#white bread

They said blood ties could not be undone.

But you tried anyway.

You were the daughter of the Pirate King. Sister to Portgas D. Ace. Granddaughter of Monkey D. Garp. A Vice Admiral of the Marines.

And, somehow, a traitor to them all.

You hadn’t meant for things to end this way. You had long since given up the dream of becoming a pirate. A childish fantasy burnt out after a youth spent hiding from the world’s expectations. You didn’t want to be a queen of the seas. You didn’t want to be famous.

You wanted control.

And the Navy gave it to you. Order. Discipline. Identity. A world of clean lines and absolute power. It felt safer than chaos, safer than the love that tied you to your past.

But nothing felt as dangerous as him.

You met Marco one quiet evening on an island where Ace had begged you to visit. He had been with the Whitebeard Pirates then, proud and glowing with purpose. And you had gone, just to see him one last time. Your duty called you elsewhere, but family, it had tugged at you, fraying the edges of your resolve.

Marco had been there.

The Phoenix.

He was golden in the torchlight, calm in his quiet power. He hadn’t said much at first. He observed. And you didn’t like how much he seemed to see. But he had a strange way of listening, really listening, as if your every word mattered.

And somehow, in the hush of that night, you shared stories and a flask of stolen rum. He made you laugh. You made him hesitate. Nothing happened. But something started.

And then you left.

For months, Ace sent messages. He asked you to meet. Pleaded. Even Luffy wrote once. But you ignored them all.

You distanced yourself, duty hardening your edges, ignoring the ache in your chest. You told yourself it was necessary. That you were doing the right thing.

That your feelings were a weakness you couldn’t afford.

Then came the orders.

Vice Admiral [Y/N] would be assigned to Mary Geoise for direct Celestial Dragon security detail.

Most pirates wouldn’t dare intervene.

But Whitebeard was not most pirates.

You were Ace's sister. You were Roger's daughter. A silent link in a chain no one was supposed to see. But Whitebeard did.

So he sent his sons.

They came in waves. Some tried diplomacy. Others, infiltration. A few thought they could reason with you.

You repelled them all.

Some left bleeding. Others unconscious. A few barely escaped with their lives. You tried not to think about how it hurt to hurt them.

The name [Y/N] came with bruises among the Whitebeard Pirates.

But Marco?

Marco came last.

It was night when he boarded your ship.

You had dismissed your crew. Ordered them to port. You said you needed peace, and no one questioned you.

The deck was quiet. The moonlight poured silver over the sea. You leaned against the rail, pretending you couldn’t feel the tension building in your spine. Pretending you were alone.

Then, with a soft flutter of wings, you weren’t.

He landed like a whisper. Silent. Controlled.

You didn’t turn.

"Marco," you said softly.

"Vice Admiral," he greeted, his voice low.

You turned slowly, letting your hair fall over your shoulder as you pulled the tie from it. Your fingers trembled only slightly.

His eyes scanned you. Every shift in your posture, every twitch of your jaw. His gaze lingered on your ears, where a faint flush betrayed you.

He smiled faintly.

Ace had told him once: Her ears turn red when she lies.

"There’s a rumor," he said, almost conversational. "That you have Roger’s maritime log."

You laughed. "That thing exists?"

You tried to sound bored, but your gaze flicked away. Your ears deepened in color.

Marco stepped closer.

You stiffened, ready to draw your blade.

He moved with practiced ease, caging you gently against the railing with his arm.

Your heart thundered.

"I’ll attack you if you touch me again," you warned. Your voice didn’t shake. But your hand trembled slightly near your hip.

He leaned close, his breath warm against your ear. "I like you."

You froze.

"Anyone who saw us like this," he murmured, "would say something’s going on."

His knee slid between yours. His body didn’t touch yours, but it hovered so close your skin ached.

"What are you planning?" you asked, voice hoarse.

"Kidnapping you," he said, smiling faintly. "Father’s order."

You shoved him back roughly. The blush on your face had deepened into something furious.

"You think I’ll come willingly?"

He didn’t answer.

Before you could speak again, the door behind you burst open.

"Vice Admiral!"

Your Lieutenant Commander, your most trusted friend, the only one who knew the truth about your past, your fears, your shame, stormed forward, sword drawn.

He saw Marco. Saw your flushed cheeks. Misread everything.

He attacked.

Marco blocked it with one hand, haki flaring as the blade clashed against his.

The moment shattered. You stepped between them, your own blade drawn.

You and your commander moved as one. Trained together. Fought together.

But Marco was something else.

He parried. Dodged. Matched your strikes like wind meeting fire. It was like dancing with a storm.

Then came the strike.

Too fast. Too precise.

Marco caught your commander across the chest. He went down with a strangled cry, blood blooming.

You cried out, but before you could reach him, you stumbled. The blow you took earlier had reopened.

You collapsed.

Marco caught you before you hit the deck.

Your head lolled against his chest. His heartbeat thundered under your ear.

From your hand, a small leather-bound book slipped.

He stooped and picked it up.

The cover was plain. Worn.

But it was real.

So the log did exist.

He turned to leave, carrying you gently, but a rasping voice stopped him.

"Wait…"

Your commander, broken and bloodied, lifted his head.

"You were right… to keep them away. Her brothers. All of them."

Marco turned.

The man spat blood. "It’s what pirates do, isn’t it? We steal what matters most."

Marco didn’t speak.

"Will you regret it, Phoenix? Not telling her you love her?"

The commander reached for his sword.

Marco stepped on his hand before he could grab it.

The pressure made the man cry out, then choke back the pain.

"We were a good team," he said, voice fading. "But next time you see her… she won’t be a vice admiral."

Marco watched him for a moment. Then turned.

He carried you down into the night, the logbook clutched to his chest.

You would wake hours later.

In a place you thought you'd never return to.

The Moby Dick.

To a life you tried to leave behind.

And a man who could no longer walk away from you.

Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! As usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated!