Sep 9, 2025
flashback gang
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flashback gang
Made another for this AU
You Promised Pt 6
Luffy has his brother back!
First < Previous > Next
A Promise Worth Crossing the Sea For
Reader x Shanks
Based on anon request
Plot: Newly named Emperor Shanks visits the Moby Dick to honor a childhood promise
The Moby Dick went quiet the moment Red-Haired Shanks stepped onto the deck.
Shanks had come alone.
He crossed the gangplank with one hand resting at his side, his mouth curved in that lazy, infuriating smile.
Marco was the first to move.
He stepped into Shanks’s path, arms folded over his chest. “You lost?”
Shanks looked around the deck, taking in the familiar white sails, the division commanders, the younger men staring too openly, the older ones who remembered too much.
“No,” he said. “Still looks about the same.”
“That wasn’t an invitation to reminisce.”
Shanks laughed under his breath. “Good to see you too, Marco.”
From the upper deck, Whitebeard’s laugh rolled down like thunder.
“Gurararara. Let him through.”
Shanks walked forward like he had every right to be there. Men moved out of his path. A few hands stayed near weapons. He did not spare them a glance. His gaze lifted to Whitebeard, seated in his great chair.
“Newgate.”
Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed slightly beneath the crescent of his mustache.
“Red-Hair.”
A few of the younger pirates shifted at the title. It was still new enough to taste strange in the air.
Yonko. Emperor.
Shanks only smiled wider.
Whitebeard reached for his sake. “You’ve got nerve walking onto my ship without your crew.”
“I figured if I brought them, you’d think I came for a fight.”
“And if you come alone, I’m supposed to think you came for tea?”
“I was hoping for sake.”
Someone snorted.
Marco did not.
Whitebeard drank, then lowered the bottle. “Say what you came to say.”
Shanks’s smile softened into something almost polite.
“I came to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The deck went dead.
Then all at once, it erupted.
“What?”
“Did he say marriage?”
“Is he drunk?”
“He looks sober.”
Marco’s head turned slowly toward him. “You want to repeat that?”
Shanks glanced at him. “Sure. I came to ask—”
“No,” Marco said. “Don’t.”
Whitebeard did not move.
For one long moment, he simply stared at Shanks.
Then his grin widened.
“Gurararara.”
The laugh shook the deck.
A few men relaxed.
A few did not.
Shanks stood there patiently, one hand resting on the hilt at his hip, looking pleased with himself.
You had been halfway down from the aft stairs when the words reached you.
Your hand tightened around the railing.
That smug bastard.
You descended the rest of the steps with enough force that three nearby pirates wisely moved aside before you reached the main deck.
Shanks saw you coming.
His face lit up.
That was the worst part. Not the title. Not the arrogance.
It was the way he smiled at you.
Like he had been waiting for this.
“There’s my girl,” Shanks said warmly.
You stopped several feet from him. “No.”
Shanks looked pleased to see you angry. “I wondered how fast you would come down.”
“Fast enough to stop you.”
“You’re a little late for that.”
“You asked my father before asking me.”
“I did.”
“In front of everyone.”
His smile softened at the edges. “I wanted witnesses.”
Your face heated. “You wanted an audience.”
His eyes moved over your face, and your stomach tightened before you could stop it. You hated that too. Hated that he could still look at you like the boy who used to lean too close just to see if you would shove him.
He looked different now. Broader through the shoulders. Stronger. The boyish charm had not disappeared; it had gotten worse. Sharper at the edges. Harder to ignore.
But his eyes were the same.
Bright. Wicked. Patient.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Whitebeard leaned back in his chair, watching you both with open amusement.
“My daughter says no.”
Shanks did not look away from you. “I haven’t asked her yet.”
“You asked me,” Whitebeard said.
“Tradition.”
“You care about tradition now?” you snapped.
Shanks placed a hand over his heart. “I have always respected sacred promises.”
Marco made a sound of disgust.
Shanks’s attention returned to you at once. “You remember what you promised me.”
You went still.
“You were twelve.”
“And deeply committed.”
Someone near the mast choked on a laugh.
Your face heated. “Do not encourage him.”
Shanks turned slightly, addressing the watching crew with the casual confidence of a man about to make everything worse. “For the record, she said yes.”
“I was eleven! And I wanted the bracelet.”
Shanks’s smile softened. “I know.”
You remembered the bracelet. Cheap silver, bent slightly at the clasp, much too big for your wrist. Shanks had pressed it into your hand and told you that when he became a great pirate captain, you had to marry him.
You had laughed in his face.
Then you had let him put the bracelet on you anyway.
You had worn it for three days before your father noticed and asked where it came from. You had lied badly. Shanks had lied worse. Roger had laughed so hard he had nearly fallen off a barrel.
Whitebeard’s voice cut through the noise. “Red-Hair.”
Shanks finally looked back at him.
The amusement on Whitebeard’s face remained, but his eyes had sharpened.
“You became an emperor and decided your first act would be to walk onto my ship and ask to marry my daughter?”
Shanks shrugged lightly. “Not my first act.”
“Careful.”
The word cracked across the deck.
The laughter died.
Shanks did not flinch. His smile stayed, but the ease left his face.
“I came because I said I would,” Shanks said.
Your breath caught despite yourself.
Whitebeard watched him.
Shanks continued, voice still easy, but quieter now. “Took longer than I thought.”
You stared at him.
The deck felt too exposed. Too crowded. Every brother, every commander, every curious fool aboard seemed to be listening with their whole body.
You hated him for that too.
For making a spectacle.
For making your heart react before your pride could stop it.
One sentence from him, and there you were again: a red-haired boy grinning at you after you had kissed him behind a stack of crates and shoved him so hard he fell into them.
The woman you were now knew better.
The woman you were now knew Shanks was dangerous in ways the boy had only pretended to be.
