[Protective!Dracule Mihawk x Poneglyph Speaking!Reader]
│Summary: Washed up on a gloomy shore, your only solace is a dark and empty castle. Yet, when the castle's only resident finally returns, you are met with an undeniable problem. The language you speak is completely dead to his world.
"Flailing your hands around isn't going to make me understand you any more."
"𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐!"
│cw: 18+, SFW, violent undertones, time skip galore
│notes: Finally, the romance is kinda beginning :))) AO3 link now takes you to a brand new work I made specifically for this work since it's getting so long.
│Chapter III: Voice of God
Mihawk’s temperament had practically flipped overnight.
No longer were the days of chasing the towering man around for scraps of attention. He met you willingly. His imposing form would stalk the halls, heels clicking not in impatience — but purpose.
His patterned coat lofted through the air with poised intention. Slicing past empty corridors and decadent solariums.
Mihawk roamed with conviction, silently baiting out his latest intrigue. Origins clad with obscurities. A mind rife with intangibles.
The one who spoke Poneglyph.
It wasn’t a matter of if he’d find you — but when. You’d feel the chill in the air before you saw him. Sharp and icy. It consumed your boudoir, drowning out any warmth the fireplace painstakingly brought.
Then, like clockwork, he’d enter soundlessly. He offered no room for respite. His presence, not demanding, but expecting obedience.
It was compliance you readily gave.
You followed behind him cheerfully, the soles of your feet tracing along paths you had already memorized. The route was practiced till polished.
Soon enough, you were coaxed into Mihawk’s study. Language books were already sprawled across his desk. Some were from previous lessons, pencil lead tarnishing elementary level exercises. The remainder were new. Their stacked bindings pristine and unbroken.
From Japanese to English, French to Spanish, Mihawk attempted to dismantle the web of inconsistencies that surrounded your language.
You didn’t understand it. Your mind twisted and contorted around itself as you pieced three languages together just to acquire one term.
It was frustrating — maddening even.
Out of all the books the library sheltered, why wasn’t there a single direct translation guide for your language?
It took longer than you thought to find out.
After weeks of grueling hard work, you had finally managed to match up your alphabet to Mihawk’s. The translation was rough. It led to more misunderstandings than you cared to admit.
“Your persons call my language Poneglyph?”
You could speak to Mihawk somewhat freely.
“People,” he corrected your grammar, “But yes.”
Mihawk leaned back into his study chair, fingers lightly tapping the varnish of his desk. His golden eyes devoured you. Yet, not in the carnal desire of flesh.
No — he watched you like a man starved of knowledge.
He hid nothing. You could easily see all he wanted to do was pick you apart. To tear answers straight from the source. Consume the concealed.
You’d wager he wasn’t fond of secrets.
The drumming of his fingers abruptly stopped, “Your language has only been discovered in writing. In all honesty, it never occurred to me that people could speak it.”
You mulled over his pragmatic statement. As far as you were concerned, your language was fairly common. Easily identifiable to most. There wasn’t a single person on your island who was illiterate or mute.
“My people is frequent travelers,” you spoke slowly, feeling out the unfamiliar syllables, “How possible to disappear my language?”
Mihawk hummed. The sound was less of an agreement and more of a consideration.
“I’m not quite sure,” He scratched his chin in thought, pondering your unrefined vocabulary, “Your island – is it located in the New World?”
You blinked at him, “New World?”
Assuming there was a translation error, Mihawk reiterated his point in your native tongue, "𝙸𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍?"
Mihawk’s rendition did little to quell your confusion. Brows still pulled tight, you stared at him as if he had grown another head.
This time, it was Mihawk’s turn to be confused. Not knowing about the New World was like not knowing the primary colors. It was basic information even children knew.
With a grunt, Mihawk reached for one of his desk’s lower drawers. The mahogany wood slid open easily. Its metal latch clinked softly against its resting place once Mihawk released it.
