charm landed in his grasp. With the prize secured, he brought it to his chest and pivoted in the air, landing at an empty spot with a perfectly tucked roll.

You let out a whoop, throwing your arms up in victory, before moving your way through the crowd to where Ace landed. Your cheeks ached not just from the cold, but also from the size of the grin overtaking you sported. Spotting Ace, you hauled him up and pulled him into a hug, your laughter ringing out in the air.

“You got it!”

His cheeks were flushed as well when you pulled back, a pearly smile on his face. “Yeah.”

The crowd’s excitement was dying down and a part of you dropped in dismay over the fact that you’d missed your chance to grab something, too busy making sure Ace had his moment to focus on your own. But you were at least glad that Ace managed to get one of the charms of his own, so you shoved down that bit of sadness.

“What shape did you get?” You asked. “Can I see?” 

He pulled the hand holding his charm away from his chest, and your eyes widened in excitement at the sight of a flat carving of a flame lily. As he lifted it into the air, the clear crystal caught the light, throwing out fiery red and orange iridescence from within its lattice.

“A flame lily, lucky you!” You shot him a thumbs-up. “That’s the most prized one. A symbol of undying warmth in the cold. Good luck is definitely coming your way.”

“There you two are,” Thatch said, panting a bit as he got through the crowd. “You crazy little cretins, I can’t believe you two did that! And don’t deny it, I saw Ace in the air.”

You whistled, adverting your eyes. “Welllll, it was worth it. Ace got this year’s Flame Lily. How ‘bout you?”

“Right here,” Thatch sighed, reaching into the top of his pompadour and pulling out a glittering, clear hexagonal plate that had flashes of smoky black when he tilted it. “Some lady tried stealing it from my hands after I got it.”

“Looks like all that hair really is useful for something,” you chuckled.

He harrumphed, tucking it in the inner breast pocket of his coat. “Whatever. Did you get one this year?”

You shook your head, a rueful smile on your face. “Nah. Looks like my collection is not growing this year.”

You only caught a flash of guilt on Ace’s face before something was thrust into your face.

“Here,” Izou drawled, a bored look on his face.

Going cross-eyed, you took a step back to see what it was. Your eyes widened when you saw the intricate poinsettia carving in his hand, the details of the flower it was mimicking catching the light prettily.

“I found this stuck to mine,” he said, motioning to the bird-shaped crystal peeking out of the collar of his kimono before you could ask. He shook it. “Take it. I don’t need two of them.”

“Aww, you do care,” you teased as you reached for it.

Izou jerked it out of your grip, raising it out of your reach. “I am not above breaking it over your head.”

“No don’t! I’ll be good, I promise!”

He finally gave it to you, huffing out of his nose as he swept past the tree of you. “Fine. Let’s go. We need to head to the beach if we want to catch the bonfire in time.”

At this point, the sky was blue-hued with the end of sunset, the chill settling deeper into your bones. But still, the lights and candles kept the island festivities in full swing.

“So, what do we do with these things?” Ace asked, inspecting his lily carving.

“You just keep it.” You shrugged. “Put ‘em in a box or something. It’s your choice. Hell, you can even toss them into the ocean, but make sure to point out where you did it so I can go diving for it.”

Ace hummed in thought, glancing over to see your expectant gaze on him. With a smile and shrug, he shoved it into his pant pocket. “I guess I’ll keep it. So what are we doing now?”

“Bonfire should start soon,” you affirmed. “There’ll be food and drinks, the full Whitebeard Pirates shebang, yaknow?”

The growling of a stomach was the response you received from him, and you chuckled.

“We’re almost there,” Thatch reassured. 

True enough, you four took the stone steps down from the edge of the town, where your shoes immediately sunk into sand. Already, you could hear the hubbub of conversation, men on their way to getting sloshed. There was a chorus of greetings that rose when those present saw you four.

“Finally,” Atmos roared, his beer sloshing over his tankard. “Was thinkin’ you guys died fighting in the town center.”

