#f: liveaction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainbowmoonstonestories · 5 months ago

Text

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3

Waking up beside Dracule Mihawk felt both unusual and entirely right. As a man of honor, with principles ingrained from a lifetime of rigorous swordsmanship training, he channeled the same passion and dedication into his relationship with you. In fact, It wasn't long before the first signs of jealousy surfaced. He made it abundantly clear that he didn't like to share, demonstrating this concept in his own, sensual way.

Author's note: This is another update that suffered severely from the heat this season. I can't really stand hot temperatures as humidity makes me physically sick. I apologize for the long wait.

Warning: Detailed NSFW content ahead!

You were immersed in absolute, utter bliss.

With the music still resonating from a distance, you were comfortably sprawled on your bed, lying on your back with your legs spread open and Dracule Mihawk nestled between them. His tongue was delivering the most exquisite pleasure you had ever savored, caressing your clit with a sensual rhythm, alternating movements from up and down to side to side. His golden eyes were locked on you, perfectly still, observing every expression, every nibble of your lower lip, every soft moan escaping your mouth.

You were captivated by his breath, steady yet slightly hastened, accompanied by the soft, tantalizing wet sounds his mouth was producing. He appeared to quicken his pace and apply more pressure whenever you ran your nails against his scalp, while his own hands were gripping your thighs, maintaining their position despite the frequent spasms of your hips.

Your eyes rolled back every time his tongue hit a particularly sensitive nerve, your chest rose and fell repeatedly, your nipples hard and rubbing against the fabric of your crop top. You were on the brink of climax, yet not quite there yet.

With an arm propped behind your pillow, you tried to stay relaxed and prolong the moment as long as possible, but he was making it exceedingly difficult for you to hold back with all the proficient moves he was performing on your body.

And then he took your clitoris between his lips, sucking on it as if it were a delectable sweet. Your knees clamped onto either side of his face, but the usual hum he emitted indicated that he didn't mind.

And he was quite torturous too. Whenever he sensed that you were teetering on the edge, he slowed down again, barely caressing your sensitive spot to keep it aroused, but not enough to push you over. You lost count of how many times you muttered curses under your breath. The anticipation was excruciating, yet simultaneously, you appreciated his measured pace, cautious not to apply excessive force and trigger your release prematurely.

As his tongue danced around your folds, you could feel the familiar buildup of heat in your lower abdomen. The tension was almost unbearable, but delicious in its own way. Your heart pounded in your chest, matching the flow of his ministrations.

Your breath hitched as the waves of pleasure intensified with each passing moment. The surroundings seemed to blur into insignificance, and all your senses were honed in on Mihawk and the exquisite stimulation he was offering you.

The sensation was escalating beyond your threshold, your clit throbbing and quaking with each tantalizing lick. His name tumbled from your lips in a breathless entreaty as the impending surge of pleasure loomed dangerously close to engulfing you. You undulated on the mattress like a gentle sea wave, his hands anchoring your lower body.

Sensing your imminent climax, he intensified his efforts, giving you tacit permission to let go. His tongue moved more quickly, circling your bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure and speed. The moment that familiar knot unraveled, your hand seized a fistful of his hair, while your orgasm exploded through your limbs like a powerful storm.

You convulsed uncontrollably, letting out moans and arching your back upward. He showed no mercy, persisting with his licks, sweeping his tongue through your slick lower lips before returning to your clit again. He only ceased his actions when you became overly sensitive to his touch, and you descended from your peak like a crème brûlée - your muscles gradually relaxing into a state of exhaustion.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you saw him licking his lips to savor your taste. His mustache, although a little damp, remained impeccably neat.

"I'm not done with you," he declared, moving upwards and trapping your body between his arms, his hands pushing into the mattress.

"Obviously. I wouldn't expect any less from you," you replied with a smile. "Just.... give me a moment to catch my breath.”

“Mh.”

He complied, honoring your need for a brief respite, and reclined on the bed beside you without objection. His hawk-like eyes stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

Slowly regaining your stamina, you rolled onto your side and propped your head up on the pillow with your elbow. "Thank you for that. It felt amazing.”

"Consider it your payback.”

You laughed softly, running your fingers along his chest, feeling the heat and smoothness of his skin beneath your touch. "I didn't go down on you with the expectation of getting something in return, but I appreciate it nonetheless."

As your fingers glided over the contours of his muscles, you couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge in his trousers. For the moment, you decided to ignore it, relishing the way he seemed to unwind under your gentle caress.

Every moment spent with him—each word, contact, kiss, and intimate act—seemed to fortify the foundation of a deeper relationship. Mihawk's admission, though somewhat vague, made it clear that he didn't regard you merely as a casual diversion for his physical needs.

"No one touches what’s mine and lives to tell the tale.”

"Did I miss something?" You questioned aloud. "I wasn't aware of the fact that you considered me as yours.”

"If you see this as a game, I have no inclination to participate.”

Articulating what you shared was arduous, and the idea of openly discussing it with him was unnerving. Perhaps one day, at the right time, you would find the courage to thoroughly examine the situation.

Your heart rate gradually steadied, your breathing becoming more stable and controlled. Now that you had caught your breath and felt prepared for the next course of action, you lifted yourself up and sat astride his waist. You meticulously and patiently started to unbuckle his belt, your gaze meeting his seemingly indifferent golden eyes. A familiar glimmer lingered in his dilated pupils, giving them an intoxicated look of desire for you.

"How did you manage to persuade the World Government to revoke my bounty?" You inquired nonchalantly, setting the belt buckle aside and gently tugging his clothes downward.

"Do you seriously want to discuss that now?”

You shrugged. "Just a passing curiosity.”

His erection stood firm beneath you, swollen and veined. It lay against his stomach as you positioned yourself above it, allowing your wetness to slide over its length in a slow, deliberate motion.

"They owe me a substantial favor," he replied. "They're the ones who require my services.”

You smiled, allowing your hands to roam over his chest, grazing the sides of his cross knife. "In other words, you have the advantage. Not that I ever doubted it."

"Does that answer satisfy you?" He asked in annoyance.

Whenever he put on such an aloof and seemingly uninterested demeanor, a grin would instinctively form on your face. "For now.”

His hands drifted back to your hips, halting your movement. "Remove your top," he commanded.

You savored the irritation in his voice, as if the sight of the last piece of clothing on your body was intolerable to him.

You leaned in, your lips barely grazing his rugged, bearded cheek. "Make me," you whispered provocatively.

A low, almost inaudible growl emanated from his chest. "Do I have to tear that off?"

"I'd rather keep it intact, thank you.”

His struggle with that uncomplicated garment, which lacked the usual clasp of regular bras, underscored his impatience and desire to get straight to the point. It was absolutely hilarious.

With the grace of a vixen, you slowly took his hands and guided them to your breasts. You let them move along your belly, up to your stomach, until they reached the curves of your mounds and rested there. You positioned his fingers, holding them firmly in place until they began to move of their own accord.

"Come on. It's not like you need a knife to remove it.”

His stare was intense, quite difficult to interpret. He reached for the hem of your crop top, lifting it cautiously until your breasts were partially revealed. You raised your arms, allowing him to remove the offending piece from your torso, your nipples hardening even further as soon as they were exposed. Once the top was fully taken off, he tossed it unceremoniously onto the floor.

Being so unveiled and vulnerable under his gaze, as his piercing eyes lingered a moment longer on your breasts than he had intended, made you feel slightly self-conscious despite the times he had already seen you in your full glory. Still, you allowed him to look at you in silence, again and again, feeling your lower muscles clench with desperation.

Without uttering a word, you lifted your hips and positioned yourself over his arousal, gripping it firmly at the base. Again, Mihawk offered no opposition, but the twitch in his erection betrayed his longing for you.

You were taken aback by how effortlessly he let you take control. He appeared completely at ease, almost relaxed, as if he were evaluating your boldness and endurance. His eyes drifted downward to where your bodies connected. He observed intently as he sank into you, enveloped by your warmth, pushing deeper with each second. He absorbed every detail with meticulous attention.

The stretch was astounding, but you had become accustomed to it. He was scorching, sizable, and precise, hitting the most sensitive spot within you without any difficulty.

You felt whole, fitting seamlessly with him like a puzzle piece, as if he had been crafted specifically for you.

As you found a steady rhythm, you pressed your palms against his chest for support, using it as leverage to channel strength through your arms and legs. You moved slowly, adjusting and gaining confidence, while the Warlord remained almost unresponsive. He merely watched, impassive.

"Keep going like that," he encouraged, his golden eyes flickering and glinting in the dim light.

Clearly, with his physical resilience, he wasn't averse to gradually building up the passion. His Adam's apple bobbed, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and the wet sounds of your intimacy exquisitely filled the air.

You sighed and moaned, pressing your forearms against his chest. His warm, steady breath brushed against your face as you descended.

"Are you really in the East Blue just for me?" you asked, panting.

With an arched eyebrow, he remarked, "You certainly have a tendency to choose the most inconvenient times for these discussions, don't you?”

You found his focus on the moment, rather than anything else, both flattering and admirable. "I love to keep things interesting."

You moved your hips with a seductive allure, releasing another moan of pleasure as he answered with a deep, resonant sound.

"You don't want to tell me?”

He looked at you with an inscrutable expression, tightening his hold on your sides to steer your motions. "You have captivated my interest, though I'm sure you were already aware of that."

You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I wasn't certain about that until today, actually."

"I did make myself clear.”

"You mentioned that you don't view me as a plaything, but sometimes a woman needs a little more reassurance. After all, we still don’t know each other that well."

He sighed. "What kind of reassurance are you seeking?"

"What you said earlier... is it true? Do you actually see me as yours? I don't mind, but I thought you valued your freedom.”

He contemplated briefly, his attention drifting away. When he looked back at you, his eyes were as bright and captivating as gemstones. "I am indeed a man who values freedom. But freedom isn’t all about isolation. It means choosing where and with whom I spend my time, and I have chosen you.”

If metaphors could make sounds, your current state would be like your heart dropping with a thud, rolling off the mattress, hitting the floor, knocking the door open, and leaping into the ocean with a loud splash.

Mihawk twitched inside you, his scruffy beard brushing against your cheek as you pressed your face to his once more. "Is that so?"

"Let's get one thing straight: you're not just a mere possession," he declared.

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

"You're not the type of man who would relegate someone like me. Or anyone else, for that matter. I've seen enough to know you're far too honorable for that, Mihawk.”

Mihawk’s eyes softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in the stoic Warlord. "You understand more than most," he conceded, his voice a low rumble.

The warmth of your body increased as you continued to flow up and down. "I want to learn more about you," you admitted. "Not just the legendary swordsman, but the man behind the blade.

"There are parts of me that you wouldn’t like to find out. But if you are truly determined to know, I won't stand in your way.”

"I'm not easily deterred.”

"Good," he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I need someone who can match my pace."

With a resolute gleam in your eyes, you deliberately tightened your muscles around his shaft. "I'm going to do more than just keep up."

He nodded, silently acknowledging your strength and resolve, his arousal twitching in response. "Then let's see where this journey takes us.”

His fingers returned to your chest, tenderly lifting and caressing your breasts, his middle and forefingers framing your nipples. Your clit throbbed with the exquisite friction, the pleasure from his touch sending electrigying jolts straight down.

"Harder now," he instructed. "Let's see how far you can go."

You took a deep breath, spreading your legs wider than you thought possible, allowing him to slide in nearly to the hilt. Despite the protests from your groin, you remained indifferent to it.

"Challenge accepted," you proclaimed, adjusting your stance for swifter motion while maintaining your balance.

You continued relentlessly, ignoring the fire burning in your muscles. You could see him struggling to keep his pelvis still, his knees bending and his lower abdomen hardening like marble as it contracted. You were losing yourself, eyes tightly shut, your voice becoming strained and labored. You gritted your teeth, pushing past the threshold of fatigue, focusing solely on the rhythm and the task before you.

"Don't stop," he uttered, his voice barely audible over your labored breathing. "I want to see you push past your limits.”

With one final burst of effort, you propelled yourself upward again, feeling a sense of triumph as you overcame the barriers that once seemed insurmountable. The room faded away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a shared moment of immense exertion and unyielding determination.

Finally, he intensified his motions, gripping your sides with his strong, calloused hands, his hips meeting yours halfway. Mihawk grew impossibly hard, thick, and on the verge of release inside you. Your body reacted instinctively, driven by an innate desire for pleasure and fulfillment.

He slid his right hand past your thigh directly to your unstimulated clitoris. His thumb grazed it, lifting its hood, and stroking the tip with extreme care and precision. Finally, as your limbs screamed in protest and your entire form trembled with exhaustion, you reached the pinnacle of your endeavor. Your climax left you spent, collapsing against him as your inner walls quivered, pulsed, and held onto him tightly.

His release followed just a few seconds later. Amid spasms, his fingers gripped the back of your head, entwining in your hair and drawing you closer. He didn't break a sweat or make any sounds of gratification, but the way he held you and exhaled through his nose showed just how powerful and satisfying his orgasm was.

He had just settled back against the mattress when he spoke again. "Well done. You truly have it in you.”

The bond you felt with him was unparalleled, and you couldn't bring yourself to pull away as he held you securely against him. The cross knife shifted slightly to the left, letting you rest more comfortably against his heated skin.

It was more than you could have ever imagined; each intimate encounter with Dracule Mihawk outdid the last.

He let go of your hair, his fingers trailing down your back. With a gentle touch, he traced the contours of your scars, finding a quiet comfort in the act. Somehow, Mihawk had developed a keen interest in them, never missing an opportunity to feel them.

