Chapter 1: Chapter 1 Kelp me, I'm trapped in this plot
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He was Edward Newgate, but the legend of Whitebeard had long since overshadowed the man. The impressive, snow-white moustache was a regal statement. Towering even among merfolk, his physique was a testament to a lifetime of war and rule—a chest like a reef wall, arms thick with the muscle of a creature who could wrestle hurricanes.
Old, perhaps, but far from frail. And though he had never taken a bride (too busy, first with conquest, then with corralling his adopted brood), his palace was never without the laughter of his children—each one claimed, not born.
And each one, especially Ace, determined to age him further.
Contrary to popular belief, the great Mer-King Edward Newgate was not always sighing heavily while massaging his temples. Once, he’d been a fearsome warrior whose trident strikes could split undersea volcanoes. His children were the pride of the ocean—each brilliant in their own way, each a vital part of his kingdom’s strength.
There was Marco, his firstborn and heir, who handled diplomacy, warfare, and—most importantly—damage control whenever Ace was involved. (His secondary duty was keeping Whitebeard’s blood pressure from reaching ‘tsunami’ levels.)
Jozu, his steadfast commander, guarded the kingdom’s borders with a diamond-hard will, and an even harder head, which was useful when Ace inevitably crashed into things at full speed.
Thatch, the royal chef, was in charge of feeding the court—and also of hiding anything flammable before Ace could get ideas. (This never worked.)
Izo, the kingdom’s fiercest tactician, could outmanoeuvre an entire fleet but still couldn’t outmanoeuvre Ace’s ability to find trouble.
And then there was Ace. The youngest. The wildcard. The reason the royal treasury had a budget line just for ‘property damage.’
They were a powerful, respected, and (mostly) functional royal family. However, while Ace’s siblings ruled, protected and governed, Ace’s only life goal was fire. Fire was fascinating. Fire was beautiful. Fire was, unfortunately, not a thing that worked underwater.
Every monarch has their trials. Whitebeard’s trial was named Ace.
They’d attempted everything.
First, Marco organized thrilling underwater races. Ace won—then immediately tried to use the trophy (a golden trident) to reflect sunlight into a fire starter. Second, Izo arranged lectures from the kingdom’s wisest scholars about the dangers of surface life. Ace took notes. The notes just said "FIRE???" in increasingly large letters. Third, Jozu installed magma-proof gates around high-risk areas. Ace scaled them like an overenthusiastic eel and dove into a hydrothermal vent. Fourth, Thatch took him on a carefully monitored tour of a sunken ship. Ace spent the entire time trying to strike sparks off rusted cannons.
And Whitebeard? He’d resorted to the last-ditch ‘just yell “ACE, NO!” every five minutes’ strategy. It was… not effective. Thus, another day, another crisis for the Ocean King. All Newgate could do was sigh, adjust his crown and hope today wasn’t the day Ace somehow set the sea itself on fire.
(Deep down, he knew better.)
… …
The throne room of the Ocean Palace was quiet—too quiet.
The silence was unnerving. It was the familiar, terrible quiet he'd come to associate with Ace being up to something, a silence that meant disaster was a just a heartbeat away. He could practically hear the chaos bubbling on the other side of the palace, and it hadn't even happened yet.
He lounged on his coral-studded throne, swirling a goblet of fermented kelp wine, when his eldest son, Marco the Phoenix, swam in with a familiar look of exhausted resignation. He didn't even need to speak. His arrival was a foreboding in itself.
"Pops," Marco sighed. "Ace happened."
Whitebeard simply tilted his head back, resting it against the throne's cold coral. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if it took all his strength. He downed the rest of it in one gulp. "How bad?"
"Remember how Ace has been obsessed with fire?"
"Yes."
"Remember how he can’t touch fire underwater?"
"Yes."
"Remember Auntie Ursula’s 'Become Human' potions?"
Whitebeard didn't even need to hear the rest. His own sister, the great Ursula, the sea-witch of the Coral Sea, was a genius—a master of potions and spells who he trusted implicitly with all his sons and daughters. All of them, that is, except for one. He'd long since warned her to keep Ace away from her magical lab.
He knew she loved her nephew, but she loved her sanity more.
"So. Last night. Ace snuck to the surface during that human festival."
His grip on the goblet tightened. "And?"
"And he saw... fireworks." Marco said the word like it was a death sentence.
A beat of silence.
Then Whitebeard groaned so deeply it vibrated through the throne room. "Oh, for the love of the tides—"
Marco nodded grimly. "Yeah. He's been raving about them all morning. Called them 'sky-fire.' He said they were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen." He pulled out a crumpled piece of kelp parchment—Ace's hastily scribbled notes.
"I'm off to find what's so great about the things up above," it read. "I want to be where the people are. I'm tired of having to swim on my fins. This place is too wet and you guys are too old. Don't look for me, I'll find you when I'm ready. (Okay maybe come looking a little.) - Your Future Surface King (Ace)"
Underneath, he'd drawn a crude stick figure merfolk with X's for eyes floating belly-up.
Whitebeard stared at it. "Tell me he didn't—"
"He did. He went straight to Aunt Ursula's cave. Demanded a potion. But she refused..."
… …
The Sea Witch’s cave looked like a hurricane had passed through—if the hurricane was specifically angry at potion ingredients. Glass shards floated in the water, rare spellbooks were shredded, the mangled remains of her "World's Best Witch" mug and a very traumatized octopus was attempting to reassemble a shattered aquarium.
Ursula herself was perched on what remained of her worktable, her usually sleek hair standing straight up like she'd been struck by lightning. Her electric eels, normally menacing, looked downright traumatized as they huddled in her hair.
"You!" she shrieked, spotting Whitebeard, launching a piece of broken coral at his head. "This is your fault! That little pyromaniacal menace you call a son-"
Whitebeard ducked smoothly. "What exactly-"
"He came in here with those big puppy eyes," Ursula raged, swimming in furious circles, "said 'Auntie Ursula, I just want to ask about your potions' like some sweet little guppy-"
One of the eels whimpered.
"And then when I said no, he started rifling through my shelves like a barracuda at a buffet!"
A stray bolt of magic zapped from her fingertips, frying a nearby seahorse statue. Neither of them acknowledged it.
"Then he somehow bypassed three layers of curses, took the potion, drank it right in front of me-" She mimed an explosion with her hands. "-poof! Legs! And then he kicked off my wall to swim upward like some deranged reverse meteor!"
The oldest eel began ugly-crying.
Whitebeard sighed, rubbing his temples.
She crossed her arms, suddenly looking more exhausted than angry. "You're paying for this. Double. And I want that limited edition golden pearl from your treasury."
The Great Patriarch nodded solemnly, already pulling out his coin purse. Some battles weren't worth fighting. Ursula snatched the heavy pouch from his hand, weighing it with a scowl. She clutched it to her chest, her anger momentarily forgotten, only to have it return with a fresh surge of fury.
"That demon child of yours took the strongest one," the Sea Witch seethed. "The one that lasts a full lunar cycle!"
"I’ll bring him back."
She glared. "You’d better. Because Ace’s not just a human now. He's a ticking time bomb. The surface world is full of soft, squishy things that aren't meant to handle the likes of him!"
"Marco could—"
"Oh no, brother dearest. You're not sending some lackey after that walking disaster." She jabbed a finger at his chest. "It has to be you. Your eldest couldn't handle Ace on his best day," Ursula scoffed. "Remember when he tried to 'reason' with him during the Electric Eel Rodeo Incident? I had to regrow Marco's eyebrows for weeks!"
The Mer-King opened his mouth again.
Ursula produced a scroll from thin air. "Let's examine the official incident reports, shall we? 'Prince Ace: Coral Reef Collapse - Jozu was on duty. 'Prince Ace: Royal Kitchen Fire - Thatch's watch. 'Prince Ace: Diplomatic Gala... Incident...' - that was Izo's hair turning white in real time."
She rolled up the scroll with a snap. "Face it, Eddie. Your entire cabinet has PTSD from babysitting duty. Even my eels have trauma bonds!" The mentioned eels nodded vigorously, one bursting into spontaneous tears.
"Fine," Edward Newgate grumbled. "You'll handle the kingdom while I'm gone."
Ursula massaged her temples. “My regent fee is triple pay, I get to use your private hot springs, and I'm legalizing recreational jellyfish venom."
"...Double pay and you can ban Atlantic envoys from court."
"Deal." She tossed him a glowing potion bottle. "Now go before I remember how much I hate paperwork."
Time to find a certain pyromaniac prince.
... ...
The fish market had been brutal today.
Luffy rubbed his sore shoulders as he trudged down the beach path, the neon lights of the nightclub district fading behind him. His part-time gig washing dishes at "Blue Horizon" left his hands pruny and his back aching, but the extra berry in his pocket meant he could afford rice tomorrow. Maybe even meat if he skipped breakfast.
The full moon painted the shoreline silver, waves lapping hungrily at the sand. Luffy paused to kick off his sandals—no sense getting them wet—when something moved near the tide line.
Something big.
"Old man?" Luffy called out, squinting.
The figure stumbled, then promptly face-planted into the wet sand.
"Whoa!" Luffy scrambled forward, feet sinking into cool grains. As he got closer, his brain short-circuited. Because holy shit. The guy was huge—taller than anyone Luffy had ever seen, with shoulders like a sumo wrestler and silver hair plastered to his back.
Also, critically, "You're naked!" Luffy blurted.
The man lifted his head from the sand, revealing a ridiculous crescent moustache. "I'm aware," he grumbled, voice like rocks tumbling in the surf. Luffy's gaze dropped against his will. Six-pack abs. Eight-pack abs? Was that a thing? His face burned.
"Y-You can't just be naked on the beach! That's... that's..."
"Indecent?" the stranger offered, attempting to stand. His legs wobbled like a newborn foal's.
"Yeah! Pervert stuff!"
Luffy’s eyes were glued to the man.
The moon was so bright tonight, almost blindingly so, but all Luffy could see was the man, his strong form outlined against the crashing waves. It was definitely "pervert stuff," and he should be grossed out. But… he wasn't. The man was enormous, his body a map of strong muscle and old scars that looked almost elegant in the moonlight.
Luffy’s face burned a deep red, and he quickly looked away, but only for a second. He just had to look one more time, just to make sure he'd seen it all correctly.
