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gingernut1314 · 6 months

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Little Game Pt. 2

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you once more after a month of hunting after you--a month of playing your little games. Found you in yet another poor excuse for a bar, except it seems you have forgotten all about your game. Forgotten and were dulling your usually sharp sense away with drink after drink. But Mihawk hasn't forgotten. Your game is still on and he plans on winning.

Tags: angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.9K

Setlist:

Emotions

I Wanted to Leave

A/N: I'm soooo sorry it's been such a long time! I'm in my last year of college and it's absolute hell on earth and the work is insane. Anyywway, there's no spice again, but I'm slowly getting there! I hope you all enjoy! 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1 | Part 3

Mihawk had traveled thousands of miles from his Marine-ravaged home. Had smuggled himself onto cargo ships and luxury vessels to get to island after island. Had begged to join the first pirate crew he could find so he might learn to sail and build his strength. Had begged on his knees, forehead bowed so low it had touched the ground with anger-fueled tears in his eyes to the first swordsman he could find to teach him the delicate art of the blade.

Had begged on hand and knee to every swords master he came across to teach him. To help him draw closer and closer to that end goal he would do anything to achieve.

He would become strong. Become the greatest swordsman the world had ever known and then he would lay waste to the Marines. He would spare them no mercy, just as they had spared his home no mercy. Just as they had spared his mother no mercy.

It was a goal--no, a vow bound by blood and death herself that led him here to this small island. An island covered in ancient, towering trees. An island home to a secluded and unknown people. Home to the greatest swordsman of a long-ago era. A swordsmen who had lived 180 years and had never lost a fight.

His yellow eyes scanned the dark wood he had been warned was full of monsters--devils waiting to tear any traveler brave enough to enter its thick, fog-filled brush. His last master had warned him many men had gone in looking for the great swordsman to learn from him, just as Mihawk, but they never reached his log cabin at its center. They had hardly stepped foot into the wood before its guardian attacked.

Mihawk calmly stated he would be the first to make it. Would face this Guardian of the Wood and all its devilish monsters and win. He would find the great swordsman and prove to him he was worth his teachings.

The forest hardly looked dangerous. Especially when he spotted the yellow-gold petals of marigolds that he could see littered the leaf-covered floor.

No monster in sight. No devil. No Guardian.

Mihawk placed his hand over the hilt of his sword at his side and started into the dark forest. Had just passed a rather large bunch of marigolds when someone landed on the ground before him, having hopped down from their spot amongst the treetops.

Mihawk scolded himself for not having spotted the figure, knowing he would have seen them had he not been so preoccupied thinking about devils. The tip of a naginata pressed into his chest.

“Are you a pirate?” The voice that came from the figure was silky and calm, yet held dark danger within its melody. It was a voice unlike any other Mihawk had heard and its wielder was just as rare. You looked like some wood nymph. Like the mystical yet deadly creatures Mihawk had heard sung on the lips of pirates and sailors alike come to life.

“I am here for Rivers Achilles.” You frowned deeply, that sharp blade never leaving Mihawk's chest. He looked you over carefully. Looked over your well-trained stance, one only gained from practice and patience Mihawk knew all too well. Took in the fact you must be around Mihawk’s own age of fourteen. No. He could tell you were older. A year--maybe two.

“Do all you pirates have a monthly meeting to discuss such originality?” Mihawk narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. Watched your eyes spark like you enjoyed his small reaction.

“I do not have time to waste on some dirt-smug girl.” Mihawk saw you were hardly dirt smugged. You were pertinently clean as if you had washed before climbing up into that tree. He said it to snuff out that spark of enjoyment you had gotten from baiting his temper. An anger he was slowly training himself to wrangle away. “Now. Move before I move you.”

You laughed. A small thing that grew into an all-out bellow. It was a laugh that matched your darkness. Your rareness. It had Mihawk blinking, as if stunned at its sound.

“You step another inch in my wood, pirate, and I will break your nose.” You threatened, that dangerous tone laying in the background of your voice pooling thick like venom to its forefront. It was--intoxicating to hear. A sound Mihawk wanted to drag from you again and again.

“Are you the Guardian of the Wood?” Your shoulders rose and pride swelled in your eyes.

“If you have heard of me then you have heard of what I have done to many a pirate such as yourself. I make them disappear--vanish them from the face of the earth.” Mihawk watched you slowly. A slowness that sparked anger in your eyes.

It was an anger that Mihawk knew too well. An anger that matched his own in intensity and fury like some twin flame. Someone had hurt you--had taken someone from you, just as those Marines had taken his mother. Had left you feeling so weak and empty it left that anger to fester and grow out of control in you, just as it had in him. It was an anger he wanted to lash out at. One he wanted to direct his own anger at.

“I thought you would be--” He paused, letting his eyes roam over your body again in a bored manner. “--more.” That fiery anger flared brightly. Had your knuckles going white wrapped as tightly as they were around the staff of your naginata. “How disappointing to find you are just some feral, dirt-covered girl.” Oh yes--yes there it was. Such anger. Anger to match his own. Anger that would rival him like none other ever could.

Mihawk had hardly seen you move before you were bringing the staff of our naginata to ram into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded in Mihawk's ears as pain flared in his face, nearly blinding him.

A pain that blinded him from seeing you move to kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying out of the woods and back onto the black sand of the beach he had just landed on near minutes ago.

His anger flared then, but he could only blame himself. He had been distracted by your own anger. By your dangerous voice and your rare beauty. Stupid, idiotic distractions on his part.

“A runt such as yourself should know his place.” You hissed as Mihawk shoved himself to his knees, wiping the blood from under his broken nose as he laid his yellow eyes on you once more. Found you had left the darkness of your wood and stopped before him looking like some vengeful goddess fallen straight from the heavens. “My father does not wish to waste his time training the likes of pirates. Weak pirates such as yourself, runt.”

Your father was Rivers Achilles--yes, it made sense now. Your rarity made sense. Your strength and skill. Your father was no ordinary man, therefor his offspring would be just as inordinary--spectacular.

“I am no runt and I am not weak. I will pass you. I will bow before Achilles and he will train me.” Mihawk declared, cold sea water spraying at his dark leather boot-covered feet. “Your little game will do nothing to stop me from becoming the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen.”

That excited spark flashed in your icy eyes again. A spark that flickered and twirled with your anger. A wicked, cat-like grin crossed your face--a grin that was so stunning it nearly stole Mihawk's breath away--did steal it.

“Game on.”

Mihawk had been tracking you for a month now. A month longer than he liked, but you never gave up the chase. Never slowed or stopped long enough for Mihawk to grab hold of you. All he ever saw of you was the trail of perfect chaos you left behind.

He had followed you through the North, South, East, and West Blues. Had followed you into the Grand Line, full of all its dangers, and back, only to follow you right back into its mysterious waters. And just when he thought he had caught up to you, would have you within his grasp, you had disappeared like smoke between his fingers.

