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90sbee · 8 months

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My rough edges, your soft waves

Leon S. Kennedy x Gn!Reader

2.3k words. Also on ao3.

Kneeling between your legs, biting the flesh of your thighs, touching, his eyes mesmerised by the way your fat moves and undulates with every touch of his. He resembles an artist toying with his paint palette, about to dive into a sweet act of creation, of love. His fingertips crawl on your thighs, and he stares, fascinated like the first time, how your skin sinks and then returns to its normal shape. A sea that doesn’t stay quiet, moves with every breath.

Leon has finally found his other half: someone soft enough to handle his rough edges. Or the fic in which Leon is too crazy about his curvy partner and gets horny.

What can I say, us curvy/chubby people need more self indulgent fics. @delphi-shield made sure this was decent. @lightning-hawke and @obsolescent, tagging you in case you wanna check it out (tho no pressure, I mean it!) Content: No use of y/n, fluff, established relationship, had older Leon in mind. So an unspecified age gap. Reader is shorter than Leon. He is not that good with his words but he is good with his tongue (pun intended). Pet names, compliments. Warnings: +18 cos smut (though not that explicit). Oral sex, penetration. Minors and ageless blogs do not interact. Leon is a bit insecure but he is so in love it hurts.

Leon kisses your forehead once more, your sleepy body on top of his. He sighs, breathing slowly, his heart calm. The movie keeps playing on the TV, the screen slightly illuminating the living-room, yet you don’t care about the plot anymore. You press your cheek against his neck, closing your eyes.

“You’re comfy.”

“I thought that was an understatement already.” You don’t need to look up at him to know that he is smirking. He is not usually this overly confident, but he’s gotten a bit cocky since you’ve started dating. Something about the presence of someone else, a warm body, a sugary-sweet voice telling him that he is worthy, that he matters, that he is pretty and strong and brave and that he is enough.

You could say something back, try to add a witty remark, but you let out a huff, closing your eyes.

“It is midnight, baby,” you remind him. “It’s late enough for me to be sleepy, after all.”

Leon softens at that. Lies down more comfortably on the couch, making sure not to disturb you. His precious little angel, precious little soul. He kisses your cheek then.

Leon wants to say something, conjure up a nice compliment in his head, let it spill from his mouth, since the sight of you on top of him makes him a little dizzy still. Clothed or naked, both times holding an air of dominance against him.

You notice his heart pick up, caressing the skin of his chest by gently grazing his t-shirt.

“Someone is… having thoughts?” You look up, finally. The tender eyes, the smirk now on your face.

“I’m not,” he says. "Are you?” He contemplates, voice raspy, though he knows the fight is lost. Gosh, he still feels silly whenever you read him so easily. It may be a good thing, though, since he still struggles to verbalise things. Prefers to let thoughts linger, to crack a joke or simply let his body talk for him.

“You’re blushing, Leon.” He shakes his head, moves one of his hands to rest on your butt, patting it as if admitting defeat. And it’s true. The glimmer from the screen, the credits already rolling allow you to see his cheeks get pinker. “Cute,” you add, moving to sit on his lap, cupping his cheek quickly, pulling it too before he can even react.

“Very funny,” he says, rubbing his cheek, his other hand bringing you closer to his chest. “You know,” he begins then, blue gaze all tender. Melting inside. “You are like… a teddy bear,” he sighs in an attempt to compliment you. Something about feeling comforted by you, by sleeping peacefully beside you.

You frown, confusion drawing on your face. “Because I am smaller than you and you like sleeping with me?” Comes your cheeky reply.

Leon laughs. Pure joy emanating from his chest, glistening sound caressing your heart as he pulls you closer into him, forcing you to lie on his chest once more.

“So, are my clever remarks contagious, love?” he says, his hand grazing your back, giggling still.

“Nah, I think it’s the other way around.” You touch his arm, trace patterns on his skin as you yawn. “I am influencing you. Probably making you all witty and shit.”

“Just witty?” He inquires, his tone slightly suggestive, taking your face in his hand and kissing your jaw. His stubble makes you tickle.

“Ugh. Nasty old man,” you giggle and he holds you closer, his arm around your body, his hand grabbing at your fleshy hip.

“I’m not. I just like you,” he explains, diving his head between the crook of your neck and your head.

But it’s more than liking. And you both know it. Leon is just not very good at organising the immensity of what he feels for you, the depth which feels so calm and home-like.

He closes his eyes. For a while, you stay in silence. His eager hands grab your hips harder, toy with the flesh as he presses another lazy kiss to your jaw. You bury a sigh into his skin, smiling. God, he could melt like this. Warm, comfortable soul, shining as bright as a sun when you’re close to him, when he kneads his fingertips under your t-shirt to feel you. The reminder that you’re real. Not going anywhere.

His hands grip you harder, and he groans then.

“Leon,” you mewl. It’s not a warning or a complaint. More of a question. Perhaps even a suggestion. He chuckles, opens his eyes to meet your sleepy gaze and your smirk. “You don’t need to grab me like that… No one is stealing me…”

“I am, actually,” He huffs. “Stealing your heart,” Leon adds, burrowing his face against your chest, trying to kiss and get through your skin, enter your chest, tuck himself between your heart and your lungs. Close, too close.

You giggle and hold him, arms around his head, fingertips drawing on his nape. Hope to maybe calm his overactive self this time, knowing that he will probably wake up in the morning and complain about not getting enough sleep, eyebags on his face, yet when he looks at you his mouth keeps a perpetual dumb smile. But this time he keeps on kissing, riding your t-shirt up until you gasp. His mouth on your skin, biting, licking gently as his hands caress your hips, keep you on his arms.

“Leon…” you whine, getting flustered, kneading on his hair as if he was a kitten. His touch inviting, igniting a fire within you.

“Sorry… You’re just too hot,” he replies, mouth busy as he captures one of your nipples between his lips. His voice is raspy, lower than usual. Brain hazy, and all his senses in overdrive. “So fucking gorgeous and soft and mine…” Leon caresses your stomach, not an inch is left untouched as he keeps on kissing you through rugged breaths.

Truly, he is obsessed with you. Obsessed with your body. Since the moment he met you he was fascinated. He’d look at himself in the mirror, his body slimmer, muscle over muscle, scars and the passage of time on his skin, and he would imagine you beside him. He could drool at the image of your belly, feel himself blush when thinking about your pretty cheeks. But he would also stroke himself dry and until his tip hurt just thinking of your hips, your fat thighs and the flesh of your arms. God, he was so attracted to you. So round, soft, pliant, so unlike him. Not tainted by violence. Warmer, younger.

More alive. A starry hope for him.

The first time you two slept together Leon spent an ungodly amount of time in foreplay… Kissing, gripping, moaning between your legs. Sweet praise and saliva spilling from his mouth.

And when he finally entered you, made himself at home inside you, he would not stop whimpering. Needy hips thrusting quickly, groaning, his hands locked to your hips. He didn’t tell you, but the sight of your soft thighs and tummy dancing to his thrusts tipped him over the edge, the idea of him being so capable of shaping you to his desires, his dick able to sculpt your flesh into the nicest shapes. Tenderness, home among the hard edges he was used to handling. Leon came too early, and apologised profusely afterwards, making sure to get you to sit on his face before the night ended, getting you off too enthusiastically, his hands never leaving your hips and stomach as your thighs framed his pretty face. He felt in heaven.

And you’d never felt so desired.

That feeling has remained, not just in bed, but it’s found you in every moment beside him. Acts of service are common with him: he’s learning your favourite recipes, he always makes the bed with a smile on his face, glad to wake up beside you once more. But it’s not just that. It’s also the way Leon lazily kisses you every morning, how he pats your butt while making your breakfast. The way he licks his lips and gets flustered at the sight of the outfit you’ve picked out for a night out with friends. The way he sighs, content, against your belly when he comes home and shyly begs to nap on top of you, how he kisses your shoulder whenever your t-shirt barely drapes over it, preaches compliments against your skin, reminds you how much he loves you.