Eventually, you disentangled yourself and rolled onto the mattress. He readjusted his clothes, pulling up his trousers and fastening his belt, restoring them to their original state. As he leaned back against the pillow with one arm behind his head, you suppressed a smile, understanding that, against all expectations, he had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

You retrieved your underwear from the floor and slipped it on, keenly aware of his scrutinizing eyes. He tried to conceal it as soon as you returned to the bed beside him— still bare from the waist up, twisting his head and diverting his attention elsewhere.

Considering how composed he typically was, you found that reaction irresistibly endearing.

You stayed there, wrapped in a silence that felt both reassuring and intimate, watching as his long eyelashes gradually drooped, shading his eyes. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, regular cadence, his breath soft and soothing in the quiet room.

You were exhausted, physically drained, as the accumulated tension throughout the day hit you like a ship at full speed. However, you resisted the urge to drift into the world of dreams, for all you wanted was to study his face, committing every little detail to memory before he could slip away.

Mihawk’s beauty was so mesmerizing that you couldn't help but lose yourself in it.

You anticipated Mihawk slipping away in the night, vanishing as quietly as he had appeared. To your surprise and delight, however, you awoke to find the Warlord still beside you in bed the following morning.

Perhaps you were more than just two seafarers crossing paths at inopportune moments, more than mere strangers swept up in fleeting passion. Your mind wandered, conjuring vivid images of a shared future—a life intertwined with his.

While not impossible, you chose to avoid entertaining thoughts that might lead to delusions.

During the night, your leg had draped over his and the sheets had been pulled up to your chest for modesty. Mihawk lay shirtless beside you, his dark hair slightly tousled and fanned out across the pillow.

With Mihawk appearing sound asleep, you exercised utmost caution not to rouse him. With painstaking slowness, you eased yourself off the mattress, the covers slipping to your waist. Poised on the bed's edge, you suppressed a yawn and extended your arms, the crisp morning air accentuating the pleasant ache in your muscles—a reminder of the night's passionate activities. Your fingers kneaded the nape of your neck and combed through your tousled hair as your toes grazed the cool wooden planks below.

Outside, tranquility had descended, the music now silent. Only seagulls' cries and your ship's gentle rocking pierced the quiet. Dawn's golden-orange light flooded the cabin, bathing your skin in a warm, shimmering glow.

Without your knowledge, Mihawk began to wake. As you savored the peaceful atmosphere and the sun's warmth on your face, you remained still. Behind you, the Warlord's eyes traced the outline of your partially nude form against the bed. His gaze lingered on your back, where once-deep gashes had softened into faint lines, before drifting up to your shoulder blades.

A man of few words, Mihawk rarely expressed his thoughts, especially unaccustomed to waking beside such a magnificent presence. Yet, he felt an irresistible urge to voice his feelings as they formed, naturally and genuinely, as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.

His words were like those of an art critic praising a masterpiece.

“You are breathtaking.”

His voice startled you, even more so because you had thought it a figment of your half-asleep imagination. As you turned, pivoting on your pelvis and inadvertently exposing your breasts—perfectly round and bathed in the sun's pastel backlight��you noticed his intense scrutiny. His golden eyes flicked briefly to your nipples before meeting your bewildered expression. He reclined comfortably, waiting without so much as a flinch.

Breathtaking? No one had ever described you that way before. You felt unkempt, your makeup likely smudged and your hair a tangled mess.

Seeing his evident conviction, you bashfully clutched the sheets to cover yourself, letting out a self-conscious chuckle. "Thanks, but I doubt any woman looks breathtaking first thing in the morning."

"I'm not concerned with other women. This is how I perceive you. Do you find that offensive?"

You shook your head, clutching the sheet tighter to your chest. "Not at all. It's just... unexpected."

His voice wrapped around you like a warm embrace. "I only speak the truth, and right now, it demanded to be said."

You swallowed hard, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Summoning your courage, you leaned forward on the mattress and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. You quickly retreated, not wanting to linger and risk any awkwardness.

You hesitated, apprehensive that he might regret his compliment or interpret you as becoming overly attached. Yet, he remained composed, entirely undisturbed by your gesture.

"Good morning, by the way," you said with a cheerful tone.

“Mh.”

Brimming with joy at the start of a wonderful day, you slipped out of bed, wrapping the covers around yourself. After tucking the crop top back into its drawer, you browsed your wardrobe for a fresh outfit. Your choice struck a perfect balance between comfort and style: light pants, a crisp white cotton tank top, and a supple brown leather jacket. This ensemble exuded confidence without being overly provocative—casual yet daring, it accentuated your femininity just as you intended.

At that very moment, you felt gross, sticky, and utterly unpresentable in front of him. Mihawk, however, always looked impeccable regardless of the circumstances. Even in the morning, he appeared as if he had just stepped out of the bath, presenting an exquisite blend of cologne and sea salt, while you were marked by the scents of sweat, blood, and sex.

Despite your current state, Mihawk showed no signs of revulsion or disgust. You realized you might be overthinking, conjuring problems where none existed.

As you entered the washroom and closed the door behind you, your cheeks burned with a fierce blush. You had to let the cool water run for a moment to collect yourself. Euphoria coursed through you, your heart raced wildly, and your legs trembled with growing weakness.

It was novel, peculiar, and unfamiliar, yet it felt natural and couple-like, absolutely perfect.

You cherished that feeling and wanted more—more of those moments, more of him in your life.

Emerging from the washroom, you felt refreshed in your new Loguetown attire. At the bar counter, you spotted Mihawk donning his coat and iconic hat. When you'd offered him a drink before his departure, you hadn't anticipated much. However, his prompt request for black coffee hinted that he might be, slowly but surely, beginning to let his guard down.

Wine and black coffee. It was just a grain of sand, yet undeniably a delightful way to start. You were eager to uncover his other interests, to discover what else brought him joy beyond swordsmanship and combat. You longed to delve into his depths, as if he were the most enthralling tale ever penned or a treasure chest secured by an impenetrable lock.

Sharing breakfast with Mihawk was an unprecedented experience. Between occasional exchanges, he maintained his trademark seriousness and economy of words. You both savored your drinks in comfortable silence, attuned to the distant sounds of the town stirring to life after a night of celebration. The moment felt genuine, and above all else, it felt right.

You were hit by a surprising sense of excitement as he mirrored your actions and disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving you to wash the empty mugs and tidy up. The soft sound of running water hinted at his comfort in sharing your personal space without pretense. He moved through your private quarters, which no other man (not even Isaiah) had entered, as if it were his own domain.

But like all enchanting fairytales, that exhilarating moment was fated to conclude.

As the sun climbed higher, painting the sky from orange to blue, you prepared to depart Mirror Ball Island for headquarters to brief Isaiah on the Neon Mirage events. Watching Mihawk about to disembark made your heart twitch, as you wished to remain with the Warlord all day, all week...

…if not forever.

Notwithstanding all the reassurances he had given you, the question slipped out spontaneously. “Will I see you again?”

"I'm not vanishing off the face of the earth," he replied casually.

“You know what I mean, but okay.”

Mihawk paused, his expression softening as he gazed at you. With fluid elegance, he stepped closer, bridging the gap between you. His fingers delicately traced your jawline before gently cupping your chin between his forefinger and middle finger.

“I will find you,” he said quietly, his voice a low, velvety rumble. “No matter where you are.”

His words carried an undeniable weight, a promise that transcended mere pleasantries. His thumb lingered a moment longer, as if committing the texture of your skin to memory, before he reluctantly withdrew his hand.

"You better," you responded, striving to keep your tone light despite the ache in your heart.

Mihawk’s lips curved into a faint smirk, a well-known countenance that expressed more than words ever could. “Until then,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking with yours one final time.

“Until then,” you echoed, lifting your head to press a quick goodbye kiss to his lips, which he accepted with a low, guttural sound from deep in his throat.

With that, he pivoted on his heels and strode toward the door, his presence commanding and unyielding even in departure. His retreating figure burned itself into your memory. You listened as the door closed and his footsteps faded into the distance, until silence once again enveloped your surroundings.

As you weighed anchor and set sail from Mirror Ball Island, you allowed the sea breeze to guide your vessel away. Mihawk's lingering touch remained a sweet affirmation of the future awaiting you both—a prospect you embraced with absolute thrill.

A week had elapsed, and you stood at a crossroads, finally resolving to reconnect with your family after much internal deliberation. You had been hesitant, wondering how they would react to the recent events involving the World Government and the bounty that had been placed on your head. Even though the charges were no longer in effect, the general public remained unaware of the circumstances behind the incident and your exoneration.

Given your parents' nature, you should have felt confident in their unwavering support and belief in you, regardless of the rumors circulating across the seas. Yet, you couldn't shake your nerves about it, fearing rejection for becoming something they might despise. After all, you had, to some degree, adopted a life akin to that of a pirate.

After several deep breaths, you finally activated your portable transponder snail. Sitting cross-legged on the bed with your back straight, you waited for what felt like an eternity until your father's familiar voice came through the receiver.

Your throat constricted, and tears you'd long held back welled in your eyes. You attempted to respond, to reveal your identity, but only managed a faint, barely audible sound.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

You had been waiting for that moment for so long. How much pain, struggle, and perseverance had it taken to reach it?

Finally, before he could hang up on you, you found the energy to speak. “Dad… it’s me.”

“…Y/N…?”

“Hi.”

"Y/N! Is that really you? My precious girl!!"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, warmed by his enthusiasm. Despite all that had transpired, their love for you remained as strong as the day you'd left home. You chided yourself for ever doubting it, even for a second.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” you said. “I couldn’t risk putting any of you in danger.”

"I understand, sweetheart. I had a feeling that was the case. I'm just so relieved to know you're safe and sound. Thank the heavens!"

“Y/N!!!!!”

Your mother's voice came through the snail, a blend of joy and desperation. She was crying, hiccuping even.

“Hey mom!”

"What on earth happened?? Why did they put that dreadful bounty on your head?!"

You took a deep breath, carefully considering how to share your story without burdening them with distressing details. Despite your efforts to find a gentler way to explain it, the essence remained unchanged in your mind.

And so, you resolved that telling them the truth was simply the best solution. "Listen, I won't lie to you. I did something awful, and they sought to punish me for it. But I swear on everything I hold dear, I had no other choice. It was either my life or his."

You waited, but when no answer came, a wave of panic consumed you.

"You were right about one thing," you continued. "My expectations were flawed from the beginning. I was naïve, stubborn, and deaf to advice. My recklessness left me without berries and supplies. I struggled on the streets until desperation drove me to make a fateful mistake. That's when they caught me."

Your voice quivered, but you took a deep breath to center yourself, resolved not to let past frustrations overwhelm you again.

"They dismissed my account entirely and offered no assistance. For days, I endured starvation and torture until I faced an ultimate threat. Had I not acted decisively at that crucial moment, I wouldn't be alive to share this story with you now."

Just when you thought the call had been disconnected, you heard them exhale on the other end of the line.

"We believe you, sweetheart," your dad said reassuringly. "We've seen how cruel people can be, and we know you well enough to say you wouldn't harm anyone without a valid reason."

A warm smile blossomed on your face as the burden weighing on your heart finally lifted.

"Indeed, honey. And let me tell you, if those bastards dared to lay even a finger on you, then you did the right thing. Hell, if I could, I'd strangle them with my own hands," your mother declared.

"I have no doubt you would, and it would be quite a spectacle to witness."

“But the bounty has been cancelled now, hasn’t it?” she asked. “Does that mean you can come home at last? Because you will, right? It’s far too dangerous for you out there.”

"Actually, I might visit you, but... I'm not coming back home permanently."

You anticipated their disappointment but were surprised by the ease with which you dismissed it. On numerous occasions, you had contemplated abandoning everything, feeling adrift and doubting your suitability for a seafaring life.

However, everything changed dramatically in the blink of an eye.

“You won’t…? But why? You mentioned you were struggling. Are you really okay on your own?”

"Dad, I'm not the person I used to be since you last saw me."

“I suspected as much. And if you're worried that we might not accept you anymore, don't be. You're our daughter, Y/N, our flesh and blood.”

“Your father's right. Even your uncle and cousins are impatient for you to return. Please come home, sweetheart. We won't judge you.”

You sighed, shaking your head even though they couldn't see you. "It's not that. Yes, it’s been tough… but I've finally built a life for myself. One that I actually enjoy. Now that my bounty has been cancelled, I want to make the most of this opportunity.”

A brief silence hung in the air as they contemplated your words. After a moment, your father cleared his throat and spoke again. "But there's something else, isn't there?"

You pondered your options, carefully considering what to share and what to keep to yourself. While it might be too soon to call Mihawk your boyfriend, you felt compelled to express your feelings and provide a clearer picture, especially after all the worry you'd caused your parents in recent months.

Ultimately, you accepted to disclose it. “Yes. I've met someone.”

"So it is true, huh.”

“What is?”

"Well, you know," your mother interjected softly, her voice tinged with shyness. "Rumor has it you've been seen with one of the Warlords of the Sea. What was his name again? Hawk-eye?"

Your jaw dropped in astonishment. "Wait, you've heard about that over there as well?"

"The East Blue might be vast, my dear, but news travels quickly," your father joked.

How could a single sighting of the two of you spark gossip across the entire region? And most importantly, why was it such an important matter that someone felt it was vital to turn it into a worldwide rumor?

It would be pointless to lie about it, and after everything Mihawk had done for you, you had no intention of hiding your connection to him.

"His name is Dracule Mihawk. And before you say anything, you should know he's the reason my bounty was lifted."

