Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ace learned early on that his soulmate didn't eat breakfast. It was a "maybe once a week" meal, usually pretty sparse on carbs. Fruits Ace had never seen would burst on his tongue. Sometimes a nutty crack between teeth that stuck to his gums. Rarely bread. But always coffee.

Ace hated coffee. At 4 years old he'd cry angry hot tears at the bitter taste and put anything and everything nearby in his mouth to erase the taste. His own breakfast was lingered over, every chewing bite drawn out to drown the flavor of coffee. Water never helped. He chewed Dadan's table and plates and chair backs hoping the taste of varnish and wood would erase the bitter aftertaste. Dirt, leather shoe soles, knife oil, the grease from the bottom of the skillet-nothing escaped Ace's attempts to get rid of the taste of coffee in the morning.

Luckily, his soulmate got the hint. Coffee never stopped being a staple of his soulmate's mornings, but within a few weeks of him starting his tantrums the taste changed. Cream, sugar, milk, different blends that diluted and dulled it to nearly unnoticeable levels. Ace stopped trying to literally eat Dadan's house and life moved on. 

Even on his bad days Ace could almost always forgive the coffee by lunch time. For all his soulmate seemed to hate breakfast, lunch (and dinner) were always a treat. On days Ace couldn't figure out his own meals aside from whatever roughage he and Sabo could scrounge up, his soulmate somehow always had a feast. Flavors he couldn't identify lit up his tongue without fail-spices that complimented meats he'd never known, creamy textures of soups and smooth pastas or mashed roots and tubers, slick slides of bitter-but-not-coffee-and-not-bad-at-all drinks drew pictures in his mind of better meals. Desserts-sweets unlike anything he'd imagined-comforted him at night, every night, without fail. For a period of time he was nearly sad that his soulmate had to make due with his meager meals of foraged greens and unseasoned meat.

Eventually, he figured that one day-once he'd set sail and started his own journey on the seas-he'd make it up to his soulmate and eat every fancy meal he could find in every port he visited. It was a promise he kept to himself-his spare money that wasn't spent on the crew or sent home to Makino and Dadan went right to his stomach. Deuce even commented on it at one point, in the early days of the Spades, joking he was practicing for future dates. 

When he joined Whitebeard's crew his attitude about it didn't change. He kind of regretted starving himself and stealing naked breads and fruits from the kitchens, depriving his soulmate of the nicer meals he had tried to get into the habit of eating, but his soulmate seemed undisturbed by the change. There were even moments when the smells wafting up to his hiding places from the mess on the Moby Dick reminded him heavily of meals his soulmate was eating or had eaten in the past. Even the conspicuously left-out-in-the-open desserts that the daft cook left unprotected in the kitchens at night were the same sometimes.

Yet, somehow, he didn't put the dots together until that fateful day Marco told him to make up his mind. After the right hand of Whitebeard left him to his thoughts, he'd picked up the bowl of soup and knocked it back. Then he'd nearly spat it all over himself and the deck once he registered the taste.

It was the exact same thing his own soulmate had eaten barely an hour before. His soulmate was on the Moby Dick . His soulmate was a member of Whitebeard's crew . Hell, it was possible Ace had fucking met them already and hadn't known it .

He'd be a liar if he ever said that finally knowing who preferred coffee over actually eating in the morning wasn't a factor in his final choice.

It still took him weeks to figure out, after he took Pops' mark.

-/-/-/-/-\-\-\-\-

Ace doesn't sit with the commanders at first. They have their own table in the mess, centered in the middle of the floor of the cafeteria. Marco sits at the head of the long table every morning without fail, looking like he could fall right back asleep. The other commanders come and go throughout the two-hour breakfast period but Marco is always there. Why he lingers for the full period is unknown to Ace, but he rarely gets a chance to focus on Marco during his first weeks on board. The second division that he's been absorbed into keeps him entertained and engaged and breakfast is always incredible with Thatch in charge. He can't figure out why the hell his soulmate would ever pass up such incredible foods.

He makes it a habit from the first day onwards to always try something different at breakfast. If his soulmate won’t eat for whatever reason, he’ll eat enough for them both. Eventually, he’s sure, he’ll figure out what they prefer and will pick at least one item that they like every morning. For now, he experiments around and tries everything at least once. Thatch practically weeps with joy that he eats as much as he does-there are never leftovers for any meal once Ace joins the crew.

