ONE PIECE

It also makes you happier and live life fuller. You take risks, you do the things you’re scared to do and make sure you have fun doing it in the hopes that your joy is strong enough to feed through to your soulmate.

(It is.)

(And he’s eternally grateful for you because of it.)

But of course, life has its downwards spirals and eternal loss of hope.

So when one hits you especially hard, leaving you unable to find happiness in the things you’d always loved, Katakuri takes it upon himself to make you feel something other than despondence.

He talks to his family, goes on trips with Brûlée. Anything to lighten the dark, creeping feeling in his chest.

It’s unnatural.

You’re light and love and enjoyment bubbling beneath his sternum, the reason he has for smiling and letting his pulse race.

But this.

It scares him.

How can someone he’d depended on for elation be so downtrodden?

It works, eventually.

You feel something stir under the gloom of your own sorrow, small and hopeful. You cling onto it as much as you can, the tiniest of smiles gracing your lips. And in that moment, you’re thankful.

And thus starts a cycle of lifting each other up, determination to have a good time settling in when the deep ache of unpleasant feelings so much as pokes around your chest.

The market is the first place you visit. Your eyes trail the stalls, taking in the colourful people and the things they’re selling. You have a hand on Zoro’s arm, tugging every once in a while to ensure he doesn’t wander off. Nothing catches your interest, and Zoro doesn’t seem keen to head into any places either, so you both decide to rest at a nearby restaurant. 

The waiter has only just walked away after taking your orders when you spot a small group of uniformed men being seated close by.

Zoro locks onto them at the same time, and he’s latching onto one of his swords, ready to leap and fight them.

“Wait, wait!” you hiss, leaning over the table to grab his arm.

“They’re Marines,” he protests, matching the volume of your voice. But he settles back onto the chair.

“We’ll just—maybe they haven’t seen us yet,” you try.

He looks doubtful but stays where he is.

Lunch remains peaceful, quiet chatter and laughs emanating from your table as the food diminishes.

You’re not sure when it happens, but everything goes wrong; the Marines have recognised you both, and Zoro has taken it upon himself to fight the whole lot of them.

You shouldn’t be surprised at the turn of events but it still astonishes you just how quickly things can escalate.

With a tray, you block a plate of food that comes flying towards you in the scuffle. A waitress cowering behind a table captures your attention and you hurry over to her.

“Hey,” you chirp. “What’s your name?”

She flinches, surprise etched onto her features when she registers your presence. “I—ah—Penni,” she stammers.

“Great, Penni.” You smile to soothe her nerves and lean in. “Is there another way out? Like a back door no one knows about?”

She tells you about an exit that’s usually reserved for receiving shipments, and you thank her. You also leave a hefty bag of beli for the damage caused (and to keep quiet about where you will have escaped through).

When there’s a reprieve in the attacks, you pull Zoro away from the restaurant-turned-battlefield and leave.

“I almost got them all,” he grumbles.

You stifle your laugh at his near pout, looping your hand around his arm instead. “I know. But we’re meant to be keeping a low profile.”

You both manage to leave the restaurant, but going back the way you came from isn’t an option with the number of Marines swarming the area. You scan the place, finding a forest that you could hide in, or a beach you can pass through in order to get back to your ship. When you ask Zoro for his opinion, he doesn’t answer.

“Zoro?” You squeeze his arm and he looks at you with flickering eyes. “You okay?”

His lips move to make a sound, but he doesn’t act upon it. Instead, he nods and grunts an affirmation.

You don’t believe him, but you drop the matter and focus on evading the Marines. “Let’s go through the forest.”

With a hand on his arm, you guide him towards the trees, making sure to look back every now and again to keep watch of where your pursuers are.

It’s not long until you both realise you don’t know where you’re heading.

“I can’t believe you got us lost,” Zoro says.

With narrowed eyes, you poke him in the side. “I don’t see you helping.”

He catches your hand before you can prod him again. “Don’t; you know I’m ticklish.”

You nudge him with your shoulder and grin widely. “That’s the point, handsome.”

Zoro lets your fingers drop and establishes a small berth with a few steps. It’s not at all obvious, but you’ve known him long enough to pick up on his minute actions.

You let him wander as you try to piece his behaviour together; he’s been weird ever since you left the restaurant. He isn’t still upset over the fact that he didn’t get to fight the Marines, is he? You turn to question him but realise he’s further out than you thought. “Hey!”

He turns and you jerk your head to the side.

“We need to go this way.”

As he makes his way back, you fiddle with the sleeve of your jacket and glimpse the word on your wrist. With a start, you blink and pull back the fabric to stare at it more. And no matter how many times you run your eyes over the word, it’s unmistakable.

‘Love.’

His nearing footsteps bring you out of your shocked stupor and you bring your arms down to your side.

“So, where are we going?” He stops a considerable distance from you.

You only stare at him as you try to make up your mind. You could leave it alone and never speak of it. But you’ve never broached the subject of love before, despite knowing the fact that you’re soulmates and you’ve been intimate with each other.

But, there’s also the fact that he’s been quite aloof today.

Decisions are hard—too difficult to make on your own, so you leave the choice to Zoro. “One or two.”

“What?”

“Just choose; one or two,” you clear up. You’ll address the topic if he picks two.

“Uh—Two.”

Shit. “Okay.” You exhale and pace the ground before you face him again. “Okay. Can we talk for a moment?” You almost wish that he declines the invitation.