Despite how long his pursuit of you had taken, he found it excited him. Had him looking forward to the coming dawn, something he had long ago started to dread.

He assumed it was because you excited him--had always kept him on his toes. You were a rare woman. One that had always challenged him in skill and wit--that matched him as perfectly as one could match another.

Part of him wished you would just give in. Come with him back to Kuraigana Island and let him indulge you in every luxury he had ever wanted to give you. It was a foolish wish, but one he held regardless. One he knew would never come true unless he won this little game of yours.

A game you seemed to have forgotten for the night, because here you were, in another run-down, dirty, overcrowded bar on some backwater island in the Grand Line, drunk out of your mind. It was unlike you, to be this careless. Not when it came to your games--when Mihawk was playing them just as you had wanted.

But there you were, downing the last of your beer, hardly grimacing at the taste as he knew you usually would, too drunk to even taste it. There you were, looking so--exhausted. It was an exhaustion Mihawk knew too well--that weight heavy on his shoulders as it seemed to do you. An exhaustion that had Mihawk pausing. Almost had him leaving this too-small bar and all its too-drunk inhabitants.

Almost.

A drunk man bumped into Mihawk with a slurred apology, but he hardly heard it. Hardly even felt the pathetic man running into him. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was so close to winning the game you had started.

“Why is it you continue to frequent such nightmarish establishments?” Mihawk's voice should have had you sobering up. Should have had you scrambling to escape back out to sea and leave him and this island far behind. But his voice--so smooth and calm and utterly bored had you tingling in excitement.

You had missed his all-too-calm dementor. Had missed him, his face, and his stupid hat.

On a small hiccup, you turned to look up into those piercing yellow-gold eyes you had missed the most. Eyes you wished you could look into forever.

With your thoughts fogged nicely thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed, you had no embarrassment or strength for good decision-making when you placed your palm over top of his hard-earned abs. The warmth of his skin seeped into your freezing fingers as you ran them over his skin.

“Mi-hic-hawk.” You purred up at the unamused man, all but fighting against your hiccups. You flashed him a sly grin. “How’d you find me?” You slurred horribly.

“You are being sloppy.” You hummed as you brought your other hand to run along his skin, taking in his warmth and power that all but radiated off of him in dangerous waves.

“You always know just how to--hic-- sweet talk a girl.” You said, running your hands around his waist, where they disappeared under his dark jacket. Where they felt the equally as strong muscles lining his lower back. “Say something mean to me again, Mihawk. Pretty--hic--please.”

Mihawk blinked down at you for a single moment before swiftly removing your hands from his body. You pouted, going to grab for him again, but he brushed you off once more. “Stop.” You whined pathetically, “You’re being mean.”

“You asked me to mean,” Mihawk said the fact simply in that overly bored manner he hid behind. With a huff, you stopped your attempts at touching him and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t say sh-hic-oo me away.”

“You are drunk, Y/N.” You rolled your eyes dramatically, turning back around on the bar stool you sat on to find the bartender again.

“And you’re not. It’s --hic-- boring.” You hissed as the bartender came over. “I will have your finest beer and my --hic-- best friend will have your oldest wine.” The woman’s eyes darted to Mihawk making you fix her with an icy glare. Her eyes looked a little too long in Mihawk's direction. Had looked over his face and body for too long. “Don’t look at him. I can only look at him.” She was quick to snap her eyes away, her face going pale in utter fear.

“Y-yes ma’am. We-we only have a red blend from a year ago.” You sighed.

“He will deal with it.”

“Y/N, we are leaving,” Mihawk said as the woman rushed off. You gave another dramatic sigh, turning back to face him. Those yellow-gold eyes had never once left you and you couldn’t help but enjoy being in their sights.

“Mihawk, we are--hic--not. I just ordered.” He continued to look unamused. Continued to fix you with his own sharp stare. One that never quite seemed to overpower your own. “Is it because I ordered you bad wine?”

“Bad wine or not we are leaving.” You narrowed your eyes up at him. Narrowed them so sharp you willed them to cut him open.

“It’s my--hic--day off. If you are going to be a party pooper then you should --hic-- leave.” It was the exact opposite of what you wanted him to do, but you had landed on this island to get drunk. So drunk you would hopefully wake up with dark spots in your memory.

“I will. With you.” He insisted. You rubbed your eyes roughly, that exhaustion you had come here to escape returning with a vengeance.

“You are such an --hic--asshole.”

“Poetic.” Mihawk monotoned. You hissed, yanking your hands away from your face and flinging them up in the air.

“I’m drunk, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Leave me be.” Your beer was placed before you and you were quick to scoop it up. The bad glass of wine went untouched by Mihawk. “Do you want to know --hic-- something?” You asked the bartender who hesitated. Hesitated and stayed after you fix her with your icy glare once more. “This--hic-- guy acts all tough but really --hic-- he wants to leave because all these people are making him--hic--itchy. He’d rather just sit on his pert little ass in the dark.” You said, a giggle leaving your lips.

The bartender’s eyes darted back to Mihawk and you slammed your fist on the countertop, making the glasses rattle and the bartender nearly jump out of her skin. “I said don’t look at him.” You watched her chest heave up and down in fear as you took a long sip from your beer. “Talking about pert little asses. Mihawk once ran naked--”

“Enough, Y/N.” Mihawk all but commanded you, making you tense. It was a command you bristled at--made your anger begin to heat in your chest rather quickly. Too quick for you to grab hold of and control, especially when you were this drunk. “We’re leaving.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck the Marines and --hic--fuck you again.” You hissed, standing from your stool only to nearly fall off it in the process. Mihawk stayed planted in his place, even when you ran into him during your oh-so-graceful fall. “You can’t tell me what to--hic--do.”

“You are stumbling around like a no-good drunkard. Collect yourself.” You stomped your foot and pushed Mihawk with another hiss like some child. The swordsman hardly seemed to even feel your attack. A fact that had you seething and going to do it again, but he grabbed your wrists in a tight hold. “Enough.” He commanded again. You yanked against his grip but it stayed strong.

“Let me go.” You hissed at him, yanking again.

“We are leaving. Whether you do so on your own two feet or I carry you out makes no difference to me.” Your anger surged in your chest. Surged in defiance at his orders. You were not one to be ordered around. Especially by him.

“You will unhand me this instant or I will--hic--break your nose.” Something flashed in Mihawk's golden eyes. Something--sad. A sad that called to your own sadness which had been welling and pooling within your chest for years now. Pooling to the point of near flooding. A flood you resorted to drinking to dam it up.

Mihawk’s grip around your wrists fell, but he made no sign of leaving. Made no sign of moving a single muscle from his spot before you. Made no sign of giving up on his declaration of leaving this bar with you in tow.

