tired.

Law

He was up at the first alarm dressed and showered before you were fully awake. Even if you were also somehow also up at the alarm. The man is not getting to the airport anything less than three hours early.

You're getting dressed and the car is already loaded and he's forcing food into your hands. Law has also checked four times to make sure you have everything you need. You might be able to recite the checklist in your sleep by the time you're walking to the gate.

Only when you're both settled at the terminal does he take a breath. You're distracted with your own entertainment and he's pouring over some article he's been saving for this flight. He's content to rot here until they call you to board.

Until he catches you getting restless. It starts with a sigh, then you're switching positions every five minutes. He makes it five whole minutes of watching you struggle. Then you're both off to find you whatever it was that was bothering you. He's aware he's wound tight, but that doesn’t really stop him snapping at least once.

God forbid you so much as grumble about a carry on. He's taking it from you. Probably wordlessless, most certainly not giving it back. At least not until you get on the plane.

Speaking of the plane. Of course you're sitting together. And of course he's letting you have the seat you want. Of course he's telling himself it's so you won't complain the whole time. He knows it's a lie but it makes it less of an embarrassing mess if he lies.

But if you so much as doze off leaned against him he's not doing anything that would risk you waking up or pulling away.

When you eventually land he's got everything covered until you get to your rented room. That's when the exhaustion catches up to him. You mention needing a shower, even better a bath and he's all in on the idea.

Killer

Even if you have to let him know you were planning this as a joint activity. He will stroll into the bathroom just as casual and measured as always. But that lasts all of five minutes before tender kisses develops into the dragg of teeth along your neck and wandering hands. The familiar flicking of the switch when control finally snaps.

He's pulling himself out of bed with you. His arm still flung heavily over you until the second alarm. He's still half awake through most of the getting ready process. Scrubbing sleep out of his eyes with the palm of his hand.

He still gets you there early. Maybe only an hour or two but your pushing it to make boarding while he lets you wander, getting whatever you want before you really need to go.

He's let you hold you bags for the most part. You're an adult. You can carry your own stuff. That doesn't mean that you necessarily have to. The second you ask him to hold a bag you aren't getting it back. He can certainly carry two bags afterall.

He is also almost too well prepared for almost anything the pair of you could possibly need. Pain medication? Of course. That one specific charger for a device. He's got it. He supposed it was second nature to be ready just incase considering the company he keeps.

He's pretty happy to do whatever helps pass the time honestly. If you're doing your own thing He's happy to distract himself with a game or movie. But if you want his attention he's sharing his screen or headphones.

He's pretty hands on anytime you are in line, hands around your shoulders or on your hips. Sometimes just leaning against you like a dog until you push him away. The man can throw heat so that usually doesn't take very long.

Killer feels a little bad that he sometimes traps you under his heat and weight when he's sleeping. It's almost never intentional and with how heavy of a sleeper he is its hard to avoid. Which is why he tries to keep himself in the window seat. If you really want it he lets you have it but prepare to be a little trapped between him and the wall.

Of course that means that by the time you both get to the room at least one, but more realistically both, of you is sore from the flight. And of course Killer is there to help with that. He's happy to offer a massage.

And in his defense it does start completely sweet. Strong calloused hands working the knots of your shoulders, the occasional lingering kiss to your bare skin.

It lasts maybe ten minutes before your skin is littered with bite marks and he's using his bulk to hold you down while he grinds against you. At least your feeling a little less tense though.

Marco

You're the one pulling him up at the second alarm. It's not that he is irresponsible. Unfortunately he's become a little immune to the regular alarms and a little too confident that you're going to be able to get him up.

That doesn’t mean that he isn't somehow the first one ready to leave. Even if you are getting there with less than an hour to spare.

You are also adorable if you think he's going to be seen not carrying everything you brought. You can have your things you just have to ask of course.

You don't lift a finger the entire process, but he's a little sneaky about it, slipping in to tackle and or pay for whatever you need. He's also completely blowing off any protest. You are on vacation and he's making sure you're enjoying yourself.

That being said he likes having the fee minutes before boarding to settle and do his own thing. Namely trying in vain to finish a book he's been reading for the last six months. He does keep pausing to share little snippets with you so that's not helping. Not like he really minds.

If you want anything he's running to wait in line for it. He's trusting you to hold down the fort until he gets back.

Marco is also guilty of glaring at any crowd if you are separated until he spots you, it's almost day amd night.

When you are with him navigating the crowds he's always got a hand on you or makes sure you're holding on to him. A hand on your wrist or you holding the handle of his bag. He's not trying to lose you in this mess. And if you stop walking with him he notices almost right away and waits.