And it seems he wants to as well, but he elects against it. “Yeah. About what?”

“What’s going on with you?” At how harsh your question sounds, you shake your head. “You’ve been acting really weird. Like, ever since lunch. You’ve been… distant and I don’t know why.”

He tightens his jaw as he works out what to say. “It’s because of you.”

“What?”

His eyes flicker between your eyes and he exhales before he turns his arm to display the scrawl on his flesh; ‘love.’

Confusion settles on your features and you look up at him.

He doesn’t meet your gaze. “I didn’t—you know I’m not good with this.”

“You’ve been acting weird because I’m in love with you?”

He blushes and you suppress the light laughter that bubbles in your chest. This is the emotionally handicapped man you’ve chosen to love. You smile and lift your cuff and show him your soulmark. “You love me too.”

Zoro’s eyes turn on anything but you and the evidence of his affections on your wrist. “Yeah—I—So what?”

You can’t stop the giggle fast enough and it only serves to turn his face redder. “You’re such a dork.”

“Am not.”

“I’m actually relieved,” you admit with a sigh. “I thought something happened to us. You kept distancing yourself and I thought you didn’t—”

“No.” It’s harsh and cuts through your unfinished sentence. He’s in front of you, hands encasing your own. “Never.”

You study his eyes, throat closing at how sure his voice is. Your stomach pulls into itself, churning with nerves at his proximity and the implication of your future with him. You take in his face; his eyelashes, the curve of his nose, the rise of his lips, the dip of his chin and how stunning he is.

“I love you.”

Zoro captures your whispered words with his lips and presses it onto yours.

It’s not your first kiss with him.

But it’s a tentative first with love spilling into the slow movements and delicate caresses that ends with a quiet breath and a haze that fills your head and settles in your chest. You stay in each other’s space, souls content.

“We should go back to Sunny.” His voice is low, still entranced in the feeling of being in love with you.

“Yeah.” You pull back from him but he stills you with a soft grasp on your wrist.

“Don’t let anyone see that,” he murmurs.

“Your feelings are safe with me.”

He scoffs. “That’s not what I meant.”

You slip your wrist from his grip and intertwine your fingers with his. “I could just get you angry instead.”

“You’re impossible.” His lips curve into a grin

“Yeah, but you love it.”

When you arrive at your house, you find your housemate’s boyfriend leaving. You wave to him, but he only scowls. 

Confused, you enter your shared house. 

“I told you to leave!”

You wince at the yell. “Not Jak!” you call back, slipping your shoes off. You place the papers on the counter, filling the kettle with tap water. “Everything okay?”

There’s silence from their bedroom, save for a few sniffles. “Y/N?”

You place the kettle on its base and flick the switch.

Footsteps patter into the kitchen and you turn around. You’re about to greet them but they rush you, hugging you as they bury their head into your shoulder. 

You return the embrace, hands on their back. “What’s wrong?”

They take a breath and pull away, eyes red. “The bastard cheated on me!”

Your eyes narrow. You really should’ve punched him instead of waving at him. “I thought he was your soulmate?”

They glare at the name on their arm, teeth gritted. “Apparently not.” The words come out laced with bitterness and they squeeze the skin between their fingers. “Stupid soulmates.”

“Hey, stop.” You pull their hand away before their skin becomes redder. “You want some tea?”

“Yes, please,” they sigh. “Do you think I should get a tattoo?”

You chuckle at the idea, taking down cups. “I think you’d look great with one.”

The tea serves to calm you both down—your nerves stilling and their anger slowing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” they gasp, sitting upright. 

You’re taken aback at the sudden change in tempo. “What do you mean?”

“I must be freaking you out with my ‘soulmates are stupid’ rant,” they say, eyeing the letters on your skin. “You haven’t even met yours yet.”

Shaking your head, you smile. “It’s fine.”

And it really is; listening to them vent was distracting you from your own anxieties.

“What are you doing home so early anyway?”

You shrug, stretching your arms out on the table. “I got the week off.”

Their eyes widen, practically leaping off the chair. “Oh my God!” they rush into their room and come out with two slips of paper. “Do you wanna go on a cruise with me?”

You’re frozen in disbelief. “What?”

“I was meant to go with Jak but… y’know.” They shake their head before they can get riled up again and hand you a ticket. “So, I’ve got a spare.”

You take the paper and read through the information. “This is in three days, Ash.”

“But you’re finally free!” they beg. “And we both need the break.”

You’re almost scared again—what if on your trip you miss meeting your soulmate? But your boss’ words come back to you and you find yourself nodding. “Okay, I’ll go.”

Ash grins, practically vibrating as they hug you. “We should pack.”

You retreat to your room and pull out a suitcase, loading your clothes into it. You’re excited—you’ve never been on a ship before, so you’re looking forward to the experience.

And if you’re out there when you meet your soulmate, there’s no way they’re some boring civilian.

You glance at the ‘sa’ on your arm with a grin. This might be the best decision you’ve ever made. 

It’s not.

It most definitely is not. 

Departing from the shore was fine, though delayed. Everyone grumbled and complained, but the staff told everyone they could get their first drink free.

Then, while on the seas, the ship just stops.

“Is this normal?” you ask Ash.

They shrug and you realise neither of you have been on a cruise before. 

Ash opens the door, head peeking out as they try to wave down a staff member. “Excuse me.”

A firm voice outside says something and Ash closes the door.