His eyes travelled from the broad, powerful shoulders up to the man's face. The moon illuminated a face that was weathered but strong, with laugh lines etched around his deep brown eyes and a firm jawline. A long, white moustache, thick and perfectly shaped like a crescent moon, dominated his face. The man's long, wavy hair, the colour of a fresh snowfall, was held back by a simple string, and the cool night air made the strands dance around his face.
Luffy’s mind, for a brief moment, went completely blank, the heat in his cheeks a strange, new sensation.
The man chuckled, his moustache twitching. "Boy, if I wanted to expose myself, I'd pick somewhere warmer." He gestured to the empty coastline. "And with witnesses."
Luffy opened his mouth, closed it. Okay, fair point. "Then why—"
"Shipwreck," the man said, a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of his head. He spoke with a casual grace, as if being naked on a beach was a common occurrence. "A massive storm came out of nowhere. The ship went down, and the ocean was kind enough to grant me a one-way trip to this shore." He let out a low chuckle, a sound that was both deep and rich. "I suppose I'm lucky to be alive."
Luffy's eyes widened, his mind completely blanking on the ‘pervert’ thing. The man was a shipwreck survivor! He had no clothes, no home, no one. The young boy’s brow furrowed, his mind already racing to find a solution.
Then the moonlight caught his eyes.
Dark. Deep. The colour of the ocean trenches where light never reached.
Luffy's chest did a funny flip.
A gust of cold sea breeze whipped across the beach, and Luffy shivered, hugging his arms to his chest. The night was getting colder, and he suddenly realized that the old man, who was just standing there, completely naked, must be freezing. Luffy shrugged off his red scarf—the one Shanks had given him years ago—and with a sudden burst of energy, tossed it at the stranger. "Cover up, old man! Your everything is too much!"
The man caught it deftly, raising an eyebrow at the worn fabric. "...Thank you."
Luffy's eyes dipped again. "Your abs are... I mean clothes are... I mean—" He spun around so fast he tripped on wet sand. “Why do muscles look better on grandpas?! This is unfair!" He clapped his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut.
A quiet chuckle rumbled from behind. Luffy didn't dare turn around. His face was still hot with embarrassment. The sound of shifting fabric made Luffy hesitantly, slowly, turn his body back towards the man, but his hands remained firmly pressed against his face. He then slowly lowered his hands just enough so he could peek through his fingers. The old man had draped the long scarlet scarf around his hips like a ceremonial sash, the frayed ends fluttering against his thighs. He'd tied it with the practiced ease of someone who'd worn ship sails as cloaks - secure enough for decency, but loose enough to show a distracting V of hipbone when he moved.
"Better, boy?" That deep voice rumbled with amusement.
Luffy's gaze travelled up the miles of exposed torso before he caught himself.
The man chuckled, adjusting the knot. His calloused fingers brushed over the fabric's sun-bleached edges, pausing at the clumsily stitched repair where Luffy had fixed a tear last winter. "You've cared for it well."
Something about the way he said it made Luffy's next protest die in his throat. The moonlight caught silver scars crisscrossing the man's abdomen. Then the man took a step forward and the makeshift wrap slipped low.
"GAH! Tighter! Tie it tighter!" Luffy screeched, covering his eyes again as his face burned.
The man retied the scarf with exaggerated slowness, watching Luffy’s ears turn scarlet. "At my age, boy, cold breezes are the least of my worries." He flexed a bicep playfully.
Luffy’s hands dropped. "How old are you anyway?!"
"Seventy winters," the stranger said, watching Luffy’s eyes go round.
"SEVEN—" Luffy’s panic was instant. He grabbed the older man’s hand without thinking, his smaller fingers barely wrapping around those weathered knuckles. "Old people can’t be naked in the cold! You’ll get dead!"
Luffy tugged the older man forward like a runaway tugboat. "My place is close! Well, kinda close! Okay it's twenty minutes but I run fast—well, you should run fast but you're old so I'll drag you—oh crap, can you even run? Should I carry you? I could probably piggyback you—"
The man's laughter rumbled through their connected hands as he let himself be dragged along. "Relax, boy. I've survived more than a little cold.” His thumb brushed lightly over Luffy's knuckles - a casual touch that sent unexpected warmth up Luffy's arm. "Though I do appreciate the... enthusiastic rescue attempt."
Luffy's grip tightened instinctively. "Shishishi! Then you'll survive my apartment too! The roof only leaks when it rains sideways!"
They began walking down the beach, the man's long strides a strange counterpoint to Luffy's hurried, bouncing gait. For a few moments, the only sound was the crashing of waves and their own soft footfalls in the wet sand. The older man suddenly switched their handhold, interlacing their fingers properly. The new position made Luffy hyper-aware of every callous and scar mapping the larger palm enveloping his.
Luffy swung their hands. "Soooo... you really don't remember anything? Not even your favourite food?"
The man's thumb paused mid-stroke against Luffy's knuckles. "Flashes come and go. The sea... the taste of salt."
"What do I call you anyway?"
"Edward Newgate," the man rumbled. "Though most call me Whitebeard."
Luffy's nose scrunched. "But it's a moustache!"
The man stopped walking, and he gently turned to face Luffy, his other hand coming up to gently cup Luffy's chin. He looked at the boy, his deep brown eyes filled with an amused tenderness. "Moustache, beard, who cares?" he said, his voice a low, soothing hum. "It's all hair. What matters is the man underneath it."
A long pause. The older man waited, expecting profound reflection.
Luffy tilted his head to the side, his brain working furiously. "Zoro says when people say stuff that sounds smart but makes no sense, it’s ‘deep.’ Was that deep?" He poked the taller man’s chest. "Are you being deep right now?"
Whitebeard chuckled. "Perhaps."
Luffy squinted. "Hmm." A beat. Then, with the gravity of a philosopher, "…Do you poop?"
Whitebeard’s moustache twitched. "…Yes."
Luffy nodded sagely. "That’s deep too."
The man's laughter rumbled through his chest as he gave Luffy's hand an affectionate squeeze. His eyes crinkled at the corners. The moonlight caught the silver in his moustache as his smile softened into something tender.
"Before I'm dragged to your leaky roof," he said quietly, "shouldn't I know whose home I'm invading?" His tone was light, but his gaze was keen.
Luffy blinked up at him. His own grin bloomed slow and bright, like sunrise over the docks. "Shishishi! I'm Monkey D. Luffy!" He puffed his chest out proudly. "I make the best veggie displays at the market! I stack eggplants like towers and—wait no, that one time they all rolled into the street. But nighttime's better though! I wash the dishes at the nightclub down by the docks! The pay’s crap but sometimes drunk people leave half-eaten chicken wings, so it’s basically a bonus!" He said it with the excitement of someone describing a five-star meal.
A beat.
"No family to feed you properly, boy?"
Luffy kicked a pebble, watching it skip ahead. "Nah! Just me! Well—and my friends, kinda. Zoro lets me stay at his place when my roof leaks too much, and Sanji sneaks me leftovers from his restaurant.”
The older man’s expression darkened for a fleeting second, but Luffy was already barrelling on, blissfully unaware of the ache his words carried.
"But it’s fine! I’m strong! I once ate nothing but ketchup packets for a week and didn’t even die!" He beamed, as if this were a grand accomplishment. "Besides, the market ladies sometimes give me bruised fruit for free, and—"
Whitebeard interrupted by suddenly lifting their joined hands, pressing Luffy’s palm flat against his own chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat was warm under Luffy’s fingers. "You’re a resilient one."
Luffy's fingers twitched against the man's chest. The heartbeat under his palm felt... big. Not just loud, but steady like a drum in a parade, the kind that made you want to march along without knowing why. His own chest did a funny little flip-flop. It made him want to... he didn't know. Bury his face in that broad chest? Laugh until his sides hurt? Both?
Instead, he did what he always did with feelings too big for words - he grinned like the sun peeking through storm clouds. "Shishishi! Okay, heartbeat check complete!" Luffy declared, finally pulling back but keeping their hands locked. He started walking, tugging Whitebeard along with sudden urgency. "Now MOVE those grandpa legs before you actually turn into an ice sculpture! My apartment's right there—" He jerked his chin toward a dimly lit building.
Their footsteps fell into sync. Luffy glanced down at their joined hands - his own tanned and scraped, the older man's broad and scarred. His grip tightened as they reached the crumbling brick building.
"Ta-da!" He gestured grandly to the third-floor window. "Home sweet home! Don't mind the elevator - it's been 'out of order' since before I was born!" He practically dragged the older man up the graffiti-covered stairs, their footsteps echoing in the narrow stairwell that smelled of fish and mildew.
At his dented blue door, Luffy fumbled with the sticky lock. "Juuust gotta kick it right—" A well-placed slam of his shoulder made it burst open, revealing a single room cluttered with fishing gear and a hammock strung between pipes. "See? Cosy!"
The 18-square-meter space was cramped but meticulously organized. Every inch of the tiny apartment spoke of someone who owned little but cared for it deeply - the chipped mug on the windowsill held wildflowers and the hammock's frayed edges were carefully knotted to prevent further unravelling.
Luffy bounced between tasks like a worried hummingbird.
"Aha!" He flung it open to reveal two folded blankets and his only towel, all patched but clean. He shoved the entire bundle at Whitebeard. His hands lingered on the red scarf still tied around the older man's hips. "You... uh. You keep that. For the cold." He turned away quickly to fiddle with his hot plate, ears pink. "Soup'll be ready in five! You just add water so it counts as medicine!"
For a moment, Whitebeard stood utterly still - a mountain taking in every detail of this strange human nest. His fingers lingered curiously on the light switch, flicking it on and off three times before Luffy grabbed his wrist.
"Stop that! You'll burn out the bulb!" Luffy scolded, dragging him to an overturned crate. As they slurped instant soup, the older man kept examining ordinary objects like they held the secrets of the universe - his thick fingers tracing the rim of his chipped bowl, nostrils flaring at the scent of artificial chicken flavouring.
... ...
The bathroom tutorial was... an experience.
"Why does the water come from there?"
"Mysterious pipes!" Luffy declared, then immediately contradicted himself. "No wait, science pipes! Same difference!" He demonstrated the taps. "Okay your turn! I'm gonna get you clothes!"
Whitebeard watched as the boy bolted out the door, but his keen eyes noticed more than just a hasty exit. Before he disappeared, Luffy dived under his bed and pulled something small and lumpy from a box. It was a quick, furtive movement, and the boy was gone before the former Mer-King could even question it.
