Chapter Text
Today is the kind of night that makes you want to stay up forever. The sea is quiet, the breeze soft, not too cold, not too warm, and you’re surrounded by the people you love the most.
You sit cross-legged on the deck of the Moby Dick with everyone else, half-listening as Ace tries to explain a new fire technique he swears is going to change everything in battle. He’s waving his hands around, flames flickering dangerously close to Thatch’s hair as he goes on.
“Watch it!” Thatch eventually squawks, swatting at the air as if that’ll do anything against fire. “If you singe my bangs, I’ll light you up for real!”
“You can try,” Ace grins, sparking a tiny flame just to be a menace. “But I’d win. Obviously.”
“Come on, son. Sit down and let the boy talk,” Pops chuckles from his seat, sake bottle in hand. It’s obvious that he’s not really bothered, just amused.
As Ace and Thatch continue to fight over singed hair you remain sandwiched between Marco and Izou, both of whom are reacting in their own special ways.
On the one hand, Marco’s lounging like he’s got nowhere better to be with his elbow popped on his knee and that lazy grin on his face as he lets out a noncommittal “Mmhmm” every now and then, probably not listening at all to what Ace tells you all.
On the other hand, Izou’s got his arms crossed, unimpressed but one corner of his painted lips is lifted, which means he’s clearly enjoying himself.
So, you decide to engage with Izou, nudging his side with your elbow. “I bet you five thousand beli Ace blows something up before he finishes explaining.”
“I’m not taking that bet,” Izou mutters, though his lips twitch with a now more obvious smile. “That’s guaranteed loss.”
And just like that the night drifts on, laughter echoing across the deck as the sake keeps making its rounds until someone starts humming a tune and the rest of you half-sing along, off-key and loud, just to annoy him.
Ace eventually gives up on explaining his technique, mostly because he’s lost his audience to Thatch sharing a story about how he had to make sure the town doesn’t burn down to the ground after Ace defeated some local thugs.
You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, leaning into Marco’s shoulder while Izou hides his grin behind the rim of his cup.
Then, like it always does, the energy simmers down and a calm hush settles over the deck. It’s not quiet exactly, but the mood shifts to something softer and more content.
This is when Pops lets out a long, thoughtful sigh.
Marco notices it first. “Something wrong, Oyaji?”
Everyone turns toward Pops, but he doesn’t answer right away, just looks around at all of you – at the mess of his sons piled across the deck, bare feet, wide grins, mismatched personalities and origins, but together. Always together. Always a family.
“This,” Pops says, voice a little rough, “This right here… It’s all I ever wanted.” Whitebeard gives a small smile, eyes glassy. “Just to see my sons happy, laughing, and safe.”
A few soft “Awww”s go around, some sincere others teasing. Ace clutches his heart like he’s about to cry, and even Izou lowers his cup, quiet but visibly moved.
And then Pops’ face shifts and everyone instantly freezes.
“What is it, yoi?” Marco asks cautiously, straightening.
Pops hesitates.
“Come on, spit it out,” Thatch urges. “Don’t scare us like that.”
Then, finally, with a deep breath, Pops speaks again, “I was just thinking… it’d be even nicer if I had a grandkid.”
A beat of silence. Just one. And then – chaos. Ace chokes on his drink. Thatch screams. You blink, wide-eyed. Izou mutters something under his breath in disbelief. Marco actually drops his cup.
“WHAT?” half the crew bellows in unison.
“You’re joking, right?” you ask Pops carefully, side-eying him.
But you don’t get an answer right away, Pops simply raises a brow, setting his drink down, and leans forward, resting his massive arms over his knees. “You’re my only daughter,” he says, voice warm and full of love. “I’m not pressuring anyone, but I’m not getting younger and it would mean a lot to your old man if you’d fulfill my wish.”
Silence.
Your jaw drops a little. “Wait… why is the pressure on me now?!”
No one answers. You swear even the sea goes quiet.
As the words still echo in your ears, Pops keeps looking at you with that hopeful, fatherly gaze and you know he’d never demand anything from you. This is simply a wish. A wish for his family to grow. And as this realization sinks in, something wraps around your heart and tugs hard.
You know you can’t deny Pops anything. You love him too much for that.
And truthfully? You like kids and the crew is one giant, chaotic village already. So, if anyone could raise a baby on the Grand Line, it’s all of you. Moreover, seeing Pops smile like that? It really makes your chest ache in the best way.
“I guess… I could do that…” you say quietly, hesitantly. “I mean… I’m not opposed to the idea…”
Silence. There’s silence for exactly 0.2 seconds, but then…
“SHE SAID YES?!” Thatch screeches.
“Hold on, HOLD ON,” Ace shouts, standing up so fast he trips over his own feet. “Do you even know what you just agreed to?! Like, actually?!”
You frown. “Yeah… I’m not blackout drunk if that’s what you’re hinting at. I know what I agreed to, Ace. I don’t mind kids.”
Ace squints at you like you just threatened world peace. “No, no. Not a kid. A baby. Do you know how babies are made?!”
“Oh my god,” you groan, immediately defensive. “Yes, Ace, I do know how babies are made.”
Izou raises a brow beside you. “Are you sure? Because you said it really casually.”
“I said I’m not opposed to it, not that I’m jumping someone right this second!” you snap, face already burning as more heads turn your way.
