Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His gravesite was quiet. Jasmine permeated the air, flaring your nostrils. The scent was clean. Peaceful. It didn't suit him at all. 

Waves thrashed against the cliffside, flinging their foamy outrage at the walls. The sunset burned them a familiar orange. You tasted salt on your tongue, but knew it wasn't from the seaspray.

You crouched before one of the headstones. The dark fabric of your “borrowed” Impel Down officer uniform brushed against the grass. Three saucers and a bottle of sake were set before the grave.

“We could use your help,” said Marco.

You tore your gaze away from the headstone. The breeze blew across your face, leaving cool trails from tears along your cheeks. 

Marco’s steps were heavy as he approached you. He nearly staggered under his own weight. You glanced away. He was still recovering from his injuries at Marineford. 

“We’re going after Teech,” said Marco. “He started all of this. He’s still walking free after Thatch —”

You snorted. You seated yourself next to the headstone on the grass. The orange hat on the stone’s peak was tilting; you righted it with your finger. “How much of a difference will the Whitebeard Pirates’ bookkeeper make, Marco?”

Marco’s eyes narrowed. The sunset stained his skin a bloody red. “You’re more than that, and you know it. You helped him hunt down Teech. I thought you would’ve wanted to finish him.”

“I do.”

“Then why aren't you getting up?”

You glanced at the headstone. It feels so wrong. To stand, to go on adventures, to smile — all without you.

“I’m tired,” you said. You propped up your chin with your hand. “And I’m done. With everything. People, mainly.”

“You think he would’ve wanted you to fight?” said Marco.

You glanced back at the headstone. Instead of concrete, you pictured blushing freckles and a lopsided smile. 

“Maybe,” you admitted. “But what can I do? I’ve seen how powerful logia users are. I can sneak past Teech, but what then? I’ll only get in your way out there.”

You recalled how flames burst across his body, burning bullets, knives slicing through fire and nothing else. He seemed unstoppable then. 

“Y’know, when you showed up wearing that over a year ago,” Marco gestured at your dark uniform, “I thought you’d kill us all in our sleep.”

You tickled the strands of grass before the headstone. “What did he think?” 

Marco rolled his eyes. “He thought you were pretty. And strong. And sad.” 

Your fingers froze. An icy sickness settled in your heart. There was too much pretty and sad to go around.

You stood and brushed flecks of dirt from your uniform. You brushed off the headstone, too. The texture raked against the tips of your nails.

“You are Whitebeard’s only daughter. Were.” Marco frowned. “But you’re still our sister. Fight with us. Let’s earn some dignity back from that mess.”

You stopped before Marco. The wind whispered in the flaps of your coat, tossing Marco’s clothes around him like vibrant blue flames. 

Of course you wanted to annihilate Teech. Your fingers twitched towards your ice picks when he crossed your mind. You had a carnal desire for his suffering, his demise. But you had already lost one dream. To hope for another one, and to have it crushed before your eyes again…

You buried your face in Marco’s chest before he could spot the fresh round of tears. “I’m sorry. I can't. Not yet.”

Marco pulled you into a soft embrace. His chin rested atop your head as he patted your back.

“Where will you go, then?” he murmured.

You shook your head. A fruity, tropical cologne clung to Marco’s clothes; you had bought it for him last Christmas. It was a wonder you could still smell it after the bandages and the blood and the flames…

“I don't know,” you said. Somewhere far away from potential, soul-sucking dreams that will wreck me. “An empty island with no people would be ideal. Far away from anything.”

Marco stiffened. “Maybe…try a small town first?”

Your nose wrinkled. “No offense, but I think I need to be away from all male lifeforms for the foreseeable future.”

“Maybe an island of only women is a way to go?” Marco offered. 

“Absolutely not! That’s even worse!”

You couldn't see Marco, but you could hear in his voice that he was making his done-with-the-sea’s-bullshit face. “Humor me.” 

You pulled back. Marco ruffled your hair. “Stay in touch-yoi.”

“Mmm. Don't die, extreme water sport.”

Marco rolled his eyes. A smile tugged at his lips. “I’m not gonna miss that.”

Marco glanced over your head at the graves. He waved. “I’ll be back again with daisies and sunflowers. Pops liked them, and that flaming smartass always smells.”

“Be nice!” you gave Marco a light shove. The familiar banter made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Marco’s gaze softened. “I’ll be back soon-yoi.”

You nodded as if you could answer for the headstone. Marco ruffled your hair and turned away. He made his way further down the cliff, dropping out of sight.

You returned to the headstone. You sighed in the silence. It didn't hold the same firecracker-spitting electricity like it used to when you two were alone together.

“I’m afraid to leave you alone.” your voice quivered. “Whenever I do, you always light something on fire. It’s kind of cute.”

That wouldn't be much of an issue anymore. That dream was lost forever. 

Your fingers drifted along the edge of the rough stone, but you pictured silky strands of dark hair instead. 

You leaned towards the grave. Your voice was so low you nearly mouthed the words. “Do you still think about that kiss, wherever you are…? Ace?”

No one answered. Silence stung, save the moaning waves below. 

Your head drooped as the last scarlet remnants of the sunset faded. Violet gloves of twilight clutched at the sky. 

Nothing gave away his approach. There was no snapping twig or bent blade of grass. But you felt his presence before he spoke.

“Y/N-ya, have you decided where you want to go?”

Chapter Text

Carte Blanche;

A hand with no court cards.

Chapter Text

— M A R I N E F O R D —

Shattered ice shards crunched under your feet. Each breath was one of throat-numbing cold, shrapnel dust, or gasping heat.

You scrambled over the crumbled chunk of a building. Your eyes wildly darted about, searching for an orange hat or a dark head of hair —

A smear of white and blue shifted out of the corner of your eye. Duck! 

A boa of pink feathers fluttered, followed by a too-amused snicker. Run!

Methodical tremors, like footsteps, rocked the ground you stumbled over. A primal growl crawled across your skin. Hide!

You skittered from one poorly-massed pile of debris to another. Heavy dust thickened the air, burning your eyes (or was it smoke? The air tasted so awful, you couldn't tell).

You gripped your ice picks with clenched fists. Tremors never rocked your fingers this much when you wielded them with Ace; you could always rely on him to catch the enemy’s attention or give them a good flaming punch to the face. But as you skidded across the dirt-speckled ice, there wasn't an ally in sight. 

Ice . It added an extra seething layer of discomfort. Your imagination liked to wander in cold climates, picturing a head of green hair, poised with a dripping needle and gentle smile that made your stomach lurch. Ace’s flames always charred those uncomfortable memories before they surfaced. You missed the fiery heat. 

One explosion hit too close. Heat burned your side. The world tilted.

“Room!”

The icy earth was at your back. A firm arm held you up, away from its chilling kiss. Steel gray eyes bore into yours.

Flames billowed yards away from where you once stood. Gold glinted across his jawline from the blaze. 

You had relived this moment a few times now. Warmth bloomed in your cheeks as your eyes trickled over him, yet ice seeped across your veins from his cold gaze. Something in your chest jumped. Chopped, dark hair framed his face. A thumb’s width of scrubble dripped down his chin. Dark lines of tattoos licked his skin along his collarbone, sinking down beneath his hoodie. When you inhaled in his arms, fresh spearmint tickled your nose.

He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

The rapid high in your chest clenched. Guilt racked your core. You quickly blamed the dumb thought on how similar he looked to Ace. That was who you were here for. You weren't leaving without Ace, execution be damned. 

“Thank you.” You looked down. Your voice was too high pitched for your liking (including the small catch you refused to acknowledge).

He pulled you up with him. At full height, he towered over you. He might’ve even been taller than Ace, which was a feat in itself. 

You knew his name. Everyone did; he was one of the newly nicknamed “Worst Generation.”

Trafalgar D. Law.

Law wasn't one to stand idle. He grabbed your wrist. You plunged forward as he took off in one direction. You struggled to keep up with his long legs (stop blushing!).

“Have you seen Ace —?”

“Keep moving.” Law ducked, returning to your height as something blurred over your heads. It slammed into the ice, and glittering shards sailed everywhere.

Both of you kept running. Your ribs ached from the constant motion. 

The battle hadn't let up at all. If you listened, some shouts sounded familiar. Some screams, too. You were probably better off tuning it all out, but you still strained to hear a hearty laugh or the roar of flames.

A shadow fell over you. You yanked on your hand, propelling Law down to your height this time. Water sailed over you, splashing into the face of a nearby Marine. He flew backwards.

You glanced up at your new companion as you continued running. He’s the Surgeon of Death, right? Doesn't that make him a doctor, technically? Titles are so confusing.

“Dr. Trafalgar?” 

Steel eyes shot to you. The tips of Law’s ears burnt red, probably from the cold.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Away from the fighting,” he said. 

You trampled to a stop. Law stumbled next to you, hand still latched around your wrist. An embarrassing squeak escaped you as you bumped into him.

“But Ace is somewhere in that mess!” You jammed your finger behind you. An explosion boomed in the distance.

Law panted as you stood still, eyes narrowed as he looked between you and the chaos. 

“Ever heard of self-preservation?” said Law.

“Come on! You’re a doctor, aren't you? Go help some potential patients! This way!” You took a step back — or tried to. When you pulled on Law’s wrist, he wouldn't budge. He was far stronger than the thin hoodie and skinny jeans let on.

“It’s a mess everywhere! It’s not worth sacrificing yourself!” said Law. 

“All of my brothers are out there doing the same thing!” you snapped. “It’s not fair! Why should I be exempt? Why should they be alone —?”

The ground trembled. Warm air blasted your cheeks. The dust-ridden air was thrown backward, clearing the battlefield. 

Ace.

You wriggled your wrist from Law’s grip and sprinted for him.

“Ace!”

Luffy was close to him, unmoving on the ground. The tasseled pauldrons of a fleet admiral glistened in the sun. 

Ace threw himself forward. 

You willed your feet to move faster, screamed his name, but it was as if you were trapped in the pane of a silent film.

Ace shielded Luffy’s body with his own. A melted fist of magma gurgled through his chest.

Ace’s body slumped to the earth, landing with a smack that haunted your ears —

~*~

“— Oi! Y/N!” Luffy leaned forward, his face filling your vision.

The wildlife of Maiden Island chippered around you. It was Luffy’s final day of recovery; he was leaving to train himself for the New World. 

Luffy wasn't bound by blood to Ace, but the two brothers could have easily been mistaken. It was their mannerisms; the full-toothed smiles and hearty laughs, their ravenous appetites, their kind hearts —

I can't do this.

You swallowed and nodded. “Good luck with your training. I hope you reunite with your crew soon.”

Luffy’s head tilted to the side, searching your face. You had decided to stay at his side following the events of Marineford. Keep Ace’s younger brother safe; a doomed task, but an admirable one. Certainly something Ace would’ve wanted. But every time you looked at Luffy, the smack of Ace’s body against the ground racked your ears. 

You tried to smile. Your face ached. 

Thankfully, Luffy seemed to buy it. He grinned back at you. “You should come with us in two years! To the New World!”

“I’ll try my best.”

Law’s eyes were daggers in your back, awaiting your next move. You ignored him. It wasn't his business; he hardly knew you. The most interaction the two of you had since Marineford was when you asked about Luffy’s treatment, and silently standing outside together on his ship. Perhaps it was your overwhelmed nerves, making something out of nothing.

Luffy’s attention traveled elsewhere. The soft clack of getas signaled Jimbei’s approach.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Jimbei bowed his head low to you. “Ace was an honorable man. He spoke of you and Luffy often.”

You stiffened. You managed a sharp nod. “Thank you.”

A soft sigh came from nearby. “Too many good men in one family.”

Your gaze drifted to Boa Hancock. She watched Luffy with heart-shaped pupils as he shoved an entire slab of meat in his mouth.

“I wish I could convince Luffy to stay,” Hancock wiped her eyes.

“You could try a dress made of meat.” you mumbled.

Hancock gasped. She looked at you, eyes wide, hands cupping her cheeks with over-implied cuteness. It was as if she'd noticed you for the first time. 

“That’s a wonderful idea!”

You shrugged and turned away. You expected the conversation to be over. You were very wrong. 

In an instant, Hancock was before you, clasping your hands. “Y/N, was it? What else? What can I do?”

“U-um…” You had to admit, Boa Hancock was beautiful. The word didn't do her justice. Just staring blankly into her dark, starry-sky eyes made your stomach do flips. It was hard to come up with food-themed traps for Luffy with her closeness.

“I don't know…rubbing yourself with pineapple? Actually, no; that’ll just make you super sticky. Oats are hydrating for the skin, and delicious,” you said. “Honey masks, maybe…?”

Hancock nodded along, eagerly leaning in. “Yes, yes! And?”

“You could try an avocado mask with a bowl of chips conveniently nearby, I guess…? Cucumbers for your eyes?”

Without warning, Boa Hancock gripped your shoulders. Her face grew serious. “Y/N, Luffy’s happiness is of utmost importance to me. As someone who knew his family, and as a fellow woman…would you be my advisor?” 

You blinked a few times. You were getting lost in her eyes again. “Huh? You want me to join your crew?”

“Yes! Please say yes!” Hancock batted her long eyelashes. “I need your wisdom at my side during this tumultuous time for Luffy! I need to support him. He’s been through so much!”

Behind Hancock, Luffy was in a dramatic stand down against a squirrel for a remaining chunk of ham. The squirrel’s tail bristled at Luffy as it squeaked, probably shouting obscenities in its own language. Luffy simply laughed and tried to pet him. 

Hancock’s starry eyes pleaded with you. You looked away and squeezed the bridge of your nose. You didn't know much about Hancock; she was a Warlord of the Sea, so she was powerful. Some would argue it was a step down from being part of an Emperor’s crew.

It’s probably the safest option I’ll have. It’s either join her…or face Cipher Pol myself.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

— O N E   M O N T H   L A T E R —

Pelicans flew circles across the endless blue sky. You had a perfect view of the harbor from the small cafe, watching the birds dip down and try to hackle fish from the waves. You sipped your favorite drink quietly as you skimmed the newspaper before you.

Hancock sighed behind your gray barrier. “I miss Luffy already…he’s already out of food by now…I must send him more!”

“You sent him another package last night,” you reminded her.

“You’re right. He’s lonely! I must see him —”

“You visited last week.”

Hancock moaned. The wrought-iron table rattled as she dramatically cast herself upon it.

You lowered your newspaper, glancing at the Snake Princess. One comment about a meat dress and you had suddenly become her new best friend. And aside from the consistent fawning over Luffy, you had grown to respect Hancock.

The capital around you, Amazon Lily, seemed content enough. While the economy wasn't eccentric, there was always enough of whatever was needed. And, more importantly, the island was almost entirely self-sufficient; Hancock didn't receive many exported goods from the Navy. There were hardly any disturbances to their peaceful way of life (random Luffys raining from the sky aside), and much of that was due to Hancock’s influence. 

You delicately folded the newspaper and set it to the side. A stack of mail was in the empty seat next to you. You began to sift through, slicing through envelopes with a letter opener. 

“Was Luffy a lot like him? Ace, I mean,” said Hancock.

You winced. With one careless swipe, the letter opener sliced your finger. A pearl of red glistened on your fingertip. 

You sucked on the tip of your index finger. Rust and salt scraped against your tongue. Hancock held a napkin aloft.

You thanked her quietly and wrapped it around your finger. 

“Yes, he was.” Blood still laced your mouth as you spoke. 

Hancock leaned forward. “How so?”

You kept your eyes on the mail, yet you completely ignored who was the sender and who the letters were meant for. 

“Strong,” you finally whispered. “And big smiles.” 

Somehow, you managed to keep the gutted envelopes in one pile and important Marine notices in the other. Hancock’s eyes were on your face, burning like matchsticks. “Do you miss traveling with him?”

Ace’s smile wafted to the center of your mind. Sparks of warmth tingled under your skin — only to be chased away by an icy hollowness. 

“Yes.” You swallowed. “Always.”

Your fingers froze as soon as you read your name on one of the envelopes. Your brow furrowed.

“Have you heard from the rest of Whitebeard’s crew?” said Hancock.

You set down the letter. Your back straightened as you addressed the Warlord seated across from you. “Anything I hear or see, I report to you. I promise that vow has not been broken, Hancock.”

Hancock snorted. “I know that!”

“Then why are you asking so many questions?”

Hancock’s brows knitted together. “Because you’re my friend, and you listen to me. But you’ve hardly shared anything since you’ve been here…how can I return the favor?” 

“I like listening to you,” you admitted. “I’ll admit, the Luffy rants are a little heavy, but…I need distractions, Hancock. I don't want to…”

“Feel?” Hancock replied. 

You made a face. You were going to say, I don't want to think about it, but Hancock’s was more accurate. “I appreciate the concern. But I’m doing all right.”

Hancock’s face puckered. Her snake, Salome, slithered along the back of her chair to hover over her shoulder. He seemed to eye you with the same doubt. 

“Did you look at the back of the newspaper?” said Hancock casually.

“No. Why?”

“Your secret admirer was there.”

“What?”

You set the letter addressed to you aside and returned to the newspaper. You unfolded it, smoothing the crease along a familiar scrubble. Steel gray eyes glared up at you.

“Trafalgar D. Law’s a Warlord now.” Hancock propped her chin up on her hand.

You glanced through the article, eyes widening. He gave one hundred hearts of pirates to the Navy…how is that possible?

You glanced up from Law’s creased face. “He’s not my secret admirer!”

Hancock’s full, perfect lips quirked upwards. “Really? You seem quite defensive about it. I wonder…”

“Tch!” You clicked your tongue, shoving the newspaper away (with Law’s photo purposefully facing down, out of sight). Your attention returned to the letter addressed to you. There was no mention of the sender; only your name. The pink envelope it was stored in made your stomach recoil.

Maybe it's not them. It's a coincidence. They’d probably forget about me, right?

Hancock followed your gaze to the letter.

“What’s that?”

“It’s for me.”

“Okay…” Hancock squinted at your face. “Aren't you going to open it?”

You were very tempted to hide it with Law’s photo. You poked the edge of the envelope with the letter opener. “I guess so…”

With a defeated sigh, you sliced it open. Familiar, light-pink parchment paper crinkled beneath your fingers. You unfolded the letter and scanned it.

“...What is it?” said Hancock.

Your eyes flashed to your captain. Perhaps the whole reporting-everything-to-Hancock would be difficult. But personal affairs didn't count, right?

“It's nothing.” You refolded the letter and set it down.

Hancock pouted. “Y/N, we’re friends, aren't we?”

“We are. It's not a big deal.” You forced a shrug. “It’s just a marriage proposal.”

“...What?”

Hancock’s outstretched hand beckoned across the table. “Let me see. I get these all the time.” 

Your eyes widened. “It’s — it’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It's not the first time he’s asked me.” Begrudgingly, you passed the letter to Hancock. Her eyes flitted across the page, steadily growing in size. Her mouth fell open.

“This is…” Hancock’s fingers twitched. “One of Big Mom’s Sweet Generals is proposing to you.”

You hid behind your hands. It wasn't as bad as the first time. An image of Ace and Marco’s gaping faces flashed behind your eyelids. What would Ace have thought of this proposal…? His death had probably been the reason why you received the letter.

“As far as marriage proposals go, this is very sincere. This Katakuri seems to care for you. Deeply.” Hancock frowned. “Why did you turn him down the first time?”

The first time you’d heard the proposal, it had been a secondhand announcement from one of the chessmen soldiers. As much as it had terrified you, and you wanted to swim off the island that instant, you decided to be an adult and confront Katakuri head on.

“If you want to marry me, ask me yourself.”

Katakuri’s eyes narrowed. It was the only part of his face you could glimpse.

“And you can remove the scarf, if you’re comfortable,” you added. “I think I deserve to see all of you for this.”

You doubted Katakuri would remove the fur wrap draped over his shoulders. He hadn't even removed it at mealtimes or small gatherings.

Katakuri bowed his head. You watched in silent awe as massive, gloved hands clasped the edge and unwound the fuzzy scarf.

You were proud of yourself for not gasping. Yet your eyes still traced the fangs poking out of an unnaturally large mouth.

Katakuri knelt before you in the gazebo, still roughly three heads taller than you. If anyone else were in the enclosed courtyard, it must’ve been an awkward sight. 

You didn't move. You barely breathed. That must’ve been a signal for Katakuri to continue. “Y/N L/N, we would be an invaluable match.You are the only one I can't see with Kenbunshoku Haki —”

You held up a hand. “That’s your mother’s reason for wanting you to marry me. I want to hear yours.”

Katakuri paused. “You’re kind to my sisters.”

“And?”

“From what I’ve heard, and what I’ve witnessed, you’re honorable,” said Katakuri. His magenta eyes drifted over your face. “I’ve only seen you once since you’ve come to this island, and it was a vision of being wed to you.”

His final reason caught you off guard. You stiffened, then forced yourself to nod, eyes soft. “Can I give you my reasons for saying no?”

Katakuri swallowed. The white of his fangs flashed as he nodded.

“You’re really sweet — no pun intended, there! — and so are your sisters, but there are some of your siblings that I don't trust. I don't know how comfortable I am with Big Mom as a mother-in-law,” you admitted. “And…you’re twenty-five years older than me.”

Katakuri bowed his head. “Thank you. For being honest.”

You clasped your hands together. You weren't expecting the wave of guilt that washed over you, sapping all moisture from your mouth and squashing your insides. Katakuri was a nice person.

“Thank you for showing me this,” you gestured to the lower half of his face. “For the record, I like them. I don't want to marry you, but I still think you’re cool.”

You and Katakuri shared a sad (and impossibly big) smile.

“How tall was he again?” Hancock interrupted your reverie as you told the story.

“Sixteen feet.”

“Hmph! I’m sure that would’ve been an eventful wedding night.”

“I know!” You shook your head. “With Whitebeard and Ace both gone, he’s probably doing this to make sure I’m safe.”

Hancock eyed the pink missive darkly. “Can you say no? Without another Emperor behind you?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Big Mom’s crew wasn't the only threat Hancock might face with you near. It wasn't fair to her or Maiden Island to take on those risks. 

“I should be…he never held it against me when I left.” you wet your lips. “If…if you’re worried about the island, I can —”

Hancock waved her hand dismissively before you even finished. “Nonsense. You’re one of mine. But still, it’s quite a compliment; getting a proposal from a billion-dollar berry man. And your Haki…” her gaze trickled over you. “I noticed that, but I didn’t know what it was. You…blend in with things. I had to focus to actually notice you. Is that a type of Conqueror’s Haki, reversed? How do you do that naturally?”

You shook your head. Your messed-up Haki seemed to cause more problems than fix them. “I don't know. If it is, I’m obviously doing it wrong.”

Hancock hummed. “It’s not a bad thing. Being undetectable. I’ve never seen anyone use Haki that way before, but I’m sure it has its uses.”

“Somewhat.” You bowed your head. Cipher Pol agrees with you.

Chapter Text

It was nice to have a bedroom again. Looking back, your small cabin on the Moby Dick was practically a wooden crate with a hammock and a few hammered-down decorations. Hancock’s palace was lofty, all rooms wide and open.

You gently tossed the sheer curtains to the windows aside, glancing out at your moonlit garden. Butterflies kissed the gently pouting mouths of pink lilies. One had the oddly deformed shape of a pineapple, and Marco slipped into your mind.

You frowned. You hadn't heard from Marco at all since you parted ways. You had hoped one of the letters earlier would be from him, but you hadn't heard from any of your brothers. Did they hate you for not supporting them in the war? Or did something prevent them from answering…?

You wandered over to your desk, already littered in papers Hancock was too busy for (or didn't want to deal with). A transponder snail in a violet jacket with spiky hair snoozed softly.

You shrugged up the silky sleeves to your bathrobe and dialed for Marco.

“Buda-buda-buda-buda-buda…” tremors shook the snail’s shell. Your fingers instinctively petted the smooth surface.

The snail continued to buzz. Then it stilled. Nothing. 

“Come on. Answer, you stupid pineapple…” you redialed, biting the edge of your thumb.

“That’s not very hygienic.” 

You jumped. A tall silhouette crouched in your once-empty windowsill.

Your shoulders stiffened. Rob Lucci.

The shadow leaned forward. Moonlight illuminated Law’s face.

Tension eased from your body. Then it returned in full force, smacking the breath out of you.

“How did you get in here? Men aren't allowed on the island,” you blurted.

Law shrugged. He landed on the tile, lean muscles coiling beneath his hoodie. His longsword was slung over his shoulder.