Leon feels crazy about you. He bites your nipple harder as he pushes you down on the couch, positions himself on top of you, keeps on caressing you, groaning once more, his hands gripping your hips hard again. He needs you. Needs to cocoon himself in your sweet flesh to remind himself that the world is kind and full of love and gave him the biggest gift he could ever ask for: you.

“Mine, mine…” He seems to sing as a lullaby, or a prayer, drunk in you as he hears your moans. His mouth moves lower, bites the flesh of your tummy, cages you with his strong arms as he breathes next to your navel.

By now you feel aroused. Breathing quickly, lips quivering as you look down at him. He seems to take a moment to rest, catching his breath and you grab his face, make him look at you.

“Damn,” you giggle, caressing his cheek, and he melts completely with your touch, closes his eyes. You swear he could purr. It is funny, you think. How you make him go crazy by the mere act of your existence. Seems like the heavens decided to somehow grace you with Leon. Both your boyfriend and your guardian, so devoted to you he could kiss the floor you walk on.

It seems that the small break makes him get out of the needy trance he was in, as he smirks, nodding. “Shit, sorry.” His voice is strained but his gaze feels sweeter. “You good?” He checks, seemingly worried.

“You’re kidding me? I’m great. I just didn’t expect you to be this… horny about me.”

He smiles and kisses your hand, before letting out a sigh.

“It’s ‘cause you’re… perfect,” he explains after a moment. Leon is looking into your eyes, his corny expression blissfully drawn by the light of the commercials on TV. One of his hands lightly grips your hip and he looks down at your body again. “I like you. Like your body,” he slurs out, blushing, his thumb toying with your waistband. He licks his lips rapidly, not looking at your eyes anymore. Shy, you know he’s gotten a little shy now. Has said too much, been too straightforward. But that’s okay. You love him. Whatever he gives you, you give it back to him tenfold. “Can I…?” He begins, his thumb going lower. You nod, of course.

He is gentler this time. Slides onto the carpet next to the couch, kneels there as he tenderly gets rid of your jeans, his hands playing around your hips, descending on your thighs, grabbing calves and ankles, kissing you, moaning.

You wonder sometimes what’s on his mind in those moments. He looks focused, so concentrated. Hasn’t even touched you where you want him yet, but you let him have this. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine this as a sort of therapy for Leon. Kneeling between your legs, biting the flesh of your thighs, touching, his eyes mesmerised by the way your fat moves and undulates with every touch of his. He resembles an artist toying with his paint palette, about to dive into a sweet act of creation, of love. His fingertips crawl on your thighs, and he stares, fascinated like the first time, how your skin sinks and then returns to its normal shape. A sea that doesn’t stay quiet, moves with every breath.

Leon licks his lips again, wondering how he could put it into words. How he could explain that when he looks at you he sees the kind of life he wanted for himself. How with every sight of your hips or your arms, he remembers once more that there is something more to the tragedy that always seems to veil him. How he thinks not only that you look perfect, but that your body is a perfect representation of your inner workings, of the light you hold inside; tenderness, warmth, a blanket that surrounds him, something he can squish when his mind gets too dark, the knowledge and the relief that, even if he may be rough, too used to violence and death, he won’t hurt you: your flesh can take it, your body can take him. His fingertips can’t mark you forever, your skin won’t suffer. You’re pliable, strong in your softness, made for him.

He looks up at you, at your hazy and needy expression and he smiles before finally getting rid of that last item of clothing.

He loves you. Loves you too much.

Leon wishes he could put it into words indeed. He is not sure he would be very good at explaining it, but he has time. He will learn. Sure, he still gets flustered and words fail him, but he trusts that you will stay as he gets better at this. At loving you as deeply as possible, at not overthinking how he shows his affection.

With that confidence in mind, he takes one of your hands in his, rubs your knuckles as an anchor, and finally dives his mouth between your legs, makes sure to kiss and lick and bite as you want him, as you need him, use his other hand to follow your curves and please you.

After all, if his own words fail him, may his mouth and his body be good enough to tell you how he feels. And as he robs a moan out of your throat, he reassures himself that there is indeed a future ahead of him still. The promise of a life of comfort and a sweet company to take care of, to praise and to love as ardently as his chest will allow it.

The promise of a future with you.

I can't believe this was supposed to be just fluff. Jsjjsjsjs. Dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/vase-of-lilies

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #x reader #reader insert #nsft #mine #writer bee

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 5 months

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A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

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

Read on AO3

Concerned about losing track of Mihawk as he might return to the Grand Line soon enough, you resolved to embark on a journey towards Loguetown. What you encountered there, however, was a chilling indifference, leading you to believe that the Warlord no longer had any use for you. However, he soon proved your assumptions wrong. Quite emphatically, at that.

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut! Also, it's LONG!

Another trio of weeks elapsed.

Given your recent near-deadly encounter at a public tavern, you heeded Mihawk's counsel to maintain a low profile for a while. Although his suggestion didn't explicitly call for seclusion, you opted to utilize this period for rest, expanding your knowledge through reading, and documenting your thoughts in your journal.

You found yourself penning about him as well, crafting lines dedicated to the Warlord with a fluidity that surprised even you.

Isaiah, who had granted you permission to stay in his headquarters, observed your intense focus on your writing. On several occasions, he enquired whether a certain man had captured your affections, but you consistently denied his suspicions and deflected the conversation, even as your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Isaiah wasn't easily deceived, grinning knowingly at your denials, yet he refrained from pushing the topic further. Your lack of interest in pursuing a physical relationship with him was apparent, but he accepted the nature of what you shared as purely platonic with a hint of professional dealings.

There was a time when you found it nearly impossible to keep your eyes and hands away from Isaiah. Now, however, whenever he was near you, your mind would replace his image with that of Dracule Mihawk. And you were completely overwhelmed with mortification.

The reality was, you were wrestling with understanding your genuine emotions. The magnetism that had drawn you and Mihawk together that day was indisputable, but while your feelings might run deeper, his cold demeanor following your intimate intercourse left you hollow.

Indeed, there was a glimmer of concern he had shown before departing, cautioning you to be careful in the open. But a part of you couldn't shake off the suspicion that it might have been a courteous way to conclude things with you, once he had received what it seemed every man desired from a woman like yourself.

On numerous occasions, you wished you had reigned in your impulses, choosing patience over the hurried act of ensnaring him in your allure. Even if you weren't the instigator, you had indeed tossed the bait right in front of him. The last thing you wanted was for Mihawk to perceive you as a woman of easy virtue, engaging in fleeting affairs with various men wherever you went. Regrettably, it might already be too late to clarify that misconception.

And yet again, you were clueless about his whereabouts.

Until Isaiah inadvertently let it slip.

"By the way, have you heard about Dracule Mihawk? The word on the street is that he's no longer in the Grand Line and is now hanging around in the East Blue.”

You almost choked on your drink when he casually dropped the Warlord's name into the conversation over dinner one day.

"Is that so?" You queried, clearing your throat. "What could he possibly be doing in the East Blue?”

Isaiah shrugged. "I've got no clue. Though it's pretty remarkable when you think about it, given that returning from the Grand Line is considered practically impossible for most pirates.”

You managed a nervous smile. "I suppose the title of 'strongest swordsman' isn't for nothing.”

"Oh, absolutely. But get this: rumors say that he traverses the seas on a tiny boat, featuring what appears to be a throne on the deck.”

The mental picture this conjured had you internally chuckling. However, it only reaffirmed the majestic aura you had always sensed from him.

"How can a single man possess such strength?" You mused aloud.

"It's quite the mystery. He truly seems to be from another world. Of course, I always take gossip with a pinch of salt, but we've all come to realize that in these waters, anything is possible," Isaiah replied.

You nodded absentmindedly, your thoughts wandering as you pondered the circumstances. Mihawk had originally come to the East Blue to track you down under the orders of the World Government. What could be holding him in the East Blue now, given that his mission to chase you had been disrupted? Was there a specific reason compelling him to remain rather than returning to where he belonged, something completely unrelated to you?

"They say he never lingers in one location for too long, and those who have attempted to monitor his movements have either been defeated or simply lost his trail. That man is inhuman, I tell you," Isaiah added.

