#dracule mihawk x oc

[auryborealis]

[ indiscernible joyful weeping ]

Thank you @lizzbian-himbo for this mega cute comm of the Goth Fam (+ Kita as Goth Mom). The babies. THE BABIESSS ASFDJKL 💖💜

[latanyalove]

I don't know if you do requests, but could I ask for a Mihawk x Rescued! Former slave! reader. Lets say she was saved when he tried to destroy Don krieg's battle ship, and she is brought to the mansion and make friends with Perona. But she tries to leave when she realizes she has feelings for him and she feels like dead weight. But he catches her trying to sneak out because he's Mihawk, duh.

Okay, but jokes aside, she gets corner by the baboons and Mihawk shows up and they skedaddle. And then flufffff

Thank you for bearing with me for this chonky request.

Stay

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Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Y/N

Content: Trauma

A/n: This will probably be a series since I want to add pieces that will make it a better story. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing this! WC: <3

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In a tumultuous sea battle between the infamous swordsman, Dracule Mihawk, and the notorious pirate Don Krieg, a mysterious figure caught Mihawk's attention amidst the chaos. As Mihawk's blade clashed with Krieg's forces, he noticed a young woman, a former slave.

Her appearance was a stark contrast to the opulent attire and extravagant weapons of the pirates. Yet, despite her disheveled appearance, there was an air of resilience about her. Mihawk couldn't help but be intrigued by this woman, wondering what hardships she had endured and what secrets she held within her.

Unexpectedly, her eyes met his from that far distance, and Mihawk felt himself freeze for a second, captivated by the intensity and determination he saw within her gaze.

He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this young woman than met the eye, and he vowed to uncover the secrets she held, even if it meant venturing into uncharted territories.

"Hey! Focus on me!" Don Krieg yelled, releasing at least a hundred missiles at Mihawk.

With a swift movement, Mihawk deflected the bombs with his sword, effortlessly dodging the explosions. He knew he had to concentrate on the battle at hand, but the image of the mysterious woman lingered in the back of his mind, fueling his curiosity.

As Mihawk engaged in a fierce duel with Don Krieg, his sword danced through the chaos, effortlessly parrying each strike with calculated precision. The clash of steel reverberated through the air, echoing the intensity of their struggle.

Mihawk's focus remained unwavering, yet his thoughts kept drifting back to the enigmatic woman, her presence adding an element of intrigue to the already tumultuous battle.

After swiftly dispatching Don Krieg and his forces, Mihawk turned his gaze towards where the young woman had stood, only to find an empty space devoid of any trace of her.

"Where did you go?" He muttered to himself, placing his sword into his scabbard. . . .

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Why is Dracule Mihawk here?! You thought finding cover behind a tree to catch your breath would provide a momentary respite from the chaos. You leaned against the trunk to feel the pointy edges against your back, confirming that this wasn't a dream.

The only time that the ship stopped on land was because of the best swordsman in the world. What luck did you have?

"It's okay," you reassured yourself, "All you have to do is wait it out and run somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's away from here."

"Where are you supposed to run to when it is an isolated island?"

You jumped at the voice behind you and quickly turned around to see Dracule Mihawk sizing you up. His piercing gaze bore into your soul, as if trying to unravel the mysteries hidden within. The thought of running away vanished as you realized that escape was futile in the presence of the world's greatest swordsman.

As he continued to study you, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his interest in you than mere curiosity.

"What do you want from me?" you muttered, fear gripping your voice.

The intensity of Mihawk's gaze only deepened as he leaned closer, his words cutting through the tension-filled air, "You're different. There's something about you that intrigues me."

"Are- Are you going to kill me?"

"Why would I? You do not pose a threat towards me," Mihawk answered, taking a small cautious step towards you. "Do you?"

"No!" you blurted out, your voice trembling with fear and confusion. Mihawk's gaze softened slightly as he observed your reaction, a hint of curiosity still lingering in his eyes.

"Good," he said before turning around and walking away, leaving you standing there, still shaken from the encounter. His departure only deepened the mystery surrounding his interest in you, leaving you to ponder the true intentions of the world's greatest swordsman.

As you tried to make sense of Dracule Mihawk's presence on the isolated island, a realization struck you - he must have arrived by some means other than the sinking ship. Perhaps he possessed his own means of transportation.

"Wait!" you yelled, trying to stand up, but your legs felt weak and shaky. Mihawk glanced back briefly, his gaze filled with a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

"Is there a way off this island? Can you help me escape?" you asked, desperation evident in your voice.

Mihawk fully turned around and said, "I have my boat, but it won't be easy. The waters surrounding this island are treacherous, and only a skilled navigator like myself can navigate them safely. If you're willing to take the risk, I can help you escape."

With a glimmer of hope in your eyes, you gather all your courage and reply, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get off this island. Please, I'll do anything."

Mihawk replied, his voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction, "Very well. In that case, prepare yourself. Our journey off this island begins now."

Without wasting a moment, you quickly stood up and followed Mihawk, determined to seize this opportunity for freedom.

The anticipation of what lay ahead filled your heart with a mix of excitement and trepidation, as you embarked on a perilous journey alongside the enigmatic swordsman. . . .

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"This is your ship?" you asked, shocked to see the small ship that Mihawk owned. It was nothing like you had imagined, but you didn't have time to dwell on it as Mihawk gestured for you to come aboard.

"This ship may be small, but it's fast and maneuverable," Mihawk explained. "It was originally designed for one person, but I'll made an exception for you. We'll need to make some adjustments to accommodate both of us, but it should suffice for our journey off this island."

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of doubt as you continued to stare at the small ship. It seemed inconceivable that such a modest vessel could withstand the treacherous waters surrounding the island.

Nevertheless, you pushed aside your reservations and reminded yourself that Mihawk was regarded as the world's greatest swordsman for a reason.

You stepped onto the ship and made your way to the back, settling into a small space that had been cleared for you. Mihawk, on the other hand, took his place on the main seat at the front, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

As the ship began to move, you couldn't help but feel a combination of nervousness and anticipation, wondering what awaited you beyond the treacherous waters.

You decided to make yourself as small as possible, curling up in a corner to not take up any space. The gentle rocking of the ship and the soothing sound of the water soon had a calming effect on you, lulling you into a deep sleep.

It was the first time that you had slept for so long without any interruptions.

Either it was because you had to change shifts with another slave or a guard thought that you were too comfortable and decided to give you a massage which left you many bruises on your back.

Though you woke up to the sound of the ground crunching beneath you, you realized with a start that you were no longer on the ship.

You opened your eyes to see that you were being carried by someone. Panic surged through you as you frantically looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings. It was then that you noticed the familiar face of Mihawk, his expression unreadable as he effortlessly held you in his arms.

"Calm down," Mihawk muttered, his voice soothing and reassuring. "We've reached our destination. You fell asleep on the ship, so I carried you off. We're safe now."

You looked at where they were heading and saw a huge dark castle in the distance, its towering spires piercing the night sky. The sight sent shivers down your spine, as you couldn't help but wonder what mysteries and dangers awaited you within those ominous walls.

"What is that?"

"That's my house," Mihawk said casually, as if mentioning that he owned a small cottage by the seaside.

You couldn't believe your ears as you stared at the imposing castle, realizing that you had just stepped into the lair of the world's greatest swordsman.

"Why are we at your house?"

"Because you need to get bandaged up and I need to rest," Mihawk replied, his eyes scanning the castle's surroundings for potential threats.

"My house is equipped with everything we need to tend to our wounds and recover. Plus, it's the safest place for us right now."

You kept quiet as you saw the castle get bigger and closer, the sense of foreboding intensifying with each step. The eerie silence that enveloped the surroundings only added to your unease, making you question the true nature of Mihawk's "house" and what secrets it held within its walls.

"We're here," he said in a very nonchalantly tone.

As you looked around, you noticed the thick iron door of the castle slowly creaking open, revealing a grand entrance that seemed to lead into the heart of darkness.

Your heart raced with a mixture of fear and curiosity, wondering what awaited you on the other side.

As you entered the castle, the lights switched on by themselves, illuminating the grandeur of the place. The flickering candlelight danced off the intricate tapestries and ancient suits of armor, creating an eerie yet mesmerizing atmosphere. It was clear that this was no ordinary home, but a place steeped in history and power.

"Mihawk! Why are you back so early!" a voice came from inside the castle, echoing through the grand halls. You followed Mihawk's gaze and saw a figure emerging from the shadows, their eyes filled with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

The figure that emerged from the shadows was a woman. With her signature pink hair and a frilly black dress, she exuded an air of both elegance and mischief.

Her wide eyes sparkled with curiosity as she took in the sight of you in Mihawk's arms, clearly intrigued by your presence in their mysterious castle.

"Perona, this is our guest for now, treat her with respect," Mihawk stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Perona's eyes widened even further as she assessed you, her curiosity turning into a mischievous smile.

"Oh, how delightful! A new playmate," she exclaimed, her voice dripping with excitement and a touch of malice.

As you tried to process Perona's words, you felt a chilling breeze on your back. Startled, you turned around and to your astonishment, you found yourself being held by a translucent, ghost-like figure instead of Mihawk.

The figure's eyes glowed with an ethereal light as it floated effortlessly, its presence sending a shiver down your spine.

"Come along!" Perona said excitedly, also floating and headed upstairs, her frilly black dress billowing around her.

Reluctantly, you followed Perona, your eyes fixed on the ghostly figure that carried you. Its ethereal presence seemed to be bound to Perona, as if it were her loyal companion in this eerie castle.

As you ascended the stairs, you stole a quick glance down to the first floor, where you had caught a glimpse of Mihawk before. However, to your surprise, Mihawk was nowhere to be seen.

It was as if he had vanished into thin air, leaving you alone with Perona and the mysterious ghostly figure. The air grew colder, and a sense of unease settled over you as you continued to follow Perona deeper into the heart of the castle.

"What's your name?" Perona asked, floating closer to you with a mischievous grin. Her pink hair seemed to glow in the dim light of the castle as she eagerly awaited your response.

"My name is Y/N," you replied, feeling a mixture of apprehension.

"Y/N? That's such a good name," Perona complimented as she continued to float, leading you deeper into the castle. The ghostly figure holding you seemed to emit an eerie glow, its presence becoming increasingly unsettling as you ventured further into the unknown.

Perona finally stopped in front of a door and quickly opened it, getting inside. The ghostly figure followed suit, its ethereal form gliding into the room.

As you stepped into the room, you were immediately captivated by its opulence. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, and the furniture was ornately carved with delicate details.

The room was filled with plush cushions, silk curtains, and a grand canopy bed fit for a princess. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the space, casting a warm and inviting ambiance. It was as if you had stepped into a fairytale, and for a moment, you forgot the eerie presence that had brought you here.

"This is my bedroom," Perona said as the ghost placed you on the edge of her bed.

"It's really nice," you said, speechless of the sight of the room.

Perona chuckled, her mischievous grin widening. "Now let's get you a bath and some new clothes, the ragged look does not fit you," she joked, gesturing towards a luxurious en-suite bathroom.

The thought of a warm bath and fresh attire was tempting, but you couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered in the air.

As you tried to stand up, your legs did not cooperate with you and started to make you fall. Panic surged through you as you grasped for something to hold onto, but all you could grasp was thin air.

Luckily, Perona was beside you and was able to catch you in time, preventing you from falling to the ground. She held onto you, her ethereal grip providing a surprisingly strong support, and helped you regain your balance.

"Are you okay?" Perona panicked, concern evident in her voice as she held onto you tightly.

"Yeah, I'm alright," you muttered, trying to downplay your momentary loss of balance. But deep down, you couldn't shake off the feeling that something was seriously wrong with your body.

"Let's get you a bath now, maybe that will make you feel better," Perona suggested, guiding you to the bathroom.

The bathroom was an extension of the opulence that permeated the rest of the room. Marble countertops, gilded fixtures, and a large clawfoot bathtub took center stage, surrounded by intricate tilework and a crystal chandelier that sparkled overhead.

Perona guided you into the bath with utmost care, ensuring that you were comfortable every step of the way. She adjusted the water temperature to your liking and gently helped you settle into the luxurious clawfoot bathtub, making sure you were fully supported.

As the warm water enveloped your body, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and gratitude for Perona's kind and attentive nature.

Unable to take the silence anymore, you decided to make a joke.

"Is this how you treat all your guests?" you joked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you hugged your knees close to you.

"Actually, you're our first guest," Perona said, kneeling beside the bathtub. "But I must say, you're making quite the impression already. We've been waiting for someone like you for a long time."

"What do you mean?" you asked curiously, facing Perona.

"You see, that old man Mihawk has been so lonely for all his life, it was time that he had some love in his life," Perona explained, her voice filled with a mix of sympathy and affection.

"What do you mean?" you said, feeling your face heat up at her words, unsure if you had heard her correctly. Perona's eyes softened as she looked at you, her voice filled with sincerity.

"Mihawk has been searching for a companion, someone to share his life with. And it seems like fate has brought you to us."

"That can't be," you protested, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "He only brought me here because he pitied me since I was the survivor of the fight that he was in. I can't be the companion he's looking for."

Perona's expression remained gentle as she reached out to touch your hand. "Believe me, it's more than just pity," she reassured you. "Mihawk sees something special in you, something that goes beyond mere circumstance."

You kept quiet, thinking deeply about what she said. Did the greatest swordsman in the world really think that about you? Fall in love with a small peasant? No way.

"Let's get you clean first," Perona said, getting the shampoo and rubbing your hair, getting the dirt out.

As she continued to wash your hair, she whispered, "You may doubt it now, but Mihawk's feelings for you are genuine. He sees in you a strength and resilience that he admires, and that's why he brought you here."

As Perona continued to massage your hair, her gentle touch and the soothing sound of the water made you feel incredibly relaxed. Despite your doubts, the weight of the day started to lift off your shoulders, and you couldn't help but feel yourself drifting off to sleep in her caring hands.

"Y/N, Y/N?"

You quickly straightened your back and looked at Perona, trying to shake off the drowsiness. "Yes Perona," you said softly.

"I'm done washing your hair, is my massaging that good?" Perona teased, standing up to stretch her legs and arms.

You blushed and smiled at Perona's playful comment. "Yes, Perona, your massaging is amazing. I've never felt so relaxed before," you admitted, feeling grateful for her presence and the unexpected turn your life had taken.

"My treatment isn't over yet, you need new clothes," Perona said excitedly, running out of the bathroom to find some clothes that would fit you properly.

As you watched her leave, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation filled your heart, wondering what other surprises this new chapter of your life would bring.

Slowly, you got out of the bath and walked over to where the towels were hung from. As you dried yourself, something caught your eye in the mirror; it was your back.

It was a painful reminder of the abuse you had endured throughout your life. The scars crisscrossed your back, telling stories of pain and suffering. As you stared at your reflection, you felt disgust and guilt fill your heart.

How was Perona not disgusted by you? How could you show that to her? She must have pitied me as well.

"Hey Y/N, are you okay?" Perona asked, her reflection showing in the mirror as well, standing at the doorway. She looked at you with genuine concern in her eyes, her expression filled with empathy and understanding.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you said, quickly covering your back with the towel. You didn't want Perona to see the scars and be burdened with your past.

"I've got your outfits ready," Perona informed, her voice filled with excitement. "I picked out some clothes that I think you'll love."

You nodded, walking out of the bathroom and seeing the different outfits on the racks. Perona's taste in fashion was impeccable, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as you imagined yourself wearing the carefully selected clothes.

Though all of the outfits were dresses, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. As someone who has always been in pants and shirts, you wondered if Perona truly understood your personal style.

Nevertheless, you decided to give the dresses a chance and hoped that they would make you feel as confident and beautiful as Perona saw you.

"Sorry, all I have are dresses."

"It's okay," you assured, taking the first dress and going back to the bathroom.

When you properly looked at the dress, you realized that this was a bad idea. It was a style that you would never choose for yourself. Maybe it was because you are only able to wear one set of clothes - too frilly, too feminine, and completely foreign to you.

But Perona had put so much thought and effort into selecting these outfits for you that you decided to suck it up and wear the dress. You wanted to show her that you appreciated her gesture and were willing to step outside of your comfort zone for her.

Plus, who knows, maybe trying something new could be a positive change for you.

As you looked into the mirror, you couldn't help but feel a sense of shock at the person staring back at you. The dress completely transformed your appearance, making you almost unrecognizable to yourself.

Despite your initial hesitation, you took a deep breath and reminded yourself that sometimes stepping outside of your comfort zone can lead to unexpected growth and self-discovery.

You walked out of the bathroom and immediately looked at Perona for her reaction. Her eyes widened as she took in your appearance, and a wide smile spread across her face. "You look absolutely stunning!" she exclaimed, her excitement evident in her voice.

"Thank you," you replied shyly, grateful for Perona's kind words and validation.

"This is why we need to show you off to Mihawk," Perona stated happily, her eyes gleaming with excitement. You couldn't help but blush at her words, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation building up inside you.

Lost in your own thoughts and the rush of confidence from trying something new, you were so absorbed in your own bubble of happiness that you didn't even hear Perona's statement about showing you off to Mihawk.

Then you felt as if you had been picked up again by someone.

Startled, you turned your head to the side and made eye contact with the ghost, who had picked you up once again.

"Let's go," Perona smiled, floating again and led the way. You clung onto the ghost, feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity as you followed her through the halls, eager to see where this unexpected journey would take you.

As you followed Perona through the halls, you couldn't help but admire the grandeur of Mihawk's mansion. The elegant decor and intricate artwork displayed in every corner showcased his impeccable taste.

It didn't take long for Perona to lead you to Mihawk's study room, and as you entered, you were immediately struck by the air of wisdom and power that seemed to emanate from the room.

Mihawk seemed oblivious to your presence, deeply engrossed in the book he was reading. His intense focus and the way he furrowed his brows as he turned the pages only added to his mysterious aura.

"Mihawk, I brought Y/N here," Perona said with a hint of pride in her voice, gesturing towards you. "Doesn't she look stunning?" she exclaimed, treating you as if you were a prized possession on display.

When Mihawk looked up from his book, the both of you had immediate eye contact, and his eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of you.

It was as if time stood still for a moment, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze as he took in your transformed appearance.

Did he not like your dress? Did he not like you getting too close to Perona?

"Perona, can you leave the two of us alone?" Mihawk ordered, his gaze never leaving yours.

Perona then whispered, "Good luck, even though you might not need it. Mihawk has never shown such interest in anyone before. You must have made quite an impression."

Perona nodded and floated out of the room, leaving you alone with the enigmatic swordsman.

The intensity of his gaze made your heart race, and you couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were running through his mind.

"Come sit here," he said, gesturing to the chair beside him.

As the ghost moved, it gently dropped you onto the chair beside Mihawk. You sat in the seat, trying to steady your nerves as you waited for him to speak. The silence in the room was palpable, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and uncertainty about what was to come.

Even as you tried to settle into the chair, Mihawk's piercing gaze never wavered.

"Is there something wrong with your legs?"

You turned to him in surprise, your eyes widening at the unexpected question. "No, nothing's wrong with my legs," you replied, slightly puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"Perona's ghost carried you all the way here,"

"I tripped once and Perona was overreacting by making me get carried," you explained, hoping to alleviate any concerns he might have had.