Your mother's voice radiated relief. "Oh, truly? So, he's not such a bad lad after all, is he?"

"Do you really think I'd be interested in him if he were anything less than admirable?"

"Aye aye, we understand."

You leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, holding the snail receiver against your ear. “It’s not that I don’t want to come back, but I’ve started to find value in what I do here. And as unbelievable as it may sound, I think he’s someone worth getting to know.”

You could hear the smile in your mother's voice, its warmth resonating through the call. "Well, that's certainly intriguing."

“What do you mean?”

"That is exactly what I said about your father when I first met him."

“Really?”

"Absolutely," your father confirmed. "And look at us now. Your mother's judgment proved correct back then. We trust yours will be too."

Although you would have pursued Mihawk regardless of their stance, your family's approval meant the world to you. Their immediate blessing, based on their trust in your discernment and decision-making, deeply moved you.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“We love you too, honey. Will we see you soon? Even if it's just for a short visit?”

“Soon. I promise.”

Your intention was sincere. While you couldn't manage a trip home within your busy schedule, you were committed to making time for your family with the burden of your bounty finally removed.

Thus, you prolonged the conversation for as long as your journey permitted, treasuring the voices of your loved ones from whom you'd been apart for far too long.

Several more days passed without any sign of Mihawk. This time, however, you felt neither restless nor worried. The Warlord had assured you he would always find you, no matter where you went. You knew with certainty that he never spoke without meaning every word.

As you got ready for your dinner with Isaiah, an invitation extended to celebrate and relax after your recent achievements, you sat in front of your mirror, searching for the perfect look for the night. While you typically didn't favor elegant attires, there were moments when you enjoyed wearing dresses for a change. For this occasion, you opted for a simple gown of silky light blue fabric, featuring spaghetti straps and a mid-length skirt. While the dress offered a generous view of your chest, you made sure it provided enough coverage to maintain your dignity, as you had no desire to flaunt your assets. The skirt wasn't tight or overly large, either. It flowed gracefully as you walked or when caught by the wind, yet it remained secure enough to avoid lifting excessively and exposing anything you'd prefer to keep hidden.

After finishing your hair and makeup, you scrutinized your reflection, turning your head from side to side and nodding in satisfaction of your work. You were especially meticulous about your looks, a habit formed from frequently disguising yourself and perfecting your image.

It's not as if you were heading out on an intimate date. It was a laid-back evening with your best friend at a public restaurant, just the kind of distraction you needed once in a while. You didn't have to impress him or anyone else, you just wanted to feel good about your appearance for your own sake. It was your means of self-expression, especially now that you no longer had to conceal it in fear of a potential ambush around the corner.

Choosing the ideal jewelry to complete your outfit was your favorite part. Rummaging through your beauty box, you pulled out a few accessories and arranged them neatly on the table before you. Over the months, you had amassed an impressive collection of tokens, each one carrying a value that transcended its monetary worth.

After careful consideration, you set aside the jewelry that clashed with your dress. You closed the box and returned it to its hiding place—a secret compartment beneath the floorboards by your bed. You selected a choker made of thin, light grey chamois-like cord with a piece of sea glass, a silver chain necklace with a coin pendant featuring a wave carving, a leather wrap bracelet adorned with an aquamarine stone, a macramé band with a few iridescent pearls, and a shimmering gold cuff with swirling engraved patterns for the other wrist.

And without fail, you always wore the ring you'd taken from that island on the day you first encountered Mihawk, the moment that sparked the magic between you. Its golden band and emerald stone reminded you of the Warlord, and once you began wearing it, you found it nearly impossible to take off. It was one of those items tied to a particular memory, so rich in sentimental value that its rarity in gold and crystal seemed negligible in comparison.

You ended up parting with many of the precious belongings you had collected, as none of them ever held much significance for you. That ring was your most treasured possession, so precious that anyone attempting to take it would have to sever your finger to claim it.

As per tradition, Isaiah was punctual, never once missing an appointment or arriving late. His dedication and attention to detail were among the qualities you admired most in him. Upon seeing you, Isaiah was awestruck by your beauty, expressing his appreciation in his usual respectful and gallant manner. It was obvious that he still found you physically attractive, but he never attempted to cross the boundaries you had set.

While you couldn’t deny Isaiah's attractive features, your feelings for him remained purely platonic.

The restaurant had a bit of a crowd, though the seating was spaced well apart. He secured an outside spot, where the ocean breeze softly played with your hair, just a few miles from the shore. The ambiance felt cozy and inviting, with strings of lanterns suspended above, linked to a delicate cotton canopy.

The food was spectacular, offering a variety of meats, fish, side dishes, and some of the most incredible desserts you had ever seen or tasted. As the sun set and stars filled the sky, your conversations with Isaiah spanned from work-related topics to the silliest of jokes. You laughed and savored the joyful moment, a glass of wine in hand to cap off the wonderful dinner.

It was a relief to finally be free, no longer seeing your face plastered on posters all over the walls. You were living the life you had dreamed of when you left your hometown: earning a decent amount of money through hard work (even if the job was different from what you had envisioned), exploring various places around the East Blue (and maybe even beyond someday), meeting diverse people and races, and savoring the little things without a single worry in the world.

In the end, weathering that storm brought you more than you could have ever anticipated: a cherished friend, newfound inner strength and resilience, and an extraordinary man who occupied your thoughts constantly.

Despite your efforts to banish his image from your mind, you found yourself missing Mihawk every day. You ached for his sharpness, his cool demeanor, and those captivating golden eyes. The memory of his touch, his unique scent, and the strength of his embrace haunted your senses. His words echoed in your head, those unexpected, heartfelt compliments where he called you breathtaking—leaving an indelible mark on your heart.

You longed to know him more deeply, see him more often, engage in more conversations, and spend more time together.

If only you had known that the object of your affection was observing you from a distance, narrowing his eyes at the way you laughed and smiled with the guy across from you, even leaning in to exchange whispers. You were oblivious to the fury that consumed him, to how it rankled him to see you so carefree with someone other than himself.

Dracule Mihawk, the Warlord known for his calm and detached attitude, reduced to an impatient fool driven to disrupt it all.

Oh, things were just about to get interesting.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Isaiah ventured after a brief pause. “I hope this doesn’t sound inappropriate.”

With a warm smile, you set your half-empty glass down and settled back comfortably in your chair. "I know."

“You do…?”

"Come on, Isaiah. You've been tense for days now. This is about the rumors concerning me and Dracule Mihawk, isn't it? You were going to ask me the night before I left for Mirror Ball Island."

After a moment of surprise, Isaiah chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “Of course. I should have realized you were sharper than that.”

You gave a casual shrug. "Let's clear the air, then. The rumors you've heard are definitely true."

He choked on his wine, pounding his chest with his fist and erupting into a series of rough coughs.

“Are you okay?”

"Y-yes, I apologize," he sputtered. "I didn't expect you to confirm it so bluntly."

"Would you have believed me if I had denied it?"

“I mean, I guess?”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the salty air to fill your lungs. Amid the briny scent, you detected a whiff of something unmistakable, a fragrance that could only belong to one person.

Strange. Evidently you were truly beginning to fixate too much on it.

"You deserve to know the truth, Isaiah. There's no point in deceiving you about this."

“So… you and Dracule Mihawk, hey? Are you two a couple?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what we are. We haven’t spent much time together. The Marines sent him to hunt me down, whether I was dead or alive—it made no difference to them.”

He gulped nervously. “That would explain why the World Government let you go bounty-free overnight. You must be important to him if he managed to convince those bastards to give up on you.”

“I suppose, yeah.”

“And... I take it he’s the real reason things have changed between us?”

You nibbled on your lower lip. "Well..."

Isaiah offered a gentle smile. “No worries, I’m not upset or anything. I know I could never match up to someone like him. Honestly, I really value what we have right now.”

“Me too. It feels like we've grown even closer than we were before.”

“True, I believe that as well!”

Your relationship with Isaiah had evolved remarkably quickly. Despite your past intimate encounters, there was no awkwardness or discomfort between you. Your connection felt natural and unencumbered by expectations or possessiveness. You had seamlessly transitioned into a friendship built on mutual respect and a thriving work partnership, leaving behind any remnants of your previous physical involvement.

"I'm curious, though," Isaiah inquired. "How did he approach you? You didn't actually fight him, did you?"

"If I had, I'd be sashimi by now."

Isaiah snickered. "A very cute sashimi, I dare say."

"Ew."

"Okay, yeah, that's pretty disturbing. I swear I haven't developed any weird fetishes."

You burst into laughter, amused by the look of sudden revulsion on his face.

“Anyway, I just can't fathom how someone like him would let anyone walk away unscathed. Granted, you are a woman, but…”

You nodded. "He pursued me relentlessly. We'd cross paths frequently, and he'd chase me without fail. I'd always manage to slip away, and for a while, I found it exhilarating. But as time passed, I began to suspect there was more to this dance than met the eye."

Isaiah listened intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "He never truly intended to capture or kill you."

You shook your head. "No. It seems he had no better way to occupy his time, and I gradually piqued his interest. He ultimately decided to let me go, completely disregarding the Marines' orders."

“It makes sense. He may be a Warlord of the Sea now, but he was once a pirate who took the lives of many authorities.”

“Yeah.”

Before leaving your island, you knew absolutely nothing about Mihawk or his reputation. You naively believed the Marines were purely benevolent, devoted to upholding peace and justice for the innocent. Consequently, you would have loathed someone like Mihawk or any pirate engaged in questionable activities. You were blissfully ignorant, trapped in an illusory world that never truly existed.

Reality wasn't simply black and white. Among pirates, one could find both villains and heroes, just as the ranks of Marines harbored numerous dubious characters.

“So, what’s it really like being involved with Dracule Mihawk? I’ve heard so many stories about him. Some say he’s as cold as ice, others claim he’s ruthlessly unforgiving. How do you even manage to deal with someone like that?”

Based on your observations, Mihawk was a formidable force in combat. He showed no quarter to those who dared challenge him or disrupt his peace. Yet, he wasn't one to take lives needlessly. At times, he would merely threaten his foes with his blade, allowing them to flee and spread tales of his prowess—a testament to his calculated approach to conflict.

While Mihawk wasn't known for his compassion, his sense of honor rivaled any act of kindness.

Then there was that hidden side only you had witnessed—his refined tastes and that romantic streak he struggled to express, yet which never failed to make your heart soar.

Your smile widened as you prepared to respond, but the moment you glanced up, your gaze locked with those unmistakable hawk-like eyes. The Warlord had materialized behind your best friend, his approach silent and stealthy.

"I mean, it must be something extraordinary if a man like that is interested in you,” Isaiah continued, oblivious to Mihawk’s imposing presence just a centimeter behind him.

Mihawk's face was partially hidden by the brim of his hat, his piercing eyes fixed on the back of Isaiah's head with such intensity it seemed as if they eyes could drill holes through it. You struggled to contain your laughter, finding the absurdity of the situation strangely amusing.

“Isaiah—”

“You’ve got to have nerves of steel to handle Dracule Mihawk. What’s he like when he’s not swinging that big sword of his around?”

Unable to respond, you covered your mouth with one hand in a futile attempt to stifle your laughter. Despite your efforts, the chuckles escaped, bubbling up irrepressibly.

Mihawk, now impossible to ignore, spoke in his characteristically calm and measured tone. "Perhaps it would be wiser to ask the man himself, wouldn't you agree?"

Isaiah froze, his eyes widening as he slowly turned to face Mihawk's imposing figure. Tension crackled in the air as the Warlord scrutinized your friend with an enigmatic stance. For a brief instant, time seemed to stand still, the two men locked in a silent, intense exchange.

And then, taken by a sudden wave of dread, Isaiah stammered. “M-Mihawk??!! I-I didn’t realize you were…”

Mihawk inclined his head slightly, a subtle smirk curling on his lips. "Clearly.”

A light, melodic laugh escaped your lips as you reached out, gently placing your hand on Mihawk's arm while rising from your seat."Relax, he's just curious. There's nothing to be concerned about."

Mihawk's eyes softened as he regarded you. The warm glow of the lanterns bathed his face in a beautiful orange hue, smoothing his features that had seemed tense upon arrival. "Curiosity can be a perilous thing," he remarked, his voice low but tinged with humor. "Especially when it involves discussing matters best kept private.”

Visibly flustered, Isaiah hastily stood up and placed some cash on the table to cover the bill. "Yes, of course. I should, uh, probably get going. It was nice catching up with you, Y/N.”

Guilt gnawed at your chest as you witnessed Isaiah's discomfort. He had graciously invited you to dinner, intending to treat you, but now felt obliged to depart due to Mihawk's imposing aura.

"No, wait, don't go."

Isaiah shot a nervous look at Mihawk before hastily retreating, offering you a shaky laugh and a wave. As he departed, he mouthed the words "Holy fucking shit," his astonishment at Mihawk’s blade unmistakable.

Even in such a situation, Isaiah still acted like his usual goofball self. You watched him leave, almost tripping over his feet, with a few more giggles shaking you up.

"Do you find this amusing?" Mihawk asked, his golden eyes boring into you with razor-sharp intensity.

“Will you hold it against me if I admit that I do?”

“I’m not accustomed to being a source of entertainment.”

“You should take it as a compliment,” you stated. “Not many people can make me laugh like this.”

"So, I’m competing with a jester now?”

“Oh, please. He’s not a jester, and there’s no contest here anyway.”

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, which heightened your joyous mood even more. “I suppose I will allow it. Just this once.”

With a satisfied sigh, you motioned for him to sit. Mihawk gracefully took the vacant seat opposite you (carefully positioning his blade to avoid any contact with the chair's back), his right hand resting on the table. "But I don’t take kindly to those who dare crossing the line.”

