#husband!mihawk x wife!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago

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WELCOME HOME

MASTERLIST

pairing: opla!mihawk x reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+, swearing, smut, slight knife play, oral (female receiving), p in v, slight breeding kink

a/n: i got carried away with the fluff at the end. as much as i love smut i also love some domestic ass fluff which is very clear here lol.

i started this a while ago but got busy and only managed to finish it today! next up i’ve got buggy. i actually have two ideas for him. both have smut but the premise is so different lol. let’s just say one has a prominent daddy kink.

this might be very ooc! mihawk, again i’ve only watched the live action. i would like to start the anime but those 1,000 episodes are intimidating to say the least.

Working for the Marines proved to be useful for Mihawk. His bounty was canceled, and he got to travel and get up to shenanigans that would otherwise bring him trouble.

Mihawk gets to strike pirate after pirate, which benefits him greatly. It gives him the opportunity to search for the one meant to surpass him while getting paid. No one has come close to beating him yet.

After another tedious mission, Mihawk returns home. He opens the grand doors of his castle and leaves his hat and coat by the door. He silently goes deep into the castle and into his bedroom, unhooking Yoru from his back and placing it by the bed.

He removes his boots and pants while keeping his eyes on the figure sprawled on the bed. His dear wife sleeps peacefully on her stomach, her hair casting a halo on the white pillows.

He tries his hardest not to wake you, but you groggily open your eyes as he lays on the bed. He stares back at you apologetically, kissing the back of your head.

"You're back," you sigh, closing your eyes again. Your muscles relax when you see it's your husband who has returned from his latest mission.

Normally, you'd greet him much more enthusiastically. However, the sky outside is still a deep shade of blue, the stars twinkling brightly to shine some light on the otherwise dark room. And you have had a long, exhausting day that is pulling you back to sleep.

"Just got back," he responds softly. His eyes trace over your exposed figure. It's a warm summer night if the sheets crumpled by the end of the bed are any indication.

He was away longer than he expected. It's times like these that he resents his agreement with the Marines. He will resent anything that keeps you away from him. He would take you with him if your circumstances were different, but it's too dangerous.

You suddenly feel his touch on your back, but pay him no mind as sleep threatens to take you away once more. Mihawk traces your exposed skin with his small blade Kogatana. He likes seeing two of his priced possessions in his grasp.

He'd never dare cut you with it. That's reserved for his enemies. Enemies who would be scared by the mere sight of Mihawk, but you simply melt under his gaze without a worry in the world. The touch of the cold blade familiar and comforting.

"Don't you dare cut through my clothes again, Mihawk," you suddenly threaten when he glides the blade over your night dress. You might be safe from the sharpness of his blades, but your clothes never are.

"Or what?" he asks, lifting your silky nightgown with the blade. Just a bit more tension, and it will cut through the fabric. There's an unmistakable smile on his handsome face.

"Fuck around and find out," you groan, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. Deep down, you know you're not getting any rest anytime soon. Mihawk is clearly in a particular mood.

"Is this how you receive me? With empty threats?" Mihawk teases you. He follows it with a "Tsk, I expected more from you."

"My love, it's four in the morning. My brain isn't working properly, but rest assured it'll come up with something by morning," you huff, burying your face on the pillow.

"I'm dying to find out what you come up with. In the meantime, I'll fuck around." Mihawk says with a tone that warns you he's up to no good.

In an instant, you hear the blade ripping through the material of your nightgown. The cut is clean and precise, exposing your skin to the room's humid air.

"Mihawk!" You groan, annoyed but far from surprised. Another piece of clothing ruined by Kogatana. Add it to the tally.

"Screaming my name already? I've barely touched you," Mihawk chuckles, amused at his joke. He traces his lips down your spine, pressing kisses along the curve of your back.

"Idiot…" you mumble with a small grin. You prop yourself up on your elbows, still on your stomach, looking at your husband over your shoulder.

"All yours, darling," he responds cheekily, biting down on your exposed ass cheek.

"Hey!" You giggle, wiggling under his hold. Mihawk pins you down with his body as he comes back up.

Mihawk brushes your hair over one of your shoulders to dig his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse point. You smile at this, having missed his touch like the familiar scrape of his beard on your skin.

Mihawk gives you enough space to turn around in his grasp. You cup his face and say, "I missed you. A few more days and I would've gone out in search of you." Your thumbs mindlessly rub over his jaw. No matter how much he cuts through your clothes, you love him.

Your actions bring him comfort as he leans into your touch, "My apologies. Will you allow me to make it up to you?"

You pretend to think as he stares you down. His gaze is soft and loving and filled with playfulness. Playfulness that is reserved only for you. "It's the least you can do," you finally respond, touching his lips.

Mihawk closes the gap in an instant, kissing you senseless. He groans into the kiss as he deepens it, his tongue swiping your lips to gain entrance. He grabs your thigh, wrapping it around his waist to have you closer.

Your arms wrap around his back, scratching his skin with your nails as you pull yourself closer. Mihawk's hand comes up to your chest, pulling on the tattered fabric of your nightgown, successfully throwing it somewhere in the room.

"Don't forget you owe me another nightgown," you breathe as Mihawk kisses down your body.

"And a blouse, a skirt, a dress, and many the undergarments. But who is keeping track?" Mihawk says. He's settled between your thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses down your soft stomach.

You prop yourself up to watch him delve lower and lower down your body. He searches for your gaze when he reaches your mound, where he places a small kiss. "I'd much prefer you sleep naked. We can sleep skin to skin."

You smile and shake your head at him, biting your lip in anticipation. "What of the nights you're gone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mihawk's strong hands grasp your thighs, pulling them open. Maintaining eye contact, he traces his lips over the inside of your thighs, not quite kissing them. His facial hair tickles you and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Not one to lose an argument, he responds, "More of a reason to stay naked. Makes it easier to touch yourself while you think of me," he purrs. You feel his breath where you need him most.

As you open your mouth to reply with a snarky comment, Mihawk takes his chance. His tongue licks up your slit, tasting you for the first time in weeks.

"Ohh."

Mihawk eats you out like a starved man lost at sea for months. His tongue licks and flicks over your clit repeatedly as his lips wrap around it to suck. You fall back on the bed with your fingers digging into his curls, pulling on them. It only spurs him on as his hips involuntarily thrust into the mattress. Pleasing you turns him on.

"I missed this cunt," he lewdly moans as he kisses the inside of your thigh, lightly biting the area.

"Mihawk," you whine, turning red-faced by his crude words.

He mimics your tone, saying your name. Your ankle digs into his back in response. He's far from hurt as he laughs into your thigh. Having had a taste, he slows it down, taking his time. Enjoying everything about you.

He spreads your lips apart, exposing your pink center to him. Strings of arousal cover you, giving your cunt a pretty sheen. You're easily embarrassed by Mihawk's actions, but your whines do nothing to stop him.

"Fucking beautiful," he purrs, thumb circling over your exposed clit.

Your fingers card through his curls, pulling them back to watch his lustful expression. No one has ever made you feel as desired as Mihawk has.

Soft breaths fall from you as you feel Mihawk's warm tongue gather the slick from your entrance. He gets lost in his pleasure as his fingers dig into your thighs. Obscene wet noises coming from his mouth, mixing with the staccato of your moans.

Each flick of his tongue gets you higher and higher, your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure. You whine as you get closer to your peak, small warnings Mihawk doesn't need as he's learned what each of your tells are. He's adamant about making you cum on his tongue.

It's a matter of time until he feels your legs squeezing his head and your hips bucking into him. Your back arching follows soon after as a loud cry escapes your lips.

Mihawk licks his lips, satisfied, as he pulls slightly away from you. The twitching of your cunt is not missed by his hawk eyes. He presses his palm against your center, easing you down from your high.

He crawls back up your body, kissing your nipples on his way up. You swat him away gently, feeling sensitive.

"My beautiful wife," he says once he's face to face. In his eyes, you're the most beautiful woman in the world. Your skin shines prettily with the afterglow of an orgasm.

"What's gotten into you?" You giggle, giving him exactly what he was looking for. Your smile.

"Can't a man miss his wife?" He asks, nudging your cheek with his nose as he sporadically leaves kisses on your face.

He did miss you, but he's also extremely pussydrunk. Going down on you does as much to him as it does to you, judging by the hard on pressing against your lower stomach.

"He can..." You smile, wrapping your arms around him to caress his back. "Just how much did you miss me?"

You feel his laugh in your ear as he catches your suggestive tone. Nonetheless, he whispers, "I missed you like the sun and moon miss each other."

"You're cheesy," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him flush against you. His cock is between the two of you, a bead of pre dripping onto your skin.

"Don't tell anyone. Or else my reputation be ruined." Mihawk says, pressing his forehead against yours.

"It's our secret," you whisper in response with a kiss on his waiting lips.

Hiking your leg further up his body Mihawk lines himself up and pushes his cock into you. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you up until he bottoms out.

He always starts slow. The drag of your walls against his cock is a memory he never wishes to forget. He swears your cunt feels better each time he has the pleasure of being buried inside you.

His thrusts are slow but deep. He keeps a hand on your leg that's hiked up around his waist while he holds himself up with the other. The way you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes is his favorite sight in the whole wide world. Your soft gasps and cries are a symphony of their own, especially mixed with his own.

His slower pace only lasts so long as he gets lost in the way your cunt chokes his cock. He wants more. He needs more.

His resolve quickly disappears as he picks himself up to kneel on the bed. He easily pulls you closer as you slide down the bed with a yelp. His cock always inside of you.

Mihawk presses your legs up to your chest, grabbing a discarded pillow to place under your ass.

"Much better," he mutters as his hips buck against you tentatively.

"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one folded in half," you begin saying as he snaps his hips, which turns into a moan. The new angle brings tears to your eyes. The tip of his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

"Don't deny it. You like when I manhandle you," he gruffs, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He further presses against the back of your thighs as he looks down when you both meet. His cock wet with both of your juices.

"I'm. Not." You pant between each one of his jerks. You leave it at that, closing your eyes to focus on the sparks of pleasure.

This is Mihawk's favorite position just because of the visual standpoint. He's in total control and gets to gauge your body's reactions.

Your scrunched up eyes as you concentrate on following your release. The biting of your lips to try and remain quiet, yet whimpers betray you. Your chest bouncing pulls him into another trance as he watches your skin blushing and your nipples hardening.

Your eyes squint open as you bring your hand down to your lower abdomen, where you say, "Feel you right here, Mihawk."

Mihawk mutters a curse under his breath. He places his hand on top of yours and asks, "Want me to cum right here too, darling?"

His moves become sharper and more precise as he bullies that spot inside you. "yes. yes. yes. Fill me up, my love," you cry out.

It's all becoming too much for you. You bring your arm up to bite on it and muffle your moans, but he still manages to coax out your voice. Your moans remain a secret in the night, heard only by Mihawk.

It's fucking glorious the way your cunt squeezes his cock when you reach your climax. The rhythmic pulses of your high urging him to continue pushing into you. You try to push him away to get him to go slower, your hands only managing to caress his abdomen before he pins them down.

He is in total control. He just needs a bit more from you. You can take it. You've done it before. Your legs shake both in exhaustion and rapture. His pace is steady as he feeds into that feeling that tightens his balls.

His hands turn to lace his fingers through yours. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. With hooded eyes, you watch your husband in all his glory. Trickles of sweat fall down his strong chest, and his curls are a mess atop his head. It all makes him look like a work of art.

Once more, the familiar sensation of pure euphoria washes over you, and it's enough to push Mihawk to reach that place as well. He stills inside you, his hands squeezing yours as he empties himself inside you, just like he promised.

With your hands on his hold, he brings them to his lips to kiss your palms. He follows the path down your arm until he buries his head on your shoulder. He lies there, almost crushing you under his weight, breathing you in. You wrap your arms around him, enjoying the closeness and rubbing your hands up and down his muscular back, rubbing the spots with the most tension from carrying Yoru around.

You talk in hushed whispers as you gain back your energy. It's a hard task, considering you were woken up in the middle of the night, and Mihawk probably hasn't slept in more than 24 hours.

Hours later, you feel the hard patter of footsteps nearing your bedroom. You sit up, preparing yourself despite Mihawk's heavy arm threatening to pull you back down into his embrace.

The door to your bedroom is slammed open with a bang barely second after you manage to slip on your robe.

"Wake up, wake up, it's morning!" Your loud, curly-haired boys scream as they run around the room with wooden swords.

"What's all this ruckus about?" Mihawk groans. Both boys freeze, noticing the other figure sitting up on the bed, "Papa!"

"There are my brats," Mihawk huffs as they let the swords clatter to the ground to climb the bed and throw themselves at him, "I missed the two of you," he says, hugging them and kissing their heads.

You stare lovingly at the scene in front of you. The twins were a result of your honeymoon with Mihawk. Fruits of your love, if you will.

The five-year-olds are the spitting image of their father. Kind reminders of him whenever Mihawk has to go out on a mission.

"Missed you too, Papa."

"I want some snuggles, too!" You exclaim, grabbing the twin closest to you and placing him on your lap to kiss and snuggle. He squirms and laughs as you tickle his belly.

The twins celebrate their dad's back as they cling and climb over him. You let them do as they please, considering it has been you who they've clung to for the past couple of weeks.

"Mama is sick," one of them blurts out to Mihawk, causing you to freeze.

"Mhm, Mama called the doctor to make her better!" The other echoes as you pull him to your lap to shush him.

Mihawk narrows his eyes at you as he listens to the twins ramble. You throw him a sheepish smile and quickly look down at your son, brushing his unruly curls to avoid his gaze.

"Well, Papa is home now. I'll take good care of Mama," Mihawk reassures them. "Why don't the two of you go to the kitchen and gather the ingredients for your favorite?'

"Really?" They ask in unison with excited smiles.

"Absolutely," Mihawk says just as excited, ushering the boys out of the room. As soon as they run out, he turns to you with a raised eyebrow, "Not that I'm a doctor, but you didn't seem sick a while ago."

"I didn't?" You ask incredulously, standing from the bed to sit on the vanity.

Mihawk follows you, knowing you're trying to avoid the conversation. He calls your name, kneeling down on the floor by your seat. "Why did you call the doctor?"

You sigh, mustering the courage to tell him the news. You face him as he settles between your legs. He grabs your hand and places a kiss on the back of it, giving you the courage to tell him.

"We're having another baby," you smile at him, squeezing his hand.

"You're happy?" Mihawk is ecstatic, to say the least, but he recognizes how hard your pregnancy with the twins had been. So, he toned it down for the moment.

"I'm happy," you nod, allowing him the joy of having another kid. It's been six years, and you're ready for another baby. Besides, the boys are growing up so fast that they aren't babies anymore.

Mihawk hugs you from his kneeling position, digging his head into your stomach, "You think we'll have a girl?"

"I have my fingers crossed. There's too much testosterone in this castle. One thing is for sure though, it's the last one," you tell him, kissing his head.

"Come on, darling. We have more space for two or three more..."

You roll your eyes at him and gently push him away, reminding him he has two hyperactive boys downstairs waiting for him.

#netflix one piece #fanfiction #opla mihawk #opla smut #opla x reader #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #opla dracule mihawk #pole dracule mihawk x reader #smut #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction

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buggysangel17 · 1 year ago

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The Bride of A Warlord

Summary: You have arrived to what you now call your new home, it was scary and confusing, but at least you have someone else to keep you company. Characters: Dracule Mihawk x Wife!Female Reader (Amihan). Perona Word Count: 1,198 Chapter Warnings: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence (I am still in episode 20 of OP Anime so please bear with me on the fucked up timeline of events here)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Send Me An Ask?

You were consumed by a cocktail of fear and excitement.

But that was only natural to feel in your current predicament. Taken from your home due to circumstance that was no longer in your control. You turned to what you now call your husband. Dracule Mihawk was a man not to be trifled with, one of the Seven Warlords and dubbed the Greatest Swordsman in the world.

“I will have your room prepared as soon as possible.” Mihawk spoke, interrupting you from your train of thoughts.

All you could do was nod. You were taken from your own home, miles away from what you had once been so familiar with, a place that you had deemed had become your own prison. Any form of freedom you would take, even if it means being under the circumstantial marriage with one Warlord such as Mihawk.

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, having no right to complain or react negatively for a short wait.

Even without looking at him, you’ve noticed his sharp yellow eyes glued fall to you. Turning to looking up at him, you noticed his narrowed eyes, a frown that was something you had gotten so used to rest on his lips.

“You will call me by my name, I do not agree to have you calling me of anything else while under you are under my care.”

You gulped, but nodded your head in agreement. This man, as handsome as he was, still scared you. Having caught firsthand the destruction his sword could make to your entire island should his will make it.

“You are not here as my prisoner, you can freely explore the castle should you wish to do so. All I ask is you not to leave unless you tell me or have me to accompany you, is that understood?”

“Yes—Mihawk.” You responded quickly.

As you step off the grandiose boat onto the rocky shore of Kuraigana Island, your heard races with anticipation and uncertainty. The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and new adventure, but it’s the sight before you that leaves you breathless. Your new husband’s castle, looms high above, perched on a ragged cliff that seems to defy gravity.

The castle is a dark, imposing fortress, its jagged spires reaching towards the heavens like the fingers of a giant’s skeletal hands. The stone walls are as grey and foreboding as the thunderclouds that hover over the island. You can’t help but shudder at the stark contrast between the castle and the vibrant, tropical island that surrounds it.

Your arrival has not gone unnoticed. From the castle's towering parapets, you catch glimpses of shadowy figures watching your every move. As you start to climb the narrow, winding path that leads to the castle gates, your footsteps echo in the eerie silence.

The closer you get, the more details you can make out. The castle is adorned with intricate, Gothic architecture, with gargoyles leering down from the eaves. The windows are narrow and slit-like, like the eyes of a predator, and they seem to be keeping a watchful gaze on you. The walls are covered in ivy and moss, as if nature itself is trying to reclaim this imposing structure.

You can't help but feel a sense of unease as you approach the massive, iron-bound gates. The air feels heavy with centuries of history, and you can't shake the feeling that the castle holds secrets, both wondrous and sinister, within its ancient walls.

As the gates slowly creak open, revealing the cavernous darkness beyond, your heart pounds in your chest. You have entered a world unlike any you have ever known, a world of mystery and danger. And as you step across the threshold, you can't help but wonder what awaits you in this forbidding castle on Kuraigana Island.

As you step through the imposing gates of Mihawk's castle, your heart is still pounding with trepidation. The exterior of the castle had filled you with a sense of foreboding, but as you cross the threshold and enter the grand foyer, you are struck by a stark contrast.

The interior of the castle is a complete surprise. The space is bathed in warm, inviting light that spills from ornate chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. Elaborate tapestries hang on the walls, depicting scenes of epic battles and exotic landscapes. The polished marble floors beneath your feet reflect the glow of the many candles that line the corridor leading deeper into the castle.

Your husband, Mihawk, takes your hand and leads you forward, his expression unreadable. His grip is reassuring, grounding you in this unexpected change of atmosphere. You exchange a glance with him, and for a moment, you both share a silent understanding of the paradoxical nature of the castle.

The air inside is fragrant with the scent of fresh flowers, and the walls are adorned with vibrant paintings and delicate porcelain vases filled with blossoms.

As you explore the interior of the castle, you discover cozy sitting rooms with plush sofas and grand dining halls set with opulent feasts. The contrast between the grim exterior and the opulent interior is almost surreal, and you can't help but marvel at the transformation.

Mihawk guides you to a balcony overlooking a breathtaking garden bathed in moonlight. The sight of it takes your breath away, and you realize that the castle holds a world of beauty and wonder that you could not have imagined.

As you stand together on the balcony, surrounded by the enchanting sights and sounds of the castle, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope and excitement for the future that awaits you here, in this magical, enigmatic place.

It wasn’t your home, no, far from it, but with this new found freedom, all you could think of right now is what the world could possibly be able to give you now.

“You have a guest along? That’s surprising from you.”

You tensed, immediately finding yourself stepping closer to the man you now call your husband. Turning to the owner of the voice, the sight of a pink-haired girl over a decade younger than you had floated towards your direction with what you think were ghost accompanying her.

“Not a guest.” Mihawk explained his gaze was on you, you tensed as his hand had rested on the small of your back. “My wife.” He introduce without much of a hesitation in his tone.

“Wife?!” The girl gaped and was immediately all over you, questioning you and your life decisions and how much of a sour sport Mihawk was to her especially as he had left her all alone in the castle.

“You have a daughter?” You inquired.

“No, just an unwelcomed guest.” He explained earning the offense of the girl that you now learned was named Perona. “But she will keep you company for the instance that I will be out for a while.”

You nodded turning your attention to the package that came with now living in the same home, in the same castle, and in the same Island as your new husband. It was a chaos that you were slowly but surely coming to enjoy as time goes by.

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cloudzoro · 2 months ago

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♡ cloudzoro's faves masterlist ♡

a master list of my fave things ive written ✨️

♡ - fic

☆ - headcanons/reactions

s - smut

☁️ - top 3 faves

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

kink discovery ☁️ (multicharacter, 3 parts)

discovering a new kink with your partner (☆/s)

posted: 28/01/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

toy (ace x reader x sanji)

You and your boyfriend, Ace, are staying aboard his little brothers ship and the cook takes a liking to you. Ace is initially jealous but when he catches Sanji eavesdropping on the two of you, he issues a punishment that has him realising how much fun he can have with the cook. (♡/s)

posted: 28/01/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

forever (zoro x reader)

“I know we can't get married. Being reputable pirates, no one would risk having a legal record of us in their registry. But I don't give a fuck about a ridiculous party or a piece of fucking paper." (♡/s)

posted: 23/02/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

hand placement (multiple characters)

where they put their hands during sex (☆/s)

posted: 18/06/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

nonsexual turn-ons (multiple characters)

small, innocent things you do that turn them on (☆/s)

posted: 04/07/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

other than the bed (multiple characters)

favourite place they've fucked you other than the bed (☆/s)

posted: 07/07/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

biggest kinks (ace x reader)

Ace's biggest kinks headcanons + drabble (☆/s)

posted: 15/07/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

louder (robin x reader)

robins been quiet in bed and you're determined to hear her sweet moans (s)

posted: 19/07/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

night watch (robin x reader)

your wife joins you for your watch shift

posted: 20/07/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

secret (ace x reader x law)

the doctor asks ace for some advice. ace offers a physical demonstration. (♡/s)

posted: 21/07/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

fated ☁️ (buggy x reader x shanks)

your childhood friends, buggy and shanks, both found your bar around six months ago and have been hooking up with you ever since. the connection the three of you have runs much deeper than mindless sex so you finally get them in the same place at the same time so you can fuck like animals and confess your love. (♡/s)

posted: 15/08/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

watersports (zoro x reader)

Zoro discovers a new kink of his and very gently brings it up to you (s)

posted: 25/08/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

nsfw alphabet ☁️ (robin x reader)

a-z of sex with nico robin (☆/s)

posted: 30/08/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

doubting it (ace x reader)

Ace is having a bad day and a lot of self-worth issues, but luckily, he has you to bring him back down to earth. (♡/s)

posted: 01/09/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

shoes (sanji x reader)

Sanji really likes shoes, and you really like Sanji (s)

posted: 04/09/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

morning dew (ace x reader)

you're happy to wake up next to the love of your life, until he's not there anymore (♡)

posted: 05/09/24

✩♬ ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

star (mihawk x reader)

you get all dolled up for an important meal and your husband can't help himself (♡/s)

posted: 26/10/24

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #fem!reader #masterlist #zoro x reader #ace x reader #nico robin x reader

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lockes-woods · 9 months ago

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Captain's Quarters (One-Shot)

Request: could you do mihawk x reader x shanks nsfw where mihawk watches shanks have his way with his wife (whom his wife grew up with on Roger's ship.) And later joins them in a rough but loving making session!🖤

Requested By: @jabean

Warning: Smut; MDNI

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A gasp escapes you as the back of your legs hits the foot of the bed causing you to fall backward and pull away from the kiss you were sharing with Shanks. You pant softly as you look up to see Shanks towering over you with a smirk on his face. Your focus was split between the pirate nudging your knees apart and your swordsman husband sitting to your right. You could just make out Mihawk in your peripheral vision. You inadvertently squeak as Shanks wraps his hands around your ankles and pulls you down the bed so that you are sitting on the edge.

“Eyes up here baby, Mihawk will be there when we’re done,” he says hiking up the skirt of your dress higher up your waist. He glances up at you for permission to continue as he wraps his fingers around either side of your now-exposed panties. You bit your lip and nod reassuringly. Your heart warms at the small gesture, not that it is surprising. Shanks has always been respectful towards you. Even now when he was moments away from defiling you on your marital bed that you share with another man. He let out a groan at the sight of your now bare pussy. Strings of your slick are still connecting you to your underwear. Shanks caught your thighs seconds before you instinctually snapped them shut.

“C’mon, sweetheart don’t go shy on me now. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to see you like this?” he says kneeling down so that he was eye level to your exposed cunt. You let out a whine at the sensation of his hot breath fanning out over your most intimate parts. You can feel your face heating up as he gently runs a finger between your lower lips, pushing them apart. You share a moan with him when he leans forward and licks a long strip from your opening to your clit.

“Fuck, you taste better than I imagined,” he groans, leaning back on his heels.

“Think about this a lot?” you ask teasingly.

“Since I started to have sexual desires,” he responds honestly.

“I’d take that as a compliment if Buggy and I weren’t your only options on the Oro Jackson. Though I still think you and Buggy would have been a cute couple.” You reply, jokingly. Shanks rolls his eyes before diving back into you. He pulls a sharp gasp from you when he wraps his lips around your clit and begins to suck, while experimentally thrusting a finger into you.

“Fuck,” you moan, throwing your head back as he adds a finger and begins to hit your most sensitive spot. Your attention snaps to your right at the sound of the chair squeaking in protest as Mihawk shifts his weight, you groan as you lock eyes with your husband. His pants and briefs at some point had been pushed down leaving his cock exposed. He has a firm grip on his cock, pumping it at a leisurely pace. You inadvertently clench around Shanks’s fingers at the sight. Your attention snaps back to Shanks as he lightly nips at your clit and adds another finger. You groan at the stretch.

“Fuck, faster Shanks please,” you moan as you shallowly thrust up into his face. You gasp as he slaps your outer thigh, before barring your hips down with his left arm.

“Don’t be a brat, Mihawk said you were a good girl. Do you want to make him a liar?” Shanks asks, pulling back from your clit while he continues to finger you.

“No,” you whimper, “But, you’ve been teasing me all night. I wanna cum” you whine. It was true, Shanks’s hands had barely left your body since meeting up with him earlier at the bar. If it wasn’t his hand on your thigh, then it was a light touch on your lower back while passing you or holding you to him by your waist while sitting in a booth. If his touches weren’t teasing enough, he had also been whispering filthy promises into your ear about everything he planned on doing you tonight.

“Is that all sweetheart? You want me to make you cum?” he asked, looking down at you predatorily. You nod desperately, as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he nods, “I’ll make you cum.” The rational part of your brain that could perceive that as a threat was silenced by your overwhelming need for release. You gasp as his lips seal around your clit again and his fingers speed up. They curl inside of you finding the exact spot to trigger your release. You could feel the coil in your gut winding itself impossibly tight as Shanks solos in on that spot.

“Fuck, Shanks” you moan, your walls clench down on his fingers in a vice grip as you cum. Shanks continues to finger you through your orgasm; his lips never leaving your clit. Your eyes well up as the pleasure turns painful as he begins to overstimulate you.

“Shanks,” you gasp, “Please!”

“Please, what? I thought you wanted to cum baby girl,” Shanks says with a smirk, releasing your clit. His fingers made no move to leave your pussy as they continue to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” you gasp as you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You knew if you needed to stop you could always use your safe word. You let out a loud moan when the pain became a pleasure again. Your thighs quake against Shanks’s forearm as he fingers you through your second orgasm. A whine pulls from your throat as Shanks slowly eases his fingers out of you. You pant, laying back as your thighs continue to shake from the intensity of your second orgasm. Your attention goes to Mihawk as he gently calls your name. Your eyes widen as you take in his depraved state. Cum was splattered all over his lower abdomen and the tops of his thighs. He was already semi-hard again.

“What do you say after someone makes you cum?” He asks, pulling your gaze from his cock.

“Thank you,” you say looking down at Shanks in lieu of answering Mihawk.

“Anytime baby,” he says as he slips his shirt off and begins to pull down his pants. You watch with hooded eyes as his cock pops out of his briefs.

“How do you want me?” you ask, rubbing your thighs together. Despite your orgasms, you could feel yourself getting desperate again. Shanks hums, as he finishes taking his clothes off.

“Get on your knees facing the headboard.” He orders. You nod, wordlessly slipping out of your dress. You then flip over and crawl up the mattress. You quickly lean down on your forearms as you arch your back towards Shank. He lets out a groan as he crawls up behind you. You can feel the heat radiating off his body as he hovers behind you.

“Need a hand with that Mihawk or do you only want to watch?” Shanks asks.

“Your only request was for me to watch,” Mihawk says back.

“Yeah, but you can still watch me while she sucks you off. Plus, don’t you think she’d look pretty choking on your cock while I fuck her from behind?” Shanks asks. You could feel the heat of embarrassment crawl up your spine as the two objectified you like you weren’t right there. In this moment it didn’t matter that you were a successful established Captain, right now all that mattered was how you could be used to the fullest to satisfy them. Mihawk only hums in response as he sheds his remaining clothing and sits down at the head of the bed. You arch into his touch as he cupped your face, affectionately rubbing your cheek with his thumb. He looks down at you silently asking if you are okay, you nod reassuringly. Shanks pulls a gasp from you as he rubs the blunt head of his cock through your folds.

“Are you ready baby?” Shanks asks, rubbing up and down your spine.

“Please,” you whine out, you could feel your mouth water as Mihawk pumped his cock in front of your face. A deep whine emerged from your throat at the feeling of the head of Shanks’s cock breaching your entrance. You are given no time to recover as Mihawk gently pushes the head of his cock past your lips and into your mouth. You moan around his dick at the feeling of Shank’s stretching you to the fullest. You try your hardest to match Shanks’s thrust in time with the bob of your head around Mihawk. A sigh of relief leaves you as you feel Shanks bottom out against you. Your instantaneous relief was immediately ripped away as Shanks pulled back before thrusting back into you knocking the wind out of your chest. You were given no time to recover as he pulled back and thrusts in again. This time causing Mihawk to breach your throat.

Mihawk lets out a low moan as your chocked around his cock. You take a deep breath through your nose and relax your throat the best you can.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well baby,” Shanks groans above you, keeping pace with the brutal tempo he set. All you could do was whine as you were jerked back and forth between the two. You could tell Mihawk was close as his shallow thrusts deepened and became more erratic. You could feel yourself getting close. Shanks isn’t far behind as his grip on your hips tightens.

“Fuck where do you want me to cum,” Shanks pants desperately.

“In her,” Mihawk says firmly, causing you to clench around Shanks in response. It will never not be a turn-on when Mihawk takes charge. Mihawk let out a moan, and seconds later he unloaded in your mouth. You moan around him swallowing as much of him as you can. His release triggers yours, which in turn causes Shanks to cum deep inside of you. A whine escapes your throat as Mihawk eases his cock out of your mouth. You take a deep, unobstructed breath as you collapse onto the bed. Another whine is pulled from your throat at the feeling of Shanks slowly easing out of you. You flopped on your back panting. Mihawk was about to get up to help you clean up when Shanks caught his wrist.

“I got it,” he says standing up.

“But-” Mihawk begins to argue.

“Don’t worry about it it’s your day too,” Shanks says with a smile as he retreats back to the bathroom. Mihawk slides back into bed holding your spent body from behind. You close your eyes, as your husband rubs little circles into your hip. Shank reemerges with two damp washcloths and kneels next to the bed to clean you up a bit. He tosses the used cloths into the hamper before pulling back to make his exit. Your hand caught his wrist in a firm grip.

“Where are you going?” you ask, opening your eyes.

“Oh, I was just gonna go-” he starts before you tug him towards you.

“You’re staying,” you say with little room for argument. Shanks glances up to Mihawk above you.

“You heard her,” Mihawk says pulling back a bit to make room for him. A blush forms on Shank’s cheeks as he slips into bed in front of you and cradles you against his chest.

“Happy Birthday,” You say softly, before burrowing your face into Shanks's chest and dosing off.

“Thanks,”

“Thank you,” Both men say in unison as they stare down at you affectionately.

#red haired shanks #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #shanks x you #mihawk x you #smut #one piece #one piece one shot #cuckholding #cross posted on ao3

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 2 months ago

Text

Being Zoro's dance teacher would involve...

Prince!Roronoa Zoro x princess!reader. Animanga characters who have not (yet) appeared on the show are mentioned.

