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glimmerlofsea · 4 months

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Jason Scott x Reader

RANGER WHAT?

PT. 1.

Warning : Fightinggg

WC; 3,5k

#TALKISSA; This part two of 'Ranger What'!

Jason explain it to you all the parts and every detail. That Jason and his friends are the Power Rangers, heroes of Angel Grove— well, your brain can still accept it. But not when he started mentioning that you were the next Ranger, the Lost Ranger, the White Ranger with their instinct abilities, and other nonsensical things.

You sat on a chair in the empty room, Jason sat next to you,

"...And we purposely arranged the tour to come to this museum, because we just found out that our last coin was here, Y/N. And it called you, didn't it? That means you are-"

"A Ranger, yes I know." You replied, cutting him off, still trying to digest what he said.

Your gaze was locked on the floor, Jason said being a Ranger required great sacrifice, even if you guys had to die you had to be ready- but you couldn't. Never will.

"Jason." You turned to him, "I have a family, Jeremy is not old enough to be able to take care of my father who is getting older, if I do this and what if I die? What if I fall? I'm not a soldier. I'm just a girl-"

"Hey, hey."

You stop what you're talking about,

"I won't let that happen. We won't let that happen."

He held your hand, holding it tightly, "We take care, we protect each other because that is our principle."

You controlled your breath, "I can't. I still can't."

"The coin chose you, Y/N. It has to be you. Somehow, the coin believes that you are the right choice for it." Kimberly said which made you looking at her.

You could feel Jason releasing his grip, "How about we get reacquainted first?"

"Y/N. I'm Jason Scott, The Red Ranger."

"Kimberly Hart. Kim, The Pink Ranger."

"Billy Cranston. The Blue Ranger."

"Zack Taylor, The Black Ranger."

"Trini Kwan. The Yellow Ranger."

You look at the girl named Trini, she looked petite and very beautiful, she looked like she had Latin blood.

"I love yellow." You said while smiling slightly looking at her, she smiled, "Thank you."

"Your turn, Y/N." Jason said.

You nodded and looked at them all, "Y/N Y/L/N."

They all seemed to be waiting for you to say what color Ranger you got, you smiled awkwardly and shook your head, "No. That's not gonna happen and I won't say it."

"You're still in denial, I get it, Y/N. But the coin chose you. There's nothing we can do about that, and we can't just change it." Trini said walking towards you.

You took a breath.

And here you are, trying to accept the fact that you were one of them, the heroes of Angel Grove.

You and the others are walking towards a mine that is still under construction.

Trini and Kim were seen early in front, Billy and Zack chatted and joked, you walked alone behind. Your mind is not in sync with your body, as if someone is taking over your body.

You felt your feet slipping, until finally a hand grabbed yours,

You widened your eyes with what just happened, you could have died.

"Careful, White." Jason said smiling, you faked a smile, "Yeah, thank you, Red." He chuckled at your reply.

He matched his footsteps with yours, "Jason,"

He cleared his throat, you opened your mouth, "The huge sacrifice that a ranger requires... Have you ever done it? I mean- on the verge of death and so on?"

He smiled, "No. You know, the last time Angel Grove was under siege by evil—like huge gold-plated monsters was a few months ago, so that's when me and the others were really fighting for our lives."

You nodded and took a breath, "Hey," he said which made you look at him, "I know maybe you're nervous, feel weird, scared, and so on, believe me, I was like that too when I first experienced it. But, Y /N, everything will be fine. We'll just take you to Zordon and you'll take a little training."

You nod again,

"Guys, we have reached the edge of the cliff. Do you want to jump first or jump straight into the water?"

You heard Zack screaming. Slowly you advanced your steps— and saw how high it was to reach the surface of the water. You didn't know the Angel Grove mine had this.

"Forget it, I'll go straight into the water." Zack said, he looked at you and waved his hand, "See you, odd girl."

He immediately dropped to the surface there, you swallowed your thirst, Billy followed Zack, Trini grabbed your shoulder before she caught up with Billy and Zack, Kim approached you, "Don't worry, we won't die." She smiled and jumped.

You just stay silent, it was just you and Jason left up there. You looked at Jason who smiled at you, “Jump together?”

"I would love to do that."

Jason took your hand to hold it, "Ready?" You nodded.

You can't explain the situation, but when you jump you scream as loud as you can and it feels like you're in the air for a long time, like you're moving in slow motion, you know?

Once you reach the surface of the air, you close your nose to not let air in.

You floated in the air and saw Zack, Kim, Trini, Billy, and Jason looking at you. You rubbed your face so the air on your face wouldn't interfere with your vision, feeling strange that they were all staring at you, you let out a voice, "What?"

"You are the brightest." Billy said.

You were confused, but after seeing their bodies glow according to the color they had, you looked at your own body which was surrounded by white light. You let out a smile, happy to see the radiation of the light you had.

"Okay. Without further ado, let's go to Zordon?" Kim said a little hesitantly.

You nod, they start to dive back down, you follow them, and suddenly in your blurred vision in the water you see them slowly disappear as they touch the reflection of the water. Only yourself is left in the water, you are out of breath, for now you won't ask too many questions, you follow them.

Touch the reflection and everything is upside down, you fall due to gravity. Luckily you didn't fall right to the bottom of the rock, you groaned and then realized you were on top of someone, you widened your eyes when you realized you were on top of Jason, your hair was still wet, dripping onto Jason's shirt.

"Hello there," he said with a sly smile, you stiffened and immediately smiled awkwardly, maybe you could say you were a little comfortable with that position...?

You heard Billy clear his throat, you immediately got up and stood up straight, "Sorry,"

"No problem." Jason smiled back, he also aroused himself like you.

You shook the dirt off your clothes, that's when you realized that you were in a cave.

"Come on," said Trini.

You follow them, and are amazed by what you see, a large ship hiding in the cave. Long story short, they take you on the ship,

"Zordon! Zordon! Zordon! She's here! The white ranger is here!"

You hear a shrill voice shout. That's when you see robot prototypes walking around. You were so confused that you put on your stupid face, you heard Jason chuckle, “Come here.”

You follow Jason, "That's Alpha 5. Weird I know, but can we say he's like our mentor's assistant?"

You nod.

You are taken to a room that could be said to be the heart of this ship,

"Y/N Y/L/N. White ranger. Welcome back."

You were speechless... What really spoke to you was just a face, "Oh my fucking god." you whispered.

You heard the face chuckle, "I know it's weird, as do the rest of your friends when they set foot here. And I'm so glad our missing Ranger is back. It was nice meeting you, Y/N."

You smiled awkwardly, "Nice to meet you too, Zordon?" Your tone sounds unsure.

"I'm sure Jason has explained everything to you?" Zordon asked, you nodded, “Then today we will try to get you to morph into your costume, understand?” You nodded your head a second time.

"And how?"

You are taken to another cave on the ship, but Zordon's voice can still be heard.

"Actually, our previous enemy has fallen... And I'm not sure I would use a hologram of our old enemy. So, Y/N, you will fight your friend." Alpha 5 said, at first you were confused, “What?”

Until you see the 5 Angel Grove heroes in their costumes, you chuckle in disbelief, "I won't fight them in those costumes, right?" You looked at Alpha 5, he didn't say anything back, "I wish you a good luck, Y/N."

You looked back at those who were really ready to fight you, "Great. I'm fucking dying."

You prepare your moves, you actually don't know how to actually fight, it's only because you often watch several movies that you know some of the moves you have to use when fighting.

The blue one stepped forward— Billy came forward to fight you, his movements were very fast, he threw a punch but you quickly dodged and kicked him, your legs were in pain from the attack of the silver plated costume, "Damn it!"

Not long after, Trini and Kimberly came forward, Trini managed to land a punch on your face while Kim aimed for your stomach, you felt cramps all over your body, you tried to fight it, slowly you twisted your leg so that Trini suddenly fell, when Kim's attention was distracted by Trini, you punched her in the face which was visible through her mask.

You felt blood flowing from your nose, you saw Zack who was advancing his steps, you immediately wiped your blood, he pushed you until you were cornered on the rocks of the cave, you hit his back using your elbow, you thought you were starting to get used to the presence of this coin on you. You feel.. Stronger.

You kicked Zack's genitals with your knee, cliche but successful enough to send Zack sprawling on the floor. You immediately chuckled at him.

No sooner had you seen Jason standing side by side with Kim, as if they were ready to fight you, again, than you groaned, “Ugh.”

Kim goes forward and throws all the punches she can, you grab her hand and twist it so she groans, you immobilize her on the surface and push her far away.

You looked at Jason who was taking off his mask, he smiled, "You're getting used to it, aren't you?"

You smiled and he put his mask back on, "Take it easy on me, Red." You said before your fight started.

Your fight with Jason didn't require what you went through with all of them, he didn't hesitate to throw punches, kicks and whatever he had to paralyze you. You threw your fists, but he grabbed your hands and lifted you onto his shoulders then pushed you back, making you groan, you took the opportunity to wrap your legs around his neck.

"Sorry." You said before hitting him on the head again with your elbow, making him lose his balance and the two of you just fell.

"It's so tense here!" shouted Alpha 5.

As you fell together, Jason and you looked at each other before you were completely pressed against him, he was on top of you, holding your hand with both of his. Your breathing is irregular, you try to control your breath.

He took off his mask and showed a sly smile, "Am I 'take it easy on you', White?"

You smiled, “Sure you are.”

You heard a lot of fake coughs, as did Jason, you immediately stood up, you were amazed to see that their costumes had completely changed to how they were before.

You sigh, "So what? I don't see me 'morphing'?"

Trini looked at Kim, then Kim looked at you, "If this doesn't work, then we'll do something else."

"Oh, please, don't fight anymore. My body hurts so bad." You whined.

Jason chuckled, "No, we won't. Come on."

You follow them, they take you to the edge of the mine which is not far from Zack's residence, he said. You sat around the campfire, you sat between Zack and Jason.

You took off your leather jacket to reveal yourself wearing only a white tank top, you looked behind your shoulder which had many wounds, you thought that during the fight you accidentally rubbed against a rock.

"So what are we going to do? I don't think I have much time because my dad will be worried and I really need to treat this." Your words ended by pointing to several wounds on your face.

Zack chuckled, "You pretty much beat us there, Y/N. I mean... You're cool because you can fight us in costume."

You smiled, "Thank you. And I'm sorry for kicking your dick."

Zack was seen feeling embarrassed while the others laughed. You brought out your sly smile.

“Did you learn martial arts, Y/N?” Trini asked, you shook your head, “I watched a lot of movies, plus this coin's ability, I think I became more… I don't know, stronger?”