So you lifted your chin.
“And what if I refuse?”
Shanks’s eyes warmed.
“Then I’ll ask again later.”
A wave of groans rose from the crew.
You closed your eyes for one second. “Unbelievable.”
Marco stepped between you and Shanks just enough to make a point. “Or you could leave her alone.”
Shanks looked past him at you. “I could.”
“You should,” Marco said.
Shanks’s smile tilted. “That depends on what she says.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
You stepped forward before he could say anything else. His smile softened when you came near.
Your pulse jumped.
You hated that most of all.
“Private,” you said.
Shanks blinked once. “What?”
“If you came all this way to make a fool of yourself, you can do it without an audience.”
His grin returned. “So there is a conversation.”
“There is a warning.”
“I like warnings.”
“Then listen carefully.”
Marco made another disgusted sound.
You reached out, grabbed the front of Shanks’s cloak, and pulled him down just enough that his smile stopped being quite so easy.
The deck erupted again.
You ignored them.
“You will stop smiling,” you said under your breath, “or I will let Marco throw you overboard.”
Shanks straightened, still watching you. “Lead the way.”
You turned sharply and started toward the aft corridor.
Behind you, Marco muttered, “I don’t like this.”
Whitebeard laughed into his sake.
“She’ll handle him.”
You did not look back.
You already knew Shanks was following.
You could feel his smile at your back the whole way.
——————————
Your room was close enough to the upper deck that you could still hear the muffled noise of the crew outside.
You opened the door, stepped inside, and waited.
Shanks followed you inside.
You shut the door hard enough that the frame rattled.
His gaze moved to the bed.
Then to you.
His smile widened. “I have to admit, this is not where I thought the proposal would take me.”
You picked up the letter opener from your desk.
Shanks glanced at the blade and gave a quiet laugh.
“Fair.”
Shanks leaned back against the closed door.
You tightened your arms around yourself. “Why now?”
Shanks did not answer immediately.
Outside, someone laughed. The sound carried through the door, then faded.
“Because I meant what I said.”
Your throat tightened.
“You don’t know me anymore.”
His answer came quietly.
“No.”
Shanks had not moved from near the door. That alone made you pause.
“I don’t know you the way I used to,” he said. “I know that.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Asking for the chance to know you again.”
He said it plainly. No grin. No joke tucked behind the words.
That was harder to fight.
“You really expect me to believe you came all this way because of something we said as children?”
“No.”
That answer stopped you.
Shanks looked at you. “I came because I never stopped thinking about you.”
You looked away first, furious with yourself for needing the second it took to recover.
“You’re assuming there’s something left to find.”
“I’m hoping.”
The quiet honesty of it took some of the fight out of you, and you hated him for that too.
Shanks’s eyes stayed on yours. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Shanks reached into the inside of his cloak.
You stiffened.
He paused, brow lifting. “If I were going to draw a weapon in your bedroom, I’d be doing this much worse.”
“You are very close to being hit.”
“I did assume that was still on the table.”
He pulled out a small box.
You stared at it.
Shanks glanced down at the box, then back at you. “Before you accuse me of stealing it, I paid for this one.”
Then he opened the box.
The bracelet inside was not cheap silver. It was gold, delicate but solid, worked in a pattern of small linked waves. A single red stone sat at the clasp.
It was beautiful.
That irritated you immediately.
Shanks looked down at it with a small, almost self-conscious smile.
“An upgrade,” he said.
You looked up at him.
The humor had not left his face completely, but it had softened into something quieter.
“I don’t remember the old one being this nice,” he said.
“It wasn’t.”
The answer slipped out too quickly.
Shanks’s eyes lifted to yours.
You realized your mistake a second too late.
His smile changed.
“You kept it.”
You looked away.
He did not say it like a victory. He said it like he remembered the day he had given it to you.
You folded your arms tighter, but it did nothing to help. “It was ugly.”
“It nearly fell off twice before lunch.”
“You noticed?”
Shanks’s smile warmed. “I was twelve. You wearing it was the most important thing that had ever happened to me.”
You had no sharp answer ready.
Shanks looked back down at the new bracelet. His thumb brushed the edge of the box.
“Last time, I gave you something cheap and acted like it was enough because I was a kid and I didn’t know better.” He looked at you again. “I know better now.”
The room went quiet.
“You think expensive gold fixes your entrance?”
“No.” The edge of his smile returned. “But it does make me look more prepared.”
A laugh almost escaped you.
He laughed softly, and the sound loosened something in your chest.
Then he closed the box.
“I’ll keep it for now,” he said.
You looked at the box.
Shanks noticed.
His voice lowered. “Unless you want it.”
Your eyes moved to your desk. To the drawer you had not opened in front of him. The drawer where the old bracelet sat, bent clasp and all.
Shanks followed your glance. When he looked back at you, he did not tease.
That was worse.
“You really kept it,” he said.
Your fingers curled at your side. “It was a long time ago.”
“I know.”
You looked at the box again.
Gold. Red stone. Small linked waves.
Beautiful enough to annoy you.
“It does not mean I forgive that entrance.”
You held out your hand.
Shanks did not say something clever. He only placed the box in your palm.
The weight of it was small. The feeling was not. You closed your fingers around it before you could change your mind.
“And if you look pleased with yourself,” you said, “I will throw it overboard.”
Shanks’s mouth twitched.
You narrowed your eyes.
He fought the smile down. Badly. “Understood.”
You looked away first, the box still held tight in your hand.
“You are not getting an answer today,” you said.
“I didn’t expect one.”
“You asked my father.”
“I asked your father because he is your father.” Humor flickered across his face. “And because if I didn’t, he might sink my ship on principle.”
“He still might.”
“I know. That’s why I came alone.”