On the flight itself he likes to think he's laid back but it translates to chaty. He will talk to you, to the people sitting near you. Anyone really.

Which might be part of why he's so exhausted by the time you get checked in and he's settled you in the room. It takes no time for him to fall asleep again.

When the morning comes though he's waking you up to properly start your vacation. Warm hands guiding you to straddle him, hands wandering across exposed skin and soft rough voiced whispers as the light filters into the room.

Mihawk

Gets up on time but a little slowly. He knows you have time and really what's the point in rushing. He's planned to be there pretty close to departure, no point in rushing if he can pay a little more to complete a pre-check.

He's also not worried about you keeping up with him. He knows when you've hit a limit with the process and that's when he's going to step in to help.

Of course he's still getting you almost anything you want. He's pretty staunchly against wasting money on the cheap tourist trap merchandise no matter how much you want it.

Anytime the pair of you are waiting he's more than content to sit in silence together. He is willing to share headphones but only if you're watching something together. Otherwise he's lost in a paper or some article on his phone.

He is an expert at navigating the airport. Connections especially. It's almost a special skill the way he figures out a map and gets you there with time to spare.

When he's actually on the flight he's still in his own world though it's usually focused on the winow or he's drifting off, arms folded in the seat next to you. Occasionally he's in a talkative mood but only when it comes to you. He's paying money to take you on this trip not to make a new acquaintance.

Once you arrive he's taking you for some actual meal first, something nicer than airport cuisine. He's happy to let you check in to the room and change if need be.

You slowed near him, suddenly uncertain. “I bought it on the island? It reminded me of you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly at that and before you could stop him, he reached out to touch the feather. His fingers dragged over it once, slow and careful, before his expression tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Huh,” he said quietly.

You waited for him to elaborate but after another second he just pulled his hand back and shrugged one shoulder. “Looks expensive yoi.”

Confused, you laughed softly. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there?”

He turned back toward his work but the movement was sharper than usual and you found yourself reaching up to touch the feather once he looked away. You’d thought he’d be flattered but clearly that had been a vain idea.

You didn’t take it out that day, if only because you’d spent far too much time putting it in to remove it so quickly. But that only made things weirder.

Because Marco clearly didn’t like it.

Yet he kept touching it.

When you leaned close to him and he threw an arm over your shoulder, he’d play with the feather, tugging on it just enough to move the pin in your hair. That night when you put it down, he immediately picked it up again, twisted it in his fingers and then put it down.

“Does it not suit me?” you asked, watching him drop it onto the table.

“If you like it, it doesn’t matter,” he said but that wasn’t an answer.

You wore it from time to time to see his reactions. It created a stupidly obvious pattern where he was more annoyed than ever on the days you wore it – snapping at just about everybody who asked him something obvious.

One of those experimental days, the wind picked up strong enough to almost knock it from your hair entirely. You pulled it out and left the pin atop a crate while you got to work with the rigging when an unexpected tip from the ship sent it tumbling over the deck.

You watched helplessly as the brilliant blue skated over the damp planks toward the edge of the ship, catching briefly against uneven wood before the next tilt sent it moving again. Salt wind whipped across the deck hard enough to sting your eyes as you lunged too late toward it. Then Marco’s hand closed around the pin just before it disappeared over the side.

His eyes flicked to the ocean for a second and his grip tightened. Then he walked it inside and left it on a safer table before getting back to work.

Nothing had changed and yet it had.

He still laughed, still pressed kisses across your jaw and down your neck. He still teased you about worrying but something was wrong. Not in a way you could explain… just something slightly off.

Something nobody else you spoke to seemed to notice. Ace guessed he was busy. Izou thought he was being stubborn and not sleeping. Haruta said there had always been something wrong with Marco so trying to figure out what specifically was odd was redundant.

Which all left you desperate enough to ask the only source of reliable information on the ship.

Pops held out his hand and you dropped the pin into his palm. He lifted it close to his face, massive fingers careful around the delicate wood.

“It’s the wrong colour,” he said eventually. “Marco’s feathers are brighter.”

You sighed. “I know it’s not exact. It was just meant to remind me of him.”

Pops hummed and tilted the pin slightly so the blue feather caught the sunlight. “Mm.”

“Is he getting offended over inaccurate shades of blue?” you asked. “Because if that’s what this is then he’s being ridiculous.”

A laugh rumbled out of him. “It wouldn’t be anything new.”

You crossed your arms. “He keeps touching it and staring at it and acting annoyed every time I wear it. I can’t even tell if he likes it or hates it.”

“Oh, he knows he hates it,” Pops said easily. “He just hasn’t figured out why yet. I have been entertained by the daily theories though.”