“You gonna rat me out?” said Law. His gravel-like voice prickled your ears, shooting down your spine.

You hesitated. “I should. Why are you here?”

Law stepped closer. His eyes flitted over you. Despite the wide berth between you, his mere stare seemed to cut through fabric and pierce skin. 

“Marco asked me to oversee your safety,” said Law. “Last time I saw you, you weren't psyched about your new captain.”

You leaned back against the desk, shoving your drooping sleeves aside as you crossed your arms. “Hancock is fine. Have you heard from Marco recently?”

Law shook his head. “The last time I saw him was with you.”

You glanced back at the snail. Its eyes were shut, unmoving. You sighed.

“Thanks for your concern,” you said. “And for breaking every rule on this island.”

A smirk ghosted Law’s lips. “It wasn't that hard. You should tighten security.”

“And you should watch your mouth, Warlord.”

Law’s smile faded. “If you are truly happy here…I would’ve helped you leave if you weren't.” 

You grimaced. Happy. You were the farthest thing from it after Marineford, but you’d stopped wallowing in the bathtub and drinking alcohol before noon. That was progress. And…as surprising as Law’s pop-in visit was, it was thoughtful of him to fulfill Marco’s request and check on you.

Your expression softened. “That would’ve been very nice of you.”

“I’m not nice.” 

“Mmm. I think you are. Minus the breaking-and-entering.” You propped yourself up on the edge of the desk, letting your bare legs swing. The small cut on your finger flared up. You shook out your hand before setting it down. 

Law’s eyes narrowed. He approached the desk. “What did you do?”

“It’s a cut! It’s not a big deal.”

“Let me see it.” 

Law hovered over you. His steel eyes cut through you like paper.

You held up your injured hand. “I had a fight with a letter opener earlier.”

“I hope you won.”

“Ha-ha.” 

Law lifted your wrist, but with none of the strength used at Marineford. His long fingers gently cradled your hand. Tattooed letters were stamped above each knuckle. You had a strange urge to trace them.

Ace’s tattooed back flashed before your eyes. Tracing inky lines with your fingertips. You flinched.

“Do you ever get dried out from the flames?” you wondered aloud.

Ace shrugged. His back muscles rippled beneath your fingertips. “I guess? My face is kinda oily, so I thought the moisturizer would make it worse.”

You lightly poked Ace between the shoulder blades. You peeked over his shoulder and met his gaze. “You should still use it, especially for your tattoos. I can help you pick some out and apply it — you need to take care of yourself, Ace.”

Ace’s eyes widened. “Yeah? That’d be great, but you don't have to worry about me, Y/N.”

Your chin rested on his shoulder. You’d never do it with anyone else, but with Ace, physical touch was as natural as breathing. “I’m going to worry all I want. You're my partner, aren't you?"

You both shared a smile.

Law’s eyes flashed up to your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Sorry. It's fine, really. I put aloe on it earlier from the garden outside.”

“But you didn't wrap it.”

“I was letting it breathe!”

Law shook his head. He leaned his longsword against the desk. His slender fingers searched his jean pockets and pulled out a wrap of gauze.

You bit back a smile. “You came prepared, Dr. Trafalgar.”

Law’s breath hitched above you. His gaze remained on your hand. “Not enough, when it comes to you.”

Law’s fingers moved around yours, gently rotating your wrist. Veins curled between his knuckles. His touch was icy and soothing against the throbbing skin of the cut.

“I like your tattoos,” you admitted, your gaze drifting from his fingers. “Did it hurt a lot? The skin’s very thin there…”

Ace had chatted to you about his tattoos. He was fully supportive of you getting one, but cautioned you against certain areas.

“Back of the neck, hands, collarbone…those areas sting. Not a great idea for your first time. Or any time.”

Law’s eyes remained on your hand. “I’ve had worse. It was worth it.”

“Why?” you asked. 

Law released your hand. The gauze was secured so perfectly, you barely felt it. Yet when you flexed your finger, it didn't unfurl.

“It’s my freedom to choose what goes on my body,” said Law.

Your back muscles twitched. You nodded. “It is.” 

Awkward silence stretched between you. Law was so close, your knee brushed against his leg.

“Thanks,” you said, holding up your bandaged hand.

Law nodded. He retrieved his longsword and retreated from your desk. You hadn't realized it, but you were holding your breath before. You sharply inhaled through your nose. 

“If you find here…unsatisfactory,” said Law, “my offer still stands.”

You slipped off the desk and flashed a smile at him. “Thanks, Captain. Maybe some other time.” 

Law strolled towards your balcony. You weren't sure what was the best etiquette for unannounced, late-night visitors; should you escort him out? Offer him a warm beverage? You settled for watching him go, fiddling with the sleeves of your bathrobe.

Law paused at the glossy french doors. He jutted his chin in the direction of your room. “I like what you did. It’s very you.”

Blood pooled in your cheeks. Ace had said the exact same thing when he first discovered your bunk on the Moby Dick. 

You were at a loss for what to say. You waved shyly at Law. “Don't die. Congrats on the Warlord title.” 

Law raised a hand in passing without looking back. You leaned up on your toes as he strode out into the garden, and leapt onto the railing. 

Just like his smile, he vanished in an instant.

Chapter Text

“Come ‘ere, partner.”

You stood before the entire crew, their eyes shooting bullets through your Impel Down officer uniform. Your fists remained at your sides, always near your ice picks.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

His rough, calloused hands left strokes of heat and electricity in their wake; nudging your side, setting his hat atop your head, twining a strand of your hair around his finger…

“Like I’m dinner.”

His mouth tasted like whiskey. His tongue plunged through your lips, exploring, as his hands roamed your body. You were on fire. Everything burned and crackled for his touch. You pressed yourself firmly against him, feeling hard lines of muscle against your abdomen. Out of nowhere, the sloppy kiss broke, and he showered your face in small, sweet kisses.

“Maybe I’m starving.”

You ran towards him, arms outstretched as if you could grab him yards away. His body smacked into the ground. 

“Ace —!”

You awoke gasping. It took a moment for you to recognize the dark bedroom. As your breaths slowed, you leaned back against your pillow. The case was damp. 

Your fingers flew to your face, smearing wet trails of tears.

This isn't working.

~*~

Hancock’s eyes widened. “You want to go where?”

You dashed about your bedroom, assembling your armor — err, outfit — for the day. You snatched two thigh-high stockings and yanked them on. 

“Red Rock. It's the nearest Marine base,” you said. You searched around for boots.

Hancock stood in the center of the room, watching you flit by. “It’s best to ignore the summons, Y/N. It sets a terrible precedent.”

“Of what?”

“That I care!” Hancock’s expression darkened. Salome perched atop her shoulder, nodding along as if he, too, thought the whole trip was unnecessary. “I know you haven't been here long, but you’ve done so much for me, and I consider you one of my closest crew members. I highly dislike the idea of you going to a Marine base — especially alone — for any reason!”

“Dislike, not forbid,” you pointed out, mostly to yourself. “And it's two reasons, technically.”

“Enlighten me.”

You stepped behind a folding screen decorated with flowers. You shrugged off your night shirt and reached for a button-up blouse slung over the divider.

“One: I haven't heard from my former crew since they went after Blackbeard. I’m worried about them, and I know the Navy will be monitoring that,” you said. “And two: I think it’s best to get a decent layout of the base. You never know.”

Hancock peeked behind the divider. “Why didn't you say so —? Oh, stop shrieking, you’ve seen what everyone wears on this island. You’re covered well enough.”

Your blouse was bundled in your fist, cradled to your chest. You kept your back specifically angled away from Hancock. 

Hancock ignored your protests and leaned against the folding screen. “I can send scouts to monitor the fight. I am a Warlord, remember.”

“You’re a great one,” you said. You slipped on the blouse and quickly fastened the buttons. “But I don't want to involve Maiden Island in the war. I chose not to fight for a reason: Teech…he’s difficult. I doubt my brothers can defeat him as he is now.”

“There’s more.” Hancock watched your face.

You sighed. You didn't want to tell her the third real reason, so you settled on something that wasn't exactly a lie. “I want to know how he’s still alive and can hold two Devil Fruit powers at once. The World Government has ways of getting information that others can't. If I can find something to help my brothers before…”

You trailed off. The silence said the rest. Hancock moved out of the way as you breezed through the room. 

“I didn't think you’d want to go near the Marines after…” Hancock’s voice was soft. 

You paused at your desk. You had very few, precious mementos of Ace. One of them was a black, leather choker adorned with matching blue faces to his orange hat. You fastened it on above the collar to your blouse.

“I’m not going to hide,” you spat the words with more force than necessary. You swallowed, trying to make your tone lighter, “I’ll be home soon.”

Hancock clasped her hands together. “At least take Salome with you! He’s a licensed emotional disturbance combatant!”

“I am not taking the snake!”

~*~

“Welcome to Red Rock, Y/N-san.” 

A dark-haired woman met you at the entrance to the base, head bowed in respect. She gently pushed her glasses up her nose.

You nodded along, surveying your surroundings. Salt laced the air from the lapping waves. Hulking marble towers stretched toward the sky, burning your eyes as they shone in the sun. You wondered which one held the information you sought.

Your guide led you up the path flanked with clipped cypress trees. Marine soldiers lined the walkway.

“This is a big welcome,” you murmured.

“You are representing one of the seven Warlords. And you served an Emperor prior…” the woman trailed off, watching you out of the corner of her eye.

“I don't think I caught your name,” you said.

“Tashigi.”

“Hi Tashigi-san,” you smiled politely. Regardless of how you felt towards the Marines, it would be easier to accomplish your goals without showing hostility. “Are you in charge of the base?”

“No, that would be Hina-san.”

“Is she in her office?” you eyed the towers ahead of you.

“Not at the moment,” said Tashigi. “She’s assisting our troops at…Marineford, miss.”

You did your best to conceal a grimace as the name slashed at your insides. Tashigi continued, “Smoker-san requested to meet with Hancock personally following the battle. He will be seeing you today…I believe it was specifically noted in his missive that Hancock was to attend.”

You glanced at Tashigi. Part of you wondered if she had written the missive herself. Smoker hardly seemed the pen-to-paper type. “You are correct. Unfortunately, our captain is unavailable at this time. I will have to suffice — we didn't want to be disrespectful and completely disregard the missive.”

Tashigi nudged her glasses higher with a gloved finger. “How honorable of you.”

“When will Smoker-san be meeting me?”

“After he finishes training the troops. It shouldn't be too long a wait. Please, follow me.”

You followed Tashigi through massive double doors. Cold air kissed your face as you entered. The absence of the sun left the corridors dim and cool.

Tashigi halted before a waiting room. You had hoped she would take you deeper in, but this was the closest you could get while being watched.

“If you don't mind, may I use the restroom real quick?” you said.

“Of course. It’s two doors down.”

You enforced your sickly sweet smile. “Thank you so much. Excuse me…”

You slipped inside, boots squeaking on the glossy tile. Flower vases lined the pale pink walls. It was fancy for a Marine base, but perhaps this was more of a visitor’s section. 

You glanced beneath the mahogany stalls. You were in luck; you didn't have company. But the windows were thin slits away from the bathroom counter, inaccessible to you.

You slowly spun. Five reflections above the granite counter copied you. You stopped when you spotted a conveniently-sized air vent above them. 

You smiled. One after the other, you slipped off your boots and placed them in one of the stalls. You fastened the stall door shut and climbed atop the bathroom counter. 

The tips of your ice picks coaxed the screws of the vent out, clinking as they hit the counter below. You glanced at the door as you worked, wondering if Tashigi’s suspicions had arisen.

The iron grate groaned as it gave way. You clasped the edges and hid it behind one of the trash cans. 

Your fingers gripped the edges of the vent shaft, and you deftly pulled yourself up.

The doorknob rustled. The rest of your body made it; you ducked your head inside the cramped confines.

Tashigi’s head peeked through the door. “Y/N-san?”

Her eyes went to your boots beneath the first stall.

You edged out slightly, hoping the vent wouldn't make your voice echo too much. “Y-yes, one moment.”

“Oh! Take your time, I’m so sorry.” Tashigi vanished behind the door.

You sighed, heart hammering against the steel around you. You softly ducked your head and shimmied farther down the vent.

The metal sharply sloped downward. With clammy fingers, you positioned yourself above the drop. Soft puffs escaped your lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let yourself fall. 

The steel shuddered, but it held beneath your stockings. Streams of light flashed across your knees from another grate. 

You remained in a crouch, straining to listen. You didn't hear any noise on the other side. 

You knelt down and peeked between the slits. It was an empty office, as far as you could tell. You didn't see any familiar uniforms of white-and-blue. 

You angled your ice picks along the edge of the grate and pushed. It clattered to the floor. 

You slipped through and pressed yourself against the side of a massive oak desk. The room didn't stir. 

You rose and inspected the window. It was unlocked, but the ledge protruding beneath was slim. And no matter how skilled you were, you couldn't do anything if a patrolling Marine happened to spot you scaling the building. 

You peeked outside the cracked door. Tashigi still waited outside the women’s powder room, cleaning her glasses with a cloth. You wedged the door open a little wider and glanced in the opposite direction. The end of a hall, rounding the corner, wasn't too far.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself behind the door. You emptied your mind, focusing on one mantra.

Don't notice me. I do not want to be seen.

You stepped out and sprinted towards the end of the corridor on shoeless feet. As you rounded the corner, you pressed yourself against the wall.

No footsteps followed. Your presence had gone undetected.

A silent smile of victory curved your lips. At least my messed-up Haki is good for something.

You continued down the hall. Whatever soldiers you did pass didn't spare you another glance. 

Hina’s office was the best place to search for any valuable information. You bit your lip as you walked, footsteps light against the plush carpet beneath. 

You rounded another corner and crashed into a wall of flesh. 

Crap!

You stumbled, slipping in your stocking against the carpet. Two tattooed hands steadied you.

Tattoos. Tattoos that spelled DEATH on his fingers.

You stepped back, meeting Law’s gaze. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you both said at the same time.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here —?” you hissed. “How — mmph!”

Law’s hand clamped over your mouth. He ducked into the nearest doorway, dragging you with him.

You scrambled into another empty office. Law shut the door and leaned against it, listening. You joined him.

You studied Law as you stood together in tense silence. Law’s gaze was fixed on the floor, concentrating on the voices in the hall. You bit back a smile at his outfit choice for espionage; he’d traded his hoodie for a long, black trench coat. His speckled hat still sat atop a tangle of black hair (big surprise). 

Your hand rested against the door, next to his. Slender tattooed fingers silently drummed against the wood, then stilled.

Muffled voices rose. Law’s eyes flashed to you.

“They’re coming,” Law mouthed.

You turned to the empty office. The furniture was sparse; your eyes flew to the desk, but it would be too cramped for Law’s long limbs. It would be more difficult to hide in plain sight with your Haki in an enclosed space. 

You and Law dashed to the window alcove. A long bench lined the massive window along the wall. Your fingers explored beneath the bench — and slipped through fabric. 

A skirt covered the small space between the floor and the top of the bench. Small, but not impossible.

You and Law shared a look. His lips pressed into a thin line. 

Seconds later, the door burst open. Footsteps filled the room.

“See anything?”

You held your breath. Color bloomed in your cheeks. 

Law hovered above you, his body brushing against yours. Burgundy fabric fluttered at your side as a set of Marine boots thundered by. Figments of light and shadow danced across Law’s face.

Law propped himself up on his forearms, planted next to your head. The scent of him filled your nostrils. Each breath he took tickled your face. 

“What are we looking for?”

“Two targets: an intruder, and Hancock’s representative.”

You winced. Your facade was over. Hopefully you’d get that pair of boots back somehow.

Law grimaced as his legs shifted around yours. Your current position had to be uncomfortable for him; you barely fit the space, and he was taller than you. You didn't know how he possessed the strength to hold himself up over your body as the minutes ticked by. Despite his lean appearance, he was strong.

The floorboards creaked next to your head. Pain laced your scalp.

Your teeth clenched as you held back a shout. Part of your hair had slipped out from the alcove’s skirt. The Marine’s boot pressed down on it. Hard. 

Law’s eyes widened above you. His fingers curled beside your head. You took a shuddering breath as he lowered his face to yours.

Law buried himself in the crook of your neck. You barely caught his words. “Room — Shambles. ”

Your world flipped upside down. The pain from the Marine stepping on your hair vanished. 

You had switched places with Law; you were flush against his chest as he lay below you.

Both of you reached out to steady the flimsy sheet of fabric as it quivered from the switch. Your cheek was flush against Law’s heart, listening to it throb beneath you.

“Did you hear something?” one voice said above you.

There still wasn't enough room for Law to stretch out his legs; you laid between his bent knees. Despite how freezing his fingers were while bandaging your hand the other night, the rest of him was warm beneath you. Cold hands, warm heart.

“There’s nothing here. Nothing’s under the desk — we have to check the whole floor, let’s just keep moving,” said one of the Marines.

“Hold on, what’s the rush? Better to be thorough.”

“Better to be fast. Smoker’s here, remember?”

“All the more reason to stay!”

You sensed movement in your small, cramped hiding place. You glanced up. Law’s hat was teetering towards the skirt, your only flimsy boundary between discovery and freedom.

“Fine, you start the next one. I’ll wrap up here.” The floorboards continued to creak as the soldiers moved about. 

You scooted upwards, face burning as your body rubbed against Law’s. You caught his hat just as it prodded through the fabric. 

Your face was inches from Law’s. His breath hissed from his lips. Flecks of gold were drizzled across his steel pupils, barely noticeable unless you were this close. They reminded you of rare gems: speckled and fathomless.

Your lower thigh was pressed into his crotch. Something hard prodded up against your touch beneath Law’s clothes.

Law’s eyes squeezed shut. Gently, his head leaned back against the wood. 

One pair of footsteps left the room. The last Marine still lingered near the desk. His feet turned, facing your hiding spot beneath the alcove. 

The Marine soldier crouched before the sheer fabric of the bench’s skirt.

Law tensed beneath you. You held your breath. Do not notice us. Nothing is here. Nothing important is in this room.

The Marine let out a grunt and rose. His boots shuffled against the floor as he walked away, and closed the door behind him.

“How did you do that?” Law murmured. His head was tilted up in the little space provided, looking down at you.

“Haki,” you explained. “It’s…a different strain of Conqueror’s. I can walk past anyone without being seen, but it’s less potent around other Haki users.”

“Hmph.” Law’s eyes narrowed. “That’s useful.”

With more awkwardness than grace, both of you slunk out from beneath the alcove. You slithered out of Law’s legs and handed him his spotted hat. He murmured a thank you, rearranging his hat as you smoothed down your hair.

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“Your captain isn't the only Warlord worth watching,” Law eyed the door as he spoke. “They hold records here —”

“— on every individual deemed a ‘person of interest’ by the Navy,” you finished.

Law’s brow quirked at you.

“I wanted to find more information on Marco and my brothers,” you said. “See if they’re still alive without involving Hancock in the war.”

And see if Cipher Pol is still interested in me, you thought with a shudder. You hoped you were being overcautious, but it was better to know if they were still looking for you.

Law moved towards the door. He gripped the knob with a tattooed hand and spared you a glance. “Can you walk past the Marines without being seen?”

You nodded. “And it will work on you, too.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you joined him at the door. “Would you like to investigate Hina’s office together?”

Law struck you as extremely reserved (his nonchalance for Maiden Island’s security aside), so you thought it was better to ask him outright. You watched his cold, calculating face carefully. 

Law swept the door open. “After you.”

Chapter Text

Ace’s antics always had a flair for dramatics. He was a living blaze, summoning towers of flame like a second sun. You were the smoke trail that followed, picking off dazed enemies while their senses burned. It was a partnership of roars and whispers: fire and ash. 

Law, however, was a storm of a completely different caliber. 

Law strode side by side with you through the dim corridors. Static tickled the soles of your feet as your socks clashed against the carpeted halls. You breezed past patrolling Marines as you went, their stares sliding past you like rain on glass thanks to your Haki. 

When a guard wandered too close or eyes threatened to see something they shouldn't, Law simply raised his hand, and you were swept a few yards ahead, safely out of sight. Resonating calm and electric currents engulfed you from Law’s presence.

You found Hina’s office far easier (and much faster than if you had done the sneaky-sneaky by yourself) with Law. When your hand squeezed the knob, the lock gave a firm, resounding click. The door didn't budge.

Law raised his hand. He was paler than when you first ran into him; the tattoos gave him away. The inky markings were stark against his skin compared to when you found him. 

“I’ve got it. Can you keep watch?” you dropped down before the door, unsheathing your ice picks. With deft fingers, you inserted them in the lock, listening to the small clicks of the metal mechanism inside.

Despite your request, you felt Law’s gaze on your fingers while you worked. It was only a moment until the door gave way.

Both of you stepped inside the office and softly shut the door. To your delight, massive bookshelves holding vanilla files lined the walls behind a massive desk.

You shot a smile at Law, only to find his eyes still on you.

“What is it?”

“What happens when someone notices you?” said Law. “When they see through your Haki?”

You raised your ice pick. “I stab them?”

Law studied the fine, silver blade. “What about other types of Haki? You use Observation well. How’s your Armament?”

You lowered your blades. Time was precious, and you were determined to use it. You wandered toward the files. Law followed.

“It’s a work-in-progress,” you frowned. Armament Haki was by far the most difficult. “I can use it on the tips of my ice picks, but that’s all. It doesn't come that easily.”

“That makes you very vulnerable,” Law noted. “You have little defense — and short weapons put you in close range with your enemy.”

You tried to focus on the files before you, but your gaze wandered over your outstretched arm to Law. “Why does it matter to you?” you said.

Law’s steel eyes hardened. “If I were Hancock, I would’ve ordered someone strong to go with you. To give you ample defenses.”

You weren't sure what to make of that. At first glance, it sounded like Law called you weak. But he had only gotten this far because of you.

He’s worried about me, a small voice in you whispered.

“Then it's a good thing you’re here,” you said. Your attention returned to the folders, even when Law continued to stare out of the corner of your eye.

You pulled multiple reports on a variety of topics: Ace, Whitebeard, the Whitebeard Pirates, the Blackbeard Pirates, and Teech. There was very little information that was recent; the only current entry you could find were tidal disruptions in the area Teech and Marco were rumored to be fighting.

There were no details on who was alive, and who was winning. Regardless, you set the most recent files in your own pile. 

Law worked next to you in silence, forming his own assortment. When you glanced at some of the file names, they read Donquixote Doflamingo or Rosinante along the edge. You bit your tongue against asking. If Law wanted to talk about it, he would. 

You had given up on finding anything else about Marco’s fate and started to work towards your bonus objective: Cipher Pol. While it was highly unlikely that you would find anything important pertaining to the secret World Government agency here, it was worth a shot.

“That’s everything for me.” Law tossed another file onto the desk behind him. “What are you looking for?”

You bit your lip. “I’m almost done.”

Law stood behind you, peering over your shoulder. “Whitebeard’s files are farther down.”

“I know…” you stared forward. “I wanted to find something on Cipher Pol, too. If I can.”

Law’s breath hissed behind you. “I doubt you’ll find anything on them here.”

“You’re probably right.” You shrugged. “But it's worth a try…”

“Any specific names?” Law squinted at the files above your head.

You swallowed. “Monet. Caesar Clown. Kalifa…Rob Lucci.”

You felt like the embodiment of Law’s past observation by simply saying their names out loud: incredibly, almost hilariously, vulnerable. It was like admitting a deep, dark secret. 

If Law could sense your unease, he didn't comment on it. He reached for a file above your head. “Here. L-U-C-C-I, yeah? I’ve got Caesar’s files already. Do you have enough?”

“Yes, that's perfect!”

You turned to face Law as he retrieved the file. You hadn't realized how close he was. Once again, you were only separated by inches. Something about it made breathing difficult. 

Law fumbled in the small space between you, handing you the file.

“Thank you,” you said. You barely recognized the light, breathy voice that came out. 

Thanks to Law’s height, you were nearly eye level with his lips. Your pulse thundered as you tried to avert your gaze. The dark confines of the office only seemed to make it worse, amplifying every soft touch and hard line traced by shadows.

“Do you really intend to meet with Smoker?” said Law.

You blinked. You’d completely forgotten about the reason you were supposed to be here.

“I don't know,” you admitted. “I probably should, or it’ll mean more issues for Hancock and Maiden Island…”

Law’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Would she care?”