He turned his attention to the running water, a strange and foreign luxury. It was an odd feeling, a complete change from the salty embrace of his ocean home, but the warmth of the spray felt surprisingly… good.
The bathroom door creaked open, steam pouring out as the King of the Tides emerged - his silver hair damp and fluffy. He stopped mid-step.
Luffy stood panting in the doorway, cheeks flushed scarlet from his mad dash through the chilly night. A light sheen of sweat and sea spray glistened on his wild hair, making it cling to his forehead. His threadbare shirt, soaked through from his exertion, stuck to his shoulders. Beneath one arm, he clutched a plastic bundle from the 24-hour convenience store down the street.
"Tada!" Luffy announced breathlessly. He thrust the package forward - inside was a set of navy-blue pyjamas that would fit Whitebeard's massive frame perfectly.
Then Luffy's gaze dropped.
A beat of silence.
"GYAAAAAAAAH!" The plastic bag went flying as Luffy slapped both hands over his eyes, fingers splayed just enough to peek. "Why are you still naked, old man?!" His voice cracked.
Newgate looked down at himself with mild curiosity - water still dripping from his hair onto bare shoulders. Humans and their clothing taboos were... peculiar. He'd observed enough sailors to understand the general anatomy, but the social implications still intrigued him. Below the waist, his new human form had developed the expected... accessories. Merfolk had similar equipment of course (though retractable and far more streamlined for hydrodynamic efficiency), but they only covered up for ceremonial purposes. This boy's reaction suggested human genitalia carried some special significance beyond reproduction.
Perhaps a vulnerability point?
He made a mental note to research human modesty customs later.
Newgate tilted his head, watching how the boy's fingers trembled where they barely covered his eyes It was the second time tonight the boy had reacted with such a panicked, mortified fervour upon seeing him uncovered.
Fascinating.
If human males shared the same anatomy, why such embarrassment?
"Are yours different?" he rumbled, stepping closer—water still glistening on his collarbones. He gestured casually downward. "You're male too, yes?"
Luffy’s hands fell limp at his sides, eyes blown wide as they flickered between Whitebeard's face and—oh. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Whitebeard blinked. Ah. Perhaps it's not just the anatomy. His gaze traced the flush creeping down Luffy's throat, the way his damp shirt clung to heaving ribs.
Concerned by Luffy's flushed gills—no, humans didn't have gills—Whitebeard instinctively reached for where merfolk would check for illness - the sensitive junction between neck and shoulder. His calloused fingers brushed the damp skin under Luffy's ear.
Luffy's entire body spasmed like a shocked eel. His flailing foot hit a puddle, sending him skidding backward and would have cracked his skull if the older man hadn't caught him mid-fall. Luffy was caught by the waist, their bodies colliding.
They froze. Luffy's rapid breaths fogged against the board chest.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy tilted his head back to meet Whitebeard's gaze. The older man's silver lashes glistened with leftover droplets, his usually majestic moustache now drooping like a wet sea lion's whiskers. One particularly water droplet clung to the tip before—
Plop.
It landed right on Luffy's nose.
"Pfft—" A giggle burst past Luffy's lips, then another, until he was outright cackling. "Shishishi! Your face looks like a soggy biscuit!" He reached up, poking the damp moustache. "Does this thing weigh more when it's wet? Can you even breathe with all that—"
Whitebeard's grip tightened slightly as Luffy's playful fingers brushed his lips. The boy froze again—just for a heartbeat—before his grin returned full-force. "Okay, okay! Lemme go, old man! You're getting me all wet!" He wriggled free, but not before giving the strong bicep an appreciative pat. "At least your grabby arms work good! Super strong for a grandpa!"
Luffy's laughter echoed through the tiny apartment as he finally squirmed free, but not before his fingers trailed absentmindedly down the older man's arm. The boy immediately spun around. "C-clothes! Put on clothes first! Clothes now!" He made a frantic beeline for the linen closet, before yanking out a beach towel.
The projectile towel hit Whitebeard square in the chest with a damp thwap. He caught it effortlessly, watching with quiet amusement as Luffy spun away, his ears burning crimson.
"Right! Right!" Luffy waved his hands frantically toward the bathroom. "Go dry off properly! And—and put on the pyjamas! All the pieces!" He emphasized this by miming pulling up pants with exaggerated motions. "Underwear too! Especially underwear!"
Whitebeard chuckled, retreating to the bathroom to spare the flustered boy. The mirror reflected his damp form as he methodically dried himself—the way water cascaded down his broad shoulders, how the towel caught on the scars mapping his torso. Humans were such fascinating creatures, blushing at mere skin.
The pyjamas unfolded like a treasure map in his hands. He dressed with deliberate care, examining each button and seam with feigned curiosity—just as a shipwreck victim might study unfamiliar clothing. The fit was suspiciously perfect. Had the boy measured him with just his eyes?
Emerging with his silver hair still damp, he found Luffy perched on the hammock, fiddling with a glowing rectangle. Whitebeard's breath caught. A mobile phone—Ace had drawn these countless times in the palace corridors, ranting about how merfolk needed this surface technology.
"Decent?"
Luffy glanced up, then did a double-take. "Whoa! You clean up nice for a—" His nose scrunched. "Wait, your hair's still wet!" He sprang up, grabbing a strange contraption from under the bed. "Sit! Sit! Gotta use the Zoro Special 3000!"
"That... glowing rectangle."
Luffy blinked. "My phone?" He plopped behind the older man, straddling his legs as the hair dryer roared to life. "You even forgot phones? No prob! I'll teach you everything later!"
The boy lounged in his hammock, one knee drawn up lazily while the other leg dangled over the side, his bare foot brushing against Whitebeard’s back. He sat on the floor, his massive frame leaning slightly into the touch, as if Luffy’s ankle against his spine was the most natural thing in the world.
The small fingers then carded through his damp hair, the warm blast of the dryer sending silver strands fluttering like sea foam. The old mer suppressed a shiver.
Strange, Whitebeard mused. On land, humans were so… fragile. No fins, no scales—just smooth skin stretched over lean muscle. And Luffy’s leg, dangling just within reach as the boy hummed and fussed with the dryer—they were fascinating.
Without thinking, Whitebeard reached out and traced a thumb along Luffy’s calf.
"Wha—?! Old man?!" The dryer sputtered as Luffy jerked, nearly dropping it.
Whitebeard blinked up at him. "Apologies. I was… studying." He smoothed his palm up the curve of Luffy’s leg, slow and deliberate. He squeezed gently, marvelling at the warmth. "May I examine further? For curiosity."
Luffy’s face burned. "C-curiosity—?!" He squirmed, but didn’t pull away. "Y-You’re weird! Who just—ah!—touches people’s legs like that?!"
Whitebeard tilted his head. "Is this not normal?" His fingers kneaded the taut muscle of Luffy’s thigh, relishing the hitch in the boy’s breath. "After the shipwreck, I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought. Things feel new. Consider this my fieldwork."
Luffy’s toes curled involuntarily, his grip on the dryer faltering. He pressed his thumb into the hollow behind Luffy’s knee. The boy whined, and Whitebeard decided then that those human legs were exquisite.
"Brat," Whitebeard rumbled affectionately.
Luffy bit his lip, the dryer forgotten in his trembling hands. Focus, focus—gotta finish drying his hair—but the old man’s palms were rough and warm, skimming up now, and—
"D-Done!" Luffy yelped, snapping the dryer off. He tumbled backward into the hammock, leg flailing like he’d forgotten how they worked. "P-Phone lessons! Now!"
Whitebeard chuckled. "As you wish."
… …
The apartment was quiet save for the soft, rhythmic breathing of the boy asleep in his hammock. Edward Newgate sat cross-legged on the floor, the glow of Luffy's phone casting silver light across his features. His fingers scrolled carefully through page after page of human knowledge.
Orphan.
The word sat heavy in Newgate’s chest. Luffy had said it so casually earlier, as if they were simple facts of life rather than tragedies. The boy had laughed about his leaking roof, about surviving on bruised fruit from the market ladies and about the three jobs he juggled just to keep this tiny space.
In the Mer-Kingdom, an orphan was never an orphan for long. The sea had a way of bringing its lost children home. They were welcomed into a family, cared for by the community and given a home and a name. Edward Newgate himself, a man who had never taken a Queen, had adopted dozens of them, Ace among them, showering them with a love and security. However, this child of the surface was so young, younger even than Ace, and he was alone. He was a storm-tossed soul with no family to hold him.
Newgate's grip tightened imperceptibly around the phone. The device felt alien in his grasp—too small, too fragile, like so many things in this human world. A foreign heat burned behind his ribs - not the familiar surge of tidal magic, but something sharper, more insistent.
Luffy.
This boy who shared his food without hesitation, who'd given his favourite scarf to a stranger, who laughed while sleeping under a leaking roof... He deserved more. So much more.
His thumb hovered over the search bar.
Human wealth. Human comforts. Human ways to care for someone.
He wanted to give this boy the world, to build him a castle, to feed him with the finest foods from his treasury. But humans were a dangerous, chaotic species, and he was a Mer-King, a ruler of a world that was hidden from this one. The two worlds could not, should not, mix. They didn’t belong in his world, and he—
(He had no business wanting to keep one.)
Whitebeard's thumb paused over the search bar.
…Ah.
He did have resources, didn’t he?
A slow smile curved beneath his moustache. Of course. Humans, like merfolk, prized the ocean's treasures. And Whitebeard's blood—royal merfolk blood—could crystallize into perfect golden pearls when exposed to air. A king's ransom, literally at his fingertips.
…He was going to do it.
He was going to vanish into the human world, learn its rules, conquer its markets and return dripping in wealth—just to see the way Luffy’s eyes would light up when he shoved a mountain of meat in front of him. Just to hear that stupid, loud laugh when he handed him the keys to a real house.
A soft snore drew his attention.
Luffy had tangled himself in the hammock, one leg dangling over the side. His mouth was slightly open, his wild hair splayed like a dark sunburst against the thin pillow. The blanket had slipped to the floor.
The Landbound Ruler rose silently, retrieving the fabric with care. As he draped it over the boy, his fingers lingered, brushing a stubborn lock of hair from Luffy's forehead. The strands were surprisingly soft between his fingers, like the finest kelp silk from the palace gardens.