You tilted your head back, squinting against the sun to stare up at him. “Every day?”

“It is getting a little boring at this point though,” he admitted. “If you two are going to give me relationship drama, I’d prefer it more interesting than a hair accessory.”

You left the conversation with Pops less confused about Marco’s opinion but still equally lost on what was causing it. The colour? It was far duller than his own but that couldn’t be it… it had been a while since you’d last seen his feathers though.

Maybe you had accidentally chosen a shade so far off that he found it offensive. Though he wouldn’t admit to that if you asked.

You paced a hole into the deck while you considered it until finally giving up and making your way into Marco’s quarters that evening.

He was leaning over his desk as usual, illuminated only by a flickering oil lamp beside him. You pulled the pin from your hair as you entered and dropped it on the desk next to him.

His gaze lingered on it for far too long before he nudged it away.

“Didn’t expect you so soon yoi,” he said. “Are you planning on sleeping already?”

“Maybe,” you said. “Though I did have a favour to ask.”

“I’ll try my best to fulfil it.”

You breathed out softly before you asked, nervous that this would prove you right and his feathers had randomly turned purple or something. That would be the most embarrassing thing ever…

“Could you transform for me?” you asked.

Marco’s pen paused and he tilted his head to you slightly. “What do you mean? Did you get hurt?”

“No,” you hummed, hoping it would come out coy rather than uncertain. “I was thinking I hadn’t seen your phoenix form in a while. I’m missing it.”

“That’s a pretty strange thing to miss yoi.”

You sighed, running your hands over his shoulders and down to his chest. “Please. You know I like looking at you.”

He huffed and took his glasses off, placing them on the deck. He leaned back into you. “This is sudden. Your feather not enough anymore?”

It could have been a tease. You may have even been fooled by it if you hadn’t had your earlier conversation with Pops. And if you didn’t see the way his gaze immediately shot toward the hairpin where it lay on the table.

You brought your lips to his ears to whisper, “Marco, please.”

For a second, he stayed still. His gaze flicked toward the feather where it lay abandoned on the desk before settling back on you again. Then he stood, pushing the chair back with a scrape against the floorboards and reaching up to cup your jaw.

He kissed you slowly at first, like he was trying to figure something out through the press of your lips. His thumb brushed beneath your ear and you hummed, leaning into him when his hand slid around the back of your neck instead.

“You’re spoiled,” he muttered against your mouth though there was no heat in it.

His grip tightened briefly at the nape of your neck before he kissed you again, deeper this time, until you almost forgot what you had asked for in the first place. Then he guided you backwards through the room, attention fixed entirely on you now in a way that made warmth creep beneath your skin. Your knees hit the edge of the bed and he finally pulled away.

Marco’s eyes were devilishly bright as he smirked at you. Then he erupted into blue flames. The phoenix unfurled before you like a rose blooming in a garden, its bright light illuminating every corner of the room.

His wings unfurled wide enough to brush the edges of the room before folding partially back against his sides, feathers crackling softly with blue flame; every feather a glittering mix of blues and golds. Fire danced harmlessly around his talons as he stepped forward, his phoenix form almost as tall as you were sitting.

You watched in mild awe. It never got any less brilliant to see him like this.

Then you reached out and gently ran your nails over the side of his head. He tilted his head sharply to the side but you didn’t let the movement deter you, smoothing your way over the soft and warm feathers.

He stepped closer and you brought your other hand up too, running both over the sides of his neck where the feathers were short and fluffy.

He extended his neck fully when you began to scratch, eyes closing. A deep trilling sound began deep in his chest that you would never mention in case he then stopped doing it. The noise only got louder once you got to the base of his wings, dragging your nails through the flickering flames and the fluff of his chest.

“So beautiful,” you said and he shuffled closer to your touch. “My handsome bird.”

He opened one eye to give you a reprimanding look but clearly decided the scratches were worth far more than his pride.

With an unexpected hop, he jumped onto your lap and you almost laughed, now able to rub at the base of his wings as well. He was actually making it harder as he shuffled further into your lap, growing heavier as he settled there. You twisted your torso to continue dragging your nails over his body, scratching under the heavier wing feathers.

“Pretty,” you hummed as you watched the flames flicker over them.

He extended his wings slightly, pushing them out until they were touching the edges of the room and straightened taller. He settled fully onto your lap and the sudden weight tipped you backward against the mattress with a laugh caught in your throat. Warmth pressed over your chest immediately; heavy and soft all at once as blue flames flickered harmlessly across the sheets.

His body sprawled over your torso while he shuffled closer, feathers brushing beneath your hands until you could finally scratch properly along his ribs.