There was nothing inhuman about Mihawk, at least not in your perspective. If anything, he was an honorable man, adhering to the code of the swordsman and conducting himself with integrity. He was a living enigma, and for some reason, you were drawn to unravel more.

Dodging the truth was pointless, and you ultimately acknowledged to yourself that your intimate experience with him had been truly extraordinary. His muscular physique was firm, his skin smooth yet offset by the rugged texture of his palms. His scent was exotic, his gaze a piercing gold, and his lips flawlessly sculpted. The pleasing contour of his Adam’s apple was particularly captivating.

One would need to exercise restraint in order not to be swept away by those enchanting details.

Not to mention the manner in which his lips gently pressed against yours, the interplay of your tongues, and his dexterous fingers tracing patterns on your body, externally and internally…

Interrupting your suggestive train of thoughts, Isaiah continued. "Apparently, he was sighted in the Polestar Islands a few days ago.”

Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Polestar Islands? Isn't that where Loguetown is located?”

"Yes, that's the one. It's a very affluent place, excellent for striking a few deals, especially with all the pirates that dock there to replenish their supplies for the Grand Line.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled. "It is indeed. The Marines maintain especially strict surveillance over there," he elaborated. "I've paid a visit to Loguetown a couple of times; it wasn't too bad, but I always felt watched.”

Suddenly, a thought dawned on you. "Polestar is very close to Reverse Mountain, right? If the Warlord is there, it would seem he's about to return home.”

Presuming he hadn't already left…

Your heart seemed to weigh heavy, causing a painful constriction in your chest.

“Perhaps.”

If Mihawk had decided to depart the East Blue, your chances of encountering him again were practically nil, at least in the near future, as long as he stayed in the Grand Line. It was treacherous even for a fully manned crew, navigating it alone would be an impossible feat.

And so, with Isaiah fast asleep in his room that subsequent night, you scrutinized the East Blue map by the light of a lantern. Isaiah's abode was situated near Mirror Ball Island, which meant you were not too far off from Loguetown, though reaching it would still take some time. For all you knew, Mihawk could have already departed and journeyed to the Grand Line, or he could potentially leave long before you managed to get to Polestar.

However, that wasn't the sole issue.

Considering your current predicament, going to a city heavily patrolled by the Marines might not be the wisest course of action. With a large number of pirates docking there simultaneously, they might be too preoccupied to detect your presence if you wore a convincing disguise. But were you truly prepared to gamble with your safety, especially after all the measures you had taken to preserve your life?

While being a wanted pirate put you at risk everywhere you went, Loguetown was the epitome of venturing into the lion's den. What could you possibly hope to achieve by seeking out Dracule Mihawk, especially when he likely only viewed you as a fleeting amusement?

You were bereft of any assurances; there was no guarantee that you would find him there or even if he would show any interest in seeing you.

Yet, by some unfathomable logic, you found yourself incapable of stifling the longing to see him once more. Maybe for the last time before he disappeared into the vast expanse of the Grand Line.

Undoubtedly, it was a seemingly terrible idea, one that could possibly evolve into a wellspring of remorse. But the constant pursuit and hiding had exhausted you, with the ever-present threat of a blade at your throat each time you ventured out. If obtaining strength was the requisite sacrifice for the liberty to journey and endure, then you were prepared to take any measures necessary.

The next day, your sea route was set, the disguise ready and neatly tucked into your bag. You purposely left Isaiah oblivious about your destination, fostering uncertainty about your intended journey's conclusion.

Under a cloudless sky and across a peaceful sea, your ship subtly rocked as you progressed. There was an unmistakable unease within you concerning the endeavor you were embarking on. The risks were great - there was not only the possibility of completely missing Mihawk but also a substantial hazard of being apprehended again, and potentially, confronting execution.

You were gambling everything on a man you had been with only once and knew little about, a man who probably didn't regard you with the same high esteem. So, why were you devoting your time to this undertaking? Why would you expose yourself to such danger just for another chance to see him?

If your family and friends had been aware of what you were doing, they would have berated you for your thoughtless and utterly reckless behavior.

Becoming a wanted criminal meant that you were solely reliant on your own judgment, making your decisions in isolation, devoid of any guidance. Prior to setting sail into the open sea, each of your steps was accompanied by your loved ones. They had been there throughout your growth and maturation process, providing comfort, imparting lessons, and lending support.

You had it all, truly, yet somehow it didn't seem sufficient. It never was. Because you were looking for something more, something capable of disrupting your humdrum existence.

You led a prosperous life, encircled by people you cherished, bustling about in the family tavern. Admiring the glistening sea from a distance frequently felt like one of life's grandest joys, yet it was laced with a touch of sadness. Doing the same tasks repetitively for years had started to feel incredibly stifling, and the tales from customers only fueled your curiosity about the world beyond your homeland. Something was beckoning you, and you felt compelled to heed its call.

You had taught yourself navigation, and even trained to become a competent fighter, using weapons you barely knew how to wield. Despite the hardship of being robbed, seized by the marines, tortured, and pursued, those trials had given you something valuable in return. You had evolved, matured even more, and discovered a wellspring of courage within yourself that you never knew existed.

Although you could hardly recognize the person you had become, there was a sense of pride in what you had achieved.

And now, as you stared at the map unfurled on the table in front of the couch, you couldn't help but laugh at the paradox of your predicament. You had been the one evading Mihawk, and now, you were embarking on a quest to seek him out.

The day your ship docked at Loguetown, your heart pounded so fiercely that it felt difficult to swallow. You slipped into the outfit you had meticulously prepared—baggy trousers, sturdy boots, a couple of leather belts, heavy gloves, and a long-sleeved shirt that was intentionally a bit worn. In an effort to further conceal your feminine features, you wrapped your chest with bandages to suppress the contours of your bust. Your hair was tucked away into a bandana, large enough to envelope your entire head.

Using makeup strategically, you simulated dirt smeared on your face. As your reflection stared back at you from the oval mirror, you felt confident that any observer would perceive you as a young lad.

As long as you sidestepped any potential trouble, maintained a low profile, and kept a considerable distance from the marines, there was a possibility for you to leave Loguetown without any harm done.

For a solid two hours, you practiced the appropriate speeches, and gestures, perfecting the craft of convincingly masquerading as a cabin boy. The moment you entered the city, you let yourself stride forward and absorb its vistas.

Truth be told, as you crossed the threshold under the 'Loguetown' sign, you were seized by a wave of exhilaration. After all, you had arrived at the most renowned place in the entire region, the very spot where the legendary Gold D. Roger met his end. You hadn't been particularly interested in pirates and their storied past, at least not until you left your homeland.

With a bounty now associated with your name, you had to submerge into the role, to a certain extent, emulating their attitude. You held no interest in the pursuit of the One Piece or the allure of reaching the Grand Line, yet you could not deny the captivating charm of the tales spun around these pursuits. They were nothing short of fantastically entertaining.

To say that Loguetown was beautiful would be a gross understatement. Its robust architecture was breathtaking, exhibiting perfect alignment and perpendicularity in its porches. You even managed to visit the very place where the former King of Pirates had been executed, joining a throng of curious tourists staring in awe at the barren scaffold. The plaza was incredibly expansive, far exceeding the scale you had seen in pictures and conjured in your imagination.

As you ambled through the town, you crossed paths with several marines on various streets, but none of them appeared to pay you any heed. You made pit stops at the numerous shops sprinkled throughout the many corners, amassing fresh supplies for your voyage and acquiring a selection of intriguing collectibles as mementos of your visit. You dared not try on the array of gorgeous clothing articles on display, as doing so risked compromising your disguise and revealing your true identity.

Discovering a wall plastered with wanted posters, you promptly identified yours amidst the myriad of other displayed names. Cautiously ensuring you weren't observed, you scanned your surroundings and bided your time for the perfect moment to act. With a quick, practiced movement, you tore off the poster and crammed it into your bag, walking away with your well-rehearsed masculine gait.

As dinner time neared and your stomach issued a growling protest, you decided it was time to treat yourself to a well-deserved break. You secured an open spot at a table beside the window, placing an order for a refreshing beverage and your favored dish. Things were proceeding so seamlessly that you began to wonder when the next hiccup would inevitably surface. Moreover, the primary purpose of your visit to Loguetown had not yet been fully verified.