From the depths of the drawer, Mihawk pulled out a large map. Stained and weathered, the old paper looked like an ancient relic. You were surprised it didn’t crumble under his touch.
Placing it gently on top of his desk, Mihawk’s hands carefully spread out the fragile chart. It bloomed open easily. Though aged, what was revealed was exquisite.
Mountains bumped forth while valleys and rivers flowed in. If you looked closely enough, the sea itself seemed to surge across the paper.
You stared at the map inquisitively. Head cocked to the side, you tried to find any land masses that looked remotely familiar.
Mihawk tapped a finger just above the Red Line, “This is the New World.”
Pulling your eyes away from the East Blue, you followed Mihawk’s finger. Abruptly, an involuntary snort escaped you. You were quick to cover your mouth, trying to shove down the laughter that was bubbling inside of you.
“That–” You stifled a giggle, “That is not the New World!”
Mihawk furrowed his brow, “No?”
You smiled brightly, “Is you doing a joke? Is that why you have the wrong date written on the map?”
Your laughter died down when you noticed the serious expression on Mihawk’s face. Scratching the back of your head, you cleared your throat, “Is you not doing a joke?”
Mihawk’s voice made you sit up straight. His tone incontestable. The decision final.
It reigned with unquestionable authority, forcibly reminding you of your place.
One that was beneath him.
Mihawk was a man who danced with steel while you merely mingled with seclusion. A waltzer and a wallflower. The two were nowhere near the same.
Chewing your lip, you stared at him with anxious perplexity, “Then, why is the date 800 years wrong?”
The room flooded with silence. You both seemed to be waiting out the other, hoping someone would admit they were dishonest. However, after an agonizing minute of impenetrable stillness, you came to the shared conclusion…
Neither of you was lying.
You broke first. Slumping into your hands, you tried to rationalize the year written on the elaborate chart. It couldn’t be true. There was no way the tempest that capsized your boat washed you up on shore 800 years in the future — alive, no less.
“𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗,” You practically begged Mihawk, “𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝟾𝟶𝟶 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜!”
Poised as ever, Mihawk overlooked your hysterical desperation as he stood up from his cushioned chair. You watched him with bated breath. Eyes glossy.
Mihawk’s long legs carried him across the room at an almost methodical pace. He looked all the executioner you were certain he was.
You breathed a sigh of relief when Mihawk went for the liquor cabinet instead of the sword mounted on the wall.
Pulling out a bronze bottle of Tempranillo, Mihawk casually poured the red wine into two chalices. His heavy hand undoubtedly emptied more alcohol than you were accustomed to.
“𝚃𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗,” Mihawk gingerly handed you the intoxicant, “How exactly did you end up on my isle?”
Fat tears rolled down your cheeks periodically, burning thin lines into your sensitive skin. The salty droplets stung harshly. It was a starch reminder of your own humanity.
Weeping pitifully, you tried and failed to contain the sorrow that leaked from your soul.
After multiple re-tellings and frantic fact checks, the reality was undeniable. The anomaly of a storm you encountered had been far from natural. Somehow, you had been sent into the future.
And you had no idea how to get back.
It felt like a cruel joke. You had finally made progress with earning a twinge of Mihawk’s trust and, in doing so, assistance to get home. Only to have your hopes squashed by time travel gone wrong.
Just what divine being had you offended?
Sniffling, you flinched when Mihawk suddenly wiped a stray tear from your eye. His thick thumb felt warm against your skin, soothing the inflammation.
Unconsciously, you leaned into his surprisingly gentle touch. And just for a moment — you forgot what that very hand was capable of.
“Quit your crying,” Mihawk’s knuckles rested on your cheek for a moment, “It won’t do you any good.”
You whimpered softly, “How am I to get home?”
Releasing you, Mihawk leaned against his desk, “The castle’s library is vast. I’m certain there is a book regarding chrononautics.”
Though half of Mihawk’s complex words didn’t register in your brain, you nodded enthusiastically. The castle’s archive of books was massive. It took over most of the eastern wing. If there was any information on temporal displacement, it would be there.