Vista looks unreasonably amused. “Do you know it involves—”
“YES, VISTA, I KNOW WHAT IT INVOLVES.”
Thatch gasps, clutching his chest. “She’s talking about doing it.”
“OH MY GOD—Thatch!”
“I’m just saying!” he grins. “You just nodded like you signed up for adopting a puppy and not, y’know, the physical act of love!”
“Okay, wow, never say that again.” You’re seconds away from throwing your cup at someone. “I know what I said, and I meant it.”
“But with whom?” Izou cuts in smoothly, arms crossed and eyes sharp. “Are you planning on finding a random man on the next island we’ll dock on to fulfil Pops’ dream, or is there someone we should be talking to?”
The deck goes still again and all the eyes are back on you.
You open your mouth to say something, anything, except nothing comes out. Because now you are thinking about the logistics, and you didn’t exactly think this far ahead. And that’s when Pops, in all his massive, terrifying, well-meaning glory, leans forward with a nod.
“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “you and Marco get along well.”
A solid five seconds of stunned silence and then CRASH Marco knocks his cup over. “Me?!”
You whip your head toward him. “Him?!”
Pops just shrugs like he’s discussing the weather. “What? You’re close. You trust him. He’s responsible. Strong genes.”
“Strong genes, yoi?!” Marco repeats, voice slightly higher than usual.
Thatch is already grabbing you both by the shoulders. “You do sit next to each other a lot.”
“I’ve seen them napping on the same blanket,” Ace says, eyes wide like he’s uncovered a conspiracy.
“I’M RIGHT HERE,” you shout, flailing as you shake Thatch off. “And no one’s napping with anyone, okay?!”
“You two would make a pretty baby,” Izou hums, sounding far too thoughtful about it.
And as the crew is losing their minds again while simultaneously teasing you and Marco for being the chosen ones to fulfil Pops’ dream of having a grandchild, you feel Marco looking at you, suddenly suspiciously quiet.
You turn to face him, watching as his eyes just look at you – really look at you for a moment until his gaze shifts. And whatever he saw, it causes something to change in him and Marco sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair like he can’t believe what he’s about to say.
“Can’t say no to you, Pops,” he mumbles, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “I guess we could try.”
“WHAT?!” Ace actually falls backward.
“WAIT!! IS THIS HAPPENING NOW? SHOULD I LEAVE?!” Vista is already halfway off the deck.
“Where’s the damn champagne?! SOMEONE POP SOMETHING—NOT THE GIRL, JUST THE BOTTLE!”
You’re frozen, staring at Marco like he just set off a bomb, because, well, he did.
Marco exhales again, a little red in the face now. “You people need to relax.”
“You just casually agreed to make a baby with her!” Ace shouts, pointing between you like he’s trying to solve a murder.
“I said we could try,” Marco corrects, unbothered as ever. “There’s a difference.”
“Well, do you know what trying means?!” Ace blurts, and then, as if words aren’t enough, he lifts both hands and makes the most obscene gesture possible: two fingers from one hand slipping dramatically through a circle formed by the other.
You slap a hand over your face. “Ace!”
“Oh my god,” Marco mutters under his breath, rubbing his temple. “I’m a doctor and that’s still the most medically incorrect thing I’ve ever seen.”
Ace is wheezing. “I’m just saying! Are you ready for that step?! Because that’s a big step! That’s like… a naked step!”
Through the chaos, Pops just leans back with the most satisfied smile, sipping from his cup like this is all going exactly how he wanted. Maybe with a little bit more shouting, but well this will pass.
Meanwhile, Marco quietly leans closer and says under his breath, just for you, “We’re not really trying tonight… right?”
“Well,” you say, voice just loud enough for him to hear over the ongoing crew meltdown, “the night’s already chaotic… so why not?”
His eyes widen just a little like he expected for you to tell him that you changed your mind and that this isn’t something you want. “You’re serious?”
You raise a brow and reach for another bottle of sake, uncorking it and pouring yourself and for Marco a drink. God knows, you’ll need it. “I mean, if we’re going to spiral into madness, we might as well lean into it, right?”
Marco chuckles. “You know what? Fair point.”
You finish pouring his drink and hand it to him, then pour your own. Around you, the crew is still losing their minds. Ace’s yelling something about one of the commander’s cabins becoming a nursery, while Thatch demands to have a set baby-making-schedule so he knows when to avoid your rooms, and surprisingly enough even Izou looks out of it, muttering about needing incense and a cold compress.
You both drink, not engaging with your brothers anymore. And as you finish your cups, you fill them again and drink some more. And then more. And more.
Because as the night goes on, you two decided that trying for a baby would be a whole lot easier with a lot of sake coursing through your veins.
However, at some point, you realize the noise of your brothers has finally faded. Some are still around, yelling, singing, and drinking, but most of them have already gone to bed.
And this is when you look at Marco and he looks at you.
“…So,” you murmur, fingers tapping lightly on your cup. “Wanna disappear for a bit?”
He raises a brow. “To… you know…?”
You shrug. “Let’s see… no pressure, okay?”
He nods, agreeing to just see how far you two actually manage to go before one of your bolts, decides that this is not something they can follow through.
And with that, you both stand and go below deck like two awkward teenagers. The walk is quiet. Your footsteps echo too loudly in the hallway. At one point, Marco opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but then shuts it again.