Just as you were on the brink of giving up, a voice behind you uttered something that instantly perked up your ears.

"I'm tellin' ya lads, that Warlord's gonna lose his precious title sooner than he thinks. And that ain't all.”

Warlord…

His companions let out a robust laugh. "You sure are a brave one, captain.”

"Sure am," the man responded with confidence. "You think I'd skedaddle if I met him face to face? I know he's here, lurking somewhere. And the moment I lay eyes on him, hah! I'll claim the title of the world's strongest swordsman.”

Did he truly think he was strong enough to conquer the formidable Hawk-eye? You didn't need to glance at him to know he was signing his own death warrant.

Your lips spread into a joyful, amused grin. "Good luck with that."

You hadn't meant to provoke him, and indeed, your comment had inadvertently emerged a tad louder than you had intended. You couldn't resist, the compulsion to deride his arrogance coursing through your veins.

Why couldn't you just keep to your own affairs?

"What the hell did you just say?" the man retorted sharply.

Well, it was too late to retract your words now.

Taking a deep breath, you swiveled in your chair, draping your right arm over the backrest and spreading your legs in a casual, masculine posture.

"I wished you luck, mate," you answered, lowering your voice. "We're talking about Dracule Mihawk here. Haven't you heard the tales they spin about him?"

Now that you caught sight of his face, you knew your suspicion was accurate. The sword in his holster paled in comparison to Mihawk's blade.

The pirate's face split into a madman's grin. "Why, are you scared? Can't blame ya, lad. A scrawny runt like you surely has a long journey ahead.”

You arched an eyebrow at the taunting crew, eyeing them all with a hint of pity. "I certainly have no intention of getting bisected prematurely.”

"Aww, did you hear that? The little whelp is playing chicken.”

The more they cackled at your expense, the greater your pride swelled at the success of your disguise.

"Where's your mommy, kiddo? Did you get lost?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, crossing your left ankle over your right knee. "Nah. I'm just sitting here, savoring my meal, and conjuring up the image of your pathetic face at the moment of your defeat. That is, assuming your head will still be attached to your neck.”

Shit.

You had to curb your tongue given the sharpness of your reply, which predictably ignited a flame of anger on the pirate's face. The captain rose menacingly, peering down at you with furrowed brows and eyes ablaze.

It was crucial for you to steer clear of any potential trouble, and baiting that pirate was nothing short of inviting it.

“You little-”

Fortunately, his attention was diverted by another member of his crew who rushed in, hastily murmuring something into his ear. You watched as his expression morphed from one of contempt to satisfaction, his pupils expanding and gleaming in the warm tavern lighting.

"Heh, it's your lucky day," he declared. "Seems like I've got something more important to attend to.”

He gripped the hilt of his sword, still sheathed at his side, and tossed a handful of coins onto the table to cover the crew's drinks. "I've got a Warlord to take down, and a title to seize.”

Upon hearing that, your back stiffened and your eyes widened in surprise. You needed to make your decision promptly, grabbing the chance before it slipped away.

He knew where to find Mihawk, which implied you needed him.

Without allowing yourself a moment to think it over, you too laid down money next to your empty plate and pushed back your chair. Before the pirates could disappear from your sight, you bolted after them through the tavern's door, shouting at the top of your lungs with such force that you could practically feel your throat chafing. Masking your true vocal pitch proved to be harder than anything you had ever done.

“Wait!”

The men stopped and pivoted to face you, the captain examining you with a disinterested look. "What do you want?”

You were stringing together one audacious move after another, and this time, you needed to choose your words cautiously to avoid exacerbating the situation.

"Let me accompany you," you proposed. "I'd like to witness the fight firsthand.”

"And why should I allow you to tag along? Go back to your baby bottle and head to bed," he said dismissively.

Once again, you brushed off the sniggers and jeers from his crew, pressing your lips together and bowing before them.

"My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just a cabin boy... I've got a lot to learn.”

Yikes, your performance was so believable that it made you wince.

"The truth is, I aspire to be a formidable pirate one day, just like you," you fabricated. "But they don't let me do much on board, you see. All I do is scrub the deck and serve food. No one takes me seriously.”

If there was one thing you had gleaned about these individuals, it was their love for flattery, as it served to amplify their egos. In fact, the captain appeared notably gratified as you dared to peek up without breaking your bow.

Scratching his stubbled chin and pursing his lips to one side, he mused, "Well, your mommy did teach you some good manners, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, clenching your fists and beginning to feel a dull ache in your back.

"I s'pose I could let you watch. After all, there's no better lesson than witnessing a good combat.”

Ugh, thank the heavens.

"C'mon lad, move that puny backside of yours and keep up. Or else I'll leave ya behind.”

“Yes sir!”

You quickly moved toward the compact group of pirates, placing yourself squarely behind the captain, resting your hands in your trouser pockets. It was all too simple to lose sight of the role you were supposed to play, reason why you exerted every effort to shroud your feminine persona. They were oblivious, giving you friendly pats and sharing unasked-for advice on how to court a lady. The thought of their reactions, should they discover the secret you were disguising beneath your clothes, was something you could only speculate about.

You were uncertain of your destination. The crew ambled through the city, navigating hidden paths and narrow alleys, until urbanity was nearly out of sight. As you ventured further, you neared the second section of the archipelago, a natural enclave encircled by the soothing whisper of the ocean.

This was hardly surprising as Mihawk appeared to be quite a private person, showing no particular affinity for large gatherings.

The captain incessantly voiced his strong desire to claim the Warlord's title for himself. He sought to inspire fear in his adversaries and carry out illicit operations without the nuisance of marine intervention. Should he triumph over Mihawk on the battlefield, he could aspire to usurp his position and negotiate a pact with the world government.

You had to force yourself to hold your tongue to refrain from voicing your rebuttals, as you walked alongside the pirates in silence, harboring a deep-seated conviction that they might not survive this adventure.

Your primary focus was on the path you were treading, committing every twist and turn to memory.

The captain halted so suddenly that you collided with his back, causing a mild pain to shoot through your nose. You rubbed the affected area to alleviate the stinging sensation, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you emitted a soft grunt.

And then, the pirate spoke, his voice haughty as he addressed someone who was lying down in the sand some distance away.

"Heh, look at you, lounging so comfortably atop your damn pedestal.”

You shifted to the side, striving to get a clear view of the man's target. True to expectation, Dracule Mihawk was sprawled out in a large, vacant space in front of a rudimentary bonfire. One arm served as a cushion behind his head while the big hat covered his face.

You swallowed, your heart pounding unyieldingly at the mere sight of the man you were looking for. Mihawk appeared unperturbed and relaxed, barely stirring in response to the pirate's words.

"I challenge ya, Warlord. Engage me in combat, and let's determine who truly merits the title of the most formidable swordsman to ever exist!”

Mihawk raised the brim of his hat using his middle and forefinger, offering a sideways glance, his lips pulled into a discernible frown. He let the hat fall back into place, then gracefully elevated himself into a sitting posture.

He didn't even need to utter a word; it was evident that he had been enjoying a peaceful nap, one that the fool had chosen to disrupt.

"Lazing around, are we?" The pirate continued his taunt. "My apologies, princess.”

Your teeth gritted in growing anger, despite none of the vitriol being directed at you.

Slowly, with an elegance that was distinctly threatening, the Warlord rose to his feet, gripping his sword as he did so.

"Another insect aspiring to be crushed, I see.”

You stifled the laugh that instantly bubbled up in your throat, upon hearing Mihawk's casual, calm, yet distinctly derisive tone.

"Wha- I am no insect, you bastard!" The pirate's voice rose several octaves. "And I'm here to prove it!”

You were forced to step back to evade his elbow, which swung dangerously close to your cheekbone as he drew his sword from its scabbard. The entire crew rallied around their captain, and you prudently moved aside, folding your arms and assuming the pose of an intrigued spectator.

"Have it your way," Mihawk declared, effortlessly raising his dark blade as if it were weightless.