“Probably not. But it would be a crappy thing to do as a friend representing her,” you said. 

Law was silent for a moment. Spearmint clung to his clothes, tickling your nostrils at his closeness. 

“If you’re not escaping with me, I can stop by the island later with Caesar’s files,” said Law.

Heat bloomed in your face. Voices shouted outside the door to Hina’s office, but you ignored them. “That — that’s not necessary.”

“You want them, don't you?”

“Yes,” you said. As thrilling as it was that Law was willing to invade an island for you, the thought of him shocking (or possibly seducing) a random woman on the island was very plausible. “But you shouldn't have to do all the legwork. Here…”

You glanced around the room. The glossy cap of a Sharpie glinted in what little light escaped the curtained windows. You snatched it and reached for Law’s hand. “Can I?”

Law’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He nodded.

You drew lines across his open palm. “There’s a river that cuts slightly into the island on the northeastern side. It should be deep enough for your ship, and it's a safe distance away from Amazon Lily. I can meet you there.”

“How about tonight?”

You looked up from Law’s hand. It was hard to decipher in the dark, but his ears looked slightly red.

“If you need more time with the files…” you said.

“A few hours is enough.” 

“Okay.” You smiled at him. “Tonight, then.”

Something close to a smile crested Law’s lips. 

The lock clicked across the room. Your eyes widened, remembering the stampede of Marines outside. 

“Do you mind dropping me off on your way out? They might not like it if they knew I was here,” you said.

“Of course.”

“Think you can do something discreet?”

Something dangerous flickered in his steel gaze. “Absolutely.”

— M I N U T E S   L A T E R —

“THIS IS NOT DISCREET!” you shouted over the wind.

A rumble — almost a laugh — thrummed against your ear. Law’s arms tightened around you as you freefalled together.

The tower next to you was a blazing, white blur as you zoomed downwards. You were pulled flush against Law’s body as the chilly torrents of wind howled past. Each thrilling breath was a taste of crisp, clean air. The Marine base and the ocean sprawled below you, a glistening pearl against the glossy, cobalt waves. 

A frightful smile broadened Law’s lips — but you liked it. It was a real smile that was very, very him.

Law raised his hand, fingers outstretched. “Room — Shambles!”

The sigh of the breeze was cut off. You and Law landed with a light bounce on the sofa of the waiting room Tashigi had shown you before.

You caught your breath for a moment, hand pressed to your thundering heart as you sat in Law’s lap.

“Dizzy?” Law asked. His fingers brushed your temple. 

“A little. I haven't gone on a roller coaster in a while,” you said absentmindedly.

Another rumble escaped Law’s throat. “Take a minute.”

You did. You closed your eyes, focusing on each breath in and out. After a while, you snuck a look at Law with one eye open. “Shouldn't you be escaping?”

“Figured I’d wait until you calmed down first. Wouldn't want you accidentally passing out on a letter opener or something.”

“Yeah. That would really destroy your whole ‘Surgeon of Death’ reputation.”

Hairs pricked up along the nape of your neck. Your eyes found the door, but your body was too slow to react when it burst open.

Tashigi paused, panting in the doorway, mouth gaping at you. In Trafalgar D. Law’s lap.

Law’s lips brushed your ear. “See you tonight.”

You collapsed into the cushions as the body beneath you vanished.

Chapter Text

Hours passed until the bloom of embarrassment in your cheeks started to die down, even after you left the Marine base behind. Smoker’s hard glare and penetrating questions about Hancock were one thing, but trying to focus after Law’s grand exit was…taxing. 

You barricaded yourself in your room upon returning. Files were spread across the cool tile. On one side of you, papers concerning Marco and the Whitebeard Pirates were sprawled in a web-like pattern. The other side had simply one file, still closed. 

You nibbled on your bottom lip as you stared at Rob Lucci’s name.

“You smell so good in the rain. It’s intoxicating.”

You flinched away from the file as if it had hit you. Phantom claws scratched their way down your back.

Holding your breath, you flipped open the file with shaking fingers. 

Your eyes immediately fell upon Rob Lucci’s face. A small photo of him took up the right-hand side of the introductory page. Even in image (and human) form, his eyes seemed to follow you.

Your hand drifted to your shoulder, slipping under your shirt to caress your upper back. Scarred skin met your fingertips. 

You avoided Rob Lucci’s biography (nothing there would make your memories of Enies Lobby any kinder) and abilities. Instead, you drifted to his current assignments. 

You drew a sharp breath.

CURRENT ASSIGNMENT: TRACKING PERSON OF INTEREST.

LOCATION: CALM BELT.

Your shoulders moved rapidly with each breath as you leaned away from the file. That could be anyone. It doesn't have to be me. Your gut disagreed with you.

“Buda-buda-buda-buda-buda…” tremors shook the transponder snail atop your desk.

Your head snapped up. You dashed towards the desk, loose papers fluttering in your wake. You snatched the dialer with trembling hands.

“Gatcha.”

“Hello?” you said.

“Y/N-yoi!” Static threaded Marco’s words.

“Marco!” You smiled as you said his name.

“Polo,” he replied in a monotone voice out of habit from you and Ace’s teasing. “Listen, Y/N, I don't have a lot of time.”

“Are you okay?” Your stare grew distant as you focused on his voice, room and files forgotten. “How’s everyone else?”

“I think —...have been right — about Teech.” Sharp crackles interrupted Marco on the line. 

You leaned forward towards the snail, as if doing so would help you hear him better. “What?”

“It’s a nightmare, Y/N,” said Marco. “I’ve never seen —...like this.”

You squinted as you tried to make out his words. “What can I do?”

“Don't go after Teech,” Marco yelled. Something roared in the background, wherever he was. “And don't —...near any of the Worst Generation! You see them, run the other way…— especially Law.”

You froze. You tore your eyes away from the speaker to glance at the files on the floor behind you. Law had followed Marco’s request, hadn't he? He had saved Luffy’s life — and yours.

“Marco,” you wet your lips. “I — I don't understand.”

“Teech knows you, Y/N!” said Marco. “Best to stay off the radar, in case he seeks you out.”

“And what about you? Marco —”

“I’m glad you joined us. That Pops took you in, and our paths crossed —” more static interrupted Marco. “You —...that ship a home for us.”

It sounded too much like a goodbye. A permanent one.

“Be safe, Y/N.”

“Marco —” the line went dead as you spoke his name.

~*~

Sorry, Marco, you hugged your knees as you overlooked the water from the grassy riverbank.

Marco’s warning was still fresh in your mind: avoid Teech and the Worst Generation. But Luffy also made up that tally, and your former crew had sworn to protect him. There had to be exceptions, weren't there?

And don't —...near any of the Worst Generation! You see them, run the other way…— especially Law.

You huffed. You were capable of making your own decisions. If Law truly meant you harm, he would’ve done so by now. 

Something massive bulged beneath the water. Lights blazed beneath the surface.

You held up a hand as water sprayed everywhere. Blinking, you stared at the ship before you — no.

A submarine.

Metal groaned as the yellow submarine bobbed above the inky, black waves. You had been aboard twice before; when fleeing Marineford, and visiting Ace’s grave. Despite the dark memories attached, your heartstrings tugged at the sight. It was your safe haven, carefully tucked away from the chaos of the sea. 

The door above deck clanked open. Law stepped out. 

You stood and waved shyly from across the ridge. Law raised his fingers. His lips moved.

In an instant, you were right next to him by the railing. The Polar Tang hummed beneath you.

“Hi,” you smiled.

“Hey.” Law dipped his head. His eyes narrowed at the ground. “You got your shoes back.”

You beamed at him. “You noticed.”

“You’re not as short.”

“I am completely normal-sized, you superhuman giant.” 

A smile ghosted Law’s lips. He moved towards the metal door and held it open for you, “The files are downstairs.”

“Thanks, Captain.” You ducked inside. 

Your fingers skimmed the yellow pipes acting as railing as you stepped down into the hull. Yellow trim traced each doorway, brightening the soft, overcast gray of the walls. Cool air pressed against your exposed skin.

Law stepped down next to you. You gestured ahead, “I forgot how nice this was. It’s so solid. Nothing gets thrown around — unless you will it, of course.”

Law hummed in agreement. Pride glinted in his gaze. “It’s served us well. This way.”

You fell into step with Law, shoes clanking across the metal floors as you walked. Thoughts of exploring the Marine base together sank into your mind. Law kept pace with you, never too fast, gently guiding you down the corridor. You felt safe with him, you realized. 

Marco had to be wrong. Or maybe I missed something he said…

You glanced up at Law. Your gut feelings didn't change, even if you didn't know him that well. Perhaps it was time to change that…

“Dr. Trafalgar?”

“Hmm?”

“What exactly do you do? Aside from…pirating?” you asked.

Law’s eyes narrowed. “Why the interest?”

You shrugged. “We’ve run into each other a lot. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Law stared ahead. You watched him as he led you through the maze of gray halls. He was silent for so long, you wondered if he wouldn't answer. 

His gravel-like voice finally tickled your ears. “I’m a doctor.”

The awkward words threw you off guard. A gentle smile curved your lips. “What area of study?”

“Are you familiar with them?” said Law.

“Not really,” you admitted. “But it would be nice to know.”

“...A few,” said Law.

“Cardiology? Or is the whole ‘Heart’ Pirates thing coincidental?” you asked. 

Law rounded another corner. You trailed after him. A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.

“Things can have multiple meanings.” 

Law stopped before one of the doors. It was the only one you’d seen without a round window, looking in. 

“This is my office,” said Law. 

Your pulse thrummed in your ears. You weren't sure why. 

The door gave way beneath Law’s hand, groaning open. He stepped down into the room. You followed him.

Your brain had immediately pictured a blank, sterile operation room with bright fluorescents to go with Law’s title. As your eyes adjusted to the gloom, that image quickly faded. Few sources of light were in the room, but they weren't needed. A glass panel along the walls and floor displayed your underwater surroundings, lit up by the Polar Tang’s ship lights. An eerie blue glow combated the shadows.

You had paused in the doorway to admire it. Law glanced back at you.

“This is so cool,” you grinned at him. “Can I look around?”

Law nodded. He shut the door and moved towards his desk. You wandered along the walls first; where there wasn't glass, shelves of books and jars were carefully organized. Medical terminology was scrawled across the book spines. You kept a respectful distance away from the glassware. 

Your gaze drifted downward. Potted plants were clustered along the edge of the glass flooring. You crouched before one you recognized.

Huh. How ironic.

“You keep a lot of snake plants on board,” you noted, admiring the long stalks that ended in forked-like tongues. “I remember reading somewhere that they’re a great source of oxygen.”

“They are,” said Law.

“They look great.” You glanced back at Law. He was still at his desk. He leaned over it, hands resting on the edge as he watched you from afar.

You rose and took careful steps across the glass flooring towards him.

“You’re quiet, even with shoes,” Law commented.

You shrugged. “It’s probably a Haki thing.”

“It’s not a Haki thing. It’s a you thing,” said Law. “You’re very…gentle when you interact with things.”

Vanilla files buried Law’s desk, similar to the ones that took over your bedroom earlier that afternoon. Law’s fingers crept to one of them. “What’s your interest in Caesar?”

You bit your lip. “It’s complicated. And lengthy.”

Law gestured behind him. A plush, black sofa sat against the glass wall. Fish ogled you from the outside.

Both of you took a seat. The cushions were soft, melding into your form. Your face burned as you remembered the last time you sat together. 

“I assume it's related to your interest in Cipher Pol,” said Law. The wall of glass painted his features a light blue. 

You nodded, slowly shifting your body to face him. “Yes.” 

Law waited. Now, you were the cause of awkward silence. You focused on your hands; a fidgeting, clammy heap in your lap. 

“When I was thirteen, my mom got sick,” you said. “She went to the hospital, it was a whole thing…Cipher Pol noticed me when I was with her. Or rather, the fact that they couldn't notice me.

“They approached my parents with some made-up crap about a boarding school, and they bought it. And they shipped me off to Enies Lobby to train me into one of their own.”

You crossed your legs, fingers numb in your lap. Little memories descended like spiders, skittering over you with a shudder. The mental image of Monet leering over you, smiling ever politely, with an adrenaline needle inching towards your skin. Or she’d be looking up from her clipboard at you, jotting down notes as you experienced their “simulated” stressful situations to trigger your Haki.

You didn't remember everything from your six years with Cipher Pol. You blamed the drugs for random little gaps in your memory. But from what you did recall…you weren't interested in recovering those missing moments.

“But they couldn't understand why my Haki is the way it is. Eventually they invited Caesar to come look at me to ‘better my progress.’ And upon meeting him, I just…” you frowned. “I realized how much of an idiot he was. How I couldn't trust him, or anything that they’d told me. So I left.”

Your back hadn't bothered you in a while, but little burning spasms flickered across it when you thought of Enies Lobby. Like aftershocks from being electrocuted.

Law hadn't interrupted you once. You’d been too afraid to look at him, and now you wondered if he’d even listened to your tale. You glanced over at him —

Law’s expression was unreadable as he fixated one of the strongest, most searing stares you’ve ever experienced in your life at you. 

“Have you told Hancock this?” Law murmured. 

You shook your head. You shifted, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Law inched towards you. “You should. Cipher Pol is a powerful enemy. I’ve seen your ability at work; they’re not going to forget you, Y/N-ya.”

“What if I scare her off?” your voice cracked against your will. You swallowed. Maiden Island had become your home so effortlessly. You were reluctant to risk losing Hancock, but you knew it wasn't fair to her. She wasn't like Pops. He had accepted everything in stride; he was an Emperor. The World Government didn't faze him. 

“She might be more open-minded than you think,” said Law. “She’s your captain. She should be.” 

You laughed. It was a weak and bitter sound. Unlike Hancock, you wouldn't be forgiven for everything because you were beautiful. 

“If you’re that uncomfortable with telling her, join me.”

Chapter Text

Your head snapped to Law. His steel gaze never left yours. 

“You’re serious,” you said, dumbfounded.

“I am.” 

Law’s stare was so intense, your skin tingled from his eyes. All of your thoughts fizzled into a dull roar when he looked at you.

You tore yourself away from his intensity, tucking a stray hair away from your face. “Law…as much as I appreciate how willing you are, it's not a decision I can make overnight. And I’d also be putting your life at risk by joining.” 

“I’m aware,” said Law. “The offer still stands, even if you need time.”

You nodded. Unexpected warmth bloomed in your chest. You had shared something dark, and icy, and strange with Law, and he responded in kind by inviting you to his crew.

“Even if you do stay with Hancock…” Law said, interrupting your revelation. “I was planning on finding Caesar.”

Your hands clenched in your lap at Caesar’s name. “Why?” 

“To capture him.” Law’s tone was resolute. “If we became allies…that would be one less enemy for you to worry about.” 

Allies. That was acceptable, wasn't it? You wouldn't have to give up Maiden Island. And it meant more moments together like what you shared at the Marine base. Someone who stood next to you. Who could retrieve files from high shelves without you asking and wrapping your finger…you gently traced the scabbed-over cut along the pad of your finger.

Warmth dusted your cheeks. You were thankful for the dim lighting in Law’s office. 

You nodded. “I’d like that.”

Law smiled. It was akin to the frightful smile from earlier, but far more gentle and genuine. You liked that one, too. 

You shifted on the couch, facing him. “Monet will probably be with Caesar. From what I remember, she was his assistant.”

Law inclined his head, leaning in as if caught in your own gravitational field. “What do you remember about them…? If you feel comfortable sharing.” 

You told Law everything you could recall, from their Devil Fruit powers to little tidbits of information you heard in passing. Law only left your side once, moving about the office and returning to you with a cup of tea. He never missed a single word. 

“Let me get this straight,” Law pinched the bridge of his nose and set down his mug. Your positions on the sofa had changed; you had slipped off your shoes, legs curled under you as you faced him. Law’s long legs were stretched out before him, body angled towards you. “You spent years enduring the imbeciles of Enies Lobby, and it took Caesar Clown for you to finally think ‘these people are shady’?”

“I had doubts,” you said. Steam billowed from your mug, caressing your face. It was your second cup. “I was afraid if I left any sooner, they might go after my family.” 

Law nodded, his gaze elsewhere. His long, tattooed fingers tapped the side of his mug as he ruminated.

“What would you have done?” you asked him.

Law’s chest caved with one long exhale. “The exact same thing.”

Your eyes flew open. “Really?”

“You seem surprised,” said Law. “Do you regret it?”

“No. It's not like I can talk about this with everyone,” you said. “It just…sits in me. And I wonder if I made the right decisions.”

“I don't know the whole story,” Law set down his mug. His hands drifted down his denim-clad thighs. “But I’ve met a lot of idiots. You’re not one of them, Y/N-ya.”

“Did you just compliment me?”

“I said you weren't an idiot.”

You smiled. Your toes curled under you. “I’ll take it.”

Both of you laughed. The harmonic duet filled the room. Something about the low timber of his voice struck you between the shoulderblades, tickling down. 

“We’ll find Caesar,” you said. Your determination matched his. 

Law’s brow rose. “And Hancock? She’s still your Captain.” 

“I’ll see what she says…if she’d rather not get involved, it's her choice.” you sighed. “A fun-packed day tomorrow.”

Law glanced at his desk. “Or later today.” 

You followed Law’s gaze and gasped. It was a little after two in the morning. You set down your mug. “I’m so sorry —”

“Don't be. I’m used to late nights.” Law rose from his spot on the couch and stretched. Had you really sat together for so long? It hadn't felt like hours to you.

“Let’s get you back before they notice.” Law grabbed Caesar’s file from his desk. After you slipped on your shoes, he held it out to you.

“Thanks,” your fingers brushed Law’s as you took it. “Sorry I talked so much. Next time it's your turn.”

Law smiled and said nothing. You tucked the folder to your chest, hands still tingling from his cool touch.

As you breezed by Law’s desk, one of the other files flew open. You were just about to look away when a familiar face caught your eye. It stopped you in your tracks.

Ace.

It was an old newspaper clipping from months ago. You remembered the photo; you had the exact same snippet at the very bottom of your nightstand drawer in your bedroom. 

Ace’s dark hair and the tattoo printed across his bicep were exactly as you remembered. Part of his face was obscured by the woman he was kissing, wearing his hat. They stood in front of a lit-up bar, completely picturesque.

That woman was you. 

The light dizziness that enveloped you seconds before evaporated. Air couldn't seem to enter your lungs. A lump had formed there, lodged in your throat.

Law blocked the newspaper clipping from view as he stood before you. “Y/N-ya —”

“It's fine,” you said quickly. You squeezed the file to your chest so hard, sharp edges of the folder stabbed into your abdomen. 

Law’s steel-gray eyes were on your face, burning your skin — this time, for different reasons. “It's not. I —”

“Please.” You finally forced yourself to look at Law. It was easier than staring at the photo. “I don't want to talk about this.”

Law’s words died in his throat with a garbled, “Nngh!” His jaw clenched.

You awkwardly excused yourself as rushed past him, making for the door like a mouse in flight —

It burst open. Fluorescents invaded the room, chasing away the dim light. Three boiler suit-clad figures filled the doorway. They gaped at you. 

Two men and a polar bear blocked your escape. The polar bear — Bepo, you recalled — gasped. He looked over your head at Law. “Captain!! Are you on a date?!”

“You had a girlfriend and didn't tell us?”

“She’s cute —!”

Law was at your side again. “Move!”

“It's not going well? Did you show her your tattoos?!”

Your face burned. Law wrapped an arm around you and shouldered them out of the way. You didn't catch the looks Law shot behind you, but due to the silenced whispers, they had to be lethal.

“I’m sorry,” Law murmured to you. The arm around you dropped limply to his side. “Y/N —”

“Maybe we should wait to have this conversation,” you said. “Like…daylight hours?” Or never?

The chilled halls of the Polar Tang blurred by. Numbness crawled over your skin, and you welcomed it. The thought of losing it in front of Law…you hadn't shed a single tear over Enies Lobby (which was a first), and of course the thing to finally break you was…it was humiliating.

You reached the steps leading up to the deck. When you stepped outside the submarine’s walls, the night breeze tugged at your hair with icy fingers. 

Law’s jaw was fixed in an uncomfortable position. You could tell he was reluctant to leave things as they were. But the numbness was wearing off, and you were already as vulnerable as you had ever been with Trafalgar D. Law. You had to put as much distance as possible between you before you snapped. 

“Would you like me to take you back to your room? It’ll be faster.”

“It’s okay,” you said, swallowing. “I think I need the walk. We were sitting for a while.”

You stood together, tense and rigid. The soft white lights of the Polar Tang bleached Law’s skin. His complexion was ghostly, but you had enough hauntings for one evening (or morning). 

All moisture left your mouth. What should you say? You needed to run, before the tears started — but you didn't want to shred your new alliance. You poured out one of your most dangerous secrets to Law, then laughed and talked about things you never thought you would laugh or talk about…and then the photo.

Law’s tongue flashed across his lips. “I…liked listening to you tonight.”

The words were stiff, seeping with awkwardness. But the intent behind them wasn't.

“If there is a next time, I’d like to hear more.”

Your breath caught in your throat. In the short time you had been together, you’d learned that Law wasn't the greatest with words. What he lacked in verbal coordination, he more than made up for with sincerity. 

You swallowed and nodded. “Good night…and good morning.”

Law bowed his head. Dark strands dripped from his hood, writhing like tufts of living shadow against his skin. “Good morning and good night.”

~*~

Your knock echoed down the corridor.

You stood outside the double doors to Hancock’s bedroom. Flames crackled beside you, licking at the wall sconces. As you watched, you wondered if you were doing the right thing. 

The door opened before you came to a decision. 

A crimson bathrobe was draped over Hancock’s delicate shoulders. Her eyes flickered over you as if she’d been awake for hours. “Yes?”

You gulped. Your throat burned in retaliation. “I was wondering if…we could have some girl time. You know, talk about feelings and boys and…stuff.”

Hancock blinked. It was obvious in your voice that you had been bawling. A sniffle escaped you when you stopped talking. 

Without hesitation, Hancock eased the door open with a soft smile. “Always.”

You returned the smile, but not for long. More tears threatened to spill as you did so. 

You stepped inside. Hancock fluttered about the room, returning to you with a spare bathrobe in hand. She draped the soft, fuzzy fabric over your shoulders.

“What would you like to talk about?” said Hancock.

You closed your eyes. No matter how long you waited, nothing would mentally prepare you for what was to come.

“Ace,” you said.

Chapter Text

Ace of Spades;

Traditionally, the highest and most valued card in a deck of playing cards. Its value varies from game to game. The card is rumored to be inspired by the sword of the executioner from the Middle Ages, responsible for carrying out death sentences.

Chapter Text

— O N E   Y E A R,   S I X   M O N T H S   A G O —

The Emperor’s brow arched as he studied you. “Why are you on my ship?”

Murmurs rippled through Whitebeard’s assembled crew like an agitated beehive. It was too much of an effort to catch their words. Your feet already screamed in protest at the mere act of standing. 

Whitebeard’s gaze flashed to the Warlord at your side. Mihawk bowed his head, “Her Haki is unlike anything I have ever seen.” 

Your tight fists hovered near your ice picks, stark silver lines against your black Impel Down officer uniform. You wanted to protest about sharing such delicate information, but that would require speaking. Existing was enough of a painful ordeal. 

“Shanks would not take her,” said Mihawk. “Said she was too young for his crew.”

It wasn't exactly true. Shanks had asked if you wanted to join. You’d said no. You wanted to go home, not sail the seas.

Whitebeard shifted in his massive chair. IV cords slithered around his arms.

“Only my sons serve under me,” said Whitebeard. “Would you be comfortable?”

Your eyes swept about the deck. Every face you saw was male. The ones with more androgynous features were dressed the same. Some looked like they could pass for your age, but your vision was blurring. 

“I want to go home,” you said. 

“And what is home to you?”

“Land. My family.” Your clenched fingers were numb. You’d asked (and pleaded, and ordered, and threatened) Mihawk to take you there, but he’d insisted that you meet two of the four Emperors before returning you to land. Given you were a wanted criminal, and there were no other options for transport, you went along with it. 

“Do you think you’ll honestly be able to return to a normal life? After everything?” Mihawk’s voice was a whisper to you, not meant to carry across the deck. 

You glared at him. He thwarted your escape at Impel Down. You were seconds from sweet, blissful freedom that you hadn’t felt…ever. The bitterness of defeat still soured your saliva. 