*****

💚 Zoro is the adoptive son of King Mihawk of Kuraigana. While neither is a particularly affectionate man, they care deeply about each other; Zoro is grateful to Mihawk for having given him a safe home when he was an orphan and for having taught him everything he knows about swordsmanship, and the older man is now aware of how lonely his life was before that stubborn, overconfident but fragile boy crossed his path. The young man has given him much to be proud of: he is brave, clever, resilient, generous, loyal, and will make a splendid King one day… especially with the right Queen by his side. Unfortunately, unlike most young men his age, Zoro is completely uninterested in finding a spouse, whether for personal or social reasons. He does like girls, Mihawk is quite sure, just… he is perfectly satisfied on his own, and since he’s still so young, and his father is in excellent health, Mihawk has no intention of forcing him to marry and produce an heir.

💚 On the other hand, since the prince is by now almost an adult, it won’t hurt to introduce him to a few suitable ladies, both in the kingdom and abroad, in the hope that he finds one he likes. Mihawk would be particularly pleased to see his son marry princess Nami, second daughter of Queen Belle-mère (the elder, princess Nojiko, is engaged to prince Ace of Foosha kingdom) of Cocoyashi, a kingdom with which Kuraigana has just sealed an alliance. Zoro is a very attractive young man and would make a fine husband for even the highest-born ladies; the only problem is, Zoro has virtually never spoken to a girl in his life, and would probably be unable to impress one. Specifically, Zoro is completely unable to dance, a pastime most ladies and princesses appreciate and take part in; also, more matches, both the love sort and those decided by the future spouses’ families, have been sealed during a ball than in any other situation. Mihawk hopes his son will find a wife who appreciates him for more than his ability to do a double reverse spin but, he decides, it won’t hurt if he’s able not to step on his partner’s feet, and to avoid throwing her to the ground because he turned the wrong way during a reverse embrace. After all, his heir will come of age in just a few months, and the occasion will be celebrated with a great ball, which many princesses and highborn ladies will attend. They -he- need someone to teach Zoro how to dance, and more broadly how to interact with women and impress them.

💚 Mihawk’s choice falls on you, a fellow princess, younger child of a King whose realm is a longstanding ally of Kuraigana. You have started dancing when you were barely capable of walking, and your talent as a dancer is well known; also, the king reflects, a woman his age will be better suited for teaching Zoro to interact with potential brides. So, Mihawk writes to your father, explaining his request and asking for your assistance; he wants you to come live at his court and be his heir’s tutor in the art of dancing, to transform him into a suitable groom. While surprised, you are happy to accept: dancing has always been your passion, and more than once you reflected that had you not been a princess, nothing would have made you happier than opening a school and spending your days teaching others the art you love so much. King Mihawk’s offer is probably the closest thing you will ever have to the realisation of your dream, and so you beg your father to allow you to go.

💚 Two weeks later you’re at Kuraigana, curtseying deeply in front of the King, who is favourably impressed with your grace and elegance; he also tests you -”I hope you don’t mind, but I wouldn’t put my son’s future in the hands of anyone but the best teachers”- having you partner one of the court’s noblemen for a few rounds of the court’s most popular dances. Relishing the challenge, you perform admirably, and Mihawk is reassured he made the right choice.

💚 “Allow me to introduce you to your pupil.” he then says, gesturing to a person who has been waiting in a corner, unseen, ever since you entered the room “Zoro, this is princess (name); I’m sure you’ll do your best to welcome her in our kingdom, and will scrupulously follow her directions.” And so you find yourself face to face with your pupil, who advances towards you with the same enthusiasm of a prisoner on his way to the gallows. “It is a pleasure.” he mumbles as he stares at his own feet, while his father looks on disapprovingly “I appreciate your help, my lady, and I swear I will do my utmost to please you.”

💚 The prince is a very attractive young man, which you can’t help noticing, like you can’t help noticing the three -three!- swords he carries at his belt; you curtsy deeply, and then there’s nothing you can do but stare at each other, suddenly embarrassed and unable to find something to say. The last thing you want is to remain silent, since you’ve been called at court especially to teach the prince to talk to ladies such as yourself, so in the end you force yourself to say a few words about how happy you are you’re going to work together, and how you hope he’ll enjoy learning from you. Then fortunately you are dismissed, a comfortable set of rooms having already been prepared for you at the palace, to make yourself at home and rest… until that night, when your first dancing lesson will take place.

💚 And so, your new life as a dancing teacher begins. You and prince Zoro practice every day for two hours in the palace’s ballroom, and it is immediately evident to you that the task you have accepted will be very hard, perhaps almost impossible, to successfully accomplish. You are determined to do your best, to be patient and helpful with your pupil and not to complain if it takes him days, or even weeks, to master the easiest steps; in short, you want to be an encouraging teacher, the sort a pupil can pose questions to without fear of being reprimanded for not having learned already. Unfortunately, it seems at first all your good intentions are wasted, because your pupil seems at first as gifted at dancing as a fish would be at flying.

💚 Zoro -not prince Zoro, not your highness; he made it very clear on your first day that he finds titles completely superfluous, at least in your current situation. Since we’ll spend time together every day we might as well do without formalities, right? You can call me Zoro and I’ll call you (name), he pointed out. You had to recognise the sensibleness of his proposal, not daring to think what your father would think, knowing you’re letting a man you’ve known for no more than two hours call you by your first name- is completely unable to dance, which you thought impossible for a man who grew up at court; he doesn’t know the name of the most common steps, and can’t even tell a waltz and a foxtrot apart. It’s clear he has no interest whatsoever in the art you love, you could almost say he actively hates it, which is perhaps not surprising, since many men consider dancing a feminine art from which to stay away, lest their masculinity be put in question, but you really wish you could understand why, because that might be the only way to unblock a situation that in the first days of your permanence on Kuraigana seems lost from the start. Mihawk has told you how imperative it is that his heir makes a good impression on his coming-of-age ball, and you’re determined to help him as much as you can, but even with the best intentions you can’t teach a student who doesn’t want to learn.

💚 Zoro never skips your lessons; sometimes he’s late in joining you in the ballroom, but you’re soon informed that is due to his abysmal sense of direction rather than lack of interest or disrespect towards you. Clearly unenthusiastic, he does pay attention as you show him how to move, or explain why this particular dance is different from others, and can even replicate a simple sequence of steps after you’ve shown it to him a few times. He has less sense of rhythm than any person you know, but he’s smart enough to understand that the basic figures of a certain dance are based on the repetition of the same movements, whether there is music or not. When you ask him to dance by himself, arms raised to hold the body of an invisible partner, he manages, even though he still stumbles and occasionally takes the wrong step, and you do see him improve, slowly but surely. If what you had been asked to teach him were solo dances, the sort one performs by themselves, or group ones, you’d probably be able to make a decent dancer out of Zoro in a matter of weeks, and maybe even a respectable one with a little more time.

💚 Unfortunately it’s couple dances that Mihawk has entrusted you with teaching his heir, and tuat he would be mainly called to perform during balls, and it’s then, when he has to dance with another person, that Zoro freezes. “Put your hand in mine… no, the other hand, that goes on my side… yes, here, and… left foot forward… left foot Zoro, and… aah…!” Soon you have to exchange your delicate dancing shoes for a more sturdy pair, because your pupil keeps stepping on your feet, and he moves so awkwardly a couple of times he almost throws you to the ground; he forgets steps he had executed on his own only five minutes ago, turns the wrong way nine times out of ten, and is suddenly incapable of following the music at all. While until now he had patiently, and dedicatedly, listened to your teachings and done his best to follow your instructions, he is suddenly anxious to conclude your lesson and get away. Truth to be told, you can’t help but get the impression he doesn’t want to dance with you; he doesn’t mind when you’re giving him directions, showing him the steps and correcting him as he dances on his own, but when he has to partner you it’s a completely different matter: Zoro treats you as if you smelled bad, or had some terrible infectious disease - as if, in short, being close to you, sharing your air and touching your hands, were unbearable.

💚 It is perplexing, and frustrating, and also hurtful. Zoro is clearly a solitary person, unless he has known someone for years, and the friends he spends his time with are all men, but in the days since your arrival at Kuraigana your relationship had become cordial, if not exactly friendly. Zoro is quite introverted and taciturn, but as you dined with him and his father or shared a brief walk in the gardens after a chance encounter, you always found a topic to discuss, and you never had the impression he disliked you. What reason would he have? You had never met before, and you’ve never mistreated him when he made a mistake during your lessons -unlike one of your own teachers, who had the unpleasant habit of hitting you on the back or the legs with his cane when he was unsatisfied with your posture- and while he could probably find a more pleasing way to spend his evenings than learning to dance, he told you he’s determined to do his best to please his father. You really don’t understand why during the second part of his lessons, when he has to put into practice what until now he clearly made an effort to learn, he invariably looks like it physically pains him to simply hold your hand and put his on your hip.

💚 You have tried asking him what the problem is, whether you make him uncomfortable and if there’s something you can do to make him more at ease, but he never answered, simply mumbling that it’s not your fault and that he’s sorry, all if it looking at his feet -a habit you’re still desperately trying to make him get out of as a dancer- rather than at you, and offering no explanation for his behaviour. You can’t force him to confide in you, but you fear that if Zoro does not overcome whatever problem prevents him from dancing with you, you will never be able to teach him to dance beyond the very basics. You can always decide to go home; no one is forcing you to remain at Kuraigana in the role of dancing teacher to the prince, and for all his intimidating attitude you know Mihawk won’t get crossed, or worse complain with your father, if you explain to him that you don’t think you can help Zoro, even though you did try your best. The last thing you want is to put your pupil at odds with his father, who he respects immensely and who will be highly displeased to know his heir had his dancing teacher give up after only a few days, but perhaps what Zoro needs is a different approach, a person, preferably more experienced than you, with a different method who will succeed where you have failed… unless, of course, the prince of Kuraigana also treats them as if the simplest touch were an agony he can barely stand.

💚 One night you try teaching Zoro the basic figures of one of the most popular dances of the kingdom, which requires the man to circle his partner’s waist with his arm as he holds her hand in his. You begin the lesson determined to give your best shot, your last attempt before admitting defeat, but unfortunately it goes even worse than usual; Zoro does passably well for the first part of the lesson, making it clear he actually listened to your instructions and is doing his best to follow your steps, but as soon as you ask him to assume the position, he immediately looks away, as if steeling himself, and is only able to perform -badly- a couple of steps, his body almost physically rejecting yours, before giving up, and brusquely stepping away from you. “This is so stupid!” he exclaims, frustrated, and that is what really sets you off; as a princess you have been taught to keep your opinions to yourself unless asked, but you can’t stand it - you can’t stand him, and the way this stubborn young man insults the art you have dedicated your life to. “How dare you? Dancing is not stupid!” you cry out, pressing a finger to Zoro’s chest “Dancing is an art that has existed as long as humankind has, and you have the courage to dismiss it because you lack the intelligence to appreciate it? You are the fool, since for days you’ve been wasting my time and yours and you can’t even tell me why! If I really am so - so unbearably hideous in your eyes, at least have the courage to tell me to my face!”

💚 Zoro stares at you, flabbergasted, but you see realisation dawn on his face as you turn and stomp -which is proof of how upset you are; as a princess and a dancer, it comes naturally to you to move as lightly and gracefully as you can, but Zoro has brought out the worst in you- out of the room, leaving him alone. The next day, you beg to be excused from the lesson, blaming a terrible migraine, and spend the evening in your room, packing for when, tomorrow morning, you’ll talk to the King and ask to be allowed to return home. Part of you is actually saddened by this failure, and wishes you could have shown Zoro the beauty and the joy that can be found in dancing. You also wish you could have made friends with him, since the prince has many of the qualities you respect and appreciate in people, but the interest is clearly one-sided, since the simple fact of being close to you makes him uncomfortable. You were probably wrong to raise your voice at him, but what is done is done, and after tonight you are pretty sure Zoro will never want to see you again. You really hope Zoro finds someone he feels more at ease with and can learn from, but you can’t help feeling sad, and disappointed, that your first and perhaps only chance to be a dance teacher was a complete failure.

💚 You try to go to sleep early, in anticipation of your departure tomorrow, but two hours later you’re still awake, tossing and turning in your bed; in the end, with a sigh, you get up and put your dressing gown on, wondering if a short walk in the castle’s gardens will help you fall asleep. It will be highly awkward should the King, or Zoro, see you, for different reasons, but you’re pretty convinced you’re safe: the gardens will surely be deserted this late at night, and by now you can move around in the palace well enough to go unnoticed. A few minutes later you are crossing a long empty corridor on the ground floor, not far from the ballroom, when an unexpected noise reaches your ears, the sound of metal clashing against metal, grunting and muffled cries; a sword fight is taking place, you realise as you approach, the ballroom having turned into a field of battle, and the contenders are not two of the palace’s guards, or courtiers who decided to settle a dispute letting their weapons talk for them. It’s the King and his heir… Mihawk and Zoro.

💚 You knew Zoro is a swordsman; it would have been hard not to know, since he carries his three swords wherever he goes, even though you ask him to leave them on a chair during your lessons, not to mention that with a father who has long been considered the world’s strongest swordsman, it was probably natural for him to develop an interest in the art. You have also heard someone mention father and son spar almost every day, as soon as both of them have a free hour, but you never saw them, and perhaps that’s why you instantly forget your programme of walking in the gardens until you feel ready to return to bed, and remain to witness the duel, peeking from behind the door.

💚 The fight is violent, even brutal, not a simple spar or a friendly match but a serious battle with the two opponents actively trying to hurt each other, so much that at first you wonder if you shouldn’t go call someone to separate them. Soon, though, it becomes clear that Zoro is not attempting to get rid of his father to conquer the throne, nor is Mihawk punishing his heir, like your father occasionally did with you and your brother using his belt; they are training. “Now try a reverse grip, and don’t lower your guard!” the King explains as he effortlessly wields his huge black sword, clearly not restraining himself even though his attacks could easily kill a less experienced adversary “An overhead strike is not appropriate if you’re not right in front of your opponent, you better parry and then a lateral lunge…”

💚 Zoro is wielding all his swords, the third in his mouth (!), and is… well, he’s exactly what you wish he were during your dancing lessons: at ease, enthusiastic, determined to do anything to succeed as he parries or evades his father’s blows and does his best to counterattack. He’s a formidable swordsman, even someone like you who has never wielded anything larger than a steak knife can see it, but clearly at a disadvantage, struggling to even just keep up with Mihawk, but there is a savage joy in his eyes, the exhilarating feeling of a man who is in his element, focused on the fight above all, willing to get hurt if it means hitting his target. There is a brutal, uneven but compelling sort of elegance in the way the two swordsmen dance -yes, dance- around each other, exchanging blows and trying to break through the opponent’s defences, the clashing of the swords in the place of the gramophone’s music, and parries and lunges playing the part of the steps. You know Zoro can’t win, but as you observe the fight you find yourself cheering every time one of his blows is successful, or when Mihawk silently compliments him with a nod of his head. There is no trace of the awkwardness and unease you have gotten used to during your dancing lessons; if Zoro could be half as thrilled, at ease and motivated then as he is now as he battles his father, you reflect, he’d become a first-rate dancer in a matter of weeks.

💚 As you look at your pupil, excitement and elation and resoluteness evident on his face, you know this is exactly what you look like as you dance, when you let the music carry you to the point you don’t even feel your feet hurt and even the least coordinated partner becomes graceful, and you’re flying without the need for wings or magic. The sword is Zoro’s passion, just like dancing is yours; you may be as different, and your interest as incompatible, as it is possible to be, but for a moment you feel him close, almost able to perceive the emotions that animate his body. This is when you begin falling for him, even though you don’t realise it yet; when you see the real him, beyond petty fears and untold truths, shining through, the instinctive joy of knowing you are doing what you are meant to.

💚 The duel finally ends, as you expected with Mihawk emerging victorious even though the King does have words of praise -well, of not criticism- for his heir’s performance; the two exchange a few words before Mihawk leaves. “You’re not coming? It’s quite late.” he points out, and Zoro answers that he wants to practise a new technique before going to bed. You remain hidden in your nook while the King leaves the room, and once he has disappeared around the corner you return to look at Zoro, well aware that is not exactly polite, not to mention proper, to spy on him, but you can’t tear your eyes from the heaving, aching young man in front of you, who you feel as you were seeing from the first time… and you sort of are. Zoro takes a minute to drink from a water pitcher placed on a little table in a corner, wipes sweat from his forehead with his shirt -and you’re not as fast as you should be to avert your eyes when the fabric is lifted to expose his toned stomach- then, unexpectedly, he places the sheath with his swords against the wall… reaches the middle of the room… lifts his arms…

💚 … and starts dancing.

💚 If your father were here he’d tell you how unladylike it is to stare at someone with your mouth hanging open, and you’re quite relieved he’s not here, because gaping is exactly what you are doing, left completely speechless by the scene in front of you. He’s performing a simple waltz, counting the steps under his breath, which you have told him to avoid as much as he can because dancing should feel or at least look natural, but otherwise better than he’s ever done during your lessons, even when you let him dance by himself. If this is what he can actually do you’d call him, if not a natural, at least a quicker-than-average learner; does it mean that even if you’re not touching, it’s your presence that disturbs him, making Zoro unable to reach his full potential? Is he simply more at ease practising without a public, like it happens to many artists and athletes? But even so, why is he doing it now?, on the first day he hasn’t been forced to attend a dancing lesson - a freedom he should relish, especially after your tantrum of a few hours ago; you know the lessons were Mihawk’s idea, and how important it is for Zoro to have his father approve of him, but…

💚 “One-two-three… one-two-three… front-back-front…” Zoro keeps repeating in a whisper, stumbling a bit but then quickly catching himself, and you’d happily remain here looking at him for the rest of the night, and this is why you decide to make yourself known, because no matter how unexpectedly pleasant and sweet that chaste form of intimacy, and how lovely it is to look at Zoro, the real Zoro, free of the expectations of his father and the court, you know you’d be terribly embarrassed in his place, not knowing someone is observing you.

💚 “Good evening.” you murmur, abandoning your hiding spot to reach the centre of the room, and Zoro, startled, is immediately suspicious, even on edge, as if you had caught him as he committed a crime. “What are you doing here? Were you spying on me?” he asks, arms by his side and feet still in a waltz position, and you admit that, having accidentally stumbled upon him and his father on your way to the gardens, you remained to observe them duel… and then him, as he practised his dancing. “I’m sorry, I know it was discourteous.” you admit, which Zoro does not deny “It’s just… you were exceptional.” “You’re exaggerating, I’ve been dancing for less than two weeks.” “You do dance better than I could have imagined, but I was actually talking about your swordsmanship; you… you were amazing, Zoro. I’ve seen my brother use a sword, and there are many capable warriors in my kingdom, but no one is like you; you held your ground against your father, which is not something many people can say. But it’s not simply that you were fighting to win, or for your life; I… I could almost see you pouring your soul in your sword, as if that was what you were put on earth to do; you… you look just like I feel when I dance.”

💚 Zoro is clearly affected by your words, flattered by your compliments and… touched by your ability to understand exactly what he feels as he fights, the sensation of being one with his sword, as if the weapon were an extension of his arm and he could feel every blow it parried on his body, metal and flesh fused in one. He does consider you an intelligent and sensitive person and he does know how much you love dancing, but he never thought you could be similar in that respect… that no matter how different the arts you are passionate about are, you both made them a huge part of your lives, even beyond the objective importance they assume in your everyday lives. Zoro has already been called to fight for the safety of his kingdom, or for his own life, many times, but he would still keep his swords by his side and train with his father even if the whole world were at peace; and he doesn’t doubt you would still dance on your own, even in the narrow space of your room and without music, if balls had been outlawed. Yes, maybe you are more similar than he had imagined… two people who have made of their art a purpose in and a way of life, something that makes their very existence more worthwhile.

💚 Suddenly as he regards you, and while many would not describe him as the forgiving sort, he’s no longer angry about having been spied on; he’s not even angry you all but shouted at him earlier today, even though you humbly ask for his forgiveness. You end up sitting side by side on the floor, having the first frank, open conversation in the two weeks you have known each other, and finally, without even having to ask him, Zoro shares with you the reason for his awkwardness as you dance together. “I don’t find you… repulsive, at all.” he admits, the relative darkness of the ballroom hiding the slight flush that has crept up on his cheeks “I mean, you don’t smell or… there’s nothing wrong with you; it’s just that… I’m not used to being so close to a woman, and I’m not… quite sure what to do.”

💚 You are left completely speechless by his explanation, which is the last you would have ever imagined. “You are saying… that you are shy?! Not that… there’s nothing wrong with it…” you hasten to add, to which Zoro raises an eyebrow, as if momentarily doubting your sincerity. “But, Zoro, there’s nothing wrong with two people touching each other as they dance; as long as you maintain the correct position, and you don’t take advantage of the proximity to grope, which I know you would never do, no one will ever accuse you of impropriety. Maybe… you have promised yourself to someone, and you don’t want to disrespect them if you dance with someone else?” “Of course not!” Zoro answers, openly surprised you could think he has a partner, as if he had never even considered the possibility; do swordfighters usually prefer to remain celibate, with their sword as their only lover? Or are all the ladies in Kuraigana’s court completely blind, unable to notice the unquestionable attractiveness of their prince? “It’s just… I never had a mother, or a sister, or to be honest a girl friend since I was little, so I never knew how to talk to them, you know? Or what to do when I’m with them, and since most girls like dancing…”

💚 He’s really shy, you realise with a sudden, unexpected surge of tenderness, not to mention the relief of knowing he doesn’t hate you, or find you repulsive, for some mysterious reason. Poor Zoro, he’s the sort of man who considers women a completely different race, with inscrutable rules of their own, and he probably fears that not knowing how to act in their presence, he’ll end up looking like a fool, or a brute, and shaming his father. “Well, in my experience, and while I know well how complicated and ambiguous court etiquette is, many ladies will appreciate it if you simply treat them with kindness, and try not to step on their feet.” you point out “Come to think of it, that is the second reason why your father asked me to come here, is it not? To teach you to talk to women, to make a good impression on them; don’t worry, once I’m done you’ll be the darling of all the ladies of the continent.” “Thank you, but I’ll be happy if they don’t consider me a barbarian after knowing me for five minutes, and they survive a dance with me without bruises.”

💚 You share a laugh, the way friends do. “May I see your swords?” you ask then, still curious about that part of Zoro’s life, so important for him but that you have glimpsed at tonight for the first time, and the young man by your side seems happy to show you his weapons, explaining the history and strengths of each of them, and even invites you to hold his favourite, the Wado Ichimonji, in your hands, to feel how light it is despite the exceptional durableness of its blade. “I wish I could learn to wield it.” you murmur, lost in your thoughts, and Zoro grins. “Really?” “Well… it’s something I’ve never done, you know? There are female swordfighters in my kingdom, but I never thought about joining them or learning. Maybe I should have, you can never know…” “I can teach you if you want.” “Excuse me?” “I can give you swordsmanship lessons, just like you teach me to dance; it’d be a way to repay you for all the time and effort you devote to me.” Zoro proposes, more and more excited as he explains his plan to you “I can tell my father I require more time for my dancing lessons, and no one will disturb us; I must have a blunted sword somewhere… come on, I am sure you’ll love it!”

💚 In your heart, you doubt you’ll be any good, since you have never had any aptitude for weapon fighting -or hand-to-hand, to be fair- and you’re probably too old to learn something completely new, but after all, you decide, why not? You know Zoro will not make fun of you for your clumsiness and complete ignorance of the most basic rules of swordsmanship, and you like his enthusiasm at the prospect of having a -or maybe you as?- pupil of his own. “Alright; I promise I’ll do my best, even though I doubt I’ll ever be worthy of joining the King’s Guard.” you say, and Zoro smiles at you, clearly excited. “You want to bet I’ll prove to be a better teacher than you are?” he jokes, and you smile at him. “I’m sure I’ll prove to be both the better teacher and the better pupil, even though you started your lessons two weeks ago…”

💚 You spend a few more minutes with Zoro, who tells you about his training, that his father started when he was barely five years old, and that an inexperienced witness like you might find excessively hard, brutal and even cruel, but that Zoro welcomes with joy, despite the more or less superficial wounds his father often inflicts him, and the fact that in fourteen years he has never been able to best his teacher, because he knows the King wouldn’t be so hard on him if he hadn’t faith in his potential as a fighter. As he tells you about his swords, of the techniques he has learnt and of the many opponents he has bested, Zoro’s eyes shine with joy, the enthusiasm evident in his voice; it’s quite a difference from the withdrawn, awkward or in the best of cases distant young man you had come to know. Maybe, you reflect, now that you’re finally free from his embarrassment and fear of coming off as inappropriate, the two of you might become friends, able to both teach and learn from each other, and to appreciate your time spent together. As Zoro’s hands touch yours to adjust your grip on the sword’s hilt, you think that nothing would make you happier.

💚 In the end you both decide to go to bed, since sunrise is only a few hours away. “Lesson number one: a gentleman always offers to accompany a lady somewhere.” you tell him. “But your bed is only fifty paces away.” “It makes no difference, it’s the thought that counts.” Zoro rolls his eyes, secretly amused. “Very well; can I walk you to your room, princess (name)?” “No, thank you, prince Zoro; but thanks for asking.” “Oh, you are unbelievable…” In the end, it’s you who has to help Zoro find his way to his rooms; standing in front of the door you say good-night, and to your surprise, he bows and kisses your hand, much more at ease than he was doing the same on the day of your first encounter. “I’m glad we… I mean, that we talked and there are no problems between us.” he murmurs, his breath warm on the back of your hand as he avoids your eyes “I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?”

💚 You only sleep three hours that night, but you wake up the next morning feeling well-rested and ready for a new day, your intention to tell Mihawk you have decided to leave and return home completely forgotten - at least for now. You and Zoro share a secret smile while you sit at the breakfast table, and that night you present yourself at the ballroom wearing the only pair of pants you own -for riding; you doubt it’s the appropriate clothing for a duel, but you have nothing better- and clumsily fail to grab the blunt sword Zoro tosses you. Amused, he helps you adjust your grip on the hilt, explaining that the grip must be firm but delicate, otherwise your hand will hurt. “Ready? Now try to hit me, however you want.” he invites you, and not knowing any better you launch yourself at him, swinging the sword that is, obviously, taken from your hand in a matter of seconds. “Keep your sword in a defensive position until the last moment before attacking, or you’ll be dead before you get to touch your opponent.” Zoro explains “And you’re not using a broadsword, there’s no reason to use both hands to hold it…”

💚 After five minutes of repeated assaults during which you spectacularly fail to even touch your opponent, Zoro helps you assume the correct position -feet as apart as the width of your shoulders, straight back, knees slightly bent, sword raised at a forty-five degree angle in front of you- and then teaches you a few simple movements, parries and lunges both, that you practise and practise until you’re sure you can repeat them in your sleep. A couple hours and Zoro deems himself satisfied with your performance, and concludes your first lesson. “So? How was it?” he asks, half excited and half nervous, as if fearing you could decide to throw in the towel after a single session; he clearly still hasn’t the faintest idea of the sort of person you are. “I had fun; and I can’t wait to do it again.” you admit “I’m sorry I was so terrible, Zoro, you’re used to training with your father…” “You did well for your first time; and I’m sure you’ll improve rapidly. Now, you want to take over?” “Excuse me? Oh, right…”

💚 You had almost forgotten you also have a lesson to teach, but after Zoro places the swords against the wall, and you both take a minute to drink some water and wipe your sweat off, he returns to you, looking as determined as he was as he fought his father, and you hurry to turn the gramophone on. You tell your pupil there’s no need for him to practise on his own anymore, having seen with your eyes how well he can dance when he believes there’s no one observing him, and so, without wasting any more time, you help Zoro assume the correct position, an arm around your waist and your hand in his, only a few inches separating your bodies. “I can’t believe it is considered proper for a man and a woman to be this close.” he mutters “We can practically k… I mean, if I had bad breath you would smell it!”

💚 (he doesn’t, fortunately)

💚 “I know; in fact, that is the reason. Most of the time it wouldn’t be proper for a man and a woman to be so close, so dancing is a relatively appropriate way for them to have… a moment of intimacy. Not that there is something inherently romantic or sensual in dancing.” you hurry to add; the last thing you want is for Zoro to fear some princess he’s dancing with will take advantage of the situation to let her hand wander “I mean, it is absolutely fine to simply enjoy the music or talk with your partner. Now, are you ready? One, two, three…!”

💚 And so, almost miraculously, you are dancing, your partner still a bit clumsy and slower in his movements than he should be but leagues better than he was only twenty-four hours ago; you move together in a simple, repetitive sequence of steps, and Zoro smiles as he realises he had nothing to fear. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression I… disliked you.” he murmurs after a while “The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.” “I know; and let’s not talk about it again. I’m happy things are clear between us now.” you answer sincerely, and before any of you knows it you have danced successfully for a whole hour, and both of you are satisfied, even though your feet hurt. “Same time tomorrow?” you ask Zoro, and he smiles in return. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

💚 It’s like you have finally found the key to open a particularly sturdy door, to find the treasure hidden inside. Now that misunderstandings and awkwardnesses no longer exist between you and Zoro, he quickly begins improving as a dancer: he’s still rigid, a bit clumsy with the movements he hasn’t been rehearsing for weeks, but every day he’s a little better, and you are confident his father will be more than pleased with the results at his coming-of-age ball. Driven at first mainly by curiosity, you in turn develop a strong interest and fascination for the sword, and the moments you spend learning to wield a blade are soon your favourite during the day. It is tiring, painful, your body sweating and bruising under your clothes, your hand aching as you grip the sword’s hilt, well aware that Zoro could easily parry your every attack, blindfolded and with one hand behind his back. Being a swordswoman is, in short, as different as it can be from being a dancer, and this is why you like it so much: it’s something new, something you have never done before and that you have to do your utmost to be barely passable at -quite a change, given your long experience and objectively uncommon talent as a dancer- a challenge to yourself you’re determined not to lose. You are not sure you’ll ever be a more than mediocre fighter, but you will do your utmost, you promise in the privacy of your heart, for yourself and for Zoro, in order not to look bad compared to his constant improvement as a dancer and to repay all the effort he puts in his lessons.

💚 As a natural consequence of the time you spend together, your at first cordial but distant relationship flourishes in a close friendship. You and Zoro spend long hours talking, either as you walk in the gardens or you take tea in his rooms; a couple of times Zoro invites you to go riding with him, and while you’re pretty sure it’s because none of his friends is available at the moment

💚 (it isn’t)

💚 you are happy to accept. Soon, Zoro is not only a pupil in whose company you’re forced to spend hours every night, nor someone you hang out with out of necessity, since none of your friends has followed you to Kuraigana; you become sincerely fond of him, at ease in his presence like you’ve never been with a person you have known for such a short time. Zoro is introverted, stubborn, despite his father’s best efforts more inclined to solve a problem with his swords -or his fists, occasionally- than diplomatically, but he’s also loyal, generous, and kind, no matter how hard he tries to hide it under a semblance of gruffness; he’s polite towards even the humblest servants of the court, and you’ve seen him with your eyes as he harshly punished one of the guardsmen who had beaten a young groom guilty of not having readied his horse in time. He’s a good man, a good friend, and he will be a good King, when his time comes; soon, the loneliness you had felt after having to say good-bye to your family and friends disappears… and you can’t help thinking of how you’ll miss him, once it’s time for you to go home. Who knows if Zoro will write to you, or even decide to pay you a visit in your kingdom…

💚 The dramatic, terrifying event that leads you to question the tranquil friendship between you and Zoro takes place very late at night. You have completed another productive pair of lessons -Zoro has finally mastered a particularly complex waltz figure, and you have learned a semi-circular parry that allows you to block your opponent’s attack without lowering your defence- when examining your practice sword, Zoro decides it’s time for you to learn to wield a sharp weapon. “Every self-respecting warrior, even a King, takes care of their sword personally, rather than having a servant or a squire do it; tomorrow I’ll show you how to use a whetstone.” he promises, unaware that you already have a little experience in this particular task, having been friends as a girl with the weaponsmith of your father’s palace. You’ve never exactly used a whetstone, only witnessed him doing it, but how hard can it be? You’ll take care of the edge of your sword by yourself, you decide, and tomorrow you’ll present Zoro with a perfectly sharpened weapon; you’re sure he’ll be impressed.

💚 So you wish Zoro good-night and, rather than returning to your own room, you begin the short trek towards the armoury, where you’re sure to find a wheat-stone. It’s really late and you ought to be in bed, but you’re too excited for your little plan to think about sleeping. Twenty minutes later you are sitting on a stool, your still blunt sword on your lap and a whetstone in your hands as you dearly wish your weaponsmith friend were here to help you, when suddenly you’re not alone anymore.

💚 The man who has stepped into the armoury is a sergeant of the palace guards, recently assigned there from another fief of the kingdom for having killed, apparently in self-defence, a comrade. He is completely drunk, having spent the evening at the tavern, and when he sees you in the armoury, he thinks that you are a servant busy performing a late order from her master, or a village girl who sneaked in the palace to steal some valuables; someone, in short, he can abuse impudently, because she’ll be unable to react, and to defend herself.