In your drunken state, you thought this was a perfect opportunity to draw your black blade, which you had left uncovered at your hip. You swung, your muscles moving on near memory, at the frustrating swordsman before you, causing the bartender and a few people around you to scream out in fear.

Mihawk sidestepped your attack and before you could blink, your sword was skillfully pulled from your grasp and you stumbled forward with a roar. “Give it--” Your words were cut off by a yelp as Mihawk grabbed you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder.

Your right shoulder hit Yoru’s hilt painfully and you had to quickly throw your hands out to stop your face from colliding with the black blade strapped to his back. Mihawk wrapped an iron-like arm around your thighs to keep you in place before starting for the exit.

Your vision blurred from the sudden movement, but it didn’t stop you from pounding on Mihawk’s powerful back and kicking your feet as best you could in your weak attempt to escape. His hold on you never lessened, only seeming to tighten in your struggle.

“Let me go, Mihawk!” You shouted, pulling yourself up enough to try to catch of glimpse of his face, only for his stupid hat to hit you in the face. You gave a frustrated little growl. “This is not fair! I’m drunk!”

“Drunk or not, you started the game. I plan on finishing it.” You huffed in frustration, punching his back once more to no avail.

The bar fell away and soon you were being carried through the night-filled streets of the backwater village you had found. You continued to fight against his hold until your stomach stirred nauseously and your vision blurred to the point you could hardly see.

With a pathetic moan, you let your body go limp against his back, your body bouncing with every graceful step he took. It only made your nausea grow, but you were too dizzy to do anything about it.

“Tire yourself out?” Mihawk asked something like amusement finally filling his smooth voice.

“I’m going to vomit all over your fancy little sword.” You murmured, making the man sigh deeply through his nose.

“Are you serious?” You moaned, feeling bile rise in your throat. Your world spun and blurred around you as Mihawk dragged you off his shoulder, a movement that only had that bile rising sharply and your mouth filling with hot spit. You were placed on your feet, but your knees gave out with little warning. Tiny rocks dug into the flesh of your palms and into your kneecaps.

You cursed, taking deep breaths of the chill night air, hoping to settle your upset stomach. Maybe you had overdone it on the drinks--but unfortunately for you, this is what you had set out to accomplish, and sober you knew she wouldn’t have to deal with all of this nastiness.

You had just opened your mouth to relieve your aching stomach when strong hands collected your hair away from your face. Hands that held your hair in a manner so soft you hardly felt it. You vomited before you could think much more on whose hands were holding your hair up.

“Why were you in that bar, Y/N?” Mihawk asked, voice low and so--gentle. As gentle as the man could make it seem. You huffed in and out deeply, catching your breath.

“Why do most people go to --hic -- bars? To get drunk.” You hissed as best you could between breaths. Bile rose in your throat and your stomach rolled once more. Gods--

“Yes,” He sighed, annoyed at your comment. “But you don’t go to bars to get drunk. Not when you are set on a task. Not ever.” You huffed a moan before throwing up once more.

“I’ve changed.” You huff out, catching your breath once more. Mihawk was quiet behind you. A quiet that ate at you more than you wished to admit. Your vision blurred again. But it was a blur that had nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with the tears welling in your eyes.

You had drunk too much. Way too much if it was bring you to tears. Tears you could do nothing about to control, not in the state you were currently in. Not when the man making you cry was behind you, holding your hair like there was nothing wrong between the two of you. Like you were back on your home island, stealing alcohol from your father and sneaking off to the only bar on the whole island.

Your home. Your father. Your forest. All gone. Just like that in the blink of an eye. How had it happened? How had you let it happen? You had been your home's Guardian, just as your mother before you, and her mother before her. It had been your job, your responsibility to protect it from such dangers.

It had been your life's purpose and you had failed. Failed and lived. Lived when you should have died protecting it.

“Y/N--” Mihawk started, but you swatted his hands away as you turned your body away from your puke. You buried your face in your hands to keep the swordsman from seeing your tears. From seeing your weakened and broken state.

“Leave me be. Please.” You all but begged. Gods you were pathetic. So far from the proud and strong person you had once been in your youth. So old and angry and tired.

“I’ve seen you at your lowest. Some sick and a few drunken tears are hardly going to deter me.” He said on a sigh like you should have already known that.

You pulled your face from your hands to glare at him where he knelt behind you. To tell him to leave on a venomous hiss--to throw insults his way, but his hand disappearing into his jacket pocket caught your eye. It reappears with a golden hair clip, diamonds sparkling in the lamp lights as he showed it to you.

“That’s my--” You started in disbelief.

“You forgot it on my ship when you left.” He said, handing it to you. You took in gently in your hands and before you could even begin to process everything, his hands were in your hair once more. He gently pulled and twisted it, mimicking how you had done your hair a million and one times before without so much as a thought of his ever-watchful gaze. His free hand plucked the golden clip from your hand and nestled it securely in your hair.

He had kept it. Had not only kept it, but had kept it on his person. Kept it close and ready to use if you ever needed it once more.

When he was done, you turned to stare bug-eyed up at him, tears still refusing to halt their endless fall. Calm. He was always so calm. A calm that frustrated you and grated on your nerves to no end, but was such a familiar, comforting presence. A presence you had yearned to be around more than you yearned to hunt down every last Marine you came across.

Hesitantly, he reached for you. So hesitantly he gave you enough to slap him away, but you made no move to do so. Made no move to stop him as he brushed your tears away with his thumb.

His touch sent your eyes watering all over again. His touch and his actions were so gentle and kind and so utterly unfair. So unfair because you couldn’t give in. Not now. Not for a long, long time.

Gods how you wanted to give in.

“I can’t--I can’t go with you.” You said in a low, grave tone. Mihawk brushed his thumb over your cheek once more before pulling away, making you feel that cold aloneness you had been trying to chase away with drink. He gave the slightest of nods.

“I know.” He said just as lowly, his face seeming to harden further. You watched him grab your black blade, which he had placed on the ground beside him. He resheathed it at your side skillfully and reached for you again, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you to your feet. You swayed like a great gust of wind had blown into you, your drunkenness having yet to wear off.

Mihawk hardly made a single sound before he was lifting you off the ground once more. Made no sound as he prompted you to wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You did so without much thought, the action having been memorized by your body.

It was something the two of you had done many times over the years, whether it be you clinging to his back or front. Whether it be because you were too drunk or injured to walk, you would cling to him and he would hold you tight. It was something he had grumbled endlessly about the first few times you’d insisted upon it, but had slowly grown used to it to the point he would pick you up as such without your prompting.

Your eyes catch his own briefly. Eyes so bright they were like the sun. A sun your soul begged to orbit one more, but your pride beat it down. Had you looking away and placing your cheek on his shoulder, taking his rose and expensive cologne scent deep into your nose so that you might hold on to it for that much longer.