A reluctant laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
He went quiet at the sound, watching you like that small laugh had been worth crossing the sea for.
Shanks took one more step toward you, then stopped. He was close now. Close enough that if you reached out, you could touch the front of his cloak again.
His voice softened.
“Have dinner with me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Dinner.” His smile returned, but gently this time. “Not a wedding. Not an answer. Just dinner.”
“On your ship?”
“Unless you’d rather feed me here and let Marco glare at me the whole time.”
“That does sound enjoyable.”
“I thought you might like that part.”
He waited.
“One dinner,” you said.
His shoulders eased. “One dinner.”
“And if you make one more joke about my bed, I will stab you with the letter opener on my desk.”
Shanks glanced toward the desk, then back at you. “That one looks dull.”
“Would you like to find out?”
He laughed softly, and this time you did not look away fast enough to hide that you liked the sound.
His gaze caught on your face. For a second, the room felt smaller.
Shanks leaned in.
His mouth brushed yours. Soft at first.
You moved closer instead of pulling away.
Shanks paused against your mouth, and you felt him breathe in.
Then he kissed you again.
This time, it was not soft.
His mouth pressed firmly to yours, warm and sure, and kissing him now made your knees less reliable than they had any right to be. His hand rested on your waist.
Your lips parted on a breath.
Shanks made a low sound against your mouth and pulled you closer.
Then you broke the kiss first.
Barely.
Your lips still brushed his when you spoke.
“Dinner,” you said.
His eyes opened.
“Dinner,” he agreed.
Then he stepped back.
Shanks opened the door, but paused before stepping out.
He smiled.
Not smug this time.
Fond.
“I’m glad you kept it.”
The door closed softly behind him.
Outside, Marco said something sharp.
Shanks laughed.
You stood in the middle of your room, staring at the door, unable to stop the small, foolish smile that came after him.
Whitebeard co-parenting 🐋🐋
(I am a firm believer that once polo became partner with wb he brought marco along and said yeah that's your other dad now. Wb be saying why is there a small child in our ship and adopted marco 0.2 milliseconds later. THATS OUR POPS GANG)
He really thinks he’s hilarious
I’m watching whole cake island and it’s got me thinking about political pirate weddings
Part 2
The way Whitebeard is one of the kindest pirates because what do you mean he took in both and Ace and Teach (even if he didn't know their parents beforehand, he most definitely didn't care after finding out), the first thing that came out his mouth when meeting Loki was asking WHY HE WAS CRYING, only ever wanted a family to call his own, always gave his share of treasure to rebuild his home island so that they never suffered like he did. I just love Whitebeard in general, honestly.
Breaking Point Chapter 5
Whitebeard Pirates x Teen GN Reader
7.2k words
First / Prev / Next
Summary: Being forced to attend a meal with your captors leads to an extremely unpleasant reunion.
Warnings: depictions of ptsd, violence, gore, death, one piece typical flashback, blackbeard is here
Mess halls had a tendency to live up to the name associated with them. When someone is trapped in a strict regime, they'll take every opportunity they can to relax and let loose, so of course it’s going to get messy.
It's an opportunity to sit down and enjoy a meal with your brothers in arms without the usual tension found on missions. Everyone can speak freely and laugh together while talking about whatever comes to mind regardless of how unimportant it may be.
You've seen many a mess hall in your day. While most of your life has been spent at the Marineford base, you've bounced around to several other bases for various missions and training opportunities. There were some differences here and there, but the base layouts were standardized so as to minimize confusion in an emergency. It would be inconvenient if a new unit was present for an attack but had to stop and ask where everything was.
Kitchens were always in a protected, centralized location. Food was as important as weaponry to a soldier. You can't put up a fight on an empty stomach, after all, so it makes sense to have such precious fuel protected.
Meals were still a structured part of the day. They were generally half an hour in length, though that could vary based on how much activity a base saw. You've heard rumors that the G-8 base gets to have full hour meal breaks, but you’ve never been there to verify that in person. Though you suppose it would make sense. It's not like they have to deal with much of anything with how impenetrable that fortress is.
There was a certain kind of comfort that came from being in a mess hall. Even when you were stationed at Marineford, you took all of your meals there with everyone else despite having an admittedly very nice house to retreat back to. Akainu made for dreadful company. The meals would either be in absolute silence, or he would interrogate you on upcoming missions and your recent performance.
On the other hand, work talk was taboo when you were eating with everyone else in the dining hall. Anyone who tried to discuss such things would be booed into silence. Exaggerated stories of harrowing fights, sea king sightings, or simply just embarrassing stories of the other people in their platoons dominated the conversation.
It was something you looked forward to. While you never really weighed in much, just being there and listening to the tall tales made you feel normal. Like you were one of them and not some worn down child soldier.
Now you were confronted with a familiar yet all too different scene. The dining area of the Moby Dick was massive, making it much more reminiscent of the kinds of mess halls you find in bases rather than ships. Which made sense given the sheer size of this vessel, you suppose.
Unlike what you would see on bases where they were all separated, the tables here were all pushed together to give the appearance of one massive table. Like this was one big family meal. At least this is what you believe family meals look like based on what your comrades have said. You wouldn’t know personally. Akainu never spoke of his family, and he would shut down any attempt you made to ask about them. You don't know anything about your mother much less what her family looks like, so you've obviously never shared a meal with any of them.
This was your third day as a hostage, or whatever you were supposed to be, but this was your first time eating with the crew as a whole. Up until now, you were taking your meals in the infirmary or the nurses quarters. The offer to join everyone else had been on the table, but you had declined. They didn't let you do that today.
Haruta, seemingly under the impression that you were buddies now, hooked his arm around yours and dragged you here against your will. Why did he do this? According to him, this was allegedly because “everyone wanted to see you”, to which you call bullshit. That's just preposterous.