“What’s wrong?” your voice is tight with panic because your friend doesn’t look calm.

“I’m not sure,” Ash murmurs. “He just told me to go back inside.”

You purse your lips, trying to look outside the window. The angle makes it too difficult to see anything. “So we just stay here?” Your finger runs over the mark on your arm. The fifth letter is starting to form, and you’re not sure what letter it’s trying to make. 

“Well, we have to,” Ash answers. “It’s probably just something small.”

And then the ship starts to shake. The ground vibrates and the walls quiver, windows and mirrors rumbling.

Something shatters in the room next door.

You grab hold of the dresser, finding stability in the heavy furniture. 

The tremors stop. 

“You okay?”

Ash nods. They clamber back to the door where there seems to be voices emanating from outside; it’s more than just staff now. “I think everyone else left their rooms.”

“We should go too.”

You and Ash join the crowd outside, walking the hallway to find someone who might know more than you.

The people around you are all confused, asking each other what’s going on, but no one seems to have a definitive answer. The general consensus, however, is pointing towards pirates.

“That’s not good,” Ash whispers to you.

“Are they robbing us?”

Ash shrugs, pulling you to a stop. “Maybe we should hide out down here.”

Footsteps rush overheard, silencing the chatter in the hall. Everyone holds their breath as their eyes follow the noise. 

The ceiling caves, wood splintering as a person tumbles down. 

Screams pierce the air. 

People shuffle away from the debris. 

“Sanji!” A yell from above calls out

The mass under the wood groans. “I’m okay!”

Your breath stills at the voice and a shiver runs down your spine; it sounds familiar, but new at the same time.

Ash hisses your name and you look back to find that you’re paces away from where you were standing. “What are you doing?” they keep their voice low.

You raise your arm.

Ash mouths the name printed on your skin and their eyes flicker to your face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

Amongst the quiet, Ash’s exclamation carries across the hall.

Wood clatters to the ground as the man sits up. “Wait, who said that?”

You turn, unsure how to proceed. Do you walk up to him? Stay back here?

What if he’s dangerous?

“Don’t,” Ash murmurs behind you.

The man stands up and scans the crowd.

His eyes lock onto you and your breathing stutters. “It’s you,” he utters out.

You swallow the lump in your throat. 

The ceiling gives way again.

Ash pulls you back as people start to yell. 

The crowd dwindles, people retreating to their rooms, but you’re frozen in place and Ash isn’t going to leave you. 

The blond looks down at the second pile and pulls out another man with wild hair and long nose. “Hey, Usopp, you okay?”

He raises a shaky arm and shoots his companion a thumbs-up. “Everything hurts.”

“You’ll be fine.” Sanji places him back on the ground and stares at you again. “Are you Y/N?”

You somehow manage to nod. 

He approaches you, long strides taking him up to you in a matter of seconds. 

Ash steps in front of you, eyes narrowed. 

You’re almost glad for their interference—you don’t know how safe this man is.

Sanji stops. “I just want to see your mark,” he says.

Ash turns their head, waiting for your decision.

You grip the back of their shirt. “It’s okay, Ash.”

They move off to the side but keep their eyes on Sanji as he comes closer.

He takes your arm in his hand, fingers gentle and light.

You suppress the stutter in your breath at the feel of him touching you. 

He brushes his name with a finger, sending shivers down your arm. 

When you look up at him, he smiles. And it’s so beyond breathtaking that you don’t know how to respond. 

Something crashes on the floor above and you both glance up.

“I’ll be back.” He squeezes your arm and jumps through the hole he had entered through. 

The other man joins him soon after.

Ash migrates back to you, touching your arm to pull you out of a trance. “You okay?”

“Uh—yeah.” You nod.

“You’re drooling,” they snicker.

You send them a playful glare. “Shut up.”

Ash leans against the wall, legs stretching out in front of them. “So, we just wait for him to come back?”

The ceiling shakes as something hits the floor above, causing you both to pause.

“Yeah,” you answer, after whatever happened settles. “I think so.”

“But, like, isn’t he a pirate?” Ash gestures vaguely through the ceiling.

You purse your lips, hand coming to rest where Sanji had touched you. “I know, but…” you shrug, “it just—he seems…” You flail your arms as you try to come up with a word. “Safe?”

They study you for an uncomfortably long time, which they conclude with a sigh of defeat. “Okay.” Ash straightens from their slouched position. “What are you going to do?”

“I…” You shrug. “What do you mean?”

“When he comes back,” Ash clarifies. “What are you going to do? Quit your job and sail with him? Come back home and wait for him?”

The question stumps and scares you at the same time. “I don’t know,” you whisper. 

Ash’s demeanour softens at your uncertainty. “Maybe just have a chat with him,” they suggest. “See how he is, and if life on the sea is what you want.”

You nod slowly. “Sounds logical.”

“And if he isn’t what you’re looking for…” Ash’s shoulders lift. “No harm done.”

“You sure are smart,” you chuckle. 

Ash scoffs, shaking their head. “Nah,” they disagree. “Just experienced.”

Footsteps click down the stairs and you look up to see dress shoes descending.

You release a shaky exhale, crossing your arms to hide your nerves.

You continue your journey, traversing seas and jungles to find this person. The adventure starts to wear you down; no matter how far you go, they always seem to be further still. You wonder if you should give up—find someone else and settle down with them instead. The thought crosses your mind more than you’d like to admit, but you always brush it aside. It’s not fair.