Lunch and dinner, as always, are a treat. It takes a few days to figure out what selection from the available buffet they have taken, to tie tastes to the actual sights of the food item they're connected to, but after two weeks he has it down. He changes things up-taking things different to what his soulmate doesn't to figure out what flavors his soulmate makes a habit of eating. Meat, beef or whatever fish or sea life is out, are a staple as are fruits and nuts. Greens are rare and a full salad even rarer. 

The odd thing though, as time goes on, is that Ace finally starts picking something out from the rest of the general state of his soulmate’s meal preferences. The meat that his soulmate picks out tastes odd, different-an edge of liquid prickling on the back of the tongue and throat that kicks on an instinct honed from living in a forest pitted against predators that could swallow him whole that screams "too raw, too fresh." His soulmate likes his meats-all of them, from beef to pork to chicken to fish-so rare and under cooked it might be dangerous.

His worry grows as weeks go by so he finally mentions it to Thatch, concerned that his soulmate might be sneaking scraps that Thatch has slated for disposal, and is surprised by the man's laughter. "You don't need to worry about your soulmate, buddy. I promise that despite their questionable taste, they're totally fine."

It irks him that Thatch somehow knows who his soulmate is and won't tell him. He lights the chef's precious pompadour on fire to retaliate and Marco has to break up the resulting fight in the kitchen.

He can fight off the irritation though, especially once Marco laughs himself literally breathless at the sight of Thatch's pomp half gone in a crispy puff. He notes to himself in the moment that Marco has a wonderful laugh, then gives in and laughs himself at the despair on Thatch’s face about his hair.

-/-/-/-/-\-\-\-\-

He finally figures it out during a party, several weeks after he's joined the crew. They're celebrating some birthday in the fourth Division, banners and cake abundant around the deck.

The whole event his mouth has tasted of the beer being served for the party. A phantom sensation of foam and icy bitter-but-not-bad-at-all tang that slides back across his molas down his throat. It’s a taste he chases with beer of his own and for a while he loses track of which of them is drinking. His stomach eventually drives him to seek something else, though.

Ace peels away from a conversation to stalk the dessert table. There's multiple cakes on show-several different varieties from chocolate combinations to fruity monstrosities, plus a few pies thrown in for fun. As he's making the critical decision of which to eat first, a hand reaches past him to pick up a plated slice of strawberry cake with bright pink frosting. Ace turns, startled at someone sneaking up on him, to find Marco smirking widely at him.

"Figured I'd steal this before you wiped the table clean-yoi." He jokes.

Ace laughs, concedes the point "Smart move!"

Marco pads away, rejoining whatever group he left and Ace reaches for something that looks like it could be chocolate and vanilla cake with blue frosting. Before he's even picked up the plate, though, an aggressively sweet strawberry cream bursts over his tongue and freezes him in place. It’s rich, thick with sugar and real fruit, and Ace’s eyes track away from the slice he was intending to go for to the empty spot on the table where Marco had taken his choice of dessert from.

He looks up, zeros in on Marco's position. He sees the man swallow and feels the strawberry flavor slide to the back of his own throat. Marco's fork rises, slips behind teeth and lips, and a renewal of the strawberry cream icing makes his mouth water.

Ace picks up a piece of chocolate cake with a dark fudgy frosting. He eats a huge heaping mouthful and watches Marco wince, nose wrinkling in distaste. Next he swallows thickly, pushing down on choking the thick bite, and sees Marco hastily eat another piece off his strawberry cake and the flavors mix in an interesting way in his mouth.

He repeats the process until his slice of cake is gone. He watches as Marco, too, after every bite of chocolate downs a piece of his strawberry cake to drown out the flavor. When he's finished, Ace sets his plate down on the nearest surface then drags Marco away from his group without an explanation.

He swipes a plate with a slice of vanilla cake on the way to a secluded corner of the deck.

"Ace, what the hell's gotten into you?" Marco asks, a mix of alarmed and irritated, once Ace pulls them to a stop.

Ace, eyes narrowed down, says nothing and just eats his new piece of cake. Marco's eyes go wide, tongue peeking out to lick at icing that isn't there on his mouth that lingers at the corner of Ace's.