… Although everyone did appear to be continuing their odd fixation on you. Some had even cheered at Haruta’s success in bullying you into coming here, for whatever reason. Whitebeard hadn't cheered, but he did openly state that it was nice to see you “getting along” with everyone. You most certainly were not. He must have cataracts in his old age.
Presently, you were sandwiched between your assailant Haruta, and Fire Fist Ace. The chairs were all so close together that you were shoulder to shoulder with both of them. Every dramatic flourish of Haruta's arms as he spoke jostled you, as did the ravenous- downright uncivilized- way Ace was shoveling food down his gullet. Was this extreme intermittent fasting? Was the mountain of food on his plate supposed to tide him over until next week?
Granted, the amount of food on your plate was hardly minute by comparison. You had initially only taken small amounts as the kitchen division was going around with massive serving platters, but every single time, without fail, they would insist that you needed more than that, and forcibly served you more as if you were some poor starved creature they were trying to fatten up.
Now you have always had what most would consider an impressive appetite. It wasn't something you ever really put much thought into. You are in a labor intensive field, it makes sense that your body would require more calories than the average person. But you haven't exactly been doing much these past few days. Nothing that you did to help the medical staff was particularly taxing, and you only sparred with Haruta for a few minutes yesterday. Your body doesn't really have an excuse to be all that hungry at this point, yet you find yourself packing away the food on your plate regardless of that fact. Is this what stress eating looks like? It’s a plausible explanation.
As much as you hate to give a pirate a compliment, these people can cook. You were no stranger to quality food. Due to the status of the people stationed at Marineford, only the best applicants were hired to man the kitchens. The meals there were of an extremely high standard for a militant operation. Admirals in particular had their meals personally prepared, a perk that you had access to due to your paternity, though you seldom took advantage of it. To do so, you would have to take your meals with Akainu.
Eating in the cafeteria with your unit was infinitely more appealing.
And that's what the food heaped onto your plate reminded you of. Hearty and calorically dense. A filling meal to keep you energized until the next one. It was also delicious. Possibly more so than what you could find at the base. Everything was seasoned and cooked to perfection. You never considered that a pirate crew might have a higher budget allotted to its kitchen than a Marine base, but that seemed to be the only reasonable explanation.
A thud next to you pulls you from your thoughts. You don't even need to look to identify the source. With how close you all are, of course you felt it when Ace slumped forward face first into his plate. Again.
The first time it happened, you thought he had just up and dropped dead right next to you. For a brief moment, panic coursed through your veins because surely a pirate dying right next to you would lead to you being blamed for it. You hadn't done anything to him, but who would believe that story?
Before you could consider booking it out of there, Ace sprang back up and continued eating as if nothing had happened. A few of the people seated around you noticed your blatant confusion and filled you in on the unique quirk of his. They told you that it happened whenever he ate, and that it happened a lot.
Which appeared to be true. This was, what? The fifth time he's passed out? All during the first meal of the day. You watch Ace out of the corner of your eye as he snores loudly into a pile of hashbrowns. People are afraid of this man. You were once afraid of him. It all feels ridiculous now. The man can't even fend off sleep long enough to finish a meal, yet he's been nothing short of a fiery terror to the Marines. It's embarrassing, frankly.
Whatever. It's no skin off your back. You shake your head and close your eyes to try and block out your surroundings. The visual component, more specifically.
If you just focused on the words and not the people saying them… it was almost like being with your unit.
Faceless conversations came at you from all angles. Someone was boasting about killing a sea king. Memories of Sven telling the story of how he got the scars on his face for the thousandth time resurface. Everyone at the table would groan and tell him to tell something different for once, but that was never enough to stop him. He'd just embellish the tale of being attacked by a juvenile sea king to make it even more exciting this time around.
Sven was at the head of the table with his knees higher than the surface of it. The dining furniture was very clearly not built with his height in mind. As soon as there is a lull in the conversation, he crosses his arms with a smirk on his face, “You know, that reminds me of something that happened in my youth.”
Exasperated groans ring out from almost every person at the table and bunched up napkins are thrown at Sven. A marine named Tafton shouts from the other end, “Don't even start with that shit again! I'm going to go insane if I hear that damned story one more time!”
At the other end of the table sat a mirror image to Sven in the form of his twin, Sten. They were identical, with only the facial scars on Sven to differentiate them. “At least you all have only been subjected to it recently. I've been forced to endure it ever since it happened when we were kids.”
Sten's eyes narrow at his brother, “And what do you mean “your youth”? We're twenty! You barely even have a beard!”
Chuckles and lighthearted jeers are made at Sven's expense, but he shows no sign of acknowledgement toward that fact. His grin broadens, and he continues, “All I'm saying is that this really takes me back to when I was a kid. To when I got these.” He runs a hand down his face for emphasis.
“Yeah, yeah. Fishing trip, sea king, teeth, we know the story!” Nesca waves her hand dismissively, “At this point I think everyone here can recite that tall tale of yours from memory.”
The newest addition to your unit, Ensign Roland, quietly interjects, “I-I don't know this story…”
Sven slaps his hands down on the table in excitement, easily launching everyone's lunch trays into the air, “How could I forget? Let me tell you all about it!”
The marines around Roland playfully shove and kick him. “Now look what you've done! I really hope you like this story, because it's all you're ever going to hear out of that guy!”
Tafton locks eyes with yours and clasps his hands together in a pleading fashion, “(Y/N), can't you stop him?”
A wry smile graces your lips, and you shake your head, “I'm a captain, not a dictator. He can speak as he likes.”
Elbows lightly jab into your sides from your refusal to enact conversational authoritarianism, meanwhile Sven beams at being given the go ahead.
“So there I was on the boat with my old man, nothing but an old pocket knife and my own wit to protect me…”
How funny. You find yourself replaying a story that everyone in your unit was desperate to get away from. They would all think you mad, and perhaps you are. It certainly feels like you've lost your mind given the recent series of events.
