The Blade And The Princess (Dracule Mihawk x Reader) (One Piece)
The reader is a princess on a remote island taken over by the Marines because her father may or may not have helped some pirates. To make sure the reader doesn't escape, Dracule Mihawk, the greatest swordsman and warlord, was ordered to 'babysit' you, but he gets more than he bargained for because you're not some pampered royal.
PART 1 (Might make into a series in future)
The air on the island was heavy with salt and silence. Once a glittering jewel of royal influence, your home now reeked of Marine control. Pristine white flags fluttering where your family’s golden crest once hung.
You stepped out onto the veranda, barefoot, your long skirt brushing the marble tiles as you scowled at the ocean below, ‘quit following me!’ you snapped without turning around.
A low, unimpressed hum came from behind you, ‘I was hired to follow you, princess,’ came the cool baritone voice, ‘better get used to it.’
You whirled around to face him. Dracule Mihawk, Warlord of the Sea, the world’s greatest swordsman, and currently, your so-called babysitter. He leaned against one of the veranda’s pillars, arms crossed, that ridiculous hat shadowing his hawk-like eyes. Yoru, his massive blade, rested against the wall beside him, close enough to make your guards sweat just looking at it.
‘Some babysitter,’ you muttered, ‘What’s next? You gonna tell me when to eat my vegetables, too?’
Mihawk didn’t flinch. ‘If it stops you from trying to scale the outer wall again, perhaps.’
You glared at him, cheeks warming, ‘That was one time!’
He raised a brow, ‘It was yesterday. And you nearly broke your neck.’
You crossed your arms, lips pressed tight. The worst part was that he didn’t even mock you with malice. He just said things, plainly, sharply, and they somehow stung more than insults.
‘…I don’t need your help,’ you said finally, looking away toward the horizon, ‘my father will clear his name. The Marines will leave. And then you can go back to brooding in your creepy castle.’
The faintest twitch of amusement crossed Mihawk’s mouth, ‘You think I enjoy this arrangement?’
‘Don’t you?’ you shoot back, ‘you get to lurk around like some fancy guard dog, doing nothing while the Marines play jailor.’
He regarded you quietly for a moment, so still that it made you uneasy. His golden eyes reflected the dying light of the sunset, sharp and unreadable. ‘You misunderstand, princess,’ he said, tone softening, not kind, but deliberate, ‘I was sent here to prevent your escape, not to protect you from others.’
‘I don’t need protecting,’ you reply, chin lifting defiantly.
‘That remains to be seen.’
The words lingered between you like a blade edge, fine, gleaming, and dangerous.
You turned to leave, your hands clenching at your sides. But before you could step through the doorway, his voice followed you again.
‘Still,’ Mihawk said, his tone quieter now, ‘you’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that.’
You pause, just long enough for him to catch the faintest flicker of a grin tugging at your lips, ‘don’t sound too impressed,’ you mutter, ‘you’ll ruin your mysterious reputation.’
When you walked away, Mihawk watched you go, the corner of his mouth curving ever so slightly. He had expected a spoiled royal brat. What he got instead was a wildfire in silk. And for the first time in years, the greatest swordsman in the world found himself wondering not if he could guard you. But if he could keep up.
THREE DAYS LATER
The jungle path that led away from the castle wound deep into the island’s heart, where the Marine patrols rarely bothered to tread. You moved quickly through the foliage, skirts hitched up just enough not to trip over them, glancing behind you every few seconds.
No sound. No shadow. Finally. You allowed yourself a breath of satisfaction. I finally lost him.
For all his skill, Dracule Mihawk wasn’t exactly built for stealth in the wilderness. You half expected to hear the clang of his boots or the creak of that absurdly massive sword. But there was nothing, just the call of gulls and the faint hum of cicadas.
Until you heard shouting up ahead.
Your brow furrowed, and you followed the noise toward the edge of a small fishing village. The houses were simple; the people were quieter now under Marine occupation, their spirits dimmed and their pride bruised.
And now, a group of young Marines, clearly new recruits, were laughing near one of the shacks. A man knelt before them, clutching a basket of spilt fish. One Marine kicked the basket aside, sending the catch scattering into the dirt.
‘Come on, old man! You think we don’t know you’re hiding food from the Navy?’ one of them sneered, stepping forward.
‘I-I only kept enough for my family,’ the villager stammered, ‘Please, sir—’
The soldier raised his rifle like a club. You didn’t think. You moved. Picking up a discarded wooden oar near you.
The sound of the oar connecting with a head cracked the air, then another. Before the Marines even knew what hit them, two were flat on their backs, the third spinning around in shock just in time for you to drive your knee into his stomach after dropping the oar.
He collapsed with a wheeze, eyes rolling back as you caught your breath.
‘Princess—!’ the old man gasped, his voice trembling, ‘I—thank you, my lady! You—you shouldn’t—’
You waved him off quickly, straightening your dishevelled sleeves, ‘It’s fine. Go home, make sure your family eats tonight. That’s an order.’
He blinked at you, bewildered by the calm authority in your tone.
‘It’s my duty,’ you added, brushing dirt from your palms, ‘to make sure no harm comes to my people. Not while I’m still breathing.’
The man bowed deeply, tears in his eyes, before hurrying off into the safety of the trees.
