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Parenthood can be hard sometimes! Or so it's said

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My piece for @opdilfzine

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[for @opdilfzine ]

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[chenziee]

Of Pumpkin Pies and Whipped Cream

Another of my @opdilfzine fics! You can find this one in the digital add-on :D You can still grab a digital copy of the zine, aftersales are open until the end of August! <3

[ Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi ]

—————

It wasn’t often that Dracule Mihawk’s transponder snail would ring but when it did… It was a sure sign of a headache coming. 

He wasn’t sure why he should even bother answering when he knew there would only be pointless chatter to be heard but even so, he somehow always found his hand gripping the receiver anyway.

“What is it now, Red Hair?” he sighed instead of a proper greeting.

“Oh, come on, I don’t even get a hello?” the man on the other side of the connection whined.

“No.”

The snail gasped dramatically in response to the curt reply, making Mihawk roll his eyes. And to think this was one of the most powerful people in the world. Ridiculous.

“You’re so mean to me.” Red Hair let out a long-suffering sigh but Mihawk could just hear the shit eating grin that was playing on the man’s lips even without looking at his snail. “How do I even deal with you? I should get paid for still keeping you company.”

Mihawk knew he shouldn’t have picked up.

“I’m hanging up,” he said bluntly, already reaching over to place the receiver back on the snail.

Immediately, the transponder snail’s face twisted with panic, mirroring Red Hair’s expression as the man started fumbling for words. “Wait! I’m sorry! Don’t hang up, please!” he cried, his voice begging.

Despite himself, Mihawk felt the corners of his lips twitching upwards the tiniest bit. It was strange; the man was loud, annoying, and bothersome, interrupting Mihawk’s peaceful and quiet days with a disturbing regularity and yet, Mihawk could never bring himself to tell him to leave him alone. 

If he were to be honest… he’d have to admit that he would even sometimes miss his loud laughter, his stupid grins, and his idiotic stories and even more idiotic ideas. Even the ones that led to Mihawk having to literally drag the man to the Red Force after he would drunkenly whine and cry about how he was so proud of Straw Hat Luffy for hours and forcing Mihawk to throw him at Beckmann. After all, any captain was the first mate’s problem.

Or that one time when Mihawk had to break into a Navy prison to get Shanks out of there after he got arrested for eating without paying—he still had no idea how the marines in that town hadn’t recognised the Emperor.

For some reason, he missed all of that sometimes.

He would never accept Shanks’ lack of appreciation for good wine though.

“What did you call for anyway?” Mihawk sighed finally, leaning back into his chair.

“Just missed your sweet and kind voice,” Red Hair replied cheekily. “How are the kids?”

Mihawk groaned. “Don’t talk about them as if they’re mine. They just ended up here.”

“But you let them stay!” Shanks argued and Mihawk could just imagine the man reaching over to poke his shoulder.

As if Mihawk had a choice in that matter. Coming home from the war just to find two brats squatting in his goddamned castle, uninvited, with no means of getting the hell off the island after apparently getting launched through the air half-way across the globe—how could he have just kicked them out?

Not to mention he had tried. He gave Roronoa a boat. He gave him directions. He even gave him some food.

All that effort, only for him to come right back after making a full circle around the dead forest.

He would really rather let the kid stay than have to lead him by the hand like a toddler all the way to the coast—or more likely, chaperone him all the way to the next island. He held no illusions about Roronoa’s ability to follow a log pose by now.

“So? How are they doing?” Red Hair prompted after a moment.

Finally, Mihawk let his head fall back, his eyes shutting momentarily as he took a deep breath. “They’re fine. Roronoa’s still got a ways to go but it’s funny watching him struggle. Perona’s at least helping with the fields if nothing else.”

“I still can’t believe the dreaded Hawk Eyes, the strongest swordsman, likes gardening,” Shanks said with a laugh. “You need to let me try eating some of your crops one of these days.”

Mihawk chose to ignore the wink the transponder snail gave him. “You can have one of the fifty pumpkin pies Perona made.”

There was a pause before the snail raised both its eyebrows, the scar across its left eye shifting. “Fifty,” Shanks repeated flatly.

“It was a rich crop.” Mihawk shrugged. “They’re actually decent.”

“Will you add whipped cream and feed them to me?” Shanks asked eagerly.

A beat passed.

“Gacha.”

—————

Mihawk wasn’t expecting to hear from Shanks again for weeks after hanging up on him. They didn’t talk often in the first place but, more than that, the Emperor of the Sea could be nothing short of a brat. It wouldn’t have been the first time for him to get all sulky, going so far as to refuse to even enter the same sea Mihawk was in. This would usually end with Beckmann or Roux unable to handle the whining any longer and just dialling Mihawk’s snail number themselves and forcing their captain to just talk to the reason he was upset.

So, when the man himself appeared on his doorstep late at night only a day later, bottle of wine in hand and a smirk on his lips, saying Mihawk was surprised would be an understatement.

“You said something about pumpkin pie and whipped cream?” he asked with a wink, tilting his head to the side as he gazed at Mihawk with a cheeky spark in his eyes.

Mihawk stared blankly at the man for a moment. What the hell was he saying? Or what was he even doing on Kuraigana Island—or even just in Paradise, for that matter?

“I said nothing about whipped cream,” he responded finally, voice perfectly flat.

“Might as well have.” Shanks just waved his hand dismissively before forcing his way through the door past Mihawk as if the castle belonged to him.

Mihawk didn’t even care anymore.

With a deep sigh, he closed the door and followed after the red haired menace. It was only mildly disturbing how well Shanks navigated the complicated hallways of the castle—the very same hallways that Roronoa still struggled with after a whole year of living there. Had he really visited this place enough times to flawlessly lead the way three floors up, all the way to the cosy little lounge next to Mihawk’s room, chattering away about stupid stuff the whole time?

Thinking back… maybe he had. 

Although he certainly hadn’t come invited, not even once.