The boy sighed in his sleep, nuzzling unconsciously into his palm like a contented seal pup. The warmth of his skin seeped into Newgate’s calloused hand, foreign and intoxicating.
For a long moment, the Mer-King simply watched the steady rise and fall of the boy's chest.
This was human skin. Human breath. Human everything.
And yet.
His pulse roared in his ears, louder than the deepest trench.
Before he could stop himself, he bent down.
A press of lips to Luffy’s forehead—chaste, fleeting.
Luffy hummed, lips curling into a sleepy smile.
Newgate straightened abruptly, his spine rigid.
This was madness.
A part of him knew that what he was doing was a dangerous, foolhardy thing. But the warmth of the boy's skin, the soft rhythm of his breathing, was a siren's call, a melody that was pulling him away from his duty, from his world, from his very self.
He exhaled, slow and measured.
What was done was done. And if he had kissed this boy—this reckless, sunlit creature who laughed in the face of hunger and called a leaking shack home—then he would return as more than a stray. More than a shipwrecked ghost.
If the sea had made him a king, then the surface would make him something just as mighty.
Something worthy.
His eyes drifted to a bundle of old clothing that had been neatly folded on a chair in the room. A simple white shirt, a pair of trousers and a brand-new jacket—all clearly purchased with what little the boy had.
He took the clothes, the feel of the fabric a new kind of warmth in his hands. He then walked to the chipped bowl on the counter.
Three pearls. Three vows.
Wait for me.
The door clicked shut behind him.
… …
The first thing Luffy noticed when he blinked awake at 4 AM was the silence.
Not the usual kind of silence—the kind where he could hear the ocean outside his window, or the creak of his hammock as he rolled over. No, this silence was... empty.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"Old man?"
No answer.
The blanket was tucked around him too neatly—Luffy never made his bed, and he definitely didn’t remember pulling it up over his shoulders last night.
The apartment was small. A single glance told him what he already knew: the old man—Edward Newgate, his brain supplied unhelpfully—was gone.
Luffy scratched his head.
"Maybe he went for a run?"
That made sense. The old man was huge, all thick muscles and broad shoulders. Luffy had not been staring (okay, maybe a little), but even he could tell the guy was strong. Probably the type to wake up before dawn and do a hundred push-ups or something.
Yeah. That had to be it.
Luffy swung his legs over the side of the hammock, toes brushing the cold wooden floor. The chill of early November seeped into his skin, and he shivered, rubbing his arms. Zoro and Sanji had always complained about the apartment being too drafty, but Luffy never really noticed until now.
He padded to the bathroom, flicking on the light. His reflection stared back at him—sleep-mussed hair, a crease from the hammock’s rope pressed into his cheek. He splashed water on his face, the icy shock helping to shake off the lingering fog of sleep.
He’s just out. He’ll be back.
The toothbrush felt weird in his mouth. Luffy spit, rinsed, then frowned at the sink.
Maybe he went to get breakfast.
That thought made his stomach growl.
Luffy tugged on his usual clothes—a red hoodie over a tank top, thick socks and his beat-up sneakers.
The market wouldn’t open for another hour, but he wanted to get there early. The fishmongers would already be setting up, their stalls smelling of salt and ice, and he could trade some of his vegetables for scraps of tuna or mackerel if he was lucky.
By 5 AM, there was still no sign of him.
Luffy poked around the apartment—nothing was missing. Not his savings, not the half-empty bag of rice, not even the spare change he’d left on the counter.
"Huh."
Not a thief, then.
He paused at the door, hand on the knob.
…Should I leave a note?
But what would he even say? "Hey, old man, where’d you go?" That sounded stupid. Besides, the man wasn’t lost. He was just… not here right now. Maybe the old man had gotten his memories back last night and left. That would be good, right? Luffy should be happy for him. So why did it feel like someone had taken a bite out of his stomach?
Luffy stepped outside, the cold air biting at his cheeks. The streets were still dark, the sky just beginning to lighten at the edges.
He’d see the old man later.
He had to.
… …
The fish market was loud, smelly and full of people. It was exactly the kind of chaos Luffy usually loved. He lugged crates of vegetables with practiced ease, grinning at the regulars, laughing too loud at bad jokes.
Normal. Everything was normal.
Except—
Today, his mind was somewhere else entirely.
His hands slowed as he stacked tomatoes.
What if the old man was hurt somewhere? No. No way. That guy could probably bench-press a boat. Luffy had seen the way his muscles flexed when he stretched, the way his shoulders took up half the damn doorway. Edward wasn’t just big—he was strong, the kind of strong that made Luffy’s stomach do weird flips when he thought about it too much.
What if he’d left because Luffy’s place was too shitty?
Luffy’s fingers tightened around a tomato, nearly crushing it before he caught himself.
...Okay, that one stung.
The apartment was tiny, barely more than a closet with a hammock and a hot plate. The shower groaned like a dying seagull, the floorboards creaked under the older man’s weight and the whole place smelled like salt and damp wood, but for the first time in forever, it hadn’t felt empty.
Luffy scowled, shoving the thought away.
"Hey, Luffy! You gonna stare at that carrot all morning or sell it?"
Luffy blinked. He’d been holding the same carrot for who-knows-how-long, his brain stuck on a very specific, very distracting memory. The man’s bare chest, water sliding down the grooves of his muscles as he stepped out of the shower.
"GYAH—!" Luffy flailed, nearly dropping the entire crate of vegetables. His face burned. Why was he thinking about that?! The old man had only been there for one night. One! And yet, Luffy’s stupid brain kept replaying every single second like it was the best movie ever.
Luffy wasn’t used to being touched like that.
Sure, his friends shoved him around, punched his arm, even sat on him sometimes. But this was different because the older man’s hands had been huge, warm and rough as they traced idle patterns along Luffy’s calf, his fingers pressing just a little too deliberately into the muscle.
And Luffy had shivered.
His mind wandered to what ifs. What if he had a bed? Not for anything weird! Just… sleeping.
Luffy liked hugging things when he slept—pillows, blankets, sometimes even Zoro if he passed out drunk on the couch. But Edward? Edward was big. Big enough that Luffy could probably curl right into his chest, and those giant arms could wrap around him like a living blanket.
And then—
Maybe his hands would wander. Just… exploring. Like last night, but more. A palm sliding up Luffy’s back, fingers pressing into the knots of his shoulders after a long day of work. A thumb brushing the nape of his neck, making him melt.
Would the older man’s beard tickle if he nuzzled into Luffy’s hair?
"Nnngh…!" Luffy slapped both hands over his face, his entire body burning.
This was getting out of hand.
… …
The afternoon passed in a blur of part-time jobs—delivering packages, scrubbing floors, hauling boxes. By the time the sun dipped low, Luffy’s arms ached, his stomach growled, and his head was still stuck on a certain silver-haired giant.
"Stupid," he muttered, kicking a pebble.
Why did he even care? It wasn’t like he’d wanted to hear that deep voice again, rumbling through the apartment like the tide against the shore. It wasn’t like he’d spent an hour the night before staring at the old man’s back, counting the scars that crisscrossed his skin, wondering how they’d feel under his fingers.
And it definitely wasn’t like he’d been replaying that moment in the bathroom over and over—when Whitebeard had caught him mid-stumble, one massive hand splayed across Luffy’s waist, their bodies pressed close enough that Luffy could feel the heat rolling off him.
"Nope!" Luffy clapped his hands to his cheeks, shaking his head violently. "No more thinking about hot grandpas!"
If the giant old man had wanted to come back… he would have by now. Luffy had told him everything yesterday—where he worked, his schedule, even the best spots to watch the sunset along the docks. If the old man had wanted to find him again, he could have.
Unless…
Unless he’d really gotten his memories back.
Unless he’d remembered who he was, where he belonged—somewhere far away from this tiny, creaky apartment and the boy who talked too much.
Luffy’s throat felt thick.
The apartment would be empty when he got back.
He knew it.
… …
The nightclub’s kitchen was steamy, the sink overflowing with dishes. Luffy scrubbed mechanically, his mind drifting back to the chipped bowl on his counter.
Wait.
Had there been something in it this morning?
Three little... shiny things?
He frowned.
Probably just bottle caps. He collected those sometimes.
Luffy kept scrubbing.
His fingers moved automatically, scraping food scraps off plates and stacking them in the drying rack. Normally, he'd be humming some off-key tune or chatting with the kitchen staff between loads, but tonight his mouth felt stuffed with cotton. The club's bass thumped through the walls, rattling the stacks of clean glasses, but the rhythm didn't lift his spirits like usual.
A wine glass slipped from his soapy grip.
It shattered against the tile floor in a burst of glittering shards.
"Damn it," Luffy muttered, more surprised at himself than the broken glass. He never dropped things. Not even when he was dead tired after triple shifts. His hands always knew what to do - grab, scrub, stack, repeat, but tonight they felt foreign, like someone else's clumsy appendages stuck to his wrists.
The kitchen manager shot him a glare from the grill station. "That's coming out of your pay."
Luffy forced a grin. "Yeah, yeah, add it to my tab!" But his usual playful tone fell flat. He crouched to gather the pieces, ignoring how his reflection warped in each curved fragment. The sharp edges bit into his palms, but he barely felt it.
A warm hand gripped his shoulder. "Let me." The cleaning lady nudged him aside with her hip. Her wrinkled hands made quick work of the mess with a dustpan. "You're gonna bleed all over the floor, kid."
Only then did Luffy notice the red smears his fingers left on the ceramic shards. "Oops."
She tsked, digging in her apron pocket. She produced a bandage decorated with tiny cartoon ducks - the kind she kept for the club hostesses' blistered heels. She grabbed Luffy's hand without a word and wrapped the cut.
"You're not eating enough," she declared, pressing the bandage edges down firmly. "Skinny arms like twigs. No wonder you're dropping things."
Luffy opened his mouth to argue - he always ate enough! - but then remembered his last meal was an apple from the bottom of his backpack this morning. Before that was the instant soup he made last night. He'd also gone a solid two days with nothing but a half-eaten bag of crackers he'd found on a bench. The memories didn't add up to what she was calling "enough," but in his mind, it all felt like a grand feast.
The second broken dish came an hour later - a soup bowl cracking clean in half when he stacked it too forcefully. Then a chip in the rim of a serving platter. He could already see his paycheck shrinking.