Everything unfolded so rapidly that your mind struggled to keep up. The captain lunged at his adversary, his blade cutting through the air and missing its mark with every strike, while Mihawk evaded them with ease. The Warlord's sword wasn't even raised; it hung loosely in his hand.

Eventually, Mihawk used the giant sword to parry a strike and thrust the pirate back with such force that the man skidded several feet away. Mihawk had barely moved, and no pressure had been applied to the weapon. It was as though he was wielding a psychic assault.

Yet, the man proved to be quite resilient, adamantly refusing to back down in the face of his obvious disadvantage. He attempted another attack, seeking to outflank Mihawk, only to be tossed aside like a ragdoll, spiraling through the air before landing heavily on his back.

Eventually, the other pirates joined the fray, assisting their captain to his feet and brandishing their own weapons. Guns, rifles, blades of varying lengths. Yet nothing managed to even graze Mihawk as he deftly parried every bullet, every slash, every kick or punch.

You leaned against a tree, a smug expression on your face as you observed the spectacle unfolding before you, anticipating an imminent retreat. One of Mihawk's assailants was launched so high that he was literally propelled off the cliff, his scream reverberating over a considerable distance until the distinct splash indicated his inevitable plunge into the water.

Finally, wearied by the racket and thoroughly bored, Mihawk lifted his sword above his head and struck the ground with such force that the entire area quaked and roared, causing you to stagger on your feet. As comedic as it appeared, the entire crew was sent sprawling in the sand, the sound of cracking bones reverberating in your ears. One by one, they rose on shaky legs, clutching at bleeding noses or broken limbs. As the crewmates began to flee for their lives, the captain mustered the strength to point a trembling finger in Mihawk's direction.

"I-it's not over, Warlord," he stammered out a threat. "Soon, you wretched bastard. Soon, you will be wiped from the face of this earth!”

Mihawk offered no response, merely gazing at the man without a hint of concern, and returning his sword to its place on his back. The pirate, now isolated, whimpered and staggered through the vegetation and rocks, nearly colliding with a tree due to his unsteady footing.

In the end, their conditions were much better than your predictions.

Silence surrounded you as you shifted your attention back to Mihawk, who was evidently studying you thoughtfully now. Your eyes locked, and for a few moments, you found yourselves in a mutual, contemplative stare, enveloped in absolute quiet.

You unfolded your arms, pushing off from the tree and daring to walk toward where he stood. Mihawk watched you, tilting his head slightly to the side, clearly recognizing something familiar about you.

In his presence, there was no need to maintain your false identity. So, you halted before him, mere inches separating your face from his.

Without so much as blinking, he reached for the bandana you were wearing, catching the edge of the cloth above your forehead and pushing it back. Gradually, your hair was set free, cascading down from its restraint.

He looked at you, holding the still-knotted bandana in his closed hand.

"Fancy meeting you here," you declared, a grin spreading across your face.

His lips thinned as he exhaled through his nose, handing you the piece of cloth and stepping back. "What brings you to Loguetown?”

His lack of apparent joy at seeing you caused a painful squeeze in your chest.

"I've made a deal with a merchant in Syrup Village, and I heard that what he's looking for can only be found in this place.”

The speed at which you could fabricate a plausible tale was quite impressive, if you did say so yourself.

"I highly doubt that you'll find anything in this part of the island.”

Right, that wouldn't justify why you arrived there with those pirates. You had to come up with another convincing explanation.

And you did.

"I overheard them talking. That pirate mentioned that he wanted to duel with you, and I thought it would be fun to watch. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Mh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Should I not?”

“I have no reason to lie.”

Mihawk continued to stare at you, his liquid gold eyes seeming to penetrate your very soul.

"This is not a safe place for you," he stated plainly.

“Hence the disguise.”

"You would need more than that.”

"I've been wandering around for half a day and no one has been the wiser.”

“I have.”

“You don’t count.”

While it was unclear whether he derived any enjoyment from this verbal sparring, you found it quite amusing.

"Why?" He inquired.

"I didn't even try with you. And besides, you are you. They don't bestow the title 'hawk-eyes' on the basis of mere whimsy, do they?”

“Point taken.”

You chuckled, running a hand through your hair to smooth it out. Mihawk cast a glance at the setting sun on the horizon, its beautiful orange hues highlighting the perfect contours of his nose, lips, and chin. In a way, it felt like a recurring scene, a déjà vu, something you found yourself experiencing repeatedly with him.

You undid the bandana's knot and tied it around your wrist for safekeeping. You also took off your gloves, tossing them into your bag, when amidst the multitude of supplies you had acquired, something caught your eye.

The flask of Loguetown's finest wine.

You retrieved the bottle and removed the cap, making yourself comfortable on the sandy terrain, not too far from the cliff's edge to fully appreciate the view. You could feel Mihawk's watchful scrutiny, observing you in silence, yet making no move to join you.

While not entirely surprising, his overt show of indifference was disappointing and difficult to endure.

"I'm genuinely surprised to see you," you confessed, attempting to spark a conversation. "I thought you had returned to the Grand Line by now.”

You heard the sound of his footsteps behind you, his coat rustling in the breeze. He returned to his previous spot by the fire, reclining on one side. "I have a few matters to attend to.”

For a moment, you were gripped by the notion that even your presence there might be immensely bothersome to him.

You took a hearty swig of wine, your jaw tightening. You didn't want to think of him as just another man, playing with your emotions only to cast you aside when you ceased to be useful to him. Was his act of saving your life previously just a ploy to secure adequate compensation for his service?

If that were the case, Mihawk might be a man of honor on the battleground, but as a person, he would be undeserving of any praise.

You did your best to deny it.

"Is that so? Are the marines constantly breathing down your neck?”

You waited, listening to the crackling sound of the fire as he stared into the flames, seemingly entranced.

“Sometimes.”

You could feel your blood boiling, coursing through your veins like lava, corroding your nerves.

"Is this a regular occurrence? Having to fend off pirates who aspire to claim your title?”

Mihawk merely moved his eyes, but within a second, his attention was refocused back to the fire. "More frequently than I'd prefer.”

You had feared this could happen – that he might stop sparing even a single word for you unless absolutely required. But now, with the confirmation of his aloofness towards you, the only thing you wanted to do was to withdraw, overcome by shame.

You were an adult woman, and never before had you succumbed so rapidly and completely to the charm of a man. Not even for Isaiah. How could you have acted so thoughtlessly, so childishly, so incredibly naive?

"I can imagine," you managed to utter, hoping for a reply that might disprove your assumptions. However, your hope transformed into pure dejection when he calmly folded his hands in front of him, demonstrating complete apathy.

You sealed the bottle, stood up from the ground, and dusted the sand off your trousers and boots. In a sudden surge of anger, you tossed the flask towards Mihawk, who caught it with a quick and smooth movement, though evidently taken aback.

You couldn't even pinpoint the motive behind your action, apart from a raw urge to fling something, anything, at him out of pure resentment.

"It's wine," you stated, pulling your hair back and covering it once more with the bandana. You tightened it so much that it almost caused discomfort at the back of your head, but at that moment, you couldn’t have cared less. "You can keep it.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, examining your every move, and taking note of the nervous manner in which you pulled your gloves back on.

"What is that?" He questioned.

“What do you mean?”

"You are mad.”

So, it seemed he was still capable of acknowledging your existence after all. But you had already hit your breaking point.

"Am I, really?”

As the sun descended beneath the line of the sea, your face was swallowed by shadow, adopting a gloomy expression that twisted with sudden disdain.

"It's getting late now, I need to leave.”

Grasping the strap of your bag, you spun on your heels, not waiting for his retort. "Safe travels, Warlord.”

A part of you longed for him to call your name, something you realized he had never pronounced aloud. You wished you were mistaken, that you hadn't wasted the past few days traveling for naught, but he didn't halt you. He didn't follow you. He wasn’t interested in making an effort.

In the end, he truly didn't care.

Admittedly, you weren't anticipating him to sweep you off your feet and kiss you the moment he saw you, but you were somewhat hoping for a more gentle consideration.