Trini smiled and nodded.

“So, the first thing we do when we can't change is open up to each other, Y/N.” Kim said.

You nod your head, “Okay, then my assignment is open to you all?” You looked at everything slowly, until your gaze stopped on Jason who nodded.

You don't mind sharing your story, "Okay.. I'm Y/N Y/L/N, a new kid from a town far from here. I live with my dad and my little brother, Jeremy, who really likes you guys. I mean, really. Like a maniac. And you have a lot of that maniacs, Scott." You said looking at Jason, the others groaned making Jason chuckle shyly.

You smile.

"Where is your mom?" Billy asked, your smile faded, things got quiet, Zack slapped Billy lightly on the chest, "Dude."

Billy, who looked confused, showed his flat face, "What?"

You smiled, "It's okay. Actually I don't know. And I never want to know. She was rude. To me, to my father, and before she managed to touch Jere, my father decided to move first leaving my mother. And I'm glad he did it."

"She was not only physically abusive... But mentally, she often cursed me with obscene words, such as being called a odd girl, a worthless girl, kind of a bitch, and other insults."

Recalling all those bad memories made you stare straight at the fire and felt warm drops of water fall from your face, you felt someone gently caress your back—and without you looking you knew it was Jason.

You blinked a few times and tried to smile, “That's all I think?”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.” Kim said followed by nods from Billy and Trini.

You smiled, "No need, Kim. But thanks."

"Okay... And as I remember the last time we morphing there must have been a sacrifice?" Zack asked.

You looked at him quickly, your whole face tensing up, Zack chuckled, "No, I'm kidding. It's just because of that creepy witch, Rita."

You breathed a sigh of relief.

At first Zack chuckled, but his smile disappeared again when he looked at you, again and again you were confused, they all looked at you, "What?"

You looked at Jason who smiled in awe, "You did morphing."

You look at your own body in a white costume... You did it! Whatever the term, you morphed!

But it's strange that you don't wear a mask like them...

“But why isn't she wearing a mask?” Billy asks which one is confusing you.

“Take her to Zordon, perhaps?” Trini suggested.

"Good job, Y/N. I didn't expect you to change so quickly." Zordon said to you.

"Thank you. But do you have a reason why I'm not wearing a mask?"

"Oh! Of course. Don't panic, the White Ranger doesn't have a mask because its ability is specifically for physical contact. If you want to use your contact ability, you need eyes to see clearly without a mask."

Ah, that makes sense.

"So cool! Can I be white?!" Zack exclaimed while laughing.

"No." Zordon answered, making you laugh a little.

"However, Y/N. Promise me, all of us, to use your abilities only for good, only for Ranger purposes, and no evil."

You nodded your head, “Thank you for entrusting this coin to me.”

You could see Zordon smile, "You're the one who deserves it, kid. Wear it well."

After that you separated from Trini, Kim, Zack, and Billy. Jason offered to take you home since he was the one who caused all this. If I'm not mistaken, you only got home at 2 in the morning.

The streets were very quiet, Angel Grove was very quiet, only Jason and your footsteps could be heard.

Until you were in front of your house, "This is where we have to part ways." You said with a smile.

He smiled, "It's a shame I still want to spend time with you."

You chuckled, "Thank you. Thank you for promising me and believing in me, Jace."

He chuckled, "Jace? I love that. And also, anytime, Y/N. And everything I said on the bus, it's true, I watch you a lot in class."

You stepped forward and kissed his cheek, then stood up again, “Goodnight.”

Before you heard his answer, you went straight into your house, usually your father would turn on the lights if you weren't home yet, but not this time. Something is wrong and you don't like it.

You open your door... The door is unlocked.

You felt something was wrong, because you felt Jason was still there you screamed his name, "Jason!"

You see your house is completely a mess. Your family photo frame is broken, scattered on the floor,

"What's wrong?!" Jason exclaimed.

You didn't answer him, your breath was already short, you were afraid, you were afraid that the consequences you got as a Ranger would be passed on to your father, and what was worse... to Jeremy.

You took your steps towards Jeremy's room, "Jere?!" Your voice trembled, but there was no answer at all.

The room is no less messy than your living room... What actually happened?

You sobbed, you put one hand on your waist while the other hand you held tightly to your hair, Jason noticed that and held your hand gently so as not to hurt yourself, "Hey. Hey, breathe."

You cried uncontrollably, "What happened? Where are my father and brother, Jason?"

He pulled you into his arms, gently stroking your back, "Sshh. It's okay. We'll figure it out together, okay?"

You cried into his chest. Now the house that was once filled with your father's laughter and Jeremy's jokes has dimmed, even the light that illuminated your own father no longer appears in the house. Where are they? What really happened? You don't like this.

Author Note : I apologize profusely if there are any typos because I originally wrote this from a first point of view... Hihi. I really hope you enjoy it, issea! and I'm really bad at writing fights...

#Spotify #dacre montgomery #power rangers #jason scott #kimberly hart #trini kwan #fanfic #fanfiction #dacre kayd montgomery #x reader #white ranger

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bowdre · 1 year

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Fury OC

Character used in Fury Fanfic, posted on Wattpad.

ꜰᴜʀʏ - Sam - Wattpad

i. Basics

•Name•

Natalia Jordie Travis

•Nickname•

Dove

•Age•

During African Campaign> 19. In 1945> 22

•Birthday•

June 19th, 1923

•Gender•

Female

•Sexuality•

Straight

•Zodiac•

Gemini

•Height•

5'4"

•Occupation•

M6 Heavy Tank Assistant Gunner

ii.Relationship Status

Courtship with Don since 1943.

At first, Don wasn't too thrilled about having a young female in his crew. His standards were low, though Natalia proved herself, just like she always does. Their friendship soon turned into a relationship when they become increasingly physical, and eventually became wordlessly committed to each other. The man is significantly older than Natalia, but neither of them never cared about that. Grady never paid any mind to his sergeant being soft on his sister. Before Don's death, he promised to go back to America with Natalia and make her his wife.

iii. Appearance

(Liana Liberato)

•Hair colour•

Light brunette

•Hair length•

Midback

•Eye colour•

Golden brown

•Skin tone•

Honey

iv. Personality

•Good traits•

Ambitious, persistent, loyal, athletic, protective

•Bad traits•

Impatient, greedy

•Strengths•

Brave, charismatic

•Weaknesses•

Lacks empathy

•Like•

Hot meals, clean clothes, black coffee

•Dislikes•

Nazis

•Habits•

Picking at scabs when anxious

•Talents/skills•

Use of a firearm/military equipment, reading people's emotions

v. Relationships

•Mother•

Morgan Travis

•Father•

Ray Travis

•Siblings•

Gary (Grady) Travis

•Friends•

Don (War Daddy) Collier, Boyd (Bible) Swan, Trini (Gordo) Garcia, Red, Norman (Machine) Ellison, Roy Davis, Warren Peterson

•Close friends•

Pete Binkowski

vi. Backstory

Natalia was born into a family with a work-a-holic father and depressive mother. The girl, along with her older brother, were borderline neglected during their childhood. Natalia herself was never physically harmed, though she was a witness to her father abusing her brother on the daily. The siblings always had a close bond, so much so, Natalia followed Gary into war like a lost puppy.

Natalia adored her brother, she wanted to be just like him. He was her protector, her best friend, not a day went by when they weren't together. There was no way in hell she was allowing her brother to go off to war without her. Now, it was both their duties to protect each other.

•Military Rank•

Private First Class

•Medals•

Africa Star, Silver Star, Bronze Star, World War II Victory Medal, Purple Heart

•Wounded•

Natalia was wounded by a Nazi soldier at the crossroads. She emerged from the tank into the smoky atmosphere and failed to see the Nazi directly in front of her. She was shot in the right shoulder, and probably would have died if Norman didn't stop the bleeding.

•Death of the Crew•

Grady- Natalia's brother's death was sudden, and brutal. Almost instinctively her hands found their way to his face, cradling him in her arms. It took all of Gordo's might to pull her away.

Bible- Natalia turned to ask the preacher man for a new can, and what she got horrified her. His body lay lifeless, and all she could do was scream his name in agony as tears fell from her eyes.

Gordo- Natalia blamed herself for Trini's death. If she had been fast enough, if her reaction time was quicker, he may have had a chance at survival.

War Daddy- Natalia found herself trying to fix Don's bullet wounds before her own. She was prepared to sit with him until his last breath, but when he convinced her and Norman to escape, she kissed him goodbye before slipping down the hatch.

•TW:SUICIDE•

Dove- Natalia was rescued, alongside her friend Norman. She was pronounced a hero, and sent back home to America. She didn't manage much though, only 5 months after the fate of the Fury Crew, she committed suicide by the use of her own firearm. She left her dog tags on the kitchen table of her parents house as something to remember her by.

#fury 2014 #don collier #grady travis #boyd swan #gordo #trini garcia #furyxreader #don collier x reader #own character #war fiction #war film #jon bernthal #logan lerman #brad pitt #michael peña #shia labeouf #jim parrack #coonass

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watsittoyah · 1 year

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If anyone is looking for a power rangers fan fic (Tommy Oliver x Black fem reader) to read I’m updating chapter 2 on Monday on A03 👀

#tommy oliver #mmpr #Tommy Oliver x black fem reader #might morphin power rangers #power rangers #watsittoyah #ao3 writer #billy cranston #kimberly hart #jason lee scott #trini kwan #zack taylor

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judgementdaysunshine · 1 year

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Trini Kwan Masterlist

In progress

#power rangers x reader #trini kwan #power rangers #trini kwan x reader

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httpsserene · 1 month

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𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 | 𝐨𝐩. 𝟖𝟏

summary: you accidentally leak a private song you made as a birthday gift for your boyfriend.

content warning: mdni. suggestive and sexual themes. humor. i consider this to be crack taken seriously. menace and unbothered king oscar piastri. a couple uses of yn. one threat/suggestion of self-deleting (in minecraft ofc). song referenced is on the way by jhene aiko ft. mila j.

pairing: oscar piastri x singer! fem!black!reader

genre: smau.

from, serene: was this requested? no. i did this for myself. do what you will with that information. enjoy, loves !!!!