In another group, you can make out someone talking about an embarrassing incident while the victim of said incident loudly protests. It's like Nesca is right there, telling everyone about how she scared the piss out of a new recruit last night.
Nesca drops her tray onto the table and plops down next to Ensign Roland with a wicked grin on her face, “Roland, buddy! How are you?”
The new recruit squirms uncomfortably and avoids her gaze, “F-Fine…”
“Great to hear it!” She slings an arm over his shoulders, the action being strong enough to jostle his glasses and make them slide down his nose. “I just wanted to check in on you after what happened last night.”
Roland's face goes bright red. Everyone at the table picks up on it instantly. It's like blood in the water. In a vain attempt to save face and stop the inevitable, Roland hisses under his breath, “Shut up! Nothing happened!”
The peanut gallery is woefully unconvinced. Sten leans forward with a teasing smirk, “I thought I heard someone scream last night. It was you, huh?”
“N-N-No! I didn't scream!”
Nesca brings a hand to her chin. “Really? Because I could have sworn it was you at the end of that hall…”
“W-Well what do you expect when you’re walking around in the middle of the night looking like-” Roland gestures vaguely at Nesca’s face, “like that!”
“Like what? You got a problem with my face?”
Roland pales and quickly tries to backtrack, “No! That came out wrong! I just- I meant-”
The frantic attempt is cut off when Nesca flicks his hat off and aggressively ruffles his hair, “I’m just pulling your leg, relax!”
Tafton rested his elbow on the table as he chimed in, “She got the drop on you when she was walking around at night with that dangly bit glowing, huh? She does that to everyone, it has to be on purpose. Don’t feel bad about it, it happens to the best of us.”
Nesca shoots him a smirk. “Of course you would say that since I’ve gotten you twice now.”
“Stop bringing that up!”
A deep sigh escapes you. You missed them terribly. All of them. Part of you wonders if leaving was a mistake, but…
“Zehahaha!”
Every other noise ceases to exist when you hear that laugh. Your muscles all tense, and your head snaps in the direction of that wretched sound. You know that fucking laugh. Your eyes lock onto the monster that those accursed noises are coming from.
Marshall Teach. The demon who attacked your unit and-
“(Y/N)? Is something wrong?”
Haruta’s voice succeeds in making you stop your one sided staring competition with Teach. Your head snaps over to him so fast that it makes him flinch back. His hand starts to reach for you, then falls back in uncertainty. “D-Did something happen? What’s with that look on your face?”
Your mood has completely soured. How could you forget that that thing is a member of this crew? And everyone here accepts him. He is the kind of person that everyone here chooses to break bread with. That makes everyone here no better than him.
“I lost my appetite.” With that said, you stand up sharply and storm out of the dining room. Your hands, no, your whole body is shaking with a barely contained rage. You want to kill him. You want to rip his fucking head off and watch the life leave his already soulless eyes.
… But what were you supposed to do? How could you kill him now when you’re unable to use your powers and weak from sea stone? You need to leave before you do something stupid.
By the time you make it out to the deck, your heart is hammering in your chest as if you were in the middle of a battlefield. Maybe you are, in a sense. This is enemy territory if nothing else. You pace back and forth, chest heaving as your breathing becomes increasingly erratic.
“Captain! We need reinforcements! Pirates are attacking, and we have casualties!” Tafton’s voice comes through your transponder snail sounding more terrified than you’d ever heard before. “He’s attacking us on the ship! Hurry!”
Gunshots and clashing swords can be heard in the background before the line goes dead. Sven and Nesca start to run in the direction of the battle, but you immediately transform and take off at your top speed to get there as fast as possible. You don’t care that you’re flying into a high risk situation alone, all that you care about is getting to your unit as quickly as possible.
How could this be happening? They were just supposed to stay on the ship to guard the cargo while you three went to get supplies for the last part of the journey. Your unit shouldn’t have been in any danger.
Please be okay. Please let everyone still be alive when you get there.
Your knees buckle, and you find yourself having to catch yourself on a nearby wall to keep from falling on your face. You sink down to a sitting position as your fingers thread through, then pull on your hair. You pull and pull until it starts to hurt, but it does nothing to distract you from the viscera in your memories. It never does. It doesn’t help, nothing ever fucking helps! You can still see, hear, smell everything from that day!
“Never thought I’d see your mug around here.”
All of the awful noise in your head comes to an abrupt halt. You slowly turn your head until you can see the thing that is speaking to you.
Teach is standing over you, blocking out the sun and encompassing you in his shadow. You can’t see his face clearly, but you could hear the smile in his voice. Of course that sick fuck is grinning over what he did. He’s proud of it, and now he has the audacity to approach you.
Despite the tremors going through your body, you force yourself to stand and take several steps back. Your words come out in what could be compared to a snarl, “Don’t fucking talk to me!”
“Whoa, whoa! Calm down, I’m just here to try and make amends since it seems like we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other from here on out.” Teach rests his arm against the wall and leans down toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement at your predicament.
Those words leave you speechless, but only for a moment. Then you’re irate again. “Make amends?! Have you lost your goddamned mind?! Why would I ever want to make amends with a piece of shit like you?!”
His eye twitches ever so slightly, and you catch his hands clenching into fists. “Come on, I’m just trying to be the bigger person here. You tried to kill me, so I think I’m being pretty nice by trying to move past that.”
“I tried to kill you because you murdered my men!”
“They attacked me first. I was only defending myself.”
Self defense your ass. “Bullshit! I don’t give a shit even if it was! They didn’t deserve to die! They had families, people who loved and mourned them!”
The smile he had been sporting tightened into a sneer, and the look in his eyes hardened. “Oh? A marine that cares about lives being lost? That’s a good one.”