"Oh shit-yoi."

Ace sets the plate down on the rail. Cake clings to his teeth, icing lingers on his tongue. He takes Marco by the shoulders, squeezing tight, and says the first thing that comes to his brain. 

"I really fucking hate coffee."

The next few hours after that discovery are spent in Marco's room, the two questioning each other over the things they've observed from their respective experiences tasting each other's meals.

Ace asks Marco: Why coffee? Why don't you eat breakfast?? And Marco tells him: I'm never hungry in the morning, I dunno-yoi. Drinking coffee makes people watching less conspicuous, the crew thinks it's less weird to have a drink in my hands than if I just sat there staring at everyone. Plus, tasting whatever you're having is fine but actually eating anything makes me nauseous.

Marco returns to Ace: You grew up somewhere rough, didn't you-yoi? You never ate much besides meat and roots. Ace, with a grin, says: A forest, yeah! Tigers and monkeys as big as Pops, had to fight for every meal we had.

Ace goes next, asking Marco: Why don't you like vegetables? Marco thinks, finger tapping his chin: I think it's a phoenix thing. Greens just aren't appealing, fruits and nuts tasted different after I ate my devil fruit. Better somehow-yoi.

Ace, eager to know more, asks Marco before he can get another word out: What about the meat? That shit's way undercooked, don't think I didn't notice that! Marco just laughs: Guahahah, I did wonder. Same thing as the fruits, it just has tasted better that way since I got the phoenix.

Marco triggers a story from Ace by observing: Something I've always wondered-where did you get sake at such a young age? Ace’s eyes go distant, eyes fond yet sad at the same time: Oh...my brother, Sabo, and I stole it for a ceremony we did with our little brother Luffy...

The talk goes long into the night and come morning Ace joins Marco at the commander's table. He eats in the seat to Marco's left, grinning at the things that make the older man wrinkle his nose or wince again and making notes to avoid those when he can. Marco, in return, drinks orange juice instead of coffee every day after that.

Chapter Text

The first kiss is about three weeks after Ace takes Pops' mark. There's been a kind of strange magnetism between them ever since he made up his mind and Ace has definitely noticed it's mutual. Marco stares just as hard as he himself does, eyes lingering on each other any time the other is nearby. Small gestures for each other-handing over papers or cutlery across the table that's just out of reach, or small acts of assistance where they weren't necessarily needed but definitely weren't unwanted.

It comes at the end of some party on deck, late into the night as the energy winds low. Ace has heard, in these first three weeks, rumors about Marco-that he's "relaxed about fraternization" and "everybody's had a run", that he's "safe since he can't get sick" and "always happy to lend a hand." He figures, before the kiss, that this weird attraction between them is just the cumulation of Ace's own pent up energy and once they have a quick roll behind the barrels he'll settle down again (it worked with Deuce after all).

Then the kiss is fantastic. Electric and shocking, so much so that he feels staggered by it and judging by the expression Marco's wearing he is too. Then there's ten more that follow, and things quickly spiral from there. Everything is hot and the air is thick with something he can't name.

Then Marco goes down to his knees, blows him, and he tastes it when Marco grins up at him and swallows. He winces slightly, tongue scraping against his teeth to find where the sudden salt came from. Then his brain has a perfect moment of clarity that he refuses to believe could be possible. There's no way. (A tiny part whispers, but what if? )

The night progresses, or devolves, from there. It ends in Marco's quarters, on his bed with the sheets half pulled off, and with the both of them snoring until the breakfast bell the next morning. They both stumble through getting dressed, Marco with his eyes shut for most of the process but so familiar with his surroundings that the only stumbling points come from where he bumps up against Ace. The older man steals one more kiss before Ace sleepily shuffles out into the hallway.

Marco never eats breakfast, so the only way Ace can know for certain that Marco is really his will be to wait for lunch. If they're really...well, soulmates , as last night implied to him then Marco will probably start having a freakout of some kind in his rooms but will be perfectly composed out on deck when the shift starts-Ace can't think of a single time yet that he's seen Marco less than perfectly put together. Lunch will be where he'll know for certain.

-/-/-/-/\-\-\-\-

The morning drags like cold syrup. But lunch eventually comes and Ace's stomach is a twisting mess of nerves.