You exhaled slowly. Your heart was still pounding, but beneath the adrenaline was a strange warmth, a reminder of what it used to mean to be royalty here.
Then you freeze. You felt it. That quiet, steady presence, the kind that didn’t need to announce itself.
You turned. Mihawk leaned against a nearby palm, arms crossed, hat shadowing his expression. The golden eyes that met yours were sharp as ever, but there was something different in them this time. Maybe a glint of approval.’
‘…How long have you been there?’ you demanded.
‘Long enough,’ he replied simply.
You groan, ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to run off and report me to your Marine friends.’
He pushed off the tree with unhurried grace, the tails of his coat swaying lightly, ‘Hardly. I have no interest in petty squabbles or frightened men in uniform.’
‘Then what—?’
‘I was curious,’ he interrupted, stepping closer until you could feel the weight of his gaze, ‘whether the stories about royal arrogance were true.’
You blinked at him, ‘and?’
His lips quirked, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, ‘you’ve proven me wrong. That doesn’t happen often.’
Heat rushed to your face, though you refused to show it, ‘you could have helped, you know.’
‘I was evaluating your skill,’ he said, tone perfectly casual, ‘consider it…training.’
‘Training?!’ you hiss, ‘I nearly got caught—’
‘But you didn’t.’
You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it again. He was right. And worse, you could tell he knew it, ‘you’re insufferable,’ you mutter, turning away.
Mihawk followed at a leisurely pace, Yoru glinting faintly in the setting sun, ‘So I’ve been told.’
When you threw him an exasperated glare over your shoulder, he didn’t look away this time. Instead, he regarded you with a faint, unreadable smile, something that felt almost like respect.
NIGHT
Night had fallen over the island like a shroud. The once-lively palace was silent, its halls patrolled by Marines in white and blue uniforms, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders. From the balcony outside your chambers, you could hear the sea. Restless, crashing against the cliffs below.
You sat at the edge of the stone balustrade, one knee pulled up, the other dangling over the abyss. The wind tugged at your hair, carrying the faint salt of the waves.
Behind you, the sound of boots on marble, ‘you’ll fall if you lean any farther,’ Mihawk said quietly.
You didn’t turn around, ‘If I fall, at least I’ll get some peace.’
There was a faint exhale, not quite a sigh, but close, ‘you’re not the first royal to say that,’ he murmured.
You glanced over your shoulder. Mihawk stood there, arms crossed as usual, his expression calm and unreadable. The lanternlight from your window flickered across his face, casting strange gold and crimson highlights across his eyes.
‘Why do you do it?’ you asked suddenly, ‘work for the Marines? You, of all people. You don’t seem like the type to take orders.’
‘I don’t,’ he said simply, ‘I accepted the title of Warlord because it allows me freedom. The Marines stay out of my affairs. I stay out of theirs.’
You snorted softly, ‘convenient. Meanwhile, they ruin lives.’
That got his attention. He tilted his head slightly, the faintest spark of curiosity flickering across his gaze, ‘Go on.’
You turned back toward the ocean, voice low but steady, ‘The Marines built their base near our shores three years ago. My father warned them that it would disrupt trade and frighten our people. They didn’t listen.’
Your hands clenched in your lap, ‘ever since then, they’ve been waiting for an excuse, any excuse to strip the royal family of power and seize control. It was only a matter of time before they found one.’
‘Your father’s alleged ties to pirates,’ Mihawk said evenly.
You nodded, a bitter laugh slipping out, ‘Exactly. They act like heroes, preaching justice and order, but I’ve seen what they really are. Greedy. Hungry for power. They wear their spotless white uniforms like halos and expect everyone to forget that corruption festers underneath.’
You looked up at him then, eyes sharp despite the faint glow of moonlight, ‘Everyone has evil in them, Mihawk. The Marines, pirates, nobles, it doesn’t matter. Give anyone enough power, and you’ll see it.’
For a long moment, he said nothing. The only sound was the waves breaking far below.
Then, slowly, Mihawk crossed the balcony, coming to stand beside you. His shadow fell across the stone, dark and unwavering, ‘You speak like someone who’s seen too much for their age,’ he said finally.
You gave a humourless smile, ‘and you speak like someone who stopped being surprised by human nature a long time ago.’
That earned a faint, almost imperceptible smirk, ‘you’re not wrong.’
You studied him out of the corner of your eye. For all his reputation, the cold killer, the duelist who’d cut down legends, he didn’t feel cruel. Detached, yes. But there was something in the way he looked at the world, like he’d seen it crumble one too many times and decided to simply stand still while it did.
‘Tell me something,’ you said after a moment, ‘why didn’t you stop me earlier today? When I attacked those Marines?’
He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, ‘because they deserved it.’
You blinked, turning to look at him properly, ‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it,’ Mihawk replied, ‘there’s a difference between chaos and justice, Princess. The Marines forget that sometimes.’
You stare at him, this stoic, infamous swordsman who’d brought nations to heel, and for the first time, you feel something unexpected. Not fear. Not disdain. Understanding.
‘…You’re not what I expected,’ you murmur.
He looked at you, eyes gleaming faintly beneath the brim of his hat, ‘neither are you.’
A soft breeze swept through, carrying the scent of salt and smoke. And for a moment, just a fleeting one, there was peace, two sharp-edged souls sharing silence above a restless sea.