Sliding out of your seat, you hyped yourself up, “𝚆𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗!”
Unexpectedly, Mihawk followed you out of his study with little resistance. His longer legs overtook your smaller strides, leading you toward the fortress’s eastern side.
The library was more extravagant than you remembered. Thick pillars of stone jetted up from the floor, climbing high into the air. They connected ornate footbridges across the width of the room. From which silks and satins hung off effortlessly.
Below, regal bookshelves stacked tall on one another. Soaring up through the banisters. Their carved dark wood was illuminated by the massive windows cut sparingly into the walls.
You stood in awe for a moment before a sense of dread washed over you. It would take a lifetime to search every bookshelf. They were stacked so steep you had to use multiple ladders just to reach the top.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
Mihawk’s silky voice pulled you from your inner turmoil. He sat cross-legged on one of the colossal windowsills, a stack of books already sorted through next to him.
A wide grin tugged at your lips, “Nope!”
You skipped over to a random shelf. Newfound determination in hand, you began plucking books from their dusty resting place.
Though most of the literature was written in Mihawk’s native language, you were able to spot familiar glyphs quickly. Any book you were unsure about was swiftly added to Mihawk’s growing pile.
Thus, Operation Goldy’s Library Labyrinth was born!
“What will you do when I’m not here anymore?”
“Enjoy the peace and quiet.”
You ignored Mihawk’s blunt response, wiggling your eyebrows teasingly, “You won’t miss me? Even just a little?”
Mihawk sighed, “At the rate we’re going, I’ll be dead of old age before you leave.”
You laughed loudly at Mihawk’s words. He wasn’t wrong in the slightest. You had been trapped on Mihawk’s island for officially six months. It was hard to believe half a year had passed since you washed ashore.
Operation Goldy’s Library Labyrinth originally started three months ago. Unfortunately, it still felt like you had barely made a dent in the dense literature foliage. Though lacking literacy in Mihawk’s dialect certainly didn’t help.
As a result, when you weren’t practicing phonetics or sorting through bookshelves, you took turns with Mihawk, teaching each other how to read. Mihawk was quick to learn. His eyes danced across your handwriting excitedly as if he deciphered a secret code.
You, on the other hand, were far slower. In full transparency, it was Mihawk’s fault. You couldn’t help but prefer to listen to him read the books he brought than recite them on your own.
Today happened to be one of those days.
You sat next to Mihawk as he read aloud to you, resting your head on his shoulder. His baritone voice carried across the courtyard.
“A man who has been through bitter experiences and travelled far enjoys even his sufferings after a time…”
Your eyes closed without you meaning to. It was the second time you requested Mihawk to read The Odyssey. You couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Odysseus’ 10-year journey home felt a lot like your own story — minus the mythical beings, of course. Though you weren’t entirely sure Mihawk didn’t count.
“Aren’t you supposed to be following along?”
You jumped at Mihawk’s sudden attention. Opening your eyes lazily, you threw him a dopey smile, “I was just resting my eyes.”
Mihawk scowled, “Then you wouldn’t mind finishing the page?”
You had little time to refuse Mihawk’s request before he placed the thick epic into your open palms. It weighed heavy in your hands. Stanzas of love, loss, and regret felt a lot less metaphorical when accompanied by lived experience.
Defeated, you reluctantly began to read down the page you found far too prolix.
Your meek voice sounded a lot less elegant than Mihawk’s. Stumbling over words and mixing up sentences, your own struggles gave you second hand embarrassment.
Yet, the raven remained patient. He guided you along the page, helping you recognize important symbols and words. The moment felt domestic. Like you had been living with Mihawk for a lifetime rather than only half a year.
“Do you think there’s a windbag that could take me home, Mi-Mi?”
Mihawk sighed, “Would you even be able to keep it closed?”