💚 He’s wrong.

💚 The man approaches in silence. You’re still focused on the sword when a violent blow collides with your temple, making you see stars; before you have time to realise the danger you’re in, you’re on the ground, with the man above you, a hand pressed on your mouth to silence you. Terrified, unable to move and scream for help, you manage to grab the whetstone that had fallen from your hand and, almost blindly, to hit him in the face with it; the man screams, but when you manage to stand and try to make a run for the door, he grabs you, whispering in your ear that if you scream, he’ll break your neck before the guards on duty can intervene. “If you’re good and make no sounds I’ll let you live.” he whispers, not even trying to sound convincing; as terrifying as it is to realise it, he’s right: no one will come to help you.

💚 Suddenly, as the man’s cold hands start fumbling with your belt, you think about Zoro, and what he would do in a situation like this. He would not passively let this brute abuse him, no, he would fight back, he would show his assailant what he’s capable of, and you are without a doubt less strong than your friend, perhaps even less strong than your abuser, but that doesn’t mean you’re just gonna stand there and let him do as he pleases with you…

💚 Fixed to the wall you’re facing there are several metal hooks, with swords hanging from them that the guards can readily take before the start of their shift, or in case of emergency. Kicking wildly, you hear your assailant emit a cry of pain, and he lets you go long enough for you to reach and grab one of the swords, heavier than the one you have been training with but perfectly sharp. “Let me go or I’ll gut you.” you snarl as you turn to face the man, who has now a hand on his groin, the sword raised in front of you. You have never been so scared, yes, but most of all you’re angry, furious, at this pig who tried to make you -not a princess, not a guest of his King, but a woman with thoughts and rights of her own- his pleasure toy “I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you touch me!” The man laughs at your determination, but thank God Zoro has taught you well, and while the execution is not perfect, your blow hits the mark, and soon the man is on the ground, screaming and calling you words you know but had never heard out loud, as the wound you have inflicted him bleeds profusely. You waste no time gloating, but walk out of the armoury to reach the men standing guard in front of the gate, who heard nothing of your struggle. “Please send for the King.” you tell them, your tone calm and measured even though you’re screaming inside “There is something he needs to see.”

💚 Twenty minutes later you’re in the castle’s kitchen, sitting with an untouched cup of chamomile in your hands, while Mihawk has a quiet but tense conversation with the captain of the guards, who had approved your assailant’s transfer to the palace and is technically responsible for the security of the grounds at night, and Zoro stands silently next to you like a sentinel - or a bodyguard. You have no idea who thought of calling him, but you’re grateful; he has not uttered a word, but you saw his shoulders sag with relief when his father told him you were not wounded or hurt in any way. Neither smiles when your gazes meet, but he steps closer to rest his hands on your shoulders, and it takes all the will-power you own not to shift your weight against his solid body; neither of you is aware that the King has noticed the moment of intimacy between you, correctly reading in it much more than what the relatively chaste contact would suggest. He wisely decides not to mention it, at least for now.

💚 A minute later the King is with you, the guards having left; your assailant will live, he informs you, which he will soon have to regret, and Mihawk will make sure he will never hurt another woman in his life. “Forgive me for asking, princess, but what were you doing in the armoury so late at night? Were you… meeting someone?” He thinks you were waiting for a lover, you realise, feeling yourself blush under the King’s piercing bird-stare. You hurry to tell him the truth, explaining that you wanted to sharpen your sword in preparation for your next swordsmanship lesson, tonight. “You see… I have asked prince Zoro to teach me, in return for his dance lessons.” you explain; you don’t know if the King would find his son offering you to use a sword inappropriate, but you don’t want to risk him getting mad at Zoro.

💚 Mihawk does not seem to disapprove though; rather, he commends you for your courage and ability to defend yourself, and apologises for what happened, telling you he’s sincerely sorry you had to experience something like this, and happy you’re alright. “I will understand if you want to return home; and I’ll offer you and your father whatever reparation you will decide.” he tells you, and you feel Zoro’s hands tense on your shoulders. You tell his father that what happened wasn’t his fault, that the last thing you want is to leave Kuraigana, and that you see no reason to tell your father or to demand compensation, especially since thank God nothing serious happened. “All I need is a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow I’ll feel much better.” you optimistically explain, and Mihawk is about to call for a maid to walk you to your rooms when “I’ll do it.” Zoro says. Father and son share a long, intense look that you can’t decipher, and a moment later your friend has offered you his hand to lead you out of the kitchen.

💚 You both remain silent, still hand-in-hand, until you reach your rooms crossing the empty, dark corridors. Like you have taught him to do, Zoro opens the door but waits for you to invite him in, which you do in a whisper; he observes you abandon the blanket on a chair, and then “I’m sorry.” he murmurs “(name), the fault is all mine, I’m so terribly sorry.” “Why should you be? You did nothing wrong, and the decision to go to the armoury was mine. Please, Zoro, there is only one culprit for what happened tonight, I refuse to feel guilty for it and you should do the same.” you point out weakly “To be honest I should thank you; if you hadn’t taught me to use a sword, that man would have probably…”

💚 You can’t finish the sentence; you don’t need to. You cover your face with your hands, and this time Zoro does not hesitate before approaching. “May I embrace you?” he asks, almost shyly “I’d like to comfort you, but maybe you… you’d rather not be touched…” “Of course not.” you hasten to reassure him “I’d be happy to be touched… I mean, if you embraced me.” A moment later you’re held in Zoro’s arms, and you begin crying quietly, your face hidden against his shoulder, because you know you’re safe now, and you should feel proud for how you were able to defend yourself, but you were so scared, and it doesn’t matter if it’s all over now, you can’t stop thinking about it…

💚 And then suddenly you’re moving, Zoro’s arms around you guiding you through the steps of a waltz, and your feet following instinctively. “Zoro, what…?” “I thought dancing would make you feel better.” he explains, and the truth is that it does, even though the beneficial effect is due more to the presence of the young man in front of you than to the pleasant activity he’s leading you in. You adjust your arms’ position, taking one of his hands in yours, and no matter how late it is, and how absurd you must look, you spend a few minutes dancing, with your bed and vanity and wardrobe as your only witnesses; you are no longer crying. “I noticed you told my father our swordsmanship lessons were your idea.” Zoro murmurs after a while. “Well… I wasn’t sure he’d approve, and he wouldn’t get too mad too a guest, and a woman, would he?” “Quite the contrary, I think that knowing you want to learn to use a sword made him automatically fonder of you; hmm, so you did it to protect me…”

💚 He does not comment, but you see Zoro smile. “I’m glad you’re alright.” he murmurs “I know you took care of it, but I wish I could have been there; I would have killed that man with my bare hands.” “Really? For me?” “Of course; I… I don’t know what I would do if something had happened to you.” He looks at you, and you look at him, suddenly aware of how close your faces are, and your bodies, close enough you can feel how fast his heart is beating, but that is alright, because yours is pounding as well, and you’re probably too close, dangerously and inappropriately so, but Zoro couldn’t look less uncomfortable if he tried…

💚 For a short, precious moment, you could swear he’s about to kiss you; that he wants to, at the very least. Heart in your throat, without fully reflecting on what you’re doing but letting your instincts guide you, you whisper his name as you offer him your mouth, feeling his breath on your face… and a moment later Zoro has broken your embrace, even taking half a step back to put some space between you. “Zoro…” “I’m sorry; that was… inappropriate.” he murmurs, a hand pressed to his mouth as if to keep himself in check “I… can’t.” “Why not?” you ask him, half-desperately; you always thought that begging for a man’s attention and affections was the most humiliating thing a woman could do, but you don’t care, not now, not with him… “What would be so wrong about it?”

💚 You receive no answer; avoiding your gaze, Zoro asks you if you want him to send a maid to keep you company until you fall asleep, and then he leaves - leaves you, alone, feeling if possible even worse than you did twenty minutes ago in the armoury.

💚 The next day, Zoro seems to do his best to pretend nothing happened between the two of you - and it technically didn’t, which is the reason why you struggled so much to fall asleep last night and feel embarrassed just thinking about it. You talk briefly at the breakfast table, half-heartedly fighting over the last boiled egg in the bowl, but you can see his mind is elsewhere, and he makes sure to look you in the eyes as seldom as he can. The King looks at the two of you out of the corner of his eye as he butters his toast, but doesn’t comment, politely asking after your swordsmanship lessons, and informs you that both those and Zoro’s dancing classes will have to be suspended for the day, since the court is receiving two important guests: lady Perona, a distant relative of the King who lives on Thriller Bark Island, and lady Hiyori, sister of the Shogun of Wano, who Zoro will be tasked with entertaining during their visit.

💚 Later that day, you look at Zoro walking in the gardens with the two ladies -both older than him, but exceptionally beautiful- and feel your heart yearning, for him, and for the chance to be in their place. Whatever was born in your heart, maybe last night in your room and maybe slowly, silently, in the weeks that preceded that moment, is still too new and raw to give it a name, but it has taken root, and you fear it’s already too late to ignore or forget it. “He seems to be doing well, don’t you think?” the King asks as he comes to stand next to you, and you nod, proud despite your pain; Zoro has behaved admirably and clearly made a good impression on the ladies. Thank God he’s not dancing with them; your heart couldn’t bear it.

💚 “Oh, yes; I’m… quite proud; he’s perfectly at ease, and I’m sure the ladies will think well of him.” you answer, hoping to sound more enthusiastic than you feel, and the King nods, satisfied with the results. “I’m sure they’re not the only ones.” he murmurs, more to himself than -apparently- to you; you turn to look at him. “What do you mean?” “Nothing, do not trouble yourself.” Mihawk says, but you could swear he’s grinning, as if amused by a joke you haven’t caught.

💚 Something very dangerous has begun blossoming inside you, and you fear that, even if it’s just a natural consequence of the moment of intimacy you and Zoro shared, it will end up hurting you if you don’t put an end to it before it has time to grow. For this purpose, you begin returning the attentions of a young lord of Kuraigana’s court, who you know has looked at you with interest since your arrival on the island; he’s a very good dancer - in fact, he’s the partner Mihawk asked you to dance with soon after you were introduced, to test your ability. You take walks and have tea together - in the castle’s dining room or on a patio, never in the privacy of his or your room. Your new friend is pleasant, attractive, polite and clever; you sincerely enjoy your time together, even though, you must admit, sometimes you can’t help wishing there was another man next to you, holding your hand as he helps you descend a set of stairs or smiling at you as your feet touches his under the table.

💚 It’s dangerous, you tell yourself more than once, unfair towards a man who has done nothing to deserve the unpleasant role of rebound and probably pointless, because not even the most self-controlled person can tell their heart what to feel, or towards whom, but you can’t help it. One afternoon, you and your friend meet Zoro, back from a ride, during one of your walks in the gardens; the two men exchange a polite greeting, and you find yourself observing Zoro’s expression, hoping against hope to find on it a trace of… what? Displeasure? Sorrow? Jealousy, perhaps? But you don’t; the prince simply reminds you of your lesson that night and departs, your gaze following him with a feeling of longing in your heart you can’t stop any more than you could stop the sun from rising every morning.

💚 To all appearances, everything is fine between the two of you: you keep meeting every night for your dancing and swordsmanship lessons, teaching and learning from each other - a perhaps odd situation you nevertheless both enjoy, and naturally look for each other’s company whenever you wish. Your relationship has developed into a firm, sincere friendship, a bond that you cherish and from which at the same time, you can’t help wanting more; you care deeply for Zoro, and you know he’s equally fond of you… even though something changed since that night in your room, since that embrace, a nameless, difficult to define tension that sometimes makes you think that you could be something else, something different but equally precious, if only you could be sincere, throw caution to the wind and tell Zoro what you feel…

💚 Or if he did; unfortunately, it’s not always easy to understand what Zoro feels. Most of the time he seems happy with your relationship as it is; he never asks about your friend, not even to playfully tease you about him like friends do, and when you mention lady Perona and lady Hiyori, fearing to discover he has developed an affection for either of them, he simply shrugs and tells you they were both nice - which could mean everything and its opposite. Zoro told you he never had a lover, or wanted one, whether in the form of an official engagement or as a passing dalliance; most of the time, he gives the impression of being much more interested in swords than in women -or men- and that his feelings for you are purely platonic.

💚 And then there are other moments - few and far between, so much that you could almost forget about each of them or consider them nothing more than random accidents, but you never do. There’s the way he holds you closer than he should, almost possessively, as you dance a waltz; the slight tremble in his hand when he takes yours to help you pass over an obstacle on your path; the genuine affection in his eyes when you catch him looking at you, lifting your gaze from your embroidery or a letter to your father, and the slight flush that colours his face when he realises you’ve noticed. In those moments, you can hope; in those moments, as warmth fills your stomach and your heartbeat accelerates, you can be almost be sure that it’s not simply the romantic reveries of a woman who sees what her heart wants her to, but that Zoro feels the same, that he cares about you beyond friendship, and that if only one of you found the courage, and the right moment, to confess, then no couple in the world would ever be happier than the two of you…

💚 Of course it’s more complicated than that. You’re a princess, and you know well that it’s your duty to marry for the sake of your kingdom and your people, to secure an alliance or to put an end to a bloody war; it’s a role you’re ready and even happy to play, confident that your father will choose a good husband for you, and not simply sell you to the highest bidder with no regards for your happiness. Surely Mihawk is of the same mind, and will one day select a few unmarried princesses and ladies to introduce to his son; who knows if you could be one of them? Your kingdoms have been allies for decades, so a marriage between the two heirs might seem superfluous, but perhaps you and Zoro could convince your fathers, make them see that an union between the two of you would still be beneficial, and wouldn’t the heir of a firm ally be a excellent match for their own child…?

💚 Usually it’s a man’s prerogative to begin a courtship, but Zoro doesn’t seem inclined to confess his feelings - out of shyness, you hope, rather than because he has never even thought about you as a potential partner. Then you’ll do it, you decide; soon, preferably, since Zoro’s coming-of-age ball approaches, and he’s by now a good enough dancer he can keep practising on his own, without a teacher, which means you’ll soon have to return home. The last thing you want is for you and Zoro to have to part before you can tell each other what you feel; you need to act fast. You’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed, take his hands in yours and tell him, Zoro, no matter how grateful I am for your friendship, I have come to care greatly about you…

💚 “You’re distracted.” Zoro points out suddenly, and you blink, momentarily taken aback. “I thought I was doing fine.” you defend yourself, even though there was no trace of accusation in your friend’s voice; you have been sparring for a few minutes and you were able to par or avoid most of Zoro’s lunges. He nods, admitting that you’re improving by the day, but it's nevertheless evident you have something on your mind. “Is something wrong? I know you received a letter from your father today; is he alright? Does it concern your lover?”

💚 You tell him that your father is in good health, thanks for asking, and that the person he has mentioned is not your lover, just a friend you have taken walks and drunk tea with a few times. “Are you sure? Because this morning he told one of my friends he is going to ask your father’s permission to court you.” he points out, his expression unreadable “But it's fine, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Here… I have something for you…”

💚 This time you're not simply taken aback. Completely speechless, you observe the object Zoro has put in your hands: a sword, clearly newly made, with the coat of arms of your kingdom engraved on the hilt. “I had it done by the best weaponsmith in the kingdom; I hope you like it.” Zoro says “I know you’ll never devote your life to the sword like my father and I have, but you seem to genuinely enjoy it, and you’re becoming quite proficient at it… well, I thought you’d enjoy having your own sword. Do you like it?” Zoro asks, clearly more unsure that he’d like to be, and “It’s beautiful.” you murmur reverently as you inspect the weapon, the grip on the hilt perfect for your hand. For a whole minute neither of you speaks, and unfortunately you’re too focused on the sword, because otherwise you’d see the way Zoro is looking at you, and that would be enough to dispel any doubt regarding his feelings.

💚 “I guess now it’s up to me; I’ll have to gift you a pair of dancing shoes.” you point out in the end, making him laugh, but you’re not, because you understand how important this is for him, for a man who is a swordsman before anything else, who has made the sword his religion, his ambition, his cause, almost his reason to live, to give you your own blade “Zoro, I… I don’t know what to say; this is beautiful, and I really appreciate it. I promise I’ll treasure it forever, and I’ll work hard to be worthy of this gift.” Zoro smiles, relieved, and then for a minute neither feels the need to talk; in the end, just as you’re gathering the courage to tell him what you feel, Zoro takes your hand and “You know that it’s going to be my birthday soon?”

💚 Of course you know. On his next birthday, Zoro will officially come of age according to the law of the kingdom; lavish celebrations are being planned, with dozens of important guests, including your father, who confirmed in his last letter he’s going to come, leaving your older brother as a regent; you can’t wait to introduce him to Zoro. “Of course; I know that by now you’re a more than capable dancer, at least for balls and other social occasions, but I hope you don’t mind if I stay until then.” “Not at all; in fact, I’d really like it if you stayed, because… well, because we’re friends, obviously, and also because there’s something I need to tell you. Something very important.”

💚 “What?” you ask, not daring to guess, not daring to hope, but Zoro insists on waiting, and that he can’t tell you before the day of his coming-of-age ball. “Why don’t we return to our lesson?” he suggests then, and you nod, eager to test your new sword, your heart trembling. Hours later, at the end of yet another fruitful lesson, you bid Zoro goodnight, kindly refusing his offer to walk you to your room for a reason you barely dare to admit in the privacy of your own heart. “Zoro?” you call him once you’ve reached the room’s door, and he turns to look at you as he ties the swords’ scabbard around his waist “About my… friend. I really consider him a friend and nothing more; I swear.”

💚 Zoro smiles; you would have to be blind not to see the relief in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear it; he’s not good for you.” “He’s a perfectly polite person, clever and very kind.” “I know; but he’s not like you. He’s not…” he hesitates before adding “... special.” and then he mumbles a goodnight and turns to fumble with one of his swords. You leave the room silently, the weight of the unspoken things between you a sensual shiver down your spine as you walk towards your bedroom.

💚 Zoro’s coming-of-age ball is only a week away. While the whole court seems busy with the preparations, you spend most of your time helping the honoree practising his dancing; Zoro will probably have to dance with many ladies, including queens and princesses of families allied with his father, and it’s of the utmost importance that he makes a good impression - or at least that he doesn’t cause a diplomatic incident tripping his partner into the punch bowl. You also give him a few tips to help him make a good impression on the fairer sex. “There is no reason to be nervous; in the end, women are people, in many respects the differences in how to relate to them or to men are minimal.” you tell him “Be courteous, avoid swearing, introduce them to other people to make them feel welcome; maybe ask about their interests, take a chair or a drink for those who need them.” “And that would be enough to make them love me?” Zoro asks, clearly sceptical, as he, almost without noticing, executes perfectly a complex dance move that he had already attempted a thousand times, holding you against him, the warmth of his body seeping into your blood. You’re tempted to answer that yes, you wouldn’t be surprised if every single lady who will be at court that night asks for his hand, because Zoro is a man easy to love, and easy to fall in love with; after all you did, without even realising it until you were completely lost. It’s a feeling you had never experienced, so intense and special it makes your previous relationships, short-lived dalliances and unrequited crushes, disappear; it scares you, but at the same time you’re grateful you get to feel it - grateful you got to meet Zoro.

💚 “You’re going to be fine.” you reassure him in the end, as you both bow at the end of the dance “And whatever happens… even in the remote case the evening is a disaster, know that I’m proud of you; I know how hard you worked to learn, and I know your father will as well. It’s going to be alright, Zoro; and even if it doesn’t, I will be by your side.” He nods, more relieved to hear your promise than if you had sworn to stand by his side against a whole army of enemies. “Thank you for everything you have done for me; I know I haven’t been the best pupil, at least at first.” “Don’t mention it; I’m glad I could help you.” you assure him; and then, less sincerely: “I can’t wait to see you dance with the ladies during the ball.”

💚 And finally, the big day comes; guests from kingdoms far and wide have started arriving since yesterday, including your father, who is happy to see you, and to hear Mihawk praise you for all you did to teach Zoro to dance. You can’t wait to introduce your friend and your father, but there’s an equally important, although less pleasant, duty you need to fulfil: talk to your friend, who has just returned from a brief trip visiting relatives, to tell him you don’t intend to continue your relationship. It is, as you expected, a difficult and painful conversation, but to his credit, he reacts politely, thanking you for your sincerity and accepting your offer of friendship; he kisses your hand, and then asks to walk you back to your rooms, which you of course accept. “Oh, look who just arrived.” he notes a minute later, looking out one of the large ogive window of the east corridor; curious, you stop to peek as well, and see Mihawk, standing in front of the main gate, as he helps a woman step down from her carriage, followed by a younger one: they must be exceptionally important guests, you think, for the King to come personally to welcome them. “Who are those?”

💚 “That is Queen Belle-mère of Cocoyashi, and her daughter, princess Nami. I’m sure the prince has mentioned her.” “Why? Is Z-is the prince a friend of hers?” you ask, more and more confused, and your former suitor looks at you surprised, as if you had just admitted not knowing the sun rises in the east every morning. “Friend? No; princess Nami is his future bride; they are going to marry soon, to seal an alliance between the two kingdoms. You really did not know?”

💚 You didn’t.

💚 In the early afternoon, one of the maids comes to the room you have all but secluded yourself in, telling you the prince has asked about you; you ask her to report you’re too busy to answer, and remain in bed, curled up under a blanket despite the relatively warm day, your face hidden in the pillow you have already drenched in your tears.

💚 He’s going to marry soon. You can’t believe Zoro never mentioned it, but after a moment of reflection you have to admit you should have at least suspected it. After all, what better occasion to announce the engagement of a prince or a princess than during a ball in front of so many other royals and nobles? Mihawk probably wanted to make sure his heir wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of his fiancée; Zoro is his father’s only child, how could you not imagine he would be formally engaged as soon as he came of age? The longer you think about it the more you realise how blind you have been, and your heart breaks for it: you taught him to dance, and how to act in the company of women, while in the meantime developing feelings for him… all of it, to prepare him for an union with another bride. Is this why Zoro didn’t kiss you that night, because it would have been improper given his status as an almost-engaged man? You wouldn’t be surprised, given how honourable he is; but then, what of the feelings you could have sworn he has also developed for you, and of his evident jealousy towards you former suitor? Did you imagine all of it? And what of the sword he has given you - a parting gift, perhaps, to remember him by once he has settled with his new wife and you’ve returned home?

💚 Now that you remember, he did say there was something important he wanted to tell you, after the ball. About what? Why would he want to wait until his official engagement? You have no idea, and frankly you don’t care. The three other people you have spoken about it after your former suitor mentioned the matter -one of the maids, an older lady, and one of the castle guards- all confirmed the whole court has known about the engagement for months, since before your arrival in Kuraigana, even though no one bothered to tell you - or who knows, maybe it’s your fault, and you simply didn’t realise the fact was common knowledge because you were too focused on your lessons with the prince, and on Zoro himself, who has now become more important for you than anyone has even been. You really thought he cared for you, and maybe he does; you have no idea of what his feelings towards princess Nami -who is really beautiful, elegant and shapely and with hair of a lovely tangerine-orange colour; you’ve peeked at her from behind a column as the King led her and her mother inside the palace, and had to admit she and Zoro would look lovely together- are, whether he hates her, loves her, or whatever else, but he wouldn’t be the first royal who develops feelings for someone while engaged with someone else…

💚 Does he… does he plan on asking you to be his mistress while he’s married to Nami?! You can’t believe Zoro would propose such a squalid arrangement, but even if the alternative is losing him, even if he confesses he’s in love with you and that would be the only way for the two of you to be together, you’re determined to refuse: you have your dignity, and you’re not going to humiliate yourself into an illicit affair, not even for the man you have fallen in love with. You’ll beg your father to be allowed to return home tomorrow morning, and until then you’ll do your best to avoid Zoro, and his future fiancée.

💚 That night, as the whole court celebrate its prince’s coming-of-age, you beg both your father and Mihawk to be excused from the ball, citing period cramps -the perfect excuse; not the sort of ailment that would lead your father to call for a doctor, a matter a man would not ask to know more about- as the reason, and remain in your room with your dinner served on a tray. You had looked forward to the evening, dancing to your heart’s content and seeing Zoro impress his father’s guests, but witnessing his engagement being announced requires more strength than you can gather. You had bought a new, beautiful dress especially for the occasion, and had also hoped Zoro would reserve for you the most important dance of the evening, the last, but you have no doubt princess Nami has eclipsed you in both regards. You spend a rather lonely evening, chiding yourself for having been so naive not to realise the man you had fallen for was already spoken for, and at the same time unable to regret having accept Mihawk’s request to come to Kuraigana: despite your broken heart, you’re glad to have met Zoro, and to have been his friend, and even though you’ll never be able to call him yours you will carry his memory in your heart forever.

💚 In the end, the music you can hear filtering from the ballroom two floors below ceases, a sign that the ball has ended. You are already in bed, slowly drifting to sleep surrounded by the darkness of the room, when suddenly you hear an urgent, insistent knocking at the door. Your first, mostly irrational, thought is that you’re being called upon because something has happened to your father; you leave your bed and run to the door, but when you open it the person you find yourself face to face with is not the assistant of the castle’s doctor, nor a maid.

💚 “Let me in.”

💚 It’s Zoro.

💚 “Are you out of your mind?” you hiss, suddenly tense; you have no reason to believe he toyed with your feelings, but he’s the last person you wish to see now “Do you have any idea what time it is? If someone saw you now, at the door of a lady’s room, someone could think…” “No one will see me if you let me in.” Zoro answers, stone-faced “I need to talk to you, and no, it can’t wait.” Grumbling, and mentally ordering your heart to stop pounding, you make sure the corridor is empty save for Zoro, allow him to enter, and quickly close the door behind him. “So? What’s so important you felt the need to disturb me so late at night?” you ask, staring at Zoro, arms crossed; in your heart you know he does not deserve your anger, but right now, given what must have just happened, you don’t have the strength to pretend all is well. Zoro is silent for a minute as he regards you, breath-takingly handsome in his dress uniform but strangely tense, hesitant as if he didn’t know how to express what he’s thinking; you wonder how it feels to be engaged, and what he felt as the court observed him slip a ring on Nami’s finger “Why didn’t you come to the ball? And don’t tell me it’s because of your time of the month, because I know you had them last week.”

💚 He knows, you remember blushing a bit, because he heard you complain your stomach hurt and got worried you were falling sick; of course, it’s highly improper for a woman to discuss that sort of private matter with a man, but explaining the real reason for your malaise to Zoro felt natural… because you knew the two of you were past that sort of false embarrassment, and that there was very little you could not discuss frankly, and be sincere about, despite the gender difference.

💚 You don’t quite know how to answer Zoro’s question, and you already know he won’t leave without having received a response; suddenly, as you face each other, like two dancers ready to take the first step, you feel naked, even though you have grabbed your dressing gown on your way to the door. “You haven’t been entirely honest with me.” you point out in the end, and Zoro blinks, nonplussed. “... I haven’t?” “Well, you didn’t have to discuss your personal matters with me, but I found it odd that you never mentioned the fact that you’re engaged.” “What? Who told you? And why does it matter to you that…? Oh…”

💚 Zoro looks flabbergasted for a moment, and then an odd kind of calm seems to fall on him… tension barely kept at bay, not unlike the way you have seen him face his father, swords at the ready, before the beginning of a new duel. “And why…” he finally starts, his voice barely rising above a whisper “Why is it so important to you whether I’m engaged or not? Don’t tell me you’re hurt because as friends we’re supposed to share everything, because I won’t believe it.” He’s right, obviously, and no matter how deeply you’ve come to trust and care for him, at the moment you feel so humiliated you can’t bear to look him in the eyes; Zoro knows what you feel, and you just want him to go and leave you with your disappointment…

💚 “(name), look at me.” “Go away, Zoro. If you care for me, if you consider me a friend, please leave me alone.” “I won’t; not before we can talk. Listen…” A moment later, as you still refuse to look at him, he has stepped closer to take your hands in his. “I am not engaged, (name).” he murmurs softly “If you’re talking about princess Nami, well… my father did ask me whether I’d be willing to marry her; I told him marriage did not interest me, but I would meet her to please him, and he promised to respect my decision. I’ve met her today and she’s… nice; she’s very smart, and pretty, I guess, but I don’t like her that way.” He’s not going to ask for Nami’s hand, he insists, first of all because she’s not available: she’s been engaged to princess Vivi of Alabasta, and plans on telling her mother as soon as she comes of age, next year. Also, for his part… well…

💚 “When I realised you hadn’t come, I asked your friend where you were; he told me he had no idea, and also that you had broken up with him.” “Well, I did tell you I only saw him as a friend.” “You did; but I can’t help wondering if there’s another reason, one that… has to do with me…” You smile; now Zoro is embarrassed, and while you don’t enjoy making him uncomfortable, you can’t ignore the timid, fragile hope that has blossomed in your heart. “May I ask you a question? That night, when you walked me here from the kitchens… were you going to kiss me?” you ask, and Zoro flushes; he bites his lip before admitting: “I was. I… wanted to, at least.” “And why didn’t you?” “(name)... you had been assaulted. Did you really think I could approach you, even with a simple kiss? I thought that at least in that moment, the last thing you wanted was to be touched by a man.”

💚 You sigh, grateful for his discretion. “I wouldn’t have minded, though.” you admit in a whisper “Not with you, and at least for a kiss… or several.” “Glad to hear it.” Zoro admits; he’s blushing furiously now, but you couldn’t tease him even if you wanted, because you are in the same state “For your information, I danced splendidly; even my father was impressed. And I didn’t make a fool of myself even once. You should have seen me, and you could have, if you had come speak to me rather than listening to court gossip; you had promised you’d be there.” “You’re right.” you admit “I’m sorry, it’s just… well, I wasn’t sure about what you felt, and I hoped you would… tell me…”

💚 Zoro admits that this is exactly what he planned on doing after the ball, once he had officially come of age: declare his feelings and ask for permission to court you. “I… already tried, in fact. You probably don’t know, but among swordsmen and warriors in general, there is a tradition… to gift a weapon to one another, as a declaration of intent. I enjoyed teaching you to use a sword, and want you to have one to defend yourself, but I also hoped that… well, that you would understand I was trying to tell you what I feel…”

💚 You softly point out that you had no way to know the hidden meaning of his gift, since all you know about swords, you have learned it from him; but now that you do you appreciate it even more… and one day, maybe, you’ll find a sword powerful and special enough to gift it to him. By now you’re both smiling; there are so many things you should say, but none is more important than the pure, precious feeling of belonging you are both experiencing, trust and friendship and affection all in one, Zoro’s forehead resting against yours as you feel able to breathe freely for the first time in years. Then your eyes meet and “May I?” he asks “I know I shouldn’t be here, and I can talk to your father first thing tomorrow if it makes you…” He can’t finish the sentence, because you have silenced him with a kiss, long and passionate, that Zoro instantly returns, holding you close as you lock your arms behind his neck; when you part, both gasping for air, neither of you feels the need to talk, but you hold each other tight.

💚 In the end, Zoro quietly asks for your permission to speak to your father; he has already spoken to his, and Mihawk has approved his decision -”Seriously?” “Absolutely. He didn’t look surprised, but I could swear he was sincerely happy for us.”- to ask for permission to court you. You tell him that nothing would make you happier, but he better wait for you to come of age as well, in three months, and until then you can write to each other, sharing your feelings in the intimacy of the written word.

💚 “Can’t you stay here until then? I think I’m in dire need of more dancing classes.” “Hmmm, I should help you perfect your technique then…”

💚 That night you throw caution to the wind, and ask Zoro to stay, which he eagerly accepts. You spend hours holding each other in bed, sharing whispers and kisses as your hands move to explore skin you had until now barely dared to hope you would one day get to caress. “This is why I couldn’t bear to dance with you at first, you know?” he confesses in a whisper as his fingers play with your hair “Because I… I already cared for you, and the thought of touching you made my pulse quicken. I feared that I wouldn’t be able to keep myself in check, and I would end up making a fool of myself.” You assure him that you could have never considered him a fool, and that knowing of his feelings makes you indescribably happy.

💚 “So, my prince, you think you can understand ladies a little better now?” you ask him in the end, as he holds you in his arms once more, your cheek resting against his shoulder, and Zoro smiles. “I think I got to understand at least one.” he points out softly “And that is more than enough for me.”

💚 You get married two years after your coming-of-age, with the approval of both of your fathers, surrounded by your friends, including princesses Nami and Vivi, who you have grown very close to and who are also newly married; by now you’ve become quite capable as a swordswoman, even though Zoro insists there is always room for improvement. Your husband, more handsome than ever in his wedding suit and whose eyes are full of the love you share and that never stops growing, takes your hand to lead you to the centre of the ballroom, and you feel your heart burst with joy, excited to spend the rest of your life by his side. “Ready, wife?” “I’ve always been ready, since I met you, husband.” you assure him; you rest your left hand on his shoulder and let him take the other in his, confident in your heart he’s never letting it go. A moment later you’re following him through the steps of your first waltz as a married couple, your bodies moving as one as the world seems to disappear from around you.