You notice he’s leading you to his room and when you finally step into it, it hits you how weird this really is.
You’ve been in here before… hell, you’ve sat on his bed, stolen his books, even passed out on his floor once after too many drinks with Ace. It’s always been casual, familiar, and easy. But now you’re just… standing there.
So, you fold your arms. “Soooo… do we just… start?”
Marco closes the door behind you, then leans against it like he’s buffering. “I feel like we skipped about twenty steps between ‘pass the sake’ and ‘make a baby.’”
“Yeah, a few.” You glance at the bed. Then away. “You know, I never really thought of you that way.”
He chuckles awkwardly. “Same.”
You both go quiet again.
Then you fidget with your shirt sleeve. “Not that you’re not attractive. You are. Obviously.”
He tilts his head. “You think so, yoi?”
You shoot him a look. “Don’t fish for compliments, Marco. I’m not here to stroke your ego.”
Another silence.
Then Marco runs a hand through his hair, stepping toward the table to pour himself another drink. “So… we’ve never seen each other as more than friends. What now?”
You shrug, a little helpless. “Guess we figure it out, but… how do we start?” Then, glancing down at yourself and awkwardly motioning to your shirt, “Do I… do I take this off?”
Marco looks at you carefully. “Do you feel comfortable to?”
“I don’t know…” You admit honestly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I guess? I mean… I said we’d try, right? What’s your suggestion?”
Marco hesitates, taking a slow step closer. You stiffen slightly, not out of fear, but because this is uncharted territory. He stops just close enough that you can feel the heat from him, but he doesn’t touch you. His hands flex at his sides, uncertain, restrained.
He’s just as nervous as you are.
You can see it in the way he avoids your eyes for a second. The slight tension in his jaw. The little flicker of hesitation that passes over his face before he says, gently, “We don’t have to rush anything. We could just talk. Sit down. Try to…”
But before he can finish, you take a deep breath and grab the hem of your shirt with both hands. Your heart pounds, your cheeks burn, and then you pull it off in one quick, impulsive motion. Like ripping off a bandage.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Your shift hits the floor.
Marco’s eyes widen just a fraction. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t leer or ogle, just stands there, blinking like his brain is struggling to reboot.
You cross your arms over your chest on instinct. “Okay, maybe that was too fast.”
He exhales, and there’s the faintest breath of a laugh. “A little.”
“I panicked.”
“I noticed.”
You glance at him, and finally—finally—he smiles. It’s small. A little crooked. The kind he only shows when he’s caught off guard but doesn’t hate it.
Then, carefully, he reaches out, slow and deliberate. “Can I?”
You don’t even ask what he means. You nod.
Carefully, his fingers brush along your arm, slow and tentative, like he’s afraid to push too far too fast. The air between you shifts and you freeze as you allow his hand to drift lower… to your elbow… your side… and finally, to your waist.
You hold your breath, muscles tense, not in fear, but in unfamiliarity and uncertainty. So, to ground yourself, you reach out and grab the collar of his open shirt. Your fingers curl into the fabric, holding tight like it’s the only steady thing in the room.
Marco’s eyes flicker down, watching your hands on him.
Then his own hands move again, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of your waist and moving to your stomach. He hesitates there. You feel it: the pause, the shift in his breath, because this… this is the part of you that would change the most.
If you really went through with this.
If “trying” ever became something real.
“If a child ever grew there.
You glance up at him, but he’s not looking at you. It’s like he’s looking through you, the weight of what it means to fulfil Pops’ wish.
He swallows once, jaw tight, but then his hand moves again, slow and reverent, trailing upward. It’s like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop, to push him away and leave, but you don’t. So, he only stops just beneath your bra.
And for a long moment, he just stays there. Not grabbing. No rushing. Just… waiting. One breath. Two. Like he’s giving you every chance to tell him no before anything more happens.
You don’t. You’re still holding his shirt, heart pounding, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you finally decide to speak.
“This is weird,” you breathe, forehead gently resting against his chest, hiding your face in the space between his collarbones. It feels safer there, like you’re not fully exposed if you’re not fully seen.
Marco chuckles, quietly and a little unevenly. “A little bit…”
You feel the rumble of his voice under your cheek, feel the way his chest moves with every breath. It’s warm here—steady, familiar, but not. Not like this.
Slowly, one of your hands moves behind your back, fingers fumbling for the clasp of your bra. You don’t think about it too hard. You just… do it. Click. The strap gives, and the fabric slips off your shoulders, falling silently to the floor joining your shirt.
You stay close, still tucked into his chest, but now, skin to skin, your bare breasts pressing softly against him. He stiffens just slightly at the contact, arms hovering at your sides like he’s suddenly afraid to move.
That’s when you notice it.
He’s trying so hard to play it cool.
But the way his breath catches, how he goes still for just a second too long, how he shifts his weight like he’s suddenly very aware of his own body? Marco’s clearly nervous.
You made Marco nervous.
And not the usual kind of nervous, not the stressed-out-after-a-mission kind. This is flustered, floundering Marco, trying his best to pretend this is normal while clearly not knowing what to do with the fact that your naked chest is now pressed against him and you're not backing off.
A slow smile spreads across your lips, hidden still by the crook of his neck.