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Have you forgotten what I said?"

“Wha—”

"I have little patience for those who challenge the boundaries of what belongs to me."

"No one touches what’s mine and lives to tell the tale.”

“No one touches what’s mine.”

Could it be that he interpreted your outing as a date behind his back? Was Dracule Mihawk actually feeling jealous over a man he had completely misjudged?

You tilted your head, studying him. The protective tone in his words was both endearing and slightly concerning. "Mihawk," you began softly, "Isaiah is a good friend and an important merchant for my deals. He means no harm, and he definitely poses no threat to you or our relationship.”

His eyes met yours, searching intently as if probing the depths of your sincerity. "Perhaps," he acquiesced, though a trace of skepticism lingered in his voice. "But I’m not someone who likes to share.”

His words struck you with the force of a tempest, churning your stomach into knots. You found yourself swallowing hard, bracing for a follow-up that never came.

You reached out and gently clasped his hand, your touch tender and affectionate. Mihawk, however, remained motionless, neither returning the gesture nor pulling away."And what makes you think that I’d want to be shared?"

A profound silence settled between you, laden with unspoken thoughts. His hand remained stationary beneath yours, mirroring the very essence of the man himself.

After a momentous pause, his voice emerged. "That wasn't my implication."

You squeezed his hand. "Honestly, no one could ever replace you, and I have no desire to let anyone even try."

His fingers twitched subtly, his thumb grazing the emerald embedded in your ring. Mihawk's stoic nature often made him difficult to read, yet his inscrutable persona was an integral part of his charm.

Eventually, Mihawk withdrew his hand and stood up. "We should continue this discussion in a more private setting," he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.

Perplexed, you watched as he moved closer, firmly grasping your upper arm to assist you in standing.

"What are you doing?”

“Follow me.”

You had little choice but to accompany him as he led you decisively, his grip controlled yet insistent. An indescribable air surrounded him, compelling your compliance. Your heels clicked on the pavement as you traversed the streets, until he guided you around a corner.

His push was somewhat unsettling, hinting at a degree of frustration. The alley was cloaked in shadows, with only a few dim lights scattered around. You found yourself pressed against a wall, palms flat on its warm, rough surface. Mihawk drew closer, enveloping you with his arms, his hand gliding along your hip from behind.

It was uncharacteristic for him. Mihawk had always exuded composure, so why did it now appear as though he was unveiling a side of himself that seemed foreign?

"What's come over you?"

Mihawk exhaled softly, his warm breath caressing your ear as he whispered, "Did you truly believe I wouldn't notice the way you were looking at him?"

His question hung in the air, its razor-sharp edge sending a shiver down your spine. The alley seemed to constrict around you, shadows pressing closer as his words echoed in your mind.

"What? I wasn't looking at him that way at all."

“Is that so?”

His hold on your hip intensified, a gentle reminder of his strength without inflicting any discomfort. "Is this how you dress when you're meeting him?"

"No, and I'll tell you straight up; I dressed like this for myself, not for anyone else."

His warm breath ghosted over your skin. "Are you suggesting there was never anything between you two?"

“I—”

"Be truthful with me."

Denying or dismissing everything would have been futile; Mihawk wouldn't have believed you. You worried he might think you had been deceitful from the beginning, even though there was no reason to conceal something that happened long ago. Mihawk was the sole man who truly enthralled you, and you longed for him to understand this with absolute certainty.

"Okay, I'll be honest. There was something between us in the past. But Mihawk, whatever I had with Isaiah is long over and done with."

His fingers curled around the fabric of your dress, slowly lifting the hem as his hand grasped the light material. For a moment, he remained silent, the atmosphere heavy as you tried to decipher his thoughts. Your skirt inched higher up your thighs under his touch, and Mihawk finally released a low, contemplative hum. Despite his usual air of unwavering confidence and absolute control, a flicker of uncertainty now rippled through his calmness.

"You have an uncanny ability to catch me off guard," he admitted, his voice softer now, though a hint of anger could still be preceived. "It's... disconcerting."

While part of you felt anxious about him exposing your body on a public street where anyone could appear at any moment, you couldn't deny that the risk added an exhilarating thrill to the situation.

“Me? Catching Dracule Mihawk off guard? Now that's a tale worth telling.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, a little smile tugging at his lips despite the persisting trace of resentment. "Don’t be too proud of yourself. It’s not a common occurrence.”

"Well, maybe I should write it down for posterity.”

"Careful there," he warned playfully. "I might just make sure that tale never leaves your lips.”

You chuckled, feeling the tension melt away, replaced by a warm intimacy. "I wouldn't dream of it," you teased, tilting your head to meet his eyes. "But in all seriousness, Mihawk, I like keeping you on your toes.”

His hand traversed from your side to your front, deftly slipping beneath your dress and into your underwear. The unexpected touch sent a shiver of bliss through you, eliciting a soft gasp as his fingers circled your clit with gentle precision.

"Don’t push your luck too far. Even I have my limits.”

“L-limits? You?”

“They may be harder to reach than most.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his fingers caressed your nub, intensifying their strokes before moving down to your entrance. They slid inside, expertly locating that sensitive spot just behind your front wall, pressing and scissoring. You felt his unmistakable hardness against you through his trousers as he ground himself against your body, seeking a moment's relief.

"Well, there's certainly something harder right now."

Despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to resist blurting out such awkward lines.

“You’re serious.”

"I know, that was awful," you admitted with a sheepish smile. "But you can't deny its accuracy."

"You may have a point," he acknowledged, pulling you closer as his warmth enveloped your back. "But let's attend to more pressing matters now, shall we?"

At that moment, you realized that Dracule Mihawk was capable, in very rare instances, of indulging in similarly dreadful humor.

"And here I thought my jokes were bad. It seems I'm rubbing off on you in all the wrong ways."

"You've underestimated your influence on me," he replied, his tone dry as ever yet infused with languidness. "It seems even the world's greatest swordsman can't fully resist your wit."

His fingers moved again, sliding in and out, creating a symphony of indecent sounds that you hoped wouldn't carry too far.

"Ah—So, you're saying I've corrupted you?" you managed, your voice breathy.

"You've merely unveiled a side of me that few have ever seen, myself included."

A warm flutter filled your chest at his words, recognizing the rarity of such lighthearted moments from the Warlord.

His coat was long and ample, draping forward to shield you from watchful eyes. The alley seemed utterly deserted, with the distant sounds of locals and tourists drifting in from the restaurant, nearby houses, or the beach. You jolted with unease whenever footsteps approached, only for them to fade away elsewhere.

Despite the risqué aspect of the situation, you yearned for him to escalate things further. It echoed the events on Mirror Ball Island, but with roles reversed and an added surge of adrenaline.

You strained your neck, reaching over to press your lips against his. This time, Mihawk returned the gesture, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth as he deepened the kiss.

His distinctive scent wafted through the air moments before he appeared behind Isaiah. It was unclear how long Mihawk had been waiting to reveal himself, but there he stood, watching you—the woman who had captured his interest—as you laughed and chatted with another man.

If you had seen Mihawk with a different woman, you would have been blindly furious and struggled to control your impulses. You would have charged in with all the subtlety of an elephant, yanked the lady out of her seat by her hair, and disregarded her or anyone else's reaction. In hindsight, Mihawk had displayed far more politeness and restraint than you ever could have mustered.

"I'm being completely honest with you," you emphasized. "There's absolutely nothing going on between Isaiah and me."

Mihawk's scrutiny returned, now devoid of any annoyance. "I don't doubt your loyalty," he clarified.

Your forefinger delicately traced the contours of his face, traversing as his coarse beard bristled against your skin.“Really? Because It's very important to me that you don't.”

"My concern isn't with you," he assured you. "But he would do well not to test my patience on this matter."

You smiled, brushing your forehead against the bridge of his nose. “He won’t. He’s not that type of man. Besides, I’m sure he got the message loud and clear tonight.”

"I can make it even more effective."

“Absolutely, but please don't. He's a decent guy and not really one for fighting.”

“Mh.”

His hand resumed its earlier motion, his fingertips now tracing your clit with fervor. The slick friction felt even more exquisite this time, quickening your breath and making your legs tremble.

The urgency of the situation, combined with his evident arousal, made it clear you wouldn't last much longer. It was remarkable how quickly he could undo you, setting your pulse racing and igniting every nerve, making your your body come alive.

You reached behind his head, arching your back slightly to convey your intention. "This is great, but why don't you take me now?"

With a raised eyebrow, he gazed deeply into your eyes, his own smoldering with recognition of your growing desire. "Are you really that eager for me?"

"You're the one who initiated this."

He took his fingers out and spread your wetness, assessing your readiness. "Hmm. You're certainly primed," he observed.

Without hesitation, you slid your hand down to his pants, slipping it into the narrow space between his front and your backside. You gently squeezed, feeling his hardness as your fingers encircled the base, still constrained by his clothing.

As was his custom, Mihawk released a quiet breath through his nose. The metallic click of his belt unbuckling reached your ears, followed by the soft rustle of his trousers sliding down his hips. You guided your touch without sight, bringing your fingers up until they met the smooth, heated skin of his tip. A wave of stiffness swept through the nerves in your neck and shoulders, twisting your bent elbow and wrist. You anticipated the next day's soreness, yet felt no regret for your current actions.

Mihawk's passion commanded as he guided your hand along his length in a slow, measured stroke. His fingers left your core, trailing downward to grasp the edge of your panties.

It was a dangerous game, yet you were powerless to resist its enticement.

“Please, hurry," you pleaded, widening your stance to grant him better access.

You had never envisioned yourself engaging in such intimate acts in public, vulnerable to potential onlookers. Yet with Mihawk, even the most inconceivable scenarios blossomed into extraordinary escapades.

"If you want me to continue, be aware that I won't stop, no matter what happens."

Were you truly ready to be intimate like this, knowing he would persist even if passersby appeared?

Undoubtedly.

"It’s fine, go ahead. I'm ready. Just make it quick."

Silence fell between you as Mihawk shifted your undergarments, exposing you beneath the partially lifted dress. With a strong pull, he guided you into position, angling your body for optimal alignment. He entered you in one fluid motion, causing you to squirm with your palms pressed firmly against the wall.

The sensation was divine. He filled you entirely, his perfect fit stimulating every sensitive spot inside you. You let out a sigh as you kept yourself from moaning out loud, clenching your inner muscles whenever he thrust in and out of your body.

This time, however, there was a change in Mihawk's movements—a nuance absent from previous encounters. Though barely noticeable, a trace of suppressed irritation seemed to drive his actions, as if he were expressing his discontent through the act in his own sophisticated way.

And that dynamic perfectly matched with your needs.

He quickened his pace, undulating his pelvis more aggressively, precision giving way to frenzy. Your eyes closed as the salty breeze carried the mingled scents of the town and Mihawk's distinctive aroma to your lungs.

His fingers found your sensitive bud once more, caressing and teasing it just how you both savored it. Waves of pleasure traveled along your body, causing your hand to fly from the wall to his elbow.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Tell me, has anyone else ever made you feel this way?"

"What's brought this on?" you asked, breathless.

His possessive streak surfaced. "Has your precious Isaiah ever satisfied you like this?"

“Jeez, Mihawk. I don’t—”

“Answer my question.”

Who could have predicted that a casual dinner with a friend would spark such an emotional journey?

You hesitated to compare two such different men, but Mihawk's persistence left you no alternative. It was clear he expected a specific response, and wouldn't accept your reluctance to answer.

Finally, you yielded. "No, he hasn't. No man ever has."

"Excellent. Keep that in mind."

A tingling sensation spread through your limbs as your entire form surrendered to his touch. Rushes of pure euphoria radiated from your belly, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

His impressive size and raw power were utterly disarming. The constant sounds of skin meeting skin, the wet noises of intimacy, and the symphony of heavy breaths and soft groans created the most exquisite melody you'd ever heard. Mihawk was unparalleled, and you couldn't envision a future with anyone else but him.

Just as you thought you could hold on, a precise pinch to your clit shattered your resolve. Your climax erupted, shaking you from head to toe as you struggled to stay upright. A moan escaped your lips, echoing off the alley walls, but you were beyond caring at that point. The only thing that mattered was your absolute rapture.

Mihawk continued, his fingers never ceasing their massage of your clit as his hips maintained their ravenous pace.

He reached his release only after a few more thrusts, joining you at the pinnacle of pleasure. With each pulse, he exhaled softly into your hair, and his well-honed physique exhibited faint tremors.

And then it was over, your face flushed from the exertion, the air around you feeling hotter and more stifling. As he withdrew, straightening your back felt like you were a nonagenarian, with your joints creaking and muscles protesting in agony.

You took a moment to catch your breath and compose yourself, while Mihawk adjusted his attire with his usual nonchalance. You fixed your undergarments and smoothed your dress back into place, your gestures discreet yet elegant. Your hair had become slightly disheveled, so you ran your fingers through it, sweeping it back and away from your face.

Once you finished tidying yourself, looking somewhat more presentable, you pivoted on your heels and leaned against the wall, folding your arms across your chest. Mihawk gave the lapels of his coat a light tug, meeting your eyes once more with a smoldering ardor you hadn't seen before. His hat stayed perfectly positioned atop his head, its white feather still impeccably in place.

The simple exchange of glances held an undeniable magnetism. Your lips curved into a mischievous grin, your breathing still quickened from the passionate interlude. Decisively, you pushed yourself off the wall and grasped the strings of his golden cross knife, using them to pull him forcefully towards you, his body yielding to your bold impulse.