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

imessage • yn -> oscar

yn’s soundcloud

twitter

imessage • oscar -> yn

twitter

twitter • oscar & yn

instagram • oscarpiastri • april 6th

liked by 2,341,988 others

oscarpiastri everybody knows what's on my plate for my birthday breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert 😋🍽️

view comments

yninsta: gave you permission to post this and you didn't even tag me 😠

➥ oscarpiastri: tagging you is unnecessary. ➥ oscarpiastri: as you already made a whole song about how much you enjoy our..."activities" and posted it for public consumption :) ➥ yninsta: please deactivate your account 🫡

landonorris: mate just block me out of respect 🫠

➥ oscarpiastri: you see, i already respect you very little🫶🏻 ➥ landonorris: "tell your friends tinker bell fucked your brains out" ➥ landonorris: i vow to never let you have a peaceful day ever again 🫶🏻

charlesleclerc: my son, please. i have learned too many things i did not need to know about you in 3:42 song. have mercy 🤧

➥ oscarpiastri: somebody has to be the family disappointment 🤷‍♂️ ➥ olliebearman: it's me. i'm the one driving a haas next year 😖 ➥ leoleclerc: everybody's knows m not bringing the shame to our family's name :) 🐕🐾 ➥ alexandrasaintmleux: nobody is a disappointment! family dinner is postponed this month btw. i think charles might cry if he has to look at you oscar.

logansargeant: dude wtf 😳

➥ oscarpiastri: do you have something to say? ➥ logansargeant: ....no ➥ oscarpiastri: hm. that's what i thought

user1: oscar posting "for your eyes only" pics i can't believe it

➥ user2: we all know the song is dirtier than the pics

user3: it's always the quiet ones 🙂‍↕️

➥ yninsta: stay away from them they only cause headaches 😒 ➥ user4: don't you mean backaches? from the way he blows your back out CONSISTENTLY ➥ yninsta: i hope you know that i'm having you blacklisted from any of my future live shows and tours @/user4

user5: everybody tell him happy birthday 🫵🏻

➥ user6: ion have to tell him SHIT 👹 ➥ user7: he already got her, i'm not wishing him a hbd ➥ user8: i'm not spoiling him, she got it covered 🥱 ➥ user9: y'all r lonely n miserable HBD OSCARRRRR!!!!

mclaren: oscar, i respect your game—but i think you missed the point of the emergency pr meeting that i was forced to be in earlier - admin

➥ oscarpiastri: yolo - kimi raikkonen ➥ mclaren: valid ig

general taglist (ask to join):

@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool

@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea

@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification

@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/

@rexit-mo/@oscahpastry/@sweatrevenge5436-blog/@bokutos-babyowl/@oliviah-25

@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134

@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking

#f1 x reader #f1 smau #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x black!reader #f1 x black!reader #oscar piastri x fem!reader #f1 x female reader #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri fic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #serene's chapters.#serene’s fave.#♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: op.

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megamindsecretlair · 8 months

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The King and I, Part 4

Pairing: King Ghezo x Virgin!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT AND ANGST. Mentions of violence, forceful touching. PIV, Fingering and oral (fem receiving) , all consensual. Doesn't follow canon of the movie.

Summary: You hid in your room unwilling to witness any budding love between King Ghezo and his new bride. You hid in your room until you could not take the loneliness anymore and decided to not let this define you. An unexpected conversation allows you to see things differently.

Word Count: 5,636k

A/N: What a way to come back from being sick, I hope I still got it LOL. This one definitely had to marinate because he needed to come correct! I hope you enjoy! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @gg-trini @eggnox @naj-ay444 @sheepywritesfics @westside-rot @twocentuar @pinkpantheris @tchallasbabymama @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @abeautifulmindexposed @neawarren @monaeesstuff @blackerthings @melaninpov @1-800anklebully @mogul93 @softimgyu @henneseyhoe @blowmymbackout @softscorpio17 @theunsweetenedtruth @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @badassdoll @kinginwithbreezy-blog @chrishy973 @skyesthebomb @blackelysian @yayasworldview @wakandamama @thadelightfulone

You hated her. You hated everything she represented. You were sick to your stomach at the mere thought of her hands all over him, her laughter making him smile. At the thought of her sitting in “your spot” with the King, watching the sunrise that she’s probably seen a hundred times by now.

You spent the majority of your days in your room avoiding them. You took your meals in your room and spent your days reading or looking out over your balcony. You didn’t care what people thought.

You were a mountain and no one could scale it if you didn’t wish it so. You were unyielding. You were…lonely.

The King had been a saving grace from that loneliness. You finally belonged to someone and that feeling was invaluable to you. Someone would actually care if you fell off the face of the world. Or so you thought.

Tomorrow was the wedding and you were expected to attend, just like the first wife. Was this why she was so silent? Did she silently hate you that whole time? Forced to concede her spot at the table to someone newer, younger?

You sat on your bed with your knees drawn. You stared at the dress you were expected to wear at the wedding. You hated that dress. You wanted to rip it to shreds and throw it at the King’s feet.

The anger and hate felt better than the burning sadness in your chest. How it burrowed. How it ate at every vein and cell in your body. The sadness took everything. It stole your breath, your dreams, and your very will. You cried yourself to sleep every night this week.

Every morning, the King knocked on your door and begged you to listen to him. To talk to him. He asked you if you would kill him today. You were too sad to entertain your little game.

In one fell swoop, he gave you the greatest night of your life and the worst morning you ever lived through.

You couldn’t get over the embarrassment and shame. How everyone stood and looked at you while he introduced…her. They were all in on it, meeting her, and talking to her. No one ever did anything like that for you.

You were tossed like garbage at his doorstep. There was no grand welcoming. Just a sassy eunuch who saw you for the common village girl you were.

Fresh tears fell from your eyes but you wiped them away. Fuck this. You did not break.

You did not break under your Father’s cruel hands and words. You did not break when your Mother begged you to accept the latest farm owner, sheep herder, or market owner who dared ask your Father for your hand in marriage. You did not break when men put their hands on you when your Father wasn’t looking. You did not break when girls in the village would spit on you, tear your hair, or call you names to your face. You did not break when they would trip you and make you spill buckets full of water. You did not break when you had to turn around and go back to the river to fill them up again. You did not break.

You got out of bed and called for your servant. She entered a moment later, eyeing you wearily. You had been icy towards her and her attempts to help. You apologized and she helped you get dressed in a bright orange dress and wrap your hair up in a scarf. You left the room, breathing fresh air for the first time all week.

You did not care if you ran into the King and his new little bride. Let her have him. You only wished he planted a baby inside of you already so that you fulfilled your duty as a wife and he had no more cause to touch you.

You kept your head held high as you made your way to the training grounds. The sounds of clashing swords met you first as you rounded the corner. Even with all these people in the palace, you were still alone.

You took up your post and watched the Agojie run through their training drills. You watched as they sliced up straw dummies. As they practiced with swords. As they drilled, taking each other down. Their ferocity gave you chills.

After they dueled, they always helped each other stand with jokes and a smile. Through sweat and tears, they continued through, bonding in ways you could only look at. Never participate in.

The sun reached its peak, so you decided to move on. You needed to stretch your bones. Feel the grass beneath your feet. Remember that you were somebody before the King and you remain somebody after.

In the palace gardens, you circled the wide space looking at all of the exotic flowers. They bloomed and stretched towards the sun. You walked around the path, scrunching the grass beneath your toes. As far as sensations went, you preferred the sand. Maybe you could visit the sandy beach tonight.

No one cared where you went or what you did. That thought still made you sad but you could also think of it another way. No one was watching you. There was freedom in that. You could move through the halls with no one to gauge your every footfall.

You rounded the base of a thick tree and nearly stepped on the first wife’s hand. “Oh! I’m sorry!” You stepped back and she looked up at you.

She was sitting in the grass with a baby in her lap. Her other son toddled after a butterfly.

“I’ll leave,” you said.

“It’s okay to love him, you know,” she said. You turned back around and looked at her. She adjusted the squirming baby in her arms. You finally recognized that she was breastfeeding.

“What?” You asked.

“It’s okay to love the King.” She continued to adjust the baby until it latched onto a nipple and settled down. She cooed to him and encouraged him. You looked at her face. She still looked as calm and blank as she ever did. This was perhaps the first time you ever heard her speak.

She was silent during the council meetings. Silent at breakfast. At least this answered your questions on if she could even speak.

You dropped to your knees beside her and absently picked at the grass. “How can you not hate me?”

She smiled at the toddler as it giggled and fell back on his butt. He climbed to his feet, little face concentrated as you’d often seen the King look, and then chased after the butterfly again.

“I have no hate in my heart for something I cannot control. I knew I would not be his only wife, the only bearer of his children. He is a King. He is expected to have many wives to show how rich he is. How prosperous. He is to be surrounded by it,” she said.

“Didn’t you want to tear my eyes out at breakfast?” You asked.

She giggled and it was a light, tinkling sound that made you smile with her. You didn’t feel like you were being mocked or talked down to. In a lot of ways, she made you think of your best friends back in the village. You’d give anything to talk to them right now.

“You were enjoying your marriage. You are supposed to kiss your husband,” she said and shook her head. “Kissing him takes nothing from me. Being in his bed does not mean he will not still come to mine.”

You were not as gracious. The thought of him being in anyone else’s bed made you sick with anger. Like you wanted to light the whole place on fire and let it burn. What she was saying was no different than what the King had told you. He had a special relationship with her as he hoped to have with you. As he will have with…her.

“Why are you speaking to me now?” You asked as you continued to pick at the grass.

“Why did it take so long for you to speak to me?” She asked and shrugged. “In a lot of ways, you are still young. Your emotions pull you through the world. You had to experience all of it before you were open to anything I had to say,” she said.

She moved the baby to her shoulder and placed a cloth there. She tapped on the baby’s back.

A fire boiled in your gut and you wanted to call her names. You wanted to scream and rage that she didn’t know you. She had no idea what all you’d been through to bring you to this point. It wasn’t her damn business what you did with the King. But you swallowed it all back down.

You needed this connection to someone else. To someone who’d been through this already. “Alright then, what is it that you have to say?”

“It is okay to love the King. You may think that you only get a piece of him because he gives pieces of himself to the land, to the kingdom, to the council, to the Agojie, to the Oyo, to me. He gives all of himself to the land, the council, to me, to you. He is who he is,” she said.

You laughed bitterly and rolled your eyes. “Did he put you up to this?”

She smiled. “The King cannot make me do what I do not wish to. I wish to not live in a bitter household with slammed doors and a sad King. I like my King happy. You make him happy,” she said.

The toddler fell forward and began crying. You moved to get up but she held out her hand. “He will be alright,” she said and waved him off. You watched as the baby cried and cried, looking towards the first wife. When he realized that she wasn’t getting up, his cries slowed. Then he sniffled and hiccuped until he wiped his eyes, stood up, and kept moving.