Mother fu-
“Hey. That’s enough, Teach.”
Marco calmly walks into the conflict, his face neutral. He comes to a halt once he’s between you two and faces Teach, leaving his back to you.
In the time that it took him to get here, Teach had reverted his expression to a more unassuming one. His smile and posture both now considerably more relaxed than they had been when it was just you two. He chuckles and lifts his hand to rub at the back of his neck, “Sorry, sorry. I was just trying to smooth things over with the kid, but I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of it, huh?”
“Now probably isn’t the best time for that.” Marco looks over his shoulder at you, then back to him. “They’ve got a lot on their plate. Maybe just give them some space for the time being.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry about all that, kid.” Teach waves at you casually, as if he had merely spilt a drink on you, then promptly wanders off.
As soon as he’s out of sight, you slump against the wall again. You hadn’t even realized how much tension was in your body until it left. There’s a pit in your stomach, one so heavy with guilt that it weighs you down both emotionally and physically. You slide down the wall until you’re sitting again, then bring your knees to your chest so you can hide your face in them.
No one should see you when you’re in such a pathetic state. This is disgraceful. You should be chasing that monster down and ripping his throat out, but instead you’re cowering like a child.
“I didn’t think you two knew each other.” Marco’s voice makes you tense up again, but you keep your head down. Maybe if you keep quiet, he’ll get bored and leave you alone.
Rather than that happening, you feel him sit down next to you. What the hell is he doing? You expect him to continue speaking since everyone on this god forsaken ship loves to yap incessantly, but he remains silent.
After a few minutes pass without a word, you lift your head up just enough to glance at him. You find him staring ahead at the sea instead of at you. His expression does nothing to communicate what’s going through his head. Why is he still here?
Having apparently stared too long, Marco takes notice of you. His head turns ever so slightly as he meets your eyes. You don’t look away, neither does he. There’s a beat of silence, and then he offers a smile, “The wind’s nice today. Perfect for flying, isn’t it?”
What is he getting at? Your eyes narrow, then drift over to the wrist sporting a sea stone cuff. You look back up at him with an unimpressed scowl, “Are you mocking me?”
“Flying always helps to clear my mind,” Marco reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar key. “Seems like you could use the chance to do the same.”
Is… Is he being serious?
The potential opportunity for freedom makes you balk. This can’t be real. Surely he isn’t actually offering to take the cuff off. Is this a joke? Some cruel trick to further worsen your mood?
Before you can voice any of these concerns, Marco shifts and reaches for your hand, stopping just short of actually touching you. “May I?”
“... Yeah.”
This feels like a trap… but if there’s even a chance that you can get that damned cuff off, then you’re going to have to take that risk. You hold out your wrist to Marco while watching him closely, waiting for him to either surprise you or prove your suspicions correct.
He gently takes hold of the cuff to keep it steady, then inserts the key.
Click.
It opens, then falls to the floor.
A rush of energy flows through you the instant the sea stone breaks its prolonged contact with you. At first, you just stare in shock, unable to believe that this is actually happening. You quickly get to your feet, eyes darting between the discarded cuff and Marco as your brain struggles to make sense of his actions.
Marco, on the other hand, maintains his nonchalant front. He moves to stand as well, but it’s not a hurried action. He moves slowly and stretches his limbs before focusing on you again with a raised brow, “Well? Are you going to fly or not?”
“You’re… going to let me?” Your fingers flex as you feel your devil fruit powers simmering just beneath the surface, ready to activate the second you will it.
“Yeah, I’ve got no reason to lie to you.”
Without wasting another second, you shift into your full beast form and launch yourself high up in the air. You spin as you ascend to assess your surroundings.
It’s a whole lot of nothing. Ocean as far as your heightened eyes can see. There’s no telling how far off the nearest populated island is. Your mind has been too clouded to bother with paying attention to where this ship was sailing. Sure, you could pick a direction and hope you find something, but not in your current state. You’ve been exposed to sea stone for three days now, and it’s going to take more than having it off of you for a few seconds to recover from that.
So that’s why Marco was okay with doing this. There’s nowhere for you to go.
Loud flaps of wings far larger than your own sound from behind you as the man of the hour joins you in the air. He’s also in his beast form, an admittedly stunning one. How annoying that someone as lowly as a pirate has such a prestigious devil fruit.
Marco coasts just behind you while you let the wind pull you along. It would seem that he was going to be accompanying you for this outing. Not surprising. Of course he doesn’t trust you not to do anything foolish if left unsupervised.
Whatever. At least he’s being quiet.
Rather than dwelling on the unwanted tagalong, you focus on what’s before you. Windy, salty air blows through your feathers as waves crash beneath you. This is the closest thing you’ve had to a peaceful moment since your abduction. Who knows how many more of these moments you have left…
Despite how pleasant this little excursion was, your lack of energy was hitting you hard and fast. You absolutely don’t want to return to the Moby Dick, but you need to find somewhere to land to catch your breath. Fortunately for you, there is an islet nearby for you to rest at.
Your wings turn as you bank left and begin your descent. Once you’re close enough, you revert to your half-beast form, then to your human form as soon as your feet make contact with the sand. The islet is very small, consisting of nothing but sand and a few rocks. It's maybe a few square meters big, leaving little room for much of anything.
Dull thuds come from behind you. Marco has joined you. Damn. And here you were hoping that he would settle for just circling above. You keep your back to him, hoping that he’ll take the hint that you don’t want to interact with him.
“Are you feeling alright?”
Irritation burns at your frayed nerves. Why does he have to be so damn nosey? You take a deep breath, knowing that he won’t drop it until you give him an answer. Your voice is tense and gruff when you speak, “I’m fine. Just tired after having that cuff on me for so long.”