Mihawk felt like a teenager again, holding you like this. It was--refreshing, though if anyone of importance saw him in such a way, there was sure to be trouble. But for now, in this small village in the middle of the Grand Line, he could get away with it. Could hold you close and keep your seemingly ever-cold body warm.

He had marked where your ship was docked before he had ever docked his own, so finding it again was hardly a chore.

Your ship was just a tab bit larger than his own, still designed for a single crew member to sail, but large enough for a much more spacious sleeping quarters and kitchen. That had been something you had complained about endlessly when having sailed with him on his own ship.

He readjusted his hold on you so he might open the door that led to the inner workings of your ship. It was neat and tidy, just as his own was, though the walls covered in numbers and markings were unlike anything on his own ship.

They were Marine branch numbers, ones you had come across during your journeys. Underneath each number were tally marks which he assumed represented how many ships you had destroyed flying those same numbered flags. The branches you had completely whipped off the face of the earth he found were crossed out.

It was impressive how many Marines you had wielded your perfect chaos against. Impressive and worrisome because he knew as the number grew, the more you would be noticed. And the more you are noticed, the more likely it was they would send another one of the Warlords to slaughter you.

Garp had warned him of this the last time they spoke. Had commanded Mihawk to get you under control or you would be spared no mercy. It was Mihawk's first and final warning to stop you before you got yourself killed.

And as much as Mihawk wanted to take you away to his new home, to keep you out of the prying eye of every last Marine and pirate that sailed the seas, he knew he needed to wait. To play your game and win it, or there would be no victory. No having you back by his side.

You had fallen asleep sometime during the walk, so you made no fuss as Mihawk placed you in bed. You merely grumbled something in your sleeping state as he pulled your boots off and took your sword from your side, propping it against the wall.

He watched you for a long moment. Watched your softened features as you slept.

So rare. You were too rare to let go. To give up on and allow to die. You were Mihawk’s twin flame. A flame he would fight and die for if given the chance. You were the only person alive he would truly bend to.

And bend he did by letting you go. By playing your little game. A game he vowed to win the right way.

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gingernut1314 · 5 months

Text

Little Game Pt. 3

Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader

Summary: Mihawk has found you again. Found you under the protection of Red-Haired Shanks and a breath's kiss away from death's door after crossing blades with a Warlord far less kind than Mihawk. The game is still a foot, but as Mihawk comes to find out, winning is not as easy as he thought it would be.

Warnings: Lottttsss of angst (soooo sorry to all the angst disliker out there. I was in the mood for pain), fluff is you use a microscope, Mild spoilers for the anime

Word Count: 6.8K

Setlist:

Sentimental

On the Nature of Daylight

A/N: I got a little free time this weekend and got some writing done which has been nice! So here y'all goooo!! And....sorry for the long ass word count, I kinda blacked out and came to only to find it sitting there 😬😂 I hope you enjoy it regardless of all the pain and word count! I sure did have fun writing it!

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 1 | Part 2

You never slept.

It was the conclusion Mihawk had come to after days of trying to best you at your game. He could try storming your forest in the middle of the day, the break of morning, or in the dead of night and you would be there, blocking his path--knocking him back onto the black sands of the beach he had made camp on.

You never slept. Never ate. Never rested. You were always there, tracking him like some jungle cat.

“Given up, runt?” Your silky smooth voice spoke from somewhere behind where he sat on the beach, a fire snapping and cracking before him.

You had ventured out of your shadowy woods. A rare occasion.

Mihawk continued to prepare the fish he had caught just a few minutes prior to your arrival. His yellow eyes never once traveled to find you, despite his overwhelming want to look upon your mystical beauty.

“Hardly.” He huffed, cutting away a slab of white flesh from the fish before him, skewering it on a sharped stick.

Your footfalls were silent. So silent he might have not heard them had he not been listening to you. To the way your breath fell from your lungs, how your hair moved in the slight breeze that brushed past them, how your fingers tapped lightly at something wooden you carried.

“Do all you pirates only live off a diet of fish and water?” You asked, now at his side. Mihawk kept his eyes away from you. Away from the distraction you had become to him as he roasted the bit of fish over the fire.

“Do all you wood nymphs live off a diet of air? Or do you eat the twigs littering the forest floor?” He heard you give a small huff in something a kin to amusement.

“We feed off the souls of those we choose to torment.” Humor. You were--joking with him. “Be thankful I haven’t claimed yours.”

Mihawk’s eyes could hardly keep away from you any longer and he turned his head slightly to give in to your distraction. And what a distraction you were. So--stunningly distracting. Such a collection of danger and beauty. You were a creature come straight from myth.

It had Mihawk wishing to grab your wrist and pull you into him. To partake in all the pleasures of the body. Pleasures he had never allowed himself because they were a distraction.

He had a goal. A goal he could not afford to be distracted from.

“And tell me, Guardian. Why haven’t you claimed my living soul?” You blinked down at him, tapping at the wooden box you held in your hands once more.

“And end our game? I think not.” You said, a playful smirk on your lips before brushing off the topic entirely when you knelt beside him. Your eyes, so sharp and shielded against any true emotions you might be feeling blinked at him again. He watched as your lashes brushed against the tops of your cheeks in an airy kiss.

Mihawk felt his body stir at your closeness. A closeness that was not brought on by battle, but of your own free volition.

Again he was distracted by you. Distracted and all but unguarded against any sort of attack you might wield against him. Distracted because all he could think of was your lips and your hair and your cheeks and your stunning eyes. Distracted and wanting to lean into such distractions. To grab you and hold you against his body and keep you there.

“Have you ever had garum?” Mihawk blinked at you, eyes sharpening as he processed what you had said.

“No.” Was all Mihawk could muster up at that moment when your rarity was overwhelming his typical sense of clarity. You huffed, inviting yourself to sit in the black sand next to him. “What are you--”

“You’ve traveled the dangers of the Grand Line and found this island, yet you don’t know what garum is.” Mihawk watched you tap the side of the box once more. He felt his anger rise in his chest, but he was quick to quell it. To calm its raging fires because you were merely looking for a reaction. Looking for his anger to snap forward as it so eagerly wanted. “And you wish for Achilles to train you without knowing anything about the man.”

“Your father isn’t a subject one can find in some book. He is a man of legend.” You gave a dramatic roll of your eyes, pulling the top off the wooden box in your hands. The smell of something bitter hit Mihawk’s nose instantly.

“Yes, yes. My father is one to keep himself shrouded in mystery.” You said it like it was hardly a big deal. Like Achilles wasn’t one of the most extraordinary men to ever grace the earth. You scooted closer, causing Mihawk’s body to tense. “This isn’t garum.” You said, snagging the bit of fish he had been roasting.

Again, his anger rose. Rose and wished to snap its wicked jaws around your neck and dig deep. Instead, he allowed you to take it from his hand and pull the fish from its skewer.