One of Whitebeard’s sons parted from the assembled crowd. Blond tendrils bounced on his head as he walked. He gave you a wary look as he passed, and exchanged soft murmurs with Whitebeard. 

Both of them glanced in your direction. Whitebeard nodded. 

The blond man sauntered up to you. “My name is Marco. I’m head of the ship’s infirmary, and commander of Pops’ first division. You don't look well.”

Shallow breaths burned in your chest. Blots of ebony lined your vision. If your body gave out here, amongst tens — no, hundreds of strangers…

Your fingers twitched towards your weapons. 

“Have you experienced any severe blood loss recently-yoi?” said Marco. “Dizziness? You look pale.” 

You blinked. He sounded sincere, and you wanted to believe him. But what if a trap lurked beneath it?

Mihawk coughed into his fist. “ Massive amounts! Ahem, pardon me.”

As annoying as he was, the Warlord hadn't tried to kill you. Yet. There wouldn't be a point in putting it off, would there? 

You nodded once. Marco’s sandals scraped against the planks beneath you as he stepped forward. “Can you walk by yourself?”

Darkness flooded your vision. Your feet still weighed heavy on the ship. Salty air still burned your lungs. After a flurry of blinks, Marco’s blurry face appeared before you.

“Hey! Let’s show her around,” a charismatic voice replied beside you. The syllables melded together when he spoke like music. 

An arm draped lightly around your shoulders. In your ear, he whispered, “Lean on me if you need to.”

You nodded, letting the second man escort you through your blurry surroundings. His bare skin was warm, so much so it seared through your clothes. It softened your rigid shoulders. 

Marco walked in front of you, parting the sea of hazy faces. You were gently steered towards the lower part of the ship.

“You’ll be okay, I got you.” Mr. Charismatic squeezed your shoulders. His breath tickled your ear. “Trust me.” 

~*~

You gently swayed back and forth. Every part of you ached with stiffness as if nothing had been used in a while. Little knots of protest formed when you tried to move. 

You stretched your fingers, curling and flexing the digits. Slowly, the knots unfurled. You tested your arm next, bracing yourself for a sharp spasm of pain across your back — that never came. 

“Hey, there. You feelin’ all right, gorgeous?” something warm brushed against your fingers.

You fought back against your heavy eyelids, and eventually won. The most beautiful face you’d ever laid eyes on stared back at you.

Dark locks framed a beaming, freckled face. Red beads draped around his neck, over his broad shoulders. Vaguely, you recognized his voice: he was Mr. Charismatic. 

It took a few moments for the realization to settle in. It was as if you had been underwater for many years, and you were waiting for it to empty out of your skull.

“Hmm?” Your brain couldn't do words yet. That was the best you could manage. 

Mr. Charismatic chuckled and ruffled your hair. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Y/N. The name’s Portgas D. Ace.”

You tried to sit up. The surface beneath you — a woven hammock — softly rocked you back and forth. Bandages lined your torso. A loose shirt replaced your Impel Down uniform, with the back partially sliced open. It felt nice not having so many layers on your wounds. 

Grogginess still clouded your mind. So you couldn't stop what blurted from your mouth, “You’re pretty.”

Ace laughed. It was a warm, hearty sound that trickled down your body. “Thanks. You’re pretty, too.”

You shifted in your cocoon of blankets to face him. You rubbed at your eyes with closed fists. “What happened?”

“Marco said you didn't look too good when you boarded. He’s the one that patched you up, and he’s been watching over you since,” said Ace. 

Your eyes wandered about the room. Everything seemed so clear and detailed once the blurriness of sleep wore off. It was small, more like a wooden crate than a room, but it smelled amazing. The source was numerous bouquets of flowers surrounding you.

Ace followed your stare. “You’re not allergic, are you? The guys were worried about you. We don't really see a lot of women around here, so you’re pretty popular.” 

“Popular? Me?” You hadn't meant to say it out loud. Your face burned at your lack of discipline. You shyly shook your head, raising one of the white, linen blankets to hide behind.

Ace laughed. “You’re cute. You sleep good?”

You peeked over your blanket barrier and nodded. Whenever you looked at Ace, he was always smiling. It was like you could do no wrong — you could probably commit a murder in front of him and get away with it. 

You lowered the blanket, smoothing it across your lap. “Thank you. I should thank Marco, too, and everyone else.”

Ace’s lopsided smile somehow grew wider. “I think they’d like that.”

“What happens now?” you asked.

Ace’s smile twitched. He scooted his stool closer to you. A book rested across his lap. “I guess that’s your call. You said you wanted to go home, right?” 

You leaned back into the hammock, letting it cradle you above the ground. Sunlight trickled through the window and draped your surroundings in an ethereal glow. Gentle gardenias tickled your nose. It was such a pleasant moment. The thought of going anywhere else bummed you out. 

“I guess so…? I don't know. All I’ve really thought about is getting out, from Enies Lobby to Impel Down…I didn't think about what would happen after.”

Would it be safe if you returned? The World Government would be looking for you, wouldn't they? What if you led them straight to your family?

Ace propped his chin up on his hand. “What calls to you? I mean, like, have you ever dreamed of doing something your whole life?”

You frowned. The past six years, you’d been too preoccupied with Cipher Pol to fantasize about a tangible future. Even before that, you’d been plagued with enough worries…

“I’m not sure,” you said. “I don't think I have one. A dream. Is that bad?”

You glanced at Ace’s astonished face. He hummed as he ruminated. Then his expression brightened.

“Course not! Now you get to choose one,” said Ace.

You blanched. “Um. That sounds like a big decision. I think I’ll have to sleep more on that one.”

Ace’s laugh filled the cabin again. The sound was as lively as his personality. “Yeah, it's not something you choose overnight. But seriously…isn’t there anything you want? Anything in the world?”

“Anything?” you inched closer.

“Yeah,” Ace leaned forward to meet you. “You’re with pirates, after all. This is the place to want anything.”

You both shared a smile. You pressed a finger to your lips as ideas coursed through you. “Concerts?”

“Oh, good one! What else?”

“Chocolate — and breakfast food. A lot of breakfast food,” you said. Your stomach gurgled in agreement — when was the last time you ate something?

Ace chuckled. “I like your taste. What else?”

You ruminated, staring blankly ahead. The hammock swayed in tune with the waves that held the ship.

“Traveling sounds nice…you guys get to go anywhere you want, don't you? I mean, aside from what your Captain tells you,” you said. 

Ace nodded. “Pops is a great man. He offers support to people even when they don't ask. If you’re worried about him, don't be.”

Your fingers traced the outer roped edge of the hammock between you and Ace. “Do you think…it would be okay? If I stayed?”

A smile broke across Ace’s face. He leaned in so close, you could see little flecks of gold in his almond-colored eyes. “That sounds like a path to greatness.”

Chapter Text

“You changed your mind,” said Whitebeard. “Why?” 

The waves gently cradled the Captain’s Quarters. You thought it was safe to assume it was Whitebeard’s; everything was nearly twice your size, fit to the enormous Emperor’s height. 

You sat in the only armchair tailored to someone of your size. Whitebeard watched you from behind his massive, oaken desk. 

“Cipher Pol will come looking for me,” you admitted. “But if you’d rather not be involved with me for that reason —”

“Ha! Gur-ra-ra-ra! ” 

Whitebeard’s chuckle rumbled across the cabin. Ornate weapons chittered on the walls around you. 

“That won't be a problem with us,” said Whitebeard. His tone was casual, as if you were discussing the weather.

You pressed your lips together, resisting the urge to gape at him. The Emperor didn't seem rattled in the slightest. You continued, “Even if I tried to return to my family, they’d be safer without me. Assuming they’re still alive —”

“They are,” said Whitebeard. His voice boomed even as a murmur. 

You blinked. “My parents?”

A low rumble reverberated in Whitebeard’s throat as he hummed in affirmation. “They are alive and well. Still at the house with a red door by the lake.” 

Your mouth finally fell open. Ace’s words drifted back to you, Pops is a great man. He offers support to people even when they don't ask.
“Thank you.” Those two, small words hardly conveyed the wave of relief, the swell of gratitude you suddenly harbored for the man in front of you. 

Whitebeard’s mustache twitched up. You leaned forward, “Would you be willing to take me?”

Whitebeard’s elbows rested on the arms of his chair. “That depends,” his dark eyes seized you, “on why you want to stay.” 

The room rocked back and forth, just like the gentle swinging of a hammock. You focused on that sensation, taking deep breaths as the Emperor studied you. Pirates or no, this was the most stressful job interview of your life. 

You swallowed. Your mind ran through the responses Ace helped you shape before this visit. 

“I think I’ll be happier here,” you straightened in your chair. For the first time in weeks, your back didn't cripple with agony. The pain came in manageable spurts now. Whatever Marco was doing, it worked wonders. “And I owe your crew for saving my life.”

“What can you do for us?”

You held up one of your ice picks. “Stab people?”

Whitebeard roared with laughter. The window rattled against its wrought-iron confines behind him.

You smiled. Your ice breaker worked (pun definitely intended). You lowered your weapon — or toothpicks, you supposed, by Whitebeard’s standards.

“Marco told me the crew could use some help managing finances for supplies. I would be happy to assist as bookkeeper — and keep track of your medical appointments,” you said.

Another approving rumble thrummed from Whitebeard’s throat. “Good. Marco’s been carrying too many responsibilities. But I had another job in mind for you.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. This wasn't part of what you rehearsed. You nodded, gulping down a lungful of electrified air. 

Whitebeard’s gaze hovered over your head, to the weapons lining the walls. He seemed fixated on a ceremonial katana, separated from the rest of the glimmering metal. 

“My division leaders oversee this territory, personally tending to any…disruptions that may occur,” said Whitebeard. “I want you to take charge of assigning them to these incidents.”

You chewed on your bottom lip. Cipher Pol equipped you with many useful abilities, the most prominent being an unequal education. Lengthy classes in speed, stealth, and intellect. The price was your freedom, of course. There wasn't much of a choice in all of it for you. 

But those skills — my Haki. They helped me stay hidden, not…interact.

“Like…a coordinator?” you said. 

“No.” Whitebeard shifted in his seat. “More like…a spokesperson. My spokesperson.”

Blood pumped in your veins. Thoughts swirled within you, wondering what Whitebeard could’ve possibly seen in you to choose you for such a vital role.

“Are you sure you want me?” you said.

Whitebeard’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn't I?”

“I’m — well…” your fingers fumbled in your lap as you struggled for the right words. You wanted to stay on the ship, but you refused to deceive your new…crew. “My Haki…it’s designed to make me forgettable. At least, that’s how it works. It would be an incredible honor, but do you really think someone like me should be in charge of…?”

“I have no interest in your Haki, little one. Only in your work ethic.” Whitebeard crossed his massive arms, veins rippled across toned biceps. “Even on your deathbed, you knew who to trust. That is what I need. Someone who has strong insides — intuition, gurrah! Can you do it?”

Whitebeard stifled a coughing fit before you, crimson flooding his cheeks. You knew part of it was from the coughs that racked his enormous form, but you wondered if the Emperor felt embarrassed from such a vulnerable act. 

You stood. On the very edge of Whitebeard’s desk was a large, crudely-made tissue box, using paper towels instead of tissues. You scooted your chair up against his desk and climbed atop your seat. You nudged the box towards him.

“I’m fine,” Whitebeard insisted. 

“You can still take one — just in case. For later, or if someone else needs it,” you said.

Whitebeard grunted his displeasure, but he didn't argue with you. He plucked one of the towels from the box, dabbing at his mustache.

You leaned your elbows along the edge of Whitebeard’s desk. Could you do what he asked? Your Haki was the reason you were here. It was a shadow that forever loomed in your midst, lurking in every conversation you had for the past six years of your life. 

It was a part of you, yes. But was it all of you…? No.

You found yourself nodding. “I’ll be your spokesperson.”

Whitebeard’s mustache twitched up. 

“And I’ll still do some bookkeeping on the side — you have an entire territory’s worth to watch over,” you added.

“Then it's settled.”

Whitebeard rose. His steps boomed against the wooden planks as he walked around the desk. When he reached you, still standing on your chair, he crouched down and clasped your shoulder with an oversized hand.

“Welcome, daughter,” Whitebeard’s eyes shone. “You will always be safe here.” 

You grinned. Pops ruffled your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness. Random strands stuck up on your head when he drew back. 

Pops straightened to his full, towering height. “To make you more comfortable amongst our family, I’m assigning one of my sons as your partner.”

You stepped down from your chair and dusted yourself off to hide your own jitteriness. One face in particular came to mind, but that was a fantasy. There was no way reality would actually favor you in such a way —

“I think you will compliment Ace nicely,” said Whitebeard.

You averted your gaze. An embarrassing amount of heat burned in your cheeks. Ace. The forever-smiling Mr. Charismatic. Just picturing his face made your heart stumble. 

Another one of Whitebeard’s hearty chuckles sent tremors across the room.

“He is a very persuasive reason to stay for most, so I’m told.”

~*~

“Howdy, partner!”

Ace waved to you across the deck. Freckles framed his smile, making your breath uneven as you approached. “Ready for your first island?” 

You nodded. True to Pops’ word, Ace was your constant companion. You were half-convinced he was a walking dream; Ace wasn't a person you just bumped into in real life. He was like the hot character everyone fawned over in popular novels. A portable sun — your portable sun, you corrected yourself with a shiver. 

Ace introduced you to everyone you passed, taking you for endless guided tours around the Moby Dick. Each interaction was framed with a chivalric yes, sir and a tip of his hat. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. This was a pirate?

Marco leaned back on the railing next to Ace. He inclined his head at you, “How’s your back, Y/N-yoi?”

“Much better. Thank you for that,” you said. Marco personally oversaw your recovery. You’d already noticed major, almost inhuman amounts of progress in your condition during your short time together. 

“That’s what I like to hear! We’ll check it in about a week, how’s that sound? Come see me if there’s more pain.” 

Beaming, you turned to Ace. “Where are we headed?” 

“Dressrosa! Pops is seeing a specialist there. It's an island known for romance and dancing. I hope they have good food.”

Marco’s voice dropped an octave. “Wanna change first, Y/N-yoi? We’re a rowdy crew, but…that’ll attract some stares.”

You glanced down at your Impel Down officer uniform. It fit you surprisingly well, but Marco was right: it wasn't an outfit for casual sight-seeing. “That’s true, but I don't have a lot of clothes. I think I’ll go shopping while we’re there.”

Ace plucked his hat from his head and planted it atop yours. “We’ll fix that,” he said with a smirk.

Chapter Text

“I like that one!”

“Can we see the blue one again-yoi?”

“That goes with your eyes.”

It was the third boutique you’d visited. Ace and Marco lounged outside the dressing rooms, half-buried by shopping bags. They weren't the least bit deterred when you appeared for the fourth time.

“I think you might be biased,” you said to Ace.

“Overalls are cute,” Ace pouted. 

Marco raised his hand. “I still vote for the Hawaiian crop top-yoi.”

You broke into a smile, cupping your warm cheeks as you turned away. “You should be designers.”

“Damn right we should! Marco’s got the hair for it.”

“You could not survive any industry where a shirt is required-yoi.”

Two months ago, I was scaling a tower in Enies Lobby with ice picks to escape. At night. In the rain. NEVER would I have seen this coming. 

You checked the dressing room one last time. A crumpled heap of black fabric was sprawled across the bench. 

You frowned at your Impel Down officer uniform. It was a souvenir of the greatest turning point in your life. The good, the bad, and the bloody. Was it worth keeping? 

Your fashion posey might have an answer. You shoved the wrinkled fabric under your arm and slipped out.

“Do you think I should keep this?” you held the bundle of black fabric aloft. 

“Sure. You look sick in it — if you change your mind, we can always burn it later,” said Ace. 

“Good point — thanks!” 

Ace opened one of the shopping bags. You plopped the uniform inside. 

“A nice viking burial for your clothes-yoi. That's how you know your outfit slayed.” 

The three of you burst into laughter. It felt so natural bubbling from your lips. The weightlessness in your chest was still a foreign feeling. 

As your small party strolled toward the cash register, your gaze wandered to the shoes mounted on shelves along the walls. One was a pair of ankle-high boots, nearly identical to Ace’s. 

“Can you hold on one second?” you said. You hoisted one of the shopping bags over your shoulder.

“ ‘Course. Here, lemme take those.” Ace relieved you of the small bundle of clothes in your arms. 

“Thanks! I’ll be right back.”

You dashed to the wall of shoes, eye level with your prize. You were in luck: they were your size.

Quickly, you switched shoes. The boots slipped on effortlessly. You flexed your toes, testing the inside. They were a perfect fit.  

You returned to Ace and Marco with the box and your old shoes in hand. Ace grinned at your feet. “Nice! We match. And those look great with the overalls.” 

You smiled. Heat scorched your cheeks. 

When your shopping spree ended, the three of you strolled down the cobblestone streets. There were so many people. You marveled at the crowds that gushed down the road, dressed in more vibrant colors than the clinical white-and-blue you’d become accustomed to. Children’s laughter bounced off the stones. Chiding parents followed behind with genuine smiles…

That’s why they stood out to you.

You tried not to stare. You couldn't help it. Life-sized toys moved with the crowds, trailing after townspeople. The smiles painted on their faces were jubilant, but their eyes never matched. 

You edged closer to Ace. “What are they…exactly?”

Ace shrugged. “Dunno. You see a lot of crazy shit in the Grand Line, but I’m not really sure on the story behind the toys.”

“Minions, maybe?” said Marco. His ever-present smile faded as a small, wind-up dog yapped at a child’s heels. “They seem to suit the people’s whim.”

“Makes you think, Marco.”

“ ‘Bout what-yoi?”

“Lotta crazy sights here. Crazy powers, too.” Ace’s words were nonchalant, but his brows were drawn together.

“Yeah. Makes you wonder who’s responsible.” Marco’s lips thinned.

You glanced between the two as they fell silent. Tension sullied the air, thick and stifling. 

“Why are we here?” you asked in a small voice.

Ace blinked, as if remembering you next to him. “Pops is seeing a doctor in town for arthritis. We’ve got a day to kill. Where would you like to go next?”

Ace’s smile didn't reach his eyes. Marco’s shoulders remained hunched. The atmosphere was still taut, but something told you not to bring it up. 

You bit your lip as you browsed the shop signs ahead. One destination came to mind. It probably wouldn't suit your present company.

“If you don't want to go, you don't have to,” you said. “You can drop me off or something.”

Ace snorted. “What kind of partner would I be if I did that? Come on, Y/N, where do you want to go?”

~*~

The stack of books beside you wobbled. You steadied them, glancing around your hushed surroundings. 

Dressrosa’s public library was nearly empty. Stragglers wandered the shelves and ogled books. Only your small table in the corner was occupied. It wasn't the most thrilling pastime, but it was a nice escape from the heat and the tightly-packed streets.

As you read, Ace softly assembled a house of cards with only the Spades deck. There was a knot between his brows as he worked. Marco sat across from you, legs kicked up with his hands cradling his head. You thought he was napping, but every now and then his eyes would slide open, assessing the room.

You flipped through the best history book you could find on pirates. How they started, which seas were most explored, notable names…

“Let me get this straight,” said Marco. His eyes were still clasped shut. “You decide to become a pirate, and the first thing you do is read a book about it.” 

You nodded. “That’s right.”

A smirk pulled at Marco’s lips. He leaned back in his chair. The front legs tipped off the floor. “You’re incredible.” 

Ace’s knee bounced beside you. You suppressed a wince. “I’m sorry. I know this isn't the most exciting thing — you really don't have to stay.”

Ace looked up from his assembly of Spade cards. His fingers froze as he started shuffling the Hearts deck. “What?”

You glanced at Ace’s foot, softly tapping on the floor. It stopped as soon as you stared.

Ace’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! I don't have a problem with here, Y/N. Take your time.” 

Marco hummed in agreement. “He gets this way. Think of him as a child; he hates sitting still.”

“Back off, Pineapple.” 

Marco stuck his tongue out at Ace. “He gets tightly wound due to any ‘delays.’ We don't have much business on this island: he’s stranded for the day. No big adventures to be had for Fire-Fist Ace.”

You smiled. Ace didn't seem like the type to sit still; he was in constant motion. 

Your attention returned to the book before you. As you flipped the page, one name dominated the section: Gold Roger.

You skimmed the page. Roger had shaped the Pirate Era for decades. He’d achieved what all pirates dreamed of, exploring each island to the very last and claiming the ultimate treasure as his own: the One Piece.

A wrinkled slip of parchment was lodged between the pages. You unfolded it and gasped.

Familiar almond eyes stared back at you from an old, withering wanted poster.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” said Ace. His almond eyes were still on his Spades fortress.

“Gold Roger. Or is it Gol D. Roger? I’ve heard it both ways, is there a correct one?”

Ace’s fingers clenched. His house of cards fluttered across the table. 

One of Marco’s eyes peeled open, glancing at Ace. Then softly closed. 

“He’s the worst,” muttered Ace. “He’s not worth your time.” 

“He definitely made his mark.” You sighed as you glanced over the section. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore. The World Government is full of jerks. You’re both the kindest people I’ve ever met, and you’re pirates. What am I supposed to make of that?”

“Let’s not forget this island is also run by a pirate,” said Marco.

“So?”

“So, that book you’re reading there. How can you trust it?” Marco’s eyes narrowed. “A pirate runs the island. You expect them to tell the truth?”

Ace shot him a glare. You softly shut the book before you. “You think I shouldn't believe any of it?”

Marco’s chair creaked as it returned to the floor. He leaned forward, draping his arms on the table. “I’m saying you should take everyone you meet — and everything you read — with a grain of salt, Y/N.”

Marco glanced about the lofty room. The tables around you were still empty. Strangers perused the aisles, picking books off the shelves.

Marco’s voice lowered. “You’ve met who controls the newspapers. Don't take anything for granted.” 

You shuddered. It was an ominous warning, the last thing you expected from Marco. Even during your check-ups, he seemed laid back enough.

“Why the warning?” you said. 

“You’re my patient.” Marco’s fists curled. “It’s my duty as your doctor to put your health and safety first. And you’re part of our crew. We look out for each other.” 

Your scars tingled beneath your new clothes. Your crew — er, family —  was still unfamiliar. But you trusted each member more than you had anyone else in years (eh, Teech was still a maybe). 

You turned to Ace. A frown mauled his features ever since you mentioned Roger. It was very uncharacteristic of him. 

“Um, as pirates…are you opposed to petty theft?” you asked.

Ace’s scowl dissipated. His eyes drifted to you. “Anything you want is yours. Just take it. Or, I’ll take it for you.” 

Your gaze flitted to the pile of books. Then to Ace. “One of these books has a really good section on imported and exported goods…might be a great resource for bookkeeping…and there’s a few shipwright novels.”

“Want all of ‘em?”

You nodded. Ace’s frown lines lifted. He slipped his hat onto your head like a sealed promise. “Consider it done.”

“Yay!”

“You’re adorable, Y/N.”

Your party rose from the table. Roger’s wanted poster poked out from the history book. A weird urge to take it made your fingers twitch. Then Ace’s troublesome frown flashed behind your eyelids, and you decided against it. 

A nutcracker-shaped toy wandered near your nook of the library. He hopped on one leg as he perused the shelves. Eventually he stopped, raising his fake rifle to coax a book from the higher shelves.

“Do you need some help?” you joined the toy at the end of the aisle. Your hand lingered where the barrel of his gun prodded at the books. “Which one would you like?”

“History of Dressrosa, please! Thank you, miss!”

You eased the thick tome from the tightly packed shelves. When you turned to the toy soldier, his shining, wooden hands reached out. His fingers were forcibly cupped together. “Are you going to be okay holding this? Do you need a bag?”

“Uh —”

“Here, man. We’ve got you covered. Y/N, mind if these clothes share a bag?” Ace held up one of the shopping bags. 

“Not at all! Great idea!”

Ace helped you empty one of the bags and slip the book inside. You presented it to the toy soldier.

“Thank you, miss. You are very kind.” The toy soldier’s wooden joints clicked as he bowed.

“Didn't know toys were allowed to check out books,” Marco mused. 

The toy soldier rose from the floor. His head still hung low. “We are not.” 

It was such a simple act: checking out a book from the library. Something anyone could do. 

It’s like they’re not even human. I mean, they’re toys. But it’s ignoring the fact that they’re alive. 

“That’s terrible! What happens if you get caught?” you said.

The toy soldier drooped, as if his marionette strings had been cut.