Mihawk's expression softened ever so slightly as he nodded. "I see," he responded, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

The awkward silence hung in the air, amplifying the tension between you and Mihawk. You wondered if there was something more he wanted to say, or if he was simply contemplating the situation. Either way, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of anxiety and anticipation as you waited for him to break the silence.

"You look beautiful by the way," Mihawk said, finally breaking the silence. His compliment caught you off guard, and a blush crept onto your cheeks.

"Thank you," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in Mihawk's words sent a wave of warmth through your body, calming your nerves slightly.

"Do you want to stay here?" Mihawk asked, his piercing gaze still fixed on you.

The question caught you off guard once again, and you found yourself searching for the right words to respond, unsure of what staying in this enigmatic swordsman's presence would entail.

"I like it here, but I don't want to intrude," you said, hesitatingly. The words escaped your lips as you tried to convey your mixed feelings of both comfort and reservation in Mihawk's presence.

"You are not intruding at all," Mihawk started, his voice calm and reassuring. "Perona seems to like you, so you can stay as long as you like." The weight of his words lifted some of the uncertainty from your shoulders, allowing you to relax a little more in his presence.

"I- I can stay?" you said, looking at him with surprise, the words escaping your lips before you could fully process them.

Mihawk was surprised by the sudden eye contact but quickly regained his composure and looked back at his book, nodding. It seemed like he was trying to regain his composure and maintain his usual stoic demeanor.

"Thank you," you said, your voice filled with gratitude and a hint of relief. The permission to stay in Mihawk's presence felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and acceptance in his words.

"Do you like dresses?" he asked, not lifting his eyes off his book. His question caught you off guard again, and you hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well this is my first time wearing something other than ripped clothes. Why do you ask?"

"We can go shopping after you recover, if you'd like," Mihawk suggested, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I appreciate the offer, but I feel like I would be using you if I accepted. I don't want to burden you or take advantage of your kindness," you said, your voice filled with sincerity and concern.

"You're not burdening me at all," Mihawk reassured, his gaze unwavering. "Helping you is my choice."

"You're very generous," you said, overwhelmed by Mihawk's kindness. The offer to go shopping after your recovery was unexpected, and you couldn't help but feel touched by his willingness to help.

"I understand that nothing can repair all you have gone through," Mihawk replied, his voice filled with empathy.

"You have no idea how much this means to me," you replied, tears welling up in your eyes. "To have someone like you, someone who understands, by my side... I can't thank you enough."

As Mihawk was about to reply, the door opened dramatically and revealed Perona, who had a mischievous smile on her face. "Oh, sorry for interrupting your conversation!" she exclaimed, causing both of you to turn towards her in surprise.

Startled by the sudden movement, you jumped in your seat, your heart racing.

"What do you want?" Mihawk muttered, a sign of anger showing in his tone. His interruption was abrupt, and his gaze shifted from Perona to you, as if silently asking if you were okay.

Perona's mischievous smile grew wider as she said, "I just wanted to let you two know that dinner is ready."

Mihawk sighed and glanced at you apologetically before turning his attention back to Perona. "Thank you for letting us know, Perona. We'll be there shortly," he responded, his voice calm but still carrying a hint of frustration.

Perona nodded, chuckling mischievously before floating away, leaving you and Mihawk alone once again. You took a deep breath, grateful for the brief interruption that allowed your racing heart to calm down.

"Can you walk?" Mihawk asked, placing his book on his desk.

"Yes, I can walk," you replied, relieved that your momentary panic hadn't caused any physical limitations. Mihawk nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Good," he said, standing up from his chair. "Shall we head to dinner then?"

"Yes," you said, standing up as well, and you followed Mihawk out of the room, feeling a sense of comfort knowing that he was there to support you.

As you continued to follow him from behind, it reminded you of your life just a few hours ago.

When walking was not a choice at times but a command enforced by cruel guards who would yell, "Walk faster!" while pulling the chains that were wrapped around the necks and arms of the slaves.

You were only able to answer with a 'Yes Master' or a 'Yes sir'. Other than those two, you would be severely punished depending on who heard your wrong answer.

Unfortunately you were a slave that was passed across many ships for all of their lives and you weren't familiar with that rule yet. Your last ship made you do everything in silence, even cry in silence that you even thought you had lost your voice.

The punishment you had to endure in Don Krieg's ship was indescribable. From physical beatings to starvation and isolation, every day was filled with unimaginable pain and suffering.

It was a constant battle for survival, and the fear of making a single mistake haunted your every move.

"Are you coming?" a voice said, making you jump.

Without thinking, you answered with "yes master," your conditioned response from years of slavery.

But as the words left your mouth, you quickly realized where you were and who you were with. The weight of your past life lingered in that moment, reminding you of the scars that still remained, even if they weren't visible.

You quickly corrected yourself, realizing that you were no longer in that dark place. The presence of Mihawk and the safety of his house provided a stark contrast to the horrors you had endured.

His eyes filled with concern as he noticed your sudden startle. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized, extending a hand towards you.

"No, I'm sorry, I should have paid more attention," you said, shaking your head.

The memories of your past sometimes still caught you off guard, but being in Mihawk's presence helped ease the lingering pain.

Feeling a sense of comfort, you slowly wrapped your hand around his arm, finding solace in his presence. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes of the trust that was slowly growing between the two of you, helping to heal the wounds of your past.

As you continued to walk in silence, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the freedom you now had. Each step forward was a reminder of how far you had come from the days of bondage and suffering.

Finally, after walking in silence for a few more minutes, you and Mihawk reached the dining room. The sight of the beautifully set table and the aroma of the delicious meal filled the air, instantly making your stomach grumble with anticipation.

As you approached the dining room, Mihawk graciously pulled out the chair on his right side for you. Gratefully, you settled into your seat, ready to indulge in the nourishing meal before you.

Perona then floated in from the kitchen and sat in front of you, her mischievous smile lighting up the room. "I hope you're hungry," she said playfully, her ghostly form exuding an air of excitement.

It was clear that she had put her heart into preparing this meal, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging in this newfound family.

"Let's dig in, Itadakimasu!" Perona said, sitting down. The words marked the beginning of a joyful feast, as you and Mihawk joined her at the table, savoring the delicious food.

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment as you stared at the unfamiliar cutlery in front of you. Forks and knives were foreign objects to you, as you had never used them before.

"What's your dominant hand?"

"Huh," you said, looking at Mihawk. "I'm actually ambidextrous, so I can use either hand."

Mihawk chuckled softly, reaching across the table to hand you a fork. "Well, I guess it's time to learn something new," he said.

You took the fork and stared at it, feeling a mixture of curiosity and nervousness. As you held it in your hand, Mihawk leaned in and gently guided you through the proper way to hold and use it, patiently teaching you the art of dining with cutlery.

As you held the fork for the first time, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unfamiliarity and anticipation. The smooth metal against your fingertips felt foreign yet strangely empowering.

With your heart pounding, you cautiously brought the fork to your lips, trying to mimic Mihawk's guidance.

You fumbled with the fork a few times, dropping food and feeling your face flush with embarrassment. Mihawk and Perona, however, remained patient and encouraging, assuring you that it was completely normal to struggle at first. With each failed attempt, he offered gentle guidance and reassurance, reminding you that learning something new takes time and practice.

With a cautious grip, you tentatively speared a piece of food and raised it to your lips. As the flavors mingled on your tongue, you couldn't help but smile at the small triumph of mastering this new skill, savoring not only the taste of the meal but also the sense of accomplishment that came with it.

You looked at Mihawk in shock, and you could see the slightest smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was as if he had anticipated your reaction and took joy in witnessing your triumph over the unfamiliarity of using cutlery.

"You're a quick learner," Mihawk said with a proud glint in his eyes, rewarding your efforts with a nod of approval.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a sense of gratitude for Mihawk's patient guidance.

You started to eat, savoring each bite and enjoying the newfound skill of using cutlery. As you looked up, you noticed Perona's gaze fixed on the two of you, her eyes shining with happiness.

"What is it?" Mihawk asked, also noticing Peroma's staring.

"It's- It's nothing!" Perona replied, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be engrossed in her meal once again.

You found Perona's reaction endearing, her blush adding to the charm of the moment. However, Mihawk scoffed, dismissing her behavior as nothing more than a triviality, before taking a sip of his wine and returning his attention to his meal.

You couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind, but you decided to focus on enjoying the rest of the meal and savoring the newfound skill of using cutlery.

What would she think if she saw me now? In a fancy dress, at a fancy castle and with fancy people.

You smiled sadly at the thought, knowing that she would never have the opportunity to witness this moment. Her absence was a constant ache in your heart, but you took solace in the fact that you were carrying a piece of her with you, her spirit guiding you through each small triumph and reminding you to cherish every moment.

Mihawk had noticed the sadness behind your smile, but his silence on the matter only deepened the mystery of his thoughts.

The fancy castle exuded an air of grandeur and opulence, with its towering walls adorned with intricate tapestries and sparkling chandeliers illuminating the exquisite dining hall.

The dining hall was a breathtaking sight, with its grand chandeliers casting a dazzling array of light that danced off the polished silverware and fine china.

The walls, adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of ancient battles and noble conquests, added an air of regality to the already opulent space. As you took in the surroundings, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and privilege to be in such a luxurious setting.

"So what are we doing tomorrow?" Perona asked curiously, breaking the silence that had settled over the table.

Her question brought you back to the present moment, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as you thought about the adventures that awaited the next day.

"I will be going out to meet up with someone," Mihawk stated, taking another sip of his wine. His cryptic response piqued your curiosity, leaving you wondering who he was meeting and what plans he had in store.

"Who?" Perona asked, her eyes filled with curiosity as she awaited Mihawk's answer.

"That is none of your business," Mihawk answered, his tone curt and final.

The air around the table grew tense as Perona's curiosity clashed with Mihawk's guarded demeanor, leaving you caught in the middle, torn between wanting to know the answer and respecting Mihawk's privacy.

"Oh well, that means the house is all to us," Perona cheered to you, her excitement palpable.

You couldn't help but smile, grateful for her lightheartedness in the midst of the tension. It was a reminder that even in moments of uncertainty, there was still joy to be found.

As the evening wore on, you and Perona continued to share stories from your past, exchanging tales of adventure and hardship. Mihawk remained a silent but attentive presence, his gaze fixed on you both as he listened intently to every word.

It was a rare moment of vulnerability and connection, as you realized that despite his guarded demeanor, Mihawk was genuinely interested in getting to know you on a deeper level.

It would not be too difficult for you to get used to this, you thought to yourself. . . .

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You woke up trapped on a slave ship, embarking on a harrowing journey of torture and suffering. As you lay restlessly in your sleep, you found yourself waking up in a familiar place.

It was a dark and damp room, with shackles tightly binding your ankles and wrists. Panic consumed you as you realized you were a prisoner on a slave ship.

As you slowly regained consciousness, you noticed a group of guards surrounding you. They were cruel and merciless, their faces etched with twisted desires. Each guard carried a whip, which they eagerly used to inflict unimaginable pain upon your flesh.

So it was a dream, you thought sadly, remembering the feeling of being in a majestic dress in a castle with Mihawk and Perona.

As you got up to the yelling of the guards, you realized that the dream was just a temporary escape from the harsh reality of your situation. The pain in your limbs and the stench of the ship's hold reminded you that you were still a captive, desperate for freedom.

The guards showed no mercy as they tormented you. They would strike you with whips, leaving welts upon your body. The whips were adorned with sharp metal spikes, causing excruciating pain with every lash. The guards laughed and taunted you, reveling in your suffering.

It became clear that the guards' sadistic pleasure was their primary objective. They enjoyed inflicting pain purely for their own amusement. Their laughter echoed through the ship, reminding you of your helplessness.

As the days turned into weeks, the slave ship continued on its journey. The stench of sweat and fear filled the air. The guards kept us confined in cramped, unsanitary conditions. We were subjected to constant hunger and thirst, our bodies ravaged by disease and malnutrition.

Your suffering was unrelenting and, as we sailed further, our despair only grew stronger. . . .

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You woke up sweating profusely from the nightmare, your heart pounding in your chest. The vividness of the dream left you shaken, unable to shake off the feeling of despair and hopelessness that had consumed you from your nightmare.

You looked around and saw you were in a fancy yet empty room. The grandeur of the furnishings contrasted sharply with the emptiness of the space, leaving you with a sense of eerie solitude.

The silence was deafening, and you couldn't help but question whether this was another illusion, or if there was a glimmer of hope for escape after all.

You remembered how Perona showed you to this guest room last night, assuring you it would be a safe place to rest and you could decorate it later.

You then slowly got up from your bed and made your way to the door as you walked slowly. As you turned the handle, a rush of anticipation filled your veins. The creaking of the door echoed through the empty hallway, and you cautiously stepped outside, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the deserted grounds. The stillness of the night was unsettling, as if the whole world was holding its breath in anticipation. The moon cast an ethereal glow on the desolate landscape, illuminating the path ahead.

The late hour meant that Perona was likely to be asleep but you were unsure of Mihawk. You weren't able to identify any sleepiness from him during dinner unlike Perona, who was complaining about how she needed her beauty sleep for one hour until you volunteered to wash the dishes for her.

As you tiptoed down the corridor, every step was carefully calculated to avoid making any noise. The silence enveloped you, amplifying the sound of your own breathing.

You knew that any sudden noise could alert Mihawk to your presence, and the consequences of being caught were too dire to contemplate.

Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the faint sound of footsteps echoing from downstairs.

Your mind raced with possibilities, wondering who could be roaming the house at this hour. Could it be Perona, unable to sleep and wandering aimlessly? Or perhaps it was Mihawk, patrolling the premises to ensure the safety of his guests.

The unknown nature of the situation only heightened your anxiety, and you knew that you had to proceed with extreme caution.

Despite knowing that it was wrong, your curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't resist the urge to explore the castle further. The allure of the unknown beckoned you, and you silently made your way towards the source of the footsteps, determined to uncover the secrets that lay hidden within the walls.

You made it to the grand staircase without any disturbance, its grandeur and elegance captivating you as you ascended each step. The soft moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows added an ethereal touch to the scene, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor below.

As you walked down the stairs, the footsteps grew louder, echoing through the empty hallways. The sound resonated with an eerie intensity, sending shivers down your spine and intensifying your sense of unease.

When you reached the end of the stairs, a figure emerged from the shadows, completely unaware of your presence. Their footsteps faltered for a moment as they glanced around, their eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

The figure standing before you was none other than the legendary swordsman, Dracule Mihawk. Clad in his signature black attire, Mihawk exuded an aura of mystery and power. His long, flowing black hair framed his chiseled face, accentuating his piercing, hawk-like eyes that seemed to hold a depth of knowledge and experience beyond measure.

The sharp angles of his jawline and the confident set of his shoulders portrayed a man who was both formidable and unyielding. As he moved with grace and precision, his black cape billowed behind him, adding an air of elegance and drama to his every step.

It was clear that this was a man who commanded respect and demanded attention wherever he went.

You had always heard stories of Mihawk's fearsome reputation and his unmatched swordsmanship, but now, as you looked at him up close, you couldn't help but notice his striking features.

His sharp eyes softened as they met yours, revealing a glimmer of curiosity.

The harsh lines of his face seemed to soften, revealing a hidden attractiveness that you had never noticed before. Despite the air of mystery and power that surrounded him, you couldn't help but find yourself drawn to his handsome and enigmatic presence.

"Y/N, what are you doing awake so late?" Mihawk asked as he fully faced you, his voice carrying a mix of surprise and concern. His piercing gaze remained fixed on you, as if trying to unravel the mystery behind your presence in his grand mansion.

You stumbled for words, caught off guard by his sudden attention, unsure whether to reveal the truth or come up with a plausible excuse.

Finally, you mustered the courage to respond, "I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't resist the allure of exploring this magnificent place."

Mihawk's gaze lingered on you for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Curiosity can be a dangerous thing," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a hint of warning.

"I understand the risks," you replied, meeting Mihawk's gaze with determination.

Mihawk nodded before gesturing you to come over, "Y/N, come here," he said, his voice holding a touch of intrigue. As you stepped closer to him, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with apprehension. What could he possibly want with you?

As you got close enough, Mihawk slowly reached for your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His grip was firm yet gentle, as if he held something precious.

"I'll be back before tomorrow evening, but if you have any problems, just call me on this," he whispered, his voice tinged with a hint of reassurance.

As he released your hand, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty filled the air. With the Transponder Snail now in your possession, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you in the coming hours.

You watched as Mihawk opened the door, said goodbye before walking into the forest. The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance, leaving you standing there, holding the Transponder Snail in your hand, filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation about the adventures that lay ahead.

Feeling tired, you closed the door and headed back to bed, placing the Transponder Snail on the desk close by.

The events of the evening replayed in your mind, and as sleep finally claimed you, you couldn't help but wonder where Mihawk was going, and how you would be involved. . . .

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"Good afternoon Hawkeyes Mihawk, what honour do I have for you to be here today?"

"I have something that might interest you, Garp."

"And what might that be?"

"Have you ever heard of a devil fruit that allows the user to control its own aura and even the aura from other living beings?"

"No, I haven't. Tell me more," Garp replied, his curiosity piqued. . . .

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Part 2?

[acelvrr]

Mihawk : i want to take you

y/n: (hella clueless) ooo where ??

Mihawk (aka mr romantic): places you've never been before😩💦

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

I've had this chapter finished for a few days, and I must apologize for not posting it sooner.

Particularly considering the last time I updated this fic was a few months ago. I just couldn't find the will to do all the formatting stuff. But I have the will tonight, so here I am.

Also forgive me if I miss anyone in the taglist or add anyone that didn't intend to be there (kind of a new thing for me)

Please also forgive me if my formatting is a little fcked, my external mouse on my laptop is currently in the process of dying on me (it's confusing left clicks for right clicks and vice versa) and it's been quite a pain for the past couple days.

ANYWAY

MihawkxOC (started as OPLA but will progress in mixed live-action and anime/manga canon)

Previous Chapter Link

Chapter 1 Link

Chapte 8: Nightmares

Tag List: @sirenmelody23 @nerium-lil @ruledbyproblematique @sexc-snail (I think you asked in an ask a while back) @ruledbyproblematique (idk if you asked but I noticed you’ve reblogged quite a few chapters and it’s been a while, if it’s an issue I can delete)

Word Count:3.4k

Tags: Slow-burn, Enemies to Lovers, !!NSFW on this chapter!!, uh, if I think of more I'll add them or something

Summary: After having her sloop sunk by the Buggy Pirates and losing most of her worldly possessions in the process, the normally solitary mercenary Karimi Lionne finds herself teaming up with the rag-tag little crew that is the Strawhat Pirates to defeat them. She bonds with them far more quickly than she bargained for, and that quickly turns into a problem for the Kiku Kiku no Mi devil fruit user when she learns of Nami's plans to leave them high and dry, and Zoro issues a challenge at Baratie that he very likely won't live long enough to regret.

Karimi couldn’t fathom how she had ended up in her present position. She would have sworn under oath that minutes earlier she had been pacing the length of her guest room, fuming in anger with the warlord she had left behind in the den after he had humiliated her without a second thought to anything but his own entertainment.

That she had been finishing the glass of wine she had taken with her, pausing perhaps halfway through to shout a series of profanities into one of the heavy feather pillows on the bed.