“Shoes off the couch,” Mihawk ordered as soon as Shanks threw himself on the expensive piece of furniture as if it were a bed.

“Says the guy who puts his feet on the table wherever he’s invited,” Shanks grumbled—but still took his shoes off.

Mihawk huffed, putting a bottle of West Blue sake on the coffee table in front of Shanks before pouring himself some of the wine Red Hair had brought, then settled into his own chair. “So? That one is mine and I will not tolerate your disgusting, dirty boots on it.”

“Hypocrite,” Shanks said, sticking his tongue out at Mihawk.

The man only rolled his eyes; there was no point in even gracing that with a response. So, instead, he simply swirled the wine in his glass, then took his first sip as he relaxed and leaned back in his chair. If nothing else, he had to admit that Red Hair knew his alcohol; it was good wine. The colour was a beautiful red like garnet, its bouquet had fruity undertones, like cherry and raspberry. It had a smooth, rich flavour, lingering on the tongue for a moment but not overpowering—perfectly balanced.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” Shanks whined when Mihawk didn’t say anything.

“Why are you here anyway, Red Hair?” Mihawk asked instead of answering.

There was a moment of silence, silence that made Mihawk crack one of his eyes open to look at the man lounging on his couch like he belonged there. Mihawk clicked his tongue at the thought—the very notion was ridiculous. 

Instead of dwelling on it, Mihawk took in the expression Red Hair was making right then. He was looking back at Mihawk, a wide, seemingly goofy smile playing on his lips… yet his eyes were serious, as serious as they were whenever someone would threaten one of the Emperor’s friends. Mihawk wasn’t sure what it meant.

But then, Red Hair opened his mouth to finally reply, “I was summoned by the promise of being hand fed pumpkin pie by my darling Hawk Eyes.”

“Again, I said nothing about hand feeding you. Are you a toddler?” Mihawk sighed.

“Yes.” There wasn’t a single hint of hesitation in Red Hair’s voice and Mihawk had to bite his cheek to keep his lips from curling into a smile.

“Then go back to your ship, I’m not your nanny,” Mihawk replied, keeping his voice carefully measured.

At that, Shanks gasped dramatically… and Mihawk knew what he was going to say before he so much as opened his mouth to do so. “You’re so mean to me! Meanie!”

There it was.

“I’m going to cut off your other arm and leave you to bleed out.”

“Ouch,” Shanks said before he burst out laughing. “We were just coming from the East Blue so we were close anyway.”

Mihawk was quiet for a moment, simply regarding the man sprawled on his couch; he took in how relaxed he seemed, more relaxed than the world ever saw him. And yet, his gaze was heavy, the deep scar over his left eye standing out in the dim light the same way it did ten, twelve years ago when it was fresh; when Shanks was just a young man who was barely coming to power. When Mihawk barely knew him.

But now, he knew the Emperor. And he knew him well enough to know when he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

"Whatever, it's not like I care," Mihawk dismissed.

“You’re terrible,” Shanks whined. “You’re seriously going to force me to admit I missed my boyfriend? My strong and handsome and oh-so-caring boyfriend?” Boyfriend?

Biting back a snort, Mihawk raised an eyebrow. “I did not ask, much less force you to admit anything,” he deadpanned.

“You just won’t admit you missed me too, will you?” Shanks sighed.

“What a pointless question. If you already know the answer, why do you bother asking?” Mihawk asked in response.

“Let me dream, you ass,” Shanks grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment before a grin took over his face once more.

Mihawk watched impassively while Shanks put his feet on the ground and sat up slowly, giving Mihawk that annoying look of his; the look that balanced on the edge between deathly serious and playful, and that always preceded something getting broken—a plate at best, Shanks’ last existing arm at worst.

And when Shanks stood up, not taking his eyes off Mihawk only to bump into the coffee table… Mihawk could only hope nothing too expensive was going to fall victim to the Emperor and his stupid ideas. So, he simply raised an eyebrow while Shanks cursed quietly, shooting a quick glare at the offending piece of furniture before his eyes turned to his lover—or boyfriend, apparently—with new-found determination.

It took only a moment for Shanks to stand right in front of Mihawk’s chair, staring down at him while Mihawk blinked at him slowly, blankly, one leg thrown over the other as he took a deliberately slow sip of his wine. Waiting for Shanks to make a move, daring him to do anything he might regret.

Like pissing Mihawk off. Or—

Before Mihawk could even finish the thought, Shanks reached out with purpose, his fingers closing around the wine glass in Mihawk’s hand, pulling it away… and Mihawk let him. 

He watched in mild amusement as Shanks brought it to his own lips, taking a sip—one large enough to be considered a gulp and if it was in any other situation, Mihawk would have been offended by the disrespect paid to such good wine. As it was however, he could only smile the smallest bit at the sight of Red Hair licking his lips appreciatively.

“I have to say, I picked a really good one. And I don’t even drink wine,” he said with a small laugh.

“It’s certainly better than the swill you brought last time. Couldn’t have even been called wine,” Mihawk noted. “More like someone dumped a bag of sugar into grape juice. If the people who created that insult of a drink even knew what grapes were.”

“Oh, shut up,” Shank hissed, his face twisting in fake annoyance.

And Mihawk… couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled out of his chest at the sight.

Immediately, Shanks’ expression brightened, a victorious spark in his eyes as if he had just won a hard life-and-death battle and Mihawk rolled his eyes. He seriously could be such a child. Why did he deal with him at all?

He supposed it was one of those things that would never make sense… and Mihawk wasn’t sure he even wanted it to make sense.

He didn’t fight it when Shanks’ knee forced its way onto Mihawk’s chair, wedging itself in between Mihaw’s thigh and the armrest; the man himself leaned forward, towering over Mihawk and caging him in place. It was funny, how natural feeling his warmth against him felt—were it anyone else, Mihawk’s skin would be crawling but with this man, this absolute menace on the world and Mihawk’s life… he didn’t mind it at all.

