Disclaimer: I don't own One Piece

Prologue

Youth and impulsiveness went hand-in-hand.

If there was one thing a well-lived pirate knew after so many years spent sailing the four blues and the Grand Line, then that was it. Hell, it wasn't even limited to pirates. Marines, civilians, nobles—they all knew that to be the truth. Adolescence and those strange in-between years when men and women were dubbed adults might've been filled with so many other strange things like an intolerable amount of selfishness, reckless rebellion, and the inexplicable desire to find purpose, but those so often ran on the same emotions that really, when it came down to it, it could all be boiled down into a single sentence—

When people were young, they could run on the simplest and stupidest of impulses.

And that's exactly what they had been at the time.

They were both draped across the bed of some random inn, too tired to actually get up and start getting dressed after the many rounds the night prior. Articles of clothing were strewn about the room, ripped off sometime during their escapade. It would be a miracle if they could wear them all again because both of them were sure that they'd torn something in their mad dash to touch skin. Through the thin drapes, the sun peeked out and shined four long lines of fragile light upon the floorboards. It was still mostly dark outside; the world rarely awoke so early.

They were accustomed enough to telling the time by the position of the sun that they both knew that they only had about another hour or so together, before morning arrived in earnest. Once it did, their night together would be up. The world would become—not new, but real. Their paths would diverge once again. And they'd be left scrambling to hold onto the memories of their night together.

He wondered, for a moment, if perhaps it would fade; if the memory of her dry smile and the way she writhed beneath him would pale like paint left too long in the sun. He was loathed to admit that he didn't want it to. But perhaps that was simply because it had been so long since he'd met a woman like her. Confident, fun-loving, and intense. When was the last time he'd become so satisfied by simply talking to a woman? He didn't even remember.

She wasn't one-of-a-kind. He wasn't that far gone. But, if nothing else, she was interesting. His chest swelled in her presence each time he was able to make a grin twist her lips upward into an abrupt smile. She captivated him in a way that he was certain wasn't good for his health. It was as if she had a string tied around the bleeding organ he called a heart. And she mercilessly tugged it tighter every time she drew near.

What made it better was the fact that he knew he had the same effect on her. Her cheeks would heat up in this way that she'd get confused, and then embarrassed about, as if her blushing was some kind of foreign notion to her. It happened whenever he looked at her with his half-lidded gaze.

So, of course he made sure to do it as often as he possibly could.

As she traced the dark blue tattoo on his tanned skin, she tried to remind herself just what that tattoo symbolized. His own hand trailed over the wonderful curves of her bare body. There was nothing particularly sexual about it. His touch was more absent, than it was lustful. He seemed to just want to keep his hands on her, perhaps already knowing that he wouldn't get a chance like this again—and if he did, then it would be slim.

That chance narrowed even more once her eyes widened in sudden realization. It seemed she finally figured out what his tattoo meant then. Marco mentally steeled himself for what she was about to say. But what he wasn't prepared for was the soft kiss she planted right in the middle of his chest, as if thanking the man that had brought him to this part of the ocean.

She was sore, and it was a chore to move her muscles. He knew that simply by observing how long it took her to get up and straddle him. She caressed his torso. Her fingers brushed over the defined bones of his hips with a satisfied smirk. Like she had somehow won by taking him home. Marco wasn't arrogant enough to say that perhaps she did, but it definitely made his ego soar.

"You're a Whitebeard pirate." she said bluntly. It wasn't a question, just a verbal confirmation of what she already knew. Because only a fool would ever wear the mark he had without being a part of the crew.

"Does that bother you?" he asked her. His lethargic eyes met her honey ones, and he swore that something twisted in his chest when she held his gaze, then firmly shook her head.

"Should it?"

He gave her a lazy grin, then brought his hand up to give her large chest a firm squeeze. He couldn't help it. Especially not with her on top of him like that. She was going to make him hard again—he was half on the way already—and he couldn't stay for another round. Not because of a lack of time. They still had plenty for a quick session after all. But he knew that if he stayed, then it would just make it harder to leave, and he was already struggling with the thought of his inevitable departure.

Truly, women—or this one in particular—weren't good for his health.

His fingers traveled down until they reached the right side of her stomach, where he tapped the large tattoo there with calloused fingers. It was angled diagonally, so that it spread over the upper portion of her thigh and half on her back, ending an inch before it reached her spine. He'd gotten a good look at it when she rode him on reverse.

"You're in Red-haired Shanks crew, yoi."