By closing time, his fingertips had pruned from hours in the water. The club's neon sign flickered off as he stepped into the alley, the sudden darkness making him blink. His stomach growled, but the thought of food turned to ash in his mouth. Even the usual post-shift convenience store run held no appeal tonight.
The walk home stretched longer than usual. Luffy counted cracks in the sidewalk to distract himself - thirty-seven before he reached the laundromat, another twenty-two past the burned-out streetlight where stray cats gathered. One particularly scrawny tabby meowed at him, but he'd forgotten to save any kitchen scraps tonight.
"Sorry," he murmured, crouching to scratch behind its ears. The cat butted against his bandaged finger, purring. Luffy wondered if the giant old man might like cats. Maybe, if he came back, they could adopt it. Luffy could save up for a big, warm blanket for the old man, and the cat could curl up in his lap. Luffy could work harder, he decided, and save enough for a place with a real bed for the old man, and a giant bowl of meat for the cat. He just had to wait for him to come back.
His shoulders sagged.
Maybe he wasn't coming back.
The thought was a bitter pill to swallow, but he forced it down.
Luffy wondered if the man was warm and safe now, if he was finally sleeping in a bed instead of on the cold floor. The man had a life to get back to, a family, a home. Even as the loneliness washed over Luffy, he couldn't bring himself to be angry.
The boy stood too quickly, his vision spotting. He leaned against a brick wall until the dizziness passed, the rough surface cold through his thin jacket. November wind bit at his exposed wrists where his sleeves had ridden up. He should have worn a thicker hoodie. Should have eaten dinner. Should have...
The key felt heavy in his pocket as he turned onto his street. His apartment window was dark, just like he'd left it. No warm glow behind the curtains. No shadow moving behind the glass.
Luffy pressed the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes. The cut on his finger throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He wasn't crying - he never cried - but the night air sure was cold enough to make a guy's eyes water.
He's really not coming back.
… …
It was past midnight when Luffy's sneakers scuffed against the cracked pavement as he trudged toward his apartment building. His arms swung empty at his sides - no groceries tonight, not after the broken dishes had cut into his pay. The streetlight above him flickered, casting long shadows that made the familiar street feel alien.
He was three steps from the entrance when he noticed them.
Black cars. Three of them. Sleek and silent as sharks.
Men in suits stood at perfect attention near the building's doorway. Their polished shoes gleamed under the dim light, so out of place against the chipped concrete.
"Whoa!" He caught himself on a lamppost, blinking at the lineup of shiny vehicles clogging his crappy apartment's driveway. "Did someone die?"
A very serious-looking man in a suit that probably cost more than Luffy made in a year stepped forward. "Monkey D. Luffy?"
Luffy scratched his nose. "Yeah?"
The man bowed so low Luffy worried his forehead might hit the pavement. "Mr. Edward requests your presence."
"Who now?"
"Your... old man, sir."
Luffy's brain short-circuited. The only "old man" he knew was the giant silver-haired hobo whom Luffy had found naked on a beach, took home. But man had left in the middle of the night without a word. Luffy had been so sure the man had gotten his memories back and left him behind, and now his people were here?
The boy’s mind immediately went to the worst possible scenarios. Were they here because he asked if the man pooped? He also remembered staring at the man's abs—twice!
A man cleared his throat. "We've prepared your belongings."
"My what now—"
Luffy bolted past them, taking the stairs three at a time. He nearly took the door off its hinges bursting into his apartment and only to freeze like he'd been flash-frozen.
The place was empty.
Not "oh someone stole my TV" empty. Not even "I got evicted" empty. This was "did I ever actually live here?" levels of clean.
"My stuff!" Luffy wailed, spinning in circles. "My hammock! My cool bottle cap collection! My—" He gasped dramatically. "My emergency ramen stash!"
The man winced. "Everything has been relocated to Mr. Edward's residence. Including... ramen."
Luffy's panic attack paused mid-wail. "All of it?"
His immediately pictured a giant, gold-plated room with all of his belongings on display. His hammock, his bottle caps, his one pair of ratty jeans, all of it arranged like some kind of museum exhibit. Whitebeard would be there, sitting on a fancy throne, pointing at it all with a massive, judging finger. "See?" he'd boom to a crowd of his fancy-suit people. "This is how the poor people live. Isn't it pathetic?"
Tears welled up in Luffy's eyes. "That's so mean!" he yelled. "You can't just steal my stuff and make fun of me! I took care of him! I gave him my scarf! I even bought him clothes with my own money!" He stomped his foot, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "That's not fair! He was supposed to be a good guy!"
"…Mr. Edward is a very kind man, sir. He merely wishes to repay your kindness. He is, after all, seventy years old and in need of a... full-time companion. Someone to help him with the simple things in life."
Luffy's brain started to connect the dots. The man was old and he needed a friend. "Oh," he said. "Okay then. I get it." The boy brightened, the epiphany hitting like sunlight. "Of course! He probably needs help remembering where he puts his dentures and stuff!" He nodded sagely. "Should've said so sooner, dumbasses!"
The suits exchanged glances of pure relief as Luffy bounded toward the car. "Well? What are we waiting for? Gotta go check on Grandpa before he forgets how to use the toilet!"
Notes:
Luffy really said "shipwrecked grandpa? FREE GRANDPA" and shoved Whitebeard into his apartment like a stray cat. Our sweet summer child has NO self-preservation!
And Whitebeard...
Somehow, in the span of one night, this man became either a billionaire, a mafia boss, or whatever the hell lets him have minions in black suits, and he decided "father of the year" was too boring and upgraded to full-time sugar daddy.
Anyway, thank you for reading!
Edited on 13/08/2025 - I added more details and scenes in. I finalized it at midnight so my brain was a bit tired. When I got up and read it again, I felt like writing more.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2 Fifty shades of seaweed
Notes:
From the bottom of my ocean-sized heart, thank you for every kudo, bookmark and comment. I'll be slowly replying to everyone between happy tears. This finale was my love letter to this weird, wonderful ship - hope it brings you as much joy as it brought me to write. Dive in, and meet you on the other side!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The limousine smelled like money, not the fish-market-and-ramen-stock-cubes kind Luffy was used to. The seats were so soft they seemed to swallow him whole, the black leather cool against his skin. Outside, the city blurred past the tinted windows, and Luffy caught a glimpse of the ocean, a flash of dark blue and white foam, before the buildings swallowed it up again. Streetlights smeared into golden streaks.
Luffy poked at the control panel beside him. "Does this thing turn into a boat?"
The lead suit, nearly dropped his clipboard. "Ah—no, sir. Though Mr. Edward did acquire a yacht this afternoon, should you wish—"
"Nah." Luffy rolled down the window, letting the night air rush in. The suits collectively stiffened but said nothing.
So the old man was really rich! That was so cool! Whitebeard could have all the food he wanted, a giant house with no leaks and all the warm blankets in the world. He wouldn't have to sleep on Luffy’s cold floor, or worry about getting sick. He deserved to have all these things. He was old, after all!
"Would you like a blanket, sir?"
Luffy blinked. "Huh?"
The man in the passenger seat held out a cashmere throw, impossibly soft. The colour was a rich, charcoal grey, with a sheen that seemed to catch the light and hold it. When Luffy touched it, it was like his hand disappeared into a pile of warm, living fur.
"Mr. Newgate was worried you might get cold," he said, a small smile on his face. "He told us to make sure you were comfortable."
"Okay," was all Luffy said, the word coming out a little flat. He took and held it against his chest, the warmth seeping into him, letting the warmth seeped into his bones, but it didn’t make the cold feeling in his chest go away.
Then came the gifts. Chocolates wrapped in gold foil, fresh-squeezed orange juice in a crystal glass and a plush lion. Luffy shook his head as if to reset his mind. He had a blanket, a warm car, and he was hungry. He could be happy now and angry later.
Luffy devoured the chocolates in two bites. "These are really good."
A minion leaned forward. "Sir, your juice." He offered a crystal glass filled with something orange and frothy.
Luffy sniffed it. "Is there alcohol in this?"
"Of course not!" The man looked genuinely horrified. "Mr. Edward was very clear about that."
Luffy shrugged and downed it in one gulp. The suits relaxed by approximately three percent.
A moment later, the boy kicked his feet up onto the seat. A flurry of hands rushed to place a soft cushion under his sneakers before they could touch the upholstery.
"So," Luffy said, "what exactly does my giant old man do now?"
The lead cleared his throat. "Mr. Newgate is the founder and CEO of Newgate Holdings. It's a diversified enterprise with extensive interests in global maritime trade, precious commodities and strategic investments. We manage everything from massive cargo shipments to the distribution of precious commodities and the acquisition of new territories for strategic development. In fact, the entire company started just yesterday, built on an incredibly successful discovery in the pearl market."
Luffy blinked. "So he's a pirate."
The driver choked.
The lead’s eye twitched. "No. He is a legitimate businessman."
"Who also owns a bunch of ships?"
"...Yes."
"And he got rich selling pearls?"
"Among other things."
Luffy grinned. "So he's a boss!" His eyes sparkled, a soft, fond smile playing on his lips. "That's nice." He then leaned his head back against the soft leather of the seat, his mind wandering. The sparkle in his eyes dimmed just a bit.
The thought of Whitebeard creating this whole empire overnight was amazing, and it was great that he was so rich now. Still, it made a heavy, lonely feeling settle in his chest. It would have been nice to have been told. A boss like that should have at least left a note. Or a phone number.
… …
The villa gates loomed ahead, iron wrought into intricate waves that glinted under the floodlights. Luffy pressed his face to the window, breath fogging the glass as the car wound up the driveway lined with torches flickering blue.
"Whoa," he whispered.
The word tasted hollow in his mouth.
The front doors—massive things carved with leaping fish—swung open before the car even stopped. And there, framed against the golden light, stood Edward Newgate. Dressed in a silk robe that barely contained his shoulders, hair loose around his face.
Luffy’s chest ached.
He tumbled out of the car before the suits could open the door, his sneakers crunching on crushed seashell pavement. The night air smelled like salt and expensive flowers.
"Took you long enough," Edward Newgate rumbled.
Luffy launched himself forward—then skidded to a stop just before impact. His hands fisted in the fabric of his hoodie.
"Hey, old man," he said, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt.