Months pile upon months, islands replaced by a newer one. Your ship has seen better days, but you persist.

A well-needed break sees you spending time on a summer island. Your usual thick clothing used to stave off long nights on the ocean are now replaced with a tee and shorts. You check into a nearby hotel with plans to stay for a fortnight. Settling into the room, you throw what little belongings you have into the drawers and closet, depositing the empty sack in the corner of a cupboard

Despite the dawning night, you exit your room and explore the town, eyeing restaurants, stores, and hangouts where you can seek peace and quiet. There are so many places and shops to spend your money on. by the time a week goes by, you still have more than half the town to inspect.

A passing conversation with a tailor reminds you of your soulmate.

As you head back to the hotel room, you pull your shirt away to glimpse the tattoo.

And it’s moving.

With a quick turnaround, you rush past a crowd of shoppers into a restroom, standing in front of the mirror. Prying the collar down proves that the tattoo is stable, but its position has changed.

They’re here.

Long strides take you out of the bathroom, peeking down your shirt as you walk to determine what direction you need to go. Pulse erratic, you wander the town, cursing your soulmate for their need to move around so much. Sometimes you think you see them; following a man into a cafe, only to find your arrow points another way.

False starts dampen your spirit, but you power through—this is the closest you’ve been to finding them

You end up on the beach, sun peaking with streaks of clouds against the vivid blue sky. Again, you pull away your shirt to study the tattoo, stepping slowly across the sand. You circle some people, walking around them with your gaze glued to the arrow to see if it points in the same direction.

A lot of people offer you weird looks, and it’s really no wonder why; who walks around with their eyes pinned down their shirt?

You heed them no mind; there’s too much on your mind to focus on the judgement of strangers.

After circling a certain green haired man a few times, you decide that this is it; you’ve found him.

But you’re not sure how to approach him. You play through different scenarios in your mind; of how you’ll waltz right up to him and chat him up. Or maybe you’ll pretend to bump into him. There are lots of different endings to them too; all good and bad. It makes you nervous but you’ve spent so long waiting for this moment you decide that you don’t care.

Glancing around, you look for him, only to see that he’s vanished somewhere. with a jolt, you stand and consult the arrow. You follow it to a small array of stores on the road by the beach but you still fail to find him.

The tattoo points behind you and you turn, where he stands in front of you, eyes narrowed.

Your breath freezes in your throat and the words building in your head fall away.

“Why are you following me?” His voice is gruff, and if you’re not mistaken, hostile.

“I…” Is all that manages to come out of your mouth.

He steps closer, hand inching to the hilt of a blade kept at his hips.

“Whoa.” Fear closes itself around your chest, settling deep in your stomach. A step back establishes distance and placating hands rise. “You’re my soulmate,” you explain.

When his stance doesn’t change, you slowly move your hand to your shirt, tugging the collar away to reveal the tattoo. “It’s pointing right at you.”

He pulls his own top away, craning his neck to look at his chest. A scar peeks from under his clothing, starting just below his left shoulder blade. The rest is hidden by his blouse, but you can gather it’s a large injury. Above the wound is a small blotch, which you know is his arrow.

“Huh,” he grunts, after confirming your words.

You stare at him, waiting for something else. Maybe excitement or displeasure.

But all he shows is indifference.

“That’s it?” you ask, incredulous.

“What?”

“I’m your soulmate,” you try again.

He nods, slipping his shirt back into position. “Appears so.”

“You don’t care?” The question comes out tinted with disbelief.

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

The answer hurts you more than you’d like it to—this is your life; everything you’ve surmounted your time to and he brushes it away. You’re not sure what to say. Do you plead? Act like it doesn’t matter? As much as you’d like to, you know you can’t fool yourself long enough to play that facade. “Just—anything?” you ask, almost desperate.

He purses his lips, an apology on his tongue and pity in his eyes.

“Please don’t,” you whisper before he has a chance to voice his thoughts.

He nods, running a hand over his head. “I’m gonna go, then.”

You reach out before you’re aware of the action, fingers wrapping around his wrist to hold him in place.

But you drop it immediately at the sensation of his skin under yours.

It boggles your mind why the first touch isn’t discussed more.

Most talk about seeing their soulmate for the first time—how the sight of them is enough to take their breath away. But the initial physical contact is mesmerising; souls yearning for each other, threatening to break free of their cages and be whole. Everything that has been missing clicks into place, even if you weren’t aware you were incomplete in the first place. It’s an indescribable feeling of oneness and utter serenity

“I’m sorry,” you gasp around the void in your chest. It hurts to be complete for even a second, knowing you have to walk away. “I need to go.” You tear yourself away from your soulmate before he says anything else that rips you apart.

This time, he’s the one to grab you, strong hands capturing your fingers.

You stifle the quick release of breath that threatens to break through your lips.

“What was that?” he asks. And you can tell he’s reeling from the effects of the touch as well. He breathes a little heavier and his voice shakes the slightest bit.

“I—” You cough at the sudden dryness in your throat and pull your hand away from his. “That was us.” With a shrug, you gesture at the distance between you both. “Our, uh… souls.”

He stares at you, eyes narrowed and fingers twitching at his side.

Slow, steady breaths pull out of your chest, hands tucking into themselves to stop the urge to reach out again. “I’m—uh, gonna go.”