Instead, he welcomed it. 

He welcomed the warmth. He welcomed the weight on his legs—he wasn’t even sure when he had uncrossed them to accommodate the man who had decided to crawl into his lap as if he were a cat. He even welcomed the way his hands automatically came to rest on the sides of Red Hair’s thighs, thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of his pants.

And he welcomed the lips now hovering so close to his own.

Mihawk huffed in amusement; he could only imagine how the world would react to seeing the mighty Emperor of the Sea like this—sitting in his lap, basically begging for his touch, his lips. Too bad he was the only one who would ever see him this way.

It only took a split second for their lips to connect, the kiss hungry and desperate, as if they were trying to make up for the almost three months of separation in that single touch. They moved against each other with practised ease, Shanks’ lips stretching into a smile against Mihawk’s mouth. Despite himself… the gesture made Mihawk want to smile as well.

He let his hands wander, sliding up and down the man’s thighs before moving up, slipping underneath his loose and wrinkled dress shirt until he touched bare skin.

Shanks shivered under his touch, but seemingly determined not to lose, he let his tongue run slowly over Mihawk’s mouth, his teeth scraping lightly over his bottom lip—teasing, without deepening the kiss. Not pulling away even the slightest bit, Shanks started shuffling then, searching blindly with his hand behind himself—until something shattered.

And once Shanks’ hand came to rest against his cheek, the fingers stroking his skin gently before sliding into his hair… Mihawk was reminded of the wine glass that was—had been—in Shanks’ hand, now most likely lying broken into pieces with red wine spilling all over his expensive white fur carpet.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Mihawk said flatly against Shanks’ lips.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Shanks muttered, his breath caressing Mihawk’s cheek while his fingers curled in Mihawk’s hair to scratch his scalp gently, sending shivers of pleasure down the swordsman’s spine.

Gulping heavily to keep his voice level, Mihawk repeated, “You’re cleaning that up.”

“Fine. Tomorrow. But now shut up,” Red Hair hissed before he moved forward once more—only to bite Mihawk’s bottom lip in retaliation.

As if he had any right to retaliate after ruining the fucking carpet.

Mihawk was going to make sure it was either spotless by the time the menace left, or paid for in equal value with whatever means.

But right now, with said menace licking and sucking on his neck, he couldn’t say he cared. Right now, he only cared about those lips, the fingers tangled in his hair, and the soft skin of Shanks’ sides that seemed to be burning under Mihawk’s touch… and Shank's sweet, almost delicate moans as he pulled himself closer to grind against him. 

Moans so quiet that Mihawk could barely make them out—meant for his ears only.

And he was going to make sure he got enough of all of them, enough of Shanks tonight to make up for all the time they had spent apart.

—————

Zoro’s morning started just like any other. He woke up at 7 AM, got dressed and brushed his teeth, then it was straight to his usual twenty minute run around the island. After getting back two hours later, it was time for a quick shower—he didn’t see the point when he knew he was just going get sweaty again later but Perona could get fucking unbearable otherwise. She’d end up complaining endlessly about his sweaty brow, and even being on the same island with someone so ‘smelly’ and ‘disgusting’. He would really rather take a pointless shower than deal with one minute of that so he begrudgingly made his way to the bathroom before he could finally head to the kitchen for breakfast.

He wasn’t surprised to find Perona already sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of pancakes and a steaming cup of tea in front of her, the stupid ugly bear of hers sitting securely on her lap. Hawk Eyes was exactly where Zoro had expected him—standing at the stove, making the pancakes that Perona was happily shoving into her mouth as if they were the best meal she had ever eaten.

Zoro had to wonder just what kind of food the woman used to eat while at Thriller Bark. Sure, Hawk Eyes was a decent cook but nowhere as good as Curly. Zoro wasn’t sure if that said more about Perona's culinary experiences or Curly… but Zoro would be damned if he so much as admitted he might have possibly maybe kind of missed the asshole’s cooking.

Whatever.

“Good morning.” Zoro yawned, grabbing a pancake off of Perona’s plate as he passed by.

“Hey! Get your own!” Perona yelled instead of returning the greeting.

Hawk Eyes sighed, flipping the fresh pancake he was making. “Grab your own plate or you’re not getting any, Roronoa.”

Shoving the rest of the stolen pancake into his mouth, Zoro rolled his eyes, passing by Hawk Eyes to get some water since he was still being unjustly forced to live without alcohol. Soon, he would earn his right to have a goddamned beer, though. He’s almost got it, he was going to turn his blades black for sure. Any day now.

“Any sake in that fridge?” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him.

Zoro frowned, turning his head to the side to look over his shoulder to look at the man standing behind him—his red hair and that scar looked vaguely familiar but Zoro couldn’t for the life of him place that face. He was tall, his uncovered chest sported powerful, well defined muscles, his very presence making it obvious he was strong, much stronger than Zoro despite his missing left arm… but it wasn’t like that had ever stopped him.

“You talk about alcohol in front of me one more time and I’m going to cut you,” Zoro growled, full of annoyance as he slammed the fridge door shut.

“Scary,” the man laughed loudly before side stepping Zoro to get to the fridge.

Zoro simply rolled his eyes, deciding it wasn’t worth it getting mad over not being taken seriously. It was too damn early for that. So, instead, he walked away, taking a plate of Hawk Eyes’ pancakes before dropping into his designated chair opposite of Perona.

“So where are all the pumpkin pies I was promised?” the stranger asked then.

“Pantry,” Hawk Eyes replied absentmindedly while he poured hot water into a mug.

Perona’s eyes widened. “Are you giving out my pies for free?!” she asked, scandalised.

“Thank god. I’ve had enough pumpkin to last me till the next life,” Zoro muttered.

“Excuse me?!” Perona hissed, turning to glare at him instead.