“How can you be so calm about this?” You asked. You were about to explain further, that she seemed so knowledgeable about…everything. But she looked at you and smiled.

“I will spare you the details of how I got here, but you can picture it,” she said. She held out her arm. There were gouges, scratches, and burns marring her skin that made you hiss as you looked at them. “I’ve already survived the worst things men can do to women and I’m still here. I’m happy, I’m fed, I have two beautiful sons. I’m safe.

“But do not think for one second that I am calm. I am expected to push these children out for a man in constant danger from enemies. To political rivals or discontent in the palace. One hint of weakness and they will come for my babies. Or, they will grow up and be expected to give their lives for this kingdom. They will be cut down or full of holes from those bullets the devils brought with them. I am the furthest from calm. Because if I lose my babies, as it stands, the King will lose his hold on this kingdom. You have not given him sons. This new bride may or may not, remains to be seen. And he is the best king we have seen in a long time.”

“So I am to be a broodmare no matter what,” you spat.

“You are to be a wife to your husband! And the only one making it difficult is you! And your childish notion that you are supposed to be the only one he cares for. It is not all or nothing! You cared for your Mother and Father, didn’t you? Your friends? Your family? Some knot-headed little boy who smiled at you from time to time? Did you expect to be the only one they cared for as well?”

It may be childish but it wasn’t a stupid notion. After being picked last your whole life, it was difficult to conceive of a world where you weren’t the only person in your husband’s life.

It was not uncommon for regular men to have more than one wife. The really wealthy ones took more wives to basically create a labor source for their businesses. Some chose to only have one partner, like your parents, and look how miserable your mother was. Perhaps she would have been better had your father had multiple wives.

Then again, your father was so evil, it was a wonder he managed to trap your mother in marriage. He was not capable of love in his heart. And you would not wish him on anyone else. You would have liked to have siblings though. Perhaps you would have learned to share better.

“You’re an annoying older sister I never had,” you told her.

She laughed and it transformed her whole face. She looked much younger and softer as she did so, throwing her head back. “You are a stubborn younger sister I wish I had,” she said.

Your chest swelled with an inexplicable feeling of closeness. She held out her hand and you took it. She squeezed it. “It can start with us. We don’t have to be enemies,” she said.

You told her your name. She smiled. “I’m Ayi,” she said.

Topics moved on to much better things like her children, the Agojie. You did mention some things about your upbringing. Your story became much clearer once she realized that you were an only child. It wasn’t by choice. In fact, it was a constant source of irritation with your father.

The sun was starting to disappear in the sky. You had been out with her all day long and hadn’t realized it. Her sons were growing sleepy and it was time for them to eat and go to sleep. She asked that you at least kept an open mind. She didn’t like seeing her husband pouting into his breakfast.

You did take some pleasure in that. You didn’t doubt his feelings towards you, you only wished that he had been more upfront with you. This self-imposed exile was more for you to get a handle on your emotions. To have time to sift through your thoughts and feelings so that you could examine each one with care.

But you’d be a liar if you weren’t grateful that he hurt, even just a little. It was a rotten thing to wish for your husband, but it was true. You wanted him to feel a fraction of what you felt this past week. The pain, hurt, and shame at being made a fool of.

As if your thoughts summoned him, King Ghezo stood outside your room. His head was down and pressed against the door. His hands were planted on either side. He wore dark blue robes today filled with intricate square designs. His hair looked soft enough to sleep against and your fingertips ached with the memory of running your hands through it.

You stopped short to look at him but he must have heard you because he looked up. He faced you and took a few steps forward but you stepped back. You weren’t ready to face him. You weren’t prepared to see him just yet. You thought you’d see him tomorrow, during the wedding as you tried not to puke through the whole thing.

“I thought you were inside,” he said. His voice was soft. Your chest ached. His voice was one of the things you’d grown to look forward to hearing. Not hearing it these past few days hurt more than you were willing to admit.

“If I interrupted a speech, continue,” you said.

“That was not how I intended you to find out.”

“Did you know that you had already procured another wife while you were fucking me?” You asked.

His face twisted up and he sucked his teeth. “Don’t say it like that,” he said.

“Like what? Isn’t that what it was? Were you not fucking me while you were thinking of getting a new wife as soon as we were done? Fucking a baby into me so that you could move on and make more?”

“Do you want this conversation where everyone can hear?” He asked.

“They hear everything else.” You folded your arms across your chest and wrapped anger around you like a cloak.

The King took a few strides forward and you stood your ground as long as you could stand it. When he got within arm’s reach, you stepped away.

“Will you not even let me touch you?” He asked.

“Answer my questions,” you said.

“After everything we shared, do you think I was only fucking you? Is that really what you believe?” He asked.

It was hard to look him in the eyes because he looked so genuine. So genuinely hurt that you thought so little of him. But words meant nothing to you. They never did. Actions always spoke louder than words.

“How long did you know that she was coming before you climbed in my bed?”

“I have been in negotiations with her father for months before you came into my life. But we had months still before we could come to be allies against the Oyo. When he heard that I married you, he panicked. We tried to assuage his fears but he is…a strange man. He sent her anyway. I had planned to tell you while we were at the beach,” he said.

“So you waited until she was here to tell me?”

“How was I supposed to know that she’d show up the next day or that you would let me touch you that night? What can I say to make you believe me?”

“I want the truth!” Tears were starting to burn in your eyes. You hated this. You hated feeling like you were on opposite ends again when you had found your way to trust him. To love him.

“Have I not given you everything you wanted, eh? You asked for space, I gave it. You asked for patience, I gave it. You said I earned your love and you won’t even let me kiss you. You hid all week from me. I am your husband!”

“You are my King!”

The King reared back as if you’d slapped him. “I am your husband!”

“You are my King!” You stepped away and he followed you until your back hit a wall. You thought you were stepping back in a straight line, but he had backed you into a corner at an angle. Your hands dug into the stonework, hands trembling.

“You want the truth? The truth is that I did not know she would arrive so soon. I thought I had more time. I thought I could spend more time with you, while you looked at me with love still in your heart. I did not know that you would let me touch you, let me take you to bed. That you would share your body with me. If I am guilty of anything, it is being selfish. Selfish with every little bit of yourself you’ve given me. I want more. I want to know your every thought, every smile, every word that crosses your lips. If you wish to kill me, then go ahead,” he said.

He stepped back and took off his robes, throwing it on the ground. His chest heaved with the passion of his words. He opened his arms and looked at you.

“Finish the job we joke about too often.” He slapped his chest. “Stab me in the heart that beats for you. Stab me in the chest so that I can have a wound outside that matches the wound inside at the thought of never touching you again. Never kissing you. I have changed so much about how I do things, for you. I am a King. I do not have to explain myself to anyone. And yet I will explain it all to you if you wish!”

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you watched him and listened to him. You didn’t even know why you were crying. He was offering you everything on a platter and you did not know how to cross the gap to him. As if there were invisible hands wrapped around you, pulling you from him, keeping you from just flinging yourself into his arms.

Your Father always said that you made things difficult. Ayi said the same thing. You didn’t trust when things were easy. If things were, it could be taken away just as easily.

The King got to his knees at your prolonged silence. Flickering candles in the hallway danced across his skin. His eyes were narrowed and focused on you as he looked up at you.

“Do you wish me to beg? To plead? To send her away? Ask me. Ask me to send her away and I will spite a kingdom for you. I cannot explain why you affect me in such ways. But I am here on my knees the night before a wedding, wanting you.”

You got to your knees as well. You scooted close to him and looked him in the eyes. “I want the truth from here on out. I…will get used to you having more wives or children. I won’t like it. But I don’t like to be blindsided and made a fool of. Can you promise me that?”

You were tired of fighting. Tired of trying to remain so strong that no one could knock you down. There was no one here to tear you down. There was no Agojie waiting in the winds to kill you. If you were lonely, it was because you made yourself lonely. And it didn’t have to be like that. You had Ayi and you had the King.

“I promise,” he said. “I vow to you as your husband.”

You kissed his cheek. “Then I will choose to forgive that you waited until the morning after loving me to tell me you’re getting married,” you said.

He sighed and dropped his head. “Can I make it up to you in a different way?” He asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “How will you do that?” You asked.

A mischievous glint entered his eyes as he pressed his lips to yours. You sighed, instantly melting into the kiss. You missed his lips on yours. His arms wrapped around your body as he held you closer, tighter. Your arms wrapped around his neck and clung to him while he kissed you. While you felt just how much he missed you with every pass of his tongue against yours.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there kissing him, but you never wanted to get up. Your knees protested otherwise. You shifted one too many times and the King finally picked you up, never breaking your kiss. He pressed your back into the wall, holding you up and kissing the absolute breath from you.

His hands cupped your ass, squeezing you. You moaned into his mouth. He never failed to ignite something deep within your core. A hunger that simmered just below the surface until you were able to draw it out with his lips on yours. His hands on your body. You’d only had him once and it wasn’t nearly enough.

He moved you, somewhere finding the energy to open your door and push inside. He closed the door with his foot and then walked you to your bed. He placed you onto it, your back hitting the soft cushion.

“Let me give you the wedding night we should have had,” he whispered.

Your balcony was open as it usually was, blowing a soft breeze into your room. It felt amazing over your feverish skin. The candles were lit, thanks to your servant, the covers turned down just waiting for you to get inside. You were thankful that you weren’t in here alone.

You nodded. “Please, I’d like that, husband,” you said.

The King smiled and covered you with his body. He was heavy and you made an oof sound underneath him, but you clung to him so that he wouldn’t let up. You liked being crushed by him. You rubbed your body against him like a cat, needing to feel him everywhere.

He took his time kissing you, content to just lay there with your legs wrapped lazily around his hips. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb lightly rubbing your cheek. Your hands grazed his back, feeling the wide expanse of him. The broadness. You lost yourself in just touching him. Feeling him. He was as close as possible and he was yours.

It could have been hours you spent there kissing him yet it felt like none passed at all. Your lips turned numb from the brutal heat of his kisses. His lips moved downward, trailing liquid fire down your jaw and neck. He planted kisses there as well as his hand moved lower to grab your ass again. Squeeze your thigh.

Your chorus of moans seemed to only pitch higher as he moved his hand back up to unwrap your dress and reveal your breasts. He took his time worshiping them. Squeezing them and suckling them into his mouth. His tongue flicked over your nipples causing your thighs to tighten around his hips. If it weren’t for his body in the way, you’d be squeezing them shut needing some type of relief or friction.

Your clit throbbed the longer he took his sweet precious time with your nipples. He rolled one between his fingers and you couldn’t help moving, stretching, needing him to do more.