Slapping the book on your lap closed, you raised your fists, “Of course! I bet if I were Odysseus, I would get home way quicker!”
“Really?” A rough rumble left Mihawk’s throat, “But you're still stuck here.”
You frowned, “You're not wrong, all we’ve really done is sort through stupid books.”
A light bulb suddenly went off in your brain. Spinning your body toward Mihawk, you placed your hands on his thigh as you looked up at him, “So maybe it’s time for a change of plan!”
Mihawk’s brow arched, “That is?”
Grinning ear to ear, you swung your arm out toward the distant sea, “We try to replicate the time storm.” Your optimistic fingers slowly traced the horizon, "Think about it as our own scientific study. We could write our own dumb book!”
You could feel Mihawk’s eyes on the side of your face, drilling into you. Though the presence was familiar, you still found yourself hesitant to look back at him.
Yet, it wasn’t the usual fearful unease that creeped up your spine. Nor was it a guilt ridden churn in your stomach.
It was something new. Something unfamiliar.
You weren’t sure exactly when it started, but recently — Mihawk began to stir butterflies.
The aforementioned man remained passive next to you. His arms spread wide on the bench’s back rest, commanding the space. He looks all the parts of a dangerous man.
Finally removing his gaze from you, Mihawk scanned the sea with his bright eyes, “And what happens if I get stuck with you?”
“Then,” You bumped shoulders with him, “I’d find a way to get you home too!”
You were concerned when Mihawk only responded with silence. His strong jaw locked tight. Eerie eyes lingering on the swelling waters.
Assuming he had rejected your idea, you dejectedly strolled back toward the castle’s library for another round of endless searching.
However, when you woke up the following morning to Mihawk readying his ship, you couldn’t contain the excitement that filled you.
Thus, Operation Time Typhoon began!
You pulled back on your large fishing rod, reeling in the massive fish on its hook. The titanic goldfish thrashed in the air. Its spotted body curved against the sky, casting a dark shadow onto the ship's deck.
“Mi-Mi! Check out this huuuggee fish!”
Mihawk merely opened one of his closed eyes, grunted, then reclosed it. You easily shrugged off his dismissive behavior, choosing to watch the mega fish dive back into the clear water.
“So cool,” you whispered more so to yourself as you leaned over the side of the ship.
You watched closely as the goldfish’s hues of orange and white slowly disappeared below the surface, hiding beneath the waves.
“Can you believe how big that sucker was?” You turned back to Mihawk, sticking up two of your fingers, “It was like twice the size of your boat!”
Mihawk remained unimpressed. His extended legs were loosely intertwined while his exposed upper body soaked in the afternoon sun. He treated the event as if it was any other ordinary fish.
“If it takes a mere fish to impress you, we can always sail toward the Calm Belt.”
You shuddered at the thought of running into a Sea King on Mihawk’s tiny boat, “I’d rather not rush to my death.”
The rich sound made your stomach flip, cheeks already threatening to redden. You turned around quickly. Hand clenched on your chest, you fixated on the crashing waves as you tried to quell the way your heartbeat sped up.
It’s been an entire year since you’ve been sling shotted into the future.
And if that wasn’t enough to frustrate you.
It had become glaringly obvious that your previous interest in the man had morphed into a definitive fixation.
You really did try to stop it. Did your best to think of Mihawk as some wild animal you managed to tame. But life has a way of constantly screwing you over.
Mihawk, for all his abrasive and stoic tendencies, was sweet. You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered when he took his time teaching you. His sinful voice would imprint on your brain and leak into your dreams. Your bed sheets begged for a break.
However, you blamed yourself for how comfortable you got with him. You were naturally sociable. It was second nature to be touchy and friendly with the man — even when he made it very clear he didn’t reciprocate it.
Nevertheless, you stuck close to him.
You promised yourself you’d never forget him once you got home. Even if it took years, you’d find a way to speak with him again. Maybe one day he could even visit.