Zoro simply ignored her, turning his attention back to his pancakes; they were sweet and he hated sweet things… but it was still worlds better than having to eat pumpkin pie for breakfast for the third time that week.

“Would you rather I throw them out, Ghost Girl?” Hawk Eyes asked flatly, making Perona puff up… before she deflated, begrudgingly admitting the man had a point.

The red haired man laughed loudly again. “So domestic. What a sweet little family.”

“Shut the hell up, Red Hair.” Hawk Eyes shot back, obviously not amused by the remark. 

“Sorry sorry,” the man apologised… yet his voice was still shaking with laughter when he walked off to drop into a chair next to Zoro at the table as if it were a normal Sunday.

It was only once Perona had to slap the man’s hand away from her plate that something seemed to click in her mind and she froze. She didn’t move at all for a long while, simply staring at the stranger who was trying to steal her breakfast exactly the same way Zoro had earlier… until her mouth fell open and she slammed her hands at the table as she shot up from her chair.

“Shanks?!” she screeched. “‘Red Hair’ Shanks?!”

The man blinked, obviously taken aback by the sudden development. “Uh yeah?” he tried uncertainly.

“Oh my god,” she said, her hands flying up to slap at her cheeks; maybe trying to get herself to wake up from a dream.

Zoro, on the other hand, tilted his head to the side as he looked at Perona, then the red haired man, then at Perona again. Shanks. Why did that sound familiar?

Wait.

“Shanks as in the Emperor?” he asked, voice full of disbelief even to his own ears.

At that, Shanks laughed. It was a full-blown, unrestrained laughter, one that reminded Zoro of his own captain. But Luffy wasn’t there; instead, one of the strongest, most powerful people in the world was sitting next to him, laughing so hard he could barely breathe while Zoro and Perona just sat there, staring at him like he was a mirage—or maybe a hallucination.

Maybe those stupid pumpkin pies had gone bad sooner than they had thought and now they were all suffering from food poisoning? That honestly seemed more plausible that an Emperor of the Sea sitting in their fucking kitchen.

“What is ‘Red Hair’ Shanks doing in our kitchen?! Why?! What’s going on?!” Perona rattled off, seemingly on the verge of hysterics.

“Stop screaming, Ghost Girl,” Hawk Eyes said with annoyance as he approached them. “This is my kitchen, be glad I didn’t kick you out. Here, your coffee,” he added, putting a steaming mug in front of the fucking Emperor of the Sea.

Or more like milk with a splash of coffee. Disgusting.

A soft smile spread on Shanks’ face at that. “Thanks, love,” he said, catching Mihawk’s wrist before he could walk away—

And Zoro and Perona could only watch with wide eyes as Shanks let go of Mihawk’s hand only to continue further up the man’s arm, moving gently over the thin fabric of his shirt until he touched bare skin. But Shanks didn’t stop there—he let his hand move higher still, his fingers sliding behind Mihawk’s neck and tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, closer… until their lips connected.

It was a chaste kiss, almost innocent—if not for the familiarity of it, and the unspoken intimacy that made even Zoro blush.

Zoro could swear it took a full hour before the two pulled away, Hawk Eyes clicking his tongue in annoyance even while the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

As he stared at the two of them, suddenly he started noticing more. There was a suspicious dark bruise on Hawk Eyes’ neck just below his ear. The angry red scratches on Shanks’ back that he had previously thought were barely healed scars now looked closer to claw marks. And was that an actual bite mark on the Emperor’s shoulder?

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his eyes then caught something white contrasting against Shanks’ red hair and he frowned, squinting slightly at the Emperor. Was that whipped cream behind his ear?

No. 

Nope. Absolutely not.

Zoro decided he didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to know about it. Didn’t want to see it. If he closed his eyes, if he just didn’t look…

It simply wasn’t happening.

But then, Perona’s distressed voice echoed around the kitchen again. “What the hell is going on?” she asked. When Zoro glanced at her, she looked like she was about to stab the two old men with her tea spoon just to get out of this situation.

Zoro couldn’t blame her.

“You see,” Red Hair started, “when two people love each other very much—”

“AHHHHHH! Negative Hollow!!” Perona screamed before Shanks could get another word in.

Zoro would be lying if he said watching the mighty, powerful Emperor of the Sea slump onto the table lifelessly, mumbling something about shrimps and plankton wasn’t satisfying—if completely surreal—but he didn’t even have the mind to appreciate it. He had learnt more about Hawk Eyes than he ever wanted to in the last two minutes and he wondered if there was a way to erase his memory.

As he robotically stood and left the kitchen without a word, heading for another ten minute run which would hopefully last a few hours—long enough to clear his head—he nostalgically thought back to the time when the worst of his problems was Nami threatening to double the interest on his loan if he dared to sleep through another snow storm.

Just one more year, he thought.

Just one more year and he could go on to pretend that had never seen 'Red Hair' Shanks in his life, ever, and certainty hadn't seen him half-naked, with a lazy just-fucked grin on his face in their fucking kitchen.

He could only hope there would never be a repeat of this morning—for the sake of his own sanity and limited ability to erase things from his memory.

[inkbotsjunkyard]

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🦩FLAMINGO SIGHTING AT THE GALA

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Preview of my piece for @opdilfzine! I was very glad to be able to do some Goth Family Shenanigans!

[chenziee]

Love Like Fire

Last one of my @opdilfzine fics! This one is in the digital add-on again :D

Aftersales are open until the end of August so you can still get a digital copy! 👀 Meanwhile, please enjoy some pineapple flambé 🍍🔥

[ Read on AO3 | Ko-Fi ]

—————

Days on the Moby Dick usually passed by quietly. The only excitement lately were the occasional navy attacks—or raids by pirates too young and too naive to realise they stood no chance against the main force of the Whitebeard Pirates. Incidents like that might have been few and far between but even so, they always made Marco smile. They reminded him of how Ace became a part of the family and although he wasn’t the only one of them to come on board by challenging Edward Newgate himself… he was by far the easiest one to tease about it.