As your eyes landed on the emerald adorning your ring, you were struck by its uncanny resemblance to the stone set at the end of Yoru's hilt. It was purely coincidental, yet the fact that you could associate this precious finding with him in multiple ways didn't surprise you.

Some connections are forged by fate, as if preordained by the universe itself. Though it might have been overly sentimental or an exaggeration, Mihawk was giving you every reason to believe you could wish for more.

“I hope this goes both ways. Because I'm not one for sharing either,” you asserted. "After all, I doubt anyone else could handle you quite like I do."

Mihawk repositioned one of your dress straps, sliding it back into place as it had partially slipped off your shoulder. It was simple and spontaneous, likely done without much deliberation. Yet, you found it incredibly heartwarming.

"Your assessment is correct," he stated. "And I have no interest in pursuing this elsewhere."

"Then we're on the same page."

A ghost of a smirk played at the corners of Mihawk's lips as his hand settled back on your waist.

"Though maybe next time, let’s not scare my friend half to death,” you suggested.

"I make no guarantees," he replied, his tone unapologetic.

Your lips found his in a soft kiss that spoke volumes without a single word—a silent vow from which Mihawk was unable to break away.

Ultimately, the Warlord had effectively succeeded in his task; you had fallen irrevocably into his grasp, never to be relinquished.

And unbeknownst to you, there was so much more to come, in ways you could only glimpse in your wildest imagination.

Author's final note: Phew, this one was quite spicy. The next chapter will include less smut and some more relationship development. Also, unless something else comes to mind, chapter 8 should align with the events from the liveaction/anime/manga.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 7 ->

#Hone piece liveaction #one piece #opla #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #opla mihawk x reader

64 notes · View notes

rainbowmoonstonestories · 23 days ago

Text

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

Tagging: @gg-trini, @commanderfreethatdust, @canthebest1, @shakysif, @i-am-vita. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the future chapters, feel free to drop me a comment!

Read on AO3

As time progressed, the distance between you and Mihawk became increasingly frustrating to maintain. Concurrently, despite your bounty being cancelled, potential risks from undisclosed parties may still persist.

Author's note: It's hard to believe we're in 2025 already. The story is flowing well, and I expect the first part to conclude within the next chapter or two. I had planned to include an important scene with a major OP character in this update, but space constraints prevented it. I'll incorporate it in the next chapter alongside other plot developments.

The second part shouldn't be particularly long, but I want to write about daily life on Kuraigana Island. This means readers who haven't read the manga or watched the anime will encounter some spoilers. Since we don't know how many seasons the live-action will cover, it might take years before they film that storyline.

I wish you all a wonderful 2025!

You awoke to birds chirping, their gentle whistles drawing you back to reality. When you opened your eyes, sunlight streamed directly into them, causing you to squint and roll away from the harsh rays onto the cool grass.

Upon discovering Mihawk's departure, a sense of melancholy settled over you. His solemn promise lingered in your thoughts, accompanied by memories of ardent kisses and gentle touches. The previous evening had marked a significant development in your relationship; you had simply held each other, finding peace and contentment in a quiet embrace with no need for anything more.

Though naturally reserved, Mihawk revealed his softer side in private through subtle gestures of intimacy and affection. His tenderness emerged in the way he welcomed your presence and left thoughtful gifts on your pillow—each action carrying the same quiet precision that defined his character.

An involuntary sigh escaped your lips as his absence weighed heavily upon your consciousness. Yet you chose to trust his resolve, hoping he would return before the ache of separation could truly take hold.

You pushed yourself up from the ground, stretching to shake off the last traces of sleep. Making your way down the hill toward the village, you noticed townspeople already bustling between the harbor and main streets. Fresh fish scented the air while seagulls wheeled overhead, and the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls echoed off the surrounding walls. You'd nearly forgotten the vitality of your homeland during these early dawn hours.

Life had a peculiar way of shifting perspectives. Not long ago, you would have given anything to return home and forget your dream of adventure, one that had twisted into a nightmare of betrayal and deceit. Now you found yourself unwilling to stay, unable to give up the life at sea you had built through hard work, determination, and sacrifice.

A life with the ocean breeze blowing through your hair, and Dracule Mihawk by your side.

Mary-Ann visited the tavern in the early afternoon, choosing the quiet lull for an intimate conversation. Since your arrival, moments alone together had been extremely rare, and she craved the kind of private chat that only two best friends, separated by time and distance, could finally have.

The tavern was comfortably warm, wisps of steam curling up from your drinks. Mary-Ann sat in thoughtful silence, choosing her next words carefully.

"So, I heard something interesting this morning," she said, sipping her tea with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh? Do tell," you replied with a smile.

"Your boyfriend came all this way just to see you, didn’t he? What a shame I wasn't here to meet him in person."

You pursed your lips and cast a suspicious glance at your cousin, who was casually wiping down tables nearby. "Runa told you, didn't she?"

Mary-Ann shrugged. "You know how she is. She said he's quite the handsome fellow. And judging by those old bounty posters, I'd say she's absolutely right."

“I mean—”

"You're not going to deny it, are you?" she teased. "Go on, don't stop on my account."

A wider grin tugged at your lips as thoughts of the Warlord drifted through your mind once more. "He's gorgeous, Mary-Ann. Breathtakingly so. But that's not the main reason I care for him."

"I bet. You've always been able to look beyond the surface. When I first heard the rumors about you two, I was skeptical… after all, he has quite the reputation. And those eyes of his..."

"Trust me, I was terrified when I first realized he was pursuing me."

Mary-Ann froze with her mug suspended in mid-air, unblinking. "Wait, he was?"

“Crazy, right?”

She sighed, setting the beverage down on the table. "Damn, sweetie. You've been through quite a journey out there."

"That's putting it mildly."

Her cheerful expression faded as a shadow crossed her face, giving way to a more serious tone. "So, he was chasing you because the Marines ordered him to? How did you get from there to this?"

You chuckled. "I honestly don't know. It just... happened naturally. Mihawk was never truly interested in capturing or killing me, he was fascinated by what I'd accomplished."

Her eyebrow arched impossibly high. "Seriously? Everyone says Dracule Mihawk is heartless and a savage on the battlefield."

"That's what I thought too. But believe me, he's the very reason I'm sitting here with you today."

She nodded. "Right, because he got your bounty cancelled. Runa told me about that too."

"Can't that girl keep anything to herself?"

Mary-Ann shook her head with a smile. "Can you really blame her for being excited?"

“Not really, but…”

The atmosphere grew heavy as Mary-Ann's face tensed, her gaze holding the weight of a thousand unspoken concerns as her lips formed a straight line.

"You disappeared for weeks, Y/N, and we had no idea where you'd gone. Then suddenly we learned the World Government wanted you dead. Can you imagine how terrified I was for you?"

“I—”

"Look, I don't mean to sound harsh," she cut in. “I know it was difficult, and I understand why you couldn't reach out to us after that. But every day, I dreaded hearing news of your execution. I would break down in tears just thinking about it."

You had feared your family and friends would see you as just another wayward criminal lost to the sea, someone who could only disappoint them for committing what seemed like an unpardonable act. You were terrified to reach out, knowing the Marines could track any communication and endanger your loved ones. Yet you had failed to consider the most crucial aspect: how intensely frightened they all would be for your safety.

Your shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry, Mary-Ann. I know I've caused you all so much worry."

"I'm not blaming you, I know it wasn’t your fault. Though I have to admit, I spent a long time being angry that you chose such a dangerous dream."

Your eyes flickered as you fidgeted with your hands in your lap. "Actually, there were times when I regretted my decision."

Mary-Ann's warm smile returned as she settled in her chair. "If I were in your shoes, I couldn't have endured that alone. The way you found the courage to stand on your own, without support… it's truly admirable. I'm just so grateful you didn't give up."

“Why?”

She looked at you thoughtfully, her face glowing in the warm sunlight. "Because I've never seen you this happy before."

Oh.

"Whatever people say about Mihawk, I trust your judgment. And seeing how much you like this guy, I'm certain he's not the mindless World Government’s lapdog that everyone makes him out to be.

Your fingers reached for the cross pendant, subconsciously toying with it. "No. He's complex and contemplative, far more than just empty words and violence. He's direct, honest, and believes in me more than I've ever believed in myself."

Mary-Ann sipped her now-cold tea with a satisfied hum. "You spent time with him last night, didn't you?"

“Yeah.”

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Nothing, actually. We just slept."

She propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. "Slept, sure."

"Is that really any of your business?" you asked with a playful smirk.

"You're my best friend, of course it is."

"Well, you're in for a disappointment; we really did just sleep. Get your mind out of the gutter."

“Mhh.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. "But that's not all you've done together, is it?"

"Nope, not going there."

"Come on, spill!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “With his fierce prowess in battle, I bet he's just as wild in the bedroom—"

"Oh for fuck's sake. Stop it!"

She erupted into laughter, clutching her stomach and nearly toppling backward in her chair. Her booming voice echoed through the tavern so powerfully you worried she might shake the rafters loose.

"You should see your face right now. You're as red as your mother's tomato soup!"

"Well, who do I have to thank for that?"

"Alright, alright. My apologies. I can see you'd rather not discuss those details."

"For good reason,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “I never ask you about your husband’s performance during sex, do I?"

"Ah, I'd be happy to tell you all about it. You see, there's this special thing he does with his ton—"

You waved your hands frantically. "No, no, please. I'm perfectly fine not knowing. I'd rather be able to look him in the eye without any disturbing mental images."

Mary-Ann dissolved into uncontrollable giggling, just like in the old days. Wiping tears of joy from her eyes, she finally caught her breath and composed herself. "I didn't realize how much I've missed this."

“I missed it too.”

"But not enough to make you want to stay, right?"

You released a gentle sigh, tilting your head. "It's not that I don't want to."

"I understand. Your heart belongs to the sea now… and to Dracule Mihawk."

Lost in thought, you gazed through the window at the pristine sky above. The salty scent of the ocean had become part of your essence, clinging to your skin and dancing on your lips no matter how much you washed or what foods and drinks you tasted. And the distinctive aroma of the man you had fallen in love with, like the finest spice in a gourmet kitchen, had woven itself into your being, remaining a constant presence in your life.

"Yes," you whispered, blinking back tears before they could fall. "It does."

The seven days spent in your homeland proved transformative, offering insights into aspects of life previously overlooked. This period of reflection facilitated personal rediscovery, lending new perspective to familiar routines and emphasizing the importance of rest. The nurturing presence of family and friends served as a powerful source of rejuvenation for your spirit.

Runa struggled the most with your impending parting, retreating to her room the moment she noticed your packed belongings. After half an hour of coaxing, she finally opened the door, her face tear-stained, her breath hitching with crying.

"Why do you have to go?" she asked, curling into a ball on her bed. "Why did you have to meet that Warlord?"

"Runa, it's not that simple," you said softly, placing a gentle hand on her knee. "I have a whole life waiting for me; a job, someone counting on my services, and so many places still to explore."

"But it's so dangerous out there!"

"I can’t deny that, Ru. But I know you're mature enough to understand why I need to follow this path."

"No," she sniffled. "I know why you want to go, but I just can't make sense of it. Why risk your life when you could be safe and comfortable? It's not like you're planning to sail the Grand Line."

You hesitated, unable to find the right words to offer. The idea of venturing further had been growing in your mind—a chance to push beyond familiar waters. Though the East Blue was vast, you felt you had visited every corner of it, from remote islets to bustling cities. While you once dismissed the Grand Line as too risky, you now wondered if you might be ready to take on its challenges somehow.

Your silence made Runa's eyes widen in panic. "Wait… you won't go to the Grand Line, right? Please tell me you won't!"

"To be honest, Runa, I'm not sure,” you admitted. “While I haven't made any specific plans, I can't promise I won't consider that possibility someday."

"You can't do that! You may never return!"

A soft smile tugged at your lips. It seemed a flair for the dramatic truly ran in your family.

"Ru, I know I'm asking a lot. I don't expect everyone to agree with my choices. All I'm asking for is your acceptance of the journey I must take."

"Well, I refuse," she declared between hiccups, tears streaming down her face in endless rivulets.

“Ru—”

"No, I mean it. I don't want Dracule Mihawk to take you away from us. I don't want you to go to the Grand Line. I don't want you to be a pirate. And I certainly don't want you to put your life in danger every single day."

You exhaled deeply, brushing her damp hair away from her eyes. "Nobody is taking me away from you, and being a pirate doesn't mean I'm going to become a bad person."

"It's not about that. Being a pirate puts a target on your back, doesn't it?"

"I only became a target because of bad luck,” you explained. “A chain of unfortunate events forced me to do something terrible, something I would never choose unless I had no other option."

She bit her lower lip hard enough to nearly make it bleed. "And what if you find yourself in that situation again? What if you need to survive and the World Government condemns whatever means you have to use? I doubt even Mihawk can protect you from that all the time. How well do you know this man, anyway?"

Knowing there was no response that could contradict the truth of your cousin’s statements, you took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "I can't promise you that things will be easy. All I can do is assure you that I'll be as careful as I can be, and call you at least once a week to keep you updated about my whereabouts."

"How can I be sure you won't end up with another bounty?"

"The reason I got a bounty in the first place was my inexperience."

She pouted, her throat tightening with emotion. "It's not enough, Y/N."

"I know, and I wish I could give you more reassurance."

"You're going to leave regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

“Yes.”

Her lips quivered as fresh tears soaked into her shirt. "Fine. Go ahead and do whatever you want, then."