This is new. You’ve never had this kind of power over him before.
And it’s kind of fun.
So, you shift ever so slightly, just enough to feel him freeze again. “You’re okay?” you ask innocently, your voice still muffled against his skin.
His hand twitches on your waist. “Yeah. Just… surprised, is all, yoi.”
“Surprised by what?” you murmur, turning your head just enough so your lips nearly brush his collarbone.
He clears his throat. “That you… uh. Just did that.”
“Hm,” you hum, eyes dancing now. “You said we’d try and that involves getting undressed, doesn’t it?”
His jaw tightens, like he’s doing mental math on how to remain composed. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d… right away.”
You tilt your head up, resting your chin on his chest now, looking up at him with mock innocence. “What? Are you shy, Marco?”
He narrows his eyes just slightly. “No.”
“Blushing?”
“Not even a little.”
“Liar.”
Your grin widens as he bites the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to smile, not to show you that you're getting under his skin.
But you see it, the way his ears have gone faintly red, the way his voice is tighter, the way his hands hover just above your waist like he's caught between instinct and restraint.
You’ve never seen this side of him. And now that you do? You’re going to enjoy it.
“Do you want to touch them?”
Marco blinks.
Once.
Twice.
His lips part slightly, but no sound comes out at first. He looks down—really looks—at where your bare chest is pressed against him, and for a moment his brain seems to short-circuit.
“I…” he starts, then immediately glances back up to your eyes, as if making sure you’re not messing with him. But your gaze stays steady, playful, and inviting. He clears his throat, a hand rising halfway between you before pausing mid-air. “…You’re serious, yoi?”
You nod slowly. “I wouldn’t have said it if I weren’t.”
Oh god, the way he looks at you now, equal parts reverent, uncertain, and… tempted. It sends a ripple through your spine.
He licks his lips, swallows hard, and murmurs, “Then… yeah. I do.”
He exhales through his nose, like you just gave him a challenge he’s determined to win, but the blush on his cheeks deepens just a shade as his hands finally move, gently resting on your sides.
Then, slowly, carefully, his palms slide up your sides, slow and tentative, until his thumb brushes the underside of your breasts and he pauses again.
You can feel his hesitation, the way his breath stutters, how his fingers twitch slightly like he’s asking one last time without words: Are you really sure?
You don’t say anything. You just stay there, close, steady, soft against him. and give the slightest nod.
That’s all he needs.
Marco exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the moment you stepped into his room. His hands rise the rest of the way, finally cupping your breasts with the kind of gentleness that makes your skin prickle with heat. His thumbs glide across your skin, barely touching, just learning the shape of you.
You watch him.
He’s focused, brows drawn slightly, mouth parted. Awkward, yes, but careful.
It’s the strangest thing really. You’ve known him for years. You’ve seen him covered in blood and ash. You’ve seen him drunk, laughing, passed out on the couch with his boots still on. But this is new.
This Marco, blushing, focused, slowly realizing he's touching your bare chest, is something else entirely.
“Still weird?” you murmur, watching the concentration on his face.
He huffs a soft laugh, cheeks still flushed. “So weird.”
You lean in, close enough that your noses nearly brush. “It’s okay if you’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” he lies, then immediately adds, “I’m… cautiously overwhelmed.”
You snort.
“Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling now, really smiling, even if it's crooked and a little bashful. Then there’s a pause as his thumb strokes gently over your skin, this time a little more confident.
“You’re really soft, yoi,” he mumbles like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.
You smile, ignoring the blush that warms your cheeks. “Thanks… you’re really gentle… it feels nice.”
Like your words eased his nerves a little, his thumb moves with more intention now. He brushes over your nipple once, testing if this is still okay and light enough to tease, and your body reacts before you can stop it.
A soft gasp escapes your lips, and a shiver rolls down your spine, your fingers instinctively tightening their grip on his shirt.
Marco notices.
Of course he does.
You feel his body shift with a quiet laugh, and when you glance up, he’s wearing that smug little grin that only shows up when he’s figured something out.
“Sensitive?” he asks, voice smooth but teasing.
You glare up at him. “Shut up.”
But the damage is done—he’s emboldened now.
He rolls his thumbs over your nipples again, slower this time, watching with interest as your breath hitches and your body leans just a little closer into him. Your fists clench harder around his shirt, but you don’t pull away.
If anything, you stay right there, torn between embarrassment and the growing heat licking at your core.
Marco’s eyes flicker down to your chest, watching the way you respond to every motion, every flick and circle of his fingers. His grin turns a bit softer. Still amused, but now tinged with something warmer.
“…You know,” he murmurs, “this might actually be fun.”
You lift your head just enough to narrow your eyes at him. “Might?”
He shrugs, all faux-casual while his fingers continue their slow, deliberate exploration. “I mean, sure the beginning was kind of awkward and weird… but this? This is… nice.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Can you blame me?” he counters, eyes flashing as his fingers trail inward again, coaxing another involuntary sound from you. “You’re adorable when you get flustered.”
As you think of a clever reply, Marco carefully, almost like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind, guides you toward the bed and you let him, your hands still curled lightly around the fabric of his open shirt.
The mattress dips beneath you as you lie back, the cool air brushing over your bare skin making you feel too exposed all over again. And Marco follows, leaning over you, hands on either side of your body, steady, patient. His eyes sweep over you, warm but searching. It’s not hunger, not yet… It’s care.