Izou scoffed, sweeping past him as he headed for where Vista and Haruta were. “Please. As if I’d be taken out by something so simple.”

“I’m going to check out to see if the Fourth Division needs any help,” Thatch called, splitting away too.

That left you and Ace again, and you steered him toward a table set up with food. You unleashed him upon the meal, picking up a few things that pulled at your interests too, and allowing yourself to mingle with everyone.

Like most other Whitebeard parties, it was easy to be swept up in the merriment. At one point, you managed to wrangle a spot beside Haruta as he lit up the main bonfire, toasts being called out into the air. Smaller bonfires went up around the beach too, like twinkling, golden stars in the dark.

And when the moon was high in the sky, just about the time when you knew the spectacle of the night would begin, you sought out Ace again.

He was warm as you slung an arm over his shoulder, warmer than even the slight bit of alcohol coursing through your veins. “Aceyyyyyyyyy. Come on closer to the bonfire.”

“Hm? Why’s that.”

You pointed to the towering back of Blenheim in front of you. “Too many tall ones over ‘ere. And you’re warm, but I wanna be warmer.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a heat hog,” he said, rising from his seat at your insistent tugging. 

Fossa smirked at him when he saw the two of you pass by. “Looks like you’re the victim this time, brat. Good.”

You stuck your tongue out at the older man, aiming towards a log laid on as a seat, angled to look into the island instead of out over the sea. Plopping into it with none of the grace you normally held when somber, you sighed at the heat that suffused your back from the bonfire.

At Ace’s questioning look at you, you raised your arm and pointed over the top of the island, where the top of the pine tree could be seen peeking out. “You’ll wanna watch o’er there. It’s good. I promise.”

Following your words were the lights from the town being extinguished, plunging the inland into darkness. Soon, the only lights came from the bonfires dotting the beaches like fireflies as everyone settled. An air of excitement took over the party, those sober and not tilting their heads up to the sky.

A whistle announced the first of the launches before the sky exploded with color. Fireworks bloomed in their brilliant glory, popping and crackling hues of sparkling rainbows before fading out. It was stunning as ever, but since you’d seen it a few times before, you chanced a glance at the man next to you.

Ace’s eyes were wide, the glow of the firelight making them glitter. You smiled softly at the way it transformed his features into something softer.

Even though you haven’t known him for long, the look on his face earlier was too somber for your liking. The two of you may not be close-knit, but you were at least friendly with him on the account of you two being newer to the crews. So to see that troubled look that bellied something deeper made you worried. You may not be close enough to pry, but at the least, you hoped that this was enough to lift his spirits lightly.

You tore your gaze from the black-haired male just in time to see the second round of fireworks going up. More impressive than the last, this time the fireworks were set up into shapes. All around you, cheers rose from the crew as the doggy face of Stephan bloomed into view, followed by an impressive arrangement forming the Moby Dick. 

As this round began to die down, Marco appeared at your side, handing you a steaming drink. “Here, yoi. Keep warm.”

Reaching for it, you asked, “Is it warmed rum?”

“No. I’m not letting you have that again, yoi.” He turned to Ace and jabbed a thumb at you. “No matter how much this one asks, no more of Raykuyo’s rum, alright? I promise you don’t want to deal with the aftermath.”

You sulkily sipped from the cup, finding that it was hot chocolate. Sweet, yet not too heavy to upset your stomach. “Whatever, I drink it ‘cause it chases the chill away.”

“You have Ace with you, yoi.”

“I’m still cold!” you barked. Your eyes gained a calculating gleam as you shuffled closer to Ace, your free hand whipping out to latch onto Marco’s wrist. “But if you’re insisting, why don’t you come have a seat, Marco? I’m sure you’re awfully tired, and it’s an awfully good view to see the fireworks.

His half-lidded eyes were knowing as he moved to sit beside you, bracketing you on all three sides with heat. You sighed in happiness, and relaxed, returning your focus to the sky.

With the bonfire at your back, Ace and Marco by your side, and the crew all around you, your heart was warm.

Move over Marco it’s whitebeard pirates christmas one shot time