You spun to Ace, gaze pleading. “Can we steal one more?”

Ace smiled at you. “We’ll meet you outside, Mr. Soldier.” 

Chapter Text

“Thank you for your kindness, sirs! Miss!”

The toy soldier’s body creaked as he bowed profusely. Your small party huddled together in a dim alley behind the library. 

Ace grinned. “Anytime. I hope it's a good read.” 

The toy soldier’s painted brows furrowed. “It's not…but it's good to know what they documented.”

You crouched down. You were eye level with the soldier. “What do you mean?”

The soldier glanced at the mouth to the alley. No one passed. He leaned in, his voice a hushed whisper. “Everyone’s memories have been tampered with for the past seven years.”

Your mouth fell open. You shared astonished looks with Marco and Ace. “What?” 

The soldier planted his fake rifle as he balanced on one leg. “I won't share the whole story here. It's not safe. But…a darkness lies beneath Dressrosa. You seem like good people: leave as soon as you can, and avoid the royal palace at all costs!”

You stood and turned to Ace. “Can we investigate the palace?”

It was technically your responsibility to assign division leaders to disruptions. You would only be fulfilling your duty — and tagging along for educational purposes, of course.

Marco and the soldier gaped at you. Ace was all smiles, “Right on! I’ll go with ya. Can you bring the bags back to the ship, Marco?”

“I’m not your bellboy-yoi!”

“Cool! Thanks!” Ace grabbed your hand. He sprinted for the royal palace with you in tow. 

~*~

You and Ace opted for the route less traveled. You cut through the garden, darting between shrubs as soldiers marched past. Each bush was shaped to mirror the suits of a playing card deck: hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades.

“You’re pretty good at this, the whole sneaky-sneaky thing.” Ace whispered, flashing you a grin. 

Your face flushed. You had made many plunders during your sneaky-sneaky ventures out of Enies Lobby and Impel Down. They didn't feel like achievements (more like horror stories). But at least it made sneaking through a garden child’s play. 

Ace crouched with you behind a heart-shaped shrub near one of the grand entrances. Two soldiers stood guard at the adorning marble pillars. 

Ace clenched his fist. A glaze of heat blurred the air around him.

“Wait,” You mouthed, holding up a hand. “Can I take care of this?”

Ace blinked. The heat radiating from his body dulled. He laid back against the grass and crossed his arms behind his head. 

“Go for it. I’ll be watching if you need me,” said Ace.

You grinned. Ace was more easygoing than you anticipated. 

You leapt from the shrubs and gently brushed yourself off. As you approached the guards, you emptied your mind, taking gentle breaths in and out. You focused on one mantra.

Don't notice me.

The guards stared straight ahead. Their eyes never strayed. They ignored your presence as you passed.

You turned around just as you reached the double mahogany doors.

Ace kept watch from the bushes, gaping at you. Twigs stuck out from his hat like antlers. He gave you a thumbs up. 

You shyly waved. With refined practice, you unsheathed your ice picks from your overall pockets. 

The guards didn't move. 

Your muscles coiled, and you pounced. 

Cipher Pol fought with the power of the Six Kings. Iron Body, Finger Pistol, you knew them all. But the idea of using your captors’ fight moves left a bitter taste in your mouth. You’d added some modifications. 

You wove between the soldiers before they noticed you. You targeted sensitive parts of the body; crease of the elbow, behind the knee, back of the neck. But your ice picks never pricked the skin. They didn't need to.

You stopped a hair’s breadth from their flesh, letting the power of your momentum bruise their skin without a single touch. 

The crippled guard’s body hit the stone. He did not get up.  

As the other noticed you, you launched yourself at him. Your ice picks found their mark. He dropped to the ground like a limp puppet. 

Ace shouldered his way out of the bushes. He jogged to meet you. “Whew! You’re quick. And feisty. How’d you get past without them noticing you? It was like you were invisible!”

“Haki,” you told him, “Can you help me move them?”

“Oh, right.”

Ace hefted the bodies over his shoulder like sacks of marshmallows. He carefully laid them out of sight. 

“No holes,” Ace murmured.

“What?” 

“I saw you stab them. With your ice picks,” said Ace. “Those points are sharp, they should have more than bruises…” 

“Oh! That’s just me. The ice picks work as a conduit. Cipher Pol had this ‘Finger Pistol’ move where they would point their finger and…you know,” you said.

Ace’s brows furrowed. “Eh?” 

“Here, it’s like this.” you turned to the nearest bush. It was clipped into a Club insignia. You pointed your fingers like a fake gun and took aim. With a grimace, you flexed your fingers.

Power rushed through your digits, popping your knuckles. Wind rushed past. A small hole engraved itself at the center of the bush. It was a useful move that didn't require a weapon to reload, but the ice picks allowed you more control: you could strike continuously and had better aim. Their thin points worked like needles, applying internal damage without tearing a massive hole through the skin. 

You could always stab your enemies the old-fashioned way. But with the power of the finger pistol behind it…you preferred not to mortally wound your enemies unless you needed to. 

Ace whistled. “Woah. Wait, can you show me?”

Ace positioned his right hand. You bit your lip as you studied his fingers. 

“Do you mind if I…?” your hands hovered over his.

“Please.” Ace smiled at you. Something jolted in your chest. 

Your fingers caressed his. Ace’s skin was warm, not sweaty or clammy but…comforting. Like bathwater. Soothing, not searing. 

Your skin tingled as you rearranged his digits. 

“It's going to crack all your knuckles,” you warned. “It starts further down your arm, kind of using your bicep and…”

Your fingers trailed over Ace’s muscles. Heat crawled past your face, inflaming your neck and ears. Ace’s eyes never left you. You liked that look on his face when he concentrated; his freckles scrunched together, beautiful smile replaced with a sexy pout. 

“Like this?” 

Ace’s muscles flexed. Flame whooshed from his fingertips. 

A small light burned right through the first hole you made. Embers ate at the leaves, festering into flames.

Ace grinned at his fingers. “Damn, that’s gnarly. I like the way you do it better, though, with your ice picks. It’s way cooler.”

You bit back a smile. “I could say the same.”

Your hand was still on Ace’s arm. The tingling sensation had moved past your fingertips, coursing through your whole body. You removed your hand. Part of you wondered if touching Ace was like putting your fingers in a light socket: was that a Flame-Flame Fruit thing?

It’s probably more of a he’s-hot-and-parts-of-my-body-are-now-bothered type of thing.

You averted your gaze, suddenly finding the brick path beneath you very interesting.

“Uh…we should probably go,” said Ace.

“Oh! Um, right. Yeah.” 

Both of you turned your backs on the Ace’s spurt of flames that hungrily ate at the branches. You slipped through the double doors as the blazing inferno licked across the garden.

Ace dove behind an ornate vase as quick footsteps peddled the checkered tile. Guards rushed past you without a second glance. They were armed with buckets of water.

Ace hummed thoughtfully as he left his hiding spot, returning to your side. “Is that what Mihawk was talking about? Haki that he’s never seen before?”

You nodded. The cool corridors were empty as you walked side by side; security must’ve been distracted by the garden ablaze. 

“It’s like the opposite of Conqueror’s Haki; instead of demanding enemies’ attention or having such a strong presence they pass out…they don't notice me,” you said. 

Ace’s brows were raised, impressed. You shyly looked away and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“It’s not as strong against other Haki users,” you explained. You kept your voice low as you darted between stone pillars. “And if the person has already noticed me, it's like they’re in tune to me. It’s harder to mask myself when they’ve already been exposed. It’s…it’s kind of like hunting. I’m camouflaged for the most part, but…once you’ve spotted the deer, it's over.”

Ace made a face at your words. “You’re not prey, Y/N. It’s more like…you’re a sweet, delectable dessert. And most people don't make room for dessert. It passes by unnoticed, just a section on the menu. But once you’ve seen a delectable piece of chocolate cake on a nearby tray —” Ace gestured at you. “— you can't miss it.”

A smile curved Ace’s lips (probably picturing visuals with his analogy). Your face burned, but you nodded. “That’s right. And really? Chocolate cake?”

“It’s my favorite. But I think you’d make a nice red velvet, too.”

“Thanks so much.” You and Ace drifted apart as you walked around a pillar. It reminded you of woods, weaving between the stone trees. Your deer analogy trickled back to you. You couldn't stop thinking about how accurate prey probably applied to you.

Ace stopped. He grabbed your hand and pulled you back with him. “You’re making a face. Did I upset you?” His eyes were wide with unspoken apologies. 

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s just…Cipher Pol always explained it to me like I’m disguising myself as inferior to pass by undetected. It feels like I’m using it the wrong way…”

Ace’s expression darkened. His grip on your hand tightened as he leaned in. 

“Y/N, I know I just met you, and there’s a lot more here than what meets the eye…” Ace’s fingers brushed against the strand of hair you’d tucked away. It unraveled back to its unkept position. “But I would never use ‘inferior’ to describe you.”

A different kind of heat crept to your face. Ace continued, “What if they’re wrong? What if you’re not inferior; what if you’re so strong, other Haki users avoid you out of their own safety? And why assume you’re the one using it the wrong way? Maybe everyone else is wrong. What you did back there was awesome, Y/N. You crushed it.”

You weren't sure if it was Ace’s words or his sincerity, but moisture collected in your eyes. It was a chemical reaction that burst into being inside of you and ricocheted outwards. The gloomy corridor was brighter. Tile glistened and shone beneath your boots. Birdsong chittered outside the window, chipper and content.

The world morphed as you stared into his almond eyes, crinkled by his breathtaking smile.

This must be what people mean when they say they’re in their own happy bubble. It's nice.

Nothing else mattered. Until voices carried down the hall.

Chapter Text

The gentle warmth of the moment frosted over. You and Ace exchanged a frantic glance.

You dove behind the nearest pillar. Ace joined you from behind, his body pressing into yours. 

“Do you think you can apply your Haki to others?” Ace’s lips ghosted your ear. Heat radiated from his body, warming the area around you.

“I’ve never tried,” you whispered.

Ace planted his hands against the stone, trapping you between the pillar and his chest. “Want to?”

You stiffened in Ace’s arms. Your thoughts were in a dizzying spiral at his closeness. 

“Don't worry if it doesn't work out,” said Ace, misreading your silence, “I’ll take ‘em out and we’ll practice later.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. Each breath you took was slow and deep, coursing through your body. You traced the sequence under your skin before your attention turned to Ace. 

“Move closer,” you said. Your eyes were still screwed shut. 

Ace shifted. His bare chest burned through the back of your crop top and overall straps. Stammering heartbeats rattled your chest as Ace’s face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

The echoes rose in volume, morphing from soft murmurs into words. You pressed your forehead against the stone. You focused on Ace all around you and his slow breaths against your throat…

Don't notice us. Nothing is here.

“— shouldn't you be with Sugar?” a high-pitched voice squeaked, scratching your ears.

“Doffy summoned all of us,” replied his companion. He had a deeper baritone, almost mocking. 

Ace’s body went rigid at the high-pitched voice that sounded like a squeaky dog toy. A puff of air escaped his lips as he held back a laugh. The cool stone pressed hard between your brows as you tried to concentrate. 

Do not notice us. Do not notice us.

“Who’s guarding her while she’s turning the townspeople into toys?” said Squeaky Dog Toy Guy. 

Their voices were only a few feet away. Only one pair of footsteps knocked across the tile. An icky, squelching noise accompanied it, like oozing slime. 

Ace pressed his mouth against your shoulder as he fought back laughter. His bare lips caressed your skin. You nearly forgot everything, brain short-circuiting as your skin tingled from his lips. 

You glared at the stone column before you. Focus. Do not notice us. Do not notice the extremely attractive man behind me that smells like whiskey and firewood…and his hair is so soft…stop it!

“Twice the usual amount of guards are with her. And the room is locked: the keys are here.”

A metallic clang tittered across the tile in front of your pillar. The keys must’ve clattered to the floor. 

“Oh, no!” the low, dopey voice moaned. 

“Dammit, Trebol! You’re so slippery!” Squeaky Dog Toy Guy snapped. 

A snort broke free from Ace’s mouth. He pressed his lips right against the spot where your collarbone met your throat. 

A very unprofessional whimper burst from you.

The hall went silent. 

Please don't notice us. Please don't notice us. Please. Your fists trembled at your sides. 

“Did you hear something?” said “Trebol.”

“Yeah! Your slimy body. It's gross!” said Squeaky Dog Toy Guy. 

To your dismay, Ace’s lips moved away. His nose nuzzled against the back of your neck. Heat pooled in your core. 

“You think I’m weird?”

“Yeah! And old! Smelly, too!”

The footsteps and sludge continued forward, away from your hiding spot. You didn't move. Neither did Ace. Both of you remained still, locked together, even long after they were gone. 

Eventually, you tipped your head back to look at Ace. A snicker left his lips. 

“Pfft —! I’m so sorry, Y/N!” Ace’s laughter finally billowed out. His body vibrated all around you. “That one guy — sounded so — so funny!”

A fiery blush burned your face. As long as Ace had completely forgotten that sound you had made. That was all that mattered (and getting out of the palace). 

“We should probably leave,” you said. “We’ve heard two different testimonies that something’s shady here. Is that enough for Pops?” 

Ace’s chuckles died. He released you from his hold; cool air swept in from his absence. 

“I’d rather we had more evidence,” Ace admitted. “But that was close. I don't wanna put you in danger here without backup nearby if something goes wrong. Let’s see what Pops decides.” 

~*~

You were back in Whitebeard’s extremely oversized office. Ace and Marco pulled out extra chairs to join you before the massive desk.

“How’d the appointment go?” said Marco.

Pops’ throat rumbled. “Eh. Stupid needles. There’s a fire in your eyes; you had more fun than me.”

The three of you took turns explaining what you saw on Dressrosa. Whitebeard crossed his arms as he listened. Jagged lines wrinkled his face as he frowned.

“Hmm.” Pops gripped the armrests of his chair. Veins bulged beneath his skin. “We’ll have to do it delicately.”

“Delicately?” Ace and Marco exchanged a look. 

“Doflamingo is in business with Kaido,” said Pops. “If we interfere with this island, we risk war with another Emperor.”

You drew back into your chair. Kaido had his own section in the book from the library. Its contents were…unsavory. You doubted two Emperors going to war would benefit the seas — especially with Kaido as one of them.

“What did you see of their defenses?” asked Pops. 

“Not much in the city unless they can control the toys manually-yoi. Most of it's likely underground or in the royal palace,” said Marco.

“Underground?” Ace’s eyes narrowed.

Marco nodded. “I spoke to that toy soldier for a while after you left-yoi. He said the toys were forced to work against their will beneath the city each night.”

Your fingers knotted into fists. You thought of the toy soldier with one leg, trying to balance himself on his fake rifle. How his hands were forcibly cupped together, hardly able to hold anything…

Pops’ expression was grave. “Y/N, send someone to investigate — discreetly. We’ll gather information first.”

You bowed your head. The three of you stood. 

Whitebeard straightened in his chair, “If you return to land, use caution —”

A thump against the window interrupted him. The glass rattled. 

The sharp cry of a pelican followed. White feathers pounded the window.

Marco beat Pops to the window and ushered the bird inside. A stitched pouch with the postmaster’s insignia was nestled between its wings. The crinkled edges of an envelope poked out of the bird’s mouth.

Marco accepted the letter, and the pelican swept out of the room. 

“Were you expecting something?” said Ace. His eyes were trained on the letter.

“No.” Pops took the parcel. His frown lines deepened.

You eyed the pink envelope with interest. It wasn't anywhere near Valentine’s Day. Did Pops have admirers…? 

Pops groaned at the parcel and cursed under his breath.

“This better not be what I think it is…”

Pops sliced open the envelope with his finger. He squinted at the light-pink parchment inside. “Y/N, your eyes work?”

“Y-yes.”

“Read this for me?”

Pops passed the letter to you. All eyes flitted to you as you read.

“The Whitebeard Pirates are formally invited to Big Mom’s Tea Party next Saturday…” you paused, glancing at your audience. Ace and Marco were five shades paler than they were before. Pops squeezed the bridge of his nose, grimacing. 

“Um…the theme is polka-dots,” you scanned the rest of the letter. “What exactly does this mean?”

Pops sighed. “I thought it might sound nicer if you read it. Dressrosa will have to wait, I’m afraid. Marco, set a course for Whole Cake Island. Another Emperor has business with us.”

Chapter Text

— W H O L E   C A K E   I S L A N D —

Everyone was gathered on the deck of the Moby Dick. Glares and uneasy glances were pointed at the island that slowly came into view.

Ace was at your side. His hands were shoved into his pockets, whistling cheerfully despite the tension around you. His presence was the only thing that kept you from trembling. 

“Have you ever met them?” you asked.

“Nope. Only heard the stories, ‘specially from Pops. They’re a family, like us, but…they’re not the same.”

“How so?” you said. 

Ace squinted as he stared ahead. “They’re bound by blood. Big Mom has a lot of kids. But…their relationship is different from ours. Pops follows the code: you do right by your crewmates, your friends, and — when circumstances call for it — your enemies. If you screw up on this ship, you own up to it, and we all help fix it. But here…” Ace’s lip curled. “They’re so scared of pissing off Big Mom, they’d lie through their teeth and blame their own siblings if their made a mistake. I don't like that.”

You eyed the approaching island with rising terror. “Me neither.” 

Pops’ heavy footsteps carried across the deck as he joined everyone. The IV cords that always clung to his form like wispy cobwebs were gone. Marco trailed behind him with pursed lips. 

Pops addressed the crew. “Stay close. Avoid wandering off alone if you can.” His gaze lingered on you as he spoke. 

Marco sauntered to your side. He briefly nodded to you. “You look nice.” 

“Thanks.” It was a tea party with two emperors, so you went with one of the more reserved outfits you’d picked out with Marco and Ace. Sans the lollipop earrings that dangled from your ears.

A hiss escaped Ace’s mouth. “We’re here.” 

A dock stretched out from the island with elegant swirls that couldn't possibly be made by planks of wood. Your nostrils flared. Dark chocolate sprinkled with sea salt scented the air. 

Pops disembarked first. You and your brothers followed. Ace trailed behind you; a safe, comfortable presence at your back. 

Thatch offered you a hand as you stepped down from the ramp. He and Ace lingered at your sides as you stood with Pops. 

A colorful crowd was assembled to greet you. You assessed their faces: it partially reminded you of Dressrosa. Their smiles never reached their eyes. But they made you far more uncomfortable. 

You shifted from one foot to the other. Eyes raked over you, leaving a burning trail in their wake. It wasn't often that you were spotted so quickly. They must be very strong. 

You turned to Ace. Your voice dropped an octave, “I feel like they’re staring at me.” 

“You are the only girl here,” Ace reminded you. “And you’re right.”

Ace’s boots shifted in the brown sugar dirt. He angled his body in front of yours. 

Thatch shot him a look over your head. “Careful. If you defend her, that might coax a reaction out of them.” 

Ace’s boots stilled. He didn't move, but he didn't pull away, either. 

“Mama, mama!” A shrill voice carried over the crowd. With a chill, you wondered how many people heard that before they died. Your brothers winced around you as if they had the same musings. 

Big Mom was enormous, but Pops still had a few feet on her. Pink ruffles and lace embroidered her form, from her hat to her full-length dress. It did nothing to dampen the power of her presence.

Whitebeard bowed his head curtly. “Linlin.” 

“You look old, Newgate.” Big Mom’s painted, red lips parted into a fearsome grin. “I hope you have an heir!”

Whitebeard’s mustache twitched. “I have many capable sons to take the mantle.”

Big Mom’s smile dripped down into a sneer. “I heard a rumor that you recently acquired a daughter.”

Whispers festered among Big Mom’s crew. Ace and Thatch tensed beside you.

Pops’ eyes tightened. “I did. She is as entitled as my sons.” 

Big Mom’s eyes seized your crew. When she found you, you resisted the urge to flinch. You forced yourself to meet her gaze head on. 

“Mama, mama!” Big Mom’s smile returned. It was as unsettling as the rest of her crew. “She’s a beautiful thing! Too short, but beautiful.”

More heads whipped in your direction. Ace’s foot continued its path in the brown sugar dirt, slowly blocking you from view. 

“Wouldn't it be wonderful if we joined our families?” said Big Mom.

Your back went rigid. Little spasms racked your chest as your heart threatened to claw its way out of your rib cage and run back to the ship.

Pops ignored the comment. “What of this tea party, Linlin? What is the dessert of choice?”

Big Mom’s face brightened. Pops had chosen the perfect words to divert her attention. “I can't wait! My mouth is already watering for the perfect ice cream cake!”

Instead of hunger, dread pooled in your stomach. Something tells me this won't end well.

~*~

Any hopes you had of a quiet, peaceful night were dashed as soon as you arrived at your guest room.

An evening cocktail party was scheduled for the crews to “mingle.” Socializing with Big Mom’s family was a stressor in itself, but you faced a different conundrum: what the hell were you supposed to wear to it? Ace and Marco had thoroughly spoiled you in Dressrosa, but that hadn't included formal attire. Elegance wasn't required to sail the seas…until now, apparently. 

You set your suitcase on the bed to sift through what you had. The overalls didn't exactly scream cocktail party. Could your ice picks be considered an accessory…?

Your gaze wandered up, towards the window. The curtains looked like they were tied back with licorice (and probably were). You were sure it would be frowned upon to wear drapes to a formal event. 

You glanced back down. A new, foreign object lay across the bed: a stunning, red evening gown.

You poked the scarlet silk to make sure it was real. It sighed beneath your touch, rippling like the glassy surface of a pond. 

Relief coursed through you. Your wardrobe, at least, was saved. But how did it get there? You held up the flashy piece of fabric as if to question it. It was conspicuously your size, too. Was this a quirk of the island? Or…?

You tried it on and inspected it, spinning in the mirror —

You froze. Terror marred your face.

It's a backless dress.

You instinctively crossed your arms, but that didn't help one bit. The marks were still there, sprawled across your back. In plain sight. You couldn't go out in public like this. 

You ransacked the room and what little clothing you brought for protection; a scarf, a sweater, even a sheet folded in half.

You took one more desperate look around the room — and gaped at the vanity. 

A black, silken shawl with red roses was casually flung across the vanity. And you were positive it had not been there before. 

You poked it like you had with the dress. You and your reflection marveled at the fabric — your new savior for the evening — with wonder. 

I swear it wasn't there before. So how…?

Your eyes met your reflection. You gulped. Your own worried face stared back at you.

Chapter Text

A light knock filled the room. “Y/N? Your door is being mean!” 

You lifted your skirts as you moved. When you slipped outside, Ace was waiting for you. His mouth fell open. “Woah…”

You gripped the doorknob for support. You had never seen Ace in a suit (or a shirt, even), and he was breathtaking. The black blazer made him look refined — dangerous, even. And the way the wine-red button-up underneath complimented the soft cream of his skin tone…he was a Renaissance painting come to life.

“You look amazing, Ace!” you said. 

A cute blush erupted beneath Ace’s freckles. “Huh —? Me? You mean me?”

“Yes, you.” you lightly elbowed him. “You look so good in red! I feel a little nervous standing next to you.”

Ace looked you up and down. His mouth was still slightly open in awe. “But…you’re a goddess!” 

You giggled. Your worries about the dress were a thing of the past. When you took a step closer to Ace, his blush seeped to the tips of his ears.

“You ready?”

Ace shook his head, dark wavy wisps of hair cascading to perfectly frame his face. A blush still seared his skin. He offered you his elbow like a gentleman. 

You gladly clasped Ace’s arm and relished in the warmth that flared through his clothes.

Voices bubbled from an indoor courtyard. The ceiling was painted to depict the deep violets and ripe maroons of twilight. Music trickled from gazebos furnished in fairy lights. Members of your crew waded among them.

It was your turn to gawk. The burly pirates you’d been traveling with had left their sandals and loose garments behind, dressed to the nines. 

“Squard! You look so handsome in a bow tie —! Is it too tight? I can adjust it for you.”

“Thanks, Y/N…”

“Is…is that a nosebleed, Squard?”

“...Don't worry about it. It happens all the time.”

Ace handed him a napkin over your shoulder with a sigh. 

The Big Mom pirates slowly infiltrated your small groups. As you smiled, the uncomfortable, prickly sensation of probing eyes assailed you. You glanced around the room for the source.

There.

One of the tallest men you’d ever seen met your gaze. He leaned against the gazebo on the far end of the courtyard, not bothering to hide his stare.