His body screamed to crash into that warmth, to bury his face in the older man's chest and breathe him in. But something sharp and hot coiled in his gut instead, making his feet stick to the pavement.
Why won't I move?
It wasn't like him to hesitate. He always hugged Zoro hello, clung to Nami when scared, even let Sanji ruffle his hair. But this felt like if Luffy touched the older man now, he'd either break apart or punch him, and he didn't understand why.
So he grinned harder. Grinned until his teeth hurt.
Newgate’s smile faltered.
… …
The villa was obscene.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. An indoor koi pond they had to cross via a little arched bridge. Luffy’s reflection in the water looked warped, his smile stretched too tight.
"Like it?" Whitebeard asked, hand hovering near the small of Luffy’s back without touching. The man’s warmth radiated through the inch of air between them. Luffy’s palms itched. Yesterday, he’d clung to that hand like a lifeline, marvelling at how it engulfed his own. They’d walked home hand-in-hand, Luffy swinging their arms like a kid. His skin remembered the exact width of the old man’s palm, the calluses that caught on his knuckles.
Today, the memory burned.
Luffy shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
Stupid. It’s just a hand.
So he focused on the pond’s perfume—lotus and salt, nothing like his apartment’s mildew. On the koi that surfaced as if greeting him, their mouths round and stupid.
"Yeah! Super fancy!" Luffy’s voice bounced off the vaulted ceilings. "Way better than my dump, huh?"
Newgate stopped walking.
Luffy kept going, pretending not to notice.
… …
The bedroom door clicked shut behind them. The room was bigger than his entire apartment. A four-poster bed piled with furs. Windows overlooking the moonlit ocean. A ridiculous bowl of fruit on the nightstand, each piece polished to a shine.
Luffy stared at the bed. His hands trembled at his sides. Then the dam broke. Tears spilled over before he could stop them, silent but relentless. He didn’t sob, didn’t hiccup—just stood there shaking as saltwater dripped off his chin.
Strong hands cupped his face.
"Brat," Nawgate murmured, forehead pressed to Luffy’s.
"Look at me."
Luffy squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to. Didn't want the older man to see the tears streaking his face, the snot dripping from his nose.
What if he left again?
The thought lodged in Luffy's chest like a fishhook. That's why he couldn't open his eyes—because if he saw pity in the man's face, or worse, indifference, he might actually break. But then those thumbs were already wiping it all away, warm and steady against his chilled skin. They paused at the hollows under his eyes, pressed lightly against the pulse in his temples.
Luffy’s eyes were still squeezed shut, but a single hand rose to swipe at his nose, and then another clenched into a fist. He then punched the man in the chest.
"Jerk!" The word tore out of Luffy. "You—you just left! No note!" Another punch. "I thought you drowned! Or got hit by a truck! Or—or—"
The man caught Luffy’s wrists before guiding them both to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling Luffy between his knees until their faces were level.
"Luffy, did you see nothing at all this morning?" Whitebeard asked, thumbs stroking the inside of Luffy's wrists where his pulse rabbited.
Luffy sniffled, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. "Nuh-uh. Just my stupid apartment." Then a memory surfaced - three golden glints in his chipped cereal bowl. But his mind, still half-asleep from the night before, had just assumed they were some of his bottle caps. Then, np, he wouldn't have put his best caps in his cereal bowl. "Maybe... those shiny rocks by the sink?"
"They are golden pearls," Whitebeard corrected softly. One large hand released Luffy's wrist to reach into his coat pocket. "In my homeland, we leave them when we must go. A vow to return." He produced a delicate bracelet - three golden pearls interspersed with smaller white ones, strung on what looked like braided sea silk.
Luffy hiccupped. "That's... that's the dumbest tradition ever!" But his fingers twitched toward the glittering thing. "How was I s'posed to know your weird old people rules?"
The older man's laughter vibrated through where their knees touched. "A fair point," he conceded, already sliding the bracelet onto Luffy's left wrist. His fingers lingered, tracing the tan line where Luffy's rubber band watch usually sat. "This one means more. Given to those we cherish above all others."
Luffy stared at the bracelet, at the delicate pearls. He felt a smile stretch across his face, wider than he could ever remember.
"Shishishi!" The sound burst out of him, bright and startled. He shook his wrist, watching the pearls catch the light. "It's perfect!" He launched himself forward without a moment's hesitation, his arms wrapping tightly around the man's neck as he settled into Whitebeard's lap, his legs bracketing those massive thighs.
Up close, he could see the way Whitebeard's brown pupils dilated, feel the hitch in the man's breathing as large hands automatically settled on his hips. One hand found the hem of Luffy's light jacket and slid beneath it, then under the soft red hoodie. His fingers traced the curve of Luffy’s waist and the top of his jeans. The other hand stayed on the outside of his hips, the thumb rubbing slow, steady circles against the rough denim.
A soft giggle escaped him. Luffy's hands that were still clutching the older man's neck began to move. His right hand released its grip to softly cup the older man's jaw. The left slid up to gently tangle in the white hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes landed on Whitebeard’s face. He smiled, a goofy, wide grin and tilted his head.
"So you're really not leaving again?"
The man's hands stilled, the thumbs ceasing their gentle rub against Luffy's skin. He slowly pulled back, bringing the smaller hand down so he could turn the wrist and press a kiss to the largest pearl. "Not unless you're with me."
Luffy's grin softened. He fiddled with the bracelet, then poked Whitebeard's chest. "Good." His finger moved upward, tapping each concern against the older man's collarbones. "'Cause someone's gotta remind you to eat veggies. And take naps. And—oh! Your back probably hurts all the time, right? I can—"
Whitebeard caught his wandering hand, bringing it to his lips. "Luffy," he interrupted, "do I look like I need a nursemaid?"
Luffy blinked. Now that he mentioned it—the man's shoulders were broader than the doorframe, his grip stronger than the dock ropes during a typhoon. Even his wrinkles looked more like wave-carved cliffs than signs of frailty.
"But you're—"
"Seventy," Whitebeard finished. He slid both hands up Luffy's sides, thumbs brushing the underside of his ribs. "And perfectly capable of caring for you." One hand rose to cradle Luffy's cheek. "If you'll let me."
Luffy’s nose scrunched. “That’s backwards. I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of you! I can poke you if you sit too long, and I’ll clean your glasses—oh, wait, you don’t have glasses, but I can get you some if you need ‘em! And I’ll make soup if you get a cold, and shoo away people who try to sell you scam stuff.”
The boy tilted his head. “But I guess you can take me to get tons of meat and find me a good sail. And you can help me adopt all the stray cats from my building. They're always waiting by the trash cans. We'll give them names and lots of food. Then we can all go on adventures together."
Luffy was listing soup recipes when Whitebeard suddenly buried his face in the crook of his neck. The scratch of that magnificent moustache against his collarbone made him squeak. Luffy's words died in a surprised giggle.
"Old man?! What're you—"
"Marry me."
The words hung between them, simple as tide charts.
Luffy froze. His grin returned, sun-bright.
"Duh!" He pushed up slightly against Whitebeard's face, his own forehead bumping gently against the man’s temple. "Obviously!"
A soft, long sigh escaped Whitebeard. He hauled Luffy closer, one arm banding around his waist while the other cupped the back of his head. His lips brushed Luffy's temple when he spoke.
"Then it's settled."
Luffy sighed happily, nuzzling into the crook of the man's neck. The pearls on his wrist clinked softly against the man's pulse point.
Forever sounded nice.
… …
Luffy barely had time to register the softness of the bed before Whitebeard’s mouth was on his—hot, insistent, hungry. The kiss burned through him like swallowed rum, sending sparks down his spine. A gasp escaped him, only for the man to swallow the sound, his tongue sliding against Luffy’s with a possessiveness that made his toes curl.
Whoa.
Luffy’s hands fisted in silver hair, tugging hard. He panted when they broke apart, his lips tingling. His hoodie was already halfway off, Whitebeard’s hands mapping the newly exposed skin like a man charting undiscovered shores.
"Shishishi—your moustache tickles!" He squirmed as silver hair brushed his bare shoulder, the older man's lips trailing a path from his collarbone to his jaw. Calloused thumbs brushed his nipples, and Luffy arched off the bed.
“O-Old man.”
Another kiss stole his words. A large hand slid under his back, lifting him effortlessly as the other tugged his jeans open just enough to slip beneath the waistband.
Luffy’s breath hitched.
The man’s fingers traced the dip of his hipbone, teasing, taunting. “You’re trembling,” he murmured against Luffy’s pulse.
“Am not!” Luffy squirmed, but the protest dissolved into a moan when blunt nails dragged lightly over his stomach. His skin burned wherever the man touched, every nerve alight.
Knock knock knock.
The knocks at the door shattered the moment.
Luffy’s arms locked around Whitebeard’s neck like sea vines. “No,” he whined, clinging tighter when the man tried to pull away.
"Luffy—"
"Nu-uh!" He hooked a leg around the man's waist for good measure. "They can wait."
Whitebeard's chuckle was warm against his skin. "He wouldn't interrupt unless it was urgent." A large hand smoothed down Luffy's side. "And you should eat. Bathe. Sleep."
Luffy pouted. "Fine. But!" He yanked the man down for one last, smacking kiss. Whitebeard’s lips softened against Luffy’s, and he returned the kiss that made Luffy's toes curl. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against Luffy’s, a deep sigh escaping him.
"I have to go now," Whitebeard pressed one last kiss to Luffy's forehead. "Be a good boy for me, and don't go wandering off to find some 'adventure' while I'm gone."
Luffy just giggled, wrapping his arms around Whitebeard's neck. "You're the adventure, silly! But okay!" With a final, tight squeeze, he let go, practically pushing Whitebeard away so the man could get a move on. "And hurry back!"
The moment the man slipped out the door, Luffy flopped onto his back, staring at the pearl bracelet glowing against his wrist. Husband-to-be. The thought sent a giddy swirl through his stomach.
Another knock. A blonde man entered, balancing a tray piled high with—
"MEAT!" Luffy shot upright. "And—is that lobster? And steak? And—"
"From the finest restaurants in town," the man said with an amused smile. He set the tray across Luffy's lap.
Luffy dug in.
The time the blonde man left to draw his bath. The steak was so tender it melted on his tongue, the lobster was sweet and perfectly cooked and the other food was a delicious blur of incredible flavours he'd never tasted before. By the time the blonde man left to draw his bath, Luffy was lying back on the bed, a blissful smile on his face, his hands resting on his very full stomach.