He leans in closer, voice quieter than before. “If anything doesn’t feel good… or too much,” he murmurs, “just say stop, okay? I mean it. I’ll stop.”
You nod, heartbeat pounding in your chest. “Okay. I will.”
That seems to ease something in him. He gives a small nod of his own and then shifts, lowering himself bit by bit, giving you every chance to stop him, every moment to breathe.
And then his mouth closes around your nipple.
You gasp. A jolt of sensation shoots through you, and your back arches just slightly off the bed.
Marco hums low in his throat, the vibration making you shiver. His tongue flicks slowly over the sensitive peak before drawing it into his mouth again, sucking gently, taking his time.
Your hands instinctively reach up, one tangling into his hair, the other brushing his shoulder. The tension in your body melts into something else, still shy, still new, but tinged with heat now, blooming at the edges of your nerves.
Marco pulls back just enough to look at your face, gauging your expression.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
Your fingers tighten slightly in his hair as you nod, breathless. “Yeah… that felt… really okay.”
That grin of his returns, softer this time. Sincere.
“Good,” he says, voice lower than before. “Then I’ll keep going.”
Marco’s mouth returns to your chest, slower this time, more deliberate. His tongue circles your nipple with a gentleness that makes your skin prickle, and then he switches sides, giving your other breast the same soft attention.
You bite your lip, trying not to squirm, but it’s impossible not to react. He’s warm and careful, and every little flick of his tongue or drag of his mouth sends new waves of heat down your spine.
You feel his hand start to wander again, his palm skimming over your ribs, your waist. His touch isn’t greedy, not rushed. It’s exploratory. Curious.
Like he’s trying to learn you, piece by piece.
“You’re not cold, are you?” he murmurs against your skin, and you shake your head wordlessly.
“Comfortable?”
You nod, fingers still tangled in his hair. “Yeah.”
“Good.” His hand slides lower, resting over your hip, thumb brushing slowly across your skin. “You’ll tell me if that changes?”
“Yes.” You swallow, voice soft. “I promise.”
He presses a quick kiss between your breasts, his lips warm and unexpectedly sweet there. Then he starts to move again, kissing down your torso in a slow trail, his mouth dragging across your stomach.
You tense just slightly when he reaches the lowest part of your belly, and he pauses. Noticing.
“Still okay?” he asks again, and this time, there’s something unreadable in his voice. Like he’s trying to balance on the edge between curiosity and restraint.
You nod again, a little more hesitantly. “Just… nervous.”
Marco nods and shifts slightly, moving his hands to the waistband of your pants and slowly pulling them down while he watches your every reaction, like he’s memorizing the way you look in this exact moment.
You can’t take it and raise your hands to put them over your face, hiding from his piercing eyes, as he leaves you underneath him in nothing but your already soaked panties.
But then Marco shifts again, moving up just enough to take your hands gently in his. You blink in surprise as he pulls them away from where you’ve been hiding your face, guiding them down to rest at your sides.
“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your gaze. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
He leans down and kisses your cheek once, soft and reassuring, before his hands trail lower again. You tense as his fingers reach the waistband of your panties, but he doesn’t pull them off—just rests his hand there, waiting.
You hold your breath.
“Too much?” he asks, voice low and careful.
You hesitate. It is a lot… it really is, but you shake your head no, heart fluttering with nerves and anticipation.
Marco watches you a moment longer and then, slowly, he shifts the fabric of your panties to the side. The cool air kisses your skin, and your breath stutters. You reflexively squeeze your thighs together a little, but Marco doesn’t push or rush. He just waits, fingers resting lightly on your inner thigh, giving you the time to adjust.
And then, when you finally relax just enough, he moves.
One finger, soft and exploratory, runs carefully between your folds, slow and steady. He watches everything: the way your legs tense, the way your breath hitches again, the way your fingers curl slightly into the sheets.
“You’re already wet,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, like the discovery genuinely surprises him.
You turn your head away, flustered beyond belief. “Don’t say it like that…”
Marco just smiles, gentle, amused, and his finger circles slowly again, finding your clit this time. The pressure is light, testing, and your hips twitch before you can stop them.
He notices. And again, he’s fascinated to see how you react to his touch.
“You’re… really sensitive everywhere, huh?” he says, rubbing a little more deliberately now, drawing soft whimpers from you with every pass.
You bite your lip hard and mumble something incoherent, and Marco chuckles under his breath.
Marco’s touch remains careful, testing, thoughtful, but as his fingers continue to circle your clit, the pressure just enough to make your breath catch again and again, it starts to build.
Your hips twitch with every pass. The tension growing low in your stomach becomes impossible to ignore, tightening with every slow movement of his finger. Your hands grip the sheets beside you, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
You try to stay quiet maybe out of nerves, maybe out of stubbornness, but your body betrays you.
A soft sound escapes your lips.
A moan.
Small, but undeniable.
Marco stills for half a second, just long enough to glance up at your face. His expression shifts—surprise at first, quickly melting into something warm and quietly smug.
“That was pretty,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.
Your face burns hot, and you throw an arm over your eyes. “Don’t start…”
But the smile in his voice is unmistakable. “Not teasing,” he says. “Just… I like knowing it feels good. That I’m making you feel good.”