“That guy creeps me out,” Ace muttered. He’d been at your side the whole evening. He barely said a word; you were chattier than him, for once.

“Why?”

“He keeps looking at you. Wouldn't stop when we first arrived. It's getting on my nerves.” Ace frowned. 

Some members of Big Mom’s family were bold enough to approach you. When a massive man named Oven reached for your hand, Ace’s arm slung itself over your shoulder. This happened a few more times as Ace smiled next to you, baring his teeth. 

“Wanna dance?” you asked him. You’d had moments before where big crowds got to you. Ace didn't seem like one to be bothered by that, but anyone was privy to moments of ease. 

When Ace agreed, he led you to one of the larger gazebos. Smooth jazz crooned from a stage where chessmen played dessert-themed instruments. Cinnamon zested the air during a saxophone solo.

Ace’s hand gently held yours aloft as he guided you across the floor. His movements matched his flames; fluid and rhythmic.

“You’re really good at this,” you said.

Ace blinked. “I am? I don't do fancy stuff that often…”

“You could’ve fooled me. You’d make a real swanky noble — or a celebrity with a huge ton of fangirls.” You smiled up at him. 

Ace bowed his head. A curtain of dark hair hid his face from view. Your fingers tingled with the urge to tuck them back. 

“Do you really mean it? When you say stuff like that?” said Ace. 

Your eyes widened. You’d noticed that Ace’s behavior had been off all evening. You wanted to help him somehow, but you hadn't expected Ace to jump right in. 

Words flooded from Ace’s mouth. “I mean, it's not out of pity, or…it’s nothing, forget I said it —”

“No! Of course it's not! Ace,” you squeezed his hand. “I mean it. You are so cool —”

“Hot, you mean?”

“That, too.” you winked. 

A small smile and a blush warmed Ace’s features. You continued, “You’re the first person I’ve met that’s…I don't even know where to begin. You’re, like, everything to me. You know that, right? You make me feel at home in every conversation — you’re really good at reading people, and you always know exactly what to say. I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, too. You’re a good person, Ace.” 

You glanced down at your boots peeking out from your dress. They matched Ace’s; he was wearing his, too, tonight, even with the black-tie occasion. 

You braved a look at Ace’s face. His lips were pressed firmly together as he stared at you. 

Perhaps you’d said too much. You resisted a wince. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make things weird, it's just…I meant what I said, Ace. I promise.” 

You pillaged your mind for some way to save the conversation. Ace had never said anything like that before. He was always sincere, and the farthest person from fake, but…him questioning you felt like something real. Like you got a glimpse of some inner part of him that others never got to see. 

Ace’s chin pointed in the direction of the long, clothed tables lining the gazebo’s edge. “Want some food?”

“Always,” you gently rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. “Just…promise me we’re okay?”

Ace had been your lifeline since you decided to stay on the Moby Dick. After years of being cooped up in Enies Lobby, Ace melted any awkwardness and went out of his way to make you comfortable. You felt like you had permission to be yourself around him. The thought of losing that…

Ace smiled. “We are, I promise. Even better when I try that giant tower of croquembouche.” 

You broke apart. Your eyes remained on Ace’s back as he walked away from you. 

Marco appeared at your side. His teal button-up was half opened, matching his absent flames. “How’s it going?”

You shrugged. “Juries out. How are you?”

Marco swirled the contents of his blue martini. “Undecided. These people are weird.”

“Mmm.”

Marco’s drink stilled. A brunette with a red-and-white polka-dot dress approached you two. Her smile was not inviting.

“I’m so sorry for your crew,” she drawled. 

You and Marco exchanged a look. When your gaze returned to the girl, she giggled (more like a supervillain's cackle). “You pirates must not know how to read. I specifically recall the theme…”

The girl brushed off the polka-dotted pattern of her dress with long, satin gloves.

Marco’s eyes narrowed. “Who chooses polka-dots as a theme? They’re a busy, unremarkable pattern.”

The brunette gasped dramatically. Her bubblegum snapped lewdly in her mouth as she pressed a hand to her chest. She glared at you. “I thought being the only girl on your crew would give you some tact. But I guess being around smelly boys all the time wears on a person.”

You gritted your teeth. She wasn't just insulting you; she was insulting your brothers. Your family. 

“The guys look and smell amazing tonight. Props to them for not wearing a dress that induces migraines the longer you stare,” you said. 

The girl’s eyebrows quirked down as if she’d been slapped. Her cruel smile widened. “I’ll bet there’s no way you can style polka-dots throughout your stay here. After all, even with a borrowed dress, it's hard to disguise ugly.”

Something close to a growl rumbled from Marco’s chest. He leaned forward like a tiger poised to pounce. He met the little girl head on with a harsh glower of his own.

“We’re about to teach you manners and style during our stay here. Prepare yourself, brat.” Marco spat. He jammed a finger at you. “She’s not just some woman. She’s our woman. And she’s gonna kick your polka-dotted ass.” 

The girl staggered back. Her smile fled from her face. “I’ll make sure to tell Mama what you said. As for you —” her features scrunched up as she looked in your direction. “— I’ve always pitied the fashionless. I’ll leave something for you to style at tomorrow’s tea party. If you can.” 

She turned away with a “Hmph!” and strutted off. Her heels clicked across the floor. Marco moved his shoulders, mocking her with his own, “Hmph!” and an eye roll.

“We’re gonna take down that twirp,” Marco growled.

“Marco, she’s a child. Are you sure you want to play Russian Fashion Roulette with Big Mom’s family?” you said. 

Marco spun on you. “She insulted our honor! And our fashion sense! We gotta take her down.”

You shrugged. “Fair enough.” 

Ace returned, juggling two drinks and a plate piled with food. A stick of meat was lodged in his mouth. “Phow’s it phoin’?”

“We’re at war with a fifteen year-old,” you said as you gladly accepted your drink. You helped steady the plate as Ace finished off his meatstick in one long swallow.

“Eh?” 

“Don't ask.”

Ace thoughtfully munched on a massive chunk of the croquembouche tower as Marco simmered. You held your wine glass aloft as you assessed the courtyard. The rest of your brothers seemed fine (not picking fights with teens, anyway). Big Mom was chatting up Pops in one of the gazebos filled with dining tables. Pops looked content enough, but he was surrounded by a suspicious amount of empty ale casks. 

A woman with pink hair skirted behind Big Mom’s chair. Big Mom turned as she passed — and scowled.

“I told you, Chiffon, to never show your face!” Big Mom bellowed. 

Hairs stood up along your arms. Marco and Ace stiffened beside you. 

Half the courtyard went silent as Big Mom flung the contents of her glass in Chiffon’s face.

Chapter Text

Your crew gaped at the scene. Secondhand embarrassment for the girl swirled the contents of your stomach. What irked you the most was the little to no reaction from the Big Mom pirates; some spared a few glances, but most followed Big Mom’s suit and returned to whatever they were doing.

Thatch and Izo rushed to your group.

“Did you see that?”

“Who would do such a thing? To their own child? It’s inexcusable!”

Ace stomped forward. Marco caught his arm.

“Don't do it,” Marco warned.

“She just —!”

“I know. But if you attack her, it’s war.” Marco’s eyes were solemn. Veins crawled up his arm as he restrained Ace. He probably itched to walk over there, too. 

You thrusted your drink at them. “Hold this.” 

Ace took it. He and your brothers gave you baffled looks as you gathered your skirts and followed Chiffon. 

Chiffon had retreated to the rose bushes in the corner, as far away from Big Mom as possible. Layers of pastel-pink gossamer made up her dress — now soiled by a big red wine stain across her front. 

Chiffon was wiping at her eyes when you approached. Her fingers froze. 

“I’m sorry about what happened, and your dress,” you said. “You look gorgeous tonight. Don't let her make you think otherwise.”

Chiffon sniffled. She wiped at her nose. “You shouldn't be here. It's not good to draw attention to me — she might lash out at you, too!”

You smiled. “What’s she going to do? Complain about how short I am? I’m not leaving you.” 

You studied the stain. The red wine might come out — if you washed it immediately. Did detergent even exist on Whole Cake Island? What if Chiffon was in the same boat as you, and didn't have a back-up formal dress…?

You glanced down at your own dress. At the shawl wrapped around you. 

The skin of your back was already burning. It’s fine. I’ll never see these people again. I can just excuse myself early.

You started to untie your shawl with trembling fingers. “Chiffon, right?” 

She nodded. Stray tears crept down her cheeks. 

“I love your name. It's so pretty,” you said.

The knot to your shawl unfurled. Chiffon’s hands caught yours. 

“You don't have to do this,” Chiffon whispered. 

“But I want to.” With a shuddering breath, you loosened the shawl around your shoulders. You swept it from your back in one fluid movement and draped it around Chiffon. 

“Thank you.” Chiffon’s red-rimmed nostrils flared as she sniffled.

Invisible flames licked at your exposed back. You tried to ignore it, even knowing it was on full display to the entire room. You focused on Chiffon as you fastened the shawl around her. 

“If you ever feel uncomfortable in here, go to me or my brothers. We’ll take care of you,” you gently tied the ends of the fabric into a bow. It draped over the stain, completely blocking it from view.

You smoothed the fabric over Chiffon’s shoulders and gave her a soft squeeze. Needles pricked across your back. Stares seared across your skin as whispers sizzled behind you.

“Are you going to be okay?” you asked.

Chiffon’s eyes watered. She nodded. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

Chiffon reached out as if to hug you, then hesitated halfway with a glance down at her dress. She settled for clasping your hands. 

“I will never forget this kindness,” said Chiffon. 

You stepped back as Chiffon slipped away. She joined one of the smaller groups of Big Mom pirates assembled. A woman with pale-gray skin and a long nose rushed to meet her. She looked over Chiffon’s head at you and mouthed two words you didn't have to read lips to understand. 

Every face in the courtyard was turned towards your small corner. Roses seared your nostrils as your skin burned. You tried to look away — and in the process, caught the gaze of the tall man who eyed you before. He continued to stare, arms folded across his broad, tattooed chest. 

“Hmm?”

A long, dark blazer swathed your shoulders. Ace’s fingers smoothed out the fabric.

You looked up at Ace and smiled. It faltered as you noticed his dark expression. He saw the scars.

Ace said nothing. He remained standing behind you for the rest of the evening, hands on your shoulders. 

~*~

Ace and Marco flanked your sides as you finally escaped the courtyard. Exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Somehow, you’d survived the evening. Ace’s blazer was still tucked around you (other Whitebeard pirates tried to protect you with their blazers, too. It took a comment from Marco saying the pressure would irritate the scars for it to cease). 

Your party turned down an empty, quiet corridor. Ace’s gaze flickered to you. 

“Who did it?” said Ace.

Marco slapped Ace upside the head behind you. For once, Ace didn't retaliate. 

You tugged the flaps of Ace’s jacket tighter around your form. You swallowed. “Rob Lucci.” 

You saw the scars for the first time with Marco on the Moby Dick. You knew it wouldn't be pretty; when you’d first received them, you vomited and then passed out in a pool of your own blood. Angry, jagged claw marks tattered your back. A living memory of the night you almost died at the hands of the World Government. 

“It was the night I escaped from Enies Lobby,” you said. “The scars slowed me down…I managed to make it to a ship that was leaving, but I missed the first stop. I ended up at Impel Down instead.” 

Memories of that ordeal were blurry. You remembered hiding in a crate, which, of course, was transported to the deepest level of Impel Down. But after your arrival, you drew a blank. All you remembered was pain.

Ace’s brows were slanted. Determined. “He won't get that close again.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. Ace’s protectiveness warmed your insides, but only for a moment. The thought of Ace in the same room with Rob Lucci — or any of your brothers, whom you deeply cherished…

“We’ve got company,” said Marco. 

Your small party halted. You’d reached the hall to your guest room. Half a dozen chessmen waited outside your door.

“What's this all about?” you said. Your thoughts wandered briefly to the magically-appearing dress and shawl. Had you broken some kind of rule? 

One of the chessmen stepped forward. He saluted you. “Y/L/N Y/F/N, you have the honor of receiving a proposal from a member of the Big Mom Pirates.”

You blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um, okay…what’s the proposal?”

The chessman sank to the ground and kneeled. The rest followed suit. Your stomach twisted.

“Big Mom’s second eldest son, Charlotte Katakuri, has asked for your hand in marriage!”

Ace and Marco’s jaws broke beside you, hanging wide open. The exhaustion of the evening morphed; suddenly you were lighter, the type of weightlessness where you floated above your body, head spinning. 

“Um…come again? Wait, which one is that?” you asked. 

One of the chessmen’s armor clinked as they fumbled about their person. He pulled out a photo covered in crudely-drawn hearts. A picture of the tall man with a fur wrap stared back at you.

Oh shit.

“No way-yoi,” said Marco.

“She’s not on the market for creeps,” spat Ace. Both wrapped a muscled arm around you.

“What say you, Ms. Y/L/N?” the chessmen smiled eagerly at you beneath their pointed helmets. “Do you accept?” 

“Um…” you chewed your bottom lip. The taste of blood soured your mouth as you bit down too hard. “Can I…think…about it?”

~*~

You dragged Ace and Marco to Pops’ quarters before they bit off the heads of the chessmen (and probably set them on fire). A numbing muteness had taken over you after the proposal. You’d let them tell the tale as you stood by the window, relishing in a fantasy where you dove into the ocean and sailed away on a cinnamon-bun-shaped iceberg.

“— It’ll be war. Or we’ll have to deal with Bubblegum Brat for life,” Marco paced in front of Pops’ oversized sofa. 

Ace leaned on the wall next to you as you looked out, indulging in your delusions of fleeing the island. He stole a glance at you from under the rim of his hat. “What do you think, Y/N?”

You blinked as you were brought back to the room. Syrup rain droplets hammered the glass, trailing oozing fingers down. Pops and Marco’s reflections faced your direction.

“Do you want to marry him?” said Pops. 

You crossed your arms as you addressed the room. “No…”

Ace’s eyes lingered on you beneath his tipped hat, as if he could feel the tangent that lingered on the tip of your tongue. 

The dam holding that tangent back finally burst. 

“But why me? Why did he choose to pick on me? I’m probably the worst person at pirating to exist, I can't be of that much value to them! And why would he want me? I’d be a terrible wife! I’m…” you paused. You raised a finger as you quickly did the math in your head. “Less than a third of his height! How would that work, sexually?”

Pops shrugged. “Tall men and short women are a tale as old as time.”

“How would you know?!” Your voice rose an octave. If you kept going, you would be nearing hysterics (and you were probably developing a complex with all of the inaccurate digs on your stature). 

Ace rummaged through the coffee table in the background.

“Ace, what are you doing?” said Marco.

“About to chug this bottle of milk.”

“Don't do that-yoi. You will literally die.” 

You moaned and facepalmed. You hadn't spoken to Katakuri once. How could he possibly want to marry someone he didn't even know? There had to be a catch. Maybe they knew about Cipher Pol — what if it had to do with your Haki?

Your hands balled into fists. The proposal was daunting, and maybe a little creepy — but in some ways, it was very, very flattering. Some random man had just proposed to you. That flutter of warmth was dashed as soon as thoughts of Cipher Pol squashed it. There was your Haki again, stealing your thunder, and any type of joy you could take from this soul-sucking island. 

Before you knew it, you were thrusting up the sleeves to Ace’s jacket. You patted down your hair in the reflection of the glass and stomped towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” said Marco.

Fury fueled you now, and you let it. You gripped the doorknob with pale knuckles. “He wants to marry me? Then he’s going to ask me himself!”

Ace gulped. “I thought you didn't want to marry him.”

“I don't! But I deserve an explanation. And he’s the only person who can give me one.” You turned on your heel and swept out the door.

Oh, wait. You peeked around the half-closed door for one last look at Pops. “Can I tell him no, or will I get us in trouble?”

Pops’ roaring laughter carried out into the hall behind you. 

“You’re my daughter. Tell him whatever you want!” 

You smiled and waved. “ ‘Kay!”

Chapter Text

You wandered back to your guest room. Recent events replayed themselves in your mind. At least Katakuri had wanted you for more than just your Haki. The tightness in your chest was far from unraveled —

A familiar muscled, lanky figure waited beside your door. 

“How’d it go?” said Ace. 

You shrugged. “Good…I think? I’ve never really had anyone ask me that before, much less said no to someone.”

You leaned on the wall next to Ace. You were still wearing his blazer; that meant you had a perfect view of his collared shirt, pulled taut against his crossed arms. The muscles underneath rippled as Ace shifted, looking you over. 

“Did he argue?”

You shook your head. You played with the sleeves to his jacket absentmindedly. “He was…actually pretty nice about it.”

“Oh. That’s…great.” 

You two stood in awkward silence. You glanced at Ace’s face. The same sunken expression that haunted his face while dancing had returned.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” you said.

“Yeah. Wanted to make sure it went without a hitch, and you were all right.” Ace smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Ace pulled himself from the wall. “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

You nodded. You didn't move. The day had been full of surprises — the last thing you wanted was to be alone, much less in your guest room after the whole magical-dress-from-hell fiasco. 

Ace paused as he watched you. “You gonna be okay?”

You nibbled on your bottom lip. “After everything today, I’m a little spooked…okay, don't make fun of me, but…I was thinking of asking Pops if I could sleep on his couch or something. This place just makes me really uncomfortable right now.” 

Ace’s eyes widened. “You’re that freaked out?”

You glanced down, fiddling with the blazer’s sleeves again. You felt like a child, too afraid to face the shadows of your room at night. It was completely juvenile to run to Pops’ door and beg to stay…but the alternative was facing whatever chose to pop into existence in your too-quiet guest room. 

“That, and…I don't know, I had a weird moment in my room earlier,” you admitted. Heat crept to your cheeks. 

Ace stepped towards you. His freckles scrunched together with concern. “Stay with me tonight.” 

Your mouth fell open. “Wh — I-I don't want to impose —”

“Y/N, if you’re this worried about your safety, it's not imposing. Come on,” Ace ruffled your hair. “And Pops snores. Like, super loud. You’re better off with me anyway.”

You tried to think of an excuse. You couldn't. Should you? The idea of sleeping with Ace…he might brush it off, but it meant something to you.

You sighed. Here was Ace, asking you. That meant something in itself. The rest of it was Future Y/N’s problem.  “Okay.” 

You waited outside as Ace slipped into your room for your bag of toiletries. You set off for his guest room together.

“Thanks,” you mumbled for the fifth time. 

Ace chuckled beside you. “Don't worry about it, Y/N. Not promising that I won't snore, either, but it’ll be way softer than Pops.” 

Your heart thumped erratically when Ace finally stopped at one of the doors down the hall. You looked away from his face, choosing to watch his long, deft fingers instead as he clasped the doorknob. A vein pulsed down his forearm. You gulped at the small feat of strength. 

Future Y/N’s not going to make it.

Ace’s guest room was about the same size as yours. Somehow, the scent of him — whiskey and firewood — had already laced the air. You took deep, soothing breaths.

“Is it okay if I shower?” you whispered. The darkness of the room (and your nerves) compelled you to keep quiet.

Ace held a lit finger aloft as you waded into the pitch black. “Yeah. You do your thing.” 

You fumbled for the bathroom door. It clicked shut as you flicked on the lights. You steadied yourself against the wall as the lights speared your eyes.

When you could finally see, your tired, wide-eyed reflection stared back at you.

Some random man I just met proposed to me today. And now I’m spending the night in Ace’s bedroom. 

Blood rushed to your face. You cupped your burning cheeks, biting back a whimper that clawed at your throat. Sleep would be impossible tonight. 

Your fingers were all nerves in the shower. You didn't want to take too long, but you knew you’d want to be thorough tonight. As soon as you started to unwind, you remembered Ace was waiting for you on the other side, or relived Katakuri’s proposal, and you had to restart the process all over again. 

When you finally turned the water off and whisked the shower curtain away (the curtain was held aloft with what you assumed were rings of candy), you embarked on your next task: finding something to sleep in. Most of your sleepwear had turned modest for the sake of running into someone on the Moby Dick, but you tried in vain to come up with something cute. 

You flicked the light off before peeking back into the bedroom. “Ace?” you hissed. 

“Yeah?” Ace’s voice was hoarse. He must’ve been dozing off.

You crept around the room towards Ace’s voice. Flames flickered to life from his fingertip, guiding you. You followed the source until your knee brushed against the mattress. 

Ace sat on the edge of the bed. Faint, gold light and shadows battled for dominance across his face. 

“I can take the floor,” Ace offered.

“Don't be ridiculous. This is your room, I’d feel bad,” you said. 

Ace glanced back at the bed. “Wanna share, then?”

You swallowed. This was becoming far too much like a fantasy than reality. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Ace added. 

“Pick your side.” 

Both of you fumbled about the sides of the bed. Your skin tingled, completely in a daze as to how you ended up here, in this situation.

Your head tipped back against the pillow. It was the first time you’d laid in a bed in months. Instead of your body molding into its softness, your heart hammered like it was in the middle of a marathon. You held still as the blankets rustled beside you.

A small light filled the space between you. Ace’s flaming fingers illuminated his face. Dark strands of his hair were crumpled across the pillow. 

“Pretty sure the pillows are made of cotton candy here,” said Ace.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

You turned onto your side, facing Ace. All the little details you were used to about him were missing: the bright, orange hat, the beads, the elbow brace (and a bandaid or two). The Ace before you was completely bare. Soft. Vulnerable. 

“You smell nice,” Ace murmured.

You froze against your pillow. “Thanks.”

Flames continued to lick Ace’s finger between you. There was something mesmerizing about it. Just the slightest amount of heat emanated from it, like a candle.

“You were great today. With Chiffon,” said Ace. “And making that guy ask you himself…that took guts. It was a pretty dickless thing to do, not asking you in the first place.”

You smiled. “It was the right thing to do. I think.” 

Ace smiled back at you. “You’re a good person, Y/N.”

“So are you,” you whispered. 

Ace’s brows drew together. Shadows lurked in the crevices where his eyes should’ve been. “But…what if I’m not?” 

You blinked. The idea was nearly incomprehensible to you. “Then I’d tell you you’re wrong, and list all the things that make you perfect.” 

Ace chuckled. The flames went out. Night reigned over the room.

“Perfect, huh?” 

The blankets shifted around you. Your heart was pitifully loud in your chest, throbbing in your ears. 

“Y-yes.” Your reply was more air than sound.

“Are you sure you know what that word means?” Ace’s warm breath tickled your cheek. 

You nodded in the darkness. Your nose brushed against his. 

Ace’s lips tickled your ear, “I don't think I deserve you either, you know.”

Ace hovered over you. Heat rolled off his body in waves. Your hands fisted in the sheets, grounding yourself. 

“That’s not your decision,” you whispered. “And you’re wrong.” 

The pillow dipped down beside your head. Ace leaned on his arm, closing in. 

“Prove you’re right.” 

Your tongue flashed across your lips. Ace was a natural flirt. It was almost impossible to tell if he was doing it on purpose, or if it was simply his personality. Was it safe to believe this was more, or just him playing around? 

Without warning, Ace collapsed on top of you. You squealed; the covers gushed over your head like waves. 

“Can you be serious for once?” you squirmed beneath Ace. In your struggle, you accidentally sent a pillow flying into his face with an “oomf!”

Ace laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Your play fight continued across the bed. When you tried to roll away, Ace was there, capturing your wrists. 

“Yoi!”

You and Ace froze. The voice had come from the darkness next to you. 

“Marco?” you said out loud.

“Polo.”

Silence crept across the room. Then the three of you burst into laughter. 

“Sorry, man. I forgot you were here,” Ace admitted. He slid off of you and released your wrists. 

Blue flame-feathers blazed from the other side of the room. Marco sat up in his own bed. “Don't keep her up too late. We have to take down the Bubblegum Brat tomorrow-yoi.” 

“Ah, yes. The mighty battle,” you said. 

A puff of air burst from Ace’s lips. “Are you guys ever going to explain that?” 

“Marco?” you asked. 

“Let him spin,” said Marco. 

Ace groaned. You giggled. 

Marco extinguished his flames. Inky blackness seeped back across the room. “We are all sleeping now, so we can destroy the Bubblegum Brat tomorrow-yoi.”

“Right.”

“Mhm.” Your hair hitched up the pillow as you nodded. 

Moments passed. Blankets rustled from Marco’s side of the room as he settled in for the night. 

Fingers crept to your toes, warm and ticklish. 

“Ace! Stop tickling me!” You shrieked. Your skirmish in the sheets resumed.