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Roronoa Zoro #Zoro #Roronoa Zoro x reader #Zoro x reader #Bellona's stuff

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somanyratsinthewalls · 10 months ago

Note

Could I get sum uuuuuuuh bubbglegum with some hints of lemon ice and Neapolitan and bluebell? (Aka Buggy x Reader talking about the rest of the crossguild members but I’ll leave it up to you if they actually include Mihawk and Crocodile as an audience or if Buggy just talks big shit)

Pairing: Cross Guild Buggy x Female Reader (oh and a lil Crocodile and a lil Mihawk hehe)

WC: 2000

Prompt: “You think I don’t care about you? What do you want me to do, push you out there and fuck you in front of them?”

— —

*thunk* *plop*

“Grrrrowwwww…” Richie leaps across the wooden floor to retrieve the red bouncy ball you were casually firing off against the wall of the ship. Richie bats the ball around in his paws a few times before putting it in his mouth and trotting back over to where you were reclining on a velvet sofa. The lion drops the slobbery ball into your hand that was lazily draped over the edge of the couch.

*thunk* *plop*

You throw the ball again. Richie repeats his motions.

*thunk* *plop*

And again. You were bored out of your mind. Your husband had been sitting in the grand meeting room on the other side of the wall for hours now. You knew that with his new alliance with Mihawk and Crocodile he would have less time to dote on you, but you had barely even seen Buggy in days.

You had tried terrorizing the nearest villages in attempts to keep yourself entertained, but without the warm presence of your captain you still felt unfulfilled. Buggy always made sure he had time to meet your needs, wether that be a hard fucking before he left for his duties or leaving his very own cock detached and in your bed so you could feel him inside you when he wasn’t available.

But this time, he had left you with nothing. You craved the soft yet playful touch of your older lover. Buggy was a sensitive man and took his time to learn the intricacies of your body and soul after you became intimate partners. You quickly fell in love. You were each other’s perfect compliments. He made you crazy and you brought him back to earth. Sometimes you had to reign him in… but tonight you were letting your crazy slip through. You missed him so much, you missed pleasing him and being his good little girl…

*WOOSH*

The doors to the meeting chamber were thrown open. You sit up on your elbows and look behind you. Mihawk and Crocodile were leaving the room and the doors were closing behind them. Richie scampered off.

“Oh I see the clown’s plaything is still sniffing around.” Crocodile remarks as he looks at you. “Don’t worry, little girl, your captain’s in his office safe and sound. We though we’d continue our negotiations tomorrow.”

Your brow furrows and your eyes darken.

“Plaything? I am his wife.” You stand up and square your shoulders.

Mihawk chuckles.

“A clown’s wife? A pirate’s wife? I’m not sure which is more noble.” Mihawk gives you a once over with his eyes before laughing again.

Fire burned in your chest.

“Get out.” You spat at them. You turned tail and threw open the doors to the meeting chamber and let them close behind you. You found your blue haired husband pouring over paperwork at his desk.

“Buggy…” You begin as you stride towards him.

“Well if it isn’t my shooting star.” Buggy looks up from his work and smiles at you. You can tell he’s recently taken a blow to the eye. His smile has a crack to it… not the 1000 megawatt spotlight you were used to.

“I can’t stand them.” You huff out.

“Doll face…” Buggy coos at you as you approach him in his chair. He swivels it to face you. “I know you do. They aren’t my favorite either, but it’s what we gotta do right now.”

You sigh. You straddle yourself over Buggy and nuzzle your face into his neck, pushing his soft blue hair out of the way with your nose. You kiss the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He responds by taking the back of your head in a gloved hand and rakes through your scalp gently. He moves his other hand to grip your hip.

“And what about me, Bugs? Your girl?” You pull back and look into his green eyes. He continues to stroke the back of your head.

“What about you then, sweet cheeks? You’re my wife, my lady, my center attraction! I do all of this so we can conquer the seas together!”

“But those fucking assholes…” You retort while turning your head to the side to escape his comment. You clench your fists. Buggy uses both of his hands to grab your face and turns it to look at him in the eye.

“What do you want me to do, huh? You think I don’t care about you? What do you want me to do, push you out there and fuck you in front of them? You’re my life, y/n, how many times do I have to get that through your head?” Buggy pleads with you, but he was clearly frustrated.

“I… I just don’t know Bugs… are we cut out for this?” You question him. You see the sparkle in his eyes fade out, replaced with a burning fire.

“Y/n…” Buggy lets go of your face, his lips quirking up into a smile. “I am an Emperor of the Sea… and you are my wife… an Empress… if you will…” One of Buggy’s hands cups your cheek while the other cups your ass on his lap. “You will spend no time doubting your authority.”

Buggy quickly closes the distance between your lips and engages you in a heated kiss. You groan at the feeling of finally having your lover’s mouth on your skin again. You instinctively grind your hips down onto Buggy’s growing bulge.

“My little minx, how long have you been waiting for me? It was just one meeting, doll…” Buggy chuckled as he felt your cunt soak his pants, you having chosen to go without panties under your skirt. “You can’t possibly be this needy…” Buggy says as he lifts your hips to slide his fingers through your wetness. You hum out in satisfaction.

“I’m always like this for you, captain.” You buck your hips into his hand to try and gain more contact on your sensitive bits.

“Since you’re already so wet… bend over that chair for me.” Buggy punctuates his order with a swift smack to your ass cheek. You happily hop up and shed your clothes before you bend yourself over the leather arm chair in the meeting room. You grab a pillow to rest your arms and head on as you wiggle your naked ass towards your captain.

“Oh doll face, you’re gonna get it so good…” Buggy strides towards you, unbuckles his pants and shoves them down to his knees. You feel his warm presence behind you and gasp at the sensation of his thick uncut tip pushing through your pussy folds. It comes up to tap at your clit a few times and you whine. Buggy giggles menacingly before slamming his cock into your dripping hole from behind in a single, unforgiving thrust.

“Ah!” You shriek out.

Buggy hammers into you at a wild pace, not giving you a moment to adjust. Your legs completely give out and your whole body weight falls forward. You kick your heels up as Buggy manhandles your smaller frame. You couldn’t control your body anymore as you fist the decorative pillows on the chair you were currently bent over. You moaned and squealed as your powerful husband grabbed onto your colorful pigtails and pulled on them, to guide you back onto his cock.

*WOOSH*

“Clown, we need you to sign a few more papers before we leave.” The doors to the grand meeting hall swing open and Mihawk and Crocodile stride back in. Immediately the duo pauses and looks at your sweaty, fucked-out body poised over the armchair. Crocodile and Mihawk look at each other and then again at you.

“Gentlemen if you haven’t noticed, my wife needed some extra attention today. My apologies, but she needs some tending to.” Buggy slows his thrusts, but not completely stopping them, making you whine out in need. After being given no response, Buggy resumes his relentless pace inside of you, completely ignoring the two men who had just entered the office.

Crocodile chortles. He comes around to face you. He raises his hook and brushes your sweaty bangs out of your face. The cool metal provides you a tingling sensation.

“So you really are crazy for the clown, aren’t you?” Crocodile laughs and watches you try to grind yourself back onto your lover in an attempt to feel more of him.

In your dick-drunk state you nod your head rapidly, throwing your ass back. "Yes! Yes I love him! Fuck, so good!" You moan out.

“Crocodile…” You vaguely hear Mihawks velvet voice ring through one of your ears. “I’d be willing to leave our negotiations the way they stand if our colleague can prove himself worthy.” You could hear the mischief in his voice.

“So you’d like to see the little circus girl cum? I think that might be fun to see… so, sure, why not?” Crocodile grins. Crocodile lifts your head with his hook to look at him. Buggy was still thrusting in and out of your sopping hole from behind. You moan as you feel Buggy graze your sweet spot. “Oh he makes you feel good, huh, little thing?” Crocodile smirks down at you.

You moan in response.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck my captain makes me feel so good!” You grin lazily and push your hips back even harder against Buggy’s . “Oh!” You gasp.

“Mihawk, come look. I think she’s really about to cum, can you believe it?” Crocodiile beckons his cohort over.

“Of course she is, she’s my baby! Show the boys what you can do!” Buggy smiles wildly and detaches one of his hands to rub at your clit, egging on your release. He presses his other hand down on your stomach. “There it is! Come on baby!” Buggy gives one last thrust inside of you before finishing which triggers your orgasm. You scream as you spray out your pleasure juices all over the office.

Buggy was allowing the final spurts of his climax to flow into your walls as he pulled out roughly.

“Now since you have your proof, I’ll be seeing you next week. The deal is settled.” Buggy went back into business mode as he tucked himself back into his pants. He scooped up your nude, lifeless form and seated you on his lap at his desk. “My wife needs some rest, so if you’ll excuse us.” Buggy gestures for the *debatably* more powerful men to leave the room.

Crocodile and Mihawk look at each other before they silently exit the office, Buggy, hopeful he was done with them for a few days. You stayed in Buggy’s arms for at least 30 minutes as he hummed you silly circus tunes.

“That’ll buy us a week’s peace. Let’s head to bed, my sweet doll.” Buggy picked you up to carry you back to his captain’s quarters. You nodded your head and let the warm feeling of your husbands arms overtake you.

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thebunnednun · 6 months ago

Text

Whispers of the Heart Dracule Mihawk x Fm! Reader (Part 8)

Art by @xuchuan25

Summary:

You finally find the man that hid your 'half' brother so long ago. Only to find yourself in the unwanted advances of a Marine Captian. Making you beat his ass on base and by doing so, signing your death warrent, AGAIN! You already refused to become a warlord and sent your crew home so what was a wanted woman to do? Where were you to go? Mihawk can't just stand by and let his good friend take the fall, can he?

Notes:

TW: Ax Hang Morgan can't understand the word "No." So you stomp on his balls. We're a few chapters to the finish line!! Thank you to everyone for your support!! Also, I'ma lover of happy endings and cheesy crap so you better believe that this is chalk full.

________________Chapter 8: Perils of the Empress_________________

A bird circled overhead, its wings slicing through the clear blue sky before it swooped down to drop a letter into [Name]'s waiting hands. The paper was crisp, and the familiar, precise handwriting of Mihawk stood out sharply against the parchment. She eagerly tore open the envelope, her eyes scanning the contents.

"Captain, what does it say?" one of her crew members asked, curiosity piqued.

She began to read the letter in her mind, Mihawk's sarcastic tone almost palpable through the written words:

___________________

"[Name],

The man you seek is Admiral Garp. He’s currently stationed in Shells Town. Be wary of the Marines; they're not as incompetent as some might think. Also, other pirates frequent the area, and not all are as charming as I am.

Regards, Mihawk

P.S. Do try not to get caught." ___________________________

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she rolled her eyes. Folding the letter neatly, she tucked it into her coat pocket and turned to face her crew. "Set sail for Shells Town," she commanded, her voice steady and authoritative. "And remember, we need to lay low. I’ll go in alone to find Admiral Garp."

The crew responded with a chorus of affirmations, their loyalty evident in their eager expressions. As they worked to prepare the ship, [Name] donned her cloak, the hood casting a shadow over her face and masking her identity. She glanced back at her crew, giving them a reassuring nod before stepping off the ship and into the bustling town.

The streets of Shells Town were alive with activity, vendors calling out their wares, children playing in the streets, and Marines patrolling the area. She changed into regular clothing, opting for a simple dress that allowed her to blend in. Her mask remained, a constant reminder of her need for discretion.

Posing as a Marine's wife, she approached the entrance to the Marine base, her heart pounding in her chest. "Excuse me," she said, her voice demure, "I’m here to see my husband. He works here, but I seem to have forgotten where his office is."

The guards exchanged glances, suspicion evident in their eyes. One of them, a burly man with a stern expression, stepped forward and scrutinized her closely. "What's your husband's name? And why haven't we seen you around before?"

Thinking quickly, [Name] lowered her mask just enough to reveal a charming smile. "Oh, you know how it is with us Marine wives, always traveling and rarely staying put in one place," she said with a light, melodic laugh. "But I assure you, I’m very real. Perhaps I could bring you all some fresh baked cookies later for doing such a good job?"

The guards' suspicion wavered at her offer, the tension easing from their shoulders. They exchanged a few uncertain glances before finally nodding.

"Alright, ma'am, you can go in," one of them said, stepping aside. "But don't cause any trouble."

"Of course not," she replied sweetly, pulling her mask back up and stepping into the base. The interior was a maze of corridors, each one looking much like the last. Her eyes scanned each door for a sign of Admiral Garp's office, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she moved deeper into the building.

Just as she thought she had found the right door, a tall, imposing figure cast a shadow over her. It was Ax-Hand Morgan, his piercing eyes locking onto her with suspicion.

"Who are you?" he demanded, stepping closer, his metallic ax-hand gleaming ominously in the dim light.

Thinking quickly, [Name] ducked behind the door, trying to find an escape route. But Morgan followed, closing the door behind him with a loud thud that echoed through the corridor. Trapped, she felt her heart race as she weighed her options.

"What are you doing here?" Morgan's voice was cold and menacing, his eyes narrowing as he took another step closer. Desperation surged within her, and she knew she had to act fast. She adjusted her stance, ready to defend herself if necessary, her mind racing to find a way out of this precarious situation.

[Name] sighed, pulling back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face. Her eyes met Morgan's, a calm determination in her gaze. "I have business with Admiral Garp," she stated evenly, "and I got lost looking for him." Morgan's eyes narrowed further, disbelief etched on his face. "Do you expect me to believe that?" he growled, moving to reach for a Den Den Mushi to call for more guards.

Before Morgan could call for reinforcements, the Den Den Mushi on his desk crackled to life. A panicked voice came through, "We found a pirate ship and its crew nearby! They match the descriptions of the wanted posters!" Morgan's attention shifted momentarily to the communication, giving [Name] the opportunity she needed. She quickly grabbed her own Den Den Mushi from her cloak and contacted her crew.

"Captain, what's happening?" her first mate's voice came through, filled with worry. "You need to leave, now," [Name] said firmly, her voice steady. "They've found you and the ship. Get out of there immediately."

"But Captain—"

"No," she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You all have families. It was a mistake to come here. I love you all, and it's been an honor to sail with you. But now, you must go."

There was a pause on the other end, and then her first mate's voice, heavy with emotion, replied, "Should we call Buggy?"

"No," [Name] said quickly, glancing at Morgan who was still distracted. "Don't worry about me. We'll meet up in a few weeks. Just get to safety." Another pause, then a chorus of voices came through, all thanking her for being their captain and promising to follow her final order.

"Thank you," she whispered, her heart aching as she ended the call.

Morgan's focus returned to her, suspicion and anger clear in his expression. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"I made sure my crew is safe," she replied calmly, her eyes unwavering. "Now, can we get back to why I'm here? I need to see Admiral Garp."

Morgan's frustration was palpable, but he knew better than to underestimate the determined young woman standing before him.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized [Name]. A flash of recognition crossed his face as he locked onto her eyes. He reached for the old wanted poster from his desk, holding it up beside her face. "These eyes... You're the one from the poster, aren't you?"

[Name] glanced at the poster, then met Morgan's gaze without flinching. "I did take his body back," she admitted, her voice steady. "But I don't consider it stealing. I just wanted to give him a proper burial."

Morgan's lips curled into a sneer. "And you think you can just waltz in here and meet with Admiral Garp privately? Why would he want to see a pirate like you?" She set her jaw, refusing to divulge her reasons. "That's between me and the Admiral. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She turned to leave, reaching for the door, but Morgan moved swiftly, blocking her path.

"Not so fast," he growled, yanking her mask off. She slapped his hand away and jumped back, anger flashing in her eyes. Morgan's gaze roved over her face, a twisted admiration in his eyes. Ignoring his leering, [Name] slowly began to remove her cloak, her movements deliberate. "You really want to know why I need to see Garp?" she asked, her tone seductive as she played to his arrogance.

Her cloak fell away, revealing her outfit. A fitted, cropped jacket hugged her torso, with intricate embroidery running along the seams. Underneath, a sleeveless top exposed her midriff, paired with high-waisted pants that flared slightly at the bottom. Her belt, laden with various pouches and tools, held two machetes, their handles jutting out at her hips, ready for action.

Morgan's eyes widened as he took in her appearance. "Impressive," he murmured, stepping closer, his arrogance growing. "But I still don't believe you."

"You should," she replied, a dangerous edge to her voice. "I'm not here to play games." Morgan's sneer deepened. "Then why are you here?"

"That's for me to know," she said, her tone losing its seductive edge and turning serious. "And Garp is the only one who I will speak with."

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded, blocking her escape. "Believe what you want," she snapped, stepping forward defiantly. "But get out of my way." Morgan reached for her, but she was faster, her hand flying to the hilt of her machete. "Don't make me use this," she warned, her eyes flashing. He paused, clearly reconsidering his approach. "You're not leaving this room until I get some answers."

"Fine," she said, tightening her grip on the machete. "You want answers? Here's one. I'm not afraid of you, or anyone else in this building. And if you don't let me pass, you'll find out exactly why I'm wanted." Morgan's gaze flickered with uncertainty, but he held his ground. "You're not in control here." She smirked, her confidence unwavering. "That's where you're wrong. I'm always in control." With a swift motion, she drew her machete, the blade glinting in the light.

The tension in the room was palpable, both of them locked in a silent standoff.

Morgan blocked the door again, his demeanor turning darker. "A beautiful woman like you isn’t fit for a life at sea, although you do make it look good," he said, his eyes trailing up and down her form.

[Name] felt a wave of disgust but remained in control. She knew she had only a few minutes before Garp would round this hallway. She needed to act fast. "Oh, please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Is that supposed to flatter me? Because it sounds more like a desperate plea."

Morgan’s expression tightened. "I have a better solution," he said, stepping closer. "If you agree to go out with me, I could take your posters down in town. Or better yet, if you agree to become mine, I'll declare you dead."

She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Wow, Morgan. You really know how to make a girl swoon," she said sarcastically. "But I don’t care about your offers. I’m leaving with or without your permission."

Morgan’s eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam in them. "You’re really something," he said, advancing on her. "It’s a wonder how you’ve evaded the Marines for so long."

She met his gaze with cold disdain. "Maybe it’s because the Marines aren’t as smart as they think they are."

Morgan’s face contorted in anger, but then he chuckled. "I like a little spitfire in my life," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. [Name] slapped his hand away and stepped back. "Don’t touch me unless you want to get burned."

His fury exploded, and he lunged at her. [Name] moved swiftly, her training kicking in. She punched him in the face, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under her knuckles. She followed up with another punch, then kicked him hard, sending him sprawling.

Outside the door, the commotion attracted the attention of other Marines. They approached cautiously, only for the door to explode open with Morgan flying through it. He crashed against the opposite wall, sliding down in a heap. They ran towards their boss, confused, and peered at the now-broken door.

[Name] stepped into the doorway, holding Morgan’s prosthetic arm. She looked at the Marines, their faces a mix of shock and confusion, and smiled. "Anyone else want to play hero?" she taunted. The young Marines shook their heads, some backing away, their fear palpable.

She took a step forward, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Okay, now that that's over, would someone mind getting me to the yard, please?" she said, her tone cheerful and polite.

With cautious glances at each other, the Marines parted, giving her a clear path. She hoisted Morgan up and dragged him out to the yard. The sun was high in the sky, casting harsh shadows on the ground. The Marines followed at a distance, whispering among themselves. [Name] tied Morgan up, securing him tightly with rope, and spanked him with his own prosthetic arm in front of his soldiers. Once she felt satisfied, she threw the ax down at his feet. Blood oozed from his wounds, staining the ground beneath him.

"This is what happens when you allow yourself to become corrupt," she announced loudly, ensuring everyone could hear. Her voice was clear and authoritative, carrying the weight of her conviction. "Remember, the Marines are supposed to protect, not prey on the innocent."

She stood over him, her eyes blazing with anger and determination. "I’m looking for Admiral Garp. Point me in his direction, and I’ll be on my way."

The yard fell silent, the tension thick in the air. The Marines looked at each other, unsure of what to do. Then, a voice broke through the silence.

"Right here, lassie," said Admiral Garp, his voice carrying a mixture of amusement and authority.

[Name] turned to see the younger cadets had parted to reveal Garp standing with Bogard by his side in the crowd. Garp’s eyes twinkled with a hint of a smile. "Morgan, how’s it hanging up there?" he asked with a grin.

Garp walked over to [Name], offering her his elbow. "Let’s take a walk," he said, his tone kind but firm. She accepted his arm, and they began to walk away from the yard.

As they walked, Garp glanced at her. "You’ve certainly made an impression," he said with a chuckle.

[Name] nodded, her mind still buzzing from the encounter. "I didn’t have much choice," she replied. "But I need your help, Admiral."

Garp’s expression turned serious. "I figured as much. Let’s find a place to talk."

[Name] nodded, her mind still buzzing from the encounter. "I didn’t have much choice," she replied. "But I need your help, Admiral."

Garp’s expression turned serious. "I figured as much. Let’s find a place to talk."

A voice called out from the crowd, "Right here, lassie," before turning to see Garp and Bogard. He looked at Morgan, who was barely conscious. "How's he doing up there?" Garp asked with a bark of laughter.

Garp approached her, offering his elbow. "Shall we?"

[Name] nodded, taking his elbow as he led her away from the yard. "Bogard, take care of the situation," Garp ordered over his shoulder.

As they walked, [Name] looked up at Garp. "So, Admiral, how’s your morning been?"

Garp chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Exactly as described," he said.

[Name] furrowed her brow, confused. "Described? By whom?"

Garp led her to a heavy wooden door, still chuckling. "A little birdie spoke fondly of you," he said, opening the door.

Realization dawned on [Name], and she rolled her eyes. "Mihawk! More like a big, nosy bird," she muttered.

Garp’s laughter grew louder as he ushered her into a dimly lit office. "He’s got a sharp eye, that one."

Inside, the office was filled with shelves of books and nautical charts, with a large desk dominating the center. Garp gestured to the chair behind the desk. "Please, take a seat."

[Name] shook her head, starting to refuse politely. "I just retired my crew, Admiral. It doesn’t feel right."

Garp’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Retired your crew? What do you mean?"

She sighed, leaning against the desk instead. "I didn’t want Morgan to persecute them. I’m not a liar, so I ‘temporarily’ laid them off before engaging in combat."

Garp’s expression softened, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "I see. I apologize for Morgan’s behavior. I’ll see to it that he’s severely punished. But it looks like you did a good job handling him yourself."

[Name] chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Thank you, Admiral. But I have to ask—why haven’t you arrested me? Why did you want to meet with me?"

Garp insisted again, his tone gentle but firm. "Please, take the seat behind the desk."

Reluctantly, she complied, settling into the chair. Garp sat opposite her, his expression turning serious. "I had a relationship with Gold Roger and Rouge. They were good people, despite everything." As you begin to tell him the story of your upbringing Garp listens with interest. He leaned back, his gaze distant before pausing, studying her closely. "I remember you from the day of the execution."

"I was hoping it was you."

[Name] nodded slowly. "Yes. And I think you might be the only Marine I can trust."

Garp smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Thank you, that means a lot." His eyes offer you a warmth that rises in your chest and settles pleasantly in your heart.

"I took Ace away to be raised by some trusted friends. He should be almost twenty now."

[Name] leaned forward, her eyes intense. "I need to find him, Admiral. I made a promise to Roger and Rouge, and I won't break it."

Garp nodded, his eyes softening. "I understand." He shifted upright in his seat before continuing. "Ace is currently in Alabasta. I’ll give you my blessing to find him, but remember to continue pursuing the rest of your dreams."

Garp’s expression turned somber. "There’s one more thing. Due to what happened today, I can’t keep everything under wraps. Taking Roger’s body and assaulting a Marine captain will only increase your bounty."

[Name] laughed, a fearless glint in her eyes. "I don’t fear the World Government, Garp."

He shook his head, a mixture of admiration and concern in his eyes. "You’re something else. Come here."

He opened his arms, and [Name] stood from the chair to run around the desk before she stepped into his embrace. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and she felt a warmth spread through her as he hugged her tightly.

"Thank you for being a bright light in this world," Garp said softly. It felt like hugging the worlds buffest grandpa and she almost giggled out loud.

She smiled and pulled back. "Thank you, Admiral."

Just then, the sound of approaching footsteps filled the hallway. The Marine guards were coming to arrest her. She straightened, giving Garp a nod before walking out of the office.

As she passed through the yard, she saw Morgan still tied up, glaring at her with a mix of rage and humiliation. [Name] couldn’t help but smile, a sense of satisfaction warming her from the inside. She walked past him waving and smiling before finding her way out of the base, her steps light and purposeful.

Once outside, she realized she had no boat to get to Alabasta. She looked around the bustling port town, pondering if she could find passage with a fisherman. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice someone approaching until they were right beside her.

[Name] stepped out of the Marine base, her mind racing with thoughts of what had just transpired. As she pondered her next move, a familiar voice called out to her.

"Looking for a ride, Empress?"

S[Name] stepped out of the Marine base, her thoughts a whirlwind of the morning's events. As she pondered her next move, a familiar, low voice called out to her, cutting through her reverie.

"Looking for a ride, Captain?"

She turned to see Mihawk leaning casually against a wall, his piercing golden eyes watching her intently. His usual stoic demeanor was softened by a hint of a smile that made her heart skip a beat. He pushed off the wall and walked toward her, his gaze never leaving her face.

"Care to join me for some coffee and pie?" he asked, knowing she didn’t drink alcohol.

A mix of relief and curiosity washed over her as she nodded. "Sure, why not?"

They walked to a small café nearby, the atmosphere bustling with people going about their day. Mihawk ordered coffee and pie for both of them, his presence commanding yet surprisingly comforting. Once they were seated, [Name] began recounting the events of the morning, her voice a blend of frustration and amusement.

"And then I just walked out of there," she concluded, taking a sip of her coffee. The rich aroma and warmth provided a brief respite from the chaos of her thoughts.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Oh no, really?" he teased, his tone dripping with mock concern.

She kicked him under the table, a playful glint in her eyes. He sent her a soft, amused smirk in return, the brief contact sending a jolt of warmth through her.

"You need to be more careful," he gently chided, his voice low and earnest.

"I know," she admitted, a bit of frustration seeping into her voice. "But I’ve been through worse."

"Are you okay?" he asked, his tone sincere, his golden eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

She sighed, feeling the weight of her recent decisions pressing down on her. "I’m tired, Mihawk. Tired of the way the world is, how disgusting and cruel everything is. The world is going to shit."

Mihawk took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving her face. "Are you going to keep your crew temporarily laid off?"

She nodded, the burden of leadership heavy on her shoulders. "I love adventuring, but I don’t want them to get hurt in this mess. But I also don’t want to go alone."

He leaned back in his chair, studying her intently. "What’s the point of finding Ace?"

"I want to make sure there’s good in him and take him with me on adventures," she replied, her eyes shining with determination. "Buggy and Shanks will always be my brothers, and Ace will either be my son or my brother."

Mihawk's expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes. "Do you still want a family one day?"

She smiled wistfully, her heart aching with the weight of her dreams. "Buggy and Shanks will always be my brothers, and Ace... he’ll be part of my family. But as for a traditional family, I don’t know. The world is too chaotic right now."

He looked at her thoughtfully, his gaze intense. "And where do I fit in all this?"

She met his gaze, her eyes warm and sincere. "You’re my best friend."

There was a pause, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions. Mihawk considered her words carefully. "Where are you going to live?"

She shrugged, feeling the uncertainty of her future pressing in. "I’ll convert my ship or stash it somewhere. I can’t leave it on my home island and sail the Grand Line in a little boat back here."

Mihawk placed his hand over hers, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. He took his hat off so she would look into his eyes. "Would you stay with me until you decide what you want to do?"

She began to politely decline, her voice soft. "I couldn’t impose—"

Mihawk interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "You could never impose on my life."

She leaned back, her hand still in his, and gave him a slight smile, her heart racing. "What does the young warlord want in exchange?"

Mihawk’s gaze softened as he looked her over, his mind filled with unspoken thoughts. "Whatever the young empress wants."

She thought for a moment, weighing her options, her heart pounding in her chest. "How about I run your household when you’re away?"

Mihawk nodded in agreement, a rare smile gracing his lips. "Deal." They shook their joined hands together to seal the agreement. Mihawk was silent for a moment, studying her soft, smaller hand in his rough and larger palm. His eyes met hers with an expression she hadn't learned to read yet.

"Something wrong?" she asked, her voice softer now, more intimate.

Mihawk used his foot to pull her chair closer to his, the distance between them shrinking, the air thick with unspoken tension. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. "I wanted to do that properly," he said, his voice low and sincere.

[Name]'s cheeks and ears flushed all the way to her nose, the warmth spreading across her face as she tried to keep her cool. "Cheeky ass Robin," she muttered, but the teasing edge in her voice was softened by the tenderness of the moment.

She reached out with her free hand and pinched his whiskered cheek, her touch light but playful, trying to mask the fluttering in her chest. Despite her efforts to maintain composure, she didn’t pull her hand away, keeping their hands joined together. His neck was turning a soft pink color that reached just under his defined jaw line.

Mihawk's sly smirk grew, his eyes never leaving hers. "Is that all you’ve got?" he teased, his tone light but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

"You wanna find out?~" she shot back, her voice steadier now, though the blush remained on her cheeks. Her fingers intertwined with his, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between them.

The café around them seemed to fade away, the bustling noise of the world outside reduced to a distant hum. It was as if they were in their own bubble, the rest of the world forgotten. Mihawk’s thumb brushed gently over the back of her hand, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Why do you trust me?" she asked suddenly, the question hanging in the air between them.

Mihawk’s expression softened further, a rare vulnerability showing in his eyes. "Because I see in you what I’ve longed to see in others: strength, integrity, and a heart that refuses to be hardened by this world."

She looked down for a moment, processing his words, before meeting his gaze again. "I’ve seen the worst of what this world can offer," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I’ve also seen the best, and I want to believe that there’s more good out there."

"There might be," Mihawk said firmly, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. "You’re proof of that."

For a moment, they simply sat there, holding each other's gaze, the intensity of the connection between them almost overwhelming. Then Mihawk’s lips curved into a softer, more genuine smile. "Stay with me," he repeated, his voice gentle yet insistent.

She took a deep breath, the weight of her decisions pressing down on her, but in that moment, the certainty in Mihawk’s eyes gave her strength. "Alright," she agreed softly. "But only if you promise not to make that stuffed bird face too much."

"Only if you continue to be yourself in my presence," Mihawk replied, his tone is serious yet filled with a warmth that made her heart skip a beat.

She smiled, a mix of relief and anticipation flooding through her. "Deal," she said, echoing their earlier words.

They sat there for a few more moments, their hands still joined, before Mihawk finally called over the waiter to pay the tab. "Where are we going?" she asked as they stood up.

"To find your little one," Mihawk replied, for once his eyes were gentle with determination.

As they made their way to the docks to catch up with her crew, she reached up and stole his hat, placing it on her head with a mischievous grin. Mihawk chuckled, shaking his head as they walked side by side, ready to face whatever lay ahead together.

__________________________________________________________

Meeting Ace for the first time was a mix of emotions for [Name]. She was both nervous and excited as she stood before the young man who bore such a striking resemblance to his mother, Rouge. When she told Ace about his birth parents, her voice was gentle and filled with compassion. She explained how he looked like his mother sometimes, especially in his eyes and his smile.

Ace listened intently, his expression a blend of curiosity and skepticism. The revelation about his father, Gol D. Roger, was met with visible resentment. Ace struggled with the knowledge that his father was the Pirate King, a man he felt he could never live up to. He had spent much of his life trying to carve out his own identity, separate from the legacy of a father he barely knew but felt a heavy burden from.

In an attempt to cope, Ace introduced [Name] to his brothers, Sabo and Luffy. Sabo, with his calm demeanor and steadfast loyalty, and Luffy, with his boundless energy and unwavering optimism, both welcomed [Name] with open arms. The bond between the ASL brothers was clear, and [Name] felt an instant connection with them, her nurturing nature coming to the forefront.

When the rest of the Straw Hat crew met [Name], there was a mix of surprise and admiration. Zoro, in particular, recognized Mihawk immediately. He mentioned how [Name] had left once she heard about the world government's plan to execute Ace. She had been willing to exchange herself for him, a selfless act that earned the respect of everyone present.

The plan to fake Ace's and Whitebeard's deaths was a carefully orchestrated operation involving Shanks and Buggy. [Name] explained how they had managed to pull it off, with Shanks and Buggy playing crucial roles in the deception. The world believed that Ace and Whitebeard had perished, allowing them to live under the radar. This revelation explained Ace's presence in the bar later, alive and well.

[Name] and Ace hung out often, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. She enjoyed big-sistering and mothering the ASL brothers, finding joy in their antics and their unwavering loyalty to one another. When Shanks adopted Uta, [Name] was overjoyed. She treated Uta with the same love and care she showed the ASL brothers. Despite not telling Buggy initially, he didn't mind and came to love their daughter deeply.