He leans in, brushing his lips over your stomach, and his fingers begin to move again—just a little more confidently now.
Each circle is slower, more deliberate, his touch firmer. And with your guard lowered by that first moan, more keep slipping out, quieter ones, little whimpers that Marco eats up like they’re the most valuable thing he’s ever been given.
“Mind if I pull the panties off now?” Marco asks, his voice low but calm—almost too calm—as his fingers keep circling your clit, applying just enough pressure to make your breath catch again.
You moan softly before you can stop it, hips bucking into his touch, and you nod—flustered, trembling, but undeniably wanting more.
“Ohhh,” he chuckles quietly, clearly eating it up. “You’re so responsive…”
You try to glare at him, but it’s weak at best. Especially when he leans in and presses a warm kiss to your forehead.
“Thank you,” he murmurs sweetly, and then carefully slides your panties down your legs and tosses them aside.
He pulls back just slightly then, just enough to sit on his knees between your legs and look at you—really look.
You squirm under the attention, heat rushing up your neck and to your ears. Your arms twitch like you might try to cover yourself again, but you don’t get the chance.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mumble, pushing at his chest with both hands.
“I’m not doing anything,” Marco replies, grinning now, openly enjoying your flustered state.
“You’re cocky,” you mutter, smacking his arm lightly in protest.
“Apologies,” he says, tone light but eyes warm. Then, more slowly, he adds as he carefully nudges your legs apart, “Let me make it up to you. Yeah?”
His hands rest gently on your thighs, his thumbs brushing your skin in slow, grounding circles. His expression softens just a bit as he looks down at you, not with hunger or impatience, but with something gentler.
And then he leans forward, the space between you closing once again, and you brace yourself for what’s next, heart pounding, breath shallow. Marco’s breath fans over your skin, warm and steady, as he leans in. You brace yourself, nerves buzzing just beneath the surface.
Then his tongue swipes slowly between your folds.
Your hips jerk off the bed, and a sound tears from your throat, high-pitched, startled, a half-scream that tapers into a moan. Your hands shoot to the sheets, gripping tight, eyes wide and unfocused as the sudden jolt of sensation floods through you.
Marco hums low, like your reaction just confirmed something for him.
“Shit,” you breathe out, barely able to speak. “Marco…”
“Too much?” he murmurs against you, lips brushing your skin.
You shake your head wildly. “No. Just… didn’t expect that.”
He chuckles, his hands gently holding your thighs to keep you steady. “Guess I’m doing something right.”
Before you can fire back some flustered response, he dips down again. This time, slower and more purposeful. His tongue moves in soft, practiced strokes, drawing slow shapes against your clit, then dragging down to explore deeper. Every pass sends new waves crashing over you, and you can’t stop the little gasps and moans that spill out, each one louder than the last.
You glance down at him between your lashes, only to see his eyes on you, sharp and focused like he’s studying every twitch, every breath, every sound. Like he’s learning your body by heart.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you mumble again, breathless.
He grins against you, the motion sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through you. “Can’t help it,” he says, voice low and teasing. “You’re really cute when you’re falling apart.”
“Asshole,” you whisper, but your voice breaks on a moan when his tongue circles your clit again, firmer this time.
Your legs tremble around him. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take, but part of you doesn’t want him to stop. And judging by the glint in Marco’s eyes, he’s nowhere near done.
Marco doesn’t let up, not even as your thighs tremble against his shoulders, not even as your hands fist the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping you grounded. He’s focused. Steady. Every flick of his tongue is deliberate, measured, like he’s mapping every response and memorizing the path.
Then you feel his hand shift.
You gasp, breath catching in your throat as his fingers gently press at your entrance, testing, careful. And when he pushes in, slow and smooth, your back arches off the bed.
Your body tightens around him, the stretch making your breath stutter, but it’s not uncomfortable, just new. Deep. Intimate in a way that makes your chest ache and your heart race.
He groans low at the feeling, like your pleasure is affecting him just as much.
“God,” Marco mutters, his voice rasping as he leans back just enough to watch his fingers disappear into you. “You feel and taste incredible…”
Your hand flails out and finds his wrist, gripping, not to stop him, but just to hold on. You’re falling apart, and he knows it. He loves it.
Every time you whimper, every breathy moan, every time your hips rock into his hand without thinking, he drinks it in like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
He leans down again, his mouth finding your clit once more while his fingers begin to move, slow thrusts at first, curling just enough to make your entire body jolt.
“Still good?” he asks against you, not pausing for even a second.
You nod, eyes glassy, lips parted as another broken sound spills out. “Y-Yeah. More than… shit, Marco…”
“Good,” he murmurs, pleased, almost smug. “’Cause I’m just getting started, yoi.”
And he means it. His rhythm grows steady, deliberate, his fingers coaxing, curling, teasing, while his mouth stays relentless. It’s overwhelming in the best way, a kind of pleasure you’ve never experienced before.
You can’t speak. You can’t think. And before you know it, your breath comes in short, shaky bursts, and every nerve in your body is wound tight. Inside you, Marco’s fingers curl just right, finding that spot that makes you moan again and again, while his tongue works your clit in slow, torturous circles.
“Marco,” you gasp, your voice breaking around his name.