That she hadn’t had so much wine that she should have any holes in her memory at all—and yet here she was, back on the sofa again, pinned beneath the jerk again, his powerful grip wrapped around her wrists and shoving them over her head, denying her the right of defending herself.

But he didn’t hold his knife in his other hand this time. No; he held the edge of her green dress instead, his fingers curled around the hem of the shimmering material, pushing the skirt up her thighs, up to her waist, at the same lazy pace that his lips grazed across the delicate skin of her neck, biting down lightly just below her earlobe, just hard enough to leave a mark and pull a whimper from her parted lips.

“You see, darling…” Her eyes slipped shut as he murmured in her ear, her heart racing as his hand crept back down from the hem of her dress now bunched around her ribs, his fingertips trailing a slow path down the plane of her stomach and slipping just beneath the waist of her panties. “I’m not so cruel a master as you think. You behave…” And just a little lower, her breath coming in short uneven bursts as he pushed her thighs further apart with his knees between them, the pads of his index and middle finger brushing past her slick entrance. “And you’ll be rewarded in kind.”

Drawing in a sharp breath as he pressed his fingertips against her and ceased moving his hand entirely. She opened her eyes and found his sharp yellow gaze boring straight into hers, her breath hitching in her throat, a small smirk curving his lips as he lowered his head until his forehead rested lightly against hers.

“Now be a good little bird and beg for it.”

And she did beg—barely coherent, barely even registering her own pleas as they left her in a breathless whimper, she shamelessly begged. Each time she tried to arch her hips toward his touch he simply shoved her with one hand back down to the sofa, still rubbing the pads of his fingers against her clit in slow, teasing little circles.

Pulling her closer and closer to the edge with every touch, every caress, every murmur in her ear or against her lips, until what few words she could form became nothing but incoherent whimpers and moans, until she could register nothing but slowly mounting pleasure—not his words, not the almost painful pressure of his grip tightening around her wrists, not the sound of his voice or the warmth of his breath or the crackle of fire or smell of smoke.

Smoke.

Crushing his lips to hers to muffle her sharp cry of alarm and relief when he pushed two fingers into her. She clenched her eyes shut, moaning breathily as his lips left hers.

Fire.

As his hand drew away from her, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness that bordered on pain.

Pain.

As something cold and smooth pressed against her throat—something sharp, cutting into the soft skin, and she couldn’t even whimper at the sharp pain, as if her own voice had been stolen from her, stolen like everything else, stolen by fire and vengeance and—

Another voice, but it wasn’t Mihawk’s. She knew it wouldn’t be before the words even broke through the crackling of the fire, growing louder and hotter with every passing second, licking and burning at her skin. It was a voice that had haunted her for years, a voice she would never be allowed to forget, that would continue to live with her even with its owner long since gone.

“Let this be a lesson to you about what happens to pirate whores and filth.”

Vesper.

Karimi’s eyes shot open the second the name passed through her mind, sitting straight up in the bed in the guest suite.

A dream. Just a dream. “Just a…just...” She couldn’t even force the words out beyond her rapid, trembling breaths, so Karimi simply leaned forward, bending her knees up and resting her forehead there, not daring to close her eyes. She knew she would see him, plastered to the back of her eyelids, she always did after he visited her in her dreams—his maniacal grin, the twisted purple and red scars that covered the left side of his face, his empty eye socket filled with fire, his white Admiral coat half-dyed crimson with blood and his bowie knife pointed toward her.

“Nightmare?”

“Ni…nightmare. Just a nightmare.” She swallowed between her halfway incoherent mumblings, her hands shaking as she gripped the bedsheets. “Just a…”

And she stopped breathing as she jerked her head to look over at the Warlord leaning against the post at the head of her bed on the right side, arms crossed, observing her with the air of a cat that had happened across an interesting insect.

“What...?”

Looked down at herself, every ounce of blood in her body rising to her head as she took in that she was still dressed down for bed, wearing only an old, slightly tattered tank top and a pair of thin lace panties.

And back at him again, fury and embarrassment swelling into an entirely new entity within her as she gritted her teeth in utter rage.

“What the fuck, w—were you watching me sleep?!” she shouted, quickly drawing her covers up over herself, and Mihawk lifted his eyebrows at her in mild alarm. “What the f—”

“Why in seven hells would I have any interest in—?”

But she was already grabbing a pillow from behind her, without thinking, and swinging it toward him. “Get out!!” she all but shrieked, and he clearly hadn’t expected the sudden attack, as the pillow connected and knocked his hat from his head. He caught it easily before it could fall further a foot and set it back atop his head, sighing as he straightened it and leveled his eyes with Karimi’s.

“That,” he said slowly, straightening out from his relaxed posture against the bedpost and taking a step toward her, “was a mistake.”

Karimi hugged the pillow to her chest as he drew closer, her face burning, her jaw set, but she had left one weak point completely open, and the moment she realized it, it was already too late. She cried out as he wrapped his hand around her neck, just under her chin, and jerked her from the bed and to her feet, up to her tiptoes as he brought his face within an inch of hers. She had to wince against the burning in her eyes when he tightened his grip, not hard enough to cut off her airway entirely but more than enough to make breathing a physical chore.

“If you have any value at all for your continued good health, you will refrain from doing anything that stupid ever again.”

He leaned in the slightest bit closer and Karimi swallowed, her heart only racing faster. Closer, too close, too close, nearly as close as he had been in that accursed dream—no, now was not the time to think about that.

“Do you understand, little bird?”

She bit her lip and nodded—with his fingers only gripping tighter and tighter around her neck, she wasn’t sure she could have formed a word if she wanted to.

“Good.” His eyes drifted down, away from hers, across her bare shoulders, lingering on her left arm a moment. She flinched slightly as he lifted his free hand and brushed the pad of his thumb down the column of uniform scars that spanned from just above her elbow to the base of her wrist, her shoulder tensing until he lifted his hand.

It came to settle at her hip for a moment, and she averted her eyes as far away from him as she could as his fingertips grazed across the waistband of her panties.

Then, without warning, he shoved her back toward the bed, releasing her neck so she stumbled backward onto the mattress, rubbing at her neck and gasping for air, watching him turn on his heel and start toward the bedroom door. “You have half an hour. Be prepared to sign our contract and set out when you make your way downstairs.”

He didn’t wait for her response before he pushed through the cracked door, leaving it hanging open behind him, Karimi sitting there in her undergarments and staring in shock at the empty doorframe. Still rubbing at her neck, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would even survive a year working for the man.

She wasn’t sure just how long she sat there before she pulled herself to her feet and set to pulling a change of clothes out from her meager satchel of personal effects, striding across the bedroom to close the door before any of the help could pass by and see her. She made quick work of changing her clothes, straightening her hat on her head, bending down slightly to tighten the leather straps around her right calf that held her throwing knives, reaching for the doorknob.

And someone knocked. She rolled her eyes skyward—it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, why the hell would he be back?

“Would you please just leave me alone?” she half-groaned.

Silence met her in reply, a long silence, and after a moment of deliberation she pulled the door open—and flinched as she found Kaya standing there, blinking at her in alarm.

“I—is everything alright?” she asked, baffled.

“Y—sorry, yeah,” said Karimi, grimacing in embarrassment. “His royal pain in my ass just left a few minutes ago, I thought—” She sighed irritably, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. I suppose we won’t be staying for breakfast.”

“You’re more than welcome to,” said Kaya, her frown only deepening with the concern in her eyes as Karimi shut the door behind her lightly and joined Kaya in the upstairs corridor. “It would make little sense to set straight out to sea without eating first.”

“Not my choice,” said Karimi, walking level with Kaya in the direction of the grand staircase. “I’d definitely stay a bit longer, if possible.”

“Then stay,” she said, shaking her head. Karimi sighed, grimacing. “You said it’s a contract—you’re not his…” She seemed then to notice Karimi’s grimace as she looked over. She lowered her voice a little when she spoke again, her tone a bit gentler. “Forgive me for asking, but…you’re not working for him by choice, are you?”

Maybe there was no point lying. Kaya had hit the nail on the head, after all—and really, Karimi had led her to it herself. After a moment, she gave a quick shake of her head, crossing her arms over her stomach. “It was my choice,” she said. “It just…didn’t seem like there was any other choice at the time.” She hesitated for a moment as they stopped at the top of the stairs, Kaya leaning her elbow against the banister, her brow furrowed in steadily mounting confusion and concern. “While we were at Baratie…Zoro thought it would be a good idea to challenge him to a duel. To the death. Winner takes the prestige of being known as the World’s Best Swordsman—I know,” she said, as Kaya pulled both her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing wide as saucers. “He’s alive,” she said, deciding it best to leave out the state he was in when she left. “He’s alive, and…I’m working for his would-be killer for a year, without pay. That’s the contract. I play errand girl for a year, Zoro gets to live in spite of his idiot challenge.”

“Oh—oh, heavens, Karimi—that’s—” Without any warning, she crossed the few paces between them and wrapped Karimi in a tight hug that made the mercenary tense and cringe slightly, as if she had been struck rather than shown kindness and affection. “Is there nothing you can do?”

“I somehow doubt it,” she said, briefly returning the hug with one arm before quickly backing up a couple paces, glancing down the stairs. She sighed irritably to herself at the sight that met her eyes. Mihawk was already standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the bannister, his back to the two of them as he flipped through a small stack of papers. No doubt it was the contract she had suggested herself, the words that would bind her in her own promise for the remainder of the coming twelve months. “And I wouldn’t anyway,” she admitted, shrugging a shoulder as she brought her gaze back to Kaya’s, the younger girl still frowning in sympathy. “I don’t break my own terms. Not a good look in my line of business.”

“No, I…suppose it wouldn’t be. And…” She hesitated a moment, glancing down to the foot of the sprawling staircase herself, her frown deepening. “I suppose working for one of the seven warlords could gain you some notoriety?” she offered.

“It could.” Karimi gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not really looking for notoriety, though. Luffy might be intent on racking up a bounty, but I’m definitely not.”

“Well...considering you would be under his employment, that should mean you’d gain some degree of immunity as well, wouldn’t it?” she said thoughtfully, curling her hand over her chin as both of them watched Mihawk roll the papers up and cross his arms. Karimi’s mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown at that.

“I guess it might,” she said. “Depending on what he has me doing.”

If, as Karimi had suggested upon first making his proposal, he did no more than send her off to complete government contracts he deemed unworthy of his time or effort, then she would likely be in the clear. She had made it six years on her own without drawing enough attention to possess even a small bounty—it seemed fairly likely that working for a Warlord might benefit her in that regard more than it would hurt.

It did hurt a bit to bid goodbye to Kaya again so soon. It was difficult not to scoff at the younger girl’s sentiment of don’t be a stranger—Karimi doubted she would be going anywhere she wanted or doing as she pleased for a considerable amount of time, if the contents of the contract were any indication. She followed behind Mihawk as she skimmed through them on the way back to the docks, her lips turned down in a frown.

As she had expected, the contract all but stated that she would veritably be his property for the remainder of the coming year—not permitted to protest any order she was given, expected to complete any task set before her without question.

“So,” she said as she stepped onto the small deck of Hitsugibune, folding the papers down slightly to look at him as he took his seat. He didn’t regard her, simply flipping open the newspaper he had picked up on their short walk through Syrup Village. “I’m a slave, then.”

“I thought we had settled on ‘indentured servant,’” he said absently.

She gritted her teeth to bite back a scowl, crossing the deck and pressing the papers against the back of his seat as she drew a pen from her bag. “Indentured servant,” she repeated coolly, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Right. That.” She finished reading through the last half of the final page, detailing that she would also be subjected to a rigorous training regime to ensure her work would meet his standards, before quickly scrawling her signature across the line at the bottom.”And where, O Master, shall I set our course for?” she asked, flipping the papers over the back of the chair, between his face and the newspaper.

He snatched them away, tucking them behind the newspaper. “Cocoyasi Village.” Karimi froze in pulling the rope from the dock, looking slowly over her shoulder. He didn’t look up from the newspaper as he went on. “You mentioned at dinner your friends might be headed in that direction. I’m curious as to what business they might have with the fishmen, considering all the trouble they’ve already managed to stir up.”

He didn’t need to look over to know the girl was looking his way, no doubt with suspicion laden in her green eyes. Even as she resumed readying his vessel for sailing, the weight of her gaze remained heavy—and her slow, cautious tone as she spoke up again spoke volumes. “You said—”

“I’ll be dropping you off,” he said, anticipating that she would make some protest regarding the green-haired moron who was so intent on challenging him. “I have business of my own to attend and will return to retrieve you the following morning. I expect a full report on their activities. You may assist them however you see fit, so long as it poses no threat to your continued good health.”

He flipped a page as she gave a snort of laughter. “That almost sounded like concern.”

“I wouldn’t want my property damaged.”

She gave another scoff before going silent, save for the occasional grunt of effort as she hauled up the anchor. That was good—he had expected more protest, more questioning. It seemed she had accepted the terms of their contract more openly than he had anticipated. He folded the newspaper over and lifted the parchment, his eyes drifting across the loopy scrawl of her signature.

Lionne. The surname again struck him vaguely familiar, little more than a ghost of a memory. His gaze fixed upon it as she shifted the sails overhead.

“You were looking at a bounty poster yesterday morning,” he said slowly after a moment. He heard her freeze again, ceasing in her movements. “If you damage my boat you’ll compensate for it with an extra six months added to your contract.” She gave little more than a small noise of frustration before resuming her work behind him. “Which one was it?”

“I wasn’t looking at any in particular,” she said, her voice level—but there was still a small degree of caution there.

“Is that so?” She gave a small affirmative hum in response. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“And why is that?” she sighed.

“After you chose to retire last night, I took an evening stroll to ensure my boat was secure,” he said. “And I noticed something interesting upon stopping by the posted bounties.” His tone remained casual, but a small smirk curved his lips as he heard her slow in her movements somewhere behind him—as he stood, pushing a hand into his pocket to retrieve the folded poster he had collected from the wall with a well-aimed toss of his knife to sever the top of the paper, from that high corner of the wall she had stared so intently at before changing the subject. He unfolded it as he stepped slowly around the edge of the chair. “Do tell me…” he said, flicking his wrist to unfurl the last fold, “who exactly is one Lyon D. Rollo to you?”

He held the poster out to her as she stood rooted to the deck a few feet away, her posture rigid as a statue as she met his eyes.

As her eyes darted to the sea water on every side of the ship, down to the deck itself, before flickering back to lock with his gaze again, avoiding looking at the poster entirely.

“Or...” Mihawk went on slowly, taking a couple steps forward to close the distance between them. He wrapped a hand around her wrist and lifted her hand, harshly enough that she flinched in alarm but not with quite enough force to hurt her, and shoved the bounty poster into her hand`. “...we could find out what happens if you choose to lie to me again.”

Previous chapter link again, for your convenience

First Chapter link again, for your convenience

[loganwritesprobably]

Day 20 - Touch Starved

Pearl belongs to @frillsinadress

Tags/Warnings: Mihawk/Pearl, fluff, established relationship, long distance relationship, Mihawk’s POV, brief implications of sex Word Count: 377

It was hard to be separated so often. Mihawk hadn’t been someone who sought out physical contact, or emotional comforts. Until he met Pearl, that is. Meeting her turned his entire world upside down, changing everything he thought he knew about himself until he was a newer, better version of himself. He’d thought he was too old for that, after all they say an old dog can’t be taught new tricks, but here he was laying in bed alone, wishing she were beside him. 

As he closed his eyes to drift to sleep, Mihawk’s mind conjured the image of his lover, arms open and waiting for him. He closed the space between them and lifted her into his arms, spinning her around before leaning down to press their lips together, passionate but not lustful. Yearning. He missed her so profoundly when he couldn’t see her, their positions in the world preventing them from being together too often, and certainly meant they shouldn’t be seen together in public. The limited time they did get to spend together was often interrupted by required public appearances, such was Pearl’s work, and in those moments he had to pretend to be just another fan, another man in the audience watching her perform.

He hated that.

He was so much more than those other men and women, he was the man that she had chosen to keep by her side, the man who could make her smile as well as moan. And well, all the other activities they got up to in bed. No other man had that privilege, at least not in the present day, but the men who came before didn’t matter to Mihawk because they weren’t the one currently on her mind. That was him.

Soon, he’d be on his way to see her again. Mihawk looked forward to that next meeting. Being able to wrap her in his embrace and bask in the feeling of her soft skin on his, her lipstick smeared over his face and neck, her smaller hand in his, and her delicate fingers between his own calloused ones.

Pearl made him soft like few else, and next to nobody before her. If he were to lose her, the entire globe would feel his wrath.

Tag List: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @categoryace

If you'd like to tip me, Kofi

[thewillofdeez]

Twenty Questions - A Goth Fam One-shot with just a smidge of OC romance

Summary: A few weeks after arriving on Kuraigana, Perona is desperate to get to know her mysterious host. After much pestering, she gets him to agree to twenty questions.

Lightweight one-shot goth fam fun. Notes can be found on my AO3 account under the same username.

Word count: 7k

The woman was like a fly. Or a mosquito. Something that was annoyingly persistent and had absolutely no survival sense to back off lest it be squashed. Her ability to fly only served to further the analogy. Mihawk had certainly considered squashing her before. He wondered if there was a place where he could buy a giant fly swatter, if for no other reason than to send a message.

It wouldn’t be so bad if her focus wasn’t on him all the damn time. Perona barraged him with questions about himself, his life, his past, constantly every damn day. But Mihawk liked to keep things close to his chest. He didn’t like giving out information about himself unless it was necessary, both for his own safety and because, frankly, it was no one else’s business. He would give opinions, insights, sure, but anything that was about him specifically, about his past, about what made him tick…that was for him and a very few, select set of people. Perona was not one of them. Neither was Zoro.

In the few weeks since Mihawk had returned from Marineford, Perona’s prying into his personal life had ramped up from the occasional probe to see how he’d respond, to becoming more and more insistent. He was beginning to regret letting her stay, but he also didn’t feel he could kick her out either. The man wasn’t a total monster - she and Zoro had filled him in on what happened at Thriller Bark. He knew she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. That damned compassion that he tried constantly to suppress, he supposed, got the better of him. But she sure was pushing her luck.

Perona, for her part, didn’t get why Mihawk was so reluctant to talk about himself. She knew he wasn’t thrilled about his new houseguests, and he made that clear pretty much every day. But she felt like he was making it harder on himself by making no effort to get to know her and Zoro. She’d tried to tell him about herself, hoping that might get him to open up, but he’d frequently silence her with a raised hand and a firm “I don’t care.” She wanted to believe that he was just afraid of getting attached to them. Yeah, that was it. Totally.

And yet she also couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. Why didn’t he like her? She was very likable! She was cute and funny and charming, goddammit! The cold shoulder was decidedly un-cute, and she was determined to put an end to it.

On a rainy evening at Kuraigana, Mihawk sat in his chair before the roaring fireplace, a book in his lap and the castle quiet except for the patter of rain against glass. It was too quiet, perhaps. Mihawk looked around the room. Zoro was on the couch flipping through a book of his own and munching on a rice ball. He didn’t seem to be reading it, just perusing. Typical, Mihawk thought.