The resentment was clear in her voice, anger and disappointment blazing in her darkened eyes. It pained you deeply to leave her this way; hurt, angry, and utterly miserable. Knowing she might hold a grudge against you made your determination waver, but abandoning your commitments and chosen destiny was simply not an option you were willing to consider.

With a gentle kiss on her forehead, you rose from your position. Maintaining your poise, you proceeded toward the door, accepting that you must once again depart from your cherished foundations in pursuit of a life that promised the fulfillment you had yet to discover in your hometown.

And of a man whose undefined role in your relationship held profound significance.

Before you could leave the room, Runa called your name, halting you mid-stride. You turned to look at your cousin one last time, as she hesitated, getting up slowly from the bed but staying a few paces away.

Finally, she ran to you for a tight hug, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you against her. She breathed heavily into your hair, whimpering and shaking, barely releasing you to say, "If that guy ever dares to hurt you, I swear I'll kill him with my own hands. I don't care how massive that sword of his is.”

Embracing her tightly, you felt your own tears cascade down your cheeks while a soft laugh escaped your lips. After dabbing your eyes dry, you pulled back to take in the fierce look on her face, which gave her a maturity you had never seen in her before.

"I'll take your word for it."

It had been three weeks since you'd last seen Mihawk. You dove back into your sea routine with renewed intensity, sailing tirelessly from port to port.

Each day brought pleas to Isaiah for more assignments as you tried to outrun time's sluggish pace. While the busy schedule didn't quite ease your restlessness, it at least kept your mind from lingering too long on thoughts you'd rather avoid.

The Warlord had returned to the Grand Line, withdrawing into his usual silence without any communication. You wanted to trust him—truly—and a part of you would never doubt his word. Yet the uncertainty of when he would return created an unbearable emptiness in your heart, one that left an aching void nothing else could fill.

Every night felt dull and meaningless, your bed suddenly becoming colder and much too spacious for you alone. The bathtub was stifling, each soak a reminder of your passionate moment with the swordsman, awakening desires you struggled to contain. Your cabin was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and every solitary meal tasted bland and lifeless. A deep ache consumed you, for your loved ones back home, for Mihawk's presence beside you, and for companionship to fill the endless lonely days.

Though you didn't lament leaving home again, the extended isolation was beginning to take its toll.

Fueled by pent-up emotions, you began picking fights more often than necessary. You weren't actively looking for confrontations, but after the incident on Mirror Ball Island, your patience with profiteering scoundrels had worn thin. You refused to let anyone take advantage of your services again.

One day, you stood with unwavering confidence before another fool who tried to cheat you out of your fair price, methodically counting the banknotes between your fingers. The thug snarled, blood dripping from his thrice-broken nose as he twisted against the ropes binding his hands. While you preferred peaceful solutions, mercy had no place in this world.

"This is more like it," you said smugly, securing your Berries into the inside pocket of your jacket. "It was nice doing business with you."

"You damned witch," he snarled in response. "If you think this is over—"

"Oh, it is," you cut him off sharply. "I wasn't the one who violated our agreement in the first place."

"Tch."

"Smart of you to stay quiet."

You pivoted on your heels and strode down the empty hallway, your sword and pistols echoing with metallic clinks against your sides. Before you could round the corner toward the harbor, the man called out from behind, his harsh voice booming with arrogance, causing you to stop abruptly.

"Must be real nice having that infamous Warlord watching your back and cleaning up your messes."

Your jaw clenched at the insult, striking a raw nerve. You turned menacingly, boots grinding against the dirt as you stalked back to where the man lay sprawled, each step deliberate and radiating malice. The man's smug expression wavered under your piercing gaze, but his words hung irretrievably in the air.

You crouched down, your voice lowering to a deadly whisper that carried the same bone-chilling edge as Mihawk's infamous demeanor. "If you think he's my babysitter, you're dangerously mistaken."

The thug’s breath hitched, but you didn’t stop there. Your hand shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him closer. “I fight my own battles. I settle my own scores. And I certainly don’t need anyone to clean up after me. So, unless you want me to show you just how much I don’t rely on him, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

You let him go with a forceful shove, standing tall as you dusted off your hands. The scammer scrambled backward, his face pale as he muttered half-hearted apologies. But then, under his breath, emboldened by the distance between you, he sneered, "Figures a brute like him would choose someone just as savage. Warlord or not, he's still a glorified pirate.”

The muscles in your shoulders tensed visibly, your expression cold and unyielding as a storm brewing on the horizon. “What did you just say?”

His bravado faltered again, but he pressed on, perhaps out of misplaced courage or sheer stupidity. “I’m just saying, someone like him thinks he’s above the law because he waves a giant sword around and terrorizes everyone who crosses his path. It’s pathetic. You’re both—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish. In a blur of movement, you grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet with surprising strength. “Listen closely,” you hissed, your face inches from his. “You don’t get to speak his name, let alone insult him.”

Your grip tightened, and the scammer squirmed, realizing too late that he had pushed far beyond the limits of your tolerance.

“That ‘glorified pirate’ could destroy you and everything you’ve ever known with a flick of his wrist. Do you know why he doesn’t?”

The thug shook his head frantically.

“Because unlike you,” you spat, “he has honor. He got strength you couldn’t even begin to understand, and he doesn’t waste it on cowards who can’t even win a simple scam. Next time you even think about speaking ill of him, ask yourself—are you prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions?”

You dropped him to the ground like a sack of bricks, leaving him gasping for air. "You are the only pathetic one here."

Without another word, you strode back toward your ship, your blood still boiling with rage. As you disappeared into the crowd, you grumbled curses and complaints under your breath, uncaring about the passersby who eyed you as if you had lost your sanity.

Heavens above, you longed desperately to see Mihawk again.

Weeks had turned into months, and it had become overwhelmingly unbearable.

The Warlord's extended absence had created a palpable void across the East Blue region and in your personal life. Despite your resolute exterior, the question gnawed at you: would he honor his promise and return, proving his commitment to the bond you'd forged together? Though you wanted to believe in his reappearance, doubt crept in like an unwelcome shadow. You waited for any indication of presence, whether through reported sightings or even a single communication via transponder snail—none of which had materialized.

It unsettled you to realize how deeply he had influenced your thoughts, each day without him intensifying the craving that consumed both your soul and flesh. Even self-gratification brought no relief to your nerves, feeling hollow and incomparable to his touch.

Missing him was truly maddening, but you could only wait and hold fast to his promise.

Meanwhile, your dealing job continued with more excursions and fruitful exchanges, immersing you in dynamic expeditions that provided just the right balance of stability and excitement. It was a good consolation, something that brought joy and gave your days purpose when you woke each morning with the sun rising. This was exactly what you'd always wanted; a life you wholeheartedly enjoyed, one you had chosen regardless of its lurking dangers over the comfort and security of your hometown.

Still, as months went by, it became clear that the East Blue's opportunities were growing scarce. The region's limitations had become increasingly apparent, with Isaiah himself noticing the declining quality of your acquisitions. Though he was understanding about it, you both recognized that your finds were now predictable and less remarkable than before.

In hindsight, you should have anticipated his proposal.

"Wait, are you serious?" you asked, knitting your eyebrows.

"I know this is sudden, but honestly... I've been considering it for a while now."

"I thought you preferred avoiding the Grand Line," you remarked. "How are you planning to get there?"

He drew in a deep breath, folding his hands on the lantern-lit table. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"That's quite the plan to start with."

He laughed. "I know. I have no means to cross the Reverse Mountain, and I'd rather take the other route if I could."

"You can't simply sail through the Calm Belts in an ordinary ship."

"I'm aware. At minimum, I'd need one with a Seastone-lined hull,” he said firmly.

"Isaiah, let's be realistic. Seastone is an extremely rare mineral that only the Marines and World Government have access to."

He massaged his temples. "Yeah, that's the problem."

"So, you're only speaking hypothetically here."

"I am and I’m not. Look, I've always said I was content living here, but I'm getting tired of seeing the same faces and following this mundane routine. Even you know the East Blue has its limits. Sooner or later, there won't be anything left for us here."

Your eyes narrowed. “Maybe. But why are you speaking in plural?"

"Because this isn't just about me, Y/N. I want you to be part of this."

A heavy silence fell as you turned his words over in your mind, trying to make sense of them.

“Isaiah, what—”

"I know I don't have the means right now, but I've got connections. People who could help us form the crew we need and obtain some Seastone."

You exhaled. "Isaiah, listen to me for a second. While I've considered reaching the Grand Line someday, even a Seastone-lined ship wouldn't fully protect us from Sea Kings. They can still spot ships from the surface and attack any areas not protected by the mineral."

Isaiah nodded. "Exactly, we need to gather skilled people. Sailors with real talent and experience navigating the Calm Belts."

You sat in contemplation, weighing the risks against the potential rewards.

"Think about it. You could benefit too; after all, doesn't Mihawk have a residence in the Grand Line?"

“He does, but…”

"If we bypass Reverse Mountain, we could travel through the Calm Belts and establish the most efficient route."

"Come on, the Grand Line is vast. Some parts of it take years to reach."

"And it could take us years just to leave the East Blue anyway. I'm only asking you to consider the possibility."

This thought had been weighing on your mind more and more. If your relationship with Mihawk deepened further, you knew he couldn't simply abandon his duties to visit you in the East Blue. It would be unreasonable to expect him to give up his title and retire, reducing Yoru to a mere wall decoration.

And certainly, enstablishing a long-distance relationship simply wasn't an option you could accept.

Yet, could you and Isaiah realistically cross the Calm Belts without being thrown overboard and devoured by a Sea King? While Reverse Mountain seemed like the better alternative in theory, it came with its own deadly risks. Put simply, neither path seemed safe enough for you to attempt at this time.

"I will, of course," you replied. "But I can't make any promises."

"That's fine. I would love to have you as part of my crew, Y/N, but I won't pressure you into it."

A smile crossed your face as he left his seat, bid you goodnight, and retreated to his room with measured steps. Your thoughts swirled in disarray as you stared at the lantern's glow—your mind adrift in possibilities— transfixed by its golden hues.

Like the mesmerizing amber glow of Mihawk's piercing eyes.

Four long months had passed without a glimpse of the Warlord. From time to time, you asked Isaiah whether his contacts had heard any news of Mihawk's location or caught wind of rumors from across the four seas. So far, no significant news had emerged—his activities in the Grand Line had been unusually quiet and uneventful, nothing noteworthy enough to stir up any gossip.

As disappointing as it was, you had long since accepted it. Your faith in him remained unshaken, as you knew in your heart he would honor his promise and return to the East Blue for you, without fail. The ache of separation endured, but your strength of character carried you through each day, bolstered by your independence and resilience in your work.

However, nothing could have prepared you for what would become the most terrifying, life-threatening experience of your maritime career.

Notwithstanding prior experience and better judgment, you found yourself venturing once again into potentially hostile territory.

The initial contact seemed legitimate and innocent enough: a potential client at a local tavern presented what appeared to be a straightforward business transaction of modest scale. The rendezvous point was on an inhabited island, with nothing outwardly suspicious about the arrangement. Red flags immediately went up when you arrived to find the meeting site was an isolated warehouse, completely cut off from civilization with no nearby buildings. The deal's questionable legality didn't faze you, that was normal in your line of work. But the circumstances raised significant concerns that warranted immediate withdrawal rather than merely exercising heightened vigilance.

No matter how capable you had become, certain battles were not meant to be fought alone.

You crept forward with caution, one hand resting on the sword at your hip while the other hovered near your holstered pistol. The decrepit wooden structure loomed ahead, its unstable frame making your skin crawl in alarm.

A prudent course of action would have been to withdraw to your vessel without engagement. Still, something compelled you onward as you pushed open the door with a disturbing creak. The interior was dim and barren, containing nothing but scattered hay and broken planks, with decaying support beams that somehow still held the structure upright.

The vast space had only a single entrance; the doorway you had just passed through. Though the contractor might simply be running late, your mind filled with darker possibilities, drowning out any optimistic thoughts. Before you could return outside to wait, the door slammed shut with a thunderous bang that echoed through the hollow chamber, making you jump and gasp.

An eerie silence descended, with no indication of activity outside. Upon attempting to exit, you discovered the door was immovable, refusing to yield even a fraction despite applying considerable force against the deteriorating structure.

You slammed against it repeatedly with your shoulder, until the acrid smell of smoke filled the air. Dark wisps curled up from beneath the door frame, forcing you to stumble backward as flames suddenly erupted in an incandescent blaze. You stared in horror at the advancing inferno, your eyes wide as the temperature soared with each lick of fire.

You spun around, desperately searching for another escape route, but found none. The wood greedily absorbed the flames, swallowing you into a scorching circle. You ran from one side to another, pounding your feet against the planks in hopes of creating an opening to slip through. Unfortunately, by the time you managed to make cracks and fracture pieces, the fire had effectively blocked your way to freedom.

The gravity of the situation took a moment to sink in. Your breath shortened as you panted and coughed, the smoke burning through your nose and filling your lungs. Sweat trickled from your hairline down your face as pieces of wood broke and fell from the roof.

You leaped aside to dodge a massive girder crashing to the ground, but the sudden movement sent you reeling back toward the flames. A tongue of fire lashed out and caught your neck, searing pain shooting through you as your skin blistered and tore. You screamed in agony, clutching the burn with trembling hands as tears welled up, both from the excruciating sting and the dire reality of your predicament.

Though your smoke-filled lungs struggled for air, you refused to accept defeat. Your vision blurred as you climbed along the remaining foundations, only to slip and lose your balance, crashing onto your back. Your life flashed before your eyes, memories of childhood, faces of loved ones, and recalled Runa's distressed countenance as she implored you to reconsider your departure.