The happiness [Name] felt in these moments was a testament to the family she had built around her, a patchwork of pirates, outcasts, and misfits who had come together to support one another. It was a reminder that even in a world as chaotic and cruel as theirs, there was still room for love.

The next two years with Mihawk were filled with unexpected warmth and joy. [Name] and Mihawk quickly fell into a rhythm that made it hard to remember how they had ever lived without each other. Their days were a blend of training, adventure, and quiet moments that became the foundation of their bond.

The arrival of Perona brought a new dynamic to their lives. Following the death of her father, Perona was lost and grieving. [Name] took it upon herself to comfort the young girl, offering her a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on. Perona, initially wary and prickly, gradually softened under [Name]’s gentle care. She grew to love the time she spent with [Name] and Mihawk, finding a new family in the unlikely pair.

The two years with [Name] were a period of transformation for Mihawk. She taught him to embrace the warmth of companionship, to find joy in the little things, and to open his heart to the possibility of love. As they navigated the challenges and triumphs together, Mihawk realized that his life was infinitely better with [Name] in it. And with each passing day, the desire to make her his forever grew stronger, filling his heart with a hope and happiness he had never known before.

Mihawk, who had always valued his personal space, found it increasingly invaded. Yet, to his surprise, he didn't mind when it was [Name] doing the invading. She brought a brightness to his otherwise bleak and solitary life, a light that he found himself craving more and more. Her laughter echoed through the halls of his castle, her presence a constant source of comfort and joy.

It wasn't just her physical beauty that captivated Mihawk, though he did find her lovely in every sense of the word. It was the beauty of her soul, her kindness, her strength, and her unwavering spirit that truly enchanted him. She had a way of seeing the good in everything and everyone, a quality that made Mihawk's world seem a little less dark.

Many nights, Mihawk would lie awake, his thoughts consumed by [Name]. He wondered what it would be like to ask her to stay forever, to make their arrangement permanent. The idea of a life without her now seemed unbearable. She had become an integral part of his existence, and the thought of losing her was something he couldn't entertain.

Mihawk often found himself falling asleep to the sound of her breathing beside him, dreaming of a future where they could be together always. He imagined the conversations they would have, the adventures they would share, and the love that would continue to grow between them. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that [Name] was not just a passing presence in his life, but a permanent one.

______________________________________________________________

That brings us to the present story now!

CHapter 6

Chapter 7

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fanaticsnail · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 8

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 10,700+

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Starlight

(Image Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/462322717990096069/)

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood @jaguarthecat @marsbars09 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Oh, boy. This is a big chapter. Next chapter will be MDNI, 18+. Thank you for your patience with me working at this. Two more chapters to go!

Song Suggestions: Young and Beautiful - Je suis Parte & Por Una Cabeza - Carlos Gardel

The ship swayed over the cloudy swell of darkened waves, shepherding the vessel away from the Kuraigana port and to a location your captain deemed appropriate for a newlywed bride to be hidden away from her husband.

Captain Buggy D Clown was not one to shy away from anything, especially not when something as interesting as causing drama and theatrics at the expense of Lord Dracule Mihawk was present. He was eager to present this challenge, whether you or Mihawk were also eager was a completely different tale entirely.

Within the Captain’s quarters aboard the Big-Top, you struggled with the back of your dress: uncinching the rigging your ward managed to tie for you to keep your body contained within its material. A huffed and agitated smile awoke on your face, picturing this struggle in comparison to the one to come after your starlight ensemble. If the moon was as difficult to rid from your body, you could not imagine how taxing the sun would be over your skin and concealing you from your husband.

Husband. You have a husband now. A husband that would be more than agitated to know you were now out to open seas and venturing to unknown horizons, away from the celebration he carefully curated for you.

“-Everything alright in here, Starlight?” the nasally crack of Buggy’s voice cut through the wooden door, “‘Ya need help?” You chuckled darkly, attempting to pry the material from you to no avail.

“Actually, Captain,” your voice held a frantic wave within its tone, “I think I do. The back is snagged, and I can’t get the damn thing off of me.” The door slowly creaked open, after a gentle rap alerted you he was to do so. You turned yourself away to conceal your exasperation from him, the stutter in your hands giving away your agitation as you continued to fumble over the ribbons at the rear of your dress.

“Do you trust me, Doll?” you heard his voice alarmingly close to your body, enough to cause a hitch in your throat. You glanced over your shoulder, witnessing Buggy’s teal eyes glancing up through his eyelashes and lips parting in concern.

“Considering you have robbed me of my wedding night with my beau,” your warning tone cut through the air as swift as a guillotine, “Spirited me away from the unity celebrations, and-,” you huffed, turning back around and glaring out of the bay window, “Confined me to spend this time alone and isolated from all those I hold most dear: I hardly deem you worthy of my trust presently, Captain.”

Buggy’s gasp was melodical and pitched up two octaves higher than his usual cadence. You could feel the waves of anxiety rising within his shoulders and expressed through several strangled breaths.

“I-I’m sorry, Lady Dracule. I didn’t think of it from your perspective and how my actions would-.” Whatever else Captain Buggy D Clown spoke after the first four words meant very little to you. Your mind looped them repetitively, the call and roll of the words felt both surreal and magical, you could hardly think about anything else.

“-Would’ve rather stayed on shore, it would be less flashy and make the chase all the less desperate. We could turn back if-,” Buggy’s words halted as he glanced back into your eyes, noticing the distant expression with a melancholy sorrow eclipsing your painted features. “...-Are you alright, my Lady Dracule?” he asked you.

“Lady Dracule,” you repeated, your brows forming a pillar at the center of your forehead and causing a small swell to mist your eyes, “I’m Lady Dracule, now.” Buggy took a moment to glance over your features, noticing this shift of emotion permeating through your stance.

Apprehensively, he reached his hand forward and gently caressed your shoulder. The gentle squeeze broke you out of your circulating mind, looking down and meeting the eyes of the cerulean-haired captain.

“Can I help you out of this dress and into the assortment I crafted for you, my lady?” Buggy asked softly, watching as you nodded in affirmation for his fingers to set to work.

“I’ll get this off in just a minute,” he whispered, his index fingers hooking through the loops in your back and slowly releasing the garment’s hold over your body, “And then we can think about your hair, and retouch your makeup. I’ll get Cabaji to bring us a bottle of the wine we swiped from the reception, too.”

You allowed a soft giggle to fall from your parted lips, the relief from being rid of the tightness of your dress while knowing you were in capable hands. As Buggy’s fingers aided you in being free from your garment, while respectfully aiding you into the new dress, your mind wandered to your husband and what he was doing in this moment. Did he notice your departure, or was he enjoying your joint celebrations in solitude?

“Where,” Mihawk’s yellow eyes glared accusingly around the guests through narrowed lenses, “Is,” he advanced, Yoru drawn with the pointed tip threatening the jugular of the Captain of the Red-Force, “My wife.”

Lord Dracule Mihawk, distracted momentarily by his guests and acquaintances upon exiting the ceremony space, sought out your hand to claim within his. He blindly reached beside him, outstretching his desperate hands to shepherd you to his side, his fingers brushing nothing but air in its wake.

He noticed your absence immediately.

“Easy now, mate,” Shanks raised his arms, noticing several members of his crew withdrew their concealed weaponry and aimed it at the enraged former warlord, “Easy, easy. She’s safe, I swear this to you.”

“Where is she?” Mihawk spat, his feet sliding into an assaulting stance, interweaving his body to draw closer to the red-head’s teasing face, “What have you done with her?”

“She’s with Buggy- Oi, relax,” Mihawk’s pupils narrowed, his eyes wide and wild at the knowledge departing from Shanks’ lips, “She’s safe, it’s all a part of appeasing the tradition.” Shanks attempted to soothe over the growing temper Mihawk was steadily elevating, gesturing for his crew to holster their weaponry.

“What tradition?” Mihawk barked, pressing the sharpened tip of Yoru deeper into Shanks’ neck, not quite puncturing the skin.

“We just wanted it to be perfect, Hawk-Eyes,” Shanks’ hazelnut eyes bore with no utterance of mistruth within his orbs, “And you’re a native to Kuraigana, born and raised here. This is us following your traditions to the absolute letter: crossed ‘t’s and dotted ‘i’s, mate.”

“Y-You’ve,” Mihawk stumbled over his words, darting his frantic eyes between Shanks’, “You’ve kidnapped my bride?”

“You want the map to her, Lord Mihawk?” the rational voice of Shanks’ first mate rumbled through the tense air, “I had the clown make one up, for all our sakes.” Mihawk snapped his eyes away from Shanks’ to bear into the soul of Benn Beckman. As their eyes met, Beckman fished out the tanned envelope and offered it out gruffly towards the broody and aggravated newlywed groom.

“And, are you all to just sit here and wait until I bring back my bride?” He barked at the Red-Hair crew, “Or are you coming to witness me suffer through this act of degrading humiliation?” Mihawk growled, eagerly searching through the crowd to see any contenders to refute his beckoning challenge.

“You should take your wards,” Shanks suggested, weaving his body away from the steely tip of Yoru’s point, “Your two witnesses to view your wooing.”

Zoro leant down into Perona’s ear, his brow knit with puzzlement and concern.

“I don’t follow, what is going on? Where’s our governess now?” Zoro quietly grunted into Perona’s ear, a giggle arising with her retort.

“Are you truly not following, or are you just saying that to be an imbecile?” Perona smirked, glancing up into Zoro’s serious eyes, “O-Oh, you’re serious? Okay!” Zoro patiently awaited his promised explanation, Perona thinking of the simplified version of this complex tradition to relay to him.

“In Kuraigana culture, the bride is either stolen or whisked away at a point in the evening - generally after the reception feast so the food doesn’t get cold. It looks like it’ll be a while yet before we get something to eat-,” Perona’s train of thought was broken with a growl from the green-haired apprentice.

“-Get on with it, Perona,” Zoro’s voice cut through the air gruffly, his eyes darting the surroundings for a clue of his governess’ whereabouts.

“Oh, alright. Sorry, Zoro,” Perona giggled, shaking her head and preparing her words to present once again, “The bride is then hunted by the groom and they share a moment where he must perform a task or a demonstration of artistic skill to woo and entertain his new bride. Considering she is no longer under the shroud of her own family name, but a whole new person in this case: Lady Dracule, he must win her heart under this new banner and usher her into her new life with him.”

“So, what? Is he gonna dance or something?” Zoro asked, puzzled and taken aback by the absurdity of the tradition, “Or is he gonna challenge her to a sword fight? What can he do that would woo her?”

“Zoro-...” Perona again giggled, shaking her head with a warm smile drawing her cheeks up beneath its radiance, “...-Mihawk sings.”

“Mihawk sings?” Zoro snapped his eyes over to Dracule Mihawk, watching as the lord of Kuraigana’s lips curled into a sinister snarl and brows furrowed deeper into rage.

“Two witnesses, no more,” Mihawk growled, placing the mighty blade upon his back and rolling his neck, “And we shall return within the hour.”

“Only if she’ll have you, mate,” Shanks’ grin playfully split his face, “You have to woo her. Humble yourself before her. This is your opportunity to actively pursue her,” the redhead stepped forward, clapping his right hand over Mihawk’s left shoulder.

“You never got the chance. Use this time to show her how much you want her, and then,” Shanks’ grin turned sly, glancing at Beckman who shook his head and fished out a cigarette from his breast pocket, “That’s when we can show you how radiant she is, all wrapped in sunlight.”

Mihawk’s rumbled growl cut through the air, turning on his boot heels and gesturing to Perona and Zoro with his index finger, “You two, with me. Let us depart and reclaim my bride.”

“Aye, sir,” Perona and Zoro spoke in unison, immediately springing into action and readying themselves for a short journey to find, woo and claim you with your title as Lady Dracule.

Mihawk’s fuming rage catapulted him into a near frenzy, working with haste to unroll the sails and weigh anchor, using the tide to carry his small ship and snarling at the crudely crafted map.

“This better be accurate for your sake, clown,” Dracule Mihawk spat, scrunching the map and thrusting it into his shirt pocket with his left hand. Upon withdrawing his hand from his pocket, he hovered it above his face, staring at how delicately the band of unity was glimmering under the light of dusk.

It felt balanced, as if this broad band was awaiting the day he would finally wield it atop his finger. As if his life was waiting for this moment to start, for this new role and purpose for his life to fulfill. He hardened his resolve, throwing off his outer coat and withdrawing his sleeves to his elbows. He will find you, and find you quickly.

And when he does, he will woo you.

If the moon-dress was the prelude to a masterpiece in composition, this dress would be a symphony to stand the test of time. Material as pastel as the celestial rocks littering the night sky sporadically danced across the midnight material depicting the sky at nightfall. In the dim light within the cave Buggy had chaperoned you into, the dress almost looked as if it was producing its own light.

“This is the most extravagant thing I have ever done with my life,” Buggy huffed a chuckle through his comment, “And that’s truly saying something, my lady. I’ve never done anything like this, and I’m almost jealous that I won’t be the one wearing it.”

“You’re more than welcome to borrow it for a performance, Captain,” you giggled, looking down at your arms that had been ornately decorated with chained droplets of beaded glass, “It is simply breathtaking.”

Glancing over at yourself in the reflective walls of the cave you had found yourself in, your hair was now softly falling in waterfalls against your back and your makeup retouched by the clown and his enthusiastic crew. You could hardly recognise the woman gazing back at you.

“As breathtaking as you are, my lady,” Buggy whispered while adjusting your hair over your shoulders, “And hopefully enough to get me back into your good graces?” He shifted his eyebrow upwards, glancing hopefully over your shoulder with widened eyes and fluttering eyelashes.

“You’re not out of the thick of it yet, dear captain,” you playfully taunted him, nose scrunched and smile growing, “It’s not only I you need to appease.”

As if on queue, a small commotion was occurring outside the cave. Elevated voices, a shuffling of feet and the clang of harsh metal meeting rock reverberated within the cave mouth: silence following such an abrasive sound.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Buggy repeated hurriedly, excitement and anxiety dancing in a dangerous fight for dominion over his cadence, “You take a seat on your throne and look all pretty,” he gestured with his hands flailing outwards, “I’ll finish lighting the candles,and then I’m gonna flee as fast my legs can carry me to give you two some privacy.”

You laughed at his excitement, turning and drawing up your heavy skirts to fan out atop the velvet-covered throne Buggy had placed down for you. Frantic clicks of flint and steel, a string of nasally curses, and a shifting of boot-heels tripping over themselves as Buggy set the final elements of his role in the ruse awaiting your spouse.

“Okay, I’m gonna-... woah,” Buggy’s words halted as he turned to view you on your throne, sitting with the elegance and radiancy that you had drilled into your many students over your career as a governess.

“‘Woah’, what, Captain Buggy?” you huffed out a small laugh, watching his eyes shifting over each element of your ensemble.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, shifting his feet as if under the spell of hypnosis, “You’re not technically married if you haven’t consummated your union. You can always run away with me if you want to-.”

“Buggy,” you scolded him, your laughter now falling unwithheld from your lips, “For one: I am not cut out for a path of traveling piracy,” your smile continued to decorate your lips with its radiancy, “And two: I am in love with Dracule Mihawk, my husband.” That final confession shocked you, not admitting those words aloud to yourself or another before this very moment.

“Right, right, of course,” he laughed at himself, studying his handiwork as your skirts pooled over your feet and down the slight elevation over the rocks. The voices within the mouth of the cave continued to draw ever nearer, the agitation and anger almost tangibly felt the closer they came.

“This is where I take my leave, my lady,” he nervously chuckled, looking to the cave mouth with his lips split into a straight wincing line, “If I stay, the broody asshole will likely attempt to take my head and throw me into the sea.”

“In that case,” you smiled, bowing your head low to the clown, “This is where I thank you for the part you played in ensuring this day was a possibility.” Buggy gasped at your bow, taking a final moment to study you as you rose from your seated curtsey.

“You are so beautiful, my lady,” he whispered, bowing to you before turning on his heels and uttering a final sentence before picking up his sprint, “Congratulations on your successful ceremony. Save me a dance at your reception.”

Chuckling at his fleeing form, you were left in only a butterfly’s wing of solitude before three figures almost stampeded within the decorated hollow of the cave. Each of them halted, eyes wide and jaws slack as they took in their surroundings.

The ground was littered with candelabras, all lengthy wicks lit. Lighting a pathway towards the throne, tealights scattered the floor beside a long stretch of the softest white carpet. Upon the edge of the carpet, the material of your skirts pooled and the unnatural light of several stones attached to the hem illuminated the floor. Dark material shifts into soft lights at each subtle movement from your body, the stones on your arms providing a small ringing melody as you offer them a small, coy wave.

Perona’s smile rose on her cheeks, recovering the fastest of the three as she offered you a similar wave in return for your own. Zoro snapped his lips shut, smirking as he glanced between you and your beau who continued to be stupefied beneath this new radiant presentation.

“I have found you,” Mihawk whispered after taking a small moment to recover, “My bride, my beloved.” You smiled wider, taking a moment to study your husband as he began taking small and intentional steps towards you.

Perona hastily and quietly ushered Zoro over to the side, taking a seat on a large boulder and tapping the surface beside her in a gesture for Zoro to sit beside her. Without removing his eyes from the scene unfolding before him, he quickly sat on the stone and awaited Mihawk’s every chosen moment.

Electing to remain silent, you watched and hung onto every movement, utterance and breath produced as he continued on towards you. Before he fell within your proximity, he halted and inhaled a shaken breath as he humbly knelt with both knees on the floor, his hands laced and placed within his lap. Your breath hitched, eyes darted between his honey-coloured eyes which then immediately snapped shut.

He deeply inhaled a breath, his eyes remaining closed as he focussed on his movements. He lilted a rumbled hum, a tune unfamiliar to you produced from his nose and serenading you with its melody. Mihawk was singing, and he was singing for you.

“Never I’ve known love like this,

As vibrant as the seas.

I’ll sheathe my blade, and disarm my shield,

For a chance just to please.”

His eyes remained shut, lips almost cautiously relaying the lyrics as he produced them. After the small verse produced, his words waved more confidently through his lips and enunciated each spoken lyric.

Perona attempted to silence her elation by slapping her hand over her lips, her other hand finding Zoro’s knee and giving it a firm squeeze to express her excitement physically. Zoro was not faring much better, his own shock written on his face he could barely notice Perona’s hand on his knee as he gripped his thighs to stifle his surprise at Mihawk’s skillful melody.

“The way your lips summon me,

The way your eyes hold promise,

May your bed never be empty,

Should dawn be upon us.”

Mihawk’s eyes opened, his breath hitching as he witnessed the longing gaze you were offering to him. Your eyes swelled with emotions, lips parting and drawing up in a melancholy smile. Mihawk offered you a small, bashful smile as he continued to sing to you.

Your eyes never left Mihawk for a minute, watching as he knit his brows together and continued to utter promises through melody towards you.

“I will share my days with you,

For this to you I swear.

Nightfall I be by your side,

For it’s not yours alone to bear.”

He rose his knee from his kneeling into a lunge, bowing his head down and removing his hat from his head. A final promise uttered lyrically from within his skilled melody, you holding onto each word.

“The seas and sword were my first love,

The training alone be vast.

Although you were not my first to love,

May we both be each's last.”

Mihawk sucked in a baited breath, awaiting a small reprimand or disciplinary comment regarding his abilities. He was no singer nor composer, the lyrics produced alongside the melody were spur of the moment. His skills were of the sword, not of poetry and lyricism.

“Do my words and melody please you?” Mihawk whispered, his eyes holding firm to the floor as his dark curls bobbed to a lower bow, “Will you allow me the luxury of my heart, my body and my soul joining with yours, Lady Dracule?”

He elevated his head, his eyes softening and rapidly blinking to stifle the rising beat of his heart as he remained in his humility. A man such as he was not accustomed to humbling himself before anyone, doing precisely as he pleased and when he pleased to do it. With you, this was uncharted and untested waters. He was in love, and would spend the rest of his days romancing you should you ask it of him.

Truthfully, he was prepared to offer his adoration, praises and romance to you at all hours whether you asked it of him or not.

“You may have me, I am yours,” you answered him after several moments of pregnant pause, rising to your feet and offering him your right hand to take with his left, “Just as you are mine.” Mihawk released a breath he did not know he was withholding from his chest, the weight rolling off his shoulders and having him relax beneath your admission.

He took this moment to study your carefully painted lashes, noticing the subtle hints in tints and hues decorating your skin at the hands of the genius jester. The stars were reflected in your eyes, the pigments complimenting the change in darkened material pooling over your dress.

“C-Can I,” he fell over his words, closing his eyes and mentally scolding himself for his stumble, “Can I kiss you, my lady?” A small squeak from the corner of the room had you both break from your illusion that this corner of reality was not yours alone to share. You also had two witnesses.

Mihawk snapped his eyes over to the two words sitting happily on the boulder beside the decorated floor, scolding them with a single pointed look. At his momentary shift of focus, you used the opportunity to rise from your sitting position on the throne Buggy sourced for you and stooped down to collect Mihawk’s chin between your index finger and thumb.

You shifted his face back, witnessing the momentary shock as he gazed into your eyes. With a soft smile, you lowered your face and collected his lips with your own. Although he was kneeling, Mihawk was a tall individual. This position did not have your neck aching at its stoop, but was comfortable as you slowly pressed more of yourself against the former warlord.

Mihawk wrapped his arms around your waist, bunching the fabric within his hands and holding you firmly pressed against him. He parted his lips, his tongue darting out to dampen your bottom lip as he squeezed your hips within his wide fingers. You hummed against his lips, your fingers raking over his beard to entangle within his curled locks. He smiled into the kiss, rising from the floor and fully bracing himself against you with his forearms circling your waist.

The ruffles of the skirts below you illuminated several of the rocks littering the material, a gasp fleeing from Perona the longer she stared at the balled objects adoring the fabric.

“The rocks light up when they move!” she hushed her whisper to Zoro who waved his hand to silence her as he witnessed the loving embrace between his lord and lady. Although Zoro would never admit it aloud, he was enjoying every minute of witnessing such joy between two people he held most dear.

Breaking from the kiss, your eyes half lidded as they gazed up at your husband. His expression mirrored your own, gazing lovingly down at you with a soft smile gently creasing the corners of his eyes.

“Let’s go home,” Mihawk whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead and hovering his lips over your skin as he cradled your head against his chest, “I hope Shanks and his crew have left as some wine.”

“I’m more concerned about the food,” you giggled, prompting Mihawk to break away from your forehead and smooth his hands over your hair, “All I’ve had to eat and drink today is that single piece of honeycomb, a glass of wine for breakfast, that small sip of unity wine shared with you, and a glass of wine with the clown when he prepared me in this ensemble.” His eyes widened, looking into your smiling face in shock. You laughed up at him, raising your hand up to caress his cheek.

“You’ve only had wine and honeycomb for the whole day, my beloved?” his tone held a small air of caution within.

“Yes, my heart,” you huffed out a small sigh of laughter at witnessing his agitation. Although his anger never left, the small twitch of his lip and hitch in his breath indicated his pleasure of receiving such a high honor of that title.

“Well that will simply not do,” he growled, shifting you in his grip to slip his arm around your waist and usher you through the cave mouth, “I have some sourdough and salted butter on the ship. We’ll break into that before we partake in the reception feast.” You smiled up at your husband, watching as he wordlessly gestured for your two wards to follow behind you.

Where Perona could not stop staring at your dress, the only thing within Zoro’s focus was how you looked up at Mihawk, and how Mihawk looked down at you. The love you held for each other within that expression alone had a pang sound within his heart, and caused soft doubts to shift his perspective.

Whether spoken aloud to you or not, Zoro’s quest in becoming the world's greatest swordsman would one day rip this fresh union apart. He would kill Mihawk to claim that title, and that would surely mean the destruction of your happiness.

As you made your way through the sandy coast and onto Mihawk’s vessel, Zoro continued to seek out different ways to achieve his goals and leave you both to thrive in your happiness.

From the peaceful drift into the Kuraigana port, to the reunification with your guests, Mihawk would not allow you a moment to break away from him. Hollars and cheers at your arrival were quickly silenced as they took in the next aspect of your ensemble.

Now exposed under the light of the moon, at each small movement of your legs beneath the dark skirt, the illumination of bioluminescent rocks shook and roared to life. The fanning material danced at your feet, the weight of the many layers of broad skirts heavy upon each footstep. You truly appreciated Mihawk’s presence at your side to enable you to lean against him for support each time the gown pulled at your waist and hips.

Your bodice was encrusted with similar trails of glassy stones, the overlaying chains from your neck to your waist forming the unity of constellations between both yours and Mihawk’s birth signs. Buggy had put an excessive amount of thought into such a piece, pooling all his knowledge to provide you the best reiteration of starlight he could truly muster.

The outdoor reception space was littered with soft strings of light, a circular wooden floor elevated a step up as a makeshift dance area. Several clusters of seats were available off to the sides of the wooden floor they were standing on, where a small quartet of musicians lay off to the side of the area and softly painting the air with their melodical portraiture.

Mihawk paid his guests little mind, other than a curt nod or a subtle smile to your former students. The many staff continued to present platters of bite-sized ensembles, each small taste of food attuned to both yours and Mihawk’s refined palates. Each time a tray was presented to you, you would break your conversation away from your guests and thank the staff with a warm smile on your face.

As he showcased you to his guests, he watched as the fatigue of the day was slowly catching up with you. The little stumble of your feet under the weight of the dress, the small waver in your smile when you assumed none were watching, the way you clung to his side: he was observant of your every moment and there at your side to catch you should you fall. He was yours to do with what you will, clay awaiting molding into the husband you desired him to be.

Music began to play at a more elevated volume, the guests encouraging you with a soft cheer to get you to open the dance floor together. Mihawk looked subtly off to you, noticing you were struggling beneath the layers of your skirts. No matter how vast your training in becoming a debutant yourself, nothing could have prepared you to carry the amount of weight from rocks of various shapes and sizes.

“Beloved, are you-,” Mihawk began, his short question being stolen from him by the nasally interruption of Captain Buggy D Clown.

“-If I may, my lady Dracule,” Buggy’s broad, painted smile laid brilliantly over his lips, “I have a small surprise for you.”

“Oh?” you asked, brows elevating up your forehead in curiosity.

“Your resume presented to the world government several years back indicated you were an excellent dancer, trained the best of them attending here today, in fact,” he complimented you bowing in a low and crouched stoop.

“I am a competent dancer, yes,” you admitted, eyeing him curiously as he picked at your hem with his gloveless fingers, “And I do enjoy the movement when the moment is called upon.”

“Then it would be such a shame should the moment be taken from you under the weight of this dress, my lady,” Buggy smirked up at you, a silver object playfully juggling between his fingertips. Before you realized what the object was, Buggy precautioned both you and Mihawk, “Bird-Boy, stand back. My lady, close your eyes and hold your breath.”

Immediately doing what you were told, you heard the ignition of a flint-lighter and the warm flash of open flame illuminating your eyelids to a deep crimson color. Gasps and screams from your guests informed you of all you needed to comprehend at this moment.

Captain Buggy D Clown had lit your dress on fire.

A wild rush of heat expanded over the base of your skirt, the tongues of blaze lapping at your skin and immediately cooled with bursts of icey air. As you felt the rising warmth begin to die down, you opened your eyes to witness the small, illuminant rocks burst and break to soothe over the licks of flame. Upon each burst of impact, the color of your dress would change to a crisp white, to a warm blue, down to a dark hue of red, all the way to a dim purple.

At the last burst of rock sparking and spurting over the gown, the arrangement that remained was a softer, pale dress that halted just below your knees. The slit from the hem on your left side tastefully elevated to just below the angle your thigh met at the curvature of your hips. The dress fanned out, dipping in at your waist and cinching in your bust. There were no remaining rocks nor combustive fabric on your body, much to your delight.

After you adjusted to your new weight distribution, feeling lighter and more energetic already, the picture you were left with standing before you was Buggy’s throat being impaled on the smaller blade formerly hung around your husband’s neck. Your eyes widened and your body moved faster than your mind did to halt the scene unfolding before you.

“First you kidnap my wife, now you light her on fire?” Mihawk barked, slashing at his throat while Buggy stuttered over his words, “It seems as if you are trying so desperately to get me to kill you, Clown. I should have you flogged and cast into the seas for your idiocy-.”

“-My heart, I am unharmed,” your voice broke him away from his heavy threats, his hands immediately withdrawing from the clown to cradle your cheeks within his palms. You kept your face calm, reassuring him with your expression alone that you remained unaltered and unharmed.

He floated his eyes between yours, briefly dipping to your lips before withdrawing back up to your eyes. You nodded within his hands in an act to reassure him further, your smile never faltering. After a hushed moment’s pause, Mihawk could no longer contain himself.

Hastily, he dipped his face down, lips colliding with yours and drawing several cheers from your guests. He hungrily consumed your lips, molding and shaping them beneath his with the desperation you were yet to see its equal. He swooped his hands behind your head, collecting the soft waves Buggy had created for you in fistfuls as he desperately joined his lips with yours. You slowly raked your hands over his waist, holding him close and reassuring him with soft circles against his body with your thumbs.

Squeaking against his lips at a small tug of your hair, Mihawk immediately loosened his aggressive grasping of your against you, and softly traced his fingertips over your jaw and set to cradle the scruff of your neck. The world faded from existence the longer Mihawk held you against his lips, folding himself against you and holding you in momentary blissful stasis.

Withdrawing his lips from yours, he gazed into your eyes while briefly panting to catch his breath. Shock eclipsed your features the exact moment you broke away, the cheers from your guests ignited the silence within the ringing of your ears.

“That was a good ‘en, Hawkie!” Shanks swayed in his speech as he slurred in his stupor, “Do it again!”

“Quiet down, Captain,” Beckman grunted, gently clapping Shanks on the shoulder, “That’s our exterminator you’re talking about. She deserves a little more respect than you’re offering the both of them presently.”

“Right, right. I’ll switch to water for a bit, Becks,” Shanks nodded, looking over at his crew and gesturing to the water barrels with his tankard. Mihawk never strayed his eyes from your features, constantly ensuring you were unharmed from the prior blaze.

“May I dance with you, my beloved?” Mihawk quietly offered, removing his hand from your neck and apprehensively outstretching his hands to you. You smiled at his soft gesture, immediately placing your right hand within his left and allowed him to chaperone you onto the dance floor.

At the swell of music, you hastily pressed your right hand against Mihawk’s left shoulder while he elevated your right hand to extend to the side. His left hand found the middle of your waist and pulled you against himself.

You carefully extended your left knee over Mihawk’s leg, the slit withdrawing itself tastefully to reveal your thigh to your guests. At that gesture, Mihawk immediately readjusted his stance: shifting to claim the base of your thigh within his hands as he awaited the appropriate rhythm to dictate his momentum.

“The Clown read your resume,” Mihawk smirked down at you, beginning to shift and maneuver you effortlessly within his arms, “But alas, I have not.” He nudged you with his left hand, following his lead by twirling your body within his arms and releasing his hold over you.

Both legs now firmly on the ground, you shifted your hips and began to rhythmically follow the melody rising with your feet. Holding your arms perpendicular to the ground, Mihawk collected your left hand and pressed a small kiss atop your wrist before raking his digits over your forearm.

“You never read my resume before you hired me?” You called over your shoulder, as he raised your left hand to cradle his neck behind you.

“Never,” Mihawk smiled, placing his right hand over your right and his left over your stomach. He began ushering you both with a rapid sway of his steps, a maneuver you flawlessly followed with each stride. He twirled you away, holding contact with your right arm before reclaiming it in his left hand.

“Then,” your puzzled expression remained atop your features as you once again faced Mihawk, “Why was I hired here? What drew you to me?” Your beau’s smile elevated, his eyes cracking at the corners as his nose scrunched upwards.

“Truthfully, my beloved,” he confessed, leaning forwards to indicate for you to fall backwards in your steps, “I am not certain what drew me to you. A feeling, I suppose.”

“A feeling?” you elevated your eyebrow and smirked up at him, “Something as simple as a feeling?”

Mihawk chuckled, twirling you away from him and catching your forearms within his grip, ushering your back to meet his chest. You huffed out a small exasperated breath, shaking your head and swaying with him to the rhythm.

“A feeling,” you repeated in a whisper, attempting to not allow your disdain from presenting too prominently against your features. Mihawk released your right arm, leaning forward and collecting your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Allow me the luxury of rephrasing, my beloved,” Mihawk whispered, drawing your forehead to press against his while he moved his body from behind yours to face you once more.

Drawing up his left hand, he collected your right and his right hand found your back once more. His smile continued to highlight his face, a smile you had come to adore painted on his face beneath his mustache.

“From the moment I met you all those years ago, I adored you as a skilled governess,” he confessed, stepping backwards while you followed with your forward step, “The way you managed a variety of individuals: debutants, gentlemen and all those in between. Even the witless marines-.”