“Wait.” The word comes out garbled, scratched by his throat before it leaves the confines of his mouth. “Wait,” he repeats, firmer.

And you do, hovering near him but not exactly close enough to stave off that unbearable feeling of separation.

“Are you going anywhere?” he asks, eyes skipping between your face and the surroundings behind you.

“No?” you answer with a question, unsure. “I was looking for you, and… uh, yeah.” You trail off, undecided in your future; meeting your soulmate hadn’t gone entirely how you’d expected it to.

“I’m a pirate.”

You nod, still off-track with the direction of the conversation. “Okay?”

“I travel a lot and it’s dangerous.”

“That’s, uh… great.” It sounds like he’s boasting, but the tone isn’t quite right for a prideful remark.

He shakes his head, internally berating himself. “I’m just—I’m letting you know, so you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Your body freezes as your mind processes his words. When the information sinks in, you blink, tilting your head. “Are you—Was that an invitation to—to join you?”

His jaw tightens, eyes guarded. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“What?” You’re shaking your head before the words leave your mouth. “No—no, that’s not what I meant.” You pull back your hand before it rests on his arm. “No, I just—it didn’t really sound like a—um, an invitation. and you said you didn’t care about m—about soulmates, so I… I don’t know?” You shrug, hoping it comes across natural. “Wasn’t expecting it?”

He stays silent, watching your hands flutter and how your lips move as you speak. He’s still waiting for an answer, you realise, and you stop rambling.

“If it’s okay with you,” you start softly, focus finding the ground. “I’d like to travel with you.” You manage to look up at his face, but you don’t dare gaze into his eyes.

“Okay.”

You purse your lips to hide the grin. Again, he sounds like he’s indifferent about the whole thing.

“I’ll need to ask my captain, first.”

“Ah—yeah, of course.”

He gives a pointed look to something behind you, face filled with amusement.

You turn in time to see a high-spirited teen bound over from a table filled with individuals who all seem to be trying not to stare or listen.

“What’s up, Zoro?” the boy asks, a wide smile splitting his cheeks.

“Don’t give me that,” your soulmate says. “I know you heard everything.”

“I wasn’t listening!”

But even you can tell the lie is weak.

“We need an answer, Captain.”

The black-haired teen laughs, turning to you with an outstretched hand. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

You clasp his hand and tell him your name.

“You don’t have a dream?” his head tilts at an unnatural angle, eyes filling with curiosity.

“I, uh—not anymore. It was just to find him,” you answer, keeping your head from turning to see Zoro’s reaction.

“How boring.” The words, although hurtful, don’t come across as such.

“Hey!” Zoro yells at his captain, hitting him over the head.

Luffy manages to dodge and bounces away, laughter spewing from his lips.

You’re not quite sure what happened, but it feels like you’ve been given permission to stay with them.

“C’mon, we’re leaving soon.” Zoro starts to walk off.

Your eye catches Glasses’, who raises a brow. With a shake of your head, she goes back to serving the other patrons.

Not wanting a fight in your friend’s bar, you step away to round the table and continue your path out. But before you have a chance to, he grabs your wrist to stop you from edging away. Immediately, you pluck a butter knife from the table, sliding it between your fingers to position it properly. As you’re about to bring it under his chin, another person steps in.

To call him a stranger would be naïve. There wasn’t a person on the seas who hadn’t heard of the Whitebeard Pirates. His signature hair and brand on his chest marked him as Marco the ‘Phoenix’.

“I suggest you leave the young one alone.”

The man pales and backs away, stuttering a quick apology before tripping over his feet as he stumbles out the door.

With him gone, you turn to face the commander. You smile, a polite grin that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement, gaze focused on the knife you still hold in your hand.

You almost step away, afraid he’d see it as a threat, but he only gives you a smile. It’s odd; something about it is familiar, and his face almost lights up.

“Take care.” And he turns around, returning to his seat in the corner of the bar, where a man claps him on the shoulder, devilish grin perking his cheeks.

You stare after the man, confused and somewhat in awe. You’re not sure what you were expecting from the First Division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates but this wasn’t it.

You let out a shaky exhale, relaxing your muscles as you slip the knife into its container. With a quick nod to glasses, you exit the bar.

The next morning you’re sitting at the counter again, Glasses jotting your order into a pad.

“Things were kinda tame after you left. I think that might’ve been the most action this bar has had in a month,” she rambles as she takes the paper to the kitchen.

With a laugh, you take a peek over your shoulder to survey the rest of the bar; it’s vacant, most of the usual occupants night time goers as opposed to morning birds. There’s no unique blond-haired man in the corner of the room, but it’s not like you were looking anyway.

You turn back to find her filling up a glass with your usual drink.

She continues chatting, but you both know that you’re not really paying attention. “—and they have the audacity to—holy shit!” She freezes as her eyes focus on you, hand halting in her action to pass you the drink.

You raise a brow and await her elaboration.

“You have a grey hair!” Her face is a combination of excitement and slight terror.

“What?”

She reaches out to touch the strand but you lean back and swat her hand away.

“You met your soulmate,” she breathes out

You blank, mouth open in what you can only assume is subdued surprise. “But I haven’t—” and you cut yourself off because you have met someone new. “Holy shit.”

Glasses mimics your words, leaning over the counter with her elbows. “Your soulmate is Marco the frickin’ ‘Phoenix’!”

“I don’t—I don’t understand.”

“What do you mean? You’ve been searching for him for 22 years!”