“Then why cause me such grief?” Mihawk asked, a bite in his voice.

“Well, it is garum, but not in the traditional sense. The recipe has been modified for those on this island. Local spices and herbs to make it more--palatable.” You said, tearing a bit of roasted flesh and dipping it into the brownish, red sauce in one of the compartments within the box. “Here.” You held the bit of sauce-covered fish out for him to take.

Mihawk eyed it. Eyed you. You who he had been fighting day in and day out for the past week. You who he had every intention of besting. You who had every reason to keep him out of your forest. Every reason to poison the very food you offered him.

“What is it?” He questioned, gingerly taking the bit of fish from you despite his better judgment.

Soft. Your fingertips were soft. And cold. So utterly cold it sent goosebumps rushing up Mihawk’s arm.

“You don’t want to know. Just try.” You all but commanded him, tearing another bit of fish and dipping it in the thickish sauce you refused to tell him of. He watched as you bit into your food. Watched as your tongue appeared to wipe up a bit of the sauce you had failed to scoop into your mouth before it disappeared once more.

The strange sauce was not poisoned at least.

You gestured for Mihawk to eat and he did as he was told--such a strange thing to do. To all but be commanded by you. To not fight for once.

Distracting. You were a distraction.

The bitter sauce had Mihawk’s nose crinkling and that wicked bellow of a laugh spilling from the very lips that he found he wanted to feel.

Would they be as soft as your fingertips? As cold as your skin?

“Dislike it?” Mihawk crewed and swallowed, clearing his throat against the taste.

“It is fine.” But you continued to find him amusing. Continued to laugh.

“You better learn to crave it because it is my father’s favorite condiment. He puts it on everything.” He watched as you extended the wooden box full of a variety of foods out to him. He spotted what looked to be quail eggs, bits of bread, and an assortment of fruits.

“Why haven’t you killed me? Why share a meal with me?” Mihawk asked, his frustration spiking fast in his chest. You watched him for a long moment. A moment full of sharp, cold eyes that Mihawk found he could not look away from.

“I should kill you in your sleep. Should toss your body into the sea where some crustation can feed off your body. I’ve done it to many a pirate that tried to storm my forest…but Achilles has asked me to refrain from doing as such to you. At least for a month's time.” Mihawk froze. Rivers Achilles knew he was here. Knew he was here and was ordering his daughter--his Guardian of the Wood--to allow him to prove himself. Giving him time to do so.

“He will train me if I pass you? Truly?” You gave a deep huff, wiggling the box for him to take from it. He grabbed a piece of warm bread before you placed the box in the black sand that lay between them.

“Like I said, you will not pass me so there is no bother worrying about such things.” Oh, but there was reason. Mihawk would be trained by Rivers Achilles. Training that would bring him that much closer to his blood-bound vow. “Are you a pirate?” You asked, changing the subject.

“I thought you were convinced I was one.” You narrowed your eyes at him, popping the last of the bit of fish into your mouth.

“One can never be too sure.” Mihawk huffed--amused. You were amusing him.

Distraction. That’s all you were.

“Of a sort,” Mihawk answered, dipping his bread into the bitter and near-acidic sauce. You smirked at his actions, grabbing for one of the quail eggs. “Why do you ask?”

“Pirates travel the world. They see--everything. Would you…” You hesitated. A hesitation he had yet to see take over you before. It pulled all of Mihawk’s attention to you. To your utter rarity that was a distraction unlike any other he had beheld. “Would you tell me of the world?”

“The--world?” He asked on a near-stunned blink. You nodded all but sheepishly.

“I was born and raised on this island. I have never left.” You said through near force, like you knew you should keep every part of your life a secret from him.

Mihawk thought it over. The wicked, hate-filled side of himself whispered to do no such thing. To chuck the food you were sharing with him into the fire and kill you where you sat. To march into those woods and be trained under the likes of River Achilles so he could crush every last Marine he came across.

But the other side of himself--the side that willed him to sit in the sand next to you. That quelled his anger and was so utterly and thoroughly distracted by you, won.

“I have been to an island covered in snow and ice. Its people are kind and their king is supposedly a reflection of it. I was wounded at the time, but I was lucky to find it a land full of doctors and medics.” Mihawk started.

That excited light flooded your eyes and you scooted that much closer to him, cracking open your egg. Mihawk--gravitated towards you. Towards your rarity--your distraction. Leaned in as close as his pride and yours would allow and told you story after story of his adventures throughout the seas.

“Where is she?” Mihawk all but hissed as he stormed the beach he had tracked you to. A beach currently littered with the likes of the Red-Hair pirates. Pirates he was holding back from killing by a near thread. A few pirates scrambled away, going to alert their captain of his presence while the rest backed away, parting for him like some mystical sea.

“Ah, Hawk-Eyes. To what do I owe this wonderful pleasure?” Red-haired Shanks spoke joyfully as he approached him, a grin that drove Mihawk mad on his face. Mihawk stopped before the man. Stopped so close their chests brushed against each other and Mihawk could bear the weight of his rage into the eyes of the captain.

Shanks hardly flinched. Hardly bayed or fearfully looked away. He took the weight of Mihawk’s gaze--weathered it as few others could and bore his own weighted gaze back at him. A gaze that Mihawk physically felt shake his very being.

“I will not ask again. Where is she?”

“Y/N?” Shanks asked in an attempt to anger him. And anger Mihawk became. An anger that he had been keeping at bay for years. Had trained it away in himself. But now--now with you somewhere on this island and with this red-haired fool, it had his anger brewing as it once did in his youth. “Safe.” Mihawk’s fingers twitched. Oh, how he wished to cut through this man. How he wished to wipe that idiotic grin from his features.

“Why was she in Alabasta?” Shanks shrugged his shoulders.

“Beats me. Stubborn women, that one.” Mihawk knew that. He knew of your natures. Natures he wanted Shanks to know nothing of.

“She was wounded. Gravely. Take me to her instantly.” Shanks pulled his hand from within the darkness of his cloak and clasped it over Mihawk’s shoulder. A hand Mihawk physically had to restrain from cutting clean off.

“My medic is tending to her. She will live.” Mihawk threw Shanks' last remaining hand off his shoulder.

“Crocodile is not one to leave his victims with breath in their lungs. If she managed to escape his sands then she is hardly living.”

“Well, a poison hook to the gut will do that to most.” Mihawk shoved past the man, uncaring of his power or status. Uncaring that he most likely would bring hellfire upon himself by all but disrespecting Shanks as such.

“She asked me to keep you away from her, Mihawk.” Mihawk continued to walk. To storm over the beach and over to where he had spotted a gray tent by the edge of the jungle. “She sailed miles while on her deathbed to ask this of me.”

He wanted to ignore that fool--to pretend as he usually did that words could never hurt him. But he found his anger spiking in his hurt at Shanks' words. That you had sought out and asked him--Shanks of all people, to keep Mihawk away from you.