Perona was nowhere to be found, and that meant trouble. He briefly wondered if he should go looking for her to make sure she wasn’t getting into anything she wasn’t supposed to, or if he should just enjoy the peace while it lasted. He chose the latter, positive it would end sooner or later.

“Mihawk,” Perona said, her face suddenly dangling upside down in front of him in a wave of pink hair. And there it is, he thought, huffing out a sigh.

“Mihawk, I have a proposition for you.” Perona flipped right side up and crossed her legs as though she was sitting on the floor, while floating in front of him at eye level.

“Hmmpf. Not interested,” Mihawk replied, lazily turning the page of his book and ignoring her.

Perona ignored him. “Twenty questions.” Mihawk looked up from his book with a raised eyebrow. “Twenty questions?”

Perona nodded. “I get to ask you twenty questions of my choice, and you answer them. If you can do that - just give me twenty - I’ll never bother you for more information about yourself ever again. Promise. Pirate’s honor.”

Mihawk scoffed. “First of all, the promise of ‘pirate’s honor’ is shaky, at best, as many pirates have no sense of honor, or at least a questionable one, and I don’t know if you’re one of them.”

Perona puffed her cheeks in anger. “Well you might know if you took the time to get to know me and–”

“And second of all,” Mihawk said, cutting her off, “I don’t believe you anyway. I don’t believe for a second that, if I did answer your twenty questions, you’d be satisfied. You’d keep nagging me for more information. I won’t give you an inch so you can take a mile.”

“Actually, I think you should do it,” Zoro cut in, his voice slightly muffled as he chewed on the rice ball. “She did the same thing to me when we got here. I gave her some answers and she backed off. And the things I didn’t want to answer she didn’t push me on. Throw her a bone and she’ll be satisfied.” Zoro didn’t mention that he also, somewhat selfishly, wanted to know more about their mysterious host, and fully supported the pink-haired pirate’s quest for information, even if he wasn’t interested in being involved in it himself.

“Thank you, Zoro,” she said. “See? I have self-control. I just also would like to know more about the person I’m spending an indefinite amount of time with. Come on, Mihawk…please?”

Mihawk looked at Perona, her eyes wide and lips in a pout in what he imagined was supposed to be a sad puppy dog face. He glanced at Zoro, who only shrugged. Mihawk sighed. “Fine. But here are my terms. Yes or no questions only. How much or how little I elaborate is up to me.”

“Fine,” Perona replied, thrilled at her own progress. “But then I get to ask follow up questions about ten of them that don’t count towards the twenty.”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk replied. “I’ll allow you to ask for more information on three questions only.”

“Eight,” Perona replied.

“Two”.

“Six.”

“One.”

Perona narrowed her eyes. “This isn’t how negotiating works, ya know! You’re supposed to be trying to meet me in the middle!”

“Take it or leave it,” Mihawk said, not backing down.

“Fine!” Perona said, frustrated. “I’ll take the three, geeze.” Perona floated away for a moment and came back with a small notebook in hand, settling down on the couch next to Zoro. “Ready?” she asked.

“I suppose,” Mihawk replied. “But one more thing. Everything I tell you about myself, no matter how insignificant a detail is, does not leave this castle. Ever. I keep things to myself for a reason, and I’m only giving you what you want so I can live in my own house in peace. That goes for you too, Roronoa. None of this makes its way to your crewmates or anyone else. Are we clear?”

Perona nodded enthusiastically. “You got it! Promise!”

Zoro nodded as well. “Whatever secrets you have are safe with me.”

It seems Perona’s frustration had dissipated and now she was just happy to get what she wanted. Perona opened the notebook. “I wasn’t expecting the yes or no stipulation, so I’ll have to re-word some of these. Let’s get started!”

Mihawk sighed and sipped his wine. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

“Question #1,” she began, “Did you become the World’s Greatest Swordsman when you were…” she thought for a minute, rewording the question in her head, “Let’s say younger than Zoro?”

Mihawk turned to Zoro. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he said, “Almost twenty.”

“Then yes,” Mihawk responded, “I was younger than Zoro is now.”

Perona jotted something down in her notebook. “Great. Question #2. Do you have a best friend?”

“Yes. Two, actually.” Perona and Zoro both raised their eyebrows in what Mihawk thought might have been surprise at the fact that two people liked him enough to be his best friend.

“Question #3” she continued, “Do you have any talents or hobbies, aside from what we know about?”

Mihawk thought for a moment. “I do, yes.”

Silence overtook the three. They stared at each other.

“If you want more information, you’ll have to ask for it. I’m not going to just give it to you.”

Perona sighed dramatically. “Fine! Request for more information.”

Mihawk smirked. “One down, two left. Well, you know I enjoy farming and cooking. I can play a few different instruments, some quite well and others not so much. I enjoy learning other languages and am fluent in several.”

“What instruments do you play best?” Zoro asked.

“Guitar and violin, probably,” he responded. “I’m fond of strings.”

“Do you collect anything?” Perona asked.

“Hmmm. Nothing I would formally consider a collection, no, at least not in the sense of collecting coins or old magazines or anything like that. But I do have quite a lot of knives of different styles and makes from all over the world. I enjoy buying and trading art. And I enjoy filling out the wine cellar, though I can’t really claim that collection as ‘mine’ since so much of it was here when I moved in.”

“Is there anything you’re really bad at,” asked Zoro, “Or that you really don’t like to do?”

“I’ve never been great at the visual arts,” Mihawk admitted, “Though not for lack of trying. I don’t particularly care for organized athletics, though I do admire the people who play them. And I hate golf. More than most things, I hate golf.”

“Have you ever played mini golf, though?” Zoro asked excitedly. “I agree about regular golf, but mini golf is fun.”

“Do I look like I’m twelve to you? No, I’ve never played mini golf, and have no intention to.”

Zoro shrugged. “Your loss.”

Perona giggled. “The image of you trying to putt a ball through a windmill is kind of hilarious.”

“I’m glad you find it amusing,” Mihawk deadpanned, cringing internally at how much he had just given away, even if the information was harmless. “Is that all?”

Zoro and Perona nodded at each other, then Perona spoke. “Yup. We can continue. Question #4. That cross you wear around your neck…”

“The stabby cross,” Zoro cut in, remembering the time he felt its point in his flesh.

“Yeah, the stabby cross. Do you wear it because you're religious?”

“Ha!” Mihawk laughed. “No, not at all. I’m not arrogant enough to say there is definitively no higher power that exists, but I do lean that way. Agnostic, perhaps, might be the right word. It doesn’t matter to me one way or another if there is a God.”

“Then why do you wear it?” Zoro cut in.

“Zoro! You used up one of my questions!” Perona huffed, fists on her hips. She then flipped through her notebook and made a number of angry scribbles.

“Sorry! I’m just curious.”

Mihawk lifted the cross that hung on his chest, turning it in his hands and examining it. “It was a gift, a long time ago. It also suits my personal style. And I do quite enjoy the look on peoples’ faces when they realize it’s actually a knife. That never gets old.” He looked pointedly at Zoro, smiling slyly. Zoro frowned angrily.

“Question number….six, I guess, thanks, Zoro” began Perona, ignoring the exchanged looks. “Is there anything you’re afraid of, like a phobia or something?”

“Hmmm,” Mihawk pondered, mulling over how to answer that one. “I’d say no, not in the sense that I believe you’re asking anyway. But there are certainly things that make me uncomfortable.”

“Are you gonna tell us what?” she pressed.

“Is that a request for more information?” Mihawk responded, eyebrow raised.

“Hmmph. No, I guess it’s not worth using another request for info this early in the game unless it’s really good. Anyway. Question #7. Have you ever been dangerously close to death? Like, actively dying close?”

“Yes, actually,” he said. “I was a rather frail child, and got sick quite frequently up until I was around 9 or 10 years old. I’ve been on the verge of death from things as boring as pneumonia several times. Since then, however, no, I haven’t knocked on death’s door to quite the same extent.”

More scribbles. Mihawk was desperately starting to wonder why she felt the need to take notes. He’d have to burn that notebook when he got the chance.

“Question #8,” Perona started, looking back up at him. “You don’t have a crew of your own right now, but have you ever worked on another pirate’s crew?”

Mihawk looked up in thought. “That’s a bit complicated. When I was much younger I did sail on someone else’s crew, yes. But I’ve purposely never aligned myself with anyone else from the moment where I had a choice. Does that make sense?”

Zoro nodded. “I get it. It was a situation you were in, not necessarily something done out of loyalty to a particular captain. Right?”

Mihawk nodded. “That’s a good way to put it, yes.”

“Question #9, then," Perona continued. "Related. Have you ever had your own crew, or do you want to?”

“Hmm,” Mihawk replied, “That sounds like questions nine and ten to me.”

“What?!” she huffed. “No, there’s two clauses, separated by a comma and followed by a single question mark. It’s one question with two parts. So nyeh.” Perona crossed her arms over her chest, proud of her retort.

Mihawk chuckled. “Fair point, I suppose I can’t argue with your grammar. No and no. I could very easily amass a crew of my own if I wanted, but I don’t care for the responsibility of being a captain, and have nothing to gain from doing so.”

Onto Question #10 then,” said Perona. “Do you have any living relatives?”

“I do, yes,” Mihawk replied.

Zoro and Perona looked at each other. “Think we should use another request for more information?” Zoro asked.

Perona thought for a second. “I think so. Okay, tell us about your family.”

Mihawk sipped his wine. “The only living family I have are my parents. You’ve met them, Zoro. In Sabaody.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed in thought for just a second, before the realization dawned on him. “You don’t mean…”

Mihawk only nodded. Zoro laughed. “No way!”

“What?” Perona inquired, looking between the two men. “What’s so funny? Tell me, come on!”

Still chuckling, Zoro answered. “Mihawk’s dad is Silvers Rayleigh.”

Perona’s jaw dropped. “THE Silvers Rayleigh? Dark King Rayleigh? Is your dad??”

Mihawk nodded. “Indeed.” He decided he didn’t need to provide any information about his mother’s past unless asked.

Perona was shocked. This was more dirt than she could have ever dreamed of.

“So that must mean you grew up on Gold Roger’s ship?” Zoro asked, doing the math in his head.

“I did,” Mihawk responded. “From the time I was born until I was thirteen and went off on my own, much to the distress of my mother.”

“Do you see them often?” Perona asked.

“Maybe once a year or so. My mother and I will call each other occasionally, but they have their own lives and I have mine. I don’t always get along very well with my father, so when I visit it’s generally for my mother’s sake. But we’re usually cordial to one another regardless.”

Perona decided not to push the topic, figuring that Mihawk had given her more than enough and probably wouldn’t appreciate her digging into his daddy issues. “Okay then! And we’re halfway done. Question #11. Do you like being a Warlord?”

Mihawk huffed. “‘Like’ is certainly not the word I would use, no. I appreciate the freedom the position grants me, but I also have no love or loyalty for the World Government. The other Warlords feel much the same way, it’s about the only thing we can all agree on. It’s a trade-off.”

“Question #12. Do you support the Revolutionary Army?”

“Hmmm, an interesting question,” Mihawk said. “In theory, in belief, yes, I do believe in what they’re doing. But…if you’re asking me whether or not I’m personally a member of the Revolutionary Army….do you really think I would tell you if I was?”

“So much for your theory, Zoro,” Perona grumbled, making notes. Yes, that notebook would definitely have to burn.

Zoro only shrugged. “It woulda made sense.” Mihawk hid his grin in his wine glass.

“Question #13. When Zoro is eventually ready to challenge you for your title, will you actually kill him?”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Zoro said before Mihawk could speak. “Why are you assuming that I’m the one who’ll be dying?”

“No offense, Zoro,” Perona said, “But I mean…come on. Look at the guy. I’ve seen you out there training….you’re great, but you’re not him. Not yet, anyway.” Zoro huffed and crossed his arms in response.

Mihawk didn’t even try to hide his amused smirk. “Yes, I will kill Zoro eventually. Or perhaps he’ll kill me, but I doubt it. We’ll see how he’s doing when the time comes. But whether it’s two years from now or twenty, one of us will die, there’s no doubt about that.”

“And you’re both just…okay with that?” Perona replied.

Mihawk and Zoro nodded, at each other then her. “Of course,” Mihawk said, “It’s the nature of passing on the title of World’s Greatest Swordsman. I killed the man who held the title before me, and he did the same before him, going back hundreds of years. One day someone will do the same to me and claim the title. Whether it’s Zoro or someone else, I do not know. But it will, in all likelihood, happen one day.”

Perona looked back and forth between the two men. “How…how can you just sit here, together, knowing one of you will kill the other like it’s nothing? How are you both so….okay with this?!”

“It’s part of being a swordsman, Perona,” Zoro said. “Not all swordsmen want Mihawk’s title, but for those of us who do, we know how it goes. We know that it’s kill or be killed, and to fall to the World’s Greatest Swordsman…I mean it sucks, yeah, I never want to lose….but it’s a risk I have to take, and there are worse ways to go. I’d much rather die in an honorable battle by Mihawk’s sword than by anyone else’s.”

Perona turned to Mihawk. “And you’re just…fine with this too? You agreed to train Zoro, knowing what he wants to do? Like it’s no big deal?”

Mihawk nodded. “I did. And it is a big deal, to be sure. I would not have agreed to train him if I didn’t believe he had potential to be the next in line. I won’t deny this…arrangement is certainly unorthodox. But I also believe there’s a reason he’s here. And, I suppose, you as well.”

“Hmmm…okay, but what about this: Hypothetically, what if you and Zoro fight, and he just….defeats you without killing you? If you know you’re beaten, why not just surrender and save your own life?”

“An admirable desire,” Mihawk said gently, “But that just isn’t the way it works.”

But it could be, right?” she pressed. “I mean, there’s no rule saying it can’t. It’s only a bunch of dead guys telling you otherwise.”

“Perona,” added Zoro, trying to explain. “For people like me and Mihawk, defeat is a fate worse than death. It’s better to go out knowing you fought honorably than to live knowing you were defeated. Mihawk’s already beaten me once. I took him on before I was ready and I made a vow that day that no one, either him or anyone else, would ever defeat me again. I’d rather die than live with breaking that vow. He feels the same.”

Mihawk nodded in agreement. “It’s about honor, Perona. Honor and pride. These concepts are inextricably linked with swordsmanship, they’re things we value above all else. Do you understand now why, when the time comes, there can be no peaceful resolution?”

Perona huffed out a sigh and sunk into the sofa, her arms crossed. “Yeah…I get it. I still want to tell you that it’s stupid, and that your lives are more important than your pride, but…I get it. And I respect it, I guess. Whatever.” Mihawk and Zoro both chuckled. “I just hate knowing that I’m gonna end up going to one of your funerals one day and it’ll be the other person’s fault. And I love funerals! But I like you both, and this one is gonna suck.”

“Don’t dwell on it for now, ghost girl,” Mihawk said with an unusually soft smile. “It will be a very, very, very long time before Zoro is truly ready to face me in battle.”

“Ya got enough ‘verys’ in there, Mihawk?” Zoro said with a sour look. Mihawk only grinned smugly.

“Ugh dammit,” Perona whined, slapping her fists on the sofa. “And I guess I just used up a request for more information too.”

“No,” Mihawk said, “I think that was an important discussion to have. You still have one left. Now, onto the next question.”

“Perona, can I ask one?” Zoro said.

Perona checked her notebook. “Hmmm, yeah I think I can spare a question, but it better be good. What is it?” Zoro leaned over and whispered in her ear. Mihawk looked on curiously. “Ohhhhh! Yes, go ahead.”

Zoro grinned. “Great! Question #14. You told me once that you and Shanks used to be rivals. Even with one arm, knowing how strong of a pirate he is, do you think you could beat him in a fight today?”

Mihawk chuckled. “That is a good question, Zoro. But it’s the wrong question.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the question isn’t could I defeat him or could he defeat me, it’s why would I bother fighting him in the first place?”

“I don’t understand,” said Perona.

“Well, look at it from my perspective,” Mihawk said. “Say Shanks and I do fight, which we wouldn’t because I don’t fight opponents who aren’t at their full strength. But…hypothetically. It’s a losing situation for me either way. If I win, well, I defeated a swordsman with one arm, big deal. But if I lose…if I lost to a one-armed swordsman…that would be devastating. Sure, I would go out honorably, knowing I lost to a superior opponent, but personally, given my history with the man….” Mihawk shuddered at the thought. “It’s simply not worth the risk.”

“Okay, I get that,” Zoro said. “But all that aside. Do you think you could defeat him, yes or no?”

Mihawk pondered this. “I genuinely don’t know, as much as I hate to admit it. I don’t fear Shanks, he’s one of my closest friends, but if it came down to it, he’s also the most powerful Haki user in the world. I see no shame in admitting that as strong as mine is, his is miles stronger, even if I am the better swordsman. We’ve always been so evenly matched, and that’s part of what I enjoyed about battling him. When we were younger, our fights would rage on for days until we had no choice but to call a draw. Dozens of times we’ve fought with no victor. If he wanted my title, it's certainly possible that he could take it from me, or at least put up a good fight in the process.” Mihawk shrugged. “But I also know he’d never do that, so I don’t really think about it.”

“Question #15, then!” Perona said. “Have you ever considered eating a Devil Fruit?”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk scoffed. “I don’t need some kind of magical power to become stronger or achieve my goals. My strength as a swordsman speaks for itself. I also have very little respect for Devil Fruit users as a whole. It feels like cheating in a way, like having power you haven’t done anything to earn.”

“What? Hey!” Perona cried. “That’s not fair! I could be strong even without my Devil Fruit power!” In her anger, Perona sent a flurry of hollows through Mihawk’s chest. Over the past few weeks, Mihawk had been building up an immunity to her ghosts. It still wasn’t pleasant, but he could handle them without letting her know he was affected. As the ghosts passed through him, his expression remained stoic, but inside he was dying a little. Mihawk shook it off as quickly as he could, and a thought occurred to him.

“How old were you when you ate the Hollow-Hollow Fruit, Perona?” he asked.

Perona’s jaw dropped a little. Did he…just ask her a question? About herself? Perona resisted the urge to get all starry eyed over her progress. “I was about nine,” she replied, as calmly as she could.

“Hmmf,” Mihawk replied. “I meant no offense, Perona. I do have more sympathy for people in your situation, and I don’t carry the same lack of respect. It’s surprisingly common for children to eat Devil Fruits without knowing what they are or at least fully grasping the consequences. I know Luffy is one of them,” Mihawk nodded to Zoro. “Buggy was too. But many more people make the active choice to curse themselves in the pursuit of power or wealth or whatever else. Those are the people I tend to look down upon. Though, I will admit, there are a few exceptions for whom I carry quite a lot of respect.”

Perona looked down, hiding her smile. She felt like she had finally cracked his tough exterior, just the tiniest bit, and she felt proud. “I can understand that. Let’s move on. Question #16. Do you have a girlfriend?” Mihawk was about to answer when Perona cut him off “OR…a boyfriend?” With so few questions remaining, she had to fit in as much as she could.

Mihawk narrowed his golden eyes. “No.”

“Hmmmm,” Perona pondered, looking at her notebook. He saw her scribble a few things, but he couldn’t tell what. Zoro looked over her shoulder with interest. “Question #17. Do you have anyone you’re romantically interested in, maybe someone you’d like to have as your girlfriend-slash-boyfriend?”