“-Mihawk,” your warning tone was broken with a small laugh, your smirking reprimand forming a smile over your lips, “Be kind.”

“Apologies, my beloved,” he snickered out a small chuckle, ushering for you to step outwards before hooking you back into his arms, “I never assumed you would accept a job at such short notice in the first place.”

“I had a lull in my waiting list,” you shrugged, turning to face him with a broader smile on your face, “And the stuttering scribbles were intriguing.” Mihawk laughed at your reference to his original summons for you to begin your tutelage of the two wards under his care.

As the melody swelled, he sighed out a breath, once again placing your forehead against his own and furrowing his brows. In a low whisper, he relayed his final confession to you. There was no room for humor, nor was there a place for the utterance of a lie within his breath.

“Before there was a possibility of joining with you in matrimony, I simply thought: ‘that was that. Time to live my life as an unmarried swordsman until the next generation rises up to claim that title from me’,” he smiled, halting his movement as the music ended its swell, “I never thought I would be training that aforementioned generation to take my life, nor did I imagine this twist of circumstances leading you to be within my arms now.”

You smiled a melancholy smile, only half elevated on your face at his confession. Trailing your hand over his shoulder, you extended it up to collect his whiskered cheek within your palm, soothing over his bottom lip with your thumb.

“And is this the life you wanted for yourself, Mihawk?” you whispered up at your beloved, searching his eyes for more truth within, “To live in momentary matrimonial peace before Zoro claims your title alongside your life?”

“This is the life that I have forged for myself,” he whispered against your thumb, pressing a kiss against the padded tip, “And I will hold onto it with every breath I still use to sustain my lungs. I love you, my wife. I am yours, and you are mine, for as long as we both shall live,” he withdrew your hand from his lips and circled it over his neck, “And for whatever comes next.”

“For whatever comes next,” you mirrored back with closed eyes and lips parted, “Sounds like an awfully exciting adventure, my heart.” Reopening your eyes, you witnessed the smile once again return to Mihawk’s lips.

At the music’s end, he swooped down to claim another kiss from you. Applause rang through the air, prompting you to part from the oscillation as hastily as you had it begin. The Red-Hair pirate crew and the Buggy-Pirates had begun offering each other their outstretched hands to lead them onto the dance floor.

You felt a small tap on your shoulder at the exact moment a soft, pale hand with pink-polished fingernails brushed with Mihawk’s own shoulder. You shook your head, confused as you were ushered into the awaiting arms and broad shoulders of Roronoa Zoro.

His smile was shallow, his mind plagued behind it with the smog of heavy thoughts. Extending out his hand, you took it and curtseyed as he bowed with you. Ushering you to circle the floor with a practiced waltz, Zoro continued to twirl you in silence.

“You have gotten much better, Zoro,” you complimented him, met with only a single hum in acknowledgement. You furrowed your brows, glancing between his bourbon-hued orbs while he refused to draw his gaze up to meet yours.

“Did you enjoy the drinks? I have yet to sample the wine presented at the reception-,” you were cut off as Zoro’s thoughts spoke atop your own.

“-I am going to claim his life from him, do you understand?” he gruffly commented, glaring over at Perona and Mihawk as he spun her within his arms with a broad grin and her unwithheld smile mirroring in return, “I intend to kill lord Dracule Mihawk.” You almost stumbled in your dance, recovering quickly as he continued to twirl you.

After taking a moment to collect your rapidly lashing thoughts, you inhaled a large gulp of breath and extended your exhale slowly through your lips.

“If that is what your destiny is leading you to fulfill,” you reached up your hand and collected his cheek, turning him to meet your eyes, “It is not for me to understand, nor is it my desire to halt you from achieving your goal.” He gasped at your words, stumbling over his feet and barely recovering.

“You won’t ask me not to?” Zoro’s breath hitched on his exhale, searching your eyes for any cause for further stumble, “You won’t plead for me to find a new goal? To settle for being second best and remain that way until we’re all cracked and graying?”

Giggling at his comment, you extended your arm out and circled it over his head: twirling the conflicted man within your arms.

“I married the ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’, Dear,” you noted, your smile never wavering as you rejoined him within your arms, “It is an occupational hazard.”

Zoro’s surprise lingered on his features, his eyes misting over with the swell of emotions he did not prepare himself to express this night.

“And between us-,” you leant up to his ear, using this opportunity to draw him into a warm and encumbering embrace, “-I would rather it be you. You are someone we both trust,” you withdrew him from your arms and smiled whimsically up at him, “Someone who will grant him the luxury of a swift and merciful departure from this life, should you both be ready to take that step.”

Where you assumed he would grunt out a gruff groan, you were shocked when he leant further into your arms and circled his forearms around your waist. He nuzzled into your neck, his shoulders beginning to sink against the weight of his confliction.

“You trust me?” he choked within his soft whisper, “You trust me to give him an honorable death?” His shoulders shuddered within your arms, you immediately drew your hands up to caress his moss-coloured locks.

“Of course I trust you, Zoro. Just, if you were to grant me one simple favor,” he withdrew from your embrace, continuing to hold your waist as he stared down and awaited further instruction, “Please don’t kill him tonight?” Zoro’s laughter cut through the air, drawing many eyes over to your location as you joined him in his unbridled laughter.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady,” he chuckled, briefly joining his forehead against your own and scrunching his nose with his smile.

“Good boy,” you complimented him with a single tap on his shoulder, “And your dancing really has improved.” You nodded to his feet, noticing how effortlessly he was shepherding you throughout the movements.

“I learnt from the best, my lady,” he winked down at you, his golden drooped earrings glinting within the refraction of the lights.

As the melody crescendoed from one song into the next, you twirled from within Zoro’s arms and immediately met your right hand against a cool piece of metal, curving beneath your fingertips.

“If I may, my lady,” the cool rumble of Sir Crocodile reverberated within your chest and shot a tingle up your spine. Although no malice was withheld in his tone, the danger was always present with a man such as he.

“Sir Crocodile,” you nodded, focussing your body on allowing him to lead you throughout the floor, “I would like to take the opportunity to thank you for your beautiful dress you crafted for me.”

“I do plan on collecting that debt from the both of you, my lady,” he smirked down at you with a broad grin. His eyes held a bored malice within his purple orbs, hunching down to claim your body within his arms. The impressive height he towered over you had you feeling smaller within his grasp, an advantage you planned on gaining back from him with your wit.

“And what would you ask of me, Sir?” you smiled up at him, twirling within his arms and circling your body around his back. You drew your fingers over his flesh, watching the visible shudder arising beneath the movement, “I am a simple governess-.”

“-You are Lady Dracule, now,” he retorted, gazing down at you through the corner of his eyes, “A lady who has sway and leverage over a lord. A lady who holds the heart of such a man as he, the ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’. A lady who-.” You hastily pressed your fingers atop the golden hook, your eyes baring dangerously into his own.

“-Who was and forever will be-,” your low tone had Crocodile taken aback at your statement, “-A simple governess.”

“And what would a simple governess be able to offer me?” his amused grin parted his lips and elevated his brows. The silvery mark over his cheeks and nose had the purple hues holding more danger within their orbs, “Music and dance lessons, I have hardly a use for.”

“A governess who has done all a governess could do here,” you smiled up at him, leading him into a twirl, your spin prompting almost a laugh to fall from his lips, “Tamed and trained two unruly youths, along with having one of the world’s most powerful men fall to their knees and beg to claim me as their own.”

The smirk of Sir Crocodile rose on his lips, his words beginning to form behind his teeth only to be halted by a final word of warning from you.

“Whenever you desire such a woman to perform such an impossible and improbable task as this,” you silenced him with your words, “You know where I will be.”

At that, you bowed a low curtsey to him and attempted to flee from his arms, only for the hook to catch the crook of your elbow and tug you back into his arms for his final words.

“An expert tamer of unruly individuals,” he whispered in your ear, the ghost of his last cigar lingering on his lips as his breath met with the shell of your ear, “I shall keep you in mind for when such a purpose arises.” Unclasping your arm from within his hook, Sir Crocodile took his leave of you with a final bow.

You shook off his words, the next partner finding themselves within your arms whipped their cerulean hair against your cheek as they spun you on your toes three times in a circle.

“I truly am sorry about the kidnapping, my lady,” Buggy uttered with a warm smile, “And I am only partly apologetic for the glorious blaze.” Although you had met both Buggy and Sir Crocodile at the same time, you felt much more comfortable being wielded within his arms than the experience prior.

Buggy released you, clapped his hands three times and stomped his feet rhythmically to the music. You laughed, mirroring his posture and his rhythm back at him. His eyes widened, heart swelling at you matching his exaggerated movements and prompting him to produce some far more elaborate motions.

He was a joy to dance with, his own starlight shining within his teal eyes and reflecting back onto his various assortment of formal attire. Although no longer wearing a frill-neck collar, his cravat had just as many ruffles fluffing at his jaw.

“I am not sorry in the slightest for either,” you admitted, your own nod and spin on your toes keeping Buggy mirroring your movements first before stepping in again to claim you in his arms.

“Not even the kidnapping?” he winced out a small apprehensive grin.

“No, it was an enjoyable experience,” you confessed, laughing in his arms as he assumed the waltz position and stepped in time to the swell of music, “I especially enjoyed the wine.”

“Then you have found the perfect match in Mihawk,” he nodded, scrunching up his nose at the thought, “Personally, I don’t know how you both drink that vinegary piss. I prefer the sweets to compliment and mask my saltiness. Rum is best.”

“I thank you for your compliments, captain,” you smiled at him.

“About the vinegary piss?” his brows furrowed in confusion, his smile scrunching into a soft pout. You laughed at his comment, shaking your head at him.

“About the perfect match,” you confessed, feeling the end of the music calling to you. Buggy chuckled, offering you a small bow before dismissively waving his hand at you and uncharacteristically turning on his heel.

You were puzzled at that final gesture, not understanding where such an expression was necessary before you felt a hand clasp around your waist.

“‘S not you, love,” the voice of a red-haired captain uttered beside you, “He still is hung up on our old childhood rivalry.”

“Ah,” you gasped in understanding with a curt nod, turning in his arm to face him. Dancing with Shanks was an occurrence you were privy to experiencing from time to time aboard the Red-Force with his crew. His attitude was always playful and light with you, always a gentleman.

“You truly look spectacular tonight, Vile Exterminator,” he complimented you, shifting his dancing position to usher you with his right hand in light of his missing left hand. Joining now both of your right hands, you both stepped in and out before twirling under his arm.

“Thank you, Red-Haired Rat,” you smirked at him, feeling a pair of eyes watching you dance within Shanks’ arms.

“I think the big man wants a word,” Shanks confirmed your suspicions, nodding over to his steel-haired first mate, extinguishing his cigarette with his boot heel against the gravel road beside the dancefloor. Shanks twirled you twice more before you were flung from his arm and into the awaiting and ill-practiced hands of Benn Beckman.

“Sorry, my lady,” he uttered, his legs awkwardly swaying him from side to side with you within his arms, “I’m no good at this formal dancin’. I don’t do this.”

“I know, Benn,” you smiled at him with a soft, close-lipped grin, “But I do appreciate the effort.” He hummed with a curt cough in response, truly feeling out of place with this genre of dance.

“About what’s to come,” he gruffly coughed, attempting to spin you on the dancefloor as easily as he could ask his body to perform such a skill, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You sighed out a small huff of breath, shaking your head at him as he continued to explain to you.

“There’s a lot of knots,” he confessed with a winced, grimacing smile, “I mean, a lot of knots.”

“I trust you,” you shrugged, feeling his tension rising in his shoulders and stance. You halted the elaborate dance, ushering him off to the side of the dancefloor and opting to sway with him to the beat while he aired his concerns.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with the experience,” he confessed, the gray tint of his eyes holding you firmly within his vision, “Some of the knots are in-... -a few key places.”

Your rapid and unwavering blink told Beckman all he needed to know regarding his apprehension.

“It was my own fault for asking this in the first place, Benn,” you confessed again with a shrug, “And, I reiterate: I trust you. We’ve known each other for years, and of all those aboard the Red-Force,” you feigned a small hum of deep thought, before smiling up at the burly first-mate, “I do trust you the most.”

“I hope your trust isn’t misguided, my lady,” he grunted, your left hand being claimed by a presence at your side. The small, almost invisible smile, from Beckman informed you that the Rat was once again at your side.

“And, she’s mine again,” Shank’s playful tone cut in, peeling you away from Beckman and onto the dancefloor once more. He ushered you into a skilled twirl, your smile once again returning to your face as the swell of music reached the peak and began its crescendo towards the final.

As Shanks made to draw you into another embrace at his chest, you felt the tug of your waist pull you back within familiar and comfortable arms. A warm smile and a flush rose to your cheeks, humming as you lent into his chest.

“Missed me, beloved?” the man behind you held an air of confidence, turning you within his arms as you looked up at him through half-hooded eyes.

“Always, my heart,” you retorted, elevating your arms to seek out the nape of his neck. He hummed at your confession, mirroring your adoration down at you, “Shall we have a rest? Enjoy some mead and begin the fire?”

“A fire?” the elated voice of the cerulean-haired clown-captain called out in joy, “We’re having a fire like the good old days?” Shanks hesitantly walked beside Buggy, offering him a small smile and confirming with him.

“Just like the old days,” Shanks nodded, looking between Buggy and Mihawk, “Back when Roger made us collect the wood, but wouldn’t let us near the flint and steel.”

“And look who’s got the spark now, boys!” Buggy’s crackled cackle and his powerful stance prompted laughs to rise among the guests. Beckman shook his head, wordlessly directing the Red-Hair crew to begin building a fire for you and your husband to enjoy.

You nuzzled into the warm and exposed chest of your husband, feeling the weight shift from you against him as he slightly elevated you off your feet.

“I think sitting down is a good idea,” you confessed, looking down at your worn shoes and rapidly swelling feet from the elaborate dancing and carrying the weighty dress.

“Then that is what we will do, my beloved,” Mihawk smiled softly down at you, pressing his forehead against your own as he enjoyed the feeling of holding you in his arms once again.

Sitting within the arms of your husband, the crackle of the fire illuminated the guests that remained behind at the castle, some setting up bedrolls and pitching tents within the surroundings.

Mihawk hooked his arm around your shoulder, drawing you against himself and pressing soft kisses against your temple while whispering sweet phrases and poetry within your ear. His beard tickled at each short utterance, prompting a giggle to fall from not only the words, but the feeling of his beard against your skin.

Shanks was the first to notice the small lull in atmosphere, a fiendish grin finding purchase against his lips as he refilled his tankard from the barrel of mead.

“Alright, you lot. According to the customs of Kuraigana,” Shank’s stumbling and partially inebriated voice slurred, “We all know what comes next for you two. We’ve ‘gotta follow all of the traditions of the land. You know, so the ghostly hag is happy.”

“What are you implying, Red-Hair,” Mihawk’s prior warm tone cracked under its now icey exterior, “Surely you don’t mean-.”

“-Why the ‘Bedding Ceremony’ of course!” Shanks attempted to rise to his feet, stumbling backwards and momentarily sitting upon the lap of his first mate, who apprehensively caught him. “Thanks big man,” he mumbled, rising successfully to his feet and thrusting out his tankard, “You go up there with your Sunshine bride, and we wait out here and make as much noise as we can while you perform your husbandly duties.”

A warm flush rose to your cheeks, littering your face with the warmth of blood swelling to the tips of your ears. You could feel the rapid pulse beating in your eardrums, your heart stampeding your racing mind of all thoughts of what was yet to come.

“Then you come and rejoin us as one flesh,” Shanks concluded, saluting Mihawk with his broad tankard, “And we drink to the happy couple, and carry off our celebrations into the wee hours of the morn.”

“Is this truly a custom of this land, my heart?” you uttered quietly to the broody bearded man at your side, his attention snapping over towards you. His eyes softened as his heart swelled, lips parting while drawing up his right hand to caress your cheek.

“Unfortunately it is, my beloved,” he whispered with a half-smile, “And a custom we need not adhere to should you find discomfort in such a feat.”

You allowed a small giggle to fall from your lips, leaning into Mihawk’s gentle caress and pressing a soft kiss on the heel of his palm.

“It could be worse,” you allowed the giggle to rise in volume as your smile broadened, “In Germa-Kingdom, the guests watch the act while they throw sugar-coated almonds at the newlyweds in the hopes it will aid in producing male offspring.” You placed your hand over Mihawk’s, his still holding your cheek as his smile mirrored your own.

“I suppose this custom is not so bad, then,” Mihawk chuckled, rising to his feet and offering you out his hand, “Shall we, my beloved?”

“I suppose it is time,” you smiled in return, placing your hand within his and allowing him to hoist you up from your position on the log. Mihawk’s brows creased, mild agitation forming at the center of his forehead. Before you could ask him what was bothering him, he turned his head to Beckman: who was already rising to stand.

The blush returned as your eyes widened, almost forgetting what you had requested of the cursed moss-agate ring on your unity finger.

“Beckman,” Mihawk’s agitation growing in depth as the hoarse growl rumbled in his throat, “In light of the fact this is part of the covenant pact forged with the ring-.”

“-I would not lay a single finger unnecessarily on your wife, lord Mihawk,” Beckman’s whiskey voice hummed as he inhaled his cigarette to the filter end, “Would you prefer it be Shanks in his current stupor using his right hand and teeth?”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk barked at the suggestion.

“Then I will make it quick and precise,” Beckman reassured him with a curt nod, “Follow up in twenty minutes, and your bride will be awaiting you to unwrap her within your marriage bed.”

Beckman outstretched the crook of his elbow, a satchel containing what you presumed to be your sun-dress shrugged over his shoulder. You apprehensively withdrew your hand from Mihawk’s, giving him one more longing look before you allowed yourself to be ushered into the halls of Castle Kuraigana.

You both walked in silence, unsure of what words needed to be spoken between you before you engaged in this next aspect of your night together. The silence was peaceful, the soft tranquility you had not experienced since beginning this venture of matrimony. You were almost thankful this moment was granted to you to share with one of your most respected acquaintances in your time as a governess.

He chaperoned you into the halls, finding the door that led into the suite allocated to both you and Mihawk as the lord and lady of Kuraigana. In the wake of the soft tranquility, anxiety at the anticipation of what’s to come awoke within your chest. Your heart elevated its rhythmic thundering, your mind beginning to swirl and race as the anticipation only grew.

“Take a moment, my lady,” Beckman’s soothing voice hummed at you, “All the time you need, alright? It’s a lot of changes to adjust to, and I would never dream of rushing you.”

“Thank you, Benn,” you exhaled, rolling your neck and attempting to stifle the rise in your anxious thoughts. After a few small breaths, you reopened your eyes and smiled to yourself as you felt finally ‘ready’ to begin this new chapter of your life.

The door shut behind the first-mate of the Red-Hair pirates, you made your way behind the dressing screen. You silently thanked Buggy for ensuring this garment was easier for you to remove than the one prior, but anticipation rose in your chest as Beckman revealed a satchel to you.

“This is going to be extremely difficult to do whilst blindfolded, my lady,” he gruffly chuckled, retrieving several golden strands of linked chains from within the canvas bag, “Are you certain this is adhering to the covenant you made with the aetherial pest?”

“To quote my own words, Benn,” you shook your head and straightened your shoulders, “‘Sunlight: a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its purpose. A dress so scantily designed that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance’.” Your voice mocked your own recollection, prompting Beckman to chuckle at your tone.

“Well then, there may be a small hiccup in our plan,” he shrugged, taking out a strip of lengthy material and beginning to fold it in half. Upon measuring the half-width, Beckman used his canine teeth to puncture the fabric and tear it into two, thick strips.

“What do you mean, Benn?” your eyes followed his movements with both intrigue and curiosity.

“For his eyes alone,” he quoted back at you, chuckling as he handed you one of the strips, “Looks like I won’t be the only one experiencing sensory deprivation in this little encounter, my lady.” Taking the fabric from his outstretched hands, your brows knit together before the realization hit you.

“You’ll have to wear a blindfold too.”

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i-am-vita · 7 months ago

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Oc or Self Insert/Reader Headcanons Game: Your blorbo with a wife/husband/partner from a different culture

👉 Masterlist

Mihawk x Ghost Rose Headcanons

I'm trying to get a grip on Mihawk again after a week of Bogard writing so I came with a silly game of how would be Mihawk and Ghost Rose knowing each other as a couple after he managed to find her again.

I don't know if it's been obvious, but I want my Ghost Rose Oc to be mexican coded. I'm headcanoning that she spent all the years with her niece hidding in her birthtown at the Red Line region equivalent to LATAM (and you can't change my mind, half the Red Line is LATAM and Mexico is on the East Blue side).

Meanwhile, Mihawk is so spaniard coded it's not even subtle. That flamenco theme they came up for OPLA just cemented it. Plus, all the gloomy Dracula aesthetic... I'm headcanoning he had a spaniard-coded mother and a romanian-coded father if we take Kuraigana Island as a fantasy reimagining of Bram Stoker's Transylvania and Nightmare Before Christmas.

So this is a half-spaniard Mihawk with mexican Ghost Rose:

Everything happened so fast after Mihawk found you again, seduced you and convinced you to go away with him that it came as a surprise when, during your trip back to your hometown to retrieve your belongings, you made a comment in spanish and he answered in return.

You were still knowing each other so you had yet to talk about your respective past and families.

Hearing you speaking the language of his mother for the first time, even with a different accent, made Mihawk extra passionate and romantic towards you that day.

You tried to be as discrete as you can when arriving to your village to inform your noisy extended family (strong emphasis on extended, your father's sister took way to seriously her mother and wifely dutties having eight children) about your niece going away to her new life and you going away with someone you met.

Like that's going to keep them satisfied.

You ended staying for dinner and subjected to your father's relatives meddling.

No, you're not running away to elope, you just met and are knowing each other. No, you're NOT pregnant!

Mihawk takes it like a champ, his stoic countenance and menacing aura not enough to relent your tías from their noisy ways. In a way, they remind him of his own mother and how carefree and meddling she could be too sometimes, when his father would spent enough time away for her to feel safe again...

His ears may be ringing and his brows lightly frowned, but you can detect the smallest of smirks at the corner of his lips.

The food is like nothing Mihawk had ever taste. He do recognizes most of the ingredients, though half of the spices and definetely not any of the types of chiles he's presented with. You warn him to not believe any of your cousins anctics about the intensity of the salsas, all of them are spicy. He still takes a taste of the most spicy one. His force of will to not react to it is astonishing, but his face does turns an alarming shade of red and he drinks the tallest glass of cold water in a go.

And talking about water... There's no such thing as regular water on all the table. There're several pitchers with colorful fruity liquids that everybody insist on calling "fresh water of *fruit name*". He gives you a knowing smirk when you take a glass from the berries water. His mother had a preference for some milky like beverage that he recognizes and have a taste. The flavor is not exactly the same but its close enough to give him a bit of homesickness.

And don't make him start with the language. He was pretty sure he had a good grip of his mother's language and learnt it well enough to be fluent in it, except now he have to ask for clarification one of every ten words he hears, five if the relative in question has a fast speak.

You stay seated by his side all the time, giving him reassurance and advice, a hand on his knee, his arm on your shoulders. You take the fact he hasn't insult someone as a good sign, some of your cousins can be a pest and you have no remorse in calling them out, rudely if you have to.

As the night goes by, somebody gets a guitar out of somewhere and starts playing, followed by other instruments. You drag him to the yard to dance. The rythms are familiar and yet have their own uniqueness, so the steps, more hips' movements and closeness, that he has absolutely no qualms to follow.

You're giving your good byes when you're invited by one of your cousins to visit the vineyards he works at tomorrow. His boss would totally give you a special discount for the tour. The mention of wine is enough to hook Mihawk and he's accepting before he realizes it.

And then one of your aunts mention the festivities for the local saint start in three days. A night of loud music, fireworks and street food... Mihawk can't help to remember his mother mentioning the festivitiews of her own birthtown and he say yes again without realizing it.

It's later than he anticipates when you finally retire to the small home you lived for the past years. It's fresh and cozy, with tall ceilings and almost floor to ceiling windows to deal with the suffocating heat, wood furniture and hand embroidered fabrics.

You both were too mentally exhausted to do anything more than cuddling in bed with the minimum of cloth. You talked for hours about your families.

How you were raised in the village until after the death of your marine father at sea, your mother remarring barely a year after with a stuffy and wealthy high officer who took her and her daughters to live at the fanciest part of Loguetown. How you couldn't stand the new society you were draged to and longed for a life of your own.

How he was raised mostly by his mother at Shikkearu Kingdom (main city of Kuraigana Island before its fall), and his absent father, a soldier of the local lord.

There were still much to learn from each other, but Mihawk was set more than ever that you were it for him, and you could feel your guarded heart warming more and more towards the swordman.

And now I have to write a part 2 of them living in his castle with her new partner and her mexican quirks... and then the children arrive (aka Perona and Zoro, that will be fun). And how the Phantom Pirates react with Ghost Rose romantically entangling with the same Warlord she had to divert from the party a year ago and she had definitely not fell for.

@cinnbar-bun you have a beautiful culture and amazing writing, I refuse to accept idiot anons going after you for sharing it, they can come after me too if they dare!!! I won't leave you alone in this.

Moots and interested people I remember. You can participate too if you want, I would love to read your exploration of your cultures adapted to One Piece: @fanaticsnail @jintaka-hane @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @feral-artistry

#one piece #one piece live action #x reader #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #one piece original character #one piece oc #one piece headcanons

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gav-san · 1 year ago

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A Vintage Bouquet | 2/5 | Mihawk x reader

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk / Fem Reader

Length: 2/5 Chapters

Summary: Trapped in a monastery and threatened with an impending marriage, you'll strike any deal with a Pirate to escape what your father has in store for you.

Previous/Next

The heist of a lifetime set off with much less fanfare than books would suggest.

Getting packed wasn’t easy, even considering the circumstances. You had long been out of practice being on the ocean, and there was nothing to be done about the dreadful churning in your gut.

It wasn’t easy to leave what had essentially been your home for over ten years, even if it was more of a jail than a warm comfort. There had been quiet chatter among the girls of escape but no one had so far been foolish enough to do so.

You’d like to blame fate for steering you towards dangerous and unseen paths, but you are too frank to lie to yourself.

There is something unnatural about your desire to sail the sea, and it always has been that way.

Throwing yourself into the chaotic ocean’s currents was dangerous, but there was something so dangerously seductive about that future. Add in an untrustworthy pirate (whose name you swore was familiar) whose cold gaze kept you cautious still was far more enticing than the most comfortable, cushiest life as the wife of a wealthy Celestial Dragon.

You would rather quickly drown than be forced to slowly suffocate as years ticked away and your ability to seek adventure faded.

There was a distinct feeling of severing fate with a butter knife.

Those with weak wills had no place in the sea, but you would brave any danger to feel the presence of your mother again.

So you couldn’t doubt yourself. Once you spurned a Celestial Dragon there was no choice but to dance forward because there would be no return.

So you made your decision.

Packing wasn’t a suspicious activity in itself, as you were supposed to be working on your marriage trousseau. Others would think you were just eager to leave the monastery despite the poor choice of your husband. Many other girls had done this exact thing.

So you feigned packing the overly fancy luggage, leaving the disgusting amounts of finery and jewels you had already been gifted, unable to sleep any of the night. It disguised your actual luggage, a single brown bag that could carry your mother's hair pins, a fan with her lost ship's logo, the lone dagger you had managed to smuggle, and a few small coins. Things that you could explain as being sentimental keepsakes you wanted to stay close to.

The Mother Superior was much shrewder than she let on and had expected the worst of you from the moment you had met. So you packed your second bag light, exclusively taking what you could carry under your habit, in pockets, or tucked away.

There was trouble finding appropriate clothes, and you had to end up purposely spilling on your dress, something you knew would earn you laundry duty. Only then could you find a suitable ensemble through the donation box full of ancient clothes, a simple shirt, vest, and pants. And last, a common hat that many local islanders preferred.

And while missing your last chance at a free meal to scrub toilets (with the tiniest brush possible) you thought about the man in all black with the giant sword.

And even when your stomach rolled, twisting with hunger pains, those bright, golden eyes seemed never to leave your memory.

Hawk eyes, you thought. You had never seen anything like them, eyes so bright, not just thanks to color, but the undeniable trace of intelligence within. Like a perfect bird of prey, he seemed to see everything around him with that perfect clarity only the strong had.

It had made you writhe under his gaze, to be dissected, measured, and judged.

It made you want to fight.

And as you rolled in your uncomfortable bed, squirming at the memory of the virile male, until your roommate threw her scriptures at your head in frustration upon being woken so late. It was a good thing that you both promised not to say a word about each other’s rule-breaking.

But beyond the general secret-keeping, you had never been close, and she certainly wasn’t going to listen to you express a single word about how there were… other things about the man that made you feel ticklish and warm.

You weren’t unaware of the fact you had somehow, during a single conversation, developed a total crush on the man. It was just the mechanics of it that had never been experienced and now you finally understood all those contraband romance novels traded within the hallowed halls. Some that you had also read previously, with little understanding. But now you were a bit dizzy and fully aware that the whole euphoria aspect could make it challenging to keep your head on straight. There was nothing like a huge dose of heady girl-lust that would make you trip over yourself.

But could you blame a girl or judge her for combing her hair till it shone, even if it was going to be under a bandana? There was a swordsman out there she had to impress. Whether through wine or with violence, you would be getting on Dracule’s ship, or another’s.

Once you had stuffed your bed to seem like you were under your blanket, you snuck through the convent, slipping past the memorized sentinels and sisters there. The father was long asleep, and gently opening the door and sneaking into his room was simple.

He was laid out on his bed, and you were sure you couldn’t tap-danced and not woken him, by the smell of things. But as it was, his loud snoring covered your movements, creeping to the corner of his room where several casks of wine were stored.

He had drunk himself to sleep, and so you made off with the wine casks, strapping them under your habit. It wasn’t a great disguise, but it would have to do. Since most sisters were still at evening mass, you ran into none of them, slipping into the gardens with practiced ease.

By some miracle, the half-broken gate hidden by the orange grove hadn’t been discovered.

It was then you shed the nun’s habit, already dressed in the pilfered overalls, and letting the casks drop. You moved the habit behind the corner, pulling leaves and fallen oranges over it as quickly as you could, listening for bells to mark the end of mass.

After, you take handfuls of dirt and smear it upon your face, your clothes, and the casks. You smear mud on the barrel logo stating the wine’s quality, ensuring that you look much like the cabin boy you have always wanted to be.

Finishing, you grabbed the casks, head lifting towards the sunset.

You shifted, letting your bag hang over your shoulder, checking for any passing wanderers. With no person spotted, you proceeded to push the gate open, wincing at its rusty creaking.

With a small nudge, you slipped the wine through, then followed.

You don’t look back, don’t think, just take off down the road.

Your bare feet catch dirt swiftly, concealing your pampered, wealthy skin. It’s far more believable that an urchin wouldn’t have proper shoes, and makes blending with others much smoother. Your hat stays down, and soon enough, people are passing you.

By the time the Monastery Bells are tolling, you have reached the middle of the city, and are fully confident in your disguise.

You would not return, no matter the cost.

Dressed with your pilfered overly-large hat, no one was wiser that the young figure with two large wine casks was the convent girl due to be married the next day and not an errand-running ship boy.

Isla Palma was alive in the evenings, and this night was no different.

Most ships preferred to leave in the bright mornings when the view was better. People milled in the streets, the sour smell of gin and vomit not hidden by the other smells of an oceanside city. The city center had never been your favorite place, a maze-like setting of depraved men with insufficient coins for the nicer inn higher on the hill.

But there were many dark nooks and allies that you could slip into to make it back to the docks. And so you did, making good headway. And no one even glanced your way.

Well, almost no one.

“Ello, Miss Gabriella.”

The casks dropped.

–X–

The docks were salt-encrusted pillars of wood, smelling of fish and sweaty fishermen, a swell of sour-smelling sailors returning after a booze-filled evening.

Mihawk didn’t have much use for the common sailor. They entirely bored him, or much like an exterminator, he rid them from the seas because they annoyed him. He’s not sure why he is still on this pitiful little island, besides that small spark of amusement he gained from battling wits against you. It may be that any of his suffering was caused due to his enormous success but regardless, it had been getting unbearable.

He sighs, rolling his eyes as if disappointed in himself.

He must be truly bored, to humor a monastery girl.

He doesn’t need to look behind him at the sunset to notice time is running short for the said child. That was worth another sigh, as it was becoming clear that he had overestimated yet another person, however minuscule it had been.

And as the sun went down, he resigned himself to setting sail by himself.

Until his Haki caught onto the beginning of a scuffle and the familiar sound of a fight about to go down. With a quirk blooming his brow, he uncrossed his legs and pushed from the dock pillar he had been resting on.

And in the midst of it, a familiar voice.