“You may try to stop me but that means nothing to me.” Mihawk all but hissed, growing ever closer to the tent he knew in his soul she would be. Shanks never attacked. Only followed after Mihawk, a small sigh leaving his nostrils.

“You’re funeral, mate.” Mihawk flung the flaps of the gray tent open, entering only to freeze.

There you were, laying surrounded by pillow after pillow on a plush bedroll he had no doubt was Shanks', a fact that nearly sent him seeing red again had you not let out a shuddery breath.

Pale. You were too pale--fragile. Mihawk wouldn’t have been surprised if even the slightest of touches would shatter you like some porcelain doll.

He hated seeing you, such a strong and fierce woman, like this. Brought to your near death bed by filthy tricks and dishonor.

His mind flickered back to when he had tracked you down to the dry lands of Alabasta. Had tracked you down just as you were leaving again, in a condition any normal person would have already felt death's cold kiss in. There had been a brawl, that much he was sure of, seeing the broken and battered bodies you had left in your wake.

Civilians screamed and some cried as they rushed away from the scene. A man, wearing the Baroque Works emblem on the crest of his head, wobbled to his knees, blood pouring from a deep gash to his side. He knew his mistake as soon as Mihawk swooped upon him--that he should have stayed down and died before the Warlord ever stepped foot in this city.

Mihawk had beaten what had happened to you out of him. That you had come, wielding your perfect chaos against the few Baroque Works agents that had been following you for days before storming Rainbase, looking for the Warlord that resided in its heart.

Mihawk had killed the man before following your trail. Rainbase was left in a state of panic and celebration after your arrival. He grabbed one civilian celebrating more than Mihawk enjoyed, hardly having to lay a finger on the man before he was spilling every last detail of what had happened to Mihawk.

You had hardly made it to the bridge that led to Rain Dinners before its owner stopped you in a swirl of sand and poisoned hooks. The Warlord had left your corpse in the street with the relieved city folk, only for you to rise from the dead and stumble away.

He had wanted to march into that golden fortress Crocodile hid in and erase him from the face of the earth, something he would have done without a second thought had he not seen the pool of blood so thick it was nearly black on the ground.

Your blood. Blood that trailed in pools here and there, leading to wherever you had gone. A trail he followed until they disappeared into the sea, you and your boat long since sailed away.

It took him too long to find you again. Find you dying and in the hands of an Emperor of the Sea.

“Have you counteracted the poison?”

“Yes--”

“She lost too much blood, has she--” A warm hand found its way to rest on Mihawk’s shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

“I currently have one of the best doctors the Blue Seas has to offer on my crew. She is in good hands.” Mihawk brushed Shanks' hand off his shoulder, a snarl he found he could not and would not hold back bared Shanks’ way.

“But is he the best?” Shanks merely gave him a pitying smile, unfazed by Mihawk’s returned temper and biting words.

“I would bet good berry on it.” Mihawk clenched his fist, his nails digging into the thin skin of his palm. Dug so deep the skin broke under their assalt.

“That’s not good enough.” He hissed.

“What do you propose then? You cannot move her. She is in no condition for travel. She has been in and out of consciousness for a day and a half, fighting death herself off.” Shanks’ words did nothing to calm the storm raging wild within himself. Only made it scorch and turn into a fire hotter than those burning in hell. “Let her rest.”

Sand burned at your lungs. Hot, boiling sand that invaded your nose and ears and mouth and eyes. Sand that took and took and took and would never stop taking until it took all it could from you.

Cruel, dark laughter. A wicked hook--pain ripping through your abdomen. Pain that twisted and wound its way through your veins. A pain that burned like lava had been poured just beneath your skin.

Your heart slowed painfully, making you heave for air with every breath you took. Your body grew cold--numb.

You were going to die. Die before you could finish your goal--your vow.

You were going to die and you would have never seen him again. Never seen those sharp yellow-gold eyes again. Eyes as bright as yellow marigolds.

Cold…so cold.

That was your father's laugh echoing through the pain. A laugh you hadn’t heard that deep and rich since your mother had been killed. Since he had held you both tight in his arms on rainy nights, sitting before a burning fire and telling you two stories of danger and adventure.

A hand reached out for you. Two hands. You’re parents, smiling warmly down at you--reaching for you.

“Come home.” They seemed to whisper. “Come home.”

You wanted to go home. You were so tired--cold.

You reached--

Yellow-gold eyes stared down at you. Worry. There was such worry in them. You blinked, your eyes dry and your body heavy--numb. A body that didn’t feel like yours. Lips moved--he was saying something to you. Something quick and urgent.

“Come home.”

You ran through the forest with your mother as she taught you the duties the Guardian of the Wood undertook. She smiled warmly at you--reached for you.

A voice called for you. A voice that floated into the forest from the black beach. A beach you had spent many nights sitting on with that voice. A voice you knew like your own beating heart.

"Come home." Your mother whispered, blocking the voice calling for you. A voice that...You're home was destroyed. Burned to the ground. You're home wasn't here on this island anymore. Home was...home was familiar. Was a person. That voice.

“Come home.” Your father whispered. A whisper that voice broke up again and again and again--

“Y/N.” Pain shook your body as you sucked in a deep breath. A breath so dry it stung at your throat and lungs. Your vision blurred as you struggled to feel your body again. A body that burned in a pain that wanted to keep you down.

No. No, you wouldn’t stay down. Not when you still had a vow to fulfill. A vow that would allow you to retire your title of Marine Hunter and find those yellow-gold eyes.

Warm hands caressed your skin. Hands that anchored you in your blinding pain. Hands that slowly, with every little touch, cleared the fog behind your eyes.

Mihawk knelt over you, eyes searching your face a mile a minute. Mihawk who looked more worried than you think you had ever seen him in his life. A deep, deep worry for you.

“I’m--” Your throat was so dry it was painful to talk. “I’m gonna kill that red-haired drunkard.” At least you would punch him in his lightly breaded jaw. You had told Shanks to keep Mihawk away. To throw him off your scent until you either died or got better. Though you knew once Mihawk had a scent in his nose he never gave it up until his target was found.

Mihawk closed those yellow eyes of his on a relieved sigh.

“And I will hold him down as you do.” He said, looking at you once more. “What were you thinking? You nearly died.”

“You think I do not know that?” You hissed as best as your dry throat would allow. Of course, you had. You probably should be dead, having failed in such a horrid way. Failed against a man who you should have been strong enough to kill.

You huffed, pulling an arm you could still hardly feel up to swat Mihawk’s hands away from your face. He gave an annoyed huff of his own, sitting back on his calves.

“Why would you go after Crocodile? What would killing him have gained you?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him.” You said, gritting your teeth against the pain that rippled through your abdomen as you tried to pull yourself up. Mihawk’s hand was back on you, holding you down in an annoyingly, aggravating way. You all but growled up at him. “Sit me up this instant.” You demanded, grabbing at his wrist.