Mihawk huffed and looked towards the fire. “...Yes. There is someone.”

“Request for more info!!!” Perona cried excitedly. “Tell us more!”

“What would you like to know?” Mihawk asked begrudgingly, regretting giving her that freebie earlier.

Well, how did you meet? How long have you known each other?”

“We met about twelve years ago or so,” Mihawk began. “I had been caught by Marines. An Admiral. This was before I was a Warlord, so I was still considered fair game at the time. He was a powerful opponent, but given our earlier discussion on pride and defeat, I’m sure you can imagine how…humiliated I felt. I was in a cell in shackles waiting to be transported to Enies Lobby. And she was the other person in my cell. We knew we’d be on a ship to be judged for our crimes in the morning, and so the whole night we just…talked. About everything and nothing. She was clever and wise, and made me think of things I’d never once considered. And she was so easy to talk to….”

Mihawk looked down at the glass of wine in his hand. “Anyway, morning came, and I made some joke about how it had been fun, and maybe I’d see her in prison. And she looked straight at me and said ‘No, you won’t. We’re getting out of here.’ Turns out she had a Devil Fruit power, one the Marines didn’t know about at the time so they didn’t put her in sea prism stone cuffs. She slipped out of the cuffs, out of the cell, and set me free. I was….flabbergasted. Then I was angry. I asked her why the hell she had let me sit there for hours thinking we were caught when she could have always gotten us out and she said, ��I’m sorry, I was just really enjoying talking to you.’ And…no one had ever said that to me before. So we escaped, and have been friends ever since. I consider her among my best friends, actually, and she considers me hers.”

“Ahhh, so she’s one of those exceptions to the no-respect-for-Devil Fruit-users rule you mentioned before?” Zoro asked.

Mihawk nodded. “She is.”

“And you want to be more than friends with her?” Perona pressed.

“Ideally, yes,” he replied.

“Does she feel the same?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you planning on telling her?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But why???” Perona whined. “If you have feelings for her, you should let her know!”

Mihawk sighed. “It’s not that simple. I’m…not good with people, if you haven’t been able to tell. Never have been. But she and I, we clicked. I value our friendship for what it is, not what it could be. If it ever didn’t work out between us, or if I told her how I felt and she didn’t feel the same….I won’t gamble what we do have in hopes of having something else. It’s not worth the risk to me. I have her in my life, maybe not in the capacity that I want, but I do have her. And that has to be enough for me.”

Perona was stunned. “Wow. Okay, but what if she told you she felt the same? Would that be different?”

Mihawk shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t say I wouldn’t be happy, but the fear of messing it up would always be there. I have a good thing…I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You don’t think you’re capable of being a good partner,” Zoro said. It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Mihawk replied, slightly taken aback by the younger swordsman’s rather perceptive statement. “I don’t. I’m far too selfish for that. She deserves a much better man than I.”

“What if she fell in love with someone else?" Perona asked. "Would you be more inclined to tell her then?”

“Perona,” Mihawk said, exasperated, “This isn’t a romance novel, it’s real life. I’m not going to…to break into her wedding and confess my love to her and beg her to choose me. She’s had a number of relationships over the years, as have I. Some more casual than others…or entirely casual for me, I suppose. I’m no stranger to seeing her have affections for someone else. And yes, it hurts…like hell sometimes, honestly. Sometimes…I wish she would notice the way I look at her. I wish she’d realize how much faster my heart beats when she’s around. I wish she’d realize how perfect we’d be together...” Mihawk trailed off, before snapping himself out of his thoughts. He’d said far, far too much, but he didn’t often get the opportunity to talk about this and it was all just coming out. Only Shanks knew the true extent of his feelings….and Zoro and Perona did now too, he supposed. “But I have no claim over her. I never will.”

“What do you like about her?” Zoro asked, trying to bring the topic back from the brink. “Like, what is it about her that draws you to her, over anyone else?”

Mihawk smiled. “Well, she’s certainly beautiful. But I’ve met a lot of beautiful women, that’s nothing. She’s smart, wickedly so. She loves philosophy, and can talk about it for hours. She and I have talked about the most minute details of what it means to be human, what it means to exist in this world…I can talk to her for hours on end. And she’s kind, that’s another thing I love about her. She’s so talented in so many different things, and she encourages me to try things I never would have done before. She….I feel like she brings out the best in me.”

“Do you get to see her often?” Perona asked, smiling softly, so happy to have brought this out of her host.

“It depends,” he replied. “We try to make time to see each other, but she’s a pirate as well. She has her own crew, her own obligations and goals. We do call each other somewhat regularly though.”

“Hmmm. You should call her. Invite her to come visit.”

“Ha!” Mihawk laughed. “What, so you can play matchmaker? Please. How stupid do you think I am?”

Perona huffed. “Well fine then! It was just an idea! But….I still think you should tell her.”

Mihawk remained silent for a few moments. “Perhaps one day. Perhaps you’re right. I suppose I’m not doing myself any favors…” Mihawk shook his head, removing the idea from his mind. “Now, have you done enough digging into my love life? Can we move on?”

“I guess,” Perona said. “Let’s move on. Question #18. Do you believe in fate? Or destiny, or anything like that?”

“I do, to an extent,” he replied thoughtfully. “I believe that there are certain key points in the world that are destined to happen, but how exactly we go about getting to them is not written in stone. Luffy, for example, may very well be destined to become King of the Pirates. I’m not ready to put all my money on him just yet, but I do believe it’s possible if not likely - as annoying as I, personally, find that to be. But on his way there, he’s going to break every rule and subvert every expectation along the way.” Zoro smiled, proud that his mentor saw such promise in his captain and his crew.

“Question #19,” Perona continued. “Have you ever done anything really, really stupid while drunk?”

Mihawk laughed. “Oh, yes, especially when I was younger and spent a lot of time with Shanks. I have so many stories I could tell you.”

“Request for more information!!” Perona cried.

“Nope,” said Mihawk with a grin.

“No?”

“You’ve used up your three,” he said, smirking. “That’s all you get for this question.”

Perona’s face turned red. Zoro held back a laugh. “But…I…. UGH!!! FINE! Last one then, I guess. Question #20. Do you….I mean, are you…UGH! Sorry, I’m having trouble figuring out how to word this as a yes or no.”

“Eh,” Mihawk said. “We’re almost done, and you’ve already taken a pickaxe to some of the most closely guarded details of my life. I’ll give you this last one, no yes or no required.” He didn’t say that he had actually been quite enjoying himself.

“Really? Thanks, Mihawk! Okay, what would you say is your biggest motivator in being a pirate?”

“Freedom,” he answered. “I don’t much care for money or power except as far as it serves my ability to live freely. Everything I do is more or less towards that purpose. Frankly, I don’t trust any pirate who believes otherwise.”

Mihawk watched as Perona scribbled something. “Okay then,” she said with a smile. “We’re done. See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Hmph,” Mihawk replied. “I suppose not. What have you been writing in there, by the way? Remember, everything I’ve told you is confidential. That cannot fall into the wrong hands.”

“Don’t worry, Mihawk. I didn’t write down anything sensitive. I just like knowing about people, and writing it down helps me figure them out.”

“You promised that twenty questions was all you’d get and you wouldn’t ask me anything else about myself for as long as you’re here,” he responded. “Do you feel like you’ve gotten enough information to figure me out, then?”

Perona thought for a moment. “I think I’m on my way. But I intend to keep my promise. Any other pieces of the Mihawk puzzle I get will either be picked up through observation or openly volunteered by you. Promise.”

That was satisfactory enough of a response, Mihawk supposed, especially for as late as the evening had gotten. “Good enough. Goodnight then, Perona. Zoro. See you in the morning.”

“Night, Mihawk,” they responded.

“And Mihawk?” Perona called after him. Mihawk turned wordlessly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” He then nodded and exited the living room.

Mihawk opened the massive door to his bedroom and made his way towards the sitting area where a number of transponder snails sat sleepily on a table. He kicked off his boots and picked up a particular snail. Then, settling down in a comfortable armchair, he lifted up the receiver. The familiar badabadabada repeated several times, then cuh-lick.

“Well hello there, Mihawk” a feminine voice said, her sly smile apparent on the snail.

“Hello there,” he said, unable to suppress his own grin at hearing her voice. “How are you?”

“Oh you know, same old same old," she replied. "The crew and I just left Alabasta, we’ve been there for a few weeks aiding the rebuilding efforts.”

“You know, most pirates aren’t so overt with their good deeds. No wonder the World Government doesn’t know what the hell to do with you.”

She giggled. “I am nothing if not an enigma. So how’re things with the kids?”

Mihawk rolled his eyes. “Ugh, please don’t call them that.” The woman laughed even harder. “It’s fine, but it’s frustrating. They’re the most obnoxious people I’ve ever met, especially that ghost girl. She’s been trying to get me to tell her about myself ever since she got here, and she finally needled me enough that I gave in.”

“You know,” she said, “I seem to recall a time when I was the most obnoxious person you’d ever met, also for being particularly insistent about asking you questions about yourself.”

“That’s different,” Mihawk replied.

“How?”

“Well, because I like you.”

“You didn’t when we first met. But nothing like a few hours in a jail cell together to endear two people to each other, right?” she said with a grin.

Mihawk huffed out a laugh. “That’s certainly true. I suppose I am a few weeks into a two year sentence for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“Give it time, Mihawk,” she said gently. “I admire you for doing as much as you are given how bizarre the situation is. It’ll get easier, just…show them the side of you that you show me.”

Mihawk blushed a little. He hoped the transponder snail didn’t pick it up. “Thank you. I’ll…try.” Mihawk stopped and took a deep breath. “Listen…since you’re in Paradise, I was wondering if you’d perhaps…like to meet up sometime soon? If you don’t have anywhere in particular to be, I mean.”

The snail smiled. “I’d love that. It’s certainly been too long, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” he agreed. “And…if you’re willing – and if you’re not, that’s totally expected and I won’t take any offense, I just, I really enjoy the time we get together and I–”

“Mihawk!” she cut him off. She’d known him for long enough to know that when the otherwise unflappable Dracule Mihawk started rambling, he had something on his mind.

Mihawk sighed. “Would you like to go out with me?” he said. “On a date?” He held his breath.

The snail beamed. “I’d love to. Took you long enough to ask.”

Mihawk smiled widely. Only she could bring that out of him. “I’ll set out tomorrow. Perhaps we could meet somewhere in between where we both are now? Water 7, maybe?”

“We do always have fun in Water 7,” she said, smiling fondly at the memories. “That would be perfect. I…I’m really, really looking forward to seeing you, Mihawk.”

Still smiling, Mihawk replied. “I’m looking forward to seeing you as well. Goodnight. I’ll see you soon.”

“Goodnight, Mihawk. Sleep well.” That night, he absolutely did.

The next morning, Zoro and Perona were surprised when Mihawk marched into the kitchen proudly, wearing the open black coat and red shirt he usually wore at sea, his feathered hat already on his head and a travel bag over his shoulder, which he dropped as he approached the two younger residents.

“Heading out?” Zoro asked, handing the older swordsman a full mug of coffee.

“Warlord meeting?” added Perona.

“No,” replied Mihawk, “No Warlord meeting. I called her last night. I asked her out.” Mihawk took a sip of his coffee to hide his grin, and for dramatic effect. “She said yes.”

Perona squealed and did loops in the air before embracing Mihawk in a bone-crushing hug, pinning his arms to his sides and knocking the wind out of him. For a ghost, she was surprisingly strong. “I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!”

“Ghost girl,” he said lowly. “Off.”

Perona backed away, hands in the air. “Sorry!”

Zoro chuckled, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m happy for you, Mihawk. I hope it works out. How long will you be gone?”

Mihawk downed the last of his coffee and placed the mug in the sink.

“I suppose that depends on how it goes. Probably around two weeks with travel time. Zoro, I’m sorry to put our training on hold, but –”

Zoro laughed and patted the older man affectionately on the back, much to Mihawk’s surprise. “No need to apologize! The Humandrills should be all healed up, I’ll fight them while you're gone to keep my skills sharp.”

Mihawk nodded in approval. “Both of you, behave while I’m gone. Try not to burn the place down, will you?” With that, he grabbed his travel bag and began walking out of the room. Then, he stopped, turning only partly to face the two younger residents of the castle. “And by the way….thank you. Both of you. For encouraging me to talk to her.” Without waiting for a response, he exited the kitchen, then the castle, leaving Zoro and Perona with broad smiles behind him.

[shiningqueen]

unraveled / sequel fic / sfw mihawk x afab!oc

I return with a sequel to this fic Rating: SFW / e for everyone. Notes: established friendship, fluff/comfort, pining if you squint, a lot of relevant backstory to my oc Fay. No specific gender pronouns used however. Can you tell Im really obsessed with this character? lol

The ocean is a blanket of silver black underneath the moonlight, eddies and currents glittering like diamonds cast over dark velvet and trapped in perpetual motion. The steady rocking of your boat and the rush of wind billowing into its sail soothes the aching storm still lingering in your chest. You have sailed the treacherous seas for most of your life and the waters have always brought you calm, even when everything felt unraveled and broken.

As Water 7 vanishes behind you, there is only the ghostly flames of Hitsugibune's candles to guide you onwards. They shiver and dance like will-o-wisps in the night, reminding you of tales of errant spirits lost to the wider world when there is nobody to guide them. You are also reminded suddenly that Mihawk had not specified your next destination, only that there was somewhere else you had to be.

A turn of the wheel and a shift of the sail hastens your small vessel through the waves, until it glides silently parallel to the swordsman's wider raft.

"What is our heading?" You raise your voice just enough to carry over the gap and it not be snatched by the midnight wind. The sea has done its work in soothing your nerves for the time being, so your voice does not tremble.

"Sabaody," he drones in reply, "I have business there and I recall you mentioning preferring the typewriter ink sold at the markets." For all the usual indifference of his tone, the fact he specifically sought you out to take you along for something you needed, was touching.

For just a few moments you cling to the endearing warmth brought by Mihawk's words, but the sting of bitterness from what had transpired on Water 7 creeps up like bile in your throat. You reach down and grasp a length of rope, draping it over your lap as you speak up again.

"Mind if I join you?"

Mihawk tilts his head slightly to keep you in his peripheral and extends a hand out, "Toss the line over." He makes short work of tethering your vessel to his and watches as you fix the sail so it did not cause too much drag whilst being guided by Hitsugibune. The two ships draw close enough for you to leap nimbly from one to the other, landing with a cat-like nimbleness on the deck of his raft.

He can tell you are still tense and melancholy from what had transpired on Water 7, despite how sailing usually lulled you into a sense of serenity. That the encounter had shaken you so much again draws forth the notion how little Mihawk knew about you. Well, how little he knew about the specifics of your past. It had crossed his mind occasionally but he was a practical sort. One's past may shape a person but who you were in the present and who you strived to become were far more important. Your dreams and ambitions were what he had invested himself in.

Mihawk tips himself slightly sideways to rest an elbow on the arm of his chair, cheek pressed into palm as he watches you settle down on the deck. He would not pry into your business and was content to wait for you to speak first. In the stretch of quiet, he merely admires the play of moonlight and ghostly candles flickering against the little sequins on your sleeves that made it look like you were covered in mermaid scales. The gold shine of cross shaped earrings dangling from your lobes were a subtle complement to his own iconography that he appreciated. It was entertaining how lately you had begun wearing patterns or jewelry reminiscent of his style.

You half turned towards him, eyes like quicksilver in the dark when they met his. There's something searching in your expression that he cannot quite pinpoint before it vanishes entirely.

A few heartbeats and you decide to fully face him while seated just a few feet from his legs, your own legs crossed and hands rolling the smooth sphere of your Log Pose between them. "Back in the bar, that was my best friend and for a short time, my girlfriend." Both terms come off bitterly, "We grew up together but it took awhile for us to really get close. It's a really long story," you sigh and stare despondently at the Pose in your hands. You couldnt hold Mihawk's stare and tell him this story, the ache in your chest was still too raw. This was not something you ever intended on him knowing but here you are.

"Anyway," a vague gesture made, "best friends, we supported each other through tough times. Shared a lot of good times. She was my writing partner too for a while, we had this whole series planned out." Your voice catches as the memories swim in and out of focus, "She was so creative and insightful and smart, she inspired me to do better as a person and as a writer." The words trail off as you fend off the swelling of emotion that threatens to drown you. Maybe it would have been better to have said nothing at all. It was perhaps too late for such a regret though.

As much as you tried to keep your voice even, how it wavered and the tension bleeding back into your shoulders told Mihawk plenty. How terrible of a betrayal could this person have caused to weigh you down so much? It made him wonder if what transpired was the sole reason for the melancholy that sometimes made you seem so withdrawn. He briefly pulls his gaze from you to watch the seas, nudging Hitsugibune mentally to correct her course.

You steel yourself to summarize everything, "At some point, we got around to admitting we had feelings for each other. But I'll be honest, I was in love with her for a long time before that already. I got really jealous when she was dating some other guy for a brief time." The memory makes you scoff a bit, for how foolish you had been back then. "We dated for four years, she was going through school and I was working just to support myself. Everything was great at first, we made it work when she left home  to study in West Blue."

Here is where the difficult part comes up and you swallow around the lump in your throat, "Near the end, things just started to unravel. For me and for her. I dont know exactly when or why it happened but she stopped telling me important things. I got frustrated with how I always had to bend to what she wanted to do, and it felt like she only placated my interests to keep me in line. I was depressed too, from work and not seeing my family. I felt like I was drifting from her, from everyone." You tip backwards now and sprawl out on the raft's floor, staring up at the star strewn sky and breathing deeply to combat the flush of emotion. Mihawk had been silent, attentive, you could daresay even a little concerned from how he shifted in his seat.

"I messed it up," the admission is soft and heavy with pain, "when she came to visit last, I asked her if we could take a break. I told her I felt like I wasn't good enough for her right then. We argued a bit, but I was so tired and I just wanted some space. Now I know that was wrong of me, I should have figured out how to explain my feelings better but I was not thinking rationally. So I fucked it up."

Guilt gnawing at your insides like the gnashing teeth of bloodthirsty fish, the sound of the ocean rushing in your ears or was that blood pounding in your skull from the turmoil within you? You lift your hands and press the heel of your palms against your eyes with a groan, “I fucked it up and she pretty much buster called the rest of our friendship. Turned all our friends against me, seeded rumors in the community, it felt like I was being outcasted for making a mistake. I ended up leaving entirely after a few months.”

That seemed to be the end of the tale. Mihawk considered everything you had told him and although he struggled empathizing, there is one thing that stands out to him. 

“They did not deserve you,” he said simply, “none of them did. How easily they were swayed by lies, than think critically of your behavior and ask questions, is a slight upon their own character. Not yours.”

When you scoff a little in retort, he’s annoyed at your dismissiveness to his assessment, “You are wise enough to recognize your mistakes in the past, it seemed to me your once love lacks the same self reflection.”

You’re still lying on the floor of Hitsugibune and still irritated with your wallowing, he reaches to grasp your arm and pulls you easily up into sitting. He’s met with wide glassy eyes and an expression he can only describe as vulnerable, which is a first for him to see. Mihawk has borne witness to many facets of your mercurial demeanor but he’d never seen you look so fragile. It softens the ire in him with almost laughable swiftness.