“But you like it so much, don't you, Y/N?” Ace snickered, continuing his assault as you wriggled across the bed. 

Marco groaned. “I work with children.”

Chapter Text

Light flooded the room, warming your eyelids. You shied away and snuggled deeper into your toasty surroundings. You were nestled in a cocoon of comfort; your body resisted whatever interrupted your drunken-like sleep. 

“This does not feel ethical-yoi.”

You braved a glance with one eye open. Marco’s hands were on his hips as he stared down at you. He was already dressed in a pressed, navy blue suit. 

Your eyes snapped open at his attire. The Tea Party.

When you tried to get up, two muscled arms pulled you back into the dizzying warmth. 

Ace groaned in protest around you. He pulled you against his chest. “Five more minutes…”

“It's noon,” Marco informed you. “We have an hour until the Tea Party.” 

Your body went rigid. The remnants of sleep were seeping away as reality set in. It had been a long, late night. Ace certainly hadn't been in a rush to sleep, and neither had you. All you could remember were rustling blankets, warm hands, and laughter. 

As much as you wanted to sink back into that pleasant bubble, an hour was barely enough time to mentally prepare yourself for the Big Mom Pirates, let alone get dressed. 

You tried to wriggle out of Ace’s grip, only for him to hold you tighter. 

“Ace,” you pleaded. You gently patted the bicep draped over you. “Can you let go of me?”

Another groan escaped the pile of a man on top of you. “But you’re so comfortable…”

Marco sighed above you. “I’ll go get a slice of bacon and lure him out. That usually does the trick.”

“Bacon?!”

When both of you were sitting upright, munching on a shared plate of bacon and eggs, Marco brandished a very unflattering piece of fabric before you. 

You nearly choked on your eggs. “Are those polka-dot tights?”

“In the spandex.” Marco glared at them with disgust. “But I have a plan.”

You gulped. Crispy flecks of bacon burned the back of your throat on the way down. Marco would have to be a miracle worker to make those tights work with anything.

“Eh, it’ll work out. Y/N is pretty, she can pull it off,” said Ace. 

You and Marco quickly went to work as Ace devoured a second helping. Izo stopped by with two armfuls of makeup brushes and hair serums. He gaped wordlessly at your appearance. 

“What in Oden’s name did you do last night? Fight off a raccoon dog?” Izo lifted a strand of your untamed, frizzy hair. 

“Worse.” Marco jutted his chin in Ace’s direction. 

Ace paused mid-chew. “What? I thought it looked sexy…”

Izo scoffed. “Not at a tea party with two emperors! Out! And go find Thatch — we’ll need him on hair duty.”

“Your hair looks pretty, too, Izo.”

“Take that incredibly truthful flattery and stick it up your —!” Izo cupped two hands over your ears and mouthed ass.

“Izo, I know the word. I have one.” 

“It shouldn't be uttered in front of ladies! It would be a samurai’s shame!”

Ace’s shoulders shook on his way out, desperately holding in laughter. 

As Izo tickled your face with makeup brushes, you tried on a few black dresses with the stupid tights. Marco steepled his fingers, analyzing. 

“Maybe we can burn them — or hang them from the jolly roger’s mast to scare off enemy ships,” Thatch offered when he finally arrived and saw the tights. 

“The dresses are too fancy. We’ll need to make something else — I need a corset!” said Marco.

“Good luck, pal. We got twenty minutes.”

Marco’s left eye twitched. “We will make this happen.” 

~*~

“Excuse me?”

A huge, pink bubble bloomed from Bubblegum Brat’s mouth as she turned to you. It popped, leaving sticky residue across her face. Her mouth hung gaping wide.

You smiled sweetly. “I can't thank you enough for these tights. They were the perfect addition to this outfit.” 

You planted your foot (held four inches above the ground by the biggest stilettos you’d ever worn). The spotted stockings poked through the layers of the long, black skirt you wore. A matching polka-dotted scarf was delicately draped across your collarbone. 

You casually flung your polka-dotted purse over your shoulder with a wink. “I’ll see you around.”

Jozu and Vista flanked your sides. Their suits were each flagged with some polka-dotted flare. They each offered you an arm as they bit back smirks of victory (and failed). 

You gently waved at Bubblegum Brat one last time as you latched onto their arms. Vista and Jozu helped steady you in the heels as you walked away.

Marco trailed behind your posey, brows arched over his shades. He shot one last look at Bubblegum Brat with a defiant, “Hmph!” 

“Hmph!” Bubblegum Brat’s face was a vibrant red beneath the remnants of gum that clung to her cheeks. 

“Is this what it’s like to be a woman?” Vista mused beside you. “Marriage proposals and fashion wars?”

“Nope. Just me. And Marco.” 

“And winning fashion wars-yoi!”

Ace whistled as you and your entourage approached one of the many round dining tables. Marco had suckered Ace into red polka-dotted socks that peeked out from his loafers when he stood. 

“Wow, Y/N. You really pull that off,” said Ace. “You look like somebody from the cover of a magazine.”

“Thanks.” A blush seeped back into your cheeks. Your gaze swept across your brothers, lingering on Marco, Izo, and Thatch. “Thank you so much for your help, guys. You’re all incredible.”

Red blotches bloomed across their faces. Even Izo’s pale, powdered skin was a pretty shade of pink.

“It’s no trouble, really…you’re a natural beauty, Y/N. You made our jobs easy!”

“You’re as pretty as a peach without all that, darlin’. But it was fun kicking Bubblegum Brat’s ass as a family.”

Marco’s smile touched your heart. “You’re our woman. We’ll always have your back.” 

You grinned back. A rush of gratitude for Mihawk dragging you to the Moby Dick months ago almost made your eyes water. 

“Pardon me!”

A bird-man in a suit elbowed (or was it ‘winged’?) his way to your small group. A delicate snail-cam was balanced between his feathered limbs.

“You look absolutely stunning!” Awe dripped from the bird-man’s crisp accent. “I can't believe I almost didn't notice you, you have a breathtaking smile. May I take a photo?” 

“Careful with this one-yoi,” Marco’s arms folded across his suit. “His name’s Morgan. He’s in charge of the newspapers.” 

“Ah! Mr. Marco, man of the mythical Devil Fruit!” stars blazed in Morgan’s beady eyes. “Is this lovely thing a friend of yours?” 

“I’m the designer.” Marco puffed out his chest. Even you couldn't resist a smile. “And she’s our crewmate.”

“Fantastic!” Morgan’s snail-cam flashed the moment you looked away. “Wait — could this also be the miraculous woman that received a proposal from one of the Sweet Generals?”

“The very one.” Vista wriggled his brows at you.

Morgan’s beak fell open. He shook himself out of a daze, “Ms. Y/N, what is your official answer? Would you be interested in an exclusive interview with —?”

“No comment,” you said.

Ace chuckled. He slung an arm over your shoulder from behind, squeezing gently. A sweet aroma replaced his typical whiskey-firewood scent. Perhaps it was a native cologne? 

Morgan carried on, not taking (or ignoring) the hint. “How about a few questions? How did you join Whitebeard’s crew? Is that your natural hair color —?”

“She said ‘no comment,’ pal,” said Ace. “You took the picture. That’ll last longer. See you around.” 

“Does Fire Fist Ace speak for you, Ms. Y/N? Are you two romantically involved?” Morgan pressed. 

Ace stiffened around you. You repressed the urge to throw your extremely-sharp heel at Morgan’s face. 

Ace raised his fist. Flames burst across his skin. “Unless you wanna become an entree here, beat it, man.” 

Morgan gulped and scuffled away. Everyone finally took their seats.

“Taken off guard there, ‘ey?” Vista eyed you and Ace across the table. “I look forward to reading about the star-crossed lovers in the next issue.” 

You turned to Ace. “Can I throw my heels at him?”

“Don't bother. They look nice. I’ll just punch him for you later,” said Ace.

“Thanks.”

“Uhuh.”

Side glances were exchanged across the table. 

“What a violent couple...”

“The best ones are.” 

A spoon clinked against a glass. Voices died and heads turned. You looked to Big Mom’s grand table at the rooftop’s center. 

“Thank you for coming to this special Tea Party!” Big Mom cheered. She raised her glass to a portrait of a woman sitting in an empty chair across from her. 

You frowned and exchanged a glance with Ace. He didn't seem to know what the deal was with the picture, either. 

Big Mom continued, “There aren't many of us left, Newgate. I wish you luck across the New World. I won't fight fair.” 

Pops raised his glass. “You never did, Linlin. To the strongest.”

“To the strongest!”

Cheers and clinks chimed across the venue. You took a gentle sip from your glass. 

“And now, for the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the Ice Cream Cake!” Big Mom rose from her seat. Her heart-shaped pupils searched the skies. Something that looked suspiciously like drool glimmered around the corner of her mouth. 

Ace froze beside you. “The what?”

“An Ice Cream Cake, I think,” you said. 

Ace frowned. You edged towards him in your seat as you lowered your voice, “Is everything okay?”

“Uh…”

People were starting to point and shout at the heavens. A golden, embroidered carriage descended towards the rooftop (or was it cake-top…? You really needed a guide for Whole Cake Island terminology). Something was billowing off it…steam? Smoke?

Marco noticed Ace’s pale features. “What did you do?” 

Ace took off his hat. He plunged his face into it. “I found the cake before the party…”

“And?”

Screams and shocked gasps filled the dining area as the carriage landed. Its doors swept open. 

Your nostrils flared. A sweet scent wafted across the rooftop. The very scent that lingered on Ace’s clothes.

“I may have eaten some of it…and then I fell asleep on it, and I melted the rest by accident,” Ace sighed.

Torrents of melted ice cream with chunks of burnt cookie bits gushed out. Shocked gasps and shrieks followed. Guests were thrown out of their seats as the flood descended. 

Big Mom watched the spectacle in horror. Whitebeard sighed and finished off his glass in one swing. “Crap. Here we go again…”

Chapter Text

Everyone leapt to their feet and climbed atop their chairs.

“Ace,” you moaned. “Don't you have any self-restraint?” 

“I’m a pirate, Y/N! Does it look like I have any?” Ace held onto the back of his chair as it wobbled. 

“You were gone, for like, twenty minutes!”

“You kept me up last night!” said Ace.

“You kept me up last night!” you snapped. “You couldn't keep your hands to yourself, you tickle monster!” 

“Ooooo!” The Whitebeard Pirates jeered at you.

Ace groaned. He mumbled something along the lines of, “never gonna live this down.” 

You glanced at Big Mom’s table as you balanced on top of your chair. Her heart-shaped pupils were replaced with a fiery, unfriendly shade of red. Her arms reached above her head, grasping at empty air. 

“Ice…Cream…Cake!” Big Mom roared. 

The enraged Emperor’s gaze turned to your table. You gulped. 

“Hey, Thatch!” Marco called from his chair. “What was the flavor supposed to be again?”

“Let’s see,” Thatch crouched on his chair. He plunged his finger into the milky flood that slowly rose higher. He sucked his finger clean. “Whew! Damn, that’s some creamy vanilla. And I’m tasting Oreos…it’s cookies and cream!”

Marco’s head snapped to your black-and-white outfit. The skirts were pushed aside, framing the stupid polka dot leggings. “Y/N.”

“Yes?”

“Run.”

“Um, I kinda can't,” you said, teetering on your chair. You bit back a hiss when it slightly tipped backward from the gushing flood. “Why?” 

Tremors shook the rooftop. Big Mom’s footsteps thundered as she stomped towards your table. 

“Ice…Cream…Cake!” she bellowed. 

Marco shoved a finger at you and Ace. “You look like a dessert and that clown at it! Get as far from here as you can! We’ll meet you at the ship!”

Ace moved before you could. He scooped you up in his arms and jumped. Your fingers fisted into Ace’s blazer as he maneuvered from chair to chair, pouncing on tables as people flailed about in the melted ice cream below. 

“Told ya you were a dessert,” Ace muttered.

“Oh, bite me!” 

“With pleasure. I was dyin’ for a taste test!” Ace’s tongue flicked across his lips. 

Your skin burned across your face, all the way up to your ears. This is an embarrassing way to die. 

~*~

Pants puffed from your lips as you cut across the field. Ace shot looks behind him as you two ran. He hadn't announced any pursuers — yet. 

Big Mom’s shouts were still discernable if you held your breath. You preferred to keep as much distance from her as possible. 

Ace glanced back at you. He’d burned off his formal clothes as soon as you’d set off, claiming it’d be easier to move in. You envied him as your skirt trailed along the ground. “You doin’ okay? How are your feet?”

You clasped your shoes in a tight fist as you ran. It was a wonder you had made it this far barefoot. But the adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the soles of your feet were aching. 

“I’m okay for now,” you said. 

Ace slowed to a jog. The grass wasn't so bad on your bare skin. Knowing the island, it was probably made of gelatin or coconut shavings. 

“I hope sugar ants don't exist here,” you wondered absentmindedly.

“If they did, pretty sure none of this would be standing,” said Ace.

“True.” 

A thick line of trees loomed before you. Shadows wove themselves between the gaps in the forest. The terrain became uneven from buried roots as you neared. You bit back a hiss as your ankles flared.

Syrup rain trickled through the leafy foliage as you passed the first clumps of flora. Ace cursed quietly.

“Sorry,” said Ace as you glanced at him. “Rain’s not the greatest thing for the Flame-Flame Fruit. It means I have less options to protect you.”

You smiled. “Maybe I should protect you, then.”

“Heh.” Ace’s smirk faded. His steps slowed as he studied the treetops. Branches trembled and groaned from the encroaching rain. “Y/N, I’m already lost. Didn't we just get here? Why is it so thick?”

You looked around. Behind you, the encroaching foliage was so deep, layers of olive greens and damp browns blocked out the grassy field. There’s no way we covered that much ground so fast. 

Your stomach twisted, remembering the objects that popped into existence in your room. “I don't think it’s you. I remember the sun was tilting the opposite way before the clouds rolled in: if we keep going in a straight line, we’ll hit the east side of the island.” 

Ace nodded. It was easier said than done: everything seemed to assault your way forward, hell bent on foiling your theory. Fallen trees and bushes blocked nearly every attempt to continue in the same direction. 

“We’re not making good progress,” Ace muttered to himself. You trudged through the forest side by side. Brown sugar mud sank uncomfortably between your bare toes. 

“You’re pretty good at finding your way around. Like Impel Down — and that garden in Dressrosa,” said Ace.

You nodded, unsure of his point. Ace continued, “This greenery is putting up a pretty good fight. What if I carried you; then you could give me directions while I move around it?”

“Makes sense to me. But if I’m too heavy —”

Ace snorted and turned away from you. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, at his back. “Climb on.” 

Heat bloomed in your face. You paused before Ace’s back. Droplets traced his tattoo bearing Whitebeard’s mark. His skin glistened from the syrup rain. 

“You can put me down if it gets to be too much, okay?”

You couldn't see Ace’s face, but from the way he tilted his head, you could tell he was rolling his eyes. “Are you doubting my mad piggyback riding skills?”

“No, not yours.” 

Carefully, you grasped Ace’s shoulders and pulled yourself up. Your thighs clenched around his waist. Ace’s hands caught you, keeping you upright. Your skin tingled as he gripped the plush of your thighs (and the stupid polka dot tights). 

Ace stepped forward. He hoisted you higher up. “Comfy?”

“Yeah…” your hesitant fingers crawled up Ace’s shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck. The warmth of his body seared into yours. It offset the coolness of the rain.

Ace plunged forward. Your dress trailed behind you as he ran. 

“Tell me where to go,” Ace murmured to you. Dark strands of his hair brushed your cheek. 

You nodded. “You’re veering left a little bit…kinda head to the right? Yes, you’ve got it!”

Ace squeezed your thighs. A giant grin was plastered across his face as he ran.

“Why are you smiling?” you asked. 

An airy chuckle escaped Ace’s lips. “Because. Doesn't matter if it’s dull guards or stupid forests; nothing outsmarts you.”

You smiled, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Head a little to the left again.”

Ace’s grin didn't waver. He squeezed your thighs so hard you nearly yelped. “That’s my girl.”

Ace jogged through the rain as he followed your directions. Slowly, tension started to leak out of your body as you molded into his back. The syrup rain continued to fall, but the icy sting was chased away by Ace’s warmth. It was simply an inconvenience at this point, weighing down your skirt and splattering into your eyes. 

“This isn't fair,” you replied from Ace’s shoulder. “You’re doing all the work. I’m way too comfortable up here.” 

“No, I’m not; you’re giving me directions,” Ace reminded you. “As soon as we reach the shoreline, I’ll light a flare for the Moby Dick to find us. How's the rain?”

You shrugged as much as you could when you were wrapped around him. “This outfit is so ruined, but you feel really nice.” 

Ace’s skin blazed under your touch. You sighed as you nuzzled your face into his shoulder. You caught yourself mid-rub. 

“Sorry. I’m getting too comfortable again.”

“Then you should do it more often,” Ace looked back at you. When his eyes met yours, you quickly glanced down. 

“A little left,” you whispered. Ace’s boots squished in the mud as he complied. 

You and Ace were getting used to battling the foliage. Ace’s maneuvering around the shrubbery were becoming second-nature. Your thoughts wandered as you fell into your new routine. 

It was the first time you’d been alone with Ace in what felt like a while. So much had transpired since then; Katakuri’s proposal, the cocktail party, spending a night together (albeit with Marco as tired parental supervision)...

In a way, it was a golden opportunity. Now was as good a time as any to pick Ace’s brain. 

You licked your lips. Sweetness from the syrup rain tickled your tongue. “Ace…what you said last night, about the not deserving…”

Ace’s muscles tensed beneath you. “It’s not you, Y/N. I promise.”

“Is it because you’re Roger’s son?”

Ace skidded to a sudden halt. Brown sugar mud went flying, caking his calves. 

Ace stole a look at you through his damp locks. He wore the expression of someone receiving a life sentence. “How…who…?”

“I saw an old wanted poster for him in a book on Dressrosa,” you said. “You look like him…just, you know, more handsome and less…old.” 

Ace’s feet started moving. He kept his pace at a brisk walk. 

“No one’s ever figured it out before,” Ace muttered.

“I’m the first?” you said.

“Pops noticed the resemblance, but…he knew him.” Ace bit his lip. “Wait, you’ve known for this long, a-and you’re still…?”

You leaned forward, trying to see his face a little better. “It doesn't change anything, Ace.” 

“It changes lots of things.” When Ace shook his head, wet tendrils of hair accidentally caressed your cheek. “Everything, Y/N. I…I promise I’ll never hurt you, or touch you again after this —”

“Hurt me? What?” Your lips parted in surprise. Your arms tightened around Ace’s neck. “Portgas D. Ace, do you honestly think because he’s your father, it says anything about you as a person?”

Ace heaved a weary sigh. He purposefully looked away from you now. You wished you could see his face. 

“It doesn't change how I feel about you,” you blurted. They weren't the right words for a friend, but you had already started to think of Ace as more than that, denial or no. Perhaps it was better off that you came clean. 

Ace’s hands limply held your legs aloft, all loving squeezes gone. He kept walking. You should’ve checked to see if you were going in the right direction, but you no longer cared.

“Say something. Please,” you pleaded. You pressed your face against Ace’s back, between his shoulder blades. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“You can get off now,” said Ace quietly. 

“Huh?”

The darkness around you weakened. Ace broke through the line of trees. Unnatural, violet waves licked at the cliffside. You’d reached the east side of the island. 

“We’re out of the woods.”

Even if the words were true, Ace’s statement didn't feel right at all.

Chapter Text

Ace barely muttered a word as you waited for the Moby Dick. The silence was stifling, but you didn't know how to break it. Part of you regretted bringing up Roger — but it wasn't fair to Ace, hiding that you knew. 

Some tension eased when the ship finally arrived. Dried syrup droplets matted your hair and pulled at your skin. A round or three in the shower (and burning your polka dot outfit) was probably due. 

After peeling off your outfit, you retreated to one of the bathrooms with your bag of toiletries. You started the water, letting the steam rise up first. 

A blurry layer of moisture quickly swathed the mirror. You wiped it away with your sleeve and cringed away from your reflection. 

It wasn't your most presentable look. The pins Thatch had so delicately set in your hair were askew amongst clumps of syrupy hair. Izo’s makeup had run its course, black tearstains trickling down your cheeks. Heat burned your face at the thought of Ace seeing you this way.

You plucked the pins from your hair first, wincing as they tugged at the syrup-saturated strands. Your fingers hovered before your face when your reflection in the mirror twitched.

You froze. The glass rippled like a disturbed pond. A face that wasn't yours lurked on the other side. 

The cruel, unfamiliar face smiled. A long tongue swathed his lips.

“You can't escape that easily — lick!”

You couldn't move. Your body was frozen, but your mind ran at top speed. He was Big Mom’s eldest son, Katakuri’s older brother — what was his name again? Pepto-Bismol? 

One of his arms glided through the liquid-like glass of the mirror. He snatched your wrist.

As soon as his fingers clamped down in an unshakable grip, reality kicked in. You jerked backwards and pulled on your arm.

“Get off! Stop!” No matter how much you squirmed, Pepto-Bismol’s hold was tougher than hard candy. His sickly-sweet scent scalded your nostrils as he dragged you closer.

You slammed into the counter as you struggled. Pain racked your ribs. 

Warm steam clouded the room. Your head spun. You took a deep, dizzying breath, mustering whatever willpower you had left, and screamed at the top of your lungs, “Ace!”

Pepto-Bismol winced over you. His tight grip promised bruises later. You struggled to stay upright as steam slickened the tile. 

The door exploded seconds later.

Ace stood before the charred, wooden remains. His eyes were wide as he stared at the scene before him.

“What the fuck,” Ace whispered. Then he shook himself out of the daze. “Get off her! Let her go!”

Flames soared over your head. You ducked as it hit your assailant in the face.

Ace was on you. He wrenched your arm from the man’s grip. Both of you slipped and fell back against the steam-slickened tile floors. 

Pepto-Bismol sank back into the mirror. His eyes never left you. “Next time — lick!” 

Ace’s arm wrapped around your waist. His lip curled. “There won't be a next time!”

Ace pointed his finger at the mirror like he was aiming a pistol. A flaming bullet spewed out. 

The mirror shattered. Your assailant was gone.

Your pants intermingled as water hissed from the showerhead. Ace hugged you to his chest.

“You okay?” Ace’s fingers crept to your cheek.

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yeah. Throat’s a little sore.” 

“That was a good scream.” Ace’s thumb swathed your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered closed, focusing on his warm, gentle touch. 

“Thanks. Excellent timing on your part.” 

Footsteps thundered down the hall.

You and Ace looked up. Marco and twenty others stopped when they reached you. 

Marco huffed. “Please don't tell me this is foreplay…”

Marco’s gaze trailed to the smoking remains of the bathroom door, and the shattered mirror. You shifted in Ace’s lap as the others noticed.

Ace held you tighter. “We gotta tell Pops.” 

~*~

Everyone was gathered on the deck of the Moby Dick.

“This is grave news.” Shadows collected beneath Pops’ knit brows. “Marco, go through the charges.”

“Attempted kidnapping, threatening all our lives with Hunger Pains — albeit, we were the cause,” Marco threw a pointed look in Ace’s direction. “They picked on Y/N the most.” 

You tried to ignore the looks thrown your way. Ace’s fists clenched beside you.

Pops’ voice rumbled across the ship. “By all rights, we should plunder Whole Cake Island.”

You stiffened. Cheers of agreement roared around you. The thought of going back there, of your brothers facing them…

You turned to Marco. “The charges. Do they count as a disturbance?”

Marco’s eyes narrowed. “You heard them. Pretty sure they fit the bill-yoi.”

“It’s part of my role as spokesperson to send forces to silence disturbances, isn't it?” you said.

“Yeah…”

You straightened your shoulders. “Then I refuse to assign anyone.” 

Shouts died down. Your brothers gaped at you.

Marco sighed. “Pretty sure that only counts in our territory, Y/N-yoi.”

“Does it?” Your brow arched. You spun on your heel to face Pops.

Before the Emperor could speak, Ace interjected, “Let’s put it to a vote.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. You’d heard the cheers just now. If the majority ruled, you were on the cusp of war. 

“How democratic of you, Fire-Fist,” said Vista. 

“Zee-ha-ha-ha!”

Your insides contorted. Teech’s laugh crept down your back like spider legs. 