“If not to kill him, what business did you have going anywhere near his territory?”

“Let me up and maybe I will consider telling you.” Mihawk’s eyes narrowed down at you. Narrowed in frustrated anger that mirrored your own.

Of course now of all time you could get a reaction out of him. And of course, it was during a time you couldn’t truly enjoy it.

Mihawk gave a long blink before he was gently placing a hand under your upper back, his other reaching over you to cradle your head. Ever so slowly, Mihawk pushed you upward.

Pain shot through your stomach and you were quick to grit your teeth to keep from shouting out. To keep from letting him know of such things because you knew he would stop as soon as you did.

You heaved a heavy breath as you slumped over, holding your stomach which felt as if it could rip open and spill your guts onto the floor. You closed your eyes against the spinning your head had begun to do. Closed them to focus on controlling your breathing and settle your rolling stomach to keep from puking.

“Here,” Mihawk said, prompting you to open your eyes once more. You found he held a glass of water and a singular, circular pill out to you. “That doctor said to give this to you if you woke up in pain.”

Doctor…yes. You remembered seeing a doctor through the blur in your eyes. One with blond hair kept in a loose bun at the back of his head and a scar that jutted from his hairline onto his forehead. Hongo, the Red-Haired Pirates’ doctor.

You took the pill from Mihawk, your fingertips brushing shakily against his warm palm as you did. A palm that had four, crescent moon-shaped gashes at its center. You wondered what had happened as you weakly placed the pill in your mouth.

Mihawk raised the glass to your lips and you allowed him to help you drink from it, your hand finding his writ again to keep him from drowning you. You swallowed gulp after gulp of the room-temperature water and nearly moaned at the taste--at how it eased the stinging dryness of your throat and your rolling stomach. You drank the whole glass with a satisfied gasp for air, your hand slipping from Mihawk’s wrist.

“I came across a man with the number seven tattooed on his forehead. A man who wore the emblem of the secret organization known as Baroque Works. He had been sent to kill me, to no avail.” You said, remembering back to that devil fruit user you had wounded and thrown into shallow waters to watch him drown. To watch the life leave his eyes as he panicked and begged you silently to pull him back. “He had a transponder snail on his ship, one that connected to a voice I had heard long ago.”

“Crocodile.” You snapped your gaze back to Mihawk who was watching you intently.

“Yes. We set up a meeting and he was quick to send his underlings upon me. I knew he would do as such, seeing as he was the one to send that Mr. Seven.”

“Why were you meeting with him?” You narrowed your eyes up at Mihawk and his impatience.

“Because he has connections. Eyes and ears across the globe. He would know what damp cave he is hiding away in.” Understanding shone in Mihawk's eyes.

“Is that what will get you to end your little game? Knowing his location? Killing him?”

“My game won’t end until you win it.” You snapped.

A sharp hiss escaped you as you pulled yourself to your knees, throwing a hand out to catch yourself before you fell on your face. You were not going to sit here a second longer. Not when you knew Mihawk, if he wished it, could pluck you up and take you away in your weakened state.

“You should lay down.” Mihawk insisted only for you to hiss in his direction.

“You do not command me.” The Warlord gave you an unamused look as you continued to struggle to your feet.

“Yes, yes. As you have reminded me time and time again.” He said dryly before standing and making no move to help you up. Not that you wished it. You could get to your own two feet all on your own. You didn’t need his help--help you had already taken too much of for your own taste.

Once to your wobbly feet, you took a small moment to collect yourself before heading out onto the beach. The sound of waves crashing and cheering men filled your ears as the night greeted you with a gentle, breezy kiss.

A roaring fire caught your eye a little ways away, closer to where the massive ship, The Red Force, was docked in the sea. A fire its crew sat and danced around; cheers, laughter, and song spilling from their lips as drink entered them. What they were celebrating was beyond you and, quite frankly, annoyed the hell out of you.

But you knew of this crew's nature, having been allowed passage into the Grand Line with them after first leaving Mihawk all those years ago, and had grown used to its tendency for wild, drunken nights.

You heard Mihawk exit the tent after you, his footfalls near silent in the sand as he followed behind you. Behind you like some looming, shadow or some vicious, yellow-eyed, attack dog sent straight from the pits of Hades.

“Ah! The Guardian of the Wood lives!” Shanks announced joyfully to his crew when his oak brown eyes caught sight of you. He stood, raising his bottle in the air as his crew gave a rousing cheer you frowned at. “You look lovely as ever, sweetheart. Almost as if you hadn’t been gutted and poisoned by that mean old alligator.” He said, that crooked smile of his plastered on his face as you came to stand at the edge of the circle.

“Save your flattery, sweetheart.” You all but bit, mocking the captain who gave a bellowing laugh. “Where is my ship?”

“Aw, but you just woke up. Come, sit. Drink, eat.” He said, gesturing with his bottle-clutching hand to the surrounding area. His crew agreed, egging you on to stay.

“She is in no condition for your silly little merriments,” Mihawk spoke from behind you in that bored manner of his. It spiked your anger, but your wound throbbed too loud to snap at him.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Hawk-Eyes. The invitation extends to you as well. The more the merrier.” His crew cheered once more in agreement as Shanks looked back to you with pleading eyes. “Please, little nymph. We’ve missed you something awful.” He shot you a little wink that had been known to win you over in the past.

“My ship?” You asked simply, making Shanks give a deep, over-dramatic sigh in defeat.

“Just that way, darling.” He said, gesturing a little ways down the beach where you just made out the dark silhouette of your ship.

“Thank you for keeping me alive. I would say I was in your debt once more, but you let him find me. Almost ruined the game at foot.” You said, starting off on wobbly feet through the crowd of drunken men.

“What can I say? He’s very persistent.” You gave Shanks’ alcohol-flushed cheek a little pat as you came up to him. A touch you let linger as you smirked up at him.

“I forgive you, sweetheart. I am sure we will cross paths again. Maybe I’ll even take you up on that drink.” Shanks kept your arm still with his wrist so that he could kiss the inside of your palm.

“And I will gladly offer again. Safe travels, sweetheart.” He said the nickname teasingly before his arm fell back to his side just as yours pulled away from his skin. You left the warmth of the fire and headed for your ship, having to physically keep from looking back at Mihawk, whose sharp eyes you could feel piercing the back of your neck.

“Ah--what a woman,” Shanks said watching you hobble off over the sand.

“I agree with Hawk-Eyes, she should still be resting. It’s a miracle she’s even able to walk. I had to all but bring her back from the dead.” Hongo, the Doctor of the Red-Haired Pirates, huffed, taking a long sip of his drink.

“You hear that, Mihawk? I have the best doctor throughout the Four Blues. Brought the dead back from the veil!” Shanks said with a laugh. “I really should have made you make a bet with me.” He murmured before taking a swing from his own drink.