“This isn't just about me, Y/N. I want you to be part of this."

A heavy silence fell as you turned his words over in your mind, trying to make sense of them.

“Isaiah, what—”

"I know I don't have the means right now, but I've got connections. People who could help us form the crew we need and obtain some Seastone."

You pictured Isaiah's determined expression as he shared his aspirations of venturing to the Grand Line, an ambitious journey he envisioned undertaking together.

"This isn't farewell."

"Really?"

With a sigh, Mihawk sat up straight, facing you. His expression was serious and resolute. "You ought to have more faith in what I say."

Although his repeated assurances and actions could prove his sincerity, a persistent doubt was rooted in the recesses of your psyche. His motives were clearly not a pretense, yet that skeptical inner voice refused to be silenced completely.

"What further proof do you require from me?"

You pressed your lips together, contemplating the most appropriate response to give him. As silence lingered, Mihawk reached for the golden pendant hanging around your neck. "I don't give meaningless gifts. This necklace is more than mere decoration."

“I know.”

"If you do, then cease doubting my will to see you again."

Your thoughts turned to Mihawk, and you were gripped by a crushing despair. The bitter realization dawned that he would return to find only ashes where your life had been claimed by these merciless flames.

"I'm just wondering if I should start shopping for a wedding outfit," Micah teased. "I don't want to miss out.”

A bitter laugh escaped between your sobs as you struck the ground with your fist. Life held so much more in store for you, so many experiences yet to come, so many reasons to keep fighting and survive.

“I don’t have the patience to constantly remind you of your worth, Y/N.”

Your grin vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of utter shock. Countless thoughts raced through your mind, but you couldn't focus on any of them. All you could process was the sound of your name, spoken aloud by Mihawk for the very first time since you'd known him.

And it felt exquisite, resonating in your ears like a perfectly struck chord.

“What did you just say…?”

"Has your hearing suddenly failed you?"

"No, I mean—" You touched his warm cheek with trembling fingers, his sideburns gently prickling your sensitive skin. "You said my name. You've never done that before."

"Unless you prefer I address you as 'Cutthroat' instead."

With a rapid intake of breath, you grasped the lapels of his coat and pulled him into another, fervent kiss. "Don't you fucking dare."

A guttural wail erupted from your throat, straining your vocal cords as your eyes burned with the same intensity as the surrounding blaze. Clutching the golden necklace with your hand, you hoped for a miracle to occur, for anyone in the distant villages to notice the rising smoke and come to your rescue before the flames consumed you. Digging your nails into the dirt, you prayed between choked weeping, casting your pride aside as the fire advanced.

Then, like a mirage, a possible route to salvation appeared in front of you. The fallen rafter had created an acute angle against one of the last standing supports. Above it, an opening in the roof revealed the sky, so blue and beautiful it seemed like divine intervention. You assessed the situation methodically, mapping out each critical point along the potential trajectory, your heart hammering in your chest. It was perilous, considering you could easily lose your footing once more and plunge into the flames below.

With the limited alternatives available, this presented a more viable choice than remaining passive and succumbing to the inevitable.

Inhaling deeply, as far as your body allowed, you forced yourself to your feet and took a running start, racing along the rafter and leaping onto the support before it could collapse. You clung to it with your arms and legs like a monkey on a tree, carefully sliding up toward the roof as holes and tears formed in your jacket from the crackling flames. The heat was unbearable, the smoke rising so high it seemed to chase you to the top. Your right boot slid from the wooden pillar, but you maintained your grip by channeling all your strength into your arms.

You were so close now, reaching for the ceiling boards and twisting your torso, your legs painfully crossed around the foundation piece. Gritting your teeth, you fought against your blurring vision and fading focus, summoning one final burst of willpower to propel yourself upward and slam against the edge of the broken roof. Your feet swung precariously close to the flames as your hands clawed frantically ahead, dragging you to safety.

Finally, you were outside, gulping in fresh air between violent coughs that expelled ash from your airways. As you lifted your head, you caught sight of a small vessel in the distance, its Marine flag billowing, sailing away from the island's port.

Whether that meant anything in relation to the arson or not, there was no time to dwell on it. The warehouse was on the verge of collapse, with parts of the roof crumbling and melting away. You made it back to the ground through unsteady movements and collisions with the walls, managing to limp away mere seconds before the building exploded. The force of the blast sent you flying, leaving you rolling across the grass with groans of pain.

Voices approached from the woods as townspeople rushed toward the unexpected explosion. Fighting through the sharp pain in your neck and the various aches throughout your body, you dragged yourself up without pause. You quickly retreated from the scene to avoid potential misconceptions about your involvement. Given your history, being discovered at the site could result in unwarranted accusations and legal complications, particularly concerning an incident that posed significant risk to the surrounding area. No authority would consider your injuries with a lack of evidence against the real perpetrators, given your prior status as a fugitive in international law enforcement records.

As you walked, you discarded your ruined jacket and wrapped your belt scarf around your burned neck for protection. Brushing off as much soot as possible from your face, hair, and clothes, you forced a natural gait to reach your ship without garnering unwanted attention.

"Isaiah," you rasped through the portable transponder, collapsing onto your bed as the island faded behind you. The burn on your neck throbbed and stained your scarf with blood, your muscles and joints throbbing and creaking as though you had been crushed by a ship at full speed.

"I need your help."

"Y/N, I've got just one question for you: what the actual fuck?"

You winced as Isaiah tended to your burn, carefully cleaning and disinfecting the wound.

"I didn't exactly plan on getting trapped in a burning building," you retorted.

"Oh please, don't clutch at straws now. You've got to stop charging headfirst into dangerous situations like this."

“I don’t.”

"No? Didn't I warn you that the Mirror Ball invitation might be a trap?"

“You did.”

"But you went anyway. And you ended up in serious trouble there too."

You clenched your teeth and gripped your thighs as he dried the injury, dabbing gently at the damaged skin. "What are you trying to get at?"

"All I'm saying is that you should be more mindful of yourself," he explained. "Mihawk isn’t even in this part of the sea now. He won't always be there for you."

"You think I don't realize that? I saved myself today, in case you hadn't noticed."

Isaiah let out a deep sigh as he set aside the bloodied cloth and washed his hands. "Don't get angry, I'm not trying to diminish your abilities."

"No, you're just implying that I rely on Mihawk for my safety."

"That's not what I meant at all," he said softly, applying a big plaster to your burn. "Y/N, you don't need to prove your strength, we both know how capable you are. But when your instincts warn you of danger, you need to take precautions instead of walking blindly into the unknown. What will you accomplish besides getting yourself killed?"

Though difficult to acknowledge, Isaiah's assessment was accurate. Perhaps you had subconsciously anticipated that Mihawk would sense your peril and arrive in time to rescue you from the flames. With him being on the far side of Reverse Mountain, such wishful thinking was absurd.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yeah, I get it. I don't know why I still went to that warehouse."

"You're lucky the burn isn't too severe. I'm not a doctor, but with time, the scar should fade."

You gently brushed your fingertips along the bandage, flinching as your skin still stung beneath it.

"Yes, ah, maybe don't touch it and make it worse now."

You chuckled, pouring quality rum into your empty glasses. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, by the way."

"No worries, I understand. That must have been absolutely terrifying."

"I truly thought I was done for, Isaiah."

He nodded, clinking his glass against yours in a silent toast. "I bet. But who would want to do something like that? Is there anyone there with a grudge against you?"

You shook your head. "You're the one with all the connections, I barely know anyone in the East Blue."

Suddenly, you remembered the Marine vessel you had observed from your elevated position. Through the thick smoke, you could clearly discern their official flag with its characteristic, simplified seagull emblem and "MARINE" inscription, billowing against the horizon.

"Although..."

“Yeah?”

You hesitated, downing your rum in one swift motion and recoiling at its bitter taste. "I'm not entirely sure, but... I think I've noticed something."

"What did you notice?"

Could the World Government truly be pursuing you still, despite Mihawk's influence and intervention on your behalf? Or was this the work of an independent group, operating covertly for their own agenda?

"After escaping, I saw a Marine vessel leaving the island. A small one, unlike their usual ships."

"Seriously? And you think they were behind this?"

You shrugged. "I don't really know. They could have been there for completely different reasons, leaving on their own by the time the warehouse exploded. There's no way to prove whether the World Government or Marines are behind my attempted murder."

Isaiah slammed his glass onto the table. "Well, if you ask me, you've got quite a clue."

"You don't trust them at all, do you?"

"Like hell I do. Y/N, we know how corrupt these people are. Most Marines are rotten to the core, they rarely do things properly or care about our interests and safety. The World Government can easily keep its hands clean by having their lower-ranking pawns do the dirty work."

You pursed your lips thoughtfully. "If you're right, then not having a bounty doesn't mean I'm safe from trouble."

"I'm not trying to alarm you. No hunters have come after you since your bounty was removed. But if we're right about this and the Marines are still targeting you, it means even Dracule Mihawk doesn't wield the authority over them that we assumed he did."

The mere mention of his name sent your heart fluttering and your stomach twisting. "This is completely messed up."

“The whole world is, my dear. If I can give you some advice, maybe try to lay low for a while. Forget about work and stay vigilant. I can reach out to my contacts and see if they've heard anything suspicious.”

You couldn't bear the thought of idleness, which likely explained your reckless decision to enter the warehouse even though your instincts warned against it. You sought professional engagement to occupy your thoughts, finding it preferable to focusing on Mihawk's inaction and how much you missed him. You let your feelings take control, consuming and commanding you. Your promise to Runa about self-preservation remained unfulfilled as you continued falling into familiar patterns of risky behavior. While your devotion to the Warlord ran deep, managing these impulsive tendencies required immediate attention.

For your own wellbeing, your family's peace of mind, and for Isaiah, whose steadfast support had guided you through countless challenges.

And above all, for Mihawk himself, who recognized and nurtured your inherent capabilities, preserving your life with the expectation that you would value and protect it accordingly.

"Thank you, Isaiah. I'll actually follow your advice this time."

The subsequent week passed in relative tranquility as you kept to strict isolation to facilitate proper healing of your neck injury. Isaiah diligently managed your recovery, performing regular bandaid changes every 48-72 hours while following thorough antiseptic protocols for the affected area. Though the recovery process remained uncomfortable, the wound showed gradual improvement with diminishing inflammation and more manageable pain levels.

While Isaiah's network had begun investigating the attack, their findings proved inconclusive. Rumors suggested Marine officials were unhappy about the removal of your bounty, but no concrete evidence could be established linking them directly to the incident. Dismissing the matter without further probe could potentially expose you to similar risks in the future.

"No word in the newspapers or on the streets about your death," Isaiah observed. "My guess is that someone inspected the scene, and they've reported the absence of your body to the mastermind behind this attempt."

"Well, at least my family won't be panicking for nothing."

"Yeah, that's not something any parent should ever have to endure."

"Or uncles, cousins, and friends."

Isaiah offered a smile, but his tense posture and unfocused gaze betrayed his underlying concern.

“Are you okay?”

"Yes, I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"I appreciate your concern, but please don't worry too much."

He scoffed. "How can I not? Y/N, you could've died!"

"I was there. I know exactly what happened. Thank you."

"Then please, stop pretending this isn't serious."

You swallowed hard and looked down, absently twirling the pen between your fingers as the open journal rested in your lap. "Someone has to. Otherwise, those images will haunt me day and night."

“Y/N…”

"I see the fire whenever I close my eyes. I feel the heat on my skin, and the smell of smoke follows me everywhere; in every corner of this place, on every piece of clothing I wear, even in my hair. I've showered twice today, yet it doesn’t go away."

Isaiah ran his fingers through his hair as your voice cracked. You could no longer keep up the façade of being strong and unshakeable.

"I can't stop thinking about how my family wouldn't even have had a body to mourn if I had failed."

"I get it, I really do. But—"

“And the truth is... I miss him, Isaiah. I miss him so much it hurts."

Isaiah remained silent, pursing his lips and clearing his throat as he straightened his posture. His eyes darted back and forth, suggesting he knew something you had yet to realize.

"Well... about that..."

You wiped your eyes, fighting back tears. "You must think I'm being ridiculous."

"No, not at all. I'd never mock someone who's in love. Actually, there's something else I need to tell you."

Your body stiffened as the journal and pen tumbled from your lap, your attention suddenly focused. "Did you hear something?"

"Indeed. And it's quite interesting," he replied with a grin.

"Well, might as well keep me in suspense for a moment," you remarked sarcastically.

Isaiah's smile widened. "I could, but I'm not that cruel."

"Oh, just tell me already!"

“Sorry! Okay. He's here in the East Blue."

Your breath escaped just as it had in the fire, constricting your chest and draining the blood from your face at this sudden revelation.

“What?!”

"From what I've heard, he was pursuing Don Krieg and his fleet. Needless to say that he succeeded effortlessly in his task."

"Uh-huh..."

"He was last spotted at the Baratie restaurant. Apparently, he's carrying out some mission for Vice Admiral Garp, though the specifics remain unclear."

“Oh…”

So, Mihawk's presence in the East Blue stemmed from his official duties rather than any personal motivations regarding your whereabouts.

"Where is he right now?"

"I'm afraid I don't know his exact location. He's constantly on the move. But from what I understand, he's always been the one to find you, hasn't he?"

“Yes…”

He settled more comfortably on the couch, stretching his legs out. "Just relax then."

"That's easier said than done, you know."

He groaned, tipping his head backwards with a loud grunt. "Look, I love you, but sometimes you really drive me insane."

"I'm sorry, it's just hard to control my feelings."

"Listen, Y/N. That man is crazy about you."