“Is there a problem, wife?” He asked.

“More,” you moaned.

He smiled against your breast, licking the underswell of it. He pinched your nipple and you cried out at the unexpected bite of pain. “I think I like you twisting like this,” he said.

“Husband,” you moaned in warning. You would not last like this. This was too much. Too much sensation and teasing and he hadn’t even touched your wet pussy yet. You felt the arousal slowly leaking from you. You needed to feel him inside of you, filling you up.

“Wife,” he mocked by mimicking your moan. He kissed his way down to your stomach. His hands left your breasts, moving further south to tease at your entrance. His hand played with your damp curls and you hissed, loving and hating that he was finally touching where you wanted him to.

He nibbled on your lower stomach and you moaned, your hands digging into his curls. He lifted his head and looked at you as his fingers moved between your folds and found your clit. Your mouth dropped open as he played with it, swirling your arousal all around sloppily.

“Love that face you make, wife,” he said.

You fought to look him in the eyes and let him see you. See how he was making you feel. You didn’t know what to do or how to make him feel just as good. But that would come in time. You had many years with him. Many years to learn each other’s bodies.

You bit your lip and moaned as he rubbed his thumb around your clit. It was slow and lazy as if he had all night to bring you pleasure. The stirrings of your climax tighten your belly and you flopped onto the bed, unable to keep eye contact. You let yourself feel his hands on you. His lips returned to your belly as you tensed up and let go.

You let go of all that tension and anxiety you had been carrying the past week. The sadness and loneliness that hung around you like a demon. You shed the anger and shame as your eyes rolled back into your head and your back bowed from the bed.

Your breaths shuddered as you calmed down. The King kissed his way down your body and spread your legs open. You didn’t know what he could see, but you did see him smile. The hand he used to finger you, he placed it on your titty and began to massage your nipple with your juices.

“Ouue,” you moaned. Crisp, lightly salted air blew into the room over your wet nipple and your thighs tingled.

“Louder, my Queen,” he said.

His lips descended on your pussy like a cat lapping up milk. His tongue swiped against you slowly, taking long swipes from your entrance to your clit. You moaned and yelled to the ceiling. Your fingers dug into his curls, pushing his face in. You hoped you weren’t hurting him, but you didn’t know how you could stop.

You cried out when he suckled your clit. You felt like you were dying and being rebuilt brick by brick. Every pass of his skilled tongue notched your climax higher and higher, reaching the peak of the tallest mountain.

You pulled on his hair as you came once more, gushing all over his mouth and the sheets. You whined as your legs shook, body moving uncontrollably. The King chuckled as he kissed your thighs, your belly, in between your breasts, and up your neck.

“Are you alright, my Queen?” He asked.

It took you a few deep breaths before you trusted your voice not to break. “That would’ve been our wedding night?” You asked.

He grinned and kissed your cheek. “Every night since then if you’d have let me,” he said.

You melted into the bed. You shook your head. “Liar,” you said. But there was no heat behind it.

“I wish to feel you, husband. All of you,” you said.

“Are you not tired?” He asked. But he was already moving his trousers down, off of his hips. The fabric hit the floor and he was pushing himself up off of you.

“Not of this. Not of you,” you said. You pulled him into a kiss, tasting and smelling yourself on his tongue. It only made you want him more. You liked claiming him in such a small way, only between these kisses.

“I love you, wife,” he said.

“I love you, husband,” you said.

He moved in between your legs, sliding his knees high under your thighs. He pushed you wider than you expected, guiding the head of his dick to your slick folds. He got the tip of himself wet and then slowly pushed into you.

Your hand flew to his chest. “Slow, slow, slow,” you moaned.

He slowed down, slowly pushing his way inside of you. Your body relaxed, letting him slip inside with ease. “You’re so beautiful, wife. Filled up with me,” he said.

“Shit,” you moaned. Your legs shook on him as he began to slowly fuck into you. You were outside of time as he moved inside of you. You stared into each other’s eyes. You were pure feeling.

He kissed you in between strokes. You couldn’t keep your lips off of each other. Whispering in between kisses. How you missed each other. How you loved each other. How you wanted this to work in between you. How he wanted to plant babies inside of you and watch your belly grow with his children.

“I want to keep you, wife,” he whispered against your lips.

The glide of his dick moved easily inside of you. Like he fit there. Like you were made for each other. And for this moment, you let yourself believe it. You were meant to be here in his arms.

Your mouth dropped open, limbs weak, as a powerful climax ripped through you. You cried out to the sky and heavens. You didn’t care if you woke up the whole palace. You cried until your voice went hoarse. You squeezed around the King’s dick.

“I’m yours, my husband,” you said.

He looked into your eyes while he moaned and finally climaxed himself. His dick pulsed inside of you and you savored the closeness of his body. The heat of him. The feeling of him on top of you. He was yours and you were his.

When he was finished spilling inside of you, he dropped to one side panting. He slipped out of you and pulled you toward him. You faced him and he pulled you closer, pulling your leg over his hip. You were completely enveloped into his warmth.

You talked until the morning light. Both unwilling to allow something as small as sleep interrupt this time together. He made you tell him all about the books you read while you were hiding. He tried to make you talk about every thought you had but it was impossible to remember every single one.

You giggled well into the morning, kissing in between, and talking about the things you missed as well. All too soon, it became increasingly obvious that he would have to leave to get ready for his little wedding.

The thought still pierced your heart with an arrow. But you’d try to get over it. You’d try, for your sake and for the sake of the household. Ayi was right. You didn’t want to live in a broken household full of tension and unsaid things. You had enough of that growing up.

“Go, go get ready,” you said.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “No. But you are a king. Who am I to get in the way of that?”

He kissed you, his lips lingering against yours. His thumb caressed your cheek. “My beautiful Queen,” he said. “Will you kill me today?”

“The day is young, husband.”

The Secret King Ghezo Files | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 29 days

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A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 6

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

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

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

Read on AO3

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

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

Warning: Detailed NSFW content ahead!

You were immersed in absolute, utter bliss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mh.”

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

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

"Consider it your payback.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you seriously want to discuss that now?”

You shrugged. "Just a passing curiosity.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't want to tell me?”

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

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

"I did make myself clear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

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

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

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

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

"I'm not easily deterred.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are breathtaking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…if not forever.

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

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

“You know what I mean, but okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello? Is someone there?"

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

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

“…Y/N…?”

“Hi.”

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!!!!!”

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

“Hey mom!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So it is true, huh.”

“What is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aye aye, we understand."

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“Really?”

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

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

“Thank you. I love you.”

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

“Soon. I promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, things were just about to get interesting.

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

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

“You do…?”

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

“I mean, I guess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“True, I believe that as well!”

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

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

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

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

"Ew."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Isaiah—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, wait, don't go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Have you forgotten what I said?"

“Wha—”

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

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

“No one touches what’s mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you doing?”

“Follow me.”

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

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

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

"What's come over you?"

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

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

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

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

“I—”

"Be truthful with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“L-limits? You?”

“They may be harder to reach than most.”

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

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

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

“You’re serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can make it even more effective."

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

“Mh.”

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

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

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

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

"You're the one who initiated this."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Undoubtedly.

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

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

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

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

And that dynamic perfectly matched with your needs.

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

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

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

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

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

“Jeez, Mihawk. I don’t—”

“Answer my question.”

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

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

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

"Excellent. Keep that in mind."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then we're on the same page."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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joannasteez · 2 months

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tanks of blood (7) - eighteen is dangerous

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: lots of teenage angst. descriptions of body insecurity. descriptions of alcohol consumption and reckless behavior (getting in a pool while drunk is very reckless, don't do that please!!) consensual underage intimacy (just a kiss!) reader is going through it unfortunately, sorry authors note: this is a flashback. reader is eighteen and roman is nineteen. word count: 7300 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @sortudademais @gg-trini @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce

eighteen is a dangerous age to be alive. all of your almost adult thoughts and ideas and intentions strewn together by wild, colorful imagination, but, at times, for the sake of another. in front of your mirror, picking at your hair and pinching the elastic of a maybe too tight swim suit. the back cut out to reveal skin and your legs thicker now than they were last summer. frustration brimming harsh in your blood so well it's knotting in your throat. tears pricking your eyes. doom in your bones. because, fucking boys and their oh so amazing pool parties. water every place you step and the torment of maybe getting thrown in for shitty amusement. beer bottles floating everywhere and just-finished-with-high-school-teenagers too lightweight to hold their stomachs. not that you're any better. but at least you know that much about yourself. the pool, party and house courtesy of seth and the kegs of beer to come courtesy of dean no doubt. a friend of a friend of his who wants clout with the club so badly that he swiped his card on kegs for underaged leather bound boys. fucking men.

and seth's guest bedroom is hot. sweltering so much that it nearly leaves you damp with sweat. your fingers undone with a trembling ache as you pull a pair of shorts over your thighs. overthinking on over drive. because he and his cousins and the rest of the "vip's" have yet to make an appearance. the common people waiting with bated breath for their loud, grimy noise filled entrance. a rumbling, chaotic spectacle filled with air's and aura's of a specific importance and nature that you'll always find too high maintenance to keep up with. but that's why eighteen is such a terrible time, despite maybe your exaggerations about the angst of it. this weird refurbishing of the soul. his mighty self importance aside, romans thoughts and opinions mattering now much more than they used to. your eyes yours still, brown and "shaped so prettily", as your mother likes to say, but not really. going about a constant examination for someone else. shaped against your face perfectly but living outside to look inward too.

because would he like what you've done with your hair? the earrings you've decided on for the night? the way the swimsuit cuts out at the back? toes painted a different color from your fingernails but oddly cute all the same, because you couldn't be bothered with changing the shade. your tummy not as flat as last year and that scar still embedded in the center of your palm. eyes working for you but at the service of another. him. yes. eighteen is goddamn dangerous.

that sweet silver necklace he gave you sometime ago. eyes all nervous and his fingers shaky as it clasped the lock of it before you kissed him. a warmth to his skin you never knew existed till that moment. the cool of the metal resting on your skin. dipping low a bit more than usual. the swimsuit made with built in cups. accentuating indeed. because swiping for it at the register of the sports store was easy. naomi at your side smiling bright and excited with a matching style in a different color. the try on process quick and sure with a good natured finality because her eyes were different. lacking that air of intense appraisal. a girls girl for you in the truest sense. her eighteen and your eighteen so similar sometimes. her dealings with jimmy like yours with roman.

a knock against the bedroom, like a warning, before naomi bursts through. red solo cups in hand and a frustration running lines into her face. long, waist length braids, ponytailed up and away from her face. the bright neon of her swimsuit wet, and her legs dripping some on the carpet.

you shift quick from the mirror. a creeping heat in your cheeks rising till it settles about your forehead. heart hammering before it plummets to your empty belly. the idea of somebody, anybody, finding you amidst such a vulnerable moment of self brought on scrutiny, absolutely troubling. embarrassing even. a damn scary state of affairs that nearly makes all the doubts and uncertainties breathe harder, heavier. with a better purpose.