He turned, noting that there was still a sliver of red light over the dark ocean. He supposed he had told her to be at the dock. Which, from the sound of things, was near enough to the docks to pass muster.

“Very well monastery girl,” He turns towards the city of Isla Palma. “You’ve piqued my interest.”

–X–

“Surely you’ve got more than that.”

You held up the pole again, fingers weighing and testing it for your next hit. It looked like someone had snapped the beam off a metal fence, the blunted tip rusting, but it did the job.

A job well done, she said with a snarl, hitting the next man who ran at her as she sidestepped him.

Of course, it started with Heffery.

Of all the dirty rotten luck. He had been the one who found her, and unfortunately, he was less sloshed this time around.

“Hey, sweet-cheeks,” Heffery said, “Well isn’t this nice? I thought I was gonna have to break into that place to kidnap you.”

You had dropped the barrels, and some other man with terrible breath had your hands behind your back. You aren’t paying attention to him, but rather the metal glint near his feet.

You grit your teeth, glancing at the hat that had fallen. Thankfully, your hair stayed in its braids. Hefferey dared to pat your cheek, annoyed you weren’t paying him attention.

“Hey! We’ve been donating money to your Nunnery for years, thinking it might win one of us your favor. It seems only fair that you give us a little taste before that snobby rich boy comes.” He guffed, tone taking an unsavory turn.

Heffery's gaze wandered down to the low dip of your dress, following how your breasts pushed at the bindings, even under the cotton shirt.

“Let me go.” You threatened, much to the men’s amusement.

“Let it go, sugar, you’ll get your pretty gloves dirty!” Heffery drawled, rolling up his sleeves.

You steadily glared. At least they were arrogant enough not to have tied you up with a rope.

Five against one were not good odds when you were rusty, but what choice did you have? These sorts of fights were known for being ignored by the Marines.

You only had yourself.

Heffery, tired of talk, moved to lower your shirt.

And that’s when you struck.

Stamping on the foot of the man behind you gave you back your hands, and a hit from your elbow downed him. That same turn allowed your foot to catch Hefferey’s face, felling him to the ground.

After that you turned, grabbing the metal pole on the ground, and raising it in a stance that caused a rich wave of nostalgia to fall over you.

“Oh, looks like kitty does have some claws.” A man mocked her, taking out a rusted blade.

Hefferey and his lackey who were dropped to the ground were groaning in pain. But there were three more, and so she once again danced.

And then one of the men swung towards her, trying to catch her by surprise. You danced to the side, footwork a little rough but evading the man still. Turning the pole she crashed it on another head. She wasn’t fond of the ensuing crack, but she didn’t yield or flinch, quickly moving back into a position where she could see the last standing man.

He ran.

Just out of spite, you take the gold ring on Hefferey’s finger.

You raised your pole.

“So much for Marine training.” You quipped, lowering the pole to reach for the wine casks again.

And then, a fear fills you.

It’s a bone-deep dread of knowing that something fearsome is coming.

With more dexterity than you realized you possessed, you swung the pole, hitting the offending away from your face, clanging too near to your chin.

It’s a dagger.

A familiar, absurdly small, cross-shaped dagger.

“To be fair, Marine dropouts aren’t considered the cream of the crop.” A familiar voice drawls. You flinch, jaw clenching at the power behind the dagger.

“Swordsman.” You say, chin set. “I’ve made it then.”

“Hardly.” One of his magnificent brows raises at your over-confident words. “Me stumbling over a drunken alley brawl is no credit to you.” He says hat pulled low over his golden eyes, the white feather ruffling in the evening breeze. “Though you may as well get used to it. You’re late, and our deal is forfeit.”

And the swordsman has such an air of authority that you almost agree, but blink to snap yourself out of such a ridiculous notion. You were not going to be bullied by the swordsman on a technicality.

The sky is black, and the only light is from the windows and lanterns from the streets, but you refuse to be cowed by what must be the devil in disguise, the specter in all black with ripped abs and an aura was was downright dangerous.

“Is this not considered meeting you at dark?” You say angrily, raising your pole. “Would you have so little honor?”

“Are you challenging my honor?” He says flatly, and though the corners of his mouth don’t turn up you swear there is something in his eyes that is amused. “Surely you can feel the difference in our experience.”

“If that’s what you call your arbitrary word.” You contest, hand tightening on the metal in your palm.

You don’t flinch as he moves forward, faces close enough to kiss as your pole hits his dagger in a dull metallic clang that sends shivers into the earth beneath you. Power throbs from him, no matter how casual he seems, and you know that you have found a true bird of prey.

“I won’t be cowed by you.” You say, almost to yourself, reminding yourself that there is nothing to return to, even if he cuts you down. “I won’t apologize.”

His eyes are fearsome so close, so very like his nickname, and the sweet smell of a decent vintage escapes his breath this close as he leans into you.

“What of death?” He queries, voice digging as hard as his strike.

“Better death than a life lived in fear of my own potential.” You aren’t sure what shifts in the swordsman's face, but in that moment, you see something. It’s almost like he is reassessing your dedication to your dreams, deconstructing and rebuilding the idea.

Testing it for its purity.

Testing you for your worth.

He tuts, his perpetual frown creasing, his facial hair sharpening his disapproval.

“Such resolve won’t change my decision, monastery girl.” For a moment your heart drops, but there’s something about his words that taunts you.

He seems to believe you are too far beneath him to care one way or another. Even locked in combat he refuses to budge. And you’re no fool, you know he’s an experienced swordsman, much more powerful than you are.

But you’ve always been a hard-headed fool with a big mouth.

“Then would defeating you give you enough humility to take back your words?” You say, doubling your stance to lean into him more, causing him to shift his foot.

You’re close enough to the smell of the sea on him, and whatever expensive cologne and aftershave he uses. Perhaps sandalwood and cinnamon, but also something deep, like a rainforest. Close enough to see through where his sleeves lace to his jacket, and the veins in his hands and throat. Close enough to appreciate the dark hair curling from under his hat and the mole under his eye.

So close one of you could lean forward and kiss the other.

He doesn’t flinch.

“If you can give me even a scrape,” He says, flatly, “I’ll honor every last desire in that black heart of yours.” He says, raising his free hand. You mirror him but are surprised as he holds it behind his back.

“I’ll even give you a handicap.”

You flinch at the insult.

And despite defeating him being your very goal, you immediately know that you should not, under any circumstance, actually fight him. You know, just by the way he straightens, tilting his body and pivoting his feet he isn’t embellishing his prowess. He is going to hurt you if you give him the opening.

But you don’t.

You both step back, releasing the deadlock, and giving you a moment to nurse your sore arm. But not for long, as you adjust yourself to move defensively, feet dancing prettily into place as he holds his position.

“Done.”

And you don’t want to fail.

You can’t fail.

He doesn’t respond using words.

Your pole clashes against his dagger as you clash again, and again, each strike becoming harder. Sweat pools on your head as he comes out of you, more like you are in a ballroom, and he is a suitor smoothly guiding you in a waltz.

Good swordplay always felt like that.

You know you are outmatched, your footwork unpracticed and shoddy from lack of use and finesse. But it is there, and though the swordsman doesn’t seem to smile, you can almost see pleasure at the chance to perhaps take on an opponent who knew some steps to whatever dance he was waltzing.

You would be extremely fortunate to ever near such perfection in form and precision, and you could only hope to delay him as long as possible because you needed to keep dancing with someone so proficient. You may never get the chance again.

You step towards and away from one another in the perfect sink, circling one another in a perfectly intoxicating waltz of swords.

Pivoting the silver blade flashes past you, and you dodge neatly, moving to roll under him.

Dracule isn’t fooled by the feign, instead looping an arm around your elbow, causing the spin to be cut off. Your pole hits the ground in two pieces.

That damned little dagger pierces your throat as he holds your head in a deadlock, off-balance and unable to straighten.

“Boldness is a fool’s game for the weak,” He says against your throat, causing a dastardly shiver to escape you as he curls into you, not a drop of sweat on his perfect body, compared to the heat and wetness dripping off you.

“I am not weak.” You say, teeth clenched as you turn towards him, jaw hitting his own as he mutters into your ears.

“Oh?” He says, that amused tone heightening as he pushes you into the brick wall, squishing you between a rock and a hard place.

The words that escape your mouth as you struggle against the unmoveable swordsman are of legend, but the man sighs. No matter how your fingers attempt to claw him, there is no release.

“Such a disappointment, convent girl.” He drawls, his free hand brushing along the wild tangle of your hair to land on your chin to turn it towards him. “Surely you can do better.”

You kick off the wall, twisting.

But even the wild kick doesn’t land as he pulls you forward into enough of a crouch that your legs can’t reach his crouch.

“Now now,” He chides, fingers digging into your throat as hot breath envelops your neck, making your entire body seize in alarm. “None of that, darling. Be a good little girl and accept your fate. Return to the monastery. Surely that’s better than finding yourself in this position again and with a less courteous benefactor.”

Hot anger licks your insides.

You were nothing but good in your life, and now look where it has brought you. Being sold off into an abusive marriage, only to have a golden chance of escape flash by you. You want to lash out, you want to scream, you want to do something-

You glance down at the hand clenching your chin, turning you to look at the hill where hell itself is. By using only one arm, the man had sacrificed his ability to entirely restrain your body. You can’t get him with a weapon. But what he isn’t expecting, is your own quick thinking.

A smirk touches your face.

“Swordsman.” You say sharply, causing the man to angle his head towards you.

“Are you finally giving in?” He says, tired sounding as ever.

Pain stabs through the swordsman’s hand and though he doesn’t let go, he does turn you to give you the full glare you’ve earned with the extent of your actions.

“Are you a dog?” He drawls, unimpressed by the way your sharp teeth dig into his hand, your pretty lips curled in a grin.

Quick as lightning you had turned, dislodging a single finger of his, biting down hard enough to draw blood.

Iron fills your mouth, bitter, but tasting of victory.

“I win.” You say, letting go. “You said to scrape you. Your words.”

He releases you, and you have to brace yourself on the brick wall as he examines his hand, looking as unmoving as usual.

You wouldn’t know till much later how much the man admired the blood on your lips as you gazed ferociously at him.

“Very well,” He finally admits, turning away from you. “I am a man of my word.”

You huff in indignation, turning away yourself to let out an unsteady breath.

Finally.

You turn back to triumphantly follow him to his boat, only to realize…

That bastard!

He’s entirely gone. Not only had he negged on his word, he had taken all the wine!

#romance #mihawk #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #one piece #OPLA #fanfic #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader

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buggysangel17 · 1 year ago

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Meet The Cross Guild

Summary: You meet your husband's new 'co-workers'. Mihawk realized the worry that came with having you as his one and only weakness. Characters: Dracule Mihawk x Wife!Female Reader (Amihan). Sir Crocodile. Buggy. Word Count: 1,392 Chapter Warnings: Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence. Mention of slicing someone's body part. (Buggy obviously) lol.

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“Who is this?”

To Mihawk, it took a lot out of him to bring you here—in what would now be his new home, a place that would also serve as one of the many places where meetings would take place with the likes of one Crocodile and the annoyance of the fucking clown. But it was a risk he was willing to make knowing that you could handle your own.

After the events as what was your shared home in Kuraigana Island, how you had fought almost in the same par as him, he trusted you enough to be in the same space as two other former warlords that could possibly be a danger to not only himself but to you, his one and only weakness.

“That’s a good costume. The nose even looks so realistic too.”

He stands corrected.

He had watched Buggy take hold of your face, offended as his nose was now a topic of discussion. But somehow the fear was never once lingering on your face even as the empty threats begin to spill out of the clown’s lips for his nose being acknowledged.

“I’d be careful with my wife, she knows how to wield whatever weapon she could get her hands upon.” He had warned not his wife, but the man that had the utter audacity to hold onto his wife the way he did.

“Wife?!”

Buggy did not even finish the single word before a knife was pulled out of your palms and slicing through the man’s hand, ineffective knowing the Devil fruit the clown had with him. But the shock was all the more amusing in your eyes seeing the lack of blood as well as pain in the face of the clown.

“He isn’t affected by slashing attacks, My Love.” Mihawk had finally explained as you were still utterly confused by everything that the man in front of you was being.

Mihawk watched the arrogance in the clown as he continued to tease his wife about close to invisible because of his powers, but busy as he was with his own thoughts a ghost of a smile had laced the swordsman’s face as you instead pulled out a blunt mace from out of your palm and immediately bludgeoning the man with it knocking him down cold for a good few minutes of peace.

“Thank you.” Mihawk patted your shoulder, appreciating the lack of annoyance for now.

“It seems we have interrupted your time with your wife.” It was now Sir Crocodile that made his presence known, with the lack of an annoying figure that was Buggy, he was free to talk without much of an interruption.

“It’s fine.” You reassured with a smile on your lips, returning both your knife and mace back to your palm right in front of the man.

“It seems we have another Devil Fruit wielder then.”

“She is.” Mihawk finds himself interrupting the man’s line of questions. The less the man knows about you and your background, the better. He trusted you, but the same could not be said about the two men that was now in his home.

“It would be best to keep an eye on her then, Hawk Eye, if the World Government knew about her existence, it would be her head that’s plastered in the Bounty Posters.”

Mihawk has known as much. But he trusted not only himself, but as well as you that you would keep yourself away from much trouble as you possibly could. With this new change in both of your lives, you never resented him for it. In fact, you enjoyed yet another change in your life alongside him. That alone had reassured him that anything that may come, you took to stride.

“She can handle herself perfectly fine with or without me to help her.” Mihawk spoke.

“I’ll leave you three to it. I’ll bring the tea once it’s brewed.” You patted him on the chest and kissed him on the cheeks before leaving the two men to the impending conversation that they would be dealing with now.

“If she finds herself becoming a pirate, she might even surpass you, Hawk Eye.”

“And I don’t doubt you on your statement. But she is content to work by my side for now.”

“But until when?”

“They seem—nice. The clown is also a funny one.” You spoke the moment Mihawk had slipped out of the bath he had.

He was welcomed to the sight of you in bed in your delicate nightgown with a book in hand. You were surprisingly in good spirit even with how the entire day played out. Buggy, for all intents and purposes did not back down even after being knocked down cold by your hands. Somehow doubling down in making his entire stay focused on getting on your nerves but somehow you welcomed him with a smile and asking if he wanted any of the pastries you’ve made for the day. But his worry had been more on Crocodile, how his interest in you and your power had unnerved him—he might not have gotten under your skin, but he succeeded in getting under Mihawk’s as much as he did not want to admit it.

Instead of crawling into his side of the bed, he finds himself crawling on top of you, nestling his cheek against the flesh of your chest—this was his side of the bed now for the past few months. His arms wrapped around your waist as your hands now rested on his hair, scratching onto his scalp in the same way that he loved you doing.

“What’s on your mind, Darling?” You inquired halting in your movements.

“Keep going.” He finds himself urging you on.

“You’re so needy.” You playfully complained but obliged to his request.

“It’s not really something you need to worry about. Just a few hindrance that needs to mind their own business.” He began. “We had made an agreement with the clown that he will be the face that is plastered for the World Government to see but I’m concerned about what it would mean if they find out about you.”

“I’m not really worried.” You shrugged, smiling down at him. The softness of your gaze towards him brought him peace that he would have never thought he would deserve. “I’m married to the strongest swordsman in the world, I’m certain and I am very confident that you will not let anything happen to me.”

All his worries, it all magically vanished away at your words. How even when all was said and done, when the circumstance of your relationship was not as ideal as he would have wanted it to be, you still gave him faith that he never truly believed he deserved or earned.

He flipped the both of you until you were now under him, a surprised squeal escaping from your lips from the sudden movement. He smiled immediately pulling you in for a kiss before you could admonish him for the sudden movement.

“I care for you, so much more than I would ever care for anything else in this world. I vow to protect you, to care for you, and to love you until my last breath.”

They never had their vows, and this was the closest thing he could do for it. He will make a reality out of a once forced circumstance.

“Mihawk…” You wrapped your arms around him, drawing him closer, and for a brief moment, the world around you both disappeared. All that mattered was the two of you, your love, and the vows that he had made. It was a promise that would withstand the test of time.

As you finally parted, your forehead touched, and you looked into his eyes, your heart was full of love and gratitude. In the serene moment of peace in your own little space, this was a beginning of a new life for the two of you and Mihawk will make sure you will have the life you always wanted and what you always deserved.

“I love you, Mihawk.” You whispered, voice filled with emotion.

Mihawk smiled, his eyes glistening with love. Your lips met once more, sealing your vows and love in a kiss that would linger in your hearts for as long as you were both alive.

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tonberry-yoda · 2 years ago

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Brrrrr

HELI ANON REPORTING TO- duty-?

H i i ii i

I may or may not be addicted to your writing and its on yu 😤

Down to business 👹

Crocman's wife walking into the living room to see what the father son duo is up to bc it was too quiet

She walked in to see a crocodile who fell asleep holding their son who was fully awake while also holding a storybook

W e l l his son was doodling on his father's face like an artist 😌

I like it picasso 💪

And then much later when reader returned with a camera,

Their son was asleep holding uncapped marker pen with some smudges on his face

After reader left them be, when she passed by again

She saw crocodile awake and obliviously drawing on their sons face unaware of the doodles on his own face

So precious 🥺

you can add much more or yes like usual

Enjoy your day officer 💪💪💪💪

hello my dear helicopter anon! you dont understand how excited i get when you request, literally my favorite writings to do ngl. AND BRO THIS IDEA IS SO GOOD! literally my sister and i were just adoring this idea the moment you sent it! thank you so much for making this series my thing on this account and bro, if you have any baby names for croc's son, let me know because i cant think lol. thanks so much!!! <3333

Croc as a father part 5!!!

Pairing - Crocodile x reader

Warnings - none!

Word Count - 649

Notes - (image below not mine) thank you so much again! i seriously love all of your ideas, you are so creative and amazing! i hope you have a super day and enjoy this as much as i do!!! stay hydrated helicopter anon!! <3

And don’t forget REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!! So, if you want to request any writing, don’t hesitate to ask. Please read my pinned post before requesting though. Have a good day/night and please stay hydrated!! <333

“Darling,” you began flipping through some mail, finding quite a few letters addressed to your husband. “You have a couple letters in the mail. Did you want me to put them on your-”

You paused as you stepped into the living room to find your husband fast asleep and your son wide awake on his lap. Usually, you would think nothing of this but a wholesome moment. What really made you pause were the drawings on Crocodile’s face that were made by your son. There was a drawing of Mihawk and Buggy, a drawing of you, and a drawing of one of the banana gators. You couldn't help but chuckle a bit. You knew you should be getting onto your son, but you just couldn't help it.

“Mamma!” Your child giggled and put his arms up for a hug.

You walked over trying not to giggle at the picture book open on your husband’s large chest, and hugged your son. “Shush baby,” you whispered, placing a kiss onto his forehead. “Daddy’s sleeping.”

Your son giggled and crawled back onto his father’s chest, handing you the picture book that he didn't need anymore.

“Are you gonna stay with daddy, bubba?” You put the book back in its proper cubby and he nodded, laying on his dad’s chest.

“Mhm. Daddy’s warm when he sleeps.” He sleepily lifted up the marker in his hand and drew a small smiley face on Crocodile’s face. You decided it would be best to leave them be for now so you could get some work done around the house.

It wasn't long before your chores led you to the living room where you found your son now fast asleep on his father. His face was pressed to Crocodile’s big chest while Crocodile softly snored, his son drooling on his bare chest.

---

You looked around the house, satisfied with your work.

Damn you were good.

The house was squeaky clean and there wasn't a child up and running about to mess it up. You definitely deserved a treat after that.

You grabbed yourself the nearest chocolate bar and realized that it had been a while since you checked up on the boys.

You went to step into the living room, but quickly stepped out, peeking back in to find Crocodile giggling to himself and drawing all over his son’s face with the washable marker that your son had used prior to draw on Crocodile’s face.

You giggled and stepped in the room, eating away at your chocolate bar. “Good morning, darling.” You pressed a kiss onto Crocodile’s lips and he chuckled, pointing at the smiley face he drew on his son’s face.

“Morning. I just saw this marker and it seems to be safe on skin, so I thought it would be funny.”

You laughed and sat on the floor next to the couch. “I would hope it's safe for skin. You should see your face, dear.”

Crocodile froze. “What?”

You giggled and ran out of the room to the bathroom where you found a handheld mirror. You ran back to the living room and showed your husband his face and he couldn't help but burst into laughter, startling your son awake in the process.

Your son just giggled and hit Crocodile’s big chest, making a soft boom sound. “Dada! You woke me up!”

“Sorry buddy.” Crocodile placed a small kiss on his son’s forehead. “Let's go wash this marker off, huh?”

“Yeah dada! You look funny.” Your son giggled and Crocodile stood up, helping you off of the floor as well.

“You look funny too, kiddo.”

You showed your son the mirror and he burst out laughing just like his dad. You slicked back his jet black hair. There was no mistaking that that was Crocodile’s son.

The two of them giggled all the way to the bathroom leaving you smiling and satisfied with your day.

#sir crocodile #crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #mr 0 #mr 0 x reader #one piece crocodile #crocodile as a father #one piece x reader #request #helicopter anon #thank you so much again i love these #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #<3

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 5 months ago

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Behind closed eyes I see you just the way you are

Dracule Mihawk x reader.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

Montserrat Caballé was a famous operatic singer.

*****

You stare at the man sitting across from you behind the heavy wooden desk, your face fully expressing how unimpressed, not to mention less than thrilled, you are with the proposal you have just been extended.

“If this is a joke, Vice Admiral, I am not laughing.”

“It is not a joke, (name).”

“Then you will agree I am not the right person for this sort of… task. Ask someone else.”

“She asked for you expressly. She has heard how capable you are, and she believes a woman would have the necessary gentleness to deal with this… fugitive.”

You sigh, fully regretting having answered when two hours ago, as you enjoyed a delicious lunch in a newly inaugurated restaurant not far from the Marines HQ, your Den Den Mushi rang, and Garp’s disembodied voice asked you to come to him, because he had an extremely important matter to discuss with you. You thought a new bounty had been issued, a dangerous criminal who needed to be found and neutralised, and the Vice Admiral had decided you were the most appropriate person to deal with them; after all, you are one of the most capable and efficient bounty hunters allied with the Marines, and it wouldn’t have been the first time you had been offered a priority claim on a new bounty.

You had been flattered - excited, even; not to the point of interrupting your meal to run to the Marines HQ, but you did skip dessert, even though the diners at a table near yours had been enjoying a chocolate layer cake so inviting you had felt your mouth watering at the sight. You had walked into Garp’s office, ready for a new task that would bolster your reputation and, equally important, earn you more than enough to help finance your newest project to improve life on your island, and then…

And then this. Gods, why hadn’t you remained at the restaurant to enjoy the layer cake?

Garp looks at you, his arms resting on the top of the desk; next to his elbow is a pile of light blue leaflets that you vaguely remember having already seen around the HQ and in the city, even though you have never picked one up. The large window behind him is open on a clear, cloudless sky, the azure almost blinding in its intensity “Listen, (name), I know this is not what you were expecting…” he begins.

“This is not what I do. There are professionals who take care of this sort of issue, but I’m not one of them.” you point out, a hand resting on your faithful derringer, as usual hanging from your waist in its holster “I’m a bounty hunter, I catch criminals.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask you if the Fleet Admiral’s wife hadn’t made your name specifically, and as you can imagine, it is not the sort of request one in my position can easily ignore or dismiss. If it helps, she is extremely worried for her… ward.”

“Is she? Maybe he ran away because he couldn’t stand her, or because he was mistreated.”

“I can assure you he wasn’t. Major Whiskers was well looked after, a beloved member of the family. The Fleet Admiral’s wife is terrified someone might have kidnapped him, be it to ask for a ransom or as revenge after a disagreement with her husband. She has also authorised me to offer you a substantial reward for your time and effort.”

“That is not the problem.” you point out, already fed up with the whole affair “Also, Major Whiskers? With a name like that I would have run away as well…”

Garp hides a chuckle behind a cough. “Here, that’s him.” he informs you as he retrieves a picture from a drawer of his desk and then hands it to you “Please do it, (name); it would save us both a lot of headaches.”

You don’t comment as you observe the picture now in your hand. Major Whiskers is, you have to admit, a fine specimen, a short-haired tortoiseshell tomcat, with a long tail and an impressive set of bristles, wearing an elegant black collar as he sits on a soft pillow in what has to be the Fleet Admiral -and his wife-’s living room.

“How long has he been gone?” you inquire, despite yourself intrigued enough you’re seriously considering doing this.

“Three weeks.” Garp promptly answers; he’s clearly been briefed thoroughly, and you wouldn’t be surprised to discover the Fleet Admiral is treating the disappearance of his wife’s pet as a state affair. “As a matter of fact, he had already disappeared once, a month and a half ago, after a maid had unwittingly left the back door open after taking the trash out; that time the cat had returned the next day. The family hoped that would be the case this time as well, but they were wrong. It is a sociable animal, so an hypothetical kidnapper would have simply had to offer him some food to appease him and take him away.”

“A domestic cat could be unable to fend for himself in the streets; maybe he has had an accident, or he might have been taken in by another family, or he has jumped on a ship that has by now brought him halfway to Dressrosa or Alabasta.” you point out “I’m not sure I can find him, Vice Admiral. In a port town like this there have to be hundreds of stray cats.”

“I know; can you at least try? As I said, you’ll be generously rewarded.”

“I’ll send Major Whiskers’ mistress my bill if I find him, rest assured. Although…”

Your gaze falls on the leaflets stacked on Garp’s desk; a moment later, the one on top of the pile is in your hand after you placed the cat’s picture on the desk.

“The Marines Ball is taking place soon, I gather?”

“In two weeks.” Garp confirms “Always a fun evening if you like that sort of thing, even though when you’ve been in the business for as long as I have even the most exclusive parties lose their appeal. Does it interest you?”

“It might.” you concede, your eyes skimming over the leaflet’s content as a plan quickly forms in your head “Especially if, as it says here, the event will include a performance by Lady Montserrat.”

“Do you know her?”

“Someone I know is a fan of hers. Could you get me two invitations to the ball, if I find the Fleet Admiral’s cat?”

Garp promises to reserve as many invitations as you want, if you only return Major Whiskers to his anxious mistress, who has been weeping inconsolably since her beloved pet disappeared and whose broken-heartedness has become an issue the whole Marines HQ has to deal with. The next step would have probably been to have all Seven Warlords of the Sea intervene, and that is a hassle the Vice Admiral would rather spare himself.

“Alright; this is not exactly my area of expertise, but I’ll try.” you promise as you finally stand, pocketing both the ball’s leaflet and the picture of your new target “As soon as I find him I’ll bring it here.”

“Good luck, (name). You’ll need it.” the Vice Admiral wishes you, clearly relieved to have burdened someone else with such annoying a task; you wave good-bye to him as you depart, vaguely wondering if you could have gotten the invitations to the ball, the perfect gift for your mother even though her birthday is still two months away, in any case, even if you had refused the assignment or had asked twenty thousand berries as a reward. You should have at least asked; nonetheless, you have committed to finding that cat, and as your grandfather told you many times, a bounty hunter worthy of the name never abandons a target they set their eyes on.

You leave the Marines HQ in the middle of a sunny afternoon, the hem of your skirt barely stirred by the salt-laden breeze, and depart, ready to begin your search.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty… Major Whiskers, where are you?... Come on, your mommy is looking for you…”

In the end it takes you three days to find your target, and by that time you could swear you have become acquainted with the whole feline population of the town, from the newly born kittens no larger than your hand to the old, mangy male cats, scarred or missing an eye, an ear, or a piece of their tail. Most of them are predictably wary of two-legged beings like you, even when bearing a generous offer of cat-food brought in the same shop the Fleet Admiral’s wife usually patronises, and that you have chosen in the hope that Major Whiskers lets himself be tempted by his favourite meal. In the end, confident your contractor will readily reimburse you any expenses made to find and retrieve her beloved pet, you distribute the pricey cat-food in no less than a dozen street corners, nooks and abandoned buildings around the HQ where you have seen stray cats are wont to gather, and plant as many -newly rented- Visual Den Den Mushi in the vicinity, which allows you to monitor which cats haunt a determinate spot.

You are in luck, because barely eighteen hours later you recognise your target in the images transmitted by one of the tiny devices, that you have carefully monitored: no more than two hours before Major Whiskers has appeared in a narrow dead-end street not far from the town’s harbour, sharing a plate of its favourite low-fat yellow tuna jelly with a white cat before leaving to enjoy his freedom. Satisfied you have already, if not properly captured your target, at least identified his favourite hiding spot, you reach the alley -the stench of urine so heavy it will probably linger on your clothes and hair for the rest of the month, vulgar slogans and love declarations graffitied on the walls- fill the empty plate with cat food once more and hide behind a crate.

Who knows what your grandfather would say if he could see you now, you wonder as you search for the least uncomfortable position to sit as you observe a cat -not Major Whiskers, unfortunately; it’s a black long-haired female, a relatively placid specimen you have seen sunbathing on the low walls surrounding the city harbour- approach, sniff the content of the plate and then depart, either because she had already eaten or because yellow tuna jelly is not to her taste. After all he has been one of the most formidable bounty hunters allied with the World Government for decades, countless outlaws and dangerous killers having been felled and brought to justice thanks to his efforts; he has been the one to put a gun in your hands for the first time, to teach you to use it and to make sure you understood that shooting a person is different from doing the same to a line of cans on a low wall, and what it meant to actually kill a person, no matter how grevious the crimes they had committed. He certainly never imagined you would use all the knowledge he bequeathed you to hunt down a cat; would he reprimand you? Find it amusing? State that Major Whiskers is a target like any other and commend you for all the effort you’re putting into his search? You are not sure, given that he passed many years ago, when you were still a girl and before he could see you become an equally respected killer for hire - a regret you know you will carry in your heart forever. You are at least confident he would approve you have accepted the assignment in order to procure your mother an invitation to the ball, and consequently to the performance of an artist she admires; after all she was the apple of his eye, his only child and heir, and he loved her dearly just like you do…

Wait a moment. Is that…?

Lost in your thoughts, kneeling on the ground in the dark nook behind the crate, you had briefly lost sight of the task that had brought you to that uncomfortable stakeout, and that moment of inattentiveness very nearly proved fatal - or at least risked making all your efforts go to waste.

Major Whiskers is back; you are absolutely sure it’s him, having looked at the picture Garp gave you times enough as you observed the Visual Den Den Mushi’s recordings to make sure you could recognise him among a thousand similarly-coloured cats. The most sought-after feline of the country has approached the plate you placed near the alley’s dead end and is now cautiously sniffing at it, maybe to make sure the yellow tuna is still fresh. You wait for him to begin eating before you stand, your knees hurting after the long hours spent in contact with the ground, and cautiously move a first step, having already retrieved the large sturdy sack, the sort usually used to store flour or other foodstuffs, that you had brought with you. Major Whiskers doesn’t seem to hear you approach, too focused on the expensive food he has the chance to taste for the second time in almost four weeks; you are no more than three paces from him, the sack already open and lifted in your hands to capture him, when suddenly a door slams loudly in a street nearby, and that is enough to alert your target. The cat lifts his head, turns, sees you, and a moment later he has bolted towards the alley’s exit, two seconds away from disappearing from your sight.

You swear under your breath -and reflexively you can almost hear your mother’s voice chiding you: (name), language!- before giving chase, following the cat out of the alley and into a larger street, the soles of your boots pounding on the ground. You run past the outdoor tables of a restaurant, a woman pushing an empty stroller, and a small crowd gathered around a kiosk, without the time to ascertain what they are selling. You follow Major Whiskers through the whole neighbourhood, heart pounding in your throat as the cat avoids or gets past any obstacle on his path with an easiness you can’t help envying him, zigzagging among the legs of the passers-by and easily climbing over a fence while you waste precious seconds looking for a passage. This is far from the first time you are forced to chase a target, but though small Major Whiskers can count on twice the number of limbs you have, and you can see the distance between the two of you growing by the minute; the cat only has to find a crevice where you’re too big to follow, or climb over a wall you find no other way to overcome, and for you it will be the end - at least temporarily.

Determined not to admit defeat, you order your legs not to give in now that you’re so close to success, and realise that Major Whiskers has stopped running, as if the chase had tired him out as well; he is sitting in the middle of the road, the people walking past making sure not to step on him but otherwise unnoticed. He is not wearing his collar anymore, and has lost weight since his escape from home, no doubt due to the need to obtain food for himself instead of having it served to him, but he seems to be in good health, which is enough to make you heave a sigh of relief.

You look at him as you pant, and the cat calmly licks at his paw before staring back at you, his oval yellow eyes impassible, or maybe full of emotions you cannot decipher. “Listen, I just want to bring you home; they’re all very worried for you.” you tell him, squatting in order to bring your face as close as you can to his; you can hear someone snickering behind you, probably having noticed you’re talking to a cat as if sure he can understand you, and maybe he can, who can say? Your grandfather was sure his hounds could actually comprehend his words, beyond recognizing simple orders like sit or shake; he loved dogs, your grandfather, almost as much as he loved guns, and your mother and you “You must have seen how hard it is to live in the streets, especially now that the winter is coming and days are getting colder; freedom is nice and good, but don’t you miss your meals and sleeping in front of the fire?”