“No, I know, but…” you trail off, suddenly anxious. Glasses’ excitement was infectious, but now you’re not too sure anymore. “Why isn’t he, you know, 18 too?”

And the light in Glasses’ eyes dims as she realises her mistake. “Oh.”

“That’s because Marco is ancient.”

The both of you turn your heads to face the newcomer, mouths open to find it’s ‘Fire Fist’ Ace of the Whitebeard Pirates. He was the man who had been with Marco yesterday.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he apologises, taking the stool next to yours. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

“That’s fine.” You dismiss his apology, trying to be courteous to the Second Division commander. “She was being too loud.”

“Oh, piss off,” Glasses says in mock offense. When it’s silent, she takes the initiative in resuming the conversation. “What do you mean Marco is ancient?”

“It’s got something to do with his Devil Fruit,” Ace explains. “He doesn’t age properly, so he looks young.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why he isn’t 18.” Glasses has taken it upon herself to question Ace for the details you’re too scared to ask. And you’re not sure if you’re grateful or hesitant about her contribution.

“That’s because he’s already met his soulmate.”

You can’t help your gut from dropping. Of course he’s met his soulmate.

“Marco won’t tell me much,” Ace continues, aware of the dampened atmosphere around you, “but his soulmate died—I’m guessing around however many years old you are.” He gestures a hand out towards your body, but you know he’s not talking about your physical age. “And you’ve been reincarnated.”

“Holy shit,” Glasses breathes out. And it’s a perfect echo to what you’re thinking.

In the lapse of chatter, Ace reaches over the counter to the drink that lay forgotten. He pushes the cup to you, a smile on his face. “You look like you need it.”

With a chuckle of agreement, you accept the drink and down it. When you’re done, Glasses takes the mug and sets it aside. “You don’t need more,” she answers when you shoot her a look.

“Bull,” you say. “I just found my soulmate. I need to drink.”

“No. You need to go find your soulmate and talk to him.”

And you probably should. It seems the most logical thing to do, but you’re sitting here and hesitating because you’re scared. “Maybe tomorrow,” you answer instead.

“We’re due to leave at sundown,” Ace interjects. He throws an apologetic look your way at the shocked expression on your face. “We stopped for a quick refuel, but we won’t be staying here any longer.”

Glasses turns to you with an expectant look.

“I don’t…” you trail off, the familiar feeling of doubt resurfacing.

“Hey.”

And you look up in surprise at the soft tone that captures your attention, because it doesn’t belong to Glasses.

It belongs to Portgas D. Ace.

“You’ll be fine,” he says with a smile. “Marco isn’t scary, despite everything everyone says. He’s… just Marco.”

The declaration isn’t as far-fetched as others would think, considering the possibility that here was the Second Fleet commander trying to soothe your fears.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he smiles, cheeks crinkling the freckles across his face. “Marco should be at the market.”

With a nod, you rise from the stool and wave at Glasses.

“Get ‘im,” she encourages, sending a thumbs up.

You find yourself at the market fifteen minutes later, eyes roaming the crowd for a sign that indicates the presence of a Whitebeard Pirate. But the bustling crowd is as loud as ever, each word and phrase meshing into its neighbour, rendering it impossible to pick out specific details.

Instead, you rely on your eyes to identify the blond man, or even his odd colour combination in clothes to stand out. But nothing jumps to your attention, the familiar marketplace the only thing assaulting your senses.

You backtrack, keeping your sight ahead of you. And really, it was your mistake; you shouldn’t have been walking backwards in the first place, but there you were.

Jolting at the collision, you quickly whip around, apologising to the person. But the words die on your lips when you glimpse the insignia on his chest.

“Marco.”

You stare at each other, nerves flaring and choking up your words the longer you stand there. Sidestepping, you bring yourself closer to a wall to avoid the crowd you had stopped in front of.

Magnetised, he follows, eyes lingering on you.

“Sorry,” you finally say when you’re both partially isolated from the crowd.

“You, uh… Are you here to buy something?” He gestures out to the stands littering the road.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “I go to the market on Mondays. I was—” you halt yourself, realising you’re rambling. “This is a mistake,” you breathe out. Stomach curdling with anxiety, you clench your hands to hide your shaking fingers. This is stupid.

Marco is quick to grab your wrist; the hesitance and fear settling on your face is a mirror to how he feels—only he hides it better.

And that one touch brings your senses into overdrive and halts your processing at the same time. It’s all you can think of—the only thing you can think of, and it encompasses everything.

He drops his hand and you’re not sure if it’s a blessing or a disappointment.

“Do you want to… Would you like to—I uh…” he stumbles over his words, eyes on the ground to watch the incoherent phrases fall and tumble at your feet.

The small act of insecurity lifts your spirits as you realise you aren’t the only one who is nervous. “You want to go for a drink?”

He snaps his head up, eyes softening at the smile pulling your lips. “Yeah, I do.”

You nod. “I know a place we can go.”

“The bar?” Marco asks, gesturing over his shoulder in the general direction of the establishment.

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “No. I—uh… I go there way too often. I’m thinking some other place.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Lead the way.”

You make your way to a cafe; a tiny, secluded place that’s been opened for decades, but hidden from most of the town. When you’re not drowning life’s troubles in Glasses’ bar, you come here for a pick me up, and a delicious meal. As you step across the threshold, the bell tinkles your arrival and the lady at the counter smiles in recognition.