"you went to the pool?"

plopping to lay against the made bed. the fluff of the sheets comfortable despite the heat. maybe even comfortable enough to stay laid up against. a decision that feels more and more appetizing by the second.

she stands just near the mirror where you'd been, setting down the cups to readjust her hair. a strong presence living along with her reflection. unflinching and sure and at ease. "i took a dip. enough not to get my hair wet", she starts. still corralling the long waist length hair. "i was tryin to wait around for you but somebody decided to abandon me last minute to come up here", giving a pointed look through the mirror. slivers of guilt slipping under your skin. but her fuss of it doesn't last very long, eyes rolling as she dips into an annoyance. "they all down there standin around all brainless n'shit, like they need to be told when to get in the pool. half of them is only here just to say they came anyways...". her steps shuffling over the carpet, cups in hand again. "...followers irk my nerves", she groans. eyes dropping quick over your body. "why are your shorts on?"

you sit up. a quick, abrupt movement. driven by that suffocating air of hesitation you've fought with since slipping on the swimsuit.

"should i take them off?"

and maybe naomi doesn't understand the painstaking work of such hesitation, or even if she does, it isn't shown. eyes living with all of the opposite actually. "where is this coming from? it was fine when we bought it, it's fine now", her body plopping beside yours. eyes shining with a scrutiny towards you for the first time tonight, and maybe the first time ever. but oddly enough, it doesn't burn the skin, and neither does it make your esteem shrivel. a sigh leaving her. hardened eyes, protective and familiar in their way, like you could have maybe felt them once before in another lifetime. something similar to how a sister looks to her less stronger one. "if you're worried about what he thinks, then forget his ass. he should be lucky you even lettin him breathe your air".

and your nerves don't fall away all that quickly, but the air is less thick now. breathable. your eyes interested now in the cups she's bought. both filled with something pink, but the smell of it like that faithful burn of tequila.

"you're right".

she smiles."have i ever been wrong?"

your eyes rolling playfully. "no"

"exactly". shoving a cup in your hand before bursting up excited. "so sip on this and lets go mingle".

and maybe you're like your mom about these things but "mingling" is for the fucking birds. an unexcitable process of small talk that does your head in. because no one actually cares about anything real, or different, or new, they just want to make good on first time impressions. all the real things, these scary little bits of air and unspoken moments between the words. something something, if we make the daughter of the vice president of the most infamous, illustrious, biker club in all of florida laugh and smile and twiddle her fucking thumbs, then we've made it to the inner inner ring, of the inner circle. which is a lie and a half. sweaty shoulders rubbing up at yours and the dampness nearly folding over your stomach with disgust as you follow naomi through to a less busy area of the backyard. the heat steeping in and weighing over everywhere. the crowd as idle as she said it was. hesitation in their bones as they wait for some fearless leader to make the first move of jumping in, so they of course then, can follow.

you sip at your cup, and then nearly guzzle it the rest of the way. a cold, fruity bite to your tongue that helps ease the angst.

your eyes peering over to the sliding door that connects the backyard and the inside of the house. like a mere gazing over would summon the not so true bane of your existence. a nineteen year old boy with a penchant for unscrewing your nerves loose. your words tongue tied when they aren't soothed into an easy quiet submission by the sweetness of his mouth. groaning little kisses that leave you frenzied and a little dazed and scared. because he has that way about him unfortunately. a lax sort of domineer. flirtatious eyes and quick little phrases that make your skin crawl something horrendous but excellent just the same. you literally despise him. mouth seeking your cup again. already at the end of your drink and feeling the hard rush in of it in your blood. warmth in your belly and a dizzying effect that loosens your anxieties. the type of buzz that asks for more.

a small little table exists near a group of shrubs. a cloth bag nestled in a particularly thick way of leaves. your hand sticking down and into the bag to pull out a bottle of tequila. because seth said "only my buddies get the good shit", everyone else suffering with cheap beer they bought, waiting for dean and his kegs to arrive.

and with a harsh splash of water—some rando a little less than recklessly diving into the pool—does the party finally actualize. bodies corralling quickly in that cold wash of blue and the music a little louder. this concoction of whatever on your tongue and your urges less accounted for.

surely this is what naomi means when she says "mingle". forgetting about yourself a little and just being. a hard task made easier when tequila doesn't give two shits about what it means to be perceived. eighteen not as dangerous when you've got liquid courage to slot a small battery in your back.

"samir right?", his name calling sweetly on your tongue. the leaving of it gentle as you make to get closer to him. a tall-ish boy—but certainly not taller than roman—with a rich dark caramel complexion. charming hooded eyes and the cutest nose. his beer clutched for dear life in his hand like he'd maybe pay to be anywhere else.

"uh, yeah". a cautious sort of surprise. like the possibility of speaking to him was slim to none. "how'd you know-"

"i seen you with yah dad before...", memory working amidst the alcohol. your words a little loose. stepping closer to him to get over the loud play of the music. his cologne nice in your nose. the type of scent made for double takes and "where'd you get it from?" questions. a silent wingman working as a possible conversation opener for anxious girls who maybe don't know that being this close makes for a heavier suggestion of familiarity. an intimate proximity like you know him more than just from seeing him around. "...he brings his car around my pops shop for tune ups n stuff. you look like him", and maybe the smile after that comment with the way you stand next to him implies something more than it should or more than you want it to but you don't notice. the fuzz of your brain winning the 'i dont give a fuck about being perceived' war.

but samir is smiling and his shoulders are maybe not as slacked and bored. squared now with a new sense of purpose and open and facing you, like he's giving you the space to be as close as you'd like. like for some odd reason, if you fell into him, he'd catch you better, not that there'd be any reason for that but yeah...whatever, and the buzz is so obviously shaping your blood to run with a renewed sense of unawareness of present situations. thoughts roaming off to weird deep ends before they slip back close to where they belong. sipping at your cup again before you peer up to find him staring. a quick wandering of his earthy brown eyes, maybe at the silver of your necklace or the cup at your lips or maybe even a little below where your necklace dips in.

samir's eyes bug. an embarrassment clinging to the shape. like he's just snatched himself out of the daze of staring at you. a throat clear that exposes the uncomfortableness in his own body at being made. "what're you drinkin?"

"it's just juice and tequila, fruit punch i think...", taking a sip. "...beers not my thing".

"s'not mine either", he gives. looking at his beer bottle unsatisfied. "kinda just grabbed it, cuz it's the only thing here".

and maybe he'd have more fun if he were where you are? loose and slightly adrift. carefree amidst a sea of people who care too much. "if i say where the stash is, you won't tell right?"

"not a soul".

your head juts, a motion for him to follow. his steps in rhythm with yours and that cologne staining his skin still flirting with your nose. like a light goading. this silent attempt to lure you into something unfamiliar. because all you know is the cool silver of this necklace, strong teasing fingers and that dark rumbling engine. the nineteen year old boy—who you don't think to name at the moment, not even in the secrecy of your thoughts—this not so true bane of your existence, is still, to you, a great big world of an almost man. tall and surrounding and new and the whole of what you feel for him still uncovered. so maybe it isn't exactly smart—even if such a rebellion lives in the name of a not so odd, half baked, tequila born, self esteem boost—to live so deeply in this state of coyness. a realization, or rather a confession, that threatens the carelessness binding your bones.

eighteen a little dangerous still, playing loose and a little faster in your blood. because the liquid courage gives you this two-fold, uncanny, brazen sort of awareness. convictions flowing strong, parentally charged in a way that makes your ego break against it in bursting acts of rebellion. the midnight summer air sticky against the skin and baiting. the warmth like a second rushing in, a muggy air of defiance living beside the heat in your belly and the sweet flavor on your tongue.

you push through that grouping of shrubs, revealing the hefty bottle.

"shot?", a question but not really. more like a soft demand, styled with a smile and inviting eyes.

the pour of it playing over samir's voice. a near drown out. "sure", he gives. the cup in his hand already before his decision can come into any finality. "cheers", the words slipping off to linger in the air like he's trying out the phrasing. like he's trying to please your excitement enough to keep it there on your lips.

you take the stain of it on your tongue quickly. a clear burn that conquers easily on its way down. your throat humming to give it some ease but poor samir is reducing more by the seconds into a fit of coughs. the dry dirtiness of the tequila new for him. not yet to be overcome by the looseness it'll give his bones.

you laugh. a fit of giggles living a little less than controllable. mixing a more digestible drink into his cup. something more similar to yours. "you don't drink too much huh?"

"nah", his face scrunching. expression embarrassed. "not really".

"here", passing the cup back to him again. "try this".

he sips at your concoction. face less screwed as the sweetness of it tempers the bitterness in his mouth. "s'pretty good", natural dark eyes a little brighter. a spark struck across them even. surely not made from janky pool lights that work no better than the old neighborhood street lamps. a courage to him that seems to settle in after he sips again. a courage that leaps with fresh legs. "you have, really, really beautiful eyes", tumbling out. unable to be stopped. the thought perhaps always there but now given the freedom to breathe. to walk and run.

"oh". dumbstruck. a load of giggling that bursts abrupt. not malicious, no. just the sort of drunken amusement caught from the suddenness of a thing. untamable almost if not for the fall of his face. making you feel awful, like shit. "i-..."

samir blinks. like he's just been un-dazed from a dream. "that was corny, i'm sorry".

"no, no, no, it's fine, i just-", your fingers trembling slightly. reaching across the little table to touch him. hands in his, to give him surety "i just-i didn't expect you to say that. thank you".

"i'm interruptin something?"

the question teasing as it leaves. flip flops shuffling before they flap down, smacking against the wet cement surrounding the pool. an obnoxious, creeping, entrance. it makes your blood more solid. hearing that mocking tone he gives. roman and the forever glimmer of mischief, spread about his eyes and his lips. like he's hinting the possibility of a storm. gaze drifting over your hands, the way they leave samir's, the proximity of your bodies and the ease of it. a knot in your belly, corralling in with a load of dirty little feelings. roman tall and broad. suffocatingly so. annoyingly so. like a tower. like a mountain that blocks the sun to cast a shadow. that burst of brazenness spreading fun under your skin, now tugging itself along to shuffle back into the dark nothing of a corner. but why should you have to cringe and recoil in and from your innocent fun? why couldn't you delight yourself in a little attention? was that so horrible? your arms crossing over. disruption, childlike and eager, running alongside the bold streak.