"Does that bother you?" She threw back at him, and he mimicked her head shake.

"Should it?"

She laughed lightly at the expressionless face he had on as he hurled her words back at her. Her mind drifted off to last night when he had approached her in the bar to buy her a drink. She could tell when he walked in that he had immediately singled her out, though that wasn't really saying much, considering how seedy the bar had been. Then, she wasn't exactly sure how or what did it, but he'd gotten her into bed. It wasn't often that she skimped around with random men, but that damned tongue of his was exceptionally talented at provoking her; at making her mind run in several different directions at once.

The way he talked back to her had her hooked. His words were chockfull of sparkling wit and sarcastic drawls. His mouth wasn't just talented at conversation, however, but at so many other things that made her shiver just from the remembrance of it all. He awoke something inside of her in a way that so few men ever had before.

"So," she began with a devious grin, "Mr. Pineapple, I don't believe we've had the chance to get to know each other. My name is Aiko."

He let the insult slide. There was no way she could sting his pride now. Not when he'd just had her in so many compromising positions.

"I'm Phoenix Marco."

"Phoenix, huh? You'll definitely be a commander someday." She hummed in satisfaction when he shot her a smile practically bursting with pride, before contemplating out loud. "Sleeping with the enemy, I don't think I've ever actually done something so stupid. And, for me, that's saying something."

He shrugged the best he could in his position. Marco looked up at her bright eyes, then fired off a piece of wisdom an old friend had told him once upon a time. "We should spend our time in this world doing the things worth doing."

"I've always lived by such a philosophy." She traced his tattoo once again. "So, Phoenix, are you saying that I was worth doing?"

He smirked.

"Should I thank you?" she continued, sarcasm oozing from every word. "Well, it isn't as if we're going to see each other often, so I shouldn't have to worry about any awkward tension, right?"

"Unfortunately." He sighed, then tested her name on his lips. It felt nice to actually know what to shout if he ever had her in his bed again. "What a shame. Might have been nice, yoi."

"A real shame."

Her fingers were still rubbing his tattoo, as if she was trying to solidify the thought that they really were from opposing pirate crews in her mind—and not just that either; they were from crews that could actually contend with each other. Their captains were threats to the entire world order. If they so much as looked at someone in the wrong way, the government treated it as big news. Marco wanted to know her thoughts about that. If she was part of an Emperor's fleet, then she must've been strong. No, she had to be. Weaklings didn't make it to the New World. He might even have to fight her one day. As someone that loved fighting, he thoroughly looked forward to that.

Marco tried to attach a moniker to her face, but he wasn't familiar enough with the Marines most wanted list to be able to do so.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm thinking about how I'll have to kick your ass one of these days, Phoenix."

"Says the woman who melts when I haven't even shown off my flames yet."

She grinned. "Narcissistic, aren't you?"

"I'm just stating the truth, yoi."

Aiko looked down at him. He really was, but could anyone blamer her for calling him out?

His body was the works. His style, while odd, made her chuckle. Aiko had seen and met plenty of handsomer men, but so few had his aura. He had a confidence about him that didn't bleed over into arrogance. Marco was strong, and he knew it. He could back up whatever threat he said. But he didn't flaunt that strength. After just a few moments spent in his company, she could already tell that he wasn't reckless enough to not realize that there were those far above him; that even he could be beaten if he wasn't careful. It was such an interesting combination in a man. He reminded her of some of the older members in her crew with their lackadaisical attitudes and silent power.

But no matter how much she saw her mates in him, it didn't mean that she had to like that cocky side of his.

"Care to show me then?" she asked, completely forgetting about the time. Her crew could wait. They were likely just partying at some random island anyway, and it wasn't as if she couldn't give them a call via DenDen Mushi.

Below her, Marco broke out into a grin wide enough to make his cheeks cramp. It had been a long time since he'd smiled so much.

This woman, he thought distractedly, is so much fun.

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A/N: Please take into account that this story was written a long time ago, so there will be certain things I didn't know about back then because Oda hadn't revealed them yet like Marco being the Whitebeard Pirates doctor or Sphinx being the village where Ace and Whitebeard were buried. I wrote this when I was very young, and the writing isn't very good. The series is undergoing sporadic edits. Should a chapter be edited, I'll add an edited note along with a date at the very bottom. The title will also change from "chapter no." to just a regular number to make it easier for people to see which have been edited.

I appreciate everyone's support (and apologize for my horrid writing back then, haha!)

Quick Edited: 01/06/2019