As difficult as it was to come to terms with, no matter how much your intimate encounter had been a delightful experience for you, it probably didn't leave a lasting impression on Mihawk.

The way he gently traced your scars with his fingertips, a touch that remained etched in your memory, suggested a certain tenderness. He had comforted you, aided you in his own distinct way. Could it all have been an act? Was every move, every utterance, a calculated performance with the sole intention to seduce you?

You couldn't completely rule out that possibility. Because there you were, right in front of him, within his reach, yet all he managed to do was to lie beside the fire, drained and indifferent.

Having to suppress your tears as you made your way back to the center of Loguetown left you feeling feeble, pitiful, and insignificant. How did you come to be so fascinated with such a cold man? What did you even see in him, beyond an attractive physique to derive pleasure from? He used to be your hunter, relentlessly pursuing you. Merely because he chose to let you be, purely out of curiosity about what might become of you in this world, you shouldn't have let your guard down.

Mihawk was playing with you out of boredom, and you had no intention of being a part of his game.

A game he was likely already weary of, in any case.

"A good man, you say?”

“Yes.”

"Don't be naive. I operate by my own rules, at my own pace. I can remove anyone without needing a particular reason, and I won't hesitate to topple those who dare to oppose me.”

In that moment, you couldn't help but think lowly of yourself. Mihawk had deceived you, big time. It wounded you more than you thought it would, but what happened had happened.

You'd be lying though, if you claimed it didn't shatter you.

That night, you spent a solid three hours submerged in the bathtub, chastising yourself for your illogical irrationality. The urge to cut your losses and depart was strong, but you were determined not to let everything be rendered futile because of one intolerable fool.

No, you wouldn't grant him the satisfaction of victory. You would remain in Loguetown for another day, adapting your disguise, perhaps to one that would enable you to procure those clothes you fancied. Your ship was quite nondescript, devoid of any distinguishing signs or flags. It was improbable that anyone would single it out and identify it as yours among the myriad of vessels berthed in the vicinity.

The skin on your hands was starting to prune from the prolonged exposure to water, and the once delicious warmth was now giving way to a more tepid temperature. You stepped out of the tub, inadvertently splashing water onto the floor, and swathed your body in a soft towel. You let it soak up the dampness as you aimlessly wandered around your cabin, simultaneously devising new plans for the upcoming days by making notes and markings on the map.

By then, you were well-acquainted with 98% of the East Blue, keenly aware that your available hideouts were dwindling and the necessity to don a disguise was becoming increasingly frequent. You couldn't rely on Isaiah's hospitality indefinitely, and you were still unable to get in touch with your family or return home.

Venturing into the Calm Belts was not a journey you could undertake solo, given its notorious reputation for harboring dangerous sea creatures. Despite the knowledge you had accumulated through your studies and adventures, your navigational skills weren't as refined as they needed to be, effectively confining you to one region. A few months of travel couldn't hold a candle to years of journeying.

With a worn-out sigh, you moved behind the bar counter to pour a strong glass of rum, potent enough to shake up your senses. It wasn't exactly your preferred beverage, and you only turned to it during the most difficult moments in your life.

You downed it in one swift gulp, experiencing a fiery burn in your throat and esophagus, and a startling effect on your mind. You grunted and gasped for air as you doubled over, hacking a few times, and nearly felt your legs buckle beneath you.

If anything, consuming it only served to intensify your discomfort.

You let the internal fire die down, casting an empty gaze at the couch where you and Mihawk had once sat together. Great, you thought to yourself. Now even your own place was conjuring up memories of the Warlord, precisely when you needed to erase any trace of ever knowing him.

Tightening the towel more securely around your body, you gripped the glass and moved to the sink to wash it. You stayed there a bit longer, letting the coolness of the running jet engulf your hands.

And then, courtesy of your honed instincts and intuition, you felt that something was not quite right.

You stayed motionless, your ears straining to catch any noises, any subtle changes in the air. On the surface, one might assume that everything was proceeding as usual, that all was as it should be. But the more you scrutinized the situation, the stronger your conviction became that you weren't alone in that cabin.

Somehow, goosebumps prickled at the back of your neck, ignited by the eerie perception of being watched by something, or perhaps someone.

You allowed the sink to keep running, while discreetly opening the drawer in front of you to grab the gun you maintained there as a secondary weapon. You released the glass, and with your hands still wet, you whirled around, the pistol loaded and aimed.

Your finger was poised on the trigger, ready to discharge. But the moment your gaze met those unique golden irises, belonging to only one man in the entire world, your heart skipped a beat.

"Mihawk, what the hell!”

You had taken care to secure the cabin door before withdrawing to the washroom. How had he managed to enter so seamlessly without even damaging the handle? As you glanced at it, all seemed to be in perfect order, as if untouched.

Isaiah's theory about Mihawk not being human was starting to seem incredibly plausible. He was something beyond ordinary.

"I could have shot you," you cautioned him, exhaling a long sigh of relief and returning the gun to its place in the drawer.

He was as impassive as ever, not even exhibiting a single twitch. “That remains to be seen.”

"What are you even doing here?" You questioned him, folding your arms in annoyance.

His level of self-control was admirable, considering you stood practically nude before him, clad only in a towel that barely reached your thighs. His gaze steadfastly remained on your face, never once straying lower.

However, you were uncertain if you regarded it as positive, or found it extremely demoralizing.

"I believe our discussion isn't concluded," he stated.

Puzzled, you arched your eyebrows. "Huh?”

"When you departed earlier, there was something you intended to tell me.”

"You’re wasting your time, then. I have nothing to say to you.”

“You are doing it again.”

Pressing your lips together, you waited for the water to taper off until just a few droplets fell, punctuating the silence.

When he didn't add anything else, you took the initiative to speak. "Doing what, exactly?”

You noticed his expression of impatience, despite his exterior of calm and composure. He looked up and tensed his jaw, apparently irritated by something you had done.

"You're employing that tone of arrogance,” he responded.

"So you walked all this way to my ship and broke into my cabin, for what? Just because you noticed I was having a bad day?”

You had no idea how to interpret that at all.

Eventually, he ceased being evasive. "If you have a problem with me, Cutthroat, speak frankly.”

Oh, now he had really done it. Using the appellative from your bounty poster was certainly not the smartest move.

You despised that name. The existence of a bounty on your head was loathsome to you. The label of being a criminal and the constant need to flee was something you abhorred.

"Screw you. That's not my damn name.”

Even though you had bid him goodbye earlier, he hadn't budged an inch. Hours later, he intruded into your private quarters demanding an explanation, and you couldn't decipher whether it was driven purely by self-interest and ego, or if there was genuine concern at play.

Again, he barely blinked, showing no disturbance to your outburst over the nickname he chose to use.

Feeling exhausted, mentally drained, and at a loss for words, you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, if you don’t mind, I'd really like to get dressed and go to bed. Can we reschedule this conversation, or whatever it's supposed to be?”

You held the towel firmly with one hand as you moved away from the counter, purposefully bypassing his eyes as you walked past him.

You couldn't even reach the nightwear spread out on your bed because he wouldn't allow it, gripping your upper arm with such force that you were rendered immobile.

"Are you serious right now??”

You tried to extricate yourself from his hold, but it was akin to battling against a boulder. His face was so stern it was almost frightening now, and that only served to stoke your own anger even further.

You wished to keep it to yourself, because what would you gain from admitting that you had hoped for something he couldn't offer you? Yet he persisted, he encroached upon your privacy and even dared to restrain you. What had you left to lose?

"You want to know what my problem is? You are the problem, Mihawk. I was right there with you, yet you made me feel like I was invisible. The thing we had last time, what was that about?”

Now it was he who looked at you with a bewildered expression. "I'm fairly certain that both of us are aware of what transpired.”

You growled in frustration. “Well of course. But the question is, what did it mean to you?”

"What significance are you looking for?”

The lump in your throat resurfaced. "I don't know. We had fun, no doubt, but if you’re under the impression that I'm some sort of plaything, you're seriously mistaken.”

“I never claimed you were.”

“No, but your actions suggested it.”

He paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted. Damn it. Why did they have to be so perfect and inviting…?