“That’s understandable,” Marco takes steps forward until he’s by your side. “You should start to feel better after getting some sleep, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you’re still feeling rough tomorrow.”
All you do is let out a grunt of acknowledgement at the comment. You definitely aren’t going to clue him in on any weaknesses you may have.
Silence hangs in the air for a moment far too brief before it’s interrupted again.
“So how do you and Teach know each other?”
In an instant, your hands are balled into fists and your jaw tightens. You reply back through clenched teeth, “Drop it. I didn’t answer the first time you asked for a reason.”
If Marco took notice of your hostility, he didn’t let it impact him. You can feel him staring at you, but you refuse to meet his gaze. He lets out a sigh, presumably from your stubbornness, then continues, “He had a point, you know? If you two are going to be on the same ship, it might be a good idea to talk things out.”
“Talk things out?”
Before you can even think about it, you whip around and swing at him. Marco easily sidesteps the punch, but you don’t let that discourage you. You close the distance quickly and grab onto his shirt to keep him from dodging again. Your free hand comes at his head in a hook, but instead of trying to duck out of the way, he catches your fist.
Your chest is heaving, but not from exhaustion. You pull him closer, hands shaking. Your eyes bore into his own, and the lack of emotion on his face only serves to piss you off more. “How dare you?” There’s an infuriating crack in your voice that you’re praying he didn’t hear, “How fucking dare you say that to me!”
Instead of looking furious or scared by your outburst, Marco just looks… Resigned? You don’t recognize the face he’s making. He’s still holding back your fist with one hand; seemingly with very little effort. His other hand starts to raise up, prompting you to shove him away and jump back. Your arms raise up into a defensive stance to prepare for a counter attack.
But it doesn’t come. For the first time, Marco appears to be startled. He starts to reach out, then stops and puts his hands down by his sides, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
What? Why the fuck is he apologizing? You attacked him first. He has every reason to retaliate. Marco’s head tilts to the side as he watches you closely. You hate how he’s looking at you like you’re some sort of scared animal.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I have no idea why you dislike him.” He lets the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “What happened? Please tell me so I don’t say something stupid again.”
“Like you don’t know… I bet all of you were in on it.” Your arms lower, but not completely.
“In on what?”
“Stop playing dumb!” You storm up to him again, getting right up in his face, “The attack on my unit! It was a damned massacre!”
As soon as your ship came into view, your eyes locked onto the intruder. The large behemoth of a man was towering over everyone else while sporting a large club for a weapon and laughing maniacally. Without a second’s hesitation, you dive at him and shift into your half-beast form.
The pirate looks up just in time to jerk his body to the right. You can feel your talons slice into the side of his neck, and he hisses in pain in response. You land on the deck hard and whirl around to continue the assault, and that’s when you see everyone else.
Bodies are strewn across the deck, all unmoving. Your mind goes blank, and you instinctively stagger back in shock only to almost trip over something.
Not something, someone. You look down to see a body without a head. Well… the head is still there, but it’s been crushed into an unrecognizable paste. Your eyes are drawn to something on the body’s hand that’s reflecting light back at you. A wedding ring. You know that ring.
“Tafton?” No… No, you were just speaking to him a few seconds ago! He isn’t dead! He can’t be!
Heavy footsteps start running away from you. You look up to see the killer sprinting to get away from the consequences of his inhuman actions. You start to transform again, ready to give chase and avenge Tafton.
But then you hear gurgling.
The noise stops you in your tracks. Who was that? Who’s still alive? Your head frantically whips around in an attempt to locate and identify the source.
Sten is lying flat on his back, body twitching as weak gurgles come out of him. You rush over and drop to your knees next to him, ready to do everything you can to save him but… the damage is so much worse than you imagined. His chest is caved in. Blood is seeping through his uniform, and more spurts out of his mouth with every labored breath he takes. What… What are you supposed to do?
His eyes have rolled back into his skull, leaving nothing but the whites visible. Not knowing what else to do, you take one of his hands into yours, “Sten! Stay with me! Please!” Using your other hand, you take out your transponder snail and scream into it for help.
“Don’t you dare die on me! You’re going to survive this!” You lean over Sten’s shuddering body as you force yourself to keep looking at the wound, hoping that you’ll somehow see something you can do to fix this.
“Y-You have to live!” Your vision starts to blur, and something wet drips down your face. “You’ll finally have a story that can top Sven’s! You have to live so you can brag about it and give him some competition!”
His body goes still. The once trembling hand in your grasp becomes completely limp. There is no more gurgling.
All you can do is stare at his lifeless corpse. This can’t be real. Everyone was alive only a minute ago. This was just a transport mission. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.
Crying interrupts the moment. Your head snaps up to find a survivor amongst the carnage. Ensign Roland is sitting on the deck, surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. His hands are clutching a rifle as he rocks himself back and forth.
“I did nothing.” His voice is high pitched and comes out as a terrified whimper. “They all died, and I did nothing! I just watched it happen!” His voice crescendos until his words are coming out in raw screams, “I let them die!”
More footsteps are approaching, and for a moment you think that pirate had the nerve to come back. Your body tenses and prepares to fight again, but it’s not him. Nesca and Sven rush on board with their weapons drawn, only to freeze when they see everything.
Sven’s battle axe falls to the ground once his eyes land on Sten’s body. You want to say something. Anything. But all words die on your tongue. What could you possibly say that could make this better?
Everyone is dead, and it’s all your fault.
That day… That horrible day has haunted you ever since it happened. Those were your first casualties. That was your first real failure.
Marco’s shirt wrinkles in your grasp. When did you even grab it? You let out a shuddering breath and duck your head down when your eyes begin to sting. By the time you find your words, your voice has completely lost its commanding edge. You sound pathetic.
“Those people had families… They were just doing their jobs, and that piece of shit killed them for it.” The stinging in your eyes intensifies, prompting you to release Marco and move away from him. You hate it when people see you cry.