Then the flames retreated all at once and the human Marco reappeared, weight held mostly on his forearms so he didn’t crush you.

“You’re going to give me a complex yoi,” he said with his voice low. “If you’re not careful, I’ll become insufferable because of you.”

You continued to tickle his sides, movements far softer and lazier now as you traced over skin rather than feather. “Who says you’re not already?” you asked.

He smiled faintly at you. “Hey.”

“You hate my hairpin,” you said. “But you won’t just tell me. I’m not that attached to it, you know, but I wanted to wear something that reminds me of you. And I can’t use one of your actual feathers because they turn to ash the second they’re not on you anymore.”

“Then don’t wear feathers,” he said as though it was an obvious answer. “You won’t ever find one that looks like mine anyway.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s true. They all pale in comparison to you.”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the desk. “Then why bother with that yoi?”

“I thought you might like the symbolism of it,” you explained. “It was meant to represent you.”

“It doesn’t,” he said simply.

“I guess…”

Marco sighed and ran his hand through his hair, leaning back so he was straddling your waist rather than hovering over you. “I appreciate the idea yoi,” he said. “But it doesn’t feel right. To have you walking around with a random bird’s feather in your hair.”

The realisation arrived slower than it should have. His words and the weight they carried caught up to you and you smiled up at him. It was such a trivial thing and yet…

“What?” he asked.

“I didn’t realise you were the jealous type,” you said.

“Jealous,” he repeated as though the word was foreign. “I don’t have anything to be jealous over.”

“That’s why you nearly threw it in the ocean.”

“I didn’t?”

“You were considering it. When you caught it that day.”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “I was trying to understand why you liked it so much yoi. It’s ugly.”

You laughed softly and he crossed his arms, clearly annoyed that you’d managed to pin down the feeling before he had.

“It’s a feather,” you said. “I wasn’t meaning to replace you or anything.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“You can keep it yoi,” he said. “I don’t mind you having it if you want but it annoys me when you’re wearing it on the deck. Because you’re not… it’s clearly not mine. Even if you want it to symbolise that it is.”

You sighed and shuffled backward until you were free to sit up and loop your arms around his neck. “You know, you could have just told me you hated it.”

“You had good intentions and you spent your money on it.”

“I really don’t care about a hairpin,” you told him. “Though I do find it cute that you’re getting all territorial about a feather.”

“Cute?” he repeated in a dry tone.

“Yes,” you reiterated with complete sincerity because you could see the faint pout in his expression and that was decidedly cute. You leaned in to press your lips briefly against his. “You are cute.”

He stared at you for a second and then he flicked his fingers and a bolt of blue flame shot toward the desk.

It hit the feather directly. The plume blackened instantly, curling inward before collapsing into soft ash that scattered across the wood.

“Marco!”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself for a whole second before your expression properly registered to him. The smugness faltered slightly.

“You said you didn’t like it,” he defended.

“So you burned it?”

“I’ll get you another one,” he said. “Something pretty. I’ll have Izou help me find something without any awful feathers on it.”

You huffed though you couldn’t find it in your heart to be actually annoyed. He stared at you with shamelessness for a few seconds before he leaned down and pressed his face into the crook of your neck.

“You can wear my stuff instead yoi,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin.

“Insufferable,” you reiterated as his arms wound around your waist, pulling you in against him.

You dragged your fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you set my hairpin on fire because you were jealous.”

“That wasn’t… It bothered me. It didn’t suit you.”

You smiled to yourself. Marco lifted his head to look at you, expression softer now and tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You’re lucky I didn’t like it that much,” you told him.

“I’ll find you something to replace it yoi,” he said and you smiled.

“No feathers?”

“No,” he said with certainty.

Then without warning, blue flame bloomed around him again. You almost jumped at the phoenix’s sudden reappearance on the bed, his tail and legs spanning out over the sheets as he emerged from where Marco had been.

He puffed himself up for a second and then immediately shoved his head beneath your chin with a low trill.

You laughed to yourself, hand coming up to rest against the side of his neck, all warm feathers and flame.

“Oh, now you want scratches again? Have I started something I’m going to regret?”

Marco made a rough, chirring sound and his wings shifted impatiently against the mattress. He bumped your hand twice until you gave in, fingers sinking into the feathers along his neck to scratch beneath them.

He melted against you immediately, flames flickering warm across your skin as he spread his wings wide over the mattress. The movement crowded the bed entirely, soft feathers brushing your arms and throat while he shifted impatiently beneath your hands to guide your scratching exactly where he wanted it.

You laughed to yourself as he crawled closer until he sprawled over you; possessive, heavy, and unapologetic about it.