The bath was nice. Jets of warm water massaged his back as floral-scented steam curled around him. The soap lathered into pink clouds that smelled like pepper and cedar—expensive, but not stuffy. Just warm. Like the old man.
Luffy finished with the bath and found a set of pyjamas laid out for him on the bed. They were a bright, cheerful blue with little pictures of sushi rolls all over them. The fabric was so soft and fluffy that he couldn't help but rub his cheek against the sleeve.
When he finally crawled into bed, skin tingling and hair fluffy from whatever fancy conditioner he had used, the clock read 1:17 AM. Luffy pulled the covers up to his chin, his eyelids feeling heavy. He had meant to stay awake, to wait up for Whitebeard, but his day had been too much—too big, too fast, too full of food and new smells. He was just drifting off when he heard the door click open and the unmistakable sound of someone stepping inside.
The mattress dipped. Whitebeard slid in beside him, still dressed in his day clothes. It smelled faintly of saltwater and the city air. Luffy turned and buried his face in Whitebeard’s side without a second thought, wrapping his arms around the man's waist in a tight, sleepy hug.
Whitebeard shifted, turning more fully toward Luffy and pulling him in. One hand slid down Luffy's back to hold him close, while the other slipped under Luffy's fluffy pyjamas. He didn't move it, just let his warm palm rest against the small of Luffy's back.
"Luffy." His voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. "There's something I must tell you."
The story spilled out in low tides—of merfolk kingdoms, of a youngest son obsessed with fire, of dozens of adopted children waiting beneath the waves. Whitebeard's hands never stilled as he spoke, tracing patterns along Luffy's arm as if afraid he'd vanish.
When he finished, Luffy blinked. "So... you have, like, a big family under the sea?" Whitebeard nodded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Instead, Luffy's grin spread so wide it could've powered the sun. "That's so cool! And Ace is the one who ran away to be human? I bet he's strong. I can't wait to meet him!" He then buried his face into Whitebeard's chest, a happy, contented sigh escaping his lips.
Whitebeard let out a breath he'd been holding for what felt like hours. He wrapped his arms tightly around Luffy, burying his face in his hair and breathing in the scent of soap and sea salt that clung to the boy's skin. "I'll make sure you get to meet him." He pulled back just enough to look at Luffy. "My men have already located him. He's safe. We'll give him a few days before we make contact and bring him here."
Luffy nuzzled closer, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of salt and iron clinging to Whitebeard’s skin. The steady thump of the old man’s heartbeat under his ear was comforting, but the way those big hands kept wandering—down his back, along his ribs, teasing under the hem of his sleep shirt—made his own pulse skip.
"Hey, old man?" Luffy murmured, tilting his head up just enough to grin.
Whitebeard hummed, the sound deep and lazy, but his fingers didn’t stop their slow exploration, tracing circles just above Luffy’s hipbone.
"You’re good at keeping secrets, but you're really bad at leaving. You left a bunch of shiny golden boogers in my cereal bowl, but you didn't even say goodbye," Luffy huffed, poking Whitebeard’s chest. "Don't do that again. Just use your words. It's a human thing, you know. But good thing you’re cute, so I forgave you.”
Before Luffy could laugh, strong arms flipped him onto his back, pinning him to the mattress with a weight that made his breath catch. Whitebeard loomed over him, silver hair falling like a curtain around them.
"Cute, huh?" Whitebeard repeated.
Luffy squirmed, but the older man’s thigh pressed between his legs, those huge hands held him down. He wasn’t sleepy anymore.
"Yep," Luffy said, breathless, grinning up at him.
Whitebeard’s smirk was slow. One hand slid up under Luffy’s shirt, calloused palms dragging against bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Luffy arched into the touch, biting his lip when fingers brushed over a sensitive spot just below his ribs.
"Thought you were tired," Whitebeard murmured, leaning down to nip at Luffy’s jaw.
"Nn—not anymore," Luffy admitted, fingers twisting in Whitebeard’s hair, tugging him closer. The man chuckled, the sound vibrating against Luffy’s throat as he kissed his way down—lips trailing fire over his collarbone, teeth scraping just enough to make Luffy gasp. His other hand slid down, gripping Luffy’s thigh and hitching it higher around his waist, pulling their bodies flush together.
Luffy’s head spun. The old man was huge, all hard muscle and warm skin, and the way he moved—like he knew exactly how to make Luffy shiver—was unfair.
"Old man," Luffy whined, hips bucking up instinctively, seeking friction.
"Impatient brat," Whitebeard muttered, but the way his hands moved betrayed him—one tangling in Luffy’s hair to tilt his head back, the other sliding down to grip his hip. Luffy gasped as teeth scraped his throat, his own fingers scrambling against broad shoulders.
The world narrowed to the slide of skin on skin. Somewhere beyond their tangled limbs, a blanket slipped to the floor unnoticed. Luffy's fingers found the first button of Whitebeard's shirt just as a large hand slid beneath the small of his back, pulling them flush-
The lamp flickered. Then: darkness.
… …
Ace had been having the best week.
Pyrotechnics gigs paid well, Dadan’s shack barely had rats anymore and he’d successfully set three different things on fire without getting arrested. Life was good. He was finally a part of this world. He'd learned to use his feet for running, jumping and strolling along down a street like a human. He got to feel the sun on his skin all day, to watch the people walk where they run. He had gadgets and gizmos a-plenty, a wallet full of cash and a good friend named Sabo.
He was finally where the people were, living out of the water. He could ask his questions and get answers, and everyone understood his obsession with fire and why it burns. It was nothing like his old life, constantly flipping his fins in a world where everyone just wanted to reprimand him. This was freedom.
Until the black cars showed up like some kind of overblown mafia movie. Ace had half a second to think ‘Oh hell no’ before five men in suits—why were they all wearing sunglasses at night?—grabbed him off the porch.
"Let go of me, you overgrown clams!" Ace snarled, twisting in their grip. He could burn his way out, but Dadan’s house was still technically flammable, and he’d promised not to set it on fire again today.
“Your father sent us,” one grunted, shoving him into a limo.
Ace froze. Pops? On land?
Pops hated the surface. Hated humans. Hated everything about their world. And yet here he was—for Ace.
The youngest prince swallowed hard. Guilt twisted in his chest. He thought back to his first day on land, the cold winter wind biting at his skin, the confusing rush of cars, the terrifying lack of water. He'd been so lonely, so desperate. Ace imagined his father, a fin-less fish out of water, shivering in a thin coat, a lone giant in a world he hated.
These guys in suits? They were probably just his Pops’ old crew, the most loyal men he had, here on land to help him out. It was like a cheat code for being a human, even if they looked utterly ridiculous in their black suits and sunglasses.
Then the limo turned through gilded gates, and Ace’s guilt evaporated.
The rage returned. “...What the hell is that?”
The villa loomed like a pearl-studded nightmare. Marble fountains. Gold-trimmed windows. A helicopter pad. The limo passed a tennis court, a glass-enclosed greenhouse, and a fleet of luxury cars parked in a massive circular driveway. In the distance, a massive figure was visible next to a roaring bonfire, which was a good forty feet away from any of the flammable plants.
Ace’s eye twitched.
Two days. He’d been homeless for two days before Dadan took him in. He’d slept in alleyways. Eaten garbage. And Pops just casually became a billionaire overnight?!
Unfair.
… …
They dumped him in a room bigger than Dadan’s entire block. Silk carpets. Crystal chandeliers. And—what the hell?—an entire aquarium wall filled with exotic fish.
Then he appeared.
A boy in a white sleeveless hoodie-like shirt with red lettering, worn over a bright red collared shirt, entered the room. His black trousers were so wide and soft that they swished with his every step. Around his neck, a bunch of silver chains of different lengths dangled, catching the light. He was hugging a stuffed fish. The plush toy was a perfect replica of the last thing Ace had seen before leaving the sea—his best friend, Flounder, crying in a corner of the underwater castle.
The human boy blinked up at Ace.
“Hi! I’m Luffy!”
Ace’s anger stuttered.
“Uh. Hey.” Ace forced a smile, trying not to stare at the toy. “I’m Ace. So… are you from around here?”
Luffy’s nose scrunched. “Hah? Oh, my apartment is right by the ocean! But Old Man brought me here today.”
"Right," Ace said, his voice softer now. It made sense. Pops had probably found him on the streets and brought him home. "Where are your parents?"
Luffy just tilted his head. "They're not around."
Ace's anger completely fizzled out. Pops had done it again. He’d found a lonely human boy and given him a home. Just like he had with him and all his brothers.
"Well, You’re the youngest now,” Ace said, ruffling his hair. "Welcome home, little brother."
Luffy's brow furrowed in a small, adorable frown. "Brother?" he asked, tilting his head. "But You're... Ace."
“Sure I am.” Ace grinned. “That's how it works with Pops. He collects kids like seashells. He's my dad, and now he's your dad, so that makes us brothers.”
Luffy let out a loud, sudden laugh. “Shishishi! You’re so dumb, Ace! We can’t be brothers.”
"Who are you calling dumb, you walking tablecloth?!" Ace shot back, offended by the laugh and the insult. "I'm older than you, so shut up and listen!"
“That’s dumb too!” Luffy insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “And being older doesn’t make you right! And you can’t marry your brother’s dad! That's why we're not brothers, because I'm going to marry your dad!" He nodded as if the conclusion was obvious.
Ace paused. …What?
Luffy thrust out his left wrist—three golden pearls glinting on a braided cord.
Ace’s blood ran cold.
No.
No no no—
His royal etiquette lessons rushed back: Golden pearls. Given only to—
“So I’ll be your dad's wife!” Luffy announced, beaming.
Silence.
Ace’s soul left his body.
Luffy, oblivious, kept going. "Your Pops is so cool, Ace! And strong! And super hot—"
Ace made a noise like a dying seagull.
"—last night was amazing! He’s huge everywhere, y’know? Like, really huge. And then he—"
"STOP. TALKING." Ace wheezed, clutching his chest.
Luffy tilted his head. "Huh? Why? It was fun! He let me sit on his lap and everything! And his mouth—"
THUD.
Ace hit the carpet face-first, his mind a static scream of NOPE.