“Hey!” She approaches, hands resting on your shoulders as she takes you in.

Her eyes soon drift over your head to the man behind you, and her mouth falls open. “You—Are you on a date?” She grabs your hands, shaking them in her excitement.

“Lia.” You grip your fingers tighter around hers, sending a warning. You shoot a quick look behind you, but the soft smile pulling on Marco’s lips evidences the fact that he heard her.

“I’ll go find us a seat,” he says before heading towards the small array of furniture.

“Oh my God!”

You pull her closer, letting go of her hands. “I’m gonna need you to be quiet and keep your cool.”

She nods, releasing a heavy exhale. But she soon splits into a wide grin. “You’re on a date!” she squeals.

Biting your lip, you hide your own smile. “Yeah, and you’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m so happy for you.” She wraps you into a hug, vibrating with enthusiasm. When she draws herself away, she beams. “I’ll be cool, I swear.”

“You better.”

Bouncing back to the counter, she gives you a thumbs up. “I’ll come get your order in ten minutes.”

Shaking your head, you quell your grin and cross the room to the seating area. Marco has found a seat in the corner of the room, next to a wide window.

You join him, taking the unread menu despite the fact you already know what you want to order. “Anything catch your eye?”

“Just one,” he murmurs, looking up from the menu. He stares at you long enough for you to realise he’s not talking about the food.

Feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, you cast your gaze down to the menu in front of you, distracting yourself with the printed words.

“Do you come here often?”

“Uh, yeah, I do.” You risk a glance up at him, but return your focus to the pages when you find him still staring.

“What do you recommend?”

When Lia comes to your table, pen and pad ready, you order two servings of your favourite meal and drink.

“Thanks, Lia,” you say to her retreating back.

“So, you don’t go out often.” The words fall from Marco’s mouth onto the table, waiting.

“I—uh… what?”

He grins. “Your friend seemed surprised you were on a date.”

Blushing furiously, you curse Lia, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah—No, I—uh—I was waiting, trying to find…” the right one. Find you. “What about you?” You try to make yourself sound nonchalant, but you’re not sure what you want the answer to be.

“Not really. Just a lot of dates with the same person.” He rubs a hand under his chin.

“How did you know?” you blurt out.

“Sorry?”

Dammit. You had wanted to ask the question under better circumstances, with more tact. But it had been eating away at you since that smile at the bar. “How did you know it was me? That I was your…”

“Soulmate?”

Cheeks reddening, you nod.

“I’ve spent time with you before.” His eyes soften, smiling at a phantom face in his memory. “I know your soul and I recognised it.”

You stare at his serene expression, suddenly faced with familiarity you can’t pinpoint. It steals your breath and races your heartbeat at the same time. Pushing away the tendrils of recognition, you focus your mind to now; you don’t want to fall in love with the past.

The conversation is small, riddled with nervous stammers and silence. It takes a while for the both of you to get comfortable enough to delve further than the polite necessities. You’re both unsure on how to proceed, your apprehension feeding off each other.

Solace is found when Lia arrives with the food and drinks, placing them on the table. She tells you both to enjoy before disappearing again. Mouths occupied with chewing, you remain in quiet tranquillity, answering and asking questions between bites of food.

Time passes quickly in the cafe, and it doesn’t take long for two pairs of eyes to drift out the window and dread the moment the sky starts to bleed orange.

“See ya, Lia!” you call out to her as you and Marco step out of the building, bell ringing at your exit.

The walk back to the pier is peaceful, atmosphere light with content.

Your feet take small steps, hopelessly avoiding the imminent farewell.

Marco follows your pace, too wrapped up in his thoughts of uncertainty to talk.

The eventual stop is filled with anxious energy.

People are bustling around the docks, loading crates and barrels onto their ship.

You spot Ace heaving a large cask into a great vessel that resembles a whale.

“Will I see you again?” you ask, steadying your breath and forcing yourself to look into Marco’s eyes.

“Do you want to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He rubs his chin, trailing his fingers to scratch at the back of his head. “I don’t—I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for. I can’t—I don’t expect you to wait for me. It might be years, or longer.”

You smile, a sight that catches him off guard. “I’ve waited my whole life to finally meet you, Marco. A few more years won’t hurt.”

He chuckles, a grin pulling his lips. “Okay. I’ll visit when I can.”

The darkening sky urges the parting, hiding the warmth of the sun.

Marco steps forward, hand reaching up to your cheek.

Your breath halts at his touch, eyes wide as you stare up at him.

He plants a kiss on your forehead, and you can’t help the disappointment settling in.

Before he can pull away completely, you take his hand in yours, ignoring how your stomach jumps at the action. You pull him down with your other hand, lips capturing his.

Marco melts into the kiss, releasing his inhibitions and worries. Hands drop to your hips, holding you against him as he pulls away to breathe. Your chests heave, breaths mingling in the closed space between you.

“I have to go,” he whispers.

You nod.

But neither of you steps away from the other.

He almost gives in, begs you to come with him, but he knows that it’s not a good idea; he lost you last time due to his greed. “See you soon,” he promises. Stealing one last kiss, he detaches himself from you.

You watch as he boards his ship, where he is immediately met with Ace who slings an arm around his shoulders. Distance makes it impossible to hear what they say, but you smile when you catch the sounds of faint laughter. Ace soon leaves Marco to stand at the railing by himself.