And tease they did—to the point that Ace would even refuse to talk to them for the rest of the day sometimes, instead choosing to hang out with Deuce or Kotatsu over his brothers. And over Marco.

Sometimes, Marco felt bad about it but then he would look at Ace’s puffed up cheeks, the embarrassed look in his eyes, and the adorably flushed face… and he would instead feel fondness burn in his chest like quiet blue fire, warming him up from the very core and all the way to his fingertips.

Sometimes, he felt bad about that, too, but then he would feel Ace’s lips stretching into a smile against his own and all doubt—or thought—would go straight out the window right along with any more teasing remarks.

Maybe it wasn't fair, tying Ace up to a much older man like himself but well… Ace wasn't the type to do anything against his will or take no for an answer. Not when he really wanted something and not when he knew the other person wanted him too. And Marco was too weak to those freckles, as well as to the fire burning behind those eyes.

Honestly, Ace didn't have to fight Marco very hard to convince him.

That was how they ended up ‘always annoying’ the rest of their family to no end with their ‘flirting’ and ‘no consideration for us poor single bastards’. Now, that was something Marco didn’t feel bad about in the least. Honestly, watching his brothers lose their minds over them was about as funny as teasing Ace was.

It was probably only a matter of time before Marco realised there was a way to get both reactions at once. He only didn't expect it to be quite this simple… or this effective.

"Babe, can you hold this for me, yoi?" Marco said during one of Pop's check ups on deck, handing out his medical chart in Ace's general direction.

Ace's eyes blew wide at the pet name, gaping at Marco with his mouth hanging open as he stared up at him owlishly from where he was sitting on the deck next to him, not moving a muscle.

"Babe?" Marco tried again when he got no response.

Only then did Ace move, his movements robotic and stiff as he ripped the medical chart out of Marco's hand. "Shut up," he muttered, trying to sound annoyed but only coming off embarrassed.

"Yes, Marco. Shut up, I beg you," Haruta agreed, going so far as to make a show of covering his ears.

A smirk pulled on Marco's lips. Ignoring Haruta as well as Pops's loud laughter, he instead turned to his boyfriend. "Ace, are you weak to pet names?"

Immediately, Ace’s face flushed bright red. There was a beat of silence, one too long to be considered natural, before Ace finally replied, “No.”

It sounded so defiant, so pouty, while Ace refused to even look at anyone… that Marco burst out laughing.

That was honestly a better reaction all around than he had hoped—both from Ace and Haruta. He wondered… how far could he push before he got thrown overboard?

And that was how his little game started.

“Darling, did you want anything from the kitchen, yoi?” he asked a day later as he got up from his chair in the medical room.

“No, but thank you,” Izo answered immediately while fastening his kimono after his check up. There was a smirk playing on his lips that betrayed the fact that he knew exactly who Marco was talking to.

Marco bit back a laugh. “I don’t recall you sneaking into my cabin at questionable hours in the morning, yoi,” he told the gunman instead.

At that, Izo made a face, rolling his eyes before he left the room with a dramatic swish of his coat.

Marco chuckled before turning to Ace, who was once again sitting frozen—this time in the patient’s chair where he had been lounging, keeping Marco company while he worked. Marco took in the sight his boyfriend made right then; his head was resting against his knees where he had been quite obviously sleeping up until that moment but now he was wide awake, a look in his eyes as if Thatch had just caught him sneaking into the fridge at three in the morning again. His hair was messy but looked as soft as ever, making Marco want to run his fingers through it, to feel the strands sliding through his fingers like silk. And finally… there was that adorable blush.

The corners of Marco’s mouth twitched upwards as he returned Ace’s stare with his own.

“I’m going to get some coffee, yoi,” he noted after a moment. “Did you want a snack?”

Only then did Ace look away, closing his eyes momentarily as he shook his head, seemingly trying to clear it. “I could use some food,” he mumbled, uncharacteristically quiet.

Hearing, seeing him like that… Marco finally burst out laughing. Ignoring Ace’s half-hearted glare, Marco stepped forward, reaching out to ruffle Ace’s hair. “As you command, my prince.”

“Fuck off.” Ace slapped his hand away as he growled, a hint of annoyance finally making it to his voice.

“My princess, then?” Marco suggested.

His only response was a fistful of sparks in his face.

—————

"Are you trying to kill Ace?" Vista asked Marco a few days later over a mug of beer.

"I don't know what you mean, yoi," Marco replied, being careful not to let any signs of amusement show.

Vista gave him an unimpressed look. “You’re a little shit.”

“Maybe,” Marco conceded. “But you can’t deny he’s cute, yoi.”

“Yes I can. Because I, as opposed to some other people, am not hopelessly in love with a few freckles.”

Marco rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his sake, “Oh come on, you know it’s not the freckles, yoi. Not only anyway.”

“Not going to deny the ‘hopelessly in love’ part?”

Marco huffed. “Would you believe me if I did?”

Finally, Vista laughed. He shook his head at Marco, giving him a look so full of amused disbelief that Marco had to laugh as well. “Point taken. Just don’t make him set the ship on fire or something."

—————

Marco was honestly a little disappointed when after a week, instead of Vista’s prediction, both Ace and their brothers seemed to have gotten used to Marco’s teasing. Adorable blushes were replaced by annoyed looks, mumbled ‘shut up’s replaced by sighs, dramatic fake gagging replaced by silence.

He supposed that was the end of his fun. But he wasn’t about to give up—not without a fight.

It was time to step up his game.

Those were the sentiments he felt when he walked into Moby Dick’s kitchen one morning during breakfast. He took in the sight of his brothers sitting around the dining tables while the cooks ran around, refilling plates and water pitchers and scolding anyone who didn’t finish their food.

He quickly walked through the room, passing by the group where Teech was loudly complaining about the lack of fights lately while stuffing his face with a cherry pie—as if having a few weeks to relax once in a while was a bad thing—and made his way to his usual table with the other division commanders.