Chewing your lip, you laughed quietly to yourself. Your friends would be so jealous that you managed to bring home a man so handsome. You’d have to show him off to the whole village.
“What could you possibly be laughing about over there?”
Praying your cheeks weren’t flushed, you smiled back at Mihawk, “Just thinking about how that goldfish would’ve tasted for dinner!”
“You wanted it for dinner?” Mihawk didn’t wait for your response before he started to shrug off his outer coat.
You watched him curiously, “What are you-”
Your eyes bulged out of your head as Mihawk suddenly dove into the calm waters.
Stumbling over yourself, you rushed over to the side of the boat he jumped from. Your hands clenched the railing tightly. Your knuckles white.
Peering into the blue depths, you shrieked when something slammed down onto the deck behind you. The ship rocked violently. You barely caught yourself before your own momentum threw you overboard.
Facing the sudden raucous, you felt your jaw hit the floor. Mihawk casually sat perched upon a mountain of perfectly sliced fish meat.
Legs crossed. Face unbothered.
Picking up your open mouth, you weeded your hands through your hair in excitement, “No way! You killed that fish underwater?!”
You ran around the chopped fish in a frenzy, “And you cut it up too!” Wild laughter ripped from your throat as you inspected the immaculate cuts, “You have to be some sort of sword genius, Mi-Mi!”
Mihawk’s lips twitched slightly. But not in their normal irritation fashion. No — For a rare moment his full lips tugged into an amused smile.
You’d give anything to see it again.
“We should head back before the ship starts to stink,” Mihawk hopped down from the fish’s peak. “This should keep us fed for a while.”
You saluted him, “Aye, aye, Captain!”
The ship’s black sails unfurled with a satisfying woosh. They caught the steady wind immediately, puffing out like giant parachutes.
The trip home was quick. Easy. Rehearsed.
Day in and day out, you rode the current as often as you could. Yet in all the time you had been marooned, not a single storm had been strong enough to jostle Mihawk’s boat, let alone capsize it.
Still, you tried to remain hopeful. You were nearing the end of Operation Goldly’s Library Labyrinth. Only a few more rows of bookshelves remained. With no information on time travel in sight, you had to rely on the chance of another time storm brewing overhead.
Chances were low. But the chances were even lower if you just gave up.
As the ship docked, you jumped down onto the damp sand with a muted thump. Tomorrow was a new day. You’d go out looking for trouble in the morning.
You weren’t focusing on anything other than Mihawk.
“Try to keep the slices off the sand.”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Mihawk was trying to kill you through gluttony.
Immaculately filet fish garnished with lemon sat in the center of the table. Surrounding the feast, bowels of roasted vegetables and platters of citrus-filled delicacies begged for attention.
The spread was fit for a king. You weren’t sure where to even start.
“I already feel full from looking at it,” The words slipped from your tongue without you realizing.
Mihawk hummed, “Better overfed then under.”
Rather than sitting across from the raven, you sat in one of the chairs next to his at the head of the table. His gaudy throne made your tiny chair seem feeble. Yet, you didn’t mind. You preferred his company over petty chair drama.
Pointing your fork at him, you winked, “Wise words as always, Mi-Mi.”
You didn’t bother waiting for a response you weren’t expecting. Stacking your plate high, you threw about just as much food as you could on the porcelain.
While you ate like a hurricane, Mihawk remained refined. His meticulous hands handled silverware with cunning precision. You wondered if the knife he cradled felt like a miniature sword to him.
“I…was— thinking,” Your words garbled together as you attempted to chew and talk.
“Swallow before you speak.”
You forced down the food in your mouth, “I was thinking maybe we should sail out at night tomorrow.” You fiddled with the fork in your hand, “The waters are usually rougher then, maybe something will be different.”
Mihawk paused for a moment – but a moment too long. It was just enough for you to smell blood. He reeked of uncharacteristic hesitation.
“I have matters to attend to,” Mihawk ghosted the rim of his glass to his lips, forgoing indulgence, “I’ll be leaving the island tomorrow for some time.”