Your gazes are fixed on each other as the ship departs. It’s only when the vessel is a tiny speck do you turn away and retreat back home.

NSFW

dominant af

likes to be in control and hear you beg

also likes the feel of your thighs wrapped around his waist, and when you thread your fingers through his hair

when he starts to lose control, he buries his face in your shoulder and sometimes bites your skin

if he’s feeling hot-tempered, expect angry sex

round one will be rough and hard

round two will always be softer and more loving to make up for it

and round three (if you can handle it) will be all about you and making you feel good

note that these rounds are based on his climaxes, not yours

he won’t do it often, but sometimes, he’ll give up control to you and let you make the decisions

he is so into bondage

Eventually, you nod back off to sleep and he detaches your arms from around him, heading to his room to make a call.

The voice that comes from the Den Den Mushi is nervous, but answers all his questions; the food used was fresh, the utensils were clean, the waiters and chef’s hands were washed multiple times throughout the night. Measures were taken to keep everything sterile for Sir Crocodile’s visit.

When the call ends, he can basically feel his stress levels rising. He craves a cigar, but they’re all in the kitchen so he waits until he’s done.

Because he’s pretty sure he remembers seeing a waiter side-eye you many times. And maybe they slipped you something in your food.

So he pays the man a “visit”, calls a clean-up crew and comes home, all before you wake up from your nap.

He moves you to his bed, tucking you in before calling his contacts.

They converge in the living room, and he tells them about the waiter. Because maybe the waiter was for hire and someone wanted to hurt Crocodile through you.

During that time, you’ve woken up. You don’t remember going into the room but you pay it no mind and head out into the kitchen, needing water to quench your thirst.

Sluggish movements catch you unawares and your head aches. Blood pounds loudly and you can hear your heartbeat.

Eventually, you make it to the sink and grab a cup from the dish rack.

Your head feels heavy and light at the same time, and blink rapidly to clear your mind.

In the living room, Crocodile wraps up the meeting, not wanting you to see the mass of assassins and be alarmed.

Glass shattering pierces the air.

Crocodile materialises himself to the kitchen, sand billowing in his wake.

You’re collapsed on the ground, shards of glass around you.

Luckily, you haven’t landed on any of them, and Crocodile picks you up gingerly, moving you to the couch.

One of the assassins present happens to be a doctor, and examines you by order of the ex-Shichibukai.

The others who aren’t of any use are told to go find more information about a conspiracy against him.

There’s not much the doctor can do except check your vitals seeing as you’re unresponsive.

But a minute passes and you wake, groggy and still thirsty.

After you’re able to have a drink, the doctor questions you about your health.

When he concludes his investigation, his eyes flicker between you and Crocodile and his mouth opens and closes.

His hesitance pisses Crocodile off, because what the Hell could he be so nervous about? (He’s also the tiniest bit scared, but he’s not ever going to admit that.)

The doctor finally asks the question, directing it at you, instead of the intimidating man who pins him down with a glare.

“Have you had sexual intercourse within the past few weeks?”

You’re stammering and flushing because what kind of question is that?

Crocodile growls, anger fuelling his actions and his hook is at the man’s throat. “Why does that matter?”

The doctor is unimpressed, and pushes the weapon away. “All symptoms point to a pregnancy. So..?”

And it’s like you’ve both been paused.

You’re frozen on the couch, absolutely terrified because what happens now? No matter how many times you’ve dreamt of a normal life with Crocodile, you know it can’t be — he’s a fugitive, a man with a bounty on his head. So you told yourself to be with him, but not with him. You were there for him, physically, and maybe emotionally (sometimes he talks, sometimes he doesn’t), but at the beginning of the day and the end of the night, you’d remind yourself, don’t fall in love.

And Crocodile can’t comprehend the situation because it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He had meant to sweet talk you in the weeks leading up to your birthday. And when the day finally came, he would have a simple dinner with you and make love to you all night long — grinding into you, stroking your hair and leaving heated kisses on your neck. But instead, here you are, pregnant, months in advance of his plans, because he arrived home angry from a mission last week.

Neither of you knows what to do or say.

When the silence is broken by Crocodile’s harsh “Leave”, you jolt.

The doctor bids his farewell, reminding you to take care of yourself, and telling Crocodile to quit smoking.

The door that closes in his wake reverberates in the suddenly too quiet, too large and too stuffy house.

The former Warlord rounds the couch to stand in front of you.

And you flinch at the light that glints off his hook because this is it. He’s going to kill you and rid himself of the baby.

He stops himself from kneeling, swallows past the pain in his chest and steps back.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, voice quivering with dread.

And he blinks in surprise because you’ve ripped the words right from his throat.

“I can leave,” you continue, hiding the tremble in your hands by clasping them together. “I won’t tell anyone it’s yours.”

He takes in your demeanour, your pale face and shaken nerves. It hurts him to see you this way, but it pains him more that you’re scared of him. That you’re pleading with him to let you live. That you don’t trust him

But he hides the ache behind stoic stares. “If that’s what you want.”

It isn’t what you want, but it’s the only option where you’re able to live — or so you think.

You stand warily, shying your body away from Crocodile, afraid it might be some trap.

He tightens his fist when you rush off to pack your things. His teeth grind against each other at the sound of your muffled sniffles.

By nightfall, your belongings are stuffed into your bag.

Crocodile’s heart wants to stop you, to pull you away from the door and ask you to be his.