“You know the code, Portgas.” Teech sneered. “If you disagree with her, you have to challenge her to a fight. Unless you’re scared of a little girl with toothpicks.”

Ace’s hat dipped low, hiding his face in shadow. It made him appear even more dangerous as he stalked towards Teech.

Marco caught Ace’s shoulder. 

“Let’s not forget: Y/N chipped Jozu with her toothpicks.” Marco glared at Teech. 

Nervous glances were shot your way. You crossed your arms over your bathrobe. Jozu had offered to train with you when you were finally well enough to exercise. Even with diamond skin, a haki-infused blow with your ice picks went past his glittering defense. It was a yellowing bruise at best, but the crew marveled at it for days. 

Teech cackled. “All the more reason to. Haki versus a Logia Devil Fruit! Now, there’s a real fight —”

“No challenges will take place today.” Whitebeard boomed. 

Your brothers shuddered around you. Hairs stood up along your arms. 

“Voting it is,” said Marco. “We’re talking about fighting another emperor-yoi. Think about what that means before you make your decision. Y/N, you go first.”

You swallowed and nodded. “I vote no. I love you all, and I hate the thought of losing any of you to those pricks.” 

Multiple reactions raged around you. Teech rolled his eyes. Ace’s fist stayed tight at his side. 

Thatch moved to stand beside you. “I vote nay, too. We’d be going to war for you. If you don't want to…I respect your wishes.”

“Nay-yoi!” Marco declared next. “At least, not without more thought and preparation. A war between two emperors would have too many casualties. We have a territory full of innocents to consider.” 

“Aye,” said Izo. You controlled your flinch and tried to keep a calm facade. He was the first one to vote yes.

Izo’s gaze trickled over you, at your disheveled hair and ruined makeup. His expression stayed smooth, but his eyes were livid. “I will not tolerate our enemies manipulating and humiliating one of our own. Never again.”

A sad grunt escaped Pops. He made no comment on the matter.

“Aye,” said Ace softly. 

Your head whipped towards him. You begged him in your mind to reconsider. 

Ace’s knuckles were white. “They did a lot of things they shouldn't have.”

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, the voting continued.

More said no than you expected, but a vast majority still voted to turn the ship around and attack Whole Cake Island. Marco kept track of the votes with a neutral expression.

Everyone turned to Pops for the final vote. It dawned on you that his say was probably the only one that counted. 

“I do not want our family to stand divided on this issue,” said Pops. “For now…we will let this go. But, should they make one more move against us…”

Pops’ gaze found yours.

“War.”

Chapter Text

A month had passed since the Whole Cake incident. Most things had gone back to normal…ish. With exceptions. 

You noticed it in bars the most. Ace was known to get into the occasional brawl or two, but the number had skyrocketed as of late. You were determined to fix it…in your own way. 

You took a lot of care in picking this outfit. It wasn't a Marco Miracle (or the bright blue feathered costume you’d doned when you subbed in for Marco as first commander and wanted to establish dominance), but you were proud of it. Each detail was meticulously crafted to match the Fire-Fist aesthetic. 

You weaved through packed tables and brushed past random patrons. Some threw glances at your way — which was odd. Your Haki had been so intense lately, your brothers had to order meals for you when you went out. You ignored the stares, scanning for a bright orange hat or a smile framed with freckles. 

As another person walked past you, Whitebeard’s insignia came into view. 

Ace’s back was to you. He leaned on the bar, his skin awash with gold from the lights that glimmered off a thousand shining bottles lining the walls. He hovered over a glass of whiskey. 

You nervously brushed yourself off. With a sharp inhale (and a lot of liquid courage consulted beforehand), you sauntered to his side. 

Your arm brushed Ace’s as you leaned against the bar. He glanced in your direction casually, mid-sip. The glass hovered before his gaping mouth as he recognized you. 

You stretched back against the bar. Every inch of your exposed skin tingled (and there was a lot of it). Denim shorts hung low on your hips, yet barely reached your thighs. A loud, orange bathing suit top sank even lower on your chest. A white, lacy, sleeveless overthrow hid your scars from view behind your back. 

Ace swallowed air. He set down his glass so hard the amber liquid frothed around. A bright blush burned beneath his freckles — was he drunk already?

With a spark of courage, you reached up and plucked his hat from his head. You tried it on, peeking up at him from under the rim. 

“Hey, partner,” you smiled. 

Ace didn't speak. His tongue flashed across his mouth. The goal of the outfit was to distract him — or, at the very least, try to keep him away from fistfights. Instead, he eyed you like one of Thatch’s three-course meals.  

You shied away from his gaze. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Ace leaned in. His breath tingled your cheeks, tinged with alcohol. 

You swallowed. You suddenly found the smooth edge of the wooden bar incredibly entrancing, running your fingers along it. “Like I’m dinner,” you muttered.

Warm fingers drifted to a strand of hair that hovered over your face. Ace spun it around his finger, then gently tucked it away. 

Ace’s hand closed in to cup your cheek. Your blood sang beneath his touch.

“Maybe I’m starving.” Ace’s voice was hoarse. It reminded you of the night you’d spent together before Big Mom’s Tea Party. You fought back a delightful shiver. 

Ace’s fingers traveled, curling under your chin. His lips hovered an inch from yours. 

You weren't sure who kissed who first. Ace’s lips crashed against yours, devouring and licking like your mouth was the best thing he ever tasted. It was sloppy, the kind of kiss where drool smeared the corner of your mouth and a tongue lapped it away, swallowing your moans. 

Ace pulled away. His dark gaze flickered over your face, soaking in your wet, bruised lips. Something like a groan, but far more primal, rumbled in his throat.

You’d chosen the wrong night to fight fire with fire. 

~*~

You didn't remember much of how you left the bar. It was blurry, slurred by kisses and tequila shots that feasted on your brain. All you did know was that somehow you ended up in a dark bedroom with Ace, both stripped down to your underwear, as his tongue ravaged your mouth. 

Ace’s hips ground into yours. Something bulged out from the fabric of his boxers to rub against your clit. It was a delicious burn; your panties were already soaked. 

There wasn't a lot of talking, just loud moans from Ace and soft mewls from you. His fingers traced up your ribcage, exploring your skin. 

The world flipped; the inky blackness around you didn't change, but your position did. You were on your stomach, surrounded by soft blankets and pillows. Your toes grazed the wooden planks below the bed.

Ace hovered over you. His lips were at your ear. “Do you want this, gorgeous?” 

Ace’s hips bucked into yours. Your thighs clenched together. There was an insatiable heat between them. 

“Y-yes.” Your fingers fisted in the bedsheets around you in an attempt to ground yourself. Your heart was a hopeless cause, galloping in your ears. 

Ace’s fingers trailed down your back, pausing at the ties to your bathing suit top. With one sharp tug, the knot fell apart. 

Your back was completely exposed to Ace.

Ace’s breath echoed across your bare skin. Never before had you wished so vehemently that you didn't have the scars. You were thankful for the shadows of the bedroom. Even if Ace knew they were there, at least he wouldn't have to look at them. 

Lips pressed against your back. 

A jolt rocked your body. Your head snapped up at the soft sensation.

Ace’s lips continued their path in the dark, caressing the scars. Sometimes his tongue would trace the long, healed lines of gashes. Your skin fluttered in his wake.

You sank into the mattress. A new heat burned in your core, blazing across your cheeks. This wasn't just primal lust. 

It feels a little — well, a lot like…

Ace stiffened above you. “I can't do this.” 

As soon as the warmth flushed over you, iciness reigned in its wake. That light, lovely tingle turned into an uncomfortable prickliness.

Ace backed away from your body, apologies spewing from his lips. “I am so, so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn't have, I…”

You spun around. You kneeled on the bed as you faced him — his shadow — in the dark. “No, Ace. Please. I want this, I…”

You blindly reached for Ace. Your fingers brushed his bicep. Your touch trailed down, taking his hand hostage as you held it close to you.

“I want you, Ace. Please don't stop.” 

Ace’s other hand gently, but firmly, unclasped yours. When you tried to reach for him, he held your wrists captive.

“Y/N, it's not fair to do anything to you like this. I should’ve stopped so much sooner. I’m sorry it went this far,” said Ace.

You shook your head even if he couldn't see you. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Ace…”

— M A I D E N   I S L A N D —

Boa Hancock leaned towards you. She clutched a damp tissue in one fist and a wine glass in the other. “Then what happened?”

You glared a hole into Hancock’s red comforter, sprinkled with crumpled tissues. “He avoided me for months. Then Teech killed Thatch, and they sent me with Ace to deliver judgment. When we finally talked through everything and were…”

You wet your lips. You fought back a cringe as you continued, “We were only together for three weeks before he fought Teech, and lost.” 

The truth sank heavy fangs into your heart. Sometimes you even wondered if you had a right to mourn Ace as a “girlfriend.” The last bit of his existence, you only seemed to make Ace’s life more difficult.

“I spent so much time thinking he didn't want me, I…” you sighed. Every bit of your face was inflamed from over-shed tears and embarrassment. 

Hancock straightened across from you on the bed. She squared her shoulders. “Why are you telling me all of this? What are we looking for?”

“My judgment.” 

Hancock’s eyes narrowed. She propped her chin up with her hand. “On…?”

You took a deep breath that shook your insides. “I’ll always love Ace. Nothing can change that. He…he made me human again after six years of Cipher Pol. I owe everything I am to him.”

Your eyes watered. The guilt was almost too strong to speak. You hid behind your hands. 

“It’s only been two months since Marineford…it would be sick if I thought, maybe…there was a chance of something with someone else?” your voice cracked. 

Hancock groaned. She clasped the stem of her wine glass as she held it aloft. “This is about Trafalgar, isn't it? Should’ve known.” 

“What —? No! Have you been listening?”

“I have.” Hancock finished off her glass. She immediately started pouring the next. 

“So? What should I…?” Your hands flailed in the air between you. 

Hancock pursed her lips. “Do you want to join Trafalgar’s crew?”

“No —!” 

“Do you want to spend time with him?”

“...Yes.” you admitted. Your hands dropped to your sides, grasping at the crimson bedspread.

Hancock nodded. She took a gentler sip of her glass and set it down. The first rays of morning light trickled through the windows, warming the glass with a gentle orange hue. 

“I approve,” said Hancock. “It sounds like you do have some loose ends to tie up with the World Government. If Trafalgar is willing to conspire against them, I order you to help him.” 

Your mouth fell open. Birdsong trickled through the room as dawn lit the horizon on fire. Its tender glow crawled up the palace, establishing a new day. 

You scooted closer. “But I’m one of yours…I’m your friend, Hancock. I-I can't just let you handle everything here.”

Hancock smiled. It was a bittersweet expression. She patted your hand. “You’re practically my number one. But…you’re not the only one with scars from the World Government.”

Hancock’s hand tightened over yours. A crease furrowed her brow. She closed her eyes for a moment before she continued speaking.

“This is important to you. Go. Do what I cannot with my status: follow your heart, Y/N.”

Chapter Text

King of Hearts;

Depicted as a handsome, regal figure with a sword. Often wields significant power and influence in card games and is considered the highest-ranking card in a game of Hearts. In darker interpretations, it is referred to as the “Suicide King” because some variations show the king holding his sword behind his head, appearing to stab himself.

Chapter Text

Morning glow crawled up your bedroom walls, soft and white, when you finally returned to your room. Everything was as you’d left it: files spewed across the floor, bed untouched — except for one foreign object.

The splash of vibrant blue drew your eye. You approached the nightstand. 

Blue roses pouted at you from a beautiful glass vase. You mindlessly traced their plush lips. All the thorns were clipped away from their long, slender necks. Your gaze trailed down the vase to a slip of paper tucked underneath.

You squinted as you read the note (the handwriting was terrible), but it was easy enough to decipher. Your heartbeat faltered as you read the two words written. 

I’m sorry.

— L.

A smile tugged at your lips. The exotic blue hue definitely had Law’s flare. Roses seemed like an odd choice, but you’d mentioned plants on the Polar Tang. 

It was one of the most heartfelt apologies anyone had ever given you. 

You dove into the top drawer of your nightstand. You’d always been careful not to study the contents too much when you sifted through, but the newspaper clipping of you and Ace wasn't as daunting after your talk with Hancock. You found a pen and wrote your reply on the back of the note. 

I’ll forgive you…if ‘next time’ can be a coffee shop on the nearest island at 3?

P.S. Thanks for the flowers. Your polar bear is cute.

— Y/I.

You gently folded the note and set it on the nightstand. Excitement pounded against your ribcage as you perched on the edge of the bed. Your eyes never left the slip of paper. 

The note vanished. You smiled. 

It returned a few minutes later. You caught the parchment as it fluttered in the air. 

See you then.

P.S. He will be better behaved next time. As will I.

— L.

Your lips pressed together, resisting another smile as you studied the note. Not too much, I hope.

~*~

Your fingers thrummed across the damp, wooden railing. Rain splattered your nose as you peeked out from your umbrella. 

It was a wonder any drops could slip through the olive green canopy above. The woven blanket of leaves stretched across the whole island thanks to a thicket of massive oak trees. There weren't many present to admire it with you (the Calm Belt had a way of making people on the island scarce), but natives had still tried to carve ramps into the tall trunks. A hushed, ancient quiet lurked beneath the quivering foliage and pittering rain. 

You waited outside a coffee shop. It was nestled in a stump of one of the former giant oaks. The warm, herby scent of tea cut across the fresh rain and wet moss.

A smile was already stretching across your lips as he approached. Your umbrella tipped upwards, inviting the rain drops closer. “Thanks again for the flowers.” 

“Mmm.” Law nodded. It was rare to see him without his speckled hat. His hoodie was shrugged over his head against the light downpour. Strands of dark hair dipped down across his forehead, slick with rain. 

Law offered you one of the to-go coffee cups he held. Little flowers decorated the rim (probably drawn by the baristas that thought Law was cute). Even without touching the drinks, the air felt warmer.

You accepted yours with murmured thanks. It took extreme control to not react when your fingers brushed Law’s. An electric current teased the skin where you touched. 

“Did you tell Hancock?” said Law.

“Yes.” 

You shuffled closer and lifted the umbrella over Law’s head. His eyes were on your face as you took your first sip. Warm cinnamon sizzled your tongue. 

“You look tired,” said Law. 

You shrugged. When you swallowed, the warm liquid tingled its way down your throat. “There was a lot to explain. But I’m under new orders now to help you capture Caesar.”

A sound very close to a laugh puffed from Law’s lips. His forearms rested against the railing as he looked out at the layers of dew-draped branches. “Huh. That easy, hm? She must really like you.”

You smiled. Hancock was so much more than petty rumors of arrogance with a pretty face. She was the main force that kept you together after Marineford. The thought of how much sleep she’d sacrificed just for your well-being, to listen to you rant for hours…she was the best captain (and friend) you could’ve asked for. 

For Hancock to agree to — and fully support — your want to help Law, when her position prevented her from pursuing Luffy…you had to make the most of it.

“Want to walk around?” you said.

Law nodded. He took the umbrella from you, holding it aloft as you sipped your drinks. 

You walked side by side amongst the tinkling foliage. Forked, green limbs reached out across the muddy path, caressing your raincoat. You pressed closer to Law. 

“Why did you have that photo of me?” you asked.

Law’s fingers grasped the umbrella between you tighter. His breath hissed. “I was curious.”

You studied your rain boots as you took cautious steps forward. “About?”

Law’s expression was hidden as he turned away from you. “You.” 

Your breath hitched. The heat of your coffee cup scalded your fingers as you held it in a too-tight grip. An unsteady breath shook your shoulders. “What would you like to know?”

Silence settled between you. The ancient unquiet of the forest was different with Law next to you. The air was…charged, simmering across your skin. 

“Even in photos, your Haki is at work. It compels people to look away,” Law murmured. 

You blinked. No one ever told you that. How much had Law focused just to find the photo of you and Ace —? How was he able to notice you at all?

You followed the path up a small, makeshift bridge. Rough, creaking steps led you over one of the massive tree roots. Law kept pace beside you. 

“At Marineford, you found me,” you recalled. “How did you even notice me?” 

Law’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Ace pointed you out to me.” 

You stopped on one of the steps. Law paused a step above you. A vast, new height difference stretched between you.

“He said you were his dream girl. And if anything happened to you, to bury him beside you,” said Law.

A lump burned in your throat. You were glad for the rain; the air was soothing and cool against the warmth stinging your eyes. 

“Oh.” You looked down. It definitely sounded like something Ace would say. 

Law joined you on your step, with one foot on the ledge below. His steel eyes were level with yours. “I shouldn't have said  —”

“No. I’m glad you did. It’s…nice to know, I guess,” you said. 

You turned away from Law and kept trudging up the steps. You blinked away fragments of Ace’s freckled face as you tried to think of ways to save the conversation. Lingering on your dead boyfriend was not going to help you or Law. 

“Can you tell me more about your plan with Caesar?” you prompted him. 

Law nodded. “He’s on an island called Punk Hazard. Log poses can't find it, but the coordinates are in that file.” 

“How can you capture him?” you wondered aloud. Caesar’s billowy form flashed behind your eyelids. “He ate the Gas-Gas Fruit. If you trapped him in one of your…Rooms, could you take something in that form?”

Law squinted as he looked ahead. “It’ll be tricky. My plan is to get close to him first; become his ally. Then come up with a more refined way to take it down.”

Your face scrunched up. You didn't have to spend time with Caesar for very long to know he was a sociopath. The thought of Law being in close quarters with him…

“You’ll have to be careful,” you said. “Caesar’s an idiot, but he’s a smart one. How can you get him to trust you?”

“I’ll give him my heart.” 

You and Law stopped along the trail. You studied him curiously as he took a long sip of his drink. 

“When you became Warlord, you gave one hundred hearts of pirates to the Navy. How exactly does that work? Do you just…?” Your eyes drifted down to Law’s chest. You gulped. 

“No, it's not like that. Here, hold this.” Law returned the umbrella to you. He set his coffee cup on the ground and shrugged his hoodie over his head. 

You mirrored Law and set both the umbrella and your cup on the mossy ground. When you straightened, heat bloomed across your face. 

You should’ve looked away. You couldn't. Your eyes refused to wander.

Tattoos licked across Law’s bare chest, arching into the shape of a flaming heart. Black, inky fingers curled around his biceps, circling his forearms. Each design was as intricate as the letters printed across his knuckles. 

“Wow.” You hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it was impossible not to. Law was a walking piece of art.

Law’s hand hovered over his chest. You watched in awe as something landed in his open palm. 

His own beating heart. In a small, translucent cube. 

Your mouth formed a silent ‘o’ as you stared. You had witnessed all kinds of Devil Fruit powers, rare and awesome alike, but Law’s was truly unique. It felt strangely real as you stared at the heart in his palm. No flames or inhuman forms. Just him.

Law’s eyes were on your face as you stared in wonder. His hand stretched out to you, offering his heart.

Wordlessly, you reached for it. Part of you was paranoid that such a vulnerable piece of Law was out in the open, unprotected. 

“Just don't squeeze it,” Law warned. He pressed his heart into your grasp. 

You held Law’s heart with two cupped hands. It throbbed against your palms, veins pulsing along its sides. The heart itself bulged with each beat. 

“It…doesn’t hurt? When you take it out?” You whispered, mystified. 

Law shook his head. “There’s an empty feeling. My heartbeat isn't in me anymore…but I can feel which direction it’s coming from.” 

“Do you feel anything when I…?” Your thumb softly stroked the cube’s side.

Law’s eyes fell shut. He sighed. “Yes.” 

You changed how you cradled Law’s heart, shielding it from the icy water droplets that escaped the canopy of leaves. You held it closer to you, near your own chest. Your mind grappled with the heart in your hands as your own still thundered beneath layers of flesh and blood. 

“You’re really going to give this to Caesar?” you said. 

Law nodded. Rain trickled down his shoulders, tracing wet fingers down his tattoos. 

You clutched Law’s heart to your chest. “Absolutely not!”

Law’s eyes widened. His heart spasmed at your words. 

“Can I have that back?”

“No! Not if you’re going to do mean things to it!” You spun on your heel. You refused to let someone like Caesar Clown handle something so precious.

Law caught you before you even had the chance to make a run for it. He stood in your path, arms crossed. His exposed muscles made him appear way more imposing than he’d been on the walk here. 

“What else would you have me do?” said Law. “What else can I offer him for his trust? To get close enough to him?”

You huffed as Law cut off your escape. Your hold on his heart tightened, but you were careful not to squeeze it. 

“I don't know…someone else’s?” Desperation saturated your words. 

Law’s brow arched. “And whose heart do you suggest? What if Caesar decides to test out the heart, and squeezes, and someone else is on the floor rolling around in pain while I’m fine?”

You shook your head. He would be so vulnerable. Against such an asshole.

“Use mine,” you said.

Revulsion raked across Law’s face. “No!”

Your eyes widened in dismay. “You don't want it?”

“Not as a decoy gift to a psychopath!”

“Here!” You pushed your raincoat aside. You undid the first two buttons of your dress with one hand as you balanced Law’s heart in the other.

Law caught your wrist as you reached the third button. “What are you doing?” 

Your gaze dripped down Law’s bare chest. Just staring at him made your mouth dry. “You took off your clothes…when you…”

Law released you. He facepalmed. “Stripping is not required.” 

Now your face burned for entirely different reasons. “That’s…good to know.”

Law sighed. “How is someone so beautiful and tactful so painfully dense at times?”

Your own heart squirmed at the insult/compliment. “You’re the one that took off your clothes first! Doesn't that make you a little dramatic, if you didn't need to?”

Law’s breath hissed. The tips of his ears were inflamed. “It was a demonstration. I was showing you where it came from.” 

“Oh.” Law had told you before that you weren't an idiot, but you certainly felt like one now. You hoped he wasn't rethinking your alliance with him. “Um, thanks. Bepo was right: the tattoos really do look great.”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. He retreated to one of the massive tree roots nearby and sat down. You joined him, carefully holding his heart over your lap.

Each beat of Law’s heart continued to throb against your palms. You watched the fragile organ shudder and quake.

“He can kill you with this, can't he?” you said.

Law leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. Dew drops clung to his lashes as his eyes fell shut. “Yeah.”

You winced. A shiver crawled across your skin, and not just because of the icy droplets that slid down your scalp, into your hair. 

You stroked the side of the cube again with your thumb. A contented hum rumbled from Law’s lips.

“I’m still against it,” you said.

“So am I.” Law’s eyes were still closed. “But unless you have another idea, it's our only shot.”

You looked down at the quivering heart in your hands. It made your own ache at the thought of willingly surrendering it to Caesar. 

“Can I be there? When you give it to him?” you asked. 

Law’s eyes slid open. His steel gaze was resolute when it found yours. “You have history with Caesar and Monet. I’m not going to risk you being there.” 

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip. “I can do more than just give you information if you’re going to take them down. I’d like to be more…hands on.” 

“You're not part of my crew. I’m not risking your life,” said Law.

“It's my choice. And my enemies.” You held Law’s heart before your lips. “Please?”

“It's not…” Law trailed off as you gently exhaled on his heart. It burst to life in your hands, thumping erratically.

Law scowled at you. “Stop that.”

You ignored him. You blew another puff of hot air, bringing the cube closer to your face as you nuzzled it with your nose.

The redness in Law’s ears crawled down, scalding his face, scorching down his neck.

“Please? We’re allies, aren't we? I just want to help — and I’m under orders to assist you.” You tried to make your eyes as wide and innocent as you possibly could. You could never outreason Law, but he seemed to react differently to…physical stimuli. 

Law bowed his head. Rain dripped from his bangs. At first, you thought his silence was a no, but then it occurred to you that that was one part of verbal communication that Law had mastered. 

“Fine,” Law rasped. “But you do exactly as I say, and you’re not showing your face until well after the initial first meeting. I’m not going to risk them trying to make ultimatums on you.”

You smiled, nuzzling his heart again. “Deal.”

“Now give that back. You’ve lost privileges.”

“Aww! But you like it, don't you?”

“Give. It. Back.”

~*~

Three figures squatted amongst the nearby foliage with binoculars. They exchanged low whispers as they spied on the couple sitting together.

“He showed her his tattoos! He so likes her,” Shachi chuckled. 

“When she joins the crew, does that make her his right-hand woman? Or ‘Lady of the Heart Pirates’?” Penguin mused. 

Bepo’s paws curled into passionate fists. “Get her, Captain!! Follow your heart!”

“Shh!”

“Oh, crap! They’re looking this way! Get down! Down!”