The wind whistled against the castle’s exterior, hushing the room. Though it only lasted a few seconds, you felt as though another year had passed.
Your fork dropped violently, “Leaving?!”
Mihawk nodded, “For a few days at most.”
“Were you not planning on telling me?” Food long forgotten, you pestered Mihawk for his sudden betrayal, “I can’t believe this!”
You sighed, “Alright it’s decided.”
Mihawk watched you curiously. His slender fingers pinched the stem of his glass, swirling the ruby liquid.
“Why not?!” You threw your hands up in dramatics, “I’ve been stuck here with barely anything to do for a year! If the mission’s on pause, I at least wanna see what’s become of the world after 800 years.”
You could see the beginnings of frustration morphing onto Mihawk’s face. His aureate eyes sharpened. Spine straightened. If his sword had been nearby, you were sure his hand would have instinctively went for it.
“Someone affiliated with the Void Century should be nowhere near the World Government — let alone Mariejois.”
You groaned, “I don’t even know what the Void Century is.”
Mihawk placed his stemware down like a gavel, “Exactly.”
Realizing begging wasn’t going to work, you switched over to bargaining with a dash of guilt tripping.
“I swear I won’t do or say anything that will get you in trouble. You won’t even know I’m there!” You clasped your hands together, “I haven’t had any human contact with anyone other than you — I’m going crazy!”
“Solitude is far more enjoyable than the company of mindless oafs squabbling for power.”
You refused to let up, “I promise to do whatever you say for a month.”
“You promise to start doing the dishes, wash the laundry, and learn to read properly?”
“I shouldn’t have promised.”
Mihawk rubbed his temple, “I can assure you, there is no one worth your time where I am going.”
“Then,” you sorted through different ideas, “What if we didn’t go to the same place?”
Your words caught Mihawk’s attention. He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms as he watched you intently. His eyes screamed with indifference but you could see the slight twitch in his lip awaiting your scheme.
And you were all the more happy to oblige.
“Before you go to whatever Mariejois is,” you leaned forward vivaciously, “Drop me off at an island nearby. And while you're handling your mysterious business, I can get out and have some fresh air!”
You could see the gears turning in Mihawk’s brain. He took a second to respond. Most likely already regretting his next words.
“You can leave with me on a few conditions.”
You nodded your head enthusiastically, “Those are?”
He held up a finger, “One — you are not to write, speak, or make it known you have any knowledge regarding Poneglyphs.”
A second finger joined the first, “Two — avoid making a scene. Lay low. And don’t offend anyone high ranking.”
He raised a final finger, “Three — we will choose a meeting point tomorrow. I expect you to be there on time when I get back or you can consider yourself marooned once again.”
You smirked, “Sounds like a piece of cake.”
Though you acted tough in front of Mihawk, you couldn’t help the growing pit of anxiety in your stomach. It stirred you awake ruthlessly.
Your skin felt clammy, and your mouth dry.
No matter how much you tossed and turned, you couldn’t force yourself back to sleep. Worries ran rampant throughout your mind.
What if you weren’t as fluent as you thought? What if everyone saw right through you? Would Mihawk be mad if people realized you were from another time?
Yet the most damning question on your mind was, ‘𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎?’
You drifted down the countless corridors, trailing your fingers along the walls. It was already well past midnight. Dim candle lighting faintly guided your way, drawing you deeper into the castle’s depths.
Without realizing it, you reached the closed doors of Mihawk’s bedchamber.
Your feet shifted hesitantly. You pulled this stunt only a few times before, never really expecting it to work out. Yet, every time, without fail, Mihawk never turned you away. His reasons you weren’t exactly sure of. But you were grateful nonetheless.
Your hand slid across the thick wooden doors, feeling over the carved paneling. Cautiously, you moved to turn one of the crystal knobs. The door began to open painfully slow. You tried your best to minimize the small creak the door usually produced.