"no". your smile tight lipped. voice bright. "just poppin samir's tequila cherry".

samir chokes. coughs dangerously hard. roman's eyes slitting to narrow. his jaw giving a small clench before he returns your expression. a mirthless grin. "how nice. i hope he enjoyed it".

"i think he did".

roman's brows lift. your audaciousness funny. "lets ask". attention directing itself toward samir, who seems to be the most uncomfortable.

"i uh", his hand setting the cup down. nervous, antsy and it irks you whole. "yeah, it was. it-it was fine".

roman hums. shuffles up more till he's nearly flushed against your back. the fabric of his tank top blowing with the heat of the slim midnight breeze, hitting whats exposed of your skin. a reminder. your fists clenching. fucking asshole. the necklace at your chest still cool. in agreement with him. his presence this annoying, territorial claim. possessive and unwavering. your belly empty, your head swimming and frustration clinging to your nerves so well that it's stupid. because this is stupid. because annoyance shouldn't live like this, shouldn't find even ground with enjoyment so well. blood hot, something dizzy working behind your eyes. a complicated, rush of a feeling that has yet to be totally deciphered.

"you're one of seth's buddies right?"

"yeah something like that". samir appearing less tall. shrunken in and a half step from paper frail. less willing to indulge his eyes. the interest in them gone and refusing to meet your face. and it sours whatever unnamed sweetness held for him. your curiosities gone. because allowing roman to destabilize him so easily. unbalanced and too shy for proper confidence. where was the fun, competitive edge, in that? a bold streak of something uneasy and conflicting and tricky. not simply rolling over and letting him win. thats what this was supposed to be. a riot for some damn reclamation. "i'm just gonna go", samir says. your eyes rolling as he gathers himself to leave the small safety of the table.

you peer up at roman. the source of all this bullshit angst housed in your person. his face soft but angular somehow. tender lips existing as the object of your lingering desires. his shoulders wide and his body thick thanks to home cooked meals and too much football. your fists balling till they ache. tequila dulling the pain of your nails but doing nothing for the baseless frustration. this boy... this man... this whatever he is, so pretty and exacting and sure all the damn time. always testing and making attempts and looking. your skin less like skin and more like metal. like the tinny cold make of one of his many football trophies. and now you feel no better, no greater than samir. shrinking in and your throat tight again. dizzy and trembly. a leaf in the breeze. like you're back upstairs in seth's guest room, peering into the mirror. eyes yours, but more useful for him now.

hate isn't too strong a word is it? your father says it sometimes. like the word is venom born, made to poison. says it and then kisses your mother anyways. kisses and hugs her and churns her indifference into pretty, wispy noise. rich and thick. honey inspired. so if that works. venom and honey. both thick and useful. then maybe they're the same.

"you're such a dick", you cut at him. eyes rolling hard. making to step around him. but he's so tall and everywhere. a world and a half.

and he laughs. like everything is so funny. like you're funny. a joke. sweetened tequila on the tongue. bathing your stomach. fuzzily in the brain. he thinks you're a joke.

"how would you know, you've never seen one".

you gasp. your shoulder trying it's hardest to check him. a barely registered move that gets you past him and closer to the pool. "ass", you yell. loud enough for people to hear.

skin sticky. trembling still. exasperated. your feet a harsh descending as you stalk to the opposite edge of the pool. the beginning steps of the shallow end. dean there with a cup of beer in hand. hair long and already damp.

"trouble in paradise?"

your eyes cut. a sharp look to warn him. a deep breath as you breach the water with your foot. trying the cool of it. "your friend is a fuckin asshole", you give.

he chuckles. like maybe he knows that to be a little true. "what'd he do?" and when you don't answer, occupied with settling into the chill of the pool, he turns his attention over to his friend. chuckling still. "what the hell did you do?"

roman flips his hand. a 'whatever' motion, like he couldn't be bothered to even care.

your blood boils. loose and on fire. "what doesn't he do?!" loud and irritated enough for dean to hear. loud enough for roman. for seth and the twins and everyone else in between. but it doesn't stop the party. just adds to the air. to the drone of the festivities. to splashes of water, and the splatting smack of beach balls. to good feeling breezy wind and the thumping bass of music. to guys trying to flirt with girls and girls trying to quell their boyish half baked charms with coyness and shooing splashes of water. the party in full effect and alive. pulsing and balanced. and maybe you shouldn't be in the pool, all loose-brained and dizzy feeling. but the water feels good and the distance from roman is a welcomed addition. gets his cologne out of your nose and rids you of the sensation of his body along your back.

but his mischief isn't done. stretches with a fresh awakened need to stress your nerves. the pull up and discard of his tank top a sensational performance. like he's mocking and poking and punishing you with the gasp and squeals of girls who pry at him with sharp hopeful eyes. his body dipping into the pool on the deep end before breaching up with his hair slicked back and dusting his shoulders. curling up as it meets the air all finger provoking like.

you hate him.

feet splashing behind you. dean stepping to sink further and further into the icy blue of the pool. a quick, resolute voice of mediation. "aaalright...", he draws out. "...none of this shitty, sulky, energy". his back to you, arms stretched out and waiting, like a human pool noodle. "hop on".

but the water is safe here at the shallow end. close to the stairs and faraway from eyes and his prying little stare that grows more amused by the minute as you fight and fail to ignore it. "dean, i don't think thats a good—", your body up ended. water splashing as you panic. a fast jostling maneuver that forces you to grapple him as he lifts you onto his back. "dean!!!", thrilled and pissed and dazed behind the eyes still. arms and legs wrapping tight about him as he treads into the deep end.

and he's all smiley, the little shit. "you don't got much of a choice unfortunately".

"i can't swim".

"i know", patting the clinging wrap around of your arm. reassurance that barely makes a full registration about the body. "i ain't gonna let you drown sweets".

"sweets?"

"new nickname for you", he hums. satisfied with the ring of it.

and you snort. set your head atop of his as he treads the water. because dean—and though it's unusual for him to fail at many things—is unfailing at pleasing his penchant for nicknaming people. you in particular. a little list of moniker's reflecting the growth of your relationship. from 'sis', at sixteen, to 'sissy' at seventeen, and then a very offhanded 'babe' for sometime. a jokey little term of affection you accepted, because the humor of it proved stupid and weird and annoying for roman. always silently bristling about it. these wordless little shifts in his expression. a disapproval he felt was maybe too childish to name properly. but dean didn't linger on it too long. a little razz of a name before moving on back to just calling you by your government. but 'sweets' is new. promotes something, maybe, a bit more delicate than the others. more endearing.

"cute", you approve. "where are we going?"

"where the party is".

your arms grow tighter. cinched threateningly at his neck. his little laughs and the edge of his weight against yours not doing much to make your irritations any true problem. but you try anyways. "i swear to God, and Jesus freakin Christ ambrose...", your voice biting. words slipping through your teeth. "...if you take me over to him on some kum ba yah bullshit, i will drown you. i will use all of my weight and pin you to the floor of this pool...", his sputters, chuckles flaming your blood. "...i will end you. i don't wanna talk to him".

"you two go at it like a fuckin married couple, just—"

your name shrieks across the pool. a drawl of a mezzo soprano voice. pretty and clear like freshly cut diamonds. sing song like and attention grabbing. enough for dean to halt his treading and pivot. curiosities a shitty merging with some low level form of dread. tequila swimming in your stomach, this large, prong attached battery. a careless, suspicious, jolt of energy about your blood as you get closer to chauncey hayes and her mini crowd of personality destitute friends. and no, the dread doesn't spring off from some shriveling form of a fear absolute, but rather the regular anxieties of interacting with a girl too boy obsessed to think straight. because chauncey still roams free and ditsy-like in the halls of tenth grade socialization. a shark of a particular caliber. too small to be truly frightening but existing large enough to annoy already poorly wired nerves. tonight is not the night for this. tonight is not the night for chauncey hayes.

"just the girl i wanted to chat it up with", she smiles. a little looser than tight lipped. like the work of ingratiating herself to you is a goal but not a top priority. sincerity casting bright for some seconds as she drops her eyes. "hi dean".

"ladies", he gives, to her and all her friends. polite and smirky like. their reactions amusing.

"what's up?", you ask. ready to get it over with. your arms and legs clinging to dean still. less vexed. seeking comfort.

"so um...", a faux bout of rumination. her eyes a light bright warm brown, glowing to contrast the cool blue of the pool. a summery colored bathing suit fitting her skin and her hair loose and curly. "...you're cool with the twins right?", her eyes flicking to jimmy and jey. reverential, bordering needy and crazed even. naomi atop jimmy in a similar fashion to how you cling to dean. but her body proves less anxious, more affectionate. the boys cornered and laughing gut deep with roman and seth. "like...deep family connects and all that good stuff?"

"how federal of you", dean mumbles.

and yes, blame it on the alcohol. spirits saturating your veins. curiosities fortified and blindly misguiding. so much so that your clues as to where this might lead are a bit blurred. a nameless teenaged ruin. oh yes, just blame everything on that fruity, semi-acrid taste steeped into your tongue. "i guess you could say that, yeah".

"so whats the status on them then? ... like, i know jimmy and naomi are connected at the hip but roman specifically...", a rushing in where words intend to flow. heat and blood. the inner parts of your ears muddied with an ill feeling. a disruptive sensation. fingers alive with these little twitches. belly swimming. nausea maybe. a well, wet with liquor and a deep vexing. because what the actual hell? "...like what's his deal? is he taken?"

dean laughs. from the base of his gut. abrupt and ill-controlled. amusement full in his cheeks. "oh young and the restless, eat shit, this is magic", he barks.

"dean. shut. the fuck. up", you cut. tongue sharp like obsidian. shifting along his back. re-hooking your legs and focusing your eyes from that loose daze. for what? better posture maybe? a maneuvering perhaps that gives one of your arms more reach, more freedom. a reason unknown really. but your human pool noodle takes it as a sign to tread a step backwards. like he knows something you don't. "why do you ask?", your eyes slitting. no less curious, but the anxieties are fallen away to leave a spark of something vicious feeling in it's wake. an unchallenged sensation housed in your chest. a beating, a pulse. the pump of it venturing out to the center of your forehead and the tips of your toes. a thorough spreading about till you're filled with the brutality of it. a dangerous feeling. whole and sweet and grimy.