“I’ve never been good enough, not for her, not for anyone. That’s how it felt, as soon as I stumbled, I was worthless.” The way you unravel with fear and insecurity has him scowling, but not in any way that is disdainful of you. No, anger buzzes beneath his iron-wrought self control for the people who failed to see the truth of you. A clever, intelligent, utterly tenacious person with so much potential that was still blossoming.

Mihawk tsks and takes both your hands in his; delicate palms and fingers dwarfed by his larger ones, “You are allowed to stumble, to make mistakes, it does not make you worthless to fail. Not when you pick yourself up after and learn to do better.” His tone is calm and certain, steadying against the tremor he can see in your shoulders.

The affirmations sink into the hurting parts of you, and you struggle between digesting the conviction in his tone and the malignant insecurity poisoning you. Yet you knew Mihawk never wasted breath on meaningless words. He hated small talk and empty flattery. The warmth of his hands encompassing yours crawls up your arms and eases the chill touch of anguish.

When you find the breath to speak, you also muster the courage to meet the warlord's piercing stare. The intensity of his eyes never fails to spark electricity along the length of your spine, "I know you're right, but seeing her again so unexpectedly, just made all the hurt come back. I was so angry at how callously she treated me, and angry at myself too, for how foolish I had been at the time."

Mihawk hums and tugs you to stand, gliding a few fingers under the sleeves of your shirt to stroke the inside of your wrists. It makes your breath catch a little. Such casual touches were rare between you two, let alone ones that lasted as long as this. He was not a tactile person and there was always a sort of aloofness in his friendship with you, a distance carefully maintained so that the wider world wouldnt read too much into your association.

Yet here out on the open ocean without the risk of prying eyes and the softness you displayed for him, Mihawk thought it worth overstepping the unspoken boundary. He could tell you needed some manner of tangible comfort and he was fond of you enough to want to provide it.

"As I said, she and whoever else, did not deserve you. That is even more true now, for how you have blossomed in your ambitions without her." He reiterates, intent on how you slowly relax as the invisible weight dissipates bit by bit. The way your pulse quickens imperceptibly beneath his light touches is tucked away in some corner of his mind for later.

You breathe out slowly and reluctantly tug your hands free from his grasp, but not with the intent to draw away. If Mihawk took liberty to touch you so tenderly, you felt it was worth stepping closer between his legs and leaning forward to embrace him. Arms around his shoulders and burying your face against the high collar of his brocade coat. There is just a few seconds that he tenses up from your closeness but then you feel one of his own limbs carefully curl around you, allowing you to rest more fully into him. You inhale the salt, cologne and steel of him with relish.

"Thank you," a little muffled but Mihawk hears you, he just chooses not to respond in lieu of basking in the moment. The warmth of you against his chest, the citrus-sweet scent that clings to you, the contrarian thrill and peace he felt from the embrace.

Fatigue creeps its way into your bones after so long though and you intend on pulling away, going back to your ship and dozing against the wheel until dawn. Sensing the onset of your dropping energy levels, Mihawk surprises you as he scoops you handily up into his lap entirely. You squirm with a mixture of surprise and bashfulness, face heating up from the flurry of sensation that comes from being held against him so intimately.

"Hey-"

"You're tired," he interrupts coolly, "stay and rest for a bit." The curl of his arm around you is firm, and he tilts his head to peer at your flustered face. "Don't get used to it," he adds dryly, squeezing you in subtle emphasis to what he was allowing.

You cant muster any sort of response over the pounding of your heart, and decide to just stay silent. As your pulse settles, you rest your head on his shoulder and try not to read too much into Mihawk letting you doze in his lap.

Sleep is not far behind as you relax in the sense of safety and comfort found with him.

[bloodypsychicx]

Ah yes. Me, my sexy vampire husband and his 6ft sword...

[draculesmihawk]

eyes like sinking ships on waters (i almost jump in)

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x OFC

Summary: He’s a stranger. She’s an unusual assignment. He may be everything she’s looking for, but she’s a presence that grows more intriguing – and infuriating – by the moment.

CHAPTER SEVEN: the moment i knew

[AO3]

“I’m choosing to trust you, Warlord.”

Her words ran circles around his mind, lit up even the darkest corners of there. It was not a secret that Shanks openly kept Aurelia under he and his crew’s protection. He had made it known that -- should she choose to -- he would have space for her on his crew, allowing her to sail the seas with them. Mihawk made his own intentions known when it came to Aurelia. He had been vocal with Shanks about the idea of Aurelia setting sail with him. He had also moved with purpose when it came to showing Aurelia the depth of his attraction to her. While he had yet to speak it into the universe, Mihawk knew he could not complete the Vice Admiral’s request to bring her in. It was Aurelia’s power. Her ability to draw such loyalty and affection from all she encountered. 

Such a warmth had even managed to penetrate Mihawk’s ice cold exterior. 

Dracule Mihawk stood at the beach, precariously close to the foreshore. Golden eyes watched the waves in the early morning hours. The sun had yet to break. Wouldn’t threaten to cross the horizon for hours. Despite the island being the picture of perfection, Mihawk had spent the night turning restlessly. His mind was swimming with thoughts and the waves of those thoughts threatened to pull him under.

He had been alone for far too long. So much so that he couldn’t recall the days that came before his solitude. Now all he could remember were the days after meeting Aurelia. It had been an impossibly long time since Mihawk had felt that kind of trust. Since he felt the need to take care of such a gift. To be near her. The feelings he found himself having towards her had caught him off guard. However, once they were there, those emotions seemed to dig deep within him and find a home there. Whether they were at each other’s necks or in the throes of desire, Mihawk knew without a shadow of doubt that what he felt for Aurelia was different than anything he had ever felt before. That knowledge equally emboldened and terrified him.

“It’s early.”

Aurelia’s voice was barely above a whisper behind him. Just enough to break over the sound of the ocean waves as they softly crashed along the shore. Mihawk’s eyes shifted from the water to the woman who slowly stepped into place beside him. Her face was still touched with tiredness as she looked out at the horizon. A sign that she had sought him out immediately after rousing from sleep. She wore the shirt he had given to her. While the shirt would have fit him, the fabric draped over her body more like a dress. 

“You should go back to bed, little dove,” Mihawk softly instructed.

Mihawk felt small, warm fingers reach out and brush lightly against the back of his hand. 

“I was going to say the same to you.”

A slow smile touched Aurelia’s lips as she felt Mihawk’s hand turn. His palm to hers, fingertips grazing against her own before he took her hand into his. Mihawk watched her take in the sight of the water before her eyes finally turned to lock onto his. Mihawk felt her free hand reach up, take hold of the collar to his leather coat. Her expression was dreamy and warm. As warm as the feelings that seemed to spread inside of him at the sight of her. He felt the fingers clutching his coat tug lightly, urging him to lean in. He did. No other option even registered in his mind. No other choice would have sufficed. His free hand moved to cup her cheek, thumb faintly grazing along her bottom lip as his lips sought hers out. No doubt or hesitation in his movements as their lips met. 

They kissed in the quiet of the beach with only the sound of the ocean around them. She melted against him, her smaller frame leaning completely into him as he kissed her breathless. He could commit the moment to memory, replay it each night, and still it would not be enough. Nothing would be enough ever again. Not unless he had her. Beside him, before him, beneath him… He’d take whatever he could get. That was not an easy confession for a man of Dracule Mihawk’s standing and reputation, but it was one he would give without fail if it meant securing the woman currently in his arms.

Mihawk’s hand remained in hers as they broke apart, fingers lightly squeezing as he began to move from their spot on the beach. Aurelia followed behind him, eyes casting a glance back towards camp as they moved further and further from it. A thrill shot through her body at the possibilities of the unknown.

“Where are we going?” she asked, feet quickening their pace to keep with Mihawk’s.

“We’re going to bed.”

“Camp is in the other direction.”

“I don’t recall saying the bed would be yours.”

Aurelia watched as Mihawk led them just beyond the sight of camp, tucked away behind the island’s mountains and trees. It was there that she saw it. A… boat ? It was a boat. At least that was what Aurelia assumed. It looked more like a coffin than a sea vessel. The mast at the center looked remarkably similar to the obscenely large sword Mihawk constantly had with him. Much like the man who owned it, the ship and sail was painted black. The only pop of color came from the details along the side of the craft and the wood that seemed to only form a single seat just off from the mast. She eyed the craft as Mihawk guided them closer.

“I cannot possibly get onto that…” 

Water coffin.

Floating deathtrap.

“Vessel,” Aurelia chose her words wisely, “It barely looks like I could hold one man, much less two peop-- hey!”

Aurelia yelped loudly as she found herself standing by the water near the ship one moment, then swept up in Mihawk’s arms the next. He had thrown her over his shoulder with ease, like she was a bag of rice and not a fully grown woman. His hand anchored her, resting just above the back of Aurelia’s knee. He had the decency to smooth over the fabric she wore, preserving what little decency she had for a woman being carried in such a way by a man. The sounds of indignation that came from her fell on deaf ears as Mihawk neared the boat. True, the carrier usually only ever was used by himself. However, he knew how much his vessel could carry. Aurelia’s addition would affect the craft very little when it came to taking on water. 

“Unhand me now,” Aurelia squirmed, feeling Mihawk hike her higher onto his shoulder as a result.

Aurelia threw her head back, brushing her hair from her eyes as she looked around. They were on the boat already. Mihawk took a step to his side and dangled her over the side of his boat, right above the cold water. His voice -- even when presented with his usual monotone delivery -- dripped with playfulness. 

“Are you certain, darling?”

“Mihawk…” 

She spoke his name with the utmost exasperation. However, Mihawk could practically hear the smile on her lips as she said it. It was all the more amusing to the pirate who held her in his arms. He loosened his grip on her legs, easing her feet slowly onto the wooden deck beneath them. Would this have been the dynamic if he had succeeded in catching her those few weeks ago? He doubted it. She was quite sure of herself back then. She was all the more sure of herself now, especially while under Shanks’s protection. What she didn’t possess back then was affection towards him. Mihawk was quite sure that had changed now. 

Mihawk watched as Aurelia set her hands upon her hips, eyes taking a slow look around them. Typically whenever he came across another pirate at sea there was a lot of screaming and fighting and -- for the other party -- dying. The dying part in particular made it difficult for those he came across to have the opportunity to comment on his mode of transportation. The act itself was innocent, but the fact that it was Aurelia building an opinion on his boat had Mihawk shifting uncomfortably in the silence. He had never had another with him before. Now he was debating the logistics of two people spending hours at sea on a vessel with such limited space. Whatever her thoughts were on the boat, Aurelia seemed to keep them to herself. Instead of speaking, she took the small steps towards the throne-like seat at the center of the boat. She sat down daintily at the edge of the bench, legs crossing at the ankles.

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you possess a boat that is only big enough for yourself.”

Aurelia watched with interest as Mihawk retrieved the sword that was latched to the back of his coat, expertly securing the massive weapon within the wooden backrest behind her. The giant blade lined up perfectly with the boat’s mast. While the move had allowed him to take a seat beside her, Aurelia watched as Mihawk brought the heel of his boot to one of the wooden planks of the deck by their feet. The piece of wood came loose, lifting at the other end, allowing Mihawk to lean it up against the arm rests that flanked the bench. Curious eyes watched as Mihawk bent down to reach into the now open space, retrieving a small item from beneath the deck. Mihawk moved towards one of the two candles that were placed on the edge of the boat. It was then that she saw the fire striker in his hand. Flint and steel. There was a comfortable silence that sat between them as she watched him work. He lit the candles on the ship, illuminated the area in a brilliant green glow. Mihawk moved the short distance, returning the items back into their rightful spot below deck. 

“Clever,” Aurelia confessed, as Mihawk bent down to secure the plank back into place. 

“You didn’t think I sailed with the clothes on my back and nothing else, did you?”

“I imagine those who came across you at sea believed as much,” she told him, “The idea that you could travel such distances with nothing but your sword would have your enemies quaking in their boots.”

“It does.”

“I bet a single, withering look from you inspires fear in the hearts of even the bravest souls.”

Aurelia had seen as much. Weeks ago. The group that had planned to collect her bounty. The ones Aurelia had left behind with Mihawk when she had the opportunity to flee. Men who no doubt met a much worse fate. Mihawk rose from his spot, took a few short steps in Aurelia’s direction. She watched Mihawk move down --  lower and lower -- until he came to rest on a knee before her. Gold eyes met her own. They locked on and rooted her in place with his gaze. He watched as she lifted her chin defiantly, returned his look with one of her own.

“You don’t scare me though, Dracule Mihawk.”

Too brave for her own good.

She had been brave the moment they met. All but goading him into allowing her a chance to evade capture. She had only grown braver under Shanks’s protection. How much braver would she become once she knew the sheer strength that came from being associated with him? 

“Perhaps not,” Mihawk confessed, “But the lengths I would go to keep you at my side should, little dove.”

Mihawk brought a hand up to touch the side of her face. His thumb grazed the swell of her cheek softly, fingers trailing along her jaw. He felt her breath quicken and catch as he ran the pad of his thumb along the bottom of her lip.

“You slipped from my hands once,” he continued, “I've no intention of letting you go again. Not to Shanks, not to those who hired me. No one.”

Aurelia was certain he could feel her heart race as his hand traveled down, brushed along the pulse in her neck before dropping down to take her hands into his own. He leaned in, lips ghosting over her own. The faint purr in his voice stirred something deep within the pit of her stomach.

“I could steal you away,” he told her, voice low as he spoke, “Sail away from this place. No man or bounty would be able to stop me. I could bring you to another island. There's a castle there. A bit dim and cold, but you would leave your touch everywhere. Make it your own. Make it warm, like you.”

Her breath caught at the words. The weight of them. The man who spoke them to her. Dracule Mihawk was a formidable pirate. His reputation seemed to travel across the different seas. Aurelia had seen with her own eye the absolute force of a man he was when it came to those he deemed his enemies. Would he be just as much of a force for someone he considered an ally? Someone he considered more than that? This pirate -- this man -- who sails a boat fit for one, who seemed to embrace a solitary lifestyle? She wanted to believe it wasn’t possible. Needed it to be so. It was impossible to ignore the obvious though. It sat between them in the quiet. In the way his eyes followed her. In the words on his lips. In the way he touched her.

“You’re shaking.”

Two words. Barely spoken above a whisper. Yet they snapped Aurelia to attention. Mihawk felt her fingers flex faintly before she pulled them away completely. 

“Must be the breeze from the sea,” she said, a faint tremor in her voice.

“I’ll escort you back to camp,” he quickly replied, with a dutiful nod.

The hand that Aurelia had pulled away just as quickly reached out to stop Mihawk, who had only just begun to move. Fingers reached and curved around the cuff of his sleeve, her eyes locking onto his. Anchored him into place. Mihawk knew there was no moving. Even if he tried, one glimpse from her and he would remain where she pleased.

“I don’t want to go back to camp,” she told him. The words were spoken quietly, traveling only the short distance between them. “I wish to remain here for the night.”

Mihawk blinked.

Blinked again.

“Here?”

Aurelia shrugged a shoulder in reply.

“Are you certain?” he asked her.

“The thought of staying in your company holds new meaning now,” she told him. 

Mihawk could feel the warmth now. It was in her gaze as she looked at him, in the softness of her smile.

��Being in your company feels… perfectly tolerable.”

She continued to smile despite the unamused look in his eye. It was impossible not to catch the way Mihawk’s hands moved to rest on the seat. A hand on either side of her, caging her in between them. He leaned in slightly. Though it felt like danger sizzled in the air between them, Aurelia knew she was probably the safest she ever could be.

“Tolerable, you say?” he deadpanned.

Aurelia feigned reconsidering her words.

“Somewhat enjoyable?” she offered.

Golden eyes narrowed.

“Try again, little dove.”

Little dove.

Aurelia found more and more that she enjoyed the nickname he had for her. It was because of that she dropped all pretense, opting for a little less humor and a little more honesty. She scooted forward, sitting herself on the edge of the seat and closing in what little distance she had shared with the pirate. She brought her hands up to his face, her eyes following her fingers as they trailed along Mihawk’s jaw. Fingertips brushed along the neatly trimmed beard, down the sides of his neck.

“I never thought myself someone who could be content with life in a castle,” she confessed, “Being stuck in one place, surrounded by giant stone walls…”

Her hands ran over the leather of his coat lapels, dipped beneath the sturdy fabric. Her hands met skin. Came to rest against his bare chest. Mihawk’s expression -- no surprise there -- remained stoic. However, the power in his gaze and the heat that they held could not be mistaken.

“Perhaps my issue did not lay in the where, but rather with whom.”

Something ebbed and flowed between them. A maddening attraction. A powerful pull, like unrelenting ocean waves. They had no choice but to let the waves claim them. Aurelia could feel her heartbeat pick up pace. The thumping in her chest only pounding more as she felt Mihawk’s hands settle on her waist. His fingers glided over the soft shirt, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric. 

“You spoke of stealing me away," Aurelia softly said, "But you cannot steal what is given to you freely.”

Mihawk watched as a smile warmed Aurelia’s lips. Her whole being seemed to relax under that realization. The sight of her completely at ease in his presence brought a nearly painful sort of pleasure to him. In that moment, with her hands on his chest and his fingertips gripping her hips, Mihawk would do just about anything to have this. To have her . For however long he could.

“We can leave now,” Mihawk told her, pushing himself up to his feet.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Aurelia laughed, rising from her seat to follow after Mihawk.

“There’s a restaurant a day’s trip from here,” he continued. Aurelia reached out to stop him before he could commit to setting sail. “No island or town. Just a restaurant at sea. You’d adore it.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she told him, planting herself firmly in front of him, “Just as I’ve no doubt I’ll enjoy it after a night’s rest.”

Aurelia tugged Mihawk back to the lone bench on the boat. He allowed her to ease him onto the seat, albeit reluctantly. Mihawk shifted on the bench, getting comfortable before he reached for Aurelia. His fingers met hers, drew her closer until she settled onto the bench beside him. His arms found their way around her waist, adjusting their bodies until she leaned her back comfortably against his side. They sat in the silence for a moment, enjoying the feel of their bodies against one another.

“I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Shanks,” Aurelia broke the silence with her confession, “They’ve been so kind to me during this time.”

“You were fortunate,” Mihawk replied, “That it was Shanks you came across and no other crew.”

“All the more reason to let them know where I’m going,” she said, tilting her head to send a smile up at him, “Shanks will be pleased, I think. Knowing I’ll be with someone he respects.” 

Mihawk brushed his thumb along the fabric that hung from Aurelia’s hip, lost in thought. He could feel the weight of Aurelia’s book and the contents inside. Even now, even with Aurelia in his arms, the weight was there. Growing heavier with each moment that passed. If he could get to Shanks first, then they can talk things through and surely everything else would fall into place as they went.

It was leaving.

With him.

“I’d like to speak with him first,” Mihawk carefully said, earning a faint look of confusion from the woman in his arms, “To… explain the situation to him.” 

He had tried to discuss the matter with Shanks hours before, but his friend had sensed something in his voice somehow. Knew it was a matter that couldn’t be explored in the dark of night. Shanks had convinced him to wait until morning. Now morning was nearing and it wasn’t the book Aurelia wanted to talk about once it came.

“He’ll be concerned,” he continued, “He won’t let you go without knowing you’re safe. I’ll need to assure him that my intentions are pure.”