Finally entering the room, the hall behind you casted a thin sliver of light across the floor. The soft glow just barely illuminated Mihawk’s bed in the center of the room.
Gently closing the door, you padded across the stone flooring. The ground chilled the soles of your feet. It made climbing into Mihawk’s bed a lot easier of a choice.
Your hands sunk into the plush mattress beneath you, dipping the bed slightly. You weren’t surprised by the soft grunt that followed. Throwing the crimson duvet over your shoulders, you snuggled into the side of a half-awake Mihawk.
On cue, the older man wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his bare chest. You let your palm rest on his sculpted build. Your eyes absentmindedly watching the way your hand rose and fell with his exhales.
While he smelled of pine, the lingering scent of steel just barely clung to his skin. You basked in it. These scents you had grown so accustomed to, offered you more than simple comfort.
As you expected, all the earlier apprehensions you felt melted away. For all the home you lost. You gained a new one with Mihawk. That was more than enough for you.
Mihawk’s hand shifting away from your waist startled you. Your eyes fought against the opaque night, trying to find the missing limb. You felt cold without his touch. Unbearably exposed.
Sluggishly, Mihawk’s rough palm moved to cover your open eyes. The heat of his calloused hand warmed your chilled skin.
You groaned softly, “𝚃𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐.”
Mihawk turned his body to the side, thick arms capturing you between them. His unclad chest felt firm against your back. Yet, all you could focus on was how he effortlessly slotted his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.
Mihawk’s voice sent vibrations down your nape. You bit your lip hard, fighting back any embarrassing noises. It was moments like these you wondered if Mihawk carried the same infatuation you did. Though maybe it was best that he never cared to act on them.
You couldn’t just up and abandon them.
Clutching onto Mihawk’s arm, you nuzzled further into him. You forced your figure to remember the feeling of his body. To memorize the way his arms slotted perfectly into your own.
Shamefully, you had started to think Mihawk belonged to you.
But he wasn’t yours to keep.
Mihawk belonged here. You didn’t.
You remembered the name in a few faint memories — but you never expect the place to look like this.
The island wasn’t even an island. It was a colossal mangrove forest that seemed to stretch on for miles. Mihawk had briefly mentioned there were seventy-nine trees in total, each designated with their own numeric value.
Spinning around in place, you gawked at the gigantic bubbles just over the horizon. Their tinge of purple and blue shone bright against the burning sun. The refraction seemed to make the sky glitter.
You could barely believe this place was real.
“Careful,” Mihawk grabbed your shoulder, keeping you in place. “This place may seem harmless but there's a darker underbelly right under your nose.”
You nodded in agreement but continued to rubberneck at just about everything, “This place is incredible.”
“And dangerous,” Mihawk added.
Following closely behind the raven, you peeked around his shoulder when he came to a halt. In front of you, a small shop had been carved out into a massive tree branch. Flashy banners and bright lanterns decorated the store front, welcoming visitors.
“Why are we here?” You walked in front of Mihawk, checking out the tables of purchasable items outside the store’s door.
Abruptly, Mihawk pulled you inside the store by your collar, “We’re here to make you a Vivre Card in case you go running off.”
“Like the one you gave me earlier?”
You recalled the small piece of paper Mihawk tore off his own for you. He had given it to you just before debarking. His tone was gruff, leaving no room for argument. Under no circumstances were you to lose it.
Currently, it was shoved deep into your jeans’ back pocket. But hey, it’s probably safe there!
The process of making a Vivre Card was quicker than you thought. They swiftly clipped your nails. Threw the trimmings into a papery paste. Then, once the paper dried, cut it into a small square.
Before handing you the mother paper, Mihawk sliced himself off a thin strip.
“Keep this on you at all times.”
You took the remaining paper cheerfully, “Got it!”
Stuffing the newly minted Vivre Card alongside Mihawk’s, you watched Mihawk curiously.