… …
Ace had seen many horrors in his life—burning kelp forests, eel infestations in the royal baths, even that one time his brother Thatch tried to invent "sushi pizza"—but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Pops, one day, pinning Luffy against the aquarium glass like a damn merfolk romance novel cover.
Luffy was pressed flush against the glass, his red hoodie rucked up to reveal a strip of toned stomach, the fabric stretched taut where Whitebeard's massive hands gripped his waist. His shorts had ridden up dangerously high, exposing miles of tanned thigh wrapped around Pops' hips. The blue glow of the tank water cast shimmering patterns across Luffy's flushed skin, catching on the sweat beading at his collarbones.
The boy’s lips were swollen pink, parted around panting breaths, a thin string of saliva still connecting them to Pops' shoulder where he'd clearly just been biting. His hair was an absolute wreck, like someone had been running their hands through it for hours.
"WHAT THE HELL-" Ace screeched, slapping both hands over his eyes so hard he saw stars. "MY EYES-"
Luffy just giggled, legs tightening around Whitebeard's waist in a way that made Ace want to vomit. "Shishishi! Hi Ace!"
Pops didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. "Son," he rumbled, as if Ace had interrupted a mild conversation about the weather and not...whatever depraved merfolk mating ritual this was. "Knock next time."
Ace spun on his heel and bolted. His hands were still clamped over his eyes—only to immediately trip over a decorative coral statue (because of course Pops would have tacky merfolk decor in his human mansion). He hit the marble floor with a groan, but the pain was nothing compared to the horror of what he heard next.
Luffy’s giggle turned into a breathy gasp that Ace would never unhear. "Ah!—there!"
Ace’s entire body went rigid. His merfolk hearing—usually a blessing for detecting predators—was now his greatest curse. He could hear everything: the slick sound of lips meeting skin, the rustle of fabric, Pops’ low chuckle vibrating through the water in the aquarium glass.
Ace has purposefully kept his senses muted since arriving on land, a mental barrier against the overwhelming noise and strange vibrations of the human world. But now, with the door open and the visual shock of his Pops and Luffy, that barrier shattered. His mind automatically engaged his merfolk senses at full power, and he was flooded with the raw, intimate audio of the room.
"Shishishi—again? But we just—mmph!"
Ace didn’t wait for the rest. He scrambled to his feet and ran, face burning hotter than a deep-sea vent. He didn’t stop until he was three blocks away, crouched behind a dumpster like a fugitive, wheezing.
The wet smack of lips parting, followed by a deep, pleased hum.
"You like that?"
"Yeah! Do it again—ah!—but slower this time!"
NO NO NO—
A sharp, breathy gasp. The creak of the aquarium glass under shifting weight.
"W-Wait—! Too much—!"
"I told you to hold still. You're the one who wanted to try this position."
POSITION?!
"Shishishi! But it feels weird when you...oh! OH! Right there!" Luffy's voice hitched. "Do that...that thing with your thumb again!"
The sound of skin sliding against glass. "You're getting better at taking it."
Ace made a noise like a harpooned dolphin. His mind supplied horrific images of what "it" might be.
"Faster! No, wait—slower! I can't decide!" Luffy's whine turned into a gasp. "Ah! Your moustache tickles when you—mmph!"
Then, a high-pitched squeak from Luffy. "Old man! Not the—ahahaha! NOT THE NECK!"
Ace screamed into his hands.
Only later would one of the men explain Pops and Luffy had been applying waterproof sunscreen before swimming - Luffy kept squirming, Whitebeard kept growling about proper application, and the ‘position’ was just turning away from the aquarium so Luffy wouldn't rub sunscreen on the glass.
The next morning, Whitebeard, flipping through a newspaper, glanced up as Ace stomped past. "Son, why are you researching sunscreen brands at seven in the morning?"
Luffy, mouth full of snacks, nodded sagely. "That's good, Ace! Old man uses a lot. It’s important."
… …
Aunt Ursula had taken over the merfolk throne with all the grace of a seagull stealing chips. But then—
"Finally, some peace!" she had cackled before immediately retiring and dumping the entire kingdom onto Marco’s lap. Marco now ruled via fax machine, sending daily updates like “Stop setting the coral reefs on fire, yoi” straight to Ace’s burner phone.
It was a mess, but at least Marco was suffering too.
The letters from Ace’s siblings started arriving within days. Forty brothers and sisters, all sending congratulations, wedding gifts and—horrifyingly—requests for "little mer-siblings." Not a single one questioned the age gap. Not a single one seemed to care that Pops was seventy (or actually older) and Luffy was nineteen. Ace had ranted about it for a solid hour to Dadan, who had just shrugged and handed him a bottle of something strong enough to kill a whale shark.
... ...
"Sabo," Ace had demanded one day, jabbing a finger at the pile of letters, "tell me this isn’t illegal."
Sabo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ace. This is fanfiction. We're literally in a rom-com AU. The only crime here would be denying the algorithm what it wants. And in the time you've spent ranting, I've researched exactly two things: One, merfolk aging is apparently logarithmic. Two, Luffy has the mental maturity of a hyperactive sea cucumber. He also says no to things he doesn't want.”
Ace scowled. "But—"
"Every rarepair starts somewhere. Someone reads that first story and goes '...huh.' Then they reread it. Then they check the tags. Then, suddenly you realize you've been craving something you didn't even know could exist."
Ace opened his mouth, but Sabo continued, "Look, before last month, did you ever once think 'hmm, I'd like to read about a mermaid grandpa banging a rubber boy?"
Ace made a strangled noise.
"Exactly. But here we are. Someone wrote it. Someone else kudos'd it. That's how taste works - you don't know you want the weird shit until it crawls into your brain and builds a nest." He snapped the laptop shut. "Now go set something on fire and cope."
… …
Ace wasn’t sure when Luffy’s room had become Pops’ and Luffy’s room.
He paused in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like some bizarre domestic painting. The massive bed was now strewn with mismatched blankets, half of which were patterned with meat motifs. Luffy’s old hammock hung in the corner like a relic, repurposed as a storage net for seashells, rubber bands and a concerning number of shiny bottle caps.
And there, on the bed, sat Ace’s father—Pops—with Luffy nestled between his legs. The kid was grinning at something Whitebeard had just murmured into his hair, fingers idly tracing the edge of a yellowed baby photo.
Baby Ace, baby Marco, baby Jozu, all tiny tails and toothless grins.
His eye twitched.
"—and this one." Whitebeard pointed to a picture of a tiny, scowling Ace wrapped in kelp, "is when Thatch tried to use Ace as a fishing lure."
Luffy cackled, nearly toppling sideways before Whitebeard’s arm caught him, pulling him back against that broad chest. "Ace was always grumpy?"
"Still is," Whitebeard said, amused, before glancing up. "Speaking of."
Ace stiffened as two pairs of eyes landed on him.
"Hey, Ace!" Luffy beamed, waving him over like this wasn’t the most surreal moment of his life. "Your dad says you used to bite people!"
Whitebeard chuckled. "Like a moray eel."
Ace opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain short-circuited between "Why are you showing him my baby pictures?!" and "Why is this my life?!" But he just exhaled through his nose. This was his life now.
His seventy-year-old father was dating a human teenager who collected bottle caps and had the impulse control of a drunk seagull. And yet. Luffy was… Luffy. Loud and bright and impossible, fitting into their world like he’d always been there, like the sea had carved a space for him long before any of them noticed.
Ace scrubbed a hand down his face.
Luffy blurted, "You were cute! Like a grumpy little shrimp!"
Something in Ace’s chest did a weird, traitorous squeeze.
"...Whatever," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Just—keep the noise down. Some of us aren’t into eldritch mermaid romances."
Luffy blinked. "What’s ‘eldritch’?"
Whitebeard’s grin was infuriating. "Nothing, my dear."
Ace turned on his heel before he could combust, but not fast enough to miss Luffy’s cheerful, "Night, Ace! Love you!"
He froze.
Behind him, Whitebeard’s voice was unbearably soft. "Goodnight, son."
Ace didn’t turn around. Didn’t trust his face. But as he stomped down the hall, he couldn’t help thinking—
Damn it. He’s not the worst stepmother.
...Wait.
Was Luffy even a stepmother? Pops had never married before—just collected children like seashells. Did that make Luffy their... actual mother? The math wasn't mathing. Ace's brain short-circuited at the thought of Luffy in an apron saying 'eat your kelp'.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
Whatever. Titles were stupid anyway. The point was, Pops was happy. Luffy was happy.
Ace’s steps slowed as an idea struck. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
Oh yes. He had the perfect idea.
Ace’s grin widened as he mentally catalogued his options. If he wanted mer-siblings (and god help him, he did), he needed to assist the process. And what better way than… strategic sleepwear?
The plan was simple. He’d acquire the most ridiculous, flimsy, barely-there pyjamas known to mankind. (Preferably in Luffy’s favourite colour—red, obviously—with some interesting cutouts.) Then, he’d gift-wrap them with a completely straight face. Finally, he’d make himself very scarce afterward. (Maybe take a spontaneous week-long fishing trip. Far, far away.)
Ace cackled under his breath. Luffy, bless his chaotic little heart, would absolutely wear them without a second thought. And Pops? Well. Ace didn’t need to see the aftermath to know the old man would be distracted for hours.
He pulled out his phone and immediately texted Sabo.
[Ace] : Emergency. Need you to find me pyjamas that look like they’ve been through a shredder.
Sabo’s reply was instant.
[Sabo] : …Are you trying to get disowned?
[Ace] : No. I’m trying to get promoted to older brother.
Notes:
*wipes tear with a kelp tissue*
My hands are shaking, my heart’s doing the salsa and somehow… I’ve evolved from a panicked to a slightly-less-panicked chicken. This story lived in my dreams, hijacked my notebooks and now—thanks to YOU—it’s real. Thank you for every comment, scream and keyboard smash. You made me believe I could actually write.
And because you’ve enabled my problem… see you in the next installment!
morazul on Chapter 1 Tue 12 Aug 2025 11:57PM UTC
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Anonymous Creator on Chapter 2 Sun 17 Aug 2025 08:13PM UTC
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Sophiee (Lost_Girl7) on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 10:33PM UTC
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Anonymous Creator on Chapter 2 Sun 17 Aug 2025 08:15PM UTC
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CaseLC on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 11:34PM UTC
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Anonymous Creator on Chapter 2 Sun 17 Aug 2025 08:18PM UTC
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