"I'm not the type who flits about with men on each island,” you emphasized.

"If you were, I wouldn't be interested. You're making assumptions based on nothing.”

Your arm relaxed under his hold, your shoulders sagging. Had you perhaps grossly misjudged the situation, forming your own conclusion and seen only what your selfishness permitted?

Or were you simply too scared of your own feelings, too lacking in courage to confront him directly?

"I carefully choose my allies, and I don't permit just anyone to hover around me.”

Mihawk had explicitly stated that he operated solely on his own terms and by his own rules, indicating his non-acceptance of any external pressure. His interest in you was genuine, but concurrently, he wanted to be the one holding the reins, the initiator of whatever was brewing between you, whenever and only if he felt so inclined.

You had approached him at the least suitable time, exactly when he was craving a moment of solitude. He wasn't indifferent, he simply needed patience and rest.

"I don't hover around you," you clarified. "I have more important things to do than just latch onto a man.”

His hold on your bicep eased, but not quite enough to let you go. "That's how it should be. Now, have you managed to shake off your sour temper?”

Ugh, he was so exasperating.

"Keep pushing like that and you'll get more than just a sour temper.”

As he raised his head slightly to look at you with a hint of dominance, you noticed his nostrils flaring and his pupils dilating. You felt it again, that potent allure towards him, the physical need that engulfed you from within.

"Get against the wall.”

You blinked once, then twice, followed by a third time in quick succession.

“I’m sorry, wha-”

"Comply with my instructions.”

You swallowed, not from fear, but because of the evident desire detectable in his voice.

Mihawk removed his hat and set it on the counter stool as you retreated, stepping back one foot at a time. He trailed after you, keeping his fingers clasped around your upper arm, until your back came into contact with the wooden wall and a soft gasp escaped from you.

Your faces were so close that you could feel his breath, slow and warm, brushing against your skin. In contrast, your own breathing was turning more rapid and shallow, with your heart hammering fiercely in your chest, the towel adding a bit of tightness.

"I'll say it again," you murmured. "I'm not a diversion, Mihawk.”

“And I’ll repeat it as well: you wouldn’t be worthy of my time if it were any different.”

You recognized that it wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but the realization that he wasn't simply exploiting you, that he had chosen you, and only you, for this shared pursuit, was enough to offer some solace.

And so, you graced him with a content, satisfied smile, before crashing your lips onto his, your fingers weaving into the back of his hair. The kiss was fervent, your tongue instantly seeking entry, the tip engaging with his. Mihawk pressed you more firmly against the wall, at last releasing your arm.

He devoured you, his mouth wide open, skillfully and ardently maneuvering over yours. His taste bore a hint of wine, suggesting that he might have partaken of the one you had given him (or more accurately, hurled at him) back in Loguetown. You didn't put up any resistance when he grabbed your towel, roughly yanking it off you. In an instant, you were totally exposed and available for his gaze, and you reveled in the sensation of his skin under your palms.

His mesmerizing golden eyes held your attention as he gracefully retrieved his sword. With great care, he disengaged it from its resting place on his back and lodged it strategically by the bathroom door.

His coat slid off his shoulders as your hands ascended, but didn't fully drop. Nonetheless, the fact that he never wore a shirt made the sight all the more tantalizing. You were ravenous, desperate for him and his touch. You leaned into Mihawk, pressing your lips to his once more. The coarse texture of his beard gently tickled your chin.

His hands traced a path down your scarred back, finally coming to rest on your hips. There, they clutched a generous portion of your flesh, holding you securely. With every subsequent kiss, your moans magnified in volume, and as he began to rhythmically press his pelvis against your core, his eagerness for you became unmistakably clear.

He was rock-hard, impressively so.

"Mihawk, please," you implored. “Make it quick.”

"You seem rather impatient," he noted.

"Yes, well. Unless you've stashed another sword in your trousers, I'd argue you're in the same boat," you retorted.

In response, he only hummed, a silent admission of your assertion.

"There's no need for another sword when I have Yoru," he declared.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you questioned, "Yoru? You've actually given your blade a name?”

"Yoru is not just any blade."

With a smile, you playfully teased, "Doesn't the saying go that named swords are cursed?”

"That's mere chatter. Nothing but a joke."

He guided his lips down to your neck, gently caressing your skin and sending shivers rippling through your entire form. His right hand meandered down to his belt, leisurely unfastening the buckle holding it in place. At the same time, his tongue darted out to flirt with one of your now perked and overly sensitive nipples, causing your eyes to close involuntarily as your nails dug into his back in a state of ecstatic surrender.

All the while, Mihawk diligently worked his trousers down his legs, just far enough to allow his arousal to spring forth, standing proud and rigid.

Diverting your eyes away from his hardness proved futile as he wrapped his roughened fingers around the flushed and velvety tip. A steady pumping motion was established, the soft sliding sound of skin on skin resonating in your ears. It was an intensely erotic scene, and incredibly beautiful to behold.

He was a masterpiece.

"How much longer is this going to take?" you griped, your tone resembling a child voicing discomfort.

"Come now. You surely don't want to rush through this, do you?" he queried.

He was intent on taking his time, to tantalize you, to revel in the sight of you squirming because of him.

"Careful, my dear. You don't wish for me to go hard on you, trust my word," he warned.

"I beg to differ, because you already are.”

He paused momentarily, looking at you with a "seriously?" expression in response to your less than stellar attempt at humor.

At that, you simply chuckled, bestowing a gentle peck on his cheek.

"Whatever. You can break me for all I care," you declared defiantly.

As he nipped at your throat, your back reflexively arched, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, adding another layer of excitement to the already electrifying atmosphere.

"Mh. Hopefully it won't have to come to that.”

His hardness twitched and bobbed as he gave it a final stroke before releasing it. He then grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up from the floor as if you were feather-light. You looped your arms around his neck for support, burrowing your heels into his legs.

"You truly want this," he asserted.

"You don’t say. As if you hadn't been planning this from the start," you shot back.

"You have a sharp tongue,” he commented, his tip grazing your entrance.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy i-ngh!"

Your words were interrupted by a sudden intake of breath. He penetrated you without any prior preparation, stretching you to an almost unimaginable extent and giving you time to adapt to his size. Just like the previous time, he didn't impose himself upon you, nor was he in a hurry to find his own pleasure before you were fully prepared.

In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. All the negative thoughts you harbored before he came to you, the resentment you felt towards him for his perceived carelessness, were all grounded in a misconception of his true character.

And now, you were beginning to seee him for who he really was.

To him, principles and honor were paramount. It seemed as if the same ethical code he followed as a swordsman was also applied to your intimacy. He was exceptional in all aspects, fueling the certainty that you craved more of his presence in your life.

Praise the day he was dispatched to locate you in the East Blue.

It's fascinating how circumstances can transform within a matter of minutes. One moment you were feeling as low as a crestfallen dog, the next, you found yourself entwined with him, with his manhood embraced by your warmth.

You claimed his lips again, fervently, holding the kiss until he established a rhythm of steady movements. Your back slid up and down the wall, your chest undulating. His pelvis executed precise thrusts, back and forth, repeatedly, the pattern soon enhanced by a swirling motion, hitting just the perfect spot within your walls.

It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and yet, you craved for even more.

Even amidst the physical activity, Mihawk's breathing was remarkably controlled and composed. It gave the impression that he was only showcasing a sliver of his actual strength to you. As you raked your nails down his spine, his coat slid further down his arms. He barely reacted, taking deep breaths and swallowing hard to keep his primal instincts in check.

"I'm not as fragile as you think," you whispered into his ear, teasing the outer edge with your tongue. "Please, don't restrain yourself on my behalf."

If anything, your words prompted Mihawk to slow down the act. He looked at you with a pair of astonished eyes, deep and darkened with hunger.

"You aren't aware of what you're asking for."

In reaction to his words, you gifted him another smile. It was authentic, tender, sweet, and filled with affection - a type of smile he had never truly witnessed before. You cradled the right side of his face in your hand, your thumb gently caressing his cheekbone.

The feeling of his beard against your palm, somehow, imparted a sense of true vitality in you.