“I’m never going to “forgive” or “talk things out” with that thing. I hate him. I want him to pay for what he did.” You walk over to the other side of the islet, though that only gained you about ten feet of distance from Marco.
Deep breaths. You need to take deep breaths to reign yourself in. Getting emotional in front of the enemy won’t do you any good. You’ve already shown him far too much. It’s not like your story is going to move him. Pirates don’t care about innocent people dying.
“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”
What? You slowly look over your shoulder at him, “Excuse me?”
“And at such a young age, too.” Marco takes steps forward until he’s right next to you, “That’s unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate? I was one of the lucky ones that survived. What do I have to complain about?” A tremor of disgust travels through your body at his words. How can he talk about that as if you were the victim? “My unit was just doing their job, and I failed them. I wasn’t there when they needed me most, and they were the ones who paid the ultimate price.”
“It sounds like you really cared about them… I can tell you were a good leader.”
“What?!” You recoil at the absurd statement. “A good leader wouldn’t have let their men die!”
“Do you really think that’s true?” Marco turns his head to study you. When you neglect to respond due to your blatant confusion over his question, he takes it as his cue to go on, “Do you really believe that people only die under poor leadership?”
“I… Yes? If you really knew what you were doing, then no one should have died.”
Marco huffs out a soft laugh and shakes his head, “You really are still just a kid.”
Just a kid? Indignation and rage spikes within you, and you’re about to try and attack him again when he continues.
“Even the best leaders have lost people under their care. Whitebeard has, and you surely don’t think you’re a stronger leader than him right?” You just stare at him. “Right, I guess you don’t want to be compared to a pirate, huh? Look at the Marines. All of the Admirals have been responsible for casualties. Sengoku has made calls that lead to people under his command dying. You aren’t a failed leader because of that. It’s just an unfortunate part of this life, isn’t it?”
“But… It was my fault. I should have been there.” Your voice came out so quietly that you aren’t even sure he heard you.
“Were you slacking off?”
“No! Of course I wasn’t! I left to pick up supplies for the trip back to base!”
“You can’t be everywhere at once. You said they were just doing their job, but so were you. It was reasonable for you to assume that your crew would be okay until you got back. No captain can forever be looming over their crew’s shoulders to protect them from every little thing.”
Your first instinct is to argue, to tell Marco that he’s wrong. He has to be wrong. There had to have been something you could have done differently. But nothing comes to mind. Your mind is blank.
Marco’s shoulders relax, and he smiles as he approaches you again and puts a hand on your shoulder. You don’t immediately slap it away. “How about we head back to the ship now before it gets too far away. I wouldn’t be against carrying you back, but I’m sure you would be.”
An annoyed scowl flits across your face, and you swat at his hand, “You try that, and I’ll rip out your throat.”
The threat does nothing to scare him and just makes him laugh, “I believe it!” His arms light up with blue flames as he starts to transform, prompting you to do the same. Just as you’re about to launch yourself into the air, he speaks up again.
“And (Y/N)?” You look over at him. “Thanks for opening up to me. I’m glad you could talk to me about that.”
Your feathers ruffle at the sentiment, and you scoff. “Shut the hell up. That was just a stupid slip up. Once I get my bearings back, it won’t happen again.” You take off before he can reply.
—
Night had fallen, plunging the ship into complete darkness with nothing but the moon and stars to reflect off the sea.
You’re leaning against the railing and staring down at the barely illuminated waves. This is the first time that you’ve been alone for any significant length of time since being brought here. Your eyes drift down to your bare wrist.
Much to your surprise, Marco hadn’t put the cuff back on upon your return. At first, you thought it was surely a mistake on his part, but someone on his level wouldn’t have that kind of oversight. That left you with the question of why? What is his angle here? What is there to gain from leaving you free to fly away at the first opportunity?
Like right now.
No one is watching you. What is stopping you from transforming and flying away? Nothing.
Well… maybe not nothing. There is something keeping you here. More specifically, someone. Your hands clench into fists as your thoughts drift to Marshall Teach. If you leave now, who knows how long it will be before someone else has an opportunity to end him. And there could be countless victims to his violent ways until that day.
No. You can’t leave. You owe it to everyone to stay until you take his head. You owe it to Tafton and the family he left behind. To Roland who deteriorated to a shell of his former self. To Sven for losing his twin brother. You will avenge them.
You’re not leaving until that man is dead.
“(Y/N)? Oh, there you are!”
Your homicidal plans are interrupted by the familiar voice of Elise. You stiffen, then quickly force your face to relax into a casual expression before facing her. “Yeah? Did you need something?”
Elise lets out a sigh of relief and quickly sidles up to you, “Oh, no, not really. I was just worried when I couldn’t find you.” Her eyes focus on your face, trying to gauge how you’re feeling without prying too directly.
“There’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to enjoy some fresh air before bed, that’s all.” And plot a murder, but that’s for only you to know. Everyone else will find out after it’s said and done.
Having concluded her reading of you, she smiles. “It looks like you’re feeling better now. I’m glad Marco was able to get through to you, even if only a little bit.”
The observation makes your eye twitch. “I think it has more to do with that stupid cuff finally coming off…”
She giggles at your blatant annoyance, “Sure, sure. That too, I suppose.” Her hand lands on your upper arm, and she gently guides you away from the railing. “Anyway, it’s getting late, you need to get some rest.”
You aren’t a child -despite what Marco thinks- you don’t need someone to enforce a bedtime for you. But you allow it. Elise means well, even if she does associate with pirates. Besides, if your new mission is going to be successful, you’re going to have to willingly associate with them as well.
Should be easy enough. If you could fake being a proud marine, pretending to be a reluctant pirate shouldn’t be that difficult.
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