He doesn’t answer. He just hums low in his throat, the vibration shooting through you like lightning. His free hand strokes your thigh gently, grounding you while the rest of your body threatens to float away.
You can feel it building, tightening in your belly, crawling up your spine, heat pooling fast and fierce.
You’re close. So close.
Marco must know. His pace shifts, more focused, more deliberate. Like he’s guiding you straight to the edge, refusing to let go until he’s seen you fall.
Then his fingers hit that perfect angle, and his mouth sucks softly around your clit, and everything inside you snaps.
You cry out, loud and unrestrained, as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body jerks and trembles beneath him, back arching off the mattress, hands clutching at the sheets like you might fall straight through the bed.
Marco doesn’t stop, not right away. He works you through it, fingers steady, mouth slowing just enough to let the aftershocks roll through you.
When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing a little heavier, pupils blown wide, eyes dark and locked on you.
His lips are wet, his chin slick with your juice, and his fingers glisten in the low light. But it’s his expression that catches you.
Awe.
Like he just watched something sacred unfold.
“Damn,” he murmurs, licking his bottom lip. “You really are something else.”
You're still catching your breath, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale, when Marco settles beside you, smug grin in place, eyes gleaming like he's won some kind of unspoken challenge.
“You okay?” he asks, voice soft but laced with that teasing edge.
You glare at him or try to. It’s hard to pull off when your legs are still trembling, and he knows it. You open your mouth to throw something snarky back, but all that comes out is a breathy, wordless noise.
He chuckles. “Thought so, yoi.”
“Don’t,” You try again, lifting your hand to swat at him, but he catches your wrist midair and presses a slow kiss to the inside of it.
“I’ll stop,” he promises, though his smirk says otherwise. “Eventually.”
You exhale a laugh, and despite your exhaustion, something about this moment this strange, intimate warmth between you makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with nerves anymore.
Marco leans back just enough to tug off his pants, and you watch in silence, your gaze trailing lower before snapping up to his face again. He’s flushed, still composed, but you can see the strain in the way his jaw tightens and the way he exhales through his nose when his dick springs free.
He looks at you then.
Really looks at you.
“We can stop here,” he says, brushing a hand along your thigh. “No pressure. This was already more than I expected tonight.”
You swallow hard, eyes meeting his.
He’s giving you a way out. A choice.
Even now, with desire swimming in his eyes and his body clearly aching to be closer, he’s still putting you first.
You let your gaze fall again, trailing down to where he waits, so hard and flushed and undeniably ready. Then back up to his face, to the faint pink still on his cheeks, and the grin he’s trying to suppress.
He wants this. You do too. Not just the physical part, but the whole strange, impulsive, chaotic path that led you here. The laughter. The trust. The fact that, even in this ridiculous situation, there’s no one else you’d rather do this with.
So you nod.
“If we’re doing this,” you murmur, heart racing, “let’s really try for a baby.”
Marco’s breath hitches, and for a second he just… stares, like your words took the wind right out of him. Then a slow, crooked smile spreads across his face, something a little softer hiding behind the cockiness.
“Alright,” he whispers. “Let’s try.”
Marco settles between your thighs, his hands braced on either side of your hips, gaze flicking over your face with surprising gentleness. Even now, when everything about this moment hums with anticipation, he’s careful, searching for any trace of hesitation in your eyes.
But you’re sure.
You reach for him, hands slipping up his arms, resting lightly on his shoulders as your legs fall open around him. You feel vulnerable like this, bare, completely exposed, but not afraid. Not with him.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, and exhales slowly.
“You’re really sure?”
You nod, barely more than a breath, and whisper, “Yes.”
His hand finds yours and threads your fingers together. With his other, he guides himself to you, slow, careful, watching your face the whole time. And when he finally pushes in, your breath catches. Not from pain, but from the sheer weight of it. Of him. Of the moment.
He groans low in his throat as he sinks deeper, voice rough. “Shit… you feel…”
You hold onto him tighter, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, the soft brush of his lips at your temple, the way he moves with you, not just for pleasure, but like he’s offering something unspoken.
When he’s fully inside you, he doesn’t move right away. He just holds you. Breathes with you. Let you adjust. And when you whisper his name, asking him to move, he does—slow, rhythmic rolls of his hips that build a steady heat low in your belly.
You meet him, move with him, fall into the rhythm together. He kisses you in between moans, your mouth, your neck, the space between your collarbones, and murmurs things he probably doesn’t realize he’s saying.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes.
“You’re doing so good.”
He keeps moving with you, picking up pace only when your breath starts to hitch again, when your body clenches around him with growing urgency. And when your nails bite into his back and you gasp against his mouth, he groans, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep.
You're breathless beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, your skin slick and flushed from the heat between you. Marco’s forehead is pressed to yours, and every roll of his hips makes it harder to think, harder to speak, but you do it anyway, if only to tease him one last time before all you can do is call out his name like it’s a prayer.
“You look a little serious,” you murmur, voice light despite the way you cling to him. “Having second thoughts?”
Marco exhales a shaky laugh, his breath hot on your lips. “Not even close.”
He thrusts a little deeper, just to hear the sound you make, a soft, desperate noise that makes him grin.
“You’re the one who agreed to this,” he teases, brushing his lips over your jaw. “Thought you’d want just talk a little bit before I tried to knock you up.”