He wasn’t surprised to find most of them there already; Izo holding his chopsticks like they were an artistic instrument, elegance in his every movement while Rakuyo next to him bit into his meat like a caveman, with the rest of them falling somewhere on the scale in between. The only exceptions were Thatch cooking behind the counter, Namur on watch duty, Jozu, who was presumably still sleeping, and finally, Ace.

Ace, who was sitting at the table with a spoon dripping porridge in hand while his head rested on the table, the man clearly having fallen asleep in the middle of eating again. At least someone had been paying enough attention this time to pull his bowl away before he drowned. 

That would be one stupid way to die for a man with a 550 million bounty on his head.

Chuckling to himself, Marco made his way to his designated seat. He wasn’t even sure when the others had started leaving the chair next to Ace open for him but he still appreciated the gesture. It was very sweet, even though it came with teasing remarks and stupid jokes.

“Good morning, yoi,” he greeted as he sat down.

“Morning,” everyone echoed with varying degrees of energy behind it.

A smile pulling on his lips, Marco reached out towards Ace, running his fingers gently through his soft, thick hair until his boyfriend stirred, a sleepy hum escaping him. Marco huffed, leaning forward to press a kiss to Ace’s hair. “Morning, love.”

“Hm. G’morning,” Ace slurred before he finally sat up.

“Coffee?” Marco asked just like he did every morning.

“Please.” Ace yawned loudly, looking like he was about to fall right back to sleep.

Marco stood up again with an amused huff passing through his lips. It wasn’t like coffee would help much with Ace’s narcolepsy, they both knew—but it wasn’t like that was ever the point of their morning coffee ritual. Just having something warm to drink while they would quietly listen to the others’ chatter, Ace dozing away while resting his head on Marco’s shoulder… that was more than enough.

He didn’t even have to say anything; the moment he approached the kitchen counter, the distinct aroma hit Marco’s nose as Thatch put two steaming mugs in front of him. Ah, the beauty of morning rituals.

Nodding at Thatch in thanks, Marco grabbed the mugs and walked back toward his seat, placing one of the mugs in front of Ace. “Here you go, daddy.”

“Thanks,” Ace muttered absent mindedly while the entire kitchen went deathly silent.

Marco bit on his bottom lip to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out of his chest inside. It was hard though, considering the looks of pure horror on everyone’s faces as they openly stared at them, as well as the fact that Ace apparently had not yet processed what Marco had said. He honestly wasn’t sure which was funnier.

“Here you go what?!” Blenheim asked, his voice but a high pitched squeak.

“Please tell me he didn’t just say that,” Vista begged.

“I did not hear anything. Nope. Nothing. Nothing at all.” Haruta was covering his ears once again, muttering to himself assurances of denial.

On the other hand… Pops two tables over simply laughed as if he had just heard the most hilarious joke ever—earning himself many glares from seemingly traumatised crewmembers. Glares which only made the man laugh harder. “Way to go, Ace! That’s my son!” he called.

At that, Ace finally looked up from his coffee; he blinked once, then twice, looking around the room in confusion until his gaze fell on Marco. He opened his mouth, probably to ask what the hell was going on but then he closed it again as his eyes went wide and a light turned on inside his head. And then, Marco was blessed to witness all the blood in Ace's body racing to his face. It was honestly impressive, the speed and intensity at which his face turned bright red…

And finally, Marco burst out laughing at the sight. He couldn’t help it. It was just so funny seeing Ace of all people so embarrassed. He was usually very devil-may-care about everything—everything but pet names… and the word daddy, apparently.

Marco really should have tried this sooner.

The longer he looked at Ace’s face, meeting his glare unashamedly, the redder Ace got. And everyone kept laughing at the sight… until Mraco noticed a flickering light from somewhere around where Ace’s butt was meeting the wood of his chair—light that was getting brighter, clearer, stronger with each passing second. And then…

Ace was on fire.

—————

It took about an hour to clean up the kitchen after that and then another hour for Thatch to stop yelling at them both. Thankfully, Ace didn’t manage to actually set anything on fire but his chair, as well as the part of the table he was sitting at, was badly charred and hardly usable anymore. They would need to replace both, the cost taken from what would have been their portions of the treasure they’d get from their next pirating endeavour. And the one after that and probably the one after that too.

And still, Marco’s only thought was ‘worth it.’

“I can’t believe you actually self-combusted, yoi.” Marco could barely speak in between his bouts of laughter.

“Oh fuck you,” Ace groaned, throwing himself on Marco's bed. “You got me fucking grounded for no reason. What’s wrong with you?”

Marco gulped heavily, trying to keep his amusement down. “Come on, you have to admit it’s funny. If it were anyone else, you’d be laughing too! Also I got grounded right along with you, yoi,” he pointed out as he sat down on the bed next to Ace.

“As you fucking should. It was entirely your fault,” Ace hissed with a glare.

“I’m not the one who almost set the ship on fire, yoi,” Marco pointed out, then reached out with one of his hands to brush Ace’s hair away from his eyes.

He was surprised his hand wasn’t slapped away; instead, Ace leaned into his touch, his own hand coming up to grab Marco’s and keep it in place against his cheek before he shot Marco a look. “I’m not the one saying embarrassing shit in front of everyone.”

“Oh so it’s okay if I do it in private?” Marco asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ace didn’t say anything to that. His eyes veered off to the side, chewing on his bottom lip while his grip on Marco’s hand tightened… and Marco felt warmth pooling in his chest, spreading in all directions and all the way to his fingertips. Ace was honestly so—

“Okay, I will tell you as many times as you want, yoi,” Marco mumbled, leaning  down to press a kiss to Ace’s forehead. “You’re so cute.” A kiss to his cheek. “Handsome.” The other cheek. “So precious to me.” Nose. “If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.” Adam’s apple.