Aurelia pressed her cheek against Mihawk’s chest in an attempt to stifle the faint laugh that threatened to bubble.

“Are you laughing at me?”

Despite the way she shook her head, Mihawk felt Aurelia’s body shaking from suppressed laughter.

“In a good way,” she confessed, “I promise.”

Aurelia took hold of Mihawk’s hand, bringing his fingers to her lips. 

A soft kiss.

A reassurance. 

“I think it's very sweet you wish to speak with Shanks. I’ll let you both talk things through come morning. It will give me the chance to break the news to the others before we leave.”

We.

“First thing in the morning.”

She had yawned out the words, snuggled into Mihawk’s body as she did. Mihawk fought against his own yawn, against the tiredness he had been fighting off. He let his head tip back, eyes closing as he tucked his worries towards the back of his mind for the night. He’d put this mess -- with the Vice Admiral and the bounty, as well as the book and its drawings -- to rest. Once it was all settled, he would be able to take Aurelia wherever she wanted. It was with that thought that Mihawk finally allowed sleep to claim him. 

Purururu… purururu… purururu…

Aurelia woke to a bright sun and a muted ringing. Raising her head, she caught sight of Mihawk. Eyes closed, huffs of slumber. He had to have been deep in his rest, as he didn’t stir even as she untangled herself from his arms. She scrubbed at her eyes, adjusting to the daylight as she looked around. The muted sound persisted as she stepped from wooden plank to plank. Digging the tip of her toe into the plank she had seen Mihawk maneuver, Aurelia popped loose the wood. Setting it aside, she kneeled down to reach her hand below deck. Wrapping her fingers around the object in question, she retrieved a small, vibrating case. 

An earpiece Den Den Mushi.

A ringing Den Den Mushi.

Extracting the tiny snail from the case, Aurelia tucked it into her ear as she heard the soft click of the call connecting.

“Mihawk… Mihawk, are you there?”

The voice on the other end of the line was sturdy. Older. Almost stately. Above all other traits, the voice that sought to speak to Mihawk was familiar . She had heard it before. When the Marines came to the island -- the important ones, the ones that held rank -- this voice was one of them. The man who the voice belonged to was a Vice Admiral. No doubt the one that had tasked Mihawk with his mission.

“Do you have an update on the bounty?”

Aurelia felt her heart sink. The voice in her ear. The sight of Mihawk’s sleeping form nearby. The mission that had been the driving force for everything. A bounty that Aurelia had foolishly believed he had abandoned. She had believed it. He had said as much. Mixing the words with other promises. Promises of them. Being together. She had believed it all without a second thought. It was at that moment that she realized the extent of her mistake.

It was a mistake she would not make again.

[hhighkey]

Decode // Chapter Eleven, Scarlet Haze

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Note, gets sorta graphic / grotesque at the end just a warning

Masterlist

-

The balcony doors were open when he returned, rain water pooling along the hardwood, the curtains whipping about as wind shrieked. That was the first sign that had him on alert and reaching for Yoru. His heart was in his throat with each creak of the floor as he moved into the room, closing the door sounding like a gunshot amidst the silent tension.

The second sign- Sabine was not anywhere to greet him with her beaming face and welcoming presence. So his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword a smidge tighter, he stalked towards the closed bathroom door. 

A splotch of blood in the bathroom; fresh on the tile. But there was no other presence outside the permanent aura of himself and Sabine twisted up within this hotel room. He could only breathe in and smell them. 

This wasn’t perpetrated by someone who lacked skill after all. Purposely left traces of their aura on the bodies to see who could close in on them, gleeful to watch and see if they could get caught. And they managed to throw Mihawk off his usual game, to pursue down the streets towards what he believed would be a clue to the devil fruit user. He’d let his guard down because he assumed this to be trivial, a waste of his time if it weren’t for Sabine’s insistence for answers.

Was this all a ploy to get their grubby hands on Sabine? Mihawk had to see it from each angle, needed to think logically rather than allow the clawing anger within him to take over. His veins threatened to burst from the molten lava that seemed to flow within them, pulsing and goading him to implode. Every fiber of his being alive with pure, agonizing emotions over Sabine being taken, snatched from the careful bubble of protection he’d built up around her. The thought of her being hurt! The fact he hadn’t been there to protect her! It gnawed at him. Made him want to scream until he could no longer; made him want to destroy, to throw everything in his path until it splintered into finite pieces.  

He’d seen it for himself, how the victims began to look like Sabine. He’d read the reports, how victims were of random gender and race until her return. In his mind it was no coincidence anymore, he never should have let her out his sight, not even in the confines of a hotel patronized by church-folk. 

Mihawk needed to think. Needed a clear head. A minute of silence, as he sat on the edge of the bed leaving Yoru leaned on the side. Prodding at his forehead to ease the dull ache forming from the anxiety that flitted his nerves, coursing like painful electric sparks. 

A single name flashed in his mind. Red lettered and large, clear as day through the cacophony of all his screaming thoughts. Giorgio. 

While he did not know if that man was capable of this, he was the only person Mihawk knew Sabine held disdain for on this island. He’d been a nuisance during the initial investigation, per her words. That there was something within Sabine telling her to stray far away from him, Mihawk had seen it that day when a crowd gathered to listen to Giorgio’s ridiculous preaching. He saw the fear in her even if she could not explain what it was she was fearful for. 

Mihawk’s whole being ached for Sabine. Everything had begun a jumbled dissonance of feelings and actions upon meeting her. Sleepless nights and endless worrying during the day. A constant gnawing in his chest, the constricting around his lungs until he’d heard her voice over the transponder snail. When he saw her in weeks after Baratie, it was like all his solemnity and distress evaporated. 

He revered her. He’d worship the ground she walked for as long as she’d let him, for as long as she chose him. But he could not, would not ask her to choose him at the end of her sabbatical. Even when that one choice dictated how the rest of his life would go. For Mihawk was prepared to lose her, to live with the harrowing thoughts and void-like emotions. To wander the seas living with her ghost until the day Zoro would likely surpass him, then perhaps he’d be at peace. 

The fury that began to seep its way into him. How dare someone think they could get away with taking the woman he loved away, under the guise of a kidnapping from the blood in the bathroom. They’d feel the full brunt of his abilities as the strongest swordsman in the world. He won’t spare them. He’ll destroy whatever it is they love, whatever life they built around them, then he’d prolong their suffering to know the depths of how he felt. Mihawk felt as if he was dying. That he’d drop any second from how his heart wrenched and extremities shook. 

Love. A sentiment he was not all too familiar with. And he’d just admitted to loving Sabine! A girl who held strong faith in her morals, in her actions, fierce in how she carried herself whether she believed that or not. An open book for him to read, simply because she allowed him to. Sabine held all the stars in the universe for all he was concerned with. His luck to have met her, the luck to breathe the same air as her. It’s daunting. It weighs on his shoulders. But he does not want it any other way, the pressure is also lovely and worth fighting through. 

His fingers flex. He rolls his shoulders back. Head raised with dangerous certainty in his eyes. With Yoru on his back, none of his strength would be kept at bay. Even if it destroyed this whole damn city just to get Sabine back in his arms, safe again.

-

Sabine woke up in the same fetal position she’d passed out in on the cold floor. It took her a second to acclimate from her grogginess, from the pain, but it caused her stomach to sink upon realizing she hadn’t been in a dream. It was not a dream when Giorgio took her, or tied her to the bed, or offered her wine, or even when he called upon the puppet in the shape of her demon. Fuck. A shriek had left her as she flinched, terror as cold as ice coursing through her that had her stumbling backwards. 

But it did not move, only its eyes to follow her like it was a shell, a mannequin. 

Legs felt like jello as she tried to walk. Numb and buzzing with tiredness that almost hurt, shooting through her as if it needed her to stay awake. Because she had to. She could not afford to fall asleep again, not alone with this creature, not with the threat of Giorgio coming back at any moment. Her sense of time is out of sync, worse than before.

As she moved out of the primary room with the fireplace, couch and wine, the thing followed her. Chills go down her spine at how languidly it walked, awkward and inhuman. It was uncanny how it didn’t scare her the same as last year. A person can change in a year. Sabine liked to think she had, and for the better. She believed she was stronger. More capable, that she wouldn’t fall apart so easily. Perhaps she had something to prove for her failures that only seemed to stack up like the bodies had, or she’d gone through such a metamorphosis since joining Luffy’s crew she couldn’t go back.

A dim hallway, at the end was a downward spiral staircase. No more windows in the brick walls, just flickering lanterns that seemed to die the more she walked. With each step was another to match a few feet back. A presence she can’t shake, it made her tremble, made her pulse continue to race. Fear tickling her mind with intrusive thoughts imagining the worst. Imagining it striking her from the back, its inky tendrils wrapping around her to choke her, to bite into her flesh and drain her of life.

And as she reached the top of the stairs, darkness seeming like it went miles into the ground, she grew nauseas. 

An intense gravitational-like pull urged her to continue, to make the descent. Even as the hairs on the back of her neck stood tall, the demon breathing down her neck. Strained gasps of air left her, limbs tingling- she took the plunge. Without thinking she shattered the invisible wall between her and those depths, treading down to the first step. From hollow to being swarmed with chaotic ardor, prickly vines blossomed in her ribcage, cutting and bleeding her from within. 

Each step down, the heavier the air felt. Thick and swarming with a metallic musk and a pungent smell of chemicals trying to mask the stench. It reminded her of the morgue. Of the crime scenes. There’d be no turning back, but dread filled her as she could only imagine what awaited her. Imagination ran wild in the dark. Expecting to find medical tables with gruesome bodies atop, or a torture room with outdated tools and old blood staining the floors and walls. 

Sabine used the wall to help guide her, never releasing her palm from its harsh material. Careful as she felt with her foot, trying to judge the distance to each step or (hopefully) coming landing in the dark. Pitch black. Her eyes were not adjusting. Static filled her ears. She retched. Nose burned from the fumes, it was more than death, it was more rotten and old. 

A light shone feet away. She finally reached the bottom. 

Red drag marks caked the ground, the walls scratched up with thin bloody lines of fingers that tried to grab hold. 

Sabine gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth as she heaved, as she began to cry. She couldn’t stop the tears and she couldn’t stop how her feet moved onwards. There was no need to look behind her, Giorgio’s puppet stayed feet back still. It did little to comfort her, but she realized it wasn’t the monster she had to fear. Giorgio was the monster. 

Because only true evil reveled in a room closed off from the world, splatters of blood along the walls. A square, grim room that reeked of rust and rotting meat. A table that held medical tools, all shiny and silver, the only clean objects present. 

The girl’s body had already begun to decompose. Her face contorted in horror, mouth agape with missing teeth, and eyes bulging from the sockets. She must have been screaming, pleading for her life. For her eyes told the story of the pain she endured up until her life was taken. Colorless and putrid. The maroon of blood mixed with dirt and sweat was the only remaining color splayed out on her skin. Brown locks tangled and cut, coated with the dried muck.

The basement too bar below the surface should have been cold, but Sabine was burning alive. Sweat brimmed at her hair line as her chest and stomach constricted, there was nothing left to vomit but she dry heaved all the same. Her face burned from the pressure of forcing liquids up, temple feeling like it was stabbed over and over. Tears slipped down as she regurgitated, gagging and nauseating. Sabine swayed as she straightened, eyes glassy and far away. 

She stumbled forward and the damage on the girl became more evident. Missing fingernails. Fingers twisted in the wrong directions, knuckles broken. Strange marks cut deep into her skin. Her feet looked wrong. As if binded, as if twisted at the ankle too far. 

“No…” She whispered, realization coming over. This girl looked like her. From the brown eyes to dark brown hair, to the pale skin and elegant cheekbones. A slim nose and similar build in stature. Sabine saw herself staring back in that twisted look, one she didn’t deserve to die with. 

Sabine cried as her fingers quivered, jutting out just hovering over the deceased girl; bawling as she touched the clammy flesh, closing the eyes. Rest easy. And Sabine whimpered as if in pain as she moved the jaw to close, waiting for any sign of life or something to jump out. The girl now looked as if she was asleep. No more bugging eyes in fear or mouth agape in terror. 

Sabine sunk to the ground in the heap blubbering and shaking her head in disbelief, praying, praying that she'd open her eyes and be elsewhere. Prayed for strength. Prayed for the girl on the table. Prayed that she wouldn’t end up there next. 

It was some time before Sabine could pick herself up off the floor. Hunched over and vibrating, weak as she sludged back down the hall into the dark, then slowly ascended the stairs. Guilt wracked her, to leave that poor girl to decompose in that dingy room all alone. But Sabine needed to get out, needed distance, and a far off voice told her there was more to see.

But an amalgam of bellowing thoughts echoed in her head like an alarm clock that couldn’t be turned off. 

Giorgio didn’t just use his abilities to murder people in public for show, but he did it behind the scenes too. Some type of psychopathic sadist, a torturer who practiced in private, found joy in the dissection and agony of another. He played the part of a harmless yet annoying jester so well, never could she have imagined this. The skeletons in his closet. 

The wine called to her as she stumbled, head spinning back into the main room. Dizzied, she sauntered over, using the couch to steady herself. Breaths in, then out. Then again. She could still smell the death; still see the girl’s body laid out. The sight engrained in Sabine so wickedly, she knew it’d be what would keep her up at night now.

She wouldn’t let herself give into the temptation of the red liquid, not as she could smell the bitterness from the open bottles. 

“Go away!” She screeched, whirling on her heels to face the puppet. Frustrated, she began to toss what she could at it. Pillows from the couch, to the wine bottles. They did nothing as they shattered on the ground or flew right through it. How? Sabine knew it was a physical entity, from when it had killed that bishop and all its victims. Throwing another bottle that just nicked its hand it went through to the wall. Wine splattered. An angry wail left her, “Why are you doing this? Just kill me!”

No reaction nor response, just staring right through her. 

She huffed feeling trapped; this was going to be a long day, night, week, however long she’d be stuck here. Sabine twirled, gazing at all her options as there was only one thing to do- explore this place under a watchful and dark gaze, while waiting until either Mihawk came or Giorgio did first.

-

posted: august 23 2024

taglist : @zzbloody-animezz @honeybeezgobzzzzz @mythical-goth @iraaiitz @moonmaiden1996 let me know if you wanna be added!

[fanaticsnail]

HIIIII ♥️ completely out of nowhere; do u have one piece oc's?? Just curious, bc since I started reading drabbles, fics, and one-shots from one-piece I thought about 374737 different characters :)) and it's so fun to think about them

Hi Anon! I have a long and short answer for this.

I do have a few OCs that I love working with, but I tend to keep them private so I can include "you" in the story.

Writing in 3rd person these days doesn't come as naturally for me, but I have written for my OCs just for me. I love talking about them, my favourite is "Varagnr Tallulah". She's the first OC I developed for one piece, and her end-game love interest is Dracule Mihawk.

This is the vibe:

I have thought a lot about her, and have written about her. While I love her and would love to show her on here, I keep her for just me and my moot-wife @sordidmusings who has an OC in the same world (who was also the one to suggest talking OCs and character development).

Tropes: arranged marriage, forbidden love, forbidden kiss, mutual pining, unrequited love, friends to enemies to lovers, widowship, magic, major injury, violence, angst, hurt no comfort, one night stands without love but with respect (Crocodile, Beckman), nobleship, travelling, sailing, wars, riots.

Below the cut is my brain on paper regarding her build. I do the same for reader-inserts to get into their heads before fic writing. This is also what I do to develop D&D characters. Sorry in advance for the long response!

History: 

From before her conception, her life was meticulously planned to the finest of details. She was bred to serve; her purpose was to be the wife of a wealthy lord in a far off land. Chastised for poor posture, attuned in the art of conversation, well-versed in the running of fine land and their staff to come along with it as the lady of the house, and educated in all to do with her future spouse: the lord. 

Her spouse, taken immediately by her appearance, romanced her through a hasty courtship; wed her and bedded her. He was boisterous, enthusiastic, passionate - but never truly held her heart as her own passion was taken from her in her youth. 

Her only joys in life were:

Sword-Fighting: a fine craft of blade wielding where, when done correctly, looked as though the wielder effortlessly danced in the thralls of combat - amongst the spatter and carnage of blood and innards (Mihawk trainer).

Drinking wine and learning of the different produce crafted within the east, west, north and south blues - the grand line Tokaji variety from Kuraigana being her favorite.

Her enchantress, confidant and friend: Pythia (Sordid's OC). Having someone to truly be an ear, a shoulder and an embrace through the inner struggle of balancing the weight of regality while being the same for their own woes.

Hearing tales of her husband’s associates while providing them her presence at the dining table, dancing with them in lieu of her spouse when required. (Sir Crocodile).

As their relationship developed, she was left as naught but a shell of a person; free from drive to become anything other than a forlorn bedmate for this man - a man who truly didn’t care for her mind nor her own satisfaction in release within aforementioned bedroom activity. He never doted on her, only opting to dress her in fineries of silks and satins to showcase her to his acquaintances and colleagues

Left in a wealthy estate, a life of luxury with nothing now to hold her back from her own pursuit: what passions can she manage to find within the husk of a body too young to be widowed while in the prime of her life. 

She was the perfect partner, the pretty plaything and quick-witted when words were called for. The perfect bride.

Until her husband died, fighting in some silly war some Red-Haired Captain called him to take up his arms for. 

Name: Tallulah “Lulu/Tally/Tal” 

Background: Nobility from birth, sword-wielder, wine consumer, quick-witted. Regality, poised and fiery in her crafted words. 

Alignment: Neutral Good: Understanding the law, tendencies to sway ‘balance’ rather than good and evil. Knowing the law, understanding which ones can and should be adhered to and others were made to be challenged. 

Appearance: Long copper hair, loose curls, pale skin, teal eyes, soft femininity with a semi-built body to hold the weight of her claymore and dance with it effortlessly. 

Goals: longs for romance. Strong desire to be courted; wooed properly without the ending of flirtation being meticulously laid out by design. 

Ideals: to find her limits, test them and break them. Fiercely loyal to friends and companions, regardless of whether they’re healthy relationships or not. 

Flaws: will put herself within harm’s way and talk her way out of situations with her trained wit. Where her wit fails, her claymore will be showered in the blood of those that oppose her. Bleeding heart: hard to fall in love, but falls hard when she does.

Many rumors had been spoken regarding the death of her husband, prompting her to be excluded from many gatherings and ostracized from the inner circles of the ruling class. Snickering from the sidelines with a glass of bitter, dry wine in her hand is how she spends her time - always finding cheer and rapport with Pythia who often takes the snickering and comments to another level entirely. 

Very, truly, deeply mourning the loss of her autonomy - has no identity without her departed-husband. Bore him no children, but remained the ruler of the estate as none rose to contest the land form her ruling hand. 

Proficiencies: Skilled with a blade, but slow to draw it. Will not fight unless truly necessary - learnt feat from the demise of her spouse. Strong liver; can handle her alcohol.

Suggested background character relationship origin:

Dracule Mihawk Origin: Youthful dalliance, both understanding nothing could truly come of feeding the flames of their romantic entanglement. Broke off training with one another when Mihawk kissed her in the “talking window” while training.

Talking window: where blades cross the front of the torso, only faces revealed in the triangular blade connection. 