Mihawk’s anger rose once more in his chest. An anger he had struggled to re-control since he first let it roar to life a day ago. An anger that hissed and gnashed its sharp teeth at Shanks, who still watched you walk off.

His mind races faster than he could keep up with. Raced with thoughts that had been spurred into being by the interaction you had shared with Shanks. An interaction that was all too familiar and intimate for Mihawk’s liking. One that spoke of a deeper connection you had built with the man when you had left all those years ago.

Shanks knew of your past--at least some speck of it. Enough to know your title of Guardian--to know you were closer than anyone on these seas to being a creature born from myth.

Your hand on his cheek. His lips kissing your palm.

Mihawk saw red. Saw it and had little control over it as he stormed off after you, hardly hearing Shanks’ calls.

He found you struggling to push your ship back into the sea, pained, whiny, grunts and moans escaping your lips. It almost had him pausing--had his anger banking, seeing you in such a sorry state.

Sweetheart, darling, little nymph.

“You sought Shanks out after you left.” Mihawk hissed, making you pause. A pause broken up by a deep sigh and the small bang of your forehead against the hull of your ship.

“Who else was I to turn to?” You asked sounding so--tired. “I knew no one else in these seas. I was in a foreign land and you had just left me for its tyrannical government. A government I followed you out of the Grand Line to destroy.” Your words cut into him--deep. Reminded him he had hurt you. Maybe more than you had hurt him.

His anger was hardly quelled by this, it merely adding fuel to the fire.

“He was my rival.” Mihawk continued. He felt like a child. The same child that would argue with you day in and day out to your heart's content back on your island. Back when things were so--simple.

“Was and yours.” You shot back, finally turning back to look at him. You looked--horrible. Like you would kneel over and die if the wind hit you just right. No spark of excitement at finally, finally riling his anger. Just tried anger that bubbled in your eyes like some old, underwater volcano. “Shanks has always been kind to me and was kind still in taking me in.”

Mihawk was quiet. Quiet despite his anger wanting to continue lashing out at you, even when your words were true.

“We were--” You paused, eyes willing him--begging him to see what you didn’t want to say. Words he knew would cut him deeper than any blade you could wield against him. “We were done. Ended. You ended us when you turned your back on me. You ended us when you sought a lover’s relation with power and pride and ego. With the people who killed our families.”

Tears. Those were tears in your eyes. Tears he had risen in you and Mihawk felt so utterly--pathetic. So unforgivable and mournful and heartbroken. Feelings he had pushed down in his chest for years since your leaving. Feelings he had pushed down right beside his anger, which had wrangled them back to the surface along with it.

“I should not be made to feel shameful in seeking him out. In allowing the comfort he gave me.” Tears rushed down your cheeks. Tears you tried to wipe away quickly as if he would forget you had ever shed them.

He never would. Would never forget the pain he had caused you. The pain he was still causing you.

He took a small step forward. One to see if you would stop him, but when all you did was wipe away more tears he crossed the space to be before you.

“Say something.” You all but hissed up at him through your tears.

“I’m sorry,” Mihawk confessed. A confession he should have said long ago.

You gave a huff of breath that was something like a kin to a held-back sob. One you clenched your teeth against and squeezed your eyes shut, turning your head down with a shake as more tears spilled.

Mihawk, on feather-light fingertips, brushed your cheek. When you did nothing against him, he brought his other hand up to gently scoop up your. To tilt your head back up to face him, your eyes opening once more. Your eyes, which had become watery pooling as deep as the sea itself, watched him. Such pools of heartbreaking sadness and exhaustion. He wiped his thumbs under your eyes, disturbing the rivers that had formed there.

“I did. I let my need to prove myself to the world drive you away--to hurt you. And I will never forgive myself for it. Never go a day without regretting my choices.” You huffed a sad little thing, as your hand, not clutched around your stomach, came up to hold his wrist. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me either. And I know it isn’t enough--will never be enough, but I am sorry.”

You gave another sad, little huff as your hand fell from his wrist only for your cold fingertips to brush over his lips. Mihawk’s breath all but hitched in his throat at your touch. A touch he had not felt in years. One he had yearned for.

Your touch fluttered over his cheek and jaw only to make home cradling the back of his neck. You tugged lightly at his neck. Tugged him closer towards your sad, sad face. Mihawk moved where you led him, staying near frozen beside that of your guiding hand.

Another sad, little huff escaped you as you brushed your nose over his.

His heart beat painfully against his ribs. Painfully because he knew in an instant want this was. What this would mean.

A little sad huff and your lips, which were always so naturally cold, brushed over his.

You pressed your lips to his. Lips he leaned into. Allowed his own to meld into like some perfect puzzle piece. A kiss that was soft. That was sad and soul-wrenching. One he committed to memory. One that would haunt him in his waking days and sleeping nights. One he tried to hold onto for as long as you would allow.

It was a kiss that meant goodbye. Goodbye for a long, long time.

There would be no finding you. You would vanish like some ghost, just as you had all those years ago. A ghost even he would be unable to find until you allowed him to. It wouldn’t stop him from looking. From searching you out again and again and until his dying breath.

You pulled away from him. Pulled your lips and hand and soul with you. And despite his own wish to keep you there--to keep you in that moment forever--he let you go. Let you slip through his fingers for a fourth time that might have never come to be had he not let you go that first time.

“W--win my little game.” Mihawk nodded and you smiled such a sad, broken thing back at him.

He gestured silently, not trusting his tightening throat to speak, for you to board your ship. You nodded, a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks that nearly split Mihawk's breaking soul before you climbed aboard. Once he made sure you were in, he pushed you out to sea. Push you as wave after wave crashed into him, further numbing his body.

And when the water pulled you from his fingertips, he watched you go. Watched as the wind brought you further and further away until you disappeared into the darkness.

Mihawk stood in the sea for a long moment. A moment he spent replaying every little touch and smile and anger-filled dagger you gifted him. A moment before he was making his way back onto the beach and across its sands.

Cheerful laughter and talk filled Mihawk's ears as he made it back to the group of merry men. Men who parted for him and said nothing. He snagged a bottle of rum that sat waiting in the sand to be noticed before taking a long, burning drink. Unsheathing Yoru from his back, he laid it against the log he lowered himself into the sand to sit against.

Shanks came to his side, sitting upon the log he lent against with a deep sigh. He said nothing as he joined Mihawk in drinking.

Win your game.

He thought he had known how to. That it would be as simple as finding you and catching you like some rabbit. But now he was unsure. Now when you would be gone, a ghost to him once more.

Win your game…he knew it wouldn’t be easy. It would take something great to win. Some great sacrifice. Something Mihawk mulled over and over and over again in his head.

Despite this new puzzle, his vow stayed the same. He would win your little game, and he would win it the right way.

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