Ace gulped heavily, Marco could only assume to try and keep down an embarrassed squeak—or maybe a moan. Marco only smiled against Ace’s skin while he traced kisses back up the slope of Ace’s neck.

“I love you.” 

Mouth.

Ace sighed into the kiss, their lips moulding together as if made for this. They moved slowly, gently against each other, the touch sending shivers down Marco’s spine. It didn’t matter how many times they did this; it would always feel like that first time on Moby Dick’s stern, the ocean breeze blowing past them and causing Ace’s hair to get in between them, completely ruining the moment.

It was honestly horrible—yet at the same time, it was the best kiss they had ever shared.

A kiss full of laughter and built up emotion, warm and so very sweet and Marco would never forget the feeling. Would never forget how Ace made him feel—so much happier, so much stronger than anyone else ever had.

He really, truly loved this man; he was young, passionate and hot-headed, yet so very insecure in his worth. And it was in that moment that Marco decided; he would always be there to remind Ace just how important he was. How loved he was. 

Not only by Marco, but Pops and their brothers as well.

“I love you,” Marco repeated, his words but a whisper against Ace’s skin.

“Shut up already,” Ace breathed back as his arms circled around Marco’s neck to pull him closer.

Marco grinned against Ace’s lips, stubbornly saying the words one last time.

“I love you, daddy.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Oh my god, stop!” Ace groaned, pushing Marco away half-heartedly.

He was obviously trying to sound annoyed, going so far as to roll his eyes dramatically… but his voice was shaking with badly suppressed laughter, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as his face threatened to split into that bright, sunny smile that always warmed Marco up to the very core.

And Marco, seeing the amused sparks in his eyes, the blush on his beautiful, freckled face, the dimples on his soft cheeks…

He didn’t hesitate in taking another taste of those warm, sweet lips.

—————

Marco woke up the next morning to fingers lightly running across his skin—caressing his face as if to memorise its features… and just like every day, Marco marvelled at the irony of Ace being the first to wake up.

And just like every day, he pretended to be asleep just a little bit longer.

It was only once Ace moved on to play with his hair that Marco stirred, blinking up at his lover lazily. “Good morning, love,” he said softly, voice barely above whisper.

“Mn,” Ace hummed back, his lips curling into a smirk. “Morning, Pineapple.”

“Really?” Marco snorted. “That’s the best you could come up with, yoi?”

Ace’s smirk only widened. “That's the best start. This is war now.”

A beat of silence passed while Marco met Ace’s gaze, studying his expression to gauge how serious he was. But, upon finding nothing but stubborn, bright red flame of determination behind those dark eyes, he huffed and shook his head.

“What does the winner get?” Marco asked. He could feel his own blue, quiet flame growing in response to Ace’s challenge.

“Satisfaction,” Ace replied immediately but then shrugged. “Also a blow job, I guess?”

Marco laughed. It was just so childish and stupid and ridiculous to hold a competition like this; who in their right mind would even agree? With that in mind, Marco’s answer was clear.

“Deal.”

He only questioned his own age for a second before that cursed smile appeared on Ace’s face once more and then… nothing else even mattered anymore.

Without even pausing to think about it, he reached out towards Ace, letting his fingers gently slide up and down the smooth, naked skin of Ace’s side. He took great pleasure in the shiver that visibly ran down Ace’s spine under his touch.

"How about a pre-victory prize, yoi?" Marco asked, his lips curling into a smirk of his own.

"For me? Sure," Ace responded with a cheeky wink before he leaned down to press his lips to Marco's… but then pulled away immediately. "God your breath is terrible."

Marco rolled his eyes. "As if yours is any better, yoi.”

"Fair," Ace laughed, then leaned down once more for a proper kiss.

Just as they were slowly losing themselves in each other, they were interrupted by shouting from the deck and loud cries full of excitement at the news.

"Thatch found a devil fruit!!"

[chenziee]

Protect her right

My piece for @opdilfzine!! So honoured to have been able to work on this amazing project with so many talented people <3 Aftersales are open right now but stuff is disapprearing really fast so don't hesitate to check it out!

I wrote two more fics for the digital add-on that i'm excited to share soon as well!! :D

[ READ ON AO3 | KO-FI ]

Alternate summary:

—————————————————————————

Making his way through the snow-covered lands of Ringo with fried tofu in hand, Kawamatsu the Kappa couldn’t help but remember the last time he had walked this same path. Back then, he couldn’t appreciate how pretty the winter region looked with its small shrines and toriis, snow sparkling in the sun above.

Thirteen years ago, he was looking only at his feet, searching for a place to rest for the final time. He had ignored the way Sotomuso cried at his waist, the blade knowing its master was ready to atone for his failure, yet unable to do anything.

It was a twist of fate that had brought him to the eternal graves just as the graverobbers had attacked Onimaru. He truly owed the flame-fox—and ironically, the robbers—his life.

Kawamatsu wasn’t expecting Onimaru to still be waiting for him… but he hoped he was doing well despite having been left alone.

He looked up at the sound of steel clashing together. Fighting on the Bandit’s Bridge… that brought back memories. The thought of Gyukimaru and Onimaru protecting the graveyard just beyond—it made Kawamatsu smile.

But, looking at the warrior monk and samurai crossing blades, it didn’t seem like the same scene from years before. His hand closed around Sotomuso’s hilt—the blade’s presence familiar as if it had never left his side—and slowly pulled it out of its scabbard.

“Cease this fight!” he called, throwing Sotomuso towards the battle that lacked any bloodlust.

He only huffed when the samurai stopped the shirasaya as if it were nothing before throwing the blade back. It was reassuring, seeing that the Land of Wano wasn’t completely void of capable samurai after all these years.

A laugh bubbled out of his chest as he caught Sotomuso in his hand once more. “What do I find here? A samurai and a monk, doing battle in this remote place? Yet neither of you is trying to kill the other. A curious sight!”

“Kawamatsu?!” a woman’s voice cried out then. “Is that you?!”