Mihawk was the one to break off the training, opting to not put each other in a more compromising situation

Dialogue Suggestions:

“You’re getting better.”

“I’m not,” pushing forward to trip Mihawk, “you’re just getting sloppy.”

“Sloppy?” leg trip of his own to fall her down on her ass, “you’re getting bolder, too, Lulu.”

“Did you manage to bring the…-” Tallulah’s eyes brighten and look down to the satchel hanging loosely from Mihawk’s shoulder.

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes, “it’s from last year’s vintage. Not as good as the other ones I’ve made-.”

“You made this one?” a gasp falling from her lips, “Mihawk, that’s so special!”

“I make all of the ones I bring you, Lulu,” he uttered in an utterance above a whisper, while reaching his slender fingers within the satchel to pull out the clear, glass bottle of amber Tokaji, “you’ll need it as a balm for the beating you’re about to endure by my hand.”

“We shall see, Hawk,” a sly smirk rising in the place of the warmth she once held atop her cheeks, “maybe you’ll need it yourself to drown in your own defeat.” 

Sir Crocodile Origin: Met at Tallulah’s wedding, a beautiful and powerful man sweeping her to the side of the room and warning them of their shared history with her now spouse. Danger, selfishness, quick to bare arms when war is called.

Is often invited to talk business, attend parties and nights of gambling hosted by her spouse and will offer whispered tales of adventures, to often have Tallulah longing to seek out her own with glazed eyes and lips parted in awe.

Suggested Dialogue:

“When he leaves you wanting, find me.”

“Wanting what?”

“You’ll know.”

“Do not mistake your prior welcome with my dear husband as what you’re met with in his stead.”

“Dearly departed husband, you mean.”

“It makes no such difference to my inhospitality-.”

“-It makes all the difference, Tally,” he steps his body closer within the frame of the large double doors, “it means you’re free to explore exactly what you’ve been missing all these years.”

Varangr Fraener

Spouse Name: Lord Varangr[family name] Fraener 

Characteristics: Very charming when the mood calls for it, a flirt. Egotistical, arrogant and self-centric. 

Flaws: Did not want to be married, nor to be tied down to a single woman. Although pleased Tallulah is pretty and enjoys showing her off, he truly does not care for her and chooses to occupy his time by gambling away his wealth with his associates. 

Fatal Flaw: Owes a single favor to Red-Haired Shanks - a favor that claims his life. 

Dynamic between Tallulah and Fraener: He is more taken with the idea that a woman has been designed and curated to suit his tastes, rather than appreciating Tallulah for the woman she truly is. Although Tallulah never strayed in her marriage, she has a fair few accounts to manage on behalf of Fraener to tend to his gaggle of trysts and keep his unnamed children at bay. 

Tallulah is initially infatuated by him, as she was trained to be all her life. As the days, weeks and years flow on, the illusion is shattered and she feels more alone and isolated than ever: the newness of her dies away, Fraener continues to seek out other company and leaves her to her own hobbies: swords and wine without her “Hawk” to lead her. 

He rarely seeks out her company, only sharing a small farewell kiss as he sails at the call to arms - the last kiss ever to be shared between them.

Notes: if you're interested in seeing some more of her, I would love to post the stories I've carved out with Sordid. You should ask about her OC. I love Pythia, and the world building and lore she put into her is spectacular.

Thank you for asking, and I'm sorry for the dodgy jotted response! Love you 🖤

[auryborealis]

sometimes a family is a non-vampire sword-wielding Dracula, a cat-loving eldritch entity of darkness, a ghost princess, and a triple-katana-wielding mossboy

[tipsypenguin31]

Just put myself into tears.

I am writing the first handful of chapters for my fic.

As I am sitting here, trying to get the words out.

The entire scene is playing beautifully in my head. But I can’t get it typed out. 😭 probably doesn’t help that I’m stoned…….

So I’m in the mood to write but my stoned out brain would rather play my delusion fic in my head like a movie.

Like brain, just let me share how I am CONSTANTLY sexualizing Mihawk and Shanks. More so Shanks lately, i’ve been disgustingly frothing at the mouth for Shanks.

Please…..I swear I’m normal about him.

I promise. 🤞🏽

[missrandomdreamer]

Finally got my beautiful commission of Mihawk and Miruna by Yumedarling framed! I love this commission so so much, it's absolutely gorgeous, it just captures how i see Mihawk and Miruna so much D'x . This photo doesn't even do it justice D': It took me forever to find a perfect frame for it and i still need to fix it up a bit but i love it so much.

https://x.com/yumedarling

Yumedarling did my Heisenberg and Hope keychain before and she is just amazing and her work is so beautiful!! Please go check her out and all her gorgeous work!

https://x.com/yumedarling/status/1743370907022930276

here is Yumedarling's post of the commission and without the frame <3 You can really see the vibrant colors and lighting in her photo !

[hero-hoe]

A modern trickster god throws a young woman into an anime simply to see how much she can change. Given too much power, and with knowledge of the past and future, she refuses to let her favorite characters get hurt.

But what happens when they stop being just characters?

And what if her choices make the future unpredictable?

Treasured Love is a One Piece x Fem OC harem story featuring major plotline changes and an ever-evolving dynamic ♡

[kultofkorii]

− Finer than Wine

✎mihawk x kelton

♦︎fic type: one-shot, fic-trade

♦︎ summary: after three failed attempts at taking mihawk on a date, kelton finally manages to get mihawk on a date. with the intention to show mihawk that he's serious about his feeling.

♦︎word count: 2.3k

♦︎warnings: None

♦︎a/n: this is part of a fic trade done with @loganwritesprobably, As you can see I kinda carried away but I'm really proud of this, I hope I did Kelton justice and I hope you enjoy it all the same!

The wine-red sky stretched over the horizon, casting a warm, molten glow on the vast ocean below. The waves lapped gently at the sides of the boat, a modest but elegant vessel with polished wood and billowing sails. Kelton stood at the bow, his black hair tousled by the salty breeze, a glint of gold piercing catching the fading light. His mischievous brown eyes scanned the horizon as he hummed a tune under his breath, his tall frame leaning casually against the railing.

Kelton was a man of many talents, but patience was rarely one of them. Yet, tonight was different. Tonight, he had every reason to wait. The air was thick with anticipation, a subtle excitement thrumming in his veins. The boat rocked gently as he adjusted his stance, glancing back toward the cabin where Mihawk was likely brooding, perhaps contemplating the wisdom of agreeing to this outing.

A sly grin tugged at the corners of Kelton’s mouth. He’d finally done it. After three failed attempts, Dracule Mihawk, the most feared swordsman in all the seas, had agreed to a date. And not just any date—Kelton had meticulously planned an evening that even the stoic Mihawk might find difficult to resist.

As if on cue, Mihawk emerged from the cabin, his expression as unreadable as ever. His piercing yellow eyes locked onto Kelton’s warm brown ones, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Kelton could feel the weight of that gaze, the scrutiny that would unnerve any lesser man. But Kelton was no ordinary man. “Enjoying the view?” Mihawk’s voice was smooth, carrying a hint of dry amusement.

Kelton’s grin widened. “Only half as much as I’m about to enjoy our little adventure, love.” He pushed off the railing with a fluid motion, sauntering over to Mihawk with the easy confidence of a man who was rarely, if ever, denied what he wanted. Mihawk raised a single eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Kelton’s swagger. “You speak as though this evening holds more than just an outing.”

“Oh, it holds much more, indeed,” Kelton quipped, his voice dripping with playful innuendo. He circled Mihawk slowly, his movements deliberate, as if sizing up his prey. “But I wouldn’t dream of ruining the surprise. After all, where’s the fun in that?” Mihawk’s gaze remained steady, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or mild irritation.

The island Kelton chose was nothing short of breathtaking. A hidden gem nestled within the Grand Line, it was renowned for its picturesque landscapes and sunsets that could make even the most hardened hearts falter. It was a place of serenity, where the chaos of the world seemed to pause, allowing nature's beauty to take center stage. As you step off the ship and onto the soft sand, the air is filled with the scent of saltwater and blooming flowers, carried by the gentle breeze that whispers through the towering palms.

Kelton, with his usual swagger, leads the way, his long strides making it almost impossible for anyone of average height to keep up, let alone Mihawk. Yet, the swordsman moves with his signature grace, his eyes observing every detail of their surroundings with a calm, discerning gaze. The vibrant greenery, the distant hum of wildlife, and the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore all contribute to an ambiance that feels almost too perfect. It’s a place out of time, a retreat from the battles and skirmishes that define their lives. "Lovely, isn't it?" Kelton remarks, glancing back at Mihawk with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His voice carries a playful lilt, as though he’s well aware of the grandeur of his choice. "Figured you could use a bit of a break from all the sword-slashing and brooding."

Mihawk, ever the stoic, merely raises an eyebrow in response, though there’s a slight softening in his usual stern expression. “It’s… suitable.” Kelton chuckles, clearly amused by the understatement. “Suitable? Darling, it’s a slice of paradise. Just wait until you see where I’ve set us up.”

They move deeper into the island, the dense foliage parting to reveal a pathway lined with lanterns that flicker softly in the dimming light. Kelton had taken his time setting up the path, carefully selecting each lantern to create a warm, inviting glow as the sun began its descent towards the horizon. He was no stranger to adventure and chaos, but when it came to moments like these, he knew the importance of setting the right atmosphere. As they near the spot Kelton has prepared, the path opens up to a secluded clearing. Here, the grass is soft underfoot, and a large, plush blanket is spread out, accompanied by an array of cushions. Nearby, a small table is set up, adorned with an assortment of wines, including the rare and expensive bottle Kelton had promised. A few plates of delicately prepared food, a nod to Mihawk's refined palate, are arranged with care.

The scene is framed by the ocean, which glitters with the last rays of sunlight, casting hues of pink, orange, and gold across the water. The sky above them is a masterpiece, the colors swirling together in a way that seems almost surreal. Kelton turns to Mihawk with a grin, spreading his arms wide as if presenting the world’s greatest treasure. “Not bad, eh? Thought we could enjoy the sunset, have a few drinks, and just… unwind. No swords, no pirates, just us and the view." Mihawk takes in the sight, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly—a rare sign of approval. "You certainly know how to make an effort."

"Only for the best," Kelton replies smoothly, moving closer to the swordsman. "Shall we?" He gestures towards the blanket, his voice softer, yet still carrying that underlying note of mischief. Mihawk nods, and together, they step into the tranquil space, leaving the world behind for a moment of peace between eachother. “You’ve gone through a great deal of trouble for this,” Mihawk observed, his tone neither approving nor disapproving, simply factual. Kelton stopped in front of Mihawk, their eyes locking despite the steady difference in height. “Well, when one is courting the world’s greatest swordsman, one must be prepared to go the extra mile.” His voice softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more sincere. “I wanted tonight to be special.” Kelton gestured toward the small table he'd set up, where a selection of rare wines awaited. The centerpiece was a bottle of vintage so rare that even Mihawk, with his discerning taste, had mentioned it in passing. It had taken Kelton months of searching and no small amount of favors to procure it, but the look on Mihawk’s face when he’d seen it had made every effort worth it.

Mihawk inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment if not full approval, and moved toward the table. Kelton followed, his gaze lingering on the swordsman’s graceful movements. Even in something as mundane as walking, Mihawk exuded a quiet, lethal elegance. It was no wonder Kelton was smitten. As they took their seats, Kelton uncorked the prized bottle, the sound of the pop satisfying in its own right. He poured them each a glass, the wine’s rich aroma filling the air between them. Mihawk took his glass, swirling the wine with practiced ease before bringing it to his lips. Kelton watched intently, noting the way Mihawk’s eyes closed briefly as he savored the taste.

“Well?” Kelton asked, leaning forward slightly, eager for Mihawk’s verdict. Mihawk opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto Kelton’s once more. “It’s exceptional,” he admitted, his tone begrudgingly appreciative. Kelton couldn’t help the triumphant smile that spread across his face. “I knew you’d like it. Only the best for you, of course.” Mihawk regarded him with a level look. “You put in considerable effort for this. Why?” Kelton’s smile faltered slightly, the question catching him off guard. He’d expected Mihawk to be more guarded, more evasive. But here was the swordsman, asking a direct question that required a direct answer.

Kelton leaned back in his chair, considering his words carefully. “Because you’re worth it,” he said finally, the playful lilt in his voice gone. “Because I wanted to do something for you—something that showed you I’m not just interested in a fling.” Mihawk studied him for a long moment, his gaze piercing. “You’ve made your intentions clear before,” he said slowly. “Why now?” Kelton met his gaze without flinching. “Because I think you’re starting to realize that I’m serious.”

A silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but laden with unspoken thoughts. Kelton wasn’t sure if Mihawk would respond or if he’d retreat into that impenetrable shell of his, but he held his ground, refusing to look away. Finally, Mihawk set his glass down with deliberate care. “You’re relentless,” he remarked, though there was no venom in his tone. Kelton chuckled, the tension breaking slightly. “It’s one of my more charming qualities.”Mihawk didn’t smile, but there was a softness in his expression that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll admit, your persistence is…unexpected.”

“Unexpected, but not unwelcome, I hope?” Kelton ventured, his voice hopeful. Mihawk regarded him for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. “Not unwelcome.” Kelton’s heart leapt, but he kept his excitement in check, not wanting to push too far too fast. He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “So, tell me, Mihawk—what would it take for you to consider this date a success?”Mihawk picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip before responding. “A success?” He seemed to mull over the question, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “That depends.”

“On what?” Kelton prompted, eager to hear the answer. Mihawk set his glass down again, his gaze fixed on Kelton with an intensity that sent a shiver down the taller man’s spine. “On whether you can keep me interested for the remainder of the evening.” Kelton grinned, his confidence returning in full force. “Oh, I can do much more than that, love. Just you wait and see.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation and wine, the tension between them ebbing and flowing like the tide. Kelton was in his element, weaving stories and jokes with the ease of a seasoned entertainer, all while keeping a careful eye on Mihawk’s reactions. To his delight, Mihawk seemed more relaxed than Kelton had ever seen him, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor softened by the wine and the ambiance.

As the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting a silvery light over the deck, Kelton found himself growing bolder. The wine had loosened his tongue, and he leaned closer to Mihawk, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “You know, Mihawk,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.” Mihawk raised an eyebrow, his gaze wary. “And what might that be?”

Kelton’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “That you’re enjoying this far more than you expected.” Mihawk didn’t respond immediately, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his next words. Finally, he said, “You assume much.” Kelton’s grin widened. “I prefer to think of it as being perceptive.” Mihawk’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made Kelton’s heart skip a beat. Without thinking, Kelton reached out, his hand brushing against Mihawk’s, the touch light but deliberate.

Mihawk didn’t pull away, but his gaze dropped to their hands, his expression inscrutable. Kelton’s heart pounded in his chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness churning in his stomach. “Mihawk,” Kelton said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I—” Before he could finish, Mihawk leaned forward, his movements swift and precise. Kelton barely had time to register what was happening before Mihawk’s lips were on his, the kiss firm and unyielding.

For a moment, Kelton was too stunned to react. This was Mihawk—Dracule Mihawk—kissing him. But the shock quickly gave way to something else, something warm and all-consuming, and Kelton found himself kissing back with equal fervor. The kiss was electric, a jolt of energy that seemed to ignite every nerve in Kelton’s body. He reached out instinctively, his hands gripping Mihawk’s waist as he pulled the swordsman closer. The world around them seemed to disappear, the only thing that mattered was the feel of Mihawk’s lips against his, the taste of wine lingering on his tongue. Mihawk’s hands were steady, one resting on Kelton’s arm, the other at his waist, grounding him in the moment. There was a surprising tenderness in the way Mihawk kissed him—controlled, but not without feeling. It wasn’t the desperate, heated kiss of someone losing themselves in passion, but something deeper, more intentional.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Kelton stared at Mihawk, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. “You kissed me,” Kelton said, the words tumbling out in a dazed murmur, a hint of disbelief in his tone. Mihawk’s expression remained calm, but there was a softness in his eyes that Kelton had never seen before. “You kissed me back,” Mihawk replied, his voice steady, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Kelton couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest, a sound filled with both joy and relief. “Aye, that I did,” he admitted, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “And I don’t regret a single second of it.” Mihawk’s gaze didn’t waver, but Kelton could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nor do I,” Mihawk said quietly, the admission hanging in the air between them, weighty and significant. Kelton’s heart swelled, the words sinking in, making him feel lighter than he had in ages. He’d always known there was something more to Mihawk than the cold, aloof exterior he showed to the world. But hearing those words—knowing that Mihawk didn’t regret this—made it all the more real.

“Mihawk,” Kelton began, his voice steady, “I meant what I said earlier. This—tonight—it’s not just about a fling. I want to be with you, not just for tonight, but for as long as you’ll have me.” Mihawk’s gaze bore into Kelton’s, the weight of his words sinking in. For a moment, Kelton thought Mihawk might pull away, might retreat into that stoic shell he was so known for. But instead, Mihawk stepped closer, his hand tightening around Kelton’s.

“You’re a fool,” Mihawk said quietly, his voice tinged with something that could almost be mistaken for fondness. Kelton chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Aye, that I am. But I’m your fool, if you’ll have me.” Mihawk’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and for the first time, Kelton saw the walls around Mihawk’s heart begin to crack. “Then it seems we’re both fools.” Before Kelton could respond, Mihawk closed the distance between them, capturing Kelton’s lips in another kiss. This one was slower, more deliberate, a kiss that spoke of promises made and a future uncertain but filled with possibilities.

Kelton kissed back with all the passion and sincerity he could muster, his heart soaring as Mihawk’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. There was no more doubt, no more hesitation—just the two of them, together in that moment, and the unspoken understanding that this was just the beginning of something wonderful.

When they finally parted, Kelton rested his forehead against Mihawk’s, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “So,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “does this mean our date was a success?” Mihawk’s eyes sparkled with something akin to amusement. “It means you’ve intrigued me, Kelton. But don’t think for a moment that you’ve won me just yet." Kelton’s laughter was soft, a low rumble that resonated between them. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love. The chase is half the fun, after all." Mihawk’s expression softened, a rare warmth in his usually impassive gaze. “Then you’ll have to keep up, Kelton. I’m not easily caught.” Kelton’s grin widened, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Challenge accepted, Mihawk. But be warned—I’m a man who never gives up on what he wants.” Mihawk didn’t reply immediately, but the look in his eyes said everything. There was a mutual understanding, a silent agreement that they were both stepping into uncharted waters. Whatever lay ahead, it wouldn’t be easy. But neither of them wanted easy. They craved the thrill, the challenge—the chance to carve something lasting out of the unpredictable life they led.

For a moment, they simply stood there, the world around them forgotten. The wind tousled Kelton’s noir-black hair, and Mihawk’s grip on his waist tightened slightly, as if anchoring them both to this moment. The stars above glittered like silent witnesses to the promise they’d made, each twinkling light reflecting the hope of something more. Kelton finally broke the silence, his voice a whisper of sincerity. “I’ll win you over, Mihawk. It’s only a matter of time.” Mihawk’s lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “We’ll see, Kelton. But know this—no one has ever succeeded where you intend to go.” Kelton’s eyes shone with determination as he leaned in close, his breath warm against Mihawk’s ear. “There’s a first time for everything, love. And I plan to make sure this is a first you won’t forget.”