“Then let me find out,” you countered.

He hesitated, examining your face for any signs of doubt, yet he found none. With newfound reassurance, he resumed his deep thrusts inside you, amplifying the speed and vigor as he continued. Responding to his movements to the best of your ability, you struggled to keep your legs from wavering. On numerous occasions, he had to lift you higher with his hands and hips, yet you were so deeply immersed in the moment that the knife pendant grazing your skin with its edges barely registered.

They weren't sharp, but the continuous contact and pressure were causing reddened areas on your skin.

The scratches forming did not elude Mihawk's notice. The Warlord briefly took his hands away from you to remove it, letting it fall onto your rumpled towel on the floor before continuing.

"There's no need to be brave," he admonished, "If you're in pain, don't keep it to yourself.”

The level of consideration he was extending to you was genuinely touching and unexpected.

You shook your head in negation. "I assure you, I wasn't in pain. Nothing could compare to what I endured at that Marine base.”

Your expression darkened at the mere mention of your past, but Mihawk didn't allow you to linger on it. Instead, he moved forward again, swiveling his hips, delighting in the moan that escaped your lips as he cupped one of your breasts with his hand.

Time appeared to stand still as Mihawk relentlessly drove in and out of you. You could feel your climax building up in your lower belly, threatening to break free. His low, barely audible groans were utterly intoxicating, and the way he peered into into your eyes with his wild, fervent irises sent shivers of ecstasy coursing through your limbs.

Mihawk was gaining as much pleasure from the act as you were, evident by the way his manhood throbbed inside of you. Your clitoris was pulsating, teetering on the edge of climax. It was tantalized, enticed, but left completely neglected.

It was too much, too exquisite, too fulfilling. No man had ever achieved this level of perfection during lovemaking; none of your past partners had demonstrated such wonderful pelvic rotation or precision.

As though intuiting your needs, Mihawk subtly moistened his lower lip with his tongue, trailing his mouth along your jaw and halting at your earlobe. "Touch yourself," he commanded.

Your heart seemed to leap into your throat and then plummet into your stomach, only to start pounding rapidly and erratically in your chest. His demand was intensely personal, even somewhat embarrassing. But despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you found your hand instinctively and obediently drawing a path from just below the curve of your breasts, down to your navel.

His thrusts had once again slowed down, allowing him to watch you with complete attentiveness. Your fingers trailed lower, reaching your pubic bone and forming a 'V' shape with your fore and middle fingers. They hovered around the sensitive bud, not directly touching it.

You used your other hand to alter your position, securing a firmer hold around the back of his neck, right at the base of his spine. You manipulated your fingers so that they brushed the sides of your clit, teasing it, but not fully providing the stimulation it craved. You knew you were on the right track when Mihawk's hips gave a sudden jerk, his arousal quivered against your core, and his knuckles turned white around your knee, holding it up.

Eventually, unable to prolong the anticipation any longer, you caressed your clit with the tips of your fingers, using the moisture pooling there to facilitate your ministrations. Mihawk's appreciation was expressed through another low hum. He resumed his thrusts, but his golden irises seemed to be more centered on your spectacle rather than his own nearing release.

"Harder," he instructed, his voice holding a hint of frustration.

A smirk appeared on your lips as you tightened your walls around him. Your fingers quickened their rhythm, propelling you closer and closer to the electrifying climax you were yearning for.

"Just like that," he urged you. "Let me see how good it can be.”

All it took was a final push against your sensitive spot, combined with the ideal stroke from your own fingers on the tiny nerve ending beneath the hood. Your climax was beyond anything imaginable, utterly transcendent, causing you to moan out his name. It made you twitch and claw at his skin anew, projecting a breathtaking vista of a starry sky behind your closed eyelids.

Above everything else, you could assert with certainty that it was the most intense, most earth-shattering orgasm you had ever experienced.

As soon as you descended from your height, Mihawk braced his palm against the wall, supporting you and flexing his legs to deliver a few more forceful pushes into you. He grunted in your ear with the ardor of a lustful beast.

Your muscles were ablaze, your nerves shrieking. But you wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

And when he reached his completion, you found yourself soaring to the pinnacle of bliss for the second time. His eyes remained locked onto yours, unflinching. His lips were parted, teeth nearly gritted but not quite meeting, his neck was strained.

You coupled like there was no tomorrow, akin to two birds of prey in the throes of their mating season.

Wow. Just wow.

As you attempted to disentangle your legs from his waist, he had to sustain you with his arms to keep you upright. You murmured an apology, pressing against his chest and finding it incredibly difficult to extricate yourself from his hold. You expected him to leave you there, collect his belongings, turn away and exit. However, this time, things took a different turn.

He kept looking at you, his gaze entrancing, hypnotic. Your eyes landed on his lips, and when you moved to claim them for one final kiss, he didn't pull away. Your lips connected in a soft, open contact, the tip of his tongue meeting yours midway, tasting it, merging with it.

If anyone had asked you to describe it, you would have found it impossible to put it into words.

You concluded the exchange by capturing his lower lip between yours, softly nibbling on it. With your legs now able to support your weight again, you picked up the towel from the floor, also gathering the cross knife that Mihawk had dropped. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, you draped the towel over your front and handed the weapon back to the Warlord, which he promptly accepted and secured in its place.

As he straightened his coat, you headed for your clothes strewn across the mattress. Mihawk had tactfully turned away to provide you with some room and privacy, and a smile crept onto your face as you shed the towel completely, beginning to dress in your nightwear one piece at a time.

You were incredibly tired by now, stifling a yawn, and unceremoniously flinging yourself onto the bed. Any formalities with him had long since vanished.

"I've got a variety of drinks in there if you'd like something. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Mihawk swiveled towards you, his customary stoic expression reassembled, observing as you stretched out your arms and comfortably nestled against the pillow. You were so visibly exhausted, fading into sleep, that your mind was starting to switch off.

There was only one thing you wished to express to him, and you aimed to do it before you were too fatigued to string together a comprehensive sentence.

"And Mihawk," you started. "Thank you for seeking me out.”

You didn't know if he had heard you. You couldn't even ascertain if he was still in the room. He was so stealthy and cunning that it wouldn't surprise you if he had already slipped out without you noticing any sound.

Yet there he was, silently observing you as you drifted into peaceful slumber, and the soft lighting highlighted your delicate eyelashes.

And just as he was about to replace his hat and retrieve Yoru before making his departure, something guided his hand in a different direction.

An intuition urged him to remain, at least for a little while longer.

You roused in the middle of the night, discovering the lights in your cabin completely turned off as darkness shrouded everything around you. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, as you rolled to the other side and blinked away the grogginess.

When you noticed a form taking shape beside you, suggestive of someone sleeping next to you, you squinted in confusion. For a moment, sheer panic seized you, worried that a bounty hunter had managed to track you down in Loguetown's harbor and was about to attack you in your vulnerable state. But then, catching sight of that familiar nose, those lips you had tasted time and time again, the distinctive beard with its sharply pointed sideburns, and the cute mole on his left cheekbone, your heart softened and found tranquility.

There was Mihawk, lounging in your bed fully clothed except for his hat, his boots still on and neatly crossed off the mattress. His position was unconventional, more a diagonal slant, but you could sense the warmth radiating from his body, and hear the gentle cadence of his breathing as air flowed in and out of his nostrils. His arms were crossed over his chest, with the golden knife he wore suspended to the left as it hung from his neck.

Had he opted to stay as a form of safeguard given your status, or had he merely decided to rest considering the late hour? Regardless of his reasoning, it was nice to share the presence of another after such a long period of solitude. Isaiah had never had the opportunity to spend an entire night with you, as you would always dress and sneak away as soon as his eyes closed.

Drawing nearer to Mihawk, you scrutinized his features, softly running your hand over his clothed shoulder, until you succumbed to sleep once again.

The next morning, all that remained on the other side of the bed was a note, written in flawless calligraphy, which read: "I'll see you around.”

Evidently, Mihawk wasn't quite ready to return to the Grand Line just yet.

And you couldn't have been more pleased about it.

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

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

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