Kawamatsu frowned, his gaze turning in the direction the voice had come from—a young woman hiding behind a tree; her hair long and turquoise in colour, her features soft and pretty, her eyes wide with shock where she stared right at Kawamatsu.

The samurai felt a pang of nostalgia looking at her… but why?

“How do you know my name?” he asked.

Tears appeared in the woman’s eyes when she covered her mouth. “Kawamatsu!” she gasped, taking a step forward, then another, and another. Soon, she was rushing towards him; as soon as she was close enough, she buried her face in Kawamatsu’s chest, her shoulders shaking as she clutched at the fabric of his kimono.

Kawamatsu wasn’t sure what to do. Just who was this person? He had been in prison for thirteen years. If she had known him before… she had to have been quite young.

There was only one young girl who knew him well enough.

Kawamatsu’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open, heart beating fast in his chest. He gulped heavily, his hands coming to gingerly touch the woman’s trembling shoulders.

“Don’t tell me—” he paused, taking a deep breath. “Don’t tell me you’re… Hiyori-sama?”

Immediately, the woman lifted her head. She looked up at him with big eyes that glistened with unshed tears, her lips stretched into a bright smile. “Yes! I’m so happy to see you safe!”

The moment he looked into those eyes, it was like he was thrown back in time.

Suddenly, he was back at Oden Castle with tiny hands clutching at his webbed fingers as the little human girl learned to walk. A smile spreading on his face in response to the adorable grin she would give him any time he’d accept one of her lovingly folded origami creations—a ball, a crane, a fox, or even just a simple boat.

He could almost hear a shamisen playing, the song clumsy and slow, the instrument a little too big for the four year old thrumming at its strings with utmost focus. Even while she was still learning, the melody was already so beautiful. Kawamatsu wondered… How sweet would it sound today?

“Hiyori-sama…” Kawamatsu breathed, barely audible. “To see you alive and well is the greatest gift I could imagine.”

The fists clutching at his kimono tightened momentarily at his words while the Princess buried her face in the fabric, a sob escaping her. “I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m so sorry for running away!”

With every tearful word from her, Kawamatsu felt the weight that had been resting on his shoulders for the past 13 years lifting little by little. He couldn’t believe how terribly kind Hiyori-sama was even at such a young age—to leave all for fear of her retainer going hungry. A kind of warmth gathered in Kawamatsu’s chest, spreading throughout his body to the very tips of his fingers. He barely felt the chill of the wind blowing past them anymore.

Just to see Hiyori-sama again, grown up into such a wonderful, kind young lady—

Deciding to stay alive for all those years, eating every disgusting, poisonous fish thrown his way… it was all worth it just for that.

He had failed to keep her safe once before.

This time, he was not going to make the same mistake.

No matter how many of Orochi’s or Kaido’s men came after them, no matter how little food he would be able to find, this time…

This time, he was going to protect her right.

And he was going to start with taking Kaido down along with the rest of the Kozuki samurai.

—————

Kawamatsu wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting at the edges of the ongoing festival, simply watching the crowds celebrate the fall of Orochi and Kaido’s tyrannical rule. He could hardly believe it had only been a little over a week, a mere ten days, since he had been reunited with the Princess.

Even just the battle of Onigashima itself felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. Yet, the remains of the island were still lying beyond the Flower Capital’s borders, a reminder of all the pain, suffering, and loss that they had gone through. A reminder of the disaster that they had barely avoided only thanks to Momonosuke-sama and Luffytaro.

A reminder that dawn had finally come to the Land of Wano.

“Kon!”

Kawamatsu laughed at the happy yip. Turning his head to look at the flame-fox sitting by his side, he placed a hand on Onimaru’s head, running his fingers through his soft fur. “Are you excited, Onimaru? We can put the swords to rest again now.”

With another yip, Onimaru tilted his chin up, leaning into Kawamatsu’s hand for more scratches, and a wide smile spread on Kawamatsu’s face at the sight. It reminded him of the old days—only now, there was no biting cold, no graves to rob, and no danger of capture.

No need for Kawamatsu to hide his face and no need to steal food.

Suddenly, Onimaru jumped up to his feet, fully alert. Kawamatsu almost reached for Sotomuso but then he noticed Onimaru’s tail wagging, his mouth open as he panted happily, his eyes short of sparkling and he could only let go of a relieved sigh as he relaxed again.

He smiled when a young woman carrying a woven basket approached them a minute later, a warm smile of her own on her lips as she kneeled in front of the fox. “Your name is Onimaru, right? Do you like fried tofu?”

“Kon kon!!” Onimaru yipped, tapping his feet in excitement.

Kawamatsu hummed. “Good for you, Onimaru. Your favourite!”

Hiyori-sama chuckled before picking up one of the tofu pieces and handing it to Onimaru—who finished his treat in two bites only to stare intently at the Princess, begging for another piece.

“Here you go,” Hiyori-sama said, placing the basket full of tofu in front of Onimaru.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Princess?” Kawamatsu asked once she sat next to him on the grass.

“I am!” There was a bright smile on her face when she nodded. “It feels like life is coming back to the country.”

“We need to properly thank Luffytaro and his friends!” Kawamatsu laughed.

“What are you talking about?!” Hiyori-sama cried, her cheeks puffing up. “What about you and Denjiro and everyone else?!”

Kawamatsu blinked as she went on, poking the kappa in his chest with her perfectly manicured finger.

“I’m sorry,” Kawamatsu said with barely suppressed amusement at the sight she made right then. Somehow… no matter how old she got, she would always be that little girl pouting because Oden-sama stole her favourite kappamaki at the dinner table.

She huffed defiantly as if reading his thoughts but then her face split in a soft smile once more when she looked at her retainer. “Thank you, Kawamatsu. For everything.”

Kawamatsu blinked, completely stunned for a moment… until a happy laugh bubbled out of his chest. “It’s an honour, Hiyori-sama.”