His brawny hand reached into the innards of his coat. It shuffled around for a moment. Searching for something cradled in a hidden pocket. At last, he pulled out a small coin bag from his jacket and tossed it to you.
“Allowance,” His tone remained teasing, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
You frowned at his taunt, “I’m not a kid, you don’t need to give me handouts.”
“Maybe not a kid but still a liability.” Mihawk nodded his head in the direction of the large bubbles, “Stay within groves thirty to thirty-nine. The park will keep you busy until I’m back.”
Though your eyebrow twitched at being treated like a child, you gritted out a tiny, “Thanks.”
Mihawk’s eyes dripped with satisfaction.
He didn’t say anything else. He didn't need to.
Even the blind could see Mihawk was confident you’d stay in line.
With that, you parted ways with Mihawk with a small wave. You were to meet back at the port on Grove Forty-Four near dusk.
Until then — it was time to figure out just what this new world had to offer.
To Mihawk’s credit the amusement park was like nothing you had ever experienced before. Rides made from unpoppable bubbles littered about the grove. For a few berries, you bought tickets to the rides that interested you the most.
You knew exactly where you wanted to start.
The gleaming bubble rollercoaster shot you through the upper levels of the grove. Your hair tangled wildly in the rush of wind. While your throat ached from the cheering screams pulled from your mouth.
Your next stop was a soaring bubble drop tower.
You were loaded into the bowels of a swirling sphere before promptly strapped down. The ride slowly climbed to its peak before shooting rapidly to the ground.
You had to take a moment to relax after that one.
After all the rides you tried, your favorite one by far was the massive bubble ferris wheel.
You sat alone on a plush cushion. The view was beautifully unobstructed, the clear bubble surrounding you gave a panoramic view of the entire archipelago.
Your hands were practically glued to the thin material as you gazed longingly across the grove.
When you finally came down from the ride, you noted how the sun was still somewhat high in the sky. Your draw string bag still had plenty of berries. Yet, none of the other rides looked intriguing enough to spend them.
Mihawk did advise you to stay within groves thirty to thirty-nine. Although, you’d argue it was more of a command than a suggestion.
Buuut… Mihawk wasn’t here right now.
It didn’t take much convincing for you to meander out and beyond the amusement park groves. While the rides were fun. You were curious to see what the archipelago had to offer outside of staged entertainment.
You didn’t have to wait long. As soon as your foot stepped from the bridge connecting Grove Thirty to Grove Twenty-Nine, you felt an ominous chill in the air.
Alarm bells rang in your head loudly. The sound drowning out the park’s noise behind you. Your heart, in agreement with instinct, hammered violently against your chest.
The entire grove screamed DANGER.
For half a second you debated turning around, tail between your legs. You’d herd yourself back to the safety of the amusement park. Bustling children’s rides and greasy corn dog stations would mock your cowardly return.
Then, you’d wait like a loyal dog for Mihawk. Ready to bark, heel, and sit at every command.
The stench of overcooked funnel cake and sickly sweet cotton candy adhered to your skin would surely bring a soft grin to his face. His loyal mutt waited so patiently. Maybe he’d even offer a pat to your head as recognition.
The thought made your teeth grind.
Perhaps the blame did rest solely on your shoulders. You often followed Mihawk’s orders without complaint, enjoying the attention of your infatuation.
His rare praises made you melt. You couldn’t help but just want a little more. So, you played the part of a lap dog. Happily taking scraps from a man who seemed to be above it all.
Maybe that’s why you suddenly felt so angry.
You weren’t just Mihawk’s precious puppy dog ready to submit.
It was time to get a taste of the real world. The comfort of Kuraigana Island was messing with your brain, making you think the world only consisted of you and Mihawk.
There were places to be and people to meet. You’d be damned if you didn’t venture out into the world of the future before you got home.
The sheer audacity of your determination seemed to vanquish any fear from your body. You looked like a woman on a mission.
You breached the entrance of Grove Twenty-Nine as if you owned the place.