Major Whiskers stares at you for a while, his long tail raised behind him like a question mark, clearly unconcerned even though he had run from you until a moment ago; you see him stretch, his tiny fanged mouth open wide in a yawn, turn and walk away, this time unhurriedly. Resigned, you follow him towards a nearby building, its bolted door and windows suggesting the last occupants have left some time ago; on the back is a small courtyard, waste of various kinds and overgrown weeds occupying most of the space.

This must have been his lair for the last four weeks, you think as you use a sleeve to wipe off the sweat off your face; you’ve never been a guest of the Fleet Admiral and his gracious wife, but you wonder what Major Whiskers’s mistress would say knowing her beloved pet has abandoned their comfortable and clean house to settle in this dump, without a silk pillow in sight.

You follow the cat to the farthest corner of the courtyard, covered by a metal roof. There, lying on a filthy blue blanket and surrounded by empty plastic plates and bowls some generous offerer has to have left a long time ago, is another cat, that you easily recognise as the white specimen that the Visual Den Den Mushi recorded as she ate the food you had left together with Major Whiskers.

You say she with confidence, without the need for a closer inspection, because when the white cat raises from her bedding to join the newcomer, you can see a roundness in her belly that you are quite sure is not due to an abundant meal. And the way the two cats are now interacting with each other, the white female licking your target’s face and him rubbing his head against her side, are quite telling, even for someone like you who has never had a pet cat…

You find yourself smiling as you squat. He had already disappeared once, a month and a half ago; this is what Garp told you, and it’s easy to guess it was then that Major Whiskers met his friend, who he then missed enough to decide to run away a second time.

“Well, it seems like you’re taking care of her; good job.” you tell him as the white cat, surprisingly friendly for a stray, approaches to sniff your hand and then allows you to pet her “You want me to bring her home as well? I’m sure your mistress will be happy to have her, and she’ll take care of your kittens as well.”

Again, no answer -obviously- but when half an hour later you return with a transport box large enough for two, having lost your sack along the way, both Major Whiskers and her mate let you put them inside, especially after you have given them the little food you have left, and remain placidly curled up side by side as you set off towards the Marines HQ.

As you step into his office, Garp is once again sitting behind his desk, smiling as he offers you a white envelope. “I knew you could do it, (name).”

“Thank you for the confidence, Vice Admiral.” you answer as you delicately place the transport box on the flat surface between the two of you “Here’s Major Whiskers, safe and sound, his new girlfriend and their unborn kittens, conceived the first time he had run away.”

“I see; so that’s why he had escaped again. Major Whiskers, you slyboots…”

Both cats are purring loudly, indifferent to the attention heaped on them. You find yourself grinning as you look at them before opening the envelope and retrieving the two cards inside it, printed on thick high-quality paper, that cordially invite you, or whoever will present them to the doormen at the entrance, at the ninety-fifth Grand Marines Ball and, more importantly, to the main event for the evening, lady Montserrat’s performance.

“As you requested.” Garp points out as he opens the box’s little door and begins scratching Major Whiskers’ girlfriend on the chin, the cat now purring loud enough to be heard from the corridor “Thanks for doing this, (name); you saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Very special; I’ll be coming with my mother.” you explain, and you see Garp’s expression betray a moment of surprise, as if he were wondering why a woman your age doesn’t have a partner on the arm of whom to attend balls and other social occasions. At least, he is delicate enough not to express that disbelief, keeping it to himself; so many, a growing number over the last few years and including members of your own family, have been less respectful.

“Don’t thank me, it was… fun, in a way; and be sure you’ll be receiving my bill for this little operation.”

“I’ll forward it to this rascal’s mistress, don’t worry. Taking anyone special to the Ball?”

“I’ll be seeing you then.”

“You probably will. Good evening, Vice Admiral.”

You linger a moment longer to say goodbye to the two cats and then depart, the invitations safe in your pocket. Tired but satisfied, you start along the sun-lit corridor, headed to your inn for a good night’s sleep before sailing home. You have almost reached the building’s main door, mentally sorting through your favourite dresses to decide which one would be more appropriate to wear at the ball, when suddenly a well-known figure catches your eye, unmistakable among the many, mostly anonymous men and women surrounding him.

It’s not the huge black sword hanging from his back that you notice first, not the equally dark tone of his clothes, standing out against the white of the Marines’ uniforms. Rather, it’s like you couldn’t help noticing him - the relaxed but elegant pose stricken by his body as he rests with his arm pressed against the wall; his lovely yellow eyes, reason for the moniker that makes every single swordsman in the world quake in their boots, lost in the view beyond the window next to him; the elegant, deliciously masculine features of his face, the well-kept beard and the short, shiny hair you have found yourself wishing to feel under your hands…

In a word, it’s him; not his weapons, not his clothes, not even what he does or says. He could be standing still, silent, a single man in a crowd, and you know you would see him in any case, perceiving and being attracted by his presence as if the two of you were the opposite poles of a magnet.

You never had the courage to properly wonder why; you probably don’t need to.

“(name). Good to see you.” Mihawk greets you with a slight nod of his head as you reach him; he is not smiling, you rarely have seen him doing so in the many years of your acquaintance, but you could swear he is actually happy you’ve met, and how many people in the world can say the same?

“And you. Here for a Warlords meeting?” you inquire, well aware the man in front of you wouldn’t be at the Marines’ HQ but for a very important reason.

“Indeed. I just hope it will not drag on like the last, I thought we would have to camp in the room for the night.” he confirms, turning to face you “What about you? Have you come to deliver a prisoner?”

“I have indeed; just… not the sort I usually deal with.”

“Do tell.”

“Well…” you begin, already regretting having broached the subject; what tasks you decide to accept or refuse is your business alone and no one, not even Mihawk, can make fun of your job, but you couldn’t bear to make a fool of yourself in front of him “It’s quite a funny story. You see, I… I mean, it all started with the Fleet Admiral’s wife, and…”

You find yourself stammering, wondering how to best present the matter without coming off as an overpaid cat-catcher, but then you meet his gaze, where a twinkle of amusement is shining, and you find yourself smiling - grinning, even. “You know already, don’t you?”

“I do indeed; I heard the Fleet Admiral’s steward discussing the matter with another officer. I… might have eavesdropped when I heard them mentioning your name.”

You doubt he said it with the intention to flatter you, he probably didn’t even think about it; but flattered you are, in the privacy of your heart. “You think me a fool, don’t you?”

“I think this task was well beneath you; but perhaps you simply had some time off, or you were worried for the cat’s well-being.”

You admit neither option was the real reason you decided to accept the assignment; rather, it was the reward you asked in exchange. “Garp procured me two invitations for the Marines Ball, in two weeks.”

“I see. You…?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” Mihawk quickly answers, rather evasively it seems to you; silence falls between the two of you, and you are suddenly aware of how awful you must look right now, after a whole day spent patrolling the city harbour, your clothes covered in dirt and cat hair. For the first time since you became acquainted, you regret meeting Mihawk; if hearing about your latest assignment didn’t make you look bad in his -lovely, captivating, that as of late you have found yourself thinking and even dreaming about- eyes, looking like something the cat (!) dragged in surely will “I would have thought you had enough of balls, given the fact you probably take part in occasions like this quite often on your island.”

“I do indeed; but this is special. You see…”

“You’re taking someone, perhaps?”

The question catches you off guard, even though at first you couldn’t say why - nor indeed why Mihawk felt the need to ask; you did tell him the Vice Admiral had given you two invitations for the ball, does he think you’ll let one of them go to waste?

“I am indeed.” you answer in the end, already anticipating your mother’s joy when you’ll tell her she’s going to see one of her favourite artists performing; it’s still too early for it to be a birthday gift, but at least you know she’ll appreciate it “Will you be attending?”

Mihawk admits he hasn’t decided yet: he has naturally been invited to the ball, but that sort of occasions bores him in the best of cases, and he has no interest in spending more time among the Marines than he strictly has. “On the other hand, if you’ll be there I’ll at least have someone to talk to.” he adds, and remains silent -hesitates?- for a moment before adding: “If your escort doesn’t mind, that is.”

“That won’t be a problem.” you reassure him, since no matter how close you and your mother are, she doesn’t need you to keep her company, even in a crowd of people she has never met before. Knowing that your company would make for Mihawk a boring event more bearable makes you happy, and for a moment you seriously consider telling him he’s welcome to ask you to dance, if it’d help pass the time, but the last thing you want to look is desperate; one thing you’ve never been is shy, and if you’ll want to dance you’ll invite someone to partner you. Maybe you’ll ask Mihawk himself… “Then… I guess I’ll see you soon.”

Mihawk nods, an unreadable expression back in his yellow eyes; you just know he’s thinking intensely about something, but for the life of you you have no idea what, even if you’d really like to find out “I’ll see you then, (name).”

You can still feel his gaze on the back of your head, as keen and piercing as the one of the bird he has adopted as his sobriquet, as you turn and walk out of the room.

Lady Montserrat is one of the most famous singers in the world, her lovely, powerful voice admired by other artists, music aficionados and countless fans. Even you, who never had much interest for her musical style, have to recognize she is exceptionally talented, a veritable pleasure for the ears; it’s no surprise that the Marines have chosen her to perform on an important occasion like its annual ball, after the countless stages she has already enchanted.

You will never forget your mother’s joy when, stepping into the spacious courtyard, habitually used for military exercises and tonight furnished with a flower-decorated stage under a white tent and long lines of chairs for the audience, she saw her favourite singer’s picture on the posters and the flyers placed on each chair, with the list of the pieces lady Montserrat would perform.

“Oh, my love; thank you.” she murmured, happiness and excitement filling her eyes, and when she hugged you in front of everyone you thought you would have gladly followed Major Whiskers to the other end of the Grand Line and back, if capturing him meant giving your mother such a welcome gift. Later, as the singer’s pure and powerful soprano voice filled the air and dozens of spectators, Marine officers and guests like you alike, listened enraptured, you felt her hand take yours.

“I wish your father were here.” she murmured, and while she didn’t seem sad as she said that, only vaguely melancholic and wistful, as usual when she mentioned or even just thought about him, it was you who suddenly felt the need to retrieve an handkerchief from your skirt pocket to dab your eyes, a tiny sob drowned by the singer’s virtuosic warbling.

An hour later, the two of you hold each other’s arm as you enter the great hall, festively decorated and already populated by a great number of invitees, both Marines in uniform and elegantly-dressed guests. You and your mother wear matching dresses, as you are wont to do when hosting or participating in an official event on your island, in order to present an united front against opposers and critics; you take your time observing the formal but vivacious gathering you have just joined, the dazzling light propagated by the crystal chandeliers reflecting on the arch windows of the hall, the scent of champagne wafting from the buffet table, the soft music produced by the orchestra playing in a corner. Not so different from many other social gatherings you have taken part in ever since you were a girl, but you’re happy your mother is there with you, for once a guest like many others, free to relax and socialise and enjoy a performance, instead of having to play hostess and being surrounded by people attempting to curry favour with her.

Garp is the first to notice you, leaving the small group of Navy officers he was with to greet you. “(name); you look lovely.” he says kindly with a slight bow of his head, which he then repeats to your mother. “Ma’am.”

“Vice Admiral, meet my mother, l…”

“Veressa; such a pleasure.” she quickly introduces herself, omitting her title for the first time since you know her “You must be Vice Admiral Garp; (name) told me all about you.”

“She never mentioned you, which is clearly a shame. Hope you enjoyed the performance, (name) went to great pains in order to earn the invitations.”

“Did she now?”

“I had tasked her to capture an extremely dangerous criminal, and in the end she brought back both him and his accomplices.” Garp explains very seriously before turning to you “You’ll be pleased to know the Fleet Admiral’s wife has decided to adopt Major Whisker’s girlfriend, as well as their future kittens.”

You are happy to know it, but when you turn your gaze towards the long buffet table set against the wall, considering your first drink of the evening, Major Whiskers is suddenly and resolutely pushed out of your thoughts, and the same happens to Garp and even to your mother, as your eyes fall on a solitary, black-dressed figure standing near the hall’s perimeter, indifferent both to the many people chatting around him and the many couples who have already started dancing.

Mihawk is not looking directly towards you, but once again, is it as if the two of you were able to perceive each other’s presence, because a moment after you have noticed him he turns in your direction, meeting your gaze across the room. This time you decide not to go to him -you’re not his daughter, nor his valet, after all, and he has two fully functioning legs- but limit yourself to a smile and a nod of your head, before lightly touching your mother’s arm to ask her if she’d like something to drink.

“Not yet, my love, thank you.”

“I’ll go get one for me, then. If you’ll excuse me…”

A minute later you’re standing in front of the buffet table, supervised by uniformed waiters, but you barely have the time to observe the different bottles of wine and champagne in their buckets, when a glass of your favourite drink appears in front of your eyes.

“Thank you.” you murmur as you delicately accept the glass and turn to smile at the offerer “I particularly enjoy this kind, how did you know?”

“I know you’re a woman of refined tastes.” Mihawk points out, without a trace of flattery in his deep voice “And since your date was too discourteous to bring you one, I thought I would step in.”

“I actually offered to take one for both, but my mother was less thirsty than I am.”

“Your… mother?”

You point to her, busy being introduced by Garp to a couple of female officers her age. “That woman over there.”

“You… brought your mother to the ball?”

You look at him, surprised and hurt by the incredulity in his voice. Not you as well. “Yes. Shouldn’t I have?” you ask, your tone just a touch polemical “She spends most of her time on our island, and she’s an admirer of the artist who performed earlier. Is it so ridiculous that I invited her?”

“On the contrary; I think it was a kind gesture, which does you credit. I simply… don’t remember you mentioning her when we last spoke.”

“Oh, right…” you realise, thinking back to your previous conversation, two weeks ago “I probably didn’t. Forgive me, I… think I misunderstood what you meant.”

You smile at him from behind your glass, feeling suddenly shy, and for a couple of minutes you both focus on your wine, observing the now numerous couples who have joined the dances, officers and guests twirling more or less gracefully as the delicate notes of a minuet fill the room.

“You look lovely tonight.” Mihawk murmurs after a while; he’s not looking at you, but you find yourself smiling.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I really, really don’t.”

“Then I appreciate your compliment, kind sir.” you answer with a slight bow of your head, as you privately think he’s the one who should be admired; Mihawk really looks dashing, his black suit softened by a pattern of burgundy roses on the sleeves and hems, his crisp white shirt’s collar open just enough to leave his throat and a hint of his chest naked - a view you are soon forced to tear your gaze away from, aware that you are blushing like a fifteen-year-old who just visited a communal pool for the first time.

“You’re alone as well.” you point out after a while, not realising you have started nodding along with the music; Mihawk sneers softly beside you.

“This sort of event is tedious enough in itself, without the need for a companion to introduce and take care of.”

“No one you… would have liked to have beside you?” you ask tentatively, receiving in response an unimpressed, but vaguely ironic, raised eyebrow.

“In all the years you have known me, have you ever heard me mentioning a partner?” he points out, and you admit you haven’t, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t have one, given his preference for keeping his affairs private.

“Truth to be told, I have never found the need for one.” Mihawk admits as he sips the content of his glass “I mean, I do enjoy the occasional… dalliance, but I am content with my solitary life in Kuraigana; most people bore me in the best of cases.”

“Including me?” you joke.

“Clearly not including you, since we’re here talking.”

“Hmmm, I should feel honoured…”

“You probably should. What about you? No… important man in your life?”

He’s still not looking at you, focused on the dancers in front of him with an intensity you are not quite sure it’s genuine; for a moment you allow yourself to believe he is feigning disinterest, and that his desire to know whether or not you have a partner goes well beyond the need to keep the conversation going. Wishful thinking, probably, you admit in the privacy of your heart; while he has stated more than once you are one of the few people he respects and even likes, in the many years you have known Mihawk you never had the impression he cared for you like you have come to wish he did… like you have come to care for him.

“I’m too busy with my duties on my island and my activity as a mercenary to devote much time to courting and relationships.” you admit as you shrug your shoulders, vaguely melancholic as you wish you could give him a more favourable answer “I occasionally take a lover during my travels, since I’d rather my name not become a topic of gossip while I’m on my island, but truth to be told it’s been a long time since someone has actually caught my eye. I enjoy sex as much as the next person, but I think I have reached an age at which a nice body is no longer enough to keep me interested for more than one night.”

Mihawk grins, now openly amused, as he turns to look at you. “You talk as if your best years were behind you.”

“Of course they aren’t; in fact, I suspect these are my best years. But as relatively satisfied with my sex life as I am, I sometimes wonder how it would be to form a connection that lasts beyond a couple of orgasms or a shared bed for a week-end; to meet someone I could share my thoughts and my feelings with, if not my life. Someone who would value and respect and trust me; someone who knows I can take care of myself, and is ready to defend me nonetheless.”

This must be the most intimate conversation the two of you have ever had, and perhaps it should feel weird, discussing such private matters during a ball, but it doesn’t, rather it feels good and natural and even liberating, at least when Mihawk is the one listening. You smile at him, shrugging as if to apologise for these confidences your friend never asked to receive, and he shakes his head lightly, as if reassuring you there is no need.

“Didn’t your mother look for a suitable husband when you came of age?” he asks a moment later; the subject of your discussion has in the meantime been invited to dance by Garp himself and is now happily swaying around with him, who is a surprisingly capable dancer for a man of his age and size “As far as I know this is the norm among noble ladies.”

“It usually is, but things are different on my island; I don’t even have to worry about producing an heir anymore.”

For the first time, the expression of the man next to you betrays genuine surprise. “... what? You have a child?”

“No. I almost had one, but they died, and the trauma made me infertile.”

The words leave your lips so instinctively, as if your mouth had a life of its own, for a moment you struggle to believe you have actually uttered them; but the voice was yours, no doubt, and the hand you press to your lips is too little and too late a remedy.

“I’m sorry.”

“(name)...”

“I… I really don’t know why I said it.” you stammer, suddenly upset for a reason you can’t quite pinpoint “It was inappropriate, forgive me…”

“Again, you have nothing to be forgiven for.” Mihawk murmurs, his voice suddenly soothing, as if he were talking to an upset little girl, or a spooked horse; you are neither, and still, you perceive no condescension in his voice, nor the exasperated annoyance he treats any form of weakness and indecisiveness with “I… should be the one to apologise; that was too personal a question to ask.”

“You simply couldn’t know.”

You hesitate for a moment, and then, aware of how foolish you have already made yourself look, you add: “But I’ll forgive you if you invite me to dance.”

Mihawk seems to seriously consider the offer for a minute. “Very well.” he decides in the end “But not here.”

You let him lead you out of the chamber, your hands only brushing against each other as you slip past the door unnoticed, and a moment later you have reached the building’s west-facing veranda, far enough from the ball hall to drown the chattering, even though the music still reaches you.

“This is nice.” you murmur as you observe the harbour opening in front of you, ships of all sorts and sizes neatly docked at the various ports. That sort of view never fails to bring a smile to your lips, and to soothe whatever pain is filling your heart at the moment; perhaps, you like to think, it’s because after all you’re the daughter of a pirate, a man who spent most of his life on one of those vessels, travelling far and wide and seeing a different dawn every day. Looking at a ship, even a tiny fishing boat or a slow, heavy merchant vessel, reminds you of him.

“Do you have a father, Mihawk?”

“I used to.” he answers as he joins you, resting his elbows against the parapet “But I haven’t seen him since I was seven years old.”

“Did he teach you how to wield a sword?”

“He taught me absolutely nothing, save perhaps what sort of man I didn’t want to be. He never cared for me, I was too introverted and headstrong for his liking; on my part, he wasn’t a man I could respect, let alone love. He gave me and… he gave me the booth when I was still a child to build a new family, and I never saw him again. I was already an adult when I received word he had died, and… I felt absolutely nothing. No pain, no regret, no sense of loss.”

He turns marginally to look at you, as if to test your reaction to his declaration, but you simply shrug your shoulders again. “I guess that since he did nothing to deserve your love and respect he didn’t deserve your mourning.”

“That’s what I thought as well. What about you?”

“My father was a pirate, but I lost him a few years back; he gave his life to save mine.” you explain, well aware that no matter how many years pass from that terrible moment, a day that had started like so many others and that took from you more than you thought possible losing without dying yourself, you’ll never stop suffering for it, and that is well, your mother told you as you both mourned, because the sense of loss meant he had been important for you, that you had loved him like he had loved you, and that as long as you missed and remember him, he would not die completely “I wish we had more time to spend together; he arrived late to our family and he left early. But I loved him dearly, and he taught me much.”

It is odd, maybe, to spend time at what is essentially a party discussing about loss and heartbreak, but the two of you are unusual as well, having seen places and experienced things most people could only dream about; you feel at ease talking to Mihawk, whatever the topic, and you know it’s the same for him.

You spend a few minutes side by side, content in each other’s company. The maybe ten inches separating your left shoulders from his right one feel like a stellar distance, the awareness that you’d only have to raise your arm to touch him -to feel the skin of his cheek under your palm, to run your finger through his dark hair, to to brush the pad of your thumb against his lips- making it hard for you to swallow; you glance at the man that has aroused those feelings in your heart, wishing for the barest hint they are reciprocated. But Mihawk’s handsome face is guarded, almost hermetic, and you wonder what would be worse, to confess what you feel and be rejected, or to keep them for yourself, denying both of you the chance of pursuing a relationship.

You should tell him; Mihawk is different from any man you have ever met but you’ve never shied away from speaking your mind and you don’t intend to start now. You’ll find the right moment, the right place, soon; but tonight, you decide, tonight you’ll simply enjoy his company, and the unexpected, precious intimacy it has afforded the two of you.

It feels nice.

You follow his gaze when Mihawk turns towards the corridor you have crossed coming from the hall. “A waltz.” he notices, listening to the sweet melody wafting towards you.

“It is indeed.” you confirm, and he turns, silently offering you his hand.

Who knows who taught him to dance, you wonder a minute later as you let Mihawk guide you through the steps and turns, one of his hands holding yours and the other resting on your shoulder blade; as it’s common for young lords and ladies in your country, you have taken classes since you were a young girl, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it had been the same for him, if he had applied himself to those lessons with the same resoluteness and dedication he reserves for his training and that emerges from any action or movement of his body. There is self-confidence in the way he holds you, the surety of a man unconcerned with propriety or awkwardness; waltz is relatively intimate as far as couple dances go, the body of the two partners brushing against each other, but Mihawk is the last man in the world you’d expect to see perturbed, or embarrassed, by that closeness, and this is, for some reason, part of the reason you are trembling as you feel his breath against your cheek, as if you were still the twelve-year-old acerbic girl who had a crush on her dance teacher and blushed every time he took her hand.

What would happen if you took advantage of that proximity the two of you had never experienced before to kiss him? It would be easy, slipping one hand to the back of his head to draw his face near, and a moment later you’d be tasting his mouth, the sweet scent of the red wine on his lips, the honey of his tongue as it caresses yours. Would he sigh? Moan? Murmur your name as he kisses you back, hungry and passionate like you are sure he would be, the embers hidden under the ashes but still burning, scorching hot? Methodical, sparing in his actions and words as he is, you don’t doubt Mihawk would be a passionate lover, leaving behind self-control and reflectiveness to strip his partner naked and pound them against the wall.

You wouldn’t mind; you would let him cut your dress open with the Kogatana, or fuck you in front of the whole crowd gathered for the ball -well, except your mother, probably- if he wanted; you’d be happy to, even. Who knows if he’s thinking the same, if the presence of your body so close to his is making his heart beat faster and the desire to let his hands wander fill his mind? Is he attracted to you, at least now that he has you in his arms? Is he indifferent, simply focusing on the moves with the same effort he employs in everything he does, but otherwise unaffected by your embrace? Is he, worst of all, bored, having accepted to dance only because you asked him and wishing this damn waltz would end?

You don’t know; you really don’t have the faintest idea, but on your honour, you will. You will know what he feels, for and about you, if it’s the last thing you ever…

“You’re thinking too much.”

You blink, for a moment taken aback, before meeting Mihawk’s eyes once more. “Excuse me?”

“You’re deep in thought, which is unusual for a person who is dancing.” he points out as he leads you through a spin, his chest for a moment pressed against yours in a way that has no reason to leave you breathless, but does “You should simply enjoy the experience, or talk to your partner.”

“My teacher said no one should talk during a dance, because we should focus on the music.”

“And you always did what your teachers said, (name)?”

“Not always; at least, not unless I did think it was the right thing to do.” you admit, and smile “Which did land me in trouble sometimes.”

“A small price to pay, I think, in order to be a leader and not simply a follower.” Mihawk muses; through your dress, you can feel his hand descend from its place on your shoulder blade towards the centre of your back “Tell me something about you.”

“What?”

“I… have known you for many years, but I just realised there is much I don’t know about you. Tell me something you consider important about yourself.”

You take a moment to think about it; the fact that he asked makes you happy. “You tell me something about you.”

“I asked you first.”

“And as we just agreed, I find it beneath me to do as I’m told.”

Mihawk sighs, less irritated and more amused than he’s trying to appear. “Let’s see.” he muses as he moves gently; he really is a talented partner, but the pleasure you receive from your shared dance goes way beyond that, the subtle intimacy of his handsome face a breath away from yours, the unspoken promise of a touch “I sew my own clothes.”

“... seriously?”

“Not all of them, mind you; but I like embroidering my capes and jackets, especially when I’m not satisfied with what I find. The one I’m wearing tonight, for example; I made the roses myself.”

“It’s amazing.” you murmur, sincerely impressed; on instinct, without stopping to consider whether the contact could feel unwelcome, you move your hand from Mihawk’s shoulder to his chest, brushing your fingers against the red flowers embossed on the fabric; for a moment you could swear you have felt him tense under your touch “Our favourite tailor would love this. Fighter, dancer, embroiderer; is there something you cannot do?”

Mihawk smiles, openly flattered. “I may not be able to breathe fire and to fly.”

“I’m sure you could learn in time. Who taught you to sew? Your mother?”

“... in a way, yes.”

You are still touching his chest; you quickly withdraw your hand, embarrassed, but instead of returning it on his arm you snake yours around his neck, your body lightly pressed against his. You hold his gaze in yours, wishing, waiting, to see something in those lovely hawk eyes -arousal, embarrassment, confusion; anything, just to know for sure you can have an effect on him, that you’re not so indifferent to him as you fear- and something you do see, just as you become acutely aware of the warmth of his hand against your back, but you can’t give a name to it, he’s still too good at hiding what he feels to let you read him, and that is frustrating, but hopeful as well, because maybe one day he’ll feel comfortable telling you himself…

And then, suddenly: “(name).”

“Yes?”

“The music has stopped.” Mihawk murmurs, and it’s like emerging from a deep, pleasant sleep, when dreams have not fully given way to reality and everything feels possible and hazy at the same time. Everything you can hear, besides the thumping of your heart, is the chatting wafting from the ball hall, a bit louder and more animated than before. Maybe the orchestra is on a break, you suppose, or the musicians needed to tune their instruments.

Before, you think then; how long has it been since the two of you have left the hall? Ten minutes? An hour? The whole evening? You can’t say; what you know for sure is that you don’t want it to stop.

“I know.”

Mihawk’s arms close around your waist a moment after you have rested your cheek against his shoulders; you keep moving, keep dancing, and the world fades away around you.

“Oh, hello, my love.” your mother greets you warmly as you reach her, standing from the comfortable settee she has occupied for the last hour, happily chatting with a drink someone has fetched her in her hand as the participants to the ball started to leave “Here you are; are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine, mother.” you reassure her, not lying: you’ve spent the better part of the last three hours dancing with Mihawk, and then letting him accompany you on a lovely walk in the gardens. Nothing happened, nothing at all beyond your shoulders brushing against each other and his hand taking yours when he insisted on helping you climb over the trunk of a fallen tree that obstructed the passage; still, you feel happy, and hopeful, more relieved than ever that you decided to attend the ball “You? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone…”

Your mother, a perfectly sociable woman who never struggles to make a good impression on people, assures you she easily found a way to entertain herself, receiving several offers for a dance and making the acquaintance of a few ladies her age, two of them daughters of officers who knew her father when he was a bounty hunter.

“What about you? All of a sudden I didn’t… oh.” she adds, noticing the man standing behind you “I see you met your friend.”

“I am Dracule Mihawk; it is a pleasure to meet you, lady Veressa.” he greets her politely with a bow of his head and a level of courtesy no officer of the Marines has ever received “Forgive me if I monopolised your daughter for so long.”

“There is no need; I am glad (name) could enjoy the evening as well. She speaks about you often.”

“Does she indeed?”

You look away, suddenly bashful but happy to see two of the people you care the most about in the world interact. A minute later your mother asks you if you’re ready to go, given the late hour, and Mihawk offers to escort the two of you to your carriage outside.

“You two go. I need to, err… visit the ladies room.” she mentions as she glances at you, and you bite your tongue, hoping fervently Mihawk, who doesn’t know her, can’t see how openly she’s lying “I’ll meet you outside in a moment, (name). Mihawk...”

“My lady.”

The two of you look at her departing. “She’s exactly how I imagined her.” Mihawk murmurs after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Like you, just older. Elegant and sensible, at ease in her own skin.”

You smile, proud of that praise from a man who is so sparing in his compliments. “I’m glad you think that.”

“And I’m glad I could meet her. Shall I… accompany you outside?”

The truth is, you’re not tired - not to the point that you wouldn’t spend even just a minute more in his company, if given the opportunity; on the other hand you appreciate the offer, and the last thing you want to look is clingy, so you nod your head in thanks and allow Mihawk to accompany you outside, his hand on the small of your back. As you walk, you meet Garp’s eye, standing near the corridor’s wall busy in conversation with the Fleet Admiral, unlike him clearly more than a little intoxicated; he sees you, sees Mihawk, and grins, openly amused.

Soon you have reached the vast courtyard, dozens of wall-mounted torches illuminating its circular perimeter; a number of carriages wait outside the gates.

The night sky above your heads is clear, which makes a sigh of relief escape your lips: your ship is sturdy, and its captain capable, more than enough to bring you back to your island safe and sound, no matter how violent a storm you could encounter, but your mother occasionally suffers from sea-sickness, and you don’t want her pleasant trip to conclude with an uncomfortable day spent bent on a basin.

“You never told me, you know.” Mihawk points out; he has been looking at you out of the corner of his eye, while you were too preoccupied considering the weather to notice “I had asked you to tell me something about you few know; you never did, but you asked the same to me.”

“You’re right, I owe you that.” you consider, pensive as you try to choose an anecdote he would find sufficiently interesting; you don’t think you need to prove yourself to Mihawk, as if to deserve his friendship and respect, but you didn’t expect to find out he can sew, and you’d like to surprise him as well. In the end you turn to stare at him, indifferent to the small crowd now gathered around you as the ball’s invitees say their goodbyes, and announce: “It’s not really a secret, but I can promise you it’s true. I’d really like you to visit my island, if you have some time to yourself and nothing more interesting to do.”

If Mihawk is taken aback as you hoped he’d be, he doesn’t betray it, not beyond a slight rising of his dark eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“I do. It’s a lovely place, and I’d be happy if you could see the city where I was born. I know you’ve just returned from a long mission for the Marines; consider it a holiday. You can stay as long as you want. I can’t promise you I won’t have a few engagements to take care of, but I’d make sure…”

“I don’t need to be entertained all day, (name); I understand you have duties.” Mihawk points out; for a moment, in the relative darkness of the night, you could swear he’s smiling “And I’d like to see your island, very much so.”

Your mother, who has been hidden behind a pillar for a few minutes, waits discreetly to see Mihawk kiss your hand and depart before reaching you. “Is everything alright, my love?” she asks in a murmur, a question many would find superfluous, since you’ve only been apart for a few minutes, but you know her well enough to understand she’s not worried something bad might have happened when she was in the ladies’ room.

“I invited Mihawk to visit us at home.” you inform her, not bothering to hide your joy “He has accepted.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, my love. He’s clearly an interesting person, just like you have always described him.”

She’s smiling, openly happy for you, and you think about her, about your father, and the many happy years they could have had together, hadn’t tragedy befallen your family. Then you think about Mihawk, about the time you have spent together tonight, and the promise you have exchanged only a moment ago; you might have time, but you might not, and you’re determined not to waste a single day more, now that you know your heart.

“Shall we go home?” you ask, and your mother nods, slipping her arm under yours.

“I’ve spent a lovely evening; thank you for this, (name).” she murmurs before kissing your cheek; the stars seem to shine brighter than ever as you walk arm in arm to reach the carriage waiting for you at the gate.

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Dracule Mihawk #Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x reader #Mihawk x reader #Steven John Ward #Bellona's stuff

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