He tries playing it cool, but the second he's in the doors of the mess he sees Marco. And he sees Marco staring. It's a weird version of The First Division Commander Stare, the Authoritative Look but with a weird quirk of one eyebrow and lips in a flat line, and Ace doesn't know how to interpret it.

He gets into the grub line. Marco already has his own plate. He turns around at the end, two plates piled up, and looks over reflexively. Marco lifts a fork with something bright green on the tines. Ace can't help but frown and flex his jaw, tongue scraping against teeth, as the taste of steamed broccoli erupts in his mouth and makes the back edges of his tongue tighten up.

Marco's eyes narrow down as he chews. Ace can feel his sky blue eyes track him across the room as he joins his Division for the meal. Ace sits down, facing Marco, and this time it's the tangy umami of meat that slides down the back of his throat. It's bright red before it gets locked behind Marco's teeth, and the taste makes Ace wince-liquidy and just slightly coppery: undercooked to a dangerous degree. Marco chews, swallows, and never once blinks or looks away from Ace.

Ace digs into his rack of ribs with a vengeance. Marco licks his lips and the corner of his mouth. Spices and melt-in-your-mouth fatty muscle grinds between Ace's molars. He swallows and Marco tilts his head just slightly to one side and Ace has a sudden, visceral image of an eagle staring down prey. He swallows again.

Throughout the meal, they barely break eye contact. Marco’s plate clears at a slower pace than Ace’s, a steady series of repetitive motions-knife and fork down, fork up, chewing, swallowing, back down. Flavors mix in Ace’s mouth, things he doesn’t know what to do with. His stomach twists the entire time.

When lunch ends, Marco grabs Ace around the arm and physically drags him from the mess. Both of them ignore the stares that follow them out. Marco's grip is bruising and Ace can't free himself until they're both back in the man's quarters.

He's keenly aware that it's because Marco let him go and not because he overcame the man's strength this time.

"When did you know-yoi?" His voice is hard, hard to read and hard to hear.

Ace presses himself against the door and rubs at his arm, the not-quite imprint of the older man’s hand, as he replies. "When you sucked me off last night."

Marco blinks, looks away. He sits down on his bed with a sigh so heavy it almost looks like his spirit goes out of him. Shoulders slumping gradually, he rubs his hands over his face. "Fuck."

"I never expected to find you-yoi."

It's Ace's turn to blink. "What?"

Marco's hands fall to his lap and he sighs again. Quietly, barely above a whisper, "I never thought I'd find my soulmate. I'm 40 years old, I've been a pirate for three decades, and fucked not only most everyone on this ship but also everyone I could in every port we've ever landed in, and even pirates in other crews. And over the past 20 years and change, not a single one-not one-had the same feeling you did-yoi."

His hands clench up. He swallows thickly, throat clicking, and then says "I'd given up really hoping after the first five years. I stopped believing I was doing it to find my soulmate. It just became a habit. Fuck-yoi."

Ace doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to feel. Thoughts swirl, tripping over each other: How many people did Marco kiss, and fuck, trying to find him? How many nights did he spend disappointed when nothing changed? How was he supposed to feel about the idea that almost everyone on board, everyone he shared the ship with, has been with Marco the same way he has?

What would it change? Why does it matter now , when before he knew and before the kiss that changed everything it didn't at all-and in fact Marco's promiscuity was a reason for interest in the first place?

Ace fumbles for a reply. "I don't...I didn't think I even had one, either. Didn't think fate would be cruel enough to...chain someone to me like that."

He doesn't mean for the confession that follows to happen. It starts with The Question, the same one he always asks. 

“What would you do if Roger had a kid, Marco?”

-/-/-/-/-\-\-\-\-

Everything progresses from there through sobbing, and snot, and emotions neither thought they were capable of. It ends with them both in Marco's bed again, wrapped around each other, with swollen eyes and tear stained cheeks.

They don't make it to dinner, but Marco breaks routine to not only show up for breakfast but to also trail Ace back to his table and sit beside him as he eats. They talk softly, too softly for anyone to overhear in the breakfast roar, and when the deck shift starts they hold hands on the way out.

Rumor runs wild, and circulates quickly around the ship. By lunch they're dragged into Pops' office for The Talk. By dinner, Thatch sequesters them both in the kitchen and various people swear they hear yelling, and laughing, and smell cake.