"i mean...what do you mean why?", chauncey flicking her shitty little eyes over to roman. a dazzling appreciation in them that aches your teeth. "have you seen him?"

you grin. mirthlessly. "what makes you think i'd know what he likes?"

"you're always hanging around...", a patronizing go of words. her eyes rolling, the thought of it sticking to her odd and unwanted. like your proximity to him is more of a nuisance than a fulfillment of his own wants. of each others wants. "...i figured you had a little insider information".

and the way your arms wrap around dean for stability, fingers clutching nails into his pale skin. anger attempting to be tempered but proving formidable and real bitchy. his throat grunting as he feels the violence of it. "ouch...", he pats your arm for reprieve. to draw you back off the ledge. that resolute voice of mediation coming back in full stride. awkward and stuttered. "...ok uh, so i think maybe...maybe in the spirit of pool parties and um...buoyancy? ...yeah that sounds right... that we should do a breathing exercise...y'know just something to chill us out—"

you cut off his rambling. "is this you trying to be funny?", his hands digging into your thighs to keep you up as you press forward. "your town cryin ass is always ten steps ahead on gossip but you don't know him and i are together?...", voice louder than before. erupting till its bouncing off pool waves to ripple out to the deep end. "...have been together?"

she scoffs. fighting not to shrink. "he doesn't even talk you up, i—"

"ok, ok, wait!", dean calls out. bewildered at chauncey's nonchalance. treading back.

"girl are you fucking dense?", you yell.

"ah shit", dean mumbles. backing away slowing. bones heavy amidst the water.

but you keep going. laughing with teeth. a mild mannered hysteria. "do you not like your life?"

"are you threatening me?", chauncey shrieks. trembling but warring against it.

"you know who i am", you give. amused and loose blooded.

"ok, i think thats enough magic for tonight", dean mumbles. his thumb rubbing into your knee as he holds and carries you to the stairs resting at the center edge of the pool.

the metal curve of the stepping rods cold to the touch. your bones tired and heavy. skin wet. an empty, drained, sensation coddling terribly well everywhere. that short bout of hysteria dead. the party goers unsure of when or how to resume. awkwardly existing under the torture of your fire. the buzz once sizzling your blood, growing neutral and ill-suited for this new lane of emotion. a merging onto something quiet and dejected. the thump of the music never returning to it's former glory, even as your feet press forward into the house. tracking in wet, an untouched collection of dry towels hanging near the entrance. your hand snatching one up, making a b-line for the other side of seth's house. his kitchen scarce of teenage bullshit—apart, of course, from your own—and the loud song of too trivial chatter. the large towel wrapping your body, a tender lean against the counter, trembling softly, waiting for the chill to stop.

a gut wrenching sort of enervation plays dutifully under the skin. on cue and terribly in the pocket. a grimace worthy rhythm. it makes a disgusting, beautiful, cruel tune out of your nerves. bursting and wild, like the roar of an old iron made engine. a rumbling orchestra, dirty in its symphony, those residuals of anger oh so noisy in the body. feeling mighty and familiar. a fire and grime inherited surely. because who are you that it'd pass you by without troubling skin and bones and the thoughts made ready to leave your mouth? and sure, maybe in her mischief, chauncey deserved to be dug into the ground, her knowing bright eyes filled with wanting to tear you apart for the fun of it, but not with the easy mean speak of your father. she didn't deserve the grime and blast of that tough leathery part of his nature. at least not from you. being a vessel, holding this much in the same way, it hurts too badly to keep in. hurts more letting it go.

and roman is light footed as he steps into the kitchen. silent but full in presence. shaping the room to his body. but then again, everything looks quite too large for understanding when you've gone under such a quick, awful diminishing.

"sober yet?"

"almost".

he huffs through his mouth. a deep, amusing breath. "it's always the lightweights causing all the trouble", leaning up against the island that runs parallel to the counter. his eyes stitching to your skin. sewing in and binding themselves. "you gave the normals a show though, they'll have something to talk about for the rest of the summer".

your eyes roll, turning away from him. opening the kitchen fridge to grab a bottle of water. opening it to take a sip, before the sarcasm drips. "m'so happy i could give your fans free entertainment, apparently the little strip tease wasn't enough for them".

"takin my shirt off at a pool party is regular shit. i can't help it if girls like the way i look. i can't control how people react...", his face running hot with irritation. his cheeks dusting a faint red. loose curls joining up in his hands as he ties them into a small knot. " ...at least i wasn't baitin nobody. you get a little buzz and forget i exist apparently".

but samir was an empty rebellion. not forgetfulness. a coup against the self to rid of the overpower of his influence. an attempt at reclamation—of eyes and thoughts and opinions—at not caring and just being. was it misguided? sure, but not malicious.

"i can't help it if boys like the way i look".

"you was eatin it up...", he flares. not loud but deep. accusatory and pissed. "...all giggly n'shit, like you never heard a compliment before". his body shuffling closer to gain advantage in your line of sight. "i give you compliments all the time and you act all meek like you can't take it".

the plastic of the bottle gives a crinkling groan from the grip in your hand. your tired eyes meeting his. those last bits of looseness giving you the wherewithal to speak. "you wanted me to be a dick about it?"

"have the same energy or somethin", he grits. "you damn near threatened chauncey".

"she was makin it seem like i barely existed next to you!"

"because...you maybe don't", he breaks. urgent. his shoulders falling, unweighted now. like the thought has lived and shaped well in his mind for sometime. his face closer and troubled. a confusion born from frustration. "you don't want me next to you, you barely want me to touch you, and you hate when i look at you for too long, but you want everybody and they damn mama knownin we together".

that nausea. dizziness behind the eyes. "thats not true—"

"are we together?" he asks.

the air feeling harder to breathe. that bottle no longer clutched in your hand but too cold still and your ears flooding to the tips with heat. pressure welling up in your throat too much it starts to ache. fingers gathering to ball, nothing between them but the bite of your nails into the palms. the phantom of a thing they hold against for dear life. eyes prickling with a stabbing pain. the beginning of salty warmth that burns the skin.

you chuckle. mirthless and panicked. "thats not a real question. you can't be for real right now".

"you got somethin real to say to me then?"

and it's all resting palpable at the tip of your tongue. but it lacks the proper brilliance. makes no quarrel with itself of possibly being undigestible. it lives wholly uncomfortable, eagerly so, with a streak of menace. and this, he wants you to spit out? to let fall and burn and weight over the air. displeasure true in the heart of your chest, melted and flamed and dangerous like the inner core of the earth.

"why you so pressed to hear about what i got to say all the time? always lookin and diggin for stuff that don't matter".

"if its you, it matters", he stresses. confusion wearing well in his eyes but his words sure. "if it's not, then whatever. i don't care".

and this must be what drowning feels like. the flail of feet and arms and a hopeless horror. water sucked into the lungs, salty and raging against the palate. sinking the words with an evil diligence. but the body has a way about it. an uncanny, needy, pestering desire to survive. to live. so the drowning is not quick. and you are not overcome quickly. coughing and screaming, skin hot and cold and pale and wrinkling. blurry eyes and a gasp too large to contain for long enough. fingers pushing water to rush it behind, a play at propelling the weight of your bones beyond the surface. to say something, to be asked to speak truth to a wordless dread, is the painstaking performance of drowning. "...you have things... you have the club... all of your friends are my friends... it's easy, you get up one day and decide i'm not what you want, you can just leave".

"no". an instant thing, thick fingers cradling your face. his eyes frightened and brown and displeased. "no". resolute. always so damn sure of himself. his hands pulling, a soft embrace and gesture, your eyes unable to leave him. frightful of being seen but too weak to leave the meeting of his. "that's not true. and you boxin me in like that, it's not fair". your fingers tired, clutched and nailing into his arms. his face, a world of a thing. freckled and soft and tanned. cutting sharper at the jaw but gentle still around the eyes. mouth and tongue delicate despite the cool edge of him, his nature. "when i said, way back before ,that i gotchu, it wasn't me gassin yah head up. i was being real".

but he doesn't stop. doesn't drown under the roll in of a tumultuous wave.

his thumb sweeping your cheek. to soothe the skin. to persuade it of his care. "i'm never lookin at you to find somethin wrong or to find a reason not to look", his eyes a slow wandering pace. brushing smooth over your features. your lips and cheeks blooming with a sensation only admiration can give. "it's hard not lookin at you". chuckling and his eyes rolling. "and yeah the way he said it was corny as hell, but samir ain't wrong. you never not look good to me".

you can feel his breaths here. the draw of his mouth as his appreciation leads him closer. a bright sweetness on his tongue that quickens your blood. his nose a short dainty nudge into yours. anticipation filling the well of your body.

"i like being next to you". tall body slipping up calm. closer. surrounding you against the kitchen counter. "i like touching you". thumb skimming along your lips. "ain't nothin awful about all that huh?"

you shiver. the curl up of it riding along your spine. "no".

"exactly". convincing brown eyes and an exacting little grin. "and nothin bad is gonna happen either. i gotchu. you're mine".

his words a sweet working spell. lips a teasing slot along yours, but never making the full embrace of a kiss. your desperation for it pure. dampens the odd, dirty, hard to digest ideas.

he smiles. amused. "i snacked on a mint before i came in here so... you kinda gotta kiss me now".

you snort. slipping your fingers over his arms. holding tighter. the fresh scent on his tongue a gentle persuasion.

"it's mandatory huh?"

"yeah cause you been fallin off a lot actually. missin weekly quotas. thats real bad for business".

"something's gotta be done i guess".

he hums. planting tender and simple. tiny little pecks that lure you further into the give of his lips. a hand sweeping low, his arm curling about your waist, palms splayed. his fingers there bending and running dull to feel the supple fabric of your swimsuit beneath the towel. touching and testing his limits. seemingly waiting for you to pry yourself away. you breathe into his mouth, the air funneling out of your lungs. teeth a teasing bite into his lip. smiling and falling into him. his other hand meeting the exploration of the first. an unhurried pace over your body, along the line of your back. pressing in as it trails. a gasp melting on his tongue as it sweeps in, holding the tremble of you. "so pretty", he gives. littering your jaw with the affections of his mouth. your everything, feather feeling, weightless, arrested and held up in the strength of him. his smile curving into where he purses into your neck. the rhythm of your pulse playing into his kiss.

#joannasteez #tanks of blood #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #biker au #biker!roman reigns #original male character #original female character #seth rollins featured #dean ambrose featured #naomi featured #mentions of jimmy and jey uso #teenage angst #black reader insert #something something i have bad history with pools so make it the setting of angst

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