“Well, we could have planned it better, I must admit that,” you reply, panting slightly. “Y’know… schedule it better, light candles, and maybe have dinner first.”
Marco groans dramatically. “So demanding. I’m over here doing all the work and you want ambiance?”
And as you open your mouth to throw another jab at him, he hits the spot deep inside you that makes you arch your back, roll your head back, and moan low. You feel your walls squeeze around him as you enjoy the sensation, all thoughts circling around how good that just felt.
“Fuck,” Marco hisses as he too feels your walls squeeze. “Sweetheart, don’t do that if you want me to last,” he warns, already feeling his climax approaching.
“You don’t need to last that long,” you breathe before another moan escapes your lips.
“Hm?” caught off guard by your reply, Marco stills inside of you for a moment, not sure if he understands you correctly. He was under the impression that women like it when the men last for a long time. “Care to elaborate, yoi?”
You pant and moan, but still do as he says. “I want you to fill me up… that’s the whole reason for that, isn’t’ it?”
“Yeah,” He puts one of your legs over his shoulder and rams into you again with more desperation and force. You moan and enjoy him hitting deep inside you. “Nearly forgot about that… filling you up… knocking you up… that’s the plan, yoi.”
And as your second orgasm finally washes over you, you hear Marco groan and lean down, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills his seed deep inside of you, coating your walls with a warm, white flood.
“There you go,” his breath warm against your neck as he remains buried inside you for a moment longer, before slowly pulling out and rolling off you to lie on his back next to you on the bed.
Marco’s still close, his arm brushing yours, as both of you try to catch your breath, chests rising and falling, eyes either closed or staring blankly forward not really focusing on anything in particular.
But then slowly reality creeps in and you turn your head to the side to look at the man, who just spilled his seed inside you in an attempt to get you pregnant. And of course, Marco senses the shift and turns to you too.
For a moment, neither one of you speaks, but then as you feel some of his sperm drip out of you onto his sheets, you press your thighs together and a blush creeps up your neck. “Emmm… I really don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but… do you mind if I just lie here for a moment?”
He blinks at you and then his eyes move to your legs that are sealed shut, and it’s like he’s understanding the problem instantly. “Sure, no problem. Wouldn’t want you dripping all the way back to your room.”
You smack his arm immediately. “DON’T SAY STUFF LIKE THAT!”
“What?” he laughs, raising both hands in surrender. “That’s the issue, isn’t it?”
“Kind of,” you admit, feeling your blush darkening. “But that comment was uncalled for.”
“Sorry, yoi,” he chuckles again but quiets when he notices you shivering and not moving an inch. He then grabs the blanket crumbled at the foot of the bed and puts it over your naked body.
“Thank you,” you mumble, pulling the blanket up to your nose, taking in the scent of it, and feeling a sense of ease spread through your exhausted body.
“No need to thank me, yoi,” he replies and then looks around a little bit awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do next. “Do you… Want me to leave? Give you some space to… I don’t know… let it all sink in?”
You think about it, but you don’t need to ponder for very long before you shake your head no and look into his eyes. “Would it be weird if we’d cuddle?”
A grin spreads over his face already pulling the blanket up and settling beside you, taking you in his arms. “Definingly not the weirdest thing we’ve done today.”
And then you two just lie there in silence for a moment, the steady thrum of the ship rocking beneath you as you remain half tangled in each other and the sheets. Moreover, Marco’s fingers trace lazy circles on your arm, but eventually, he speaks again, this time a little more serious.
“I know it’s still weird,” he begins, clearly looking for the right words to express his thoughts and feelings, “but not bad.”
You peek at him, your expression unreadable for a beat, before you slowly nod. “I agree, not bad at all.”
Marco’s quiet, considering you. Then he chuckles under his breath. “I mean, it was probably the most awkward foreplay in history, but somewhere along the way I kind of forgot we were doing it for… y’know. Baby reasons.”
Your face heats up instantly, and you hide it against his shoulder. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe Pops started all this.”
“He’s gonna be unbearable if this actually works,” Marco says, grinning.
You snort. “He’ll probably start knitting booties before we even confirm anything. And don’t get me started on our brothers and how they’ll react.”
“I don’t think they’ll take it well, yoi.” Marco chuckles and shifts slightly and pulling you a little bit closer in the process. Then, he continues to speak. “So… thinking about tomorrow… are we going to pretend this didn’t happen, or…”
You blink and glance up. “What, the whole… putting a baby in me thing?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes… Like was this a one-time thing or…?”
You narrow your eyes at him, already guessing what he’s trying to ask. “Are you suggesting we should sleep with each other again?”
“Kind of,” he looks to the side, avoiding eye contact for a moment before looking back at you, “I mean, if you really want me to knock you up, we should sleep with each other regularly to help the chances.”
You let the words sink in. He’s not wrong, but for some reason this sounds like an excuse… but you mind be wrong about that. You know you enjoyed yourself and honestly, you could get used to having Marco make your body sing as he touches you and fills you up each night for at least a month.
“Sounds good for me,” you agree burying your face in his chest and closing your eyes. “But for now all I want is to rest for a bit, okay? Not everyone has your stamina.”
You hear him chuckle and know he has that smug grin on his face as he looks down at you, cuddling into him, clearly relaxed and feeling safe. “Sure, sleep a little bit. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”