"What makes you say that all of a sudden?"

"You look and act like a beaten puppy just because he's busy elsewhere instead of coming straight to you."

Indignant, you lifted your chin with a scowl. "That's not true."

"Yes, it absolutely is," he countered firmly. “Sweetheart, have you noticed how he practically burned holes through me with his glare? I've never seen anyone look more jealous. How could a man show such possessiveness if he didn't truly care about you?"

"Logically, I understand what you're saying. Still, here he is sailing through the East Blue, and I knew nothing about it."

"He likely has his reasons. Being a Warlord comes with privileges, but it also requires following orders from the World Government. That's the agreement these pirates made with the higher ups.”

Exhaling softly, you contemplated his words. "I know that. But Isaiah, there's still nothing official between us yet."

"That doesn't mean anything. What happened to your faith and conviction? You were so sure he would come back to you. That necklace he gave you must mean something, right?"

"It's not that I've lost faith, but it's been months. Words and gifts can be fleeting—what holds meaning today might lose its value tomorrow. Now that he's back in these waters, am I supposed to just sit here waiting?"

Isaiah scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Unless you want to wander aimlessly across the East Blue searching for him. And frankly, I'd rather know you're safe."

"I can't stay here indefinitely. We may never find the perpetrator."

He pressed his lips into a tight line, clasping his hands as he leaned forward on his elbows. "You might have a point there. It's just..."

"You're worried about me."

"I really care about you, Y/N. You're my best friend. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

Over time, Isaiah had transformed from a trusted professional contact into an essential part of your life at sea. What began as mutual respect had deepened into an unshakeable bond of friendship that you treasured above all else, along with a brief romantic connection that had naturally run its course.

Your love for Mihawk had become unshakable, but the camaraderie you had formed with Isaiah was timeless.

You extended your hand with a warm smile, and he gently clasped it in his own without a moment's pause. "You won't lose me, Isaiah. I know this might sound like an empty vow, but I swear I'll be more careful from now on."

"It's not just about being careful. When someone wants you dead, they'll keep trying until they succeed. Every place you go could turn into a battleground."

"So what's the solution then? Should I just lock myself away in your headquarters?"

"No, of course not."

"You have a good network of contacts. Now we know what we're up against."

"Perhaps. But there's only so much I or my informants can do."

You shook your head. "It's more than I could ask for."

Isaiah released your hand with a composed chortle, looking at you with pride in his eyes. "I do believe Mihawk knows how lucky he is to have your heart. But if he doesn't, I should probably remind him of how amazing you are."

"Just be careful not to become minced meat."

“So comforting, thanks," he groaned with exasperation.

As you burst into a hearty laughter, Isaiah joined in, the tension dissipating from the room as your shared mirth echoed through the space like a cheerful melody.

The peaceful rhythm of waves against the vessel's hull provided a serene backdrop to the bustling activity of Marines aboard, who diligently attended to their duties - tending to the sails, securing rigging, swabbing decks, and servicing artillery.

As the Vice Admiral proceeded to his office, his face betrayed mounting ire at reports confirming your continued survival and evasion of capture. Evidently, he had significantly underestimated your capabilities, regardless of whether fortune had played a role in your survival. His hasty plan had proven insufficient to eliminate someone so tough, he required something smarter, something that even your determination couldn't withstand.

Upon entering his private quarters in the late hours, he was met with minimal illumination from a solitary desk lamp. As he proceeded to loosen his collar, his expression etched with weariness, he suddenly froze at an unexpected presence in the room.

He blinked repeatedly, attempting to dismiss the apparition, but his heart rate accelerated upon realizing the figure seated comfortably in his chair was indeed real.

Right there before him was Hawk-Eyes Mihawk. His legs were propped on the desk, crossed at the ankles, while his trademark hat cast a shadow over his piercing, unyielding eyes. Yoru, his colossal black blade, rested across the table, its edge gleaming ominously in the lamplight.

The officer's hand instinctively moved toward his sword, but Mihawk's low, velvety voice stopped him cold. "That would be unwise," the Warlord drawled, his tone deceptively calm yet brimming with malice.

He remained motionless, not even sparing a glance at the man's weapon. The air in the room grew thick and heavy, weighed down by the sheer force of his aura.

“How did you—” the officer stammered, his words faltering.

Mihawk moved forward deliberately, his boots landing heavily on the floor. His right forearm came to rest on the desk as his fingers drummed a quiet rhythm against the wood. "The how is irrelevant," he said. "What matters is why I'm here."

The Vice Admiral swallowed hard, trying to mask his fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

"You set a trap," Mihawk interrupted, his voice cutting like Yoru's blade. His golden eyes narrowed, their intensity rooting the man to the spot. "You failed," he said simply. "But not from lack of effort. And for that..." His voice dropped to a whisper that carried the weight of an executioner's blade. "You will pay."

The officer staggered backward, his knees threatening to give way beneath him. "I... I was following orders," he croaked, his voice thick with desperation.

"Oh no," Mihawk replied coldly. "It was personal."

"That—that bitch slaughtered my father like a pig! Of course it was bloody personal!!!"

Mihawk stood slowly, his movement unhurried yet reminiscent of a predator coiling to strike. He loomed over the desk, Yoru's hilt within easy reach. "You chose her as your target. You attempted an ambush, imprisoned her, and set the flames. A coward's approach befitting your mediocrity. This matter has become... very personal indeed."

His suffocating presence dominated the room as he towered over the officer, who trembled in fear. "I could end you now," Mihawk murmured, his fingers grazing the blade's hilt. "It would be easier than drawing breath."

The man recoiled, his eyes darting to the sword, but Mihawk made no motion to take it. Instead, he straightened to his full height, his stare as cold and impenetrable as steel.

"But that would be too merciful for someone like you," Mihawk continued, his voice dripping with venom. "You will live. And every moment of your existence will be haunted by my presence."

The officer’s eyes widened in terror, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"You'll look over your shoulder at every sound, at every shadow," Mihawk continued, his tone unnervingly silken. "You'll wonder if today is the day I choose to end this. You will not sleep. You will not know peace. You will live in constant fear, knowing that I can—and will—appear when you least expect it."

With fluid grace, Mihawk lifted Yoru from the desk as if the massive blade were weightless. He secured it to his back in one practiced, graceful maneuver, his predatory stare fixed unwaveringly on the trembling Marine.

"Consider this your punishment," he said, turning toward the door. "A life spent waiting for the inevitable."

With that, the Warlord strode out, his coat sweeping behind him like a dark omen. In the suffocating silence of his office, the man crumpled to the floor, face drained of color, hands quaking uncontrollably. Calling for backup would be futile against an opponent like Mihawk, who could easily split the entire ship in half, just as he had done with Don Krieg's fleet.

From that night forward, every creak, every gust of wind, every flicker of shadow became a harbinger of doom. He would wake in cold sweats, feeling the phantom weight of Mihawk's oppressive glare weighing down on him.

Isaiah thoroughly analyzed his collection of notes, books, and maps, trying to devise a strategic plan. Now that you had returned to your vessel and resumed maritime operations, he was particularly concerned with assembling a qualified crew capable of ensuring your safety.

Reaching the Grand Line through the Calm Belts had become an increasingly tangible goal, but the time wasn't right. Isaiah insisted on thorough preparation, ensuring every detail was in place before such a momentous undertaking.

Engrossed in his analysis, Isaiah methodically traversed the room while reviewing documents, failing to notice the presence of a figure who had silently entered and now observed him from just a few paces away. He spoke to himself, alternating between nods of approval and whispered curses.

Upon turning around, he nearly collided with the unexpected visitor. His eyes widened in recognition as he found himself face-to-face with those distinctive, piercing golden hawk-like eyes, dropping his papers as he let out a startled gasp.

Mihawk stood motionless, his head tilted slightly as he observed the scene. His gaze swept over Isaiah with calculating intensity, causing the latter to swallow nervously and take a cautious step backward.

"Damn, a warning would've been nice," he stuttered. "If you're looking for her, she's not here."

"That is not the purpose of my visit," Mihawk responded.

"No..? Then... what can I do for you?"

Mihawk stepped forward, his sword gliding with a metallic clink against his back. "I have something for you. And in return, you will do something for me."

Isaiah exhaled a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. When Mihawk dropped the large bag he was carrying, which looked far too heavy for casual transport, Isaiah tentatively reached for the thick cord keeping it closed.

When he opened it, a blue glow emanated from the pile of minerals inside. The stones looked almost otherworldly, encapsulating all the color, magic, and translucency of the ocean.

Isaiah was transfixed, momentarily speechless at the contents before him. The bag contained an extensive collection of premium Seastone crystals, meticulously extracted and of exceptional purity—a treasure of immense value and rarity.

Isaiah looked up to meet Mihawk’s stoic expression, the Warlord standing watchful in absolute silence. "Holy hell, man."

Upon disembarking from your vessel, the familiar atmosphere of the island struck you with immediate recognition. Isaiah had maintained an unusually upbeat demeanor while being deliberately cryptic, selecting this location as the meeting point for a prospective arrangement with one of his trusted associates.

When you inquired about this contact, Isaiah maintained an enigmatic air of mystery, offering only reassurances about their reliability. He arranged your travel to the location with complete confidence, his usual concerns notably absent.

The scene was precisely as it had been etched in your memory: the shadowed entrance of the cave where you had discovered the emerald ring—now a permanent fixture on your finger—the soft yet distinct sound of sand shifting beneath your footfalls, and the subtle tropical fragrance of palm trees and coconut carried on the breeze. Mihawk's voice seemed to echo in your mind, though you stood alone in this familiar place.

You walked along the shore at a leisurely pace, placing one foot in front of the other. You kicked a few rocks as you went, watching them roll away and come to rest in the distance. You waited in the tranquil oasis, touching your stomach as a sudden twinge made its presence felt.

The physical proximity yet distance between you and Mihawk was excruciating. Reports from Isaiah's network indicated that the Warlord remained within the East Blue region, having not yet returned for the Grand Line. Were his duties truly so demanding that he couldn't spare a moment to find you? During your first encounter there, he had made it clear that he operated on his own terms, refusing to be bound by orders that conflicted with his personal interests or convictions.

You snorted, gazing at the horizon while the coastal wind whispered past. At the sound of approaching footsteps, you steadied yourself, smoothing your hair back and relaxing your shoulders. However, when an unexpected voice cut through the peaceful ambience, you felt your heart freeze and swell in your ribcage.

“You are quite challenging to track down.”

Mihawk stood mere inches behind you, echoing his words from your first conversation. His proximity was palpable, his breath ghosting against your hair as warmth emanated from his form.

Your lower lip quivered as words caught in your throat, refusing to emerge. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as your eyes squeezed shut, then fluttered open.

Finally, when you found your voice again, you were able to speak. “Not that much for you, apparently,” you repeated softly, a gentle smile spreading across your face. "Took you long enough," you added.

"I had urgent matters to attend to," he replied. "Affairs that could not wait."

You swiveled on your feet, meeting his eyes again after what felt like an eternity. His keen attention was captured by the large plaster on your neck, his golden irises following its line along your skin as darkness clouded his gaze.

"Ah, this," you said, brushing your fingers against the fabric covering your wound. "Just another scar to add to my collection, I guess. It should fade eventually."

"I hope so," he responded, his tone stern.

“Does it disturb you that much?" you asked.

"The mark itself doesn't trouble me."

You reached for the front of his coat, sliding your hand along its lapel until it hovered over his cross knife. "Have you heard what happened?"

Mihawk’s eyes met yours once more. "I’ve heard enough.”

A deafening silence hung between you, filled with tension and anticipation.

“And?” you pressed. "Do you know who was responsible?"

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he closed his hand over yours, stilling your restless movements against his coat and chest. He was calm, yet carried an unmistakable edge, like a perfectly honed blade. "The answer should be quite evident."

"You do, of course," you concluded. "So the World Government wants me dead?"

"No. Just one arrogant fool who believed himself clever enough to evade my notice."

"And who might that be?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The identity of that person no longer matters. I ensured he understands what it means to make a mistake of such magnitude. That lesson will haunt him for the rest of his life.”

There was no need to ask for details, you knew Mihawk well enough to understand that his vengeance would be methodical, calculated, and as terrifying as the man himself.

"I shouldn't have expected anything less," you whispered.

Though Mihawk's countenance remained impassive, he moved his hand to rest delicately upon your waist. He pulled you nearer with effortless precision, his face inclining until his nose gently grazed yours. "What is mine shall remain safeguarded. Without exception."

His words reverberated powerfully, each one sinking into you like an anchor, grounding you in the depths of his devotion and commitment. Unable to resist any longer, you gripped his collar, pressing your lips against his in a fiery collision. You savored their salty taste as if starved, the kiss searing and desperate, completely unrestrained.

For a moment, Mihawk was still, caught off guard by the force of your passion. His response was controlled yet equally consuming as his tongue darted forward, seeking yours in an entwining dance.

When you finally parted, your breath came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you stared up at him. His eyes now held an unmistakable warmth, a quiet acknowledgment of both your fervor and his own.

"You've been holding onto that for a while," he remarked, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I missed you too," you said teasingly. "No need to be so maddeningly composed."

"Someone has to keep balance when you're set on tipping the scales.”

"Then it’s a good thing you’re mine to tip.”

The storm between you had been unleashed, surging like wildfire in the aftermath of your kiss.

His lips quirked ever so slightly, his golden eyes steady as they locked with yours. "That much has never been in question.”

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 9 (coming soon) ->

#one piece liveaction #opla #opla mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #opla fanfic #opla fanfiction

35 notes · View notes