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Sapsorrow Chapter 8

Masterlist Here, Sapsorrow Masterlist Here

Word Count: 10,700+

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Starlight

(Image Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/462322717990096069/)

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood @jaguarthecat @marsbars09 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Oh, boy. This is a big chapter. Next chapter will be MDNI, 18+. Thank you for your patience with me working at this. Two more chapters to go!

Song Suggestions: Young and Beautiful - Je suis Parte & Por Una Cabeza - Carlos Gardel

The ship swayed over the cloudy swell of darkened waves, shepherding the vessel away from the Kuraigana port and to a location your captain deemed appropriate for a newlywed bride to be hidden away from her husband.

Captain Buggy D Clown was not one to shy away from anything, especially not when something as interesting as causing drama and theatrics at the expense of Lord Dracule Mihawk was present. He was eager to present this challenge, whether you or Mihawk were also eager was a completely different tale entirely.

Within the Captain’s quarters aboard the Big-Top, you struggled with the back of your dress: uncinching the rigging your ward managed to tie for you to keep your body contained within its material. A huffed and agitated smile awoke on your face, picturing this struggle in comparison to the one to come after your starlight ensemble. If the moon was as difficult to rid from your body, you could not imagine how taxing the sun would be over your skin and concealing you from your husband.

Husband. You have a husband now. A husband that would be more than agitated to know you were now out to open seas and venturing to unknown horizons, away from the celebration he carefully curated for you.

“-Everything alright in here, Starlight?” the nasally crack of Buggy’s voice cut through the wooden door, “‘Ya need help?” You chuckled darkly, attempting to pry the material from you to no avail.

“Actually, Captain,” your voice held a frantic wave within its tone, “I think I do. The back is snagged, and I can’t get the damn thing off of me.” The door slowly creaked open, after a gentle rap alerted you he was to do so. You turned yourself away to conceal your exasperation from him, the stutter in your hands giving away your agitation as you continued to fumble over the ribbons at the rear of your dress.

“Do you trust me, Doll?” you heard his voice alarmingly close to your body, enough to cause a hitch in your throat. You glanced over your shoulder, witnessing Buggy’s teal eyes glancing up through his eyelashes and lips parting in concern.

“Considering you have robbed me of my wedding night with my beau,” your warning tone cut through the air as swift as a guillotine, “Spirited me away from the unity celebrations, and-,” you huffed, turning back around and glaring out of the bay window, “Confined me to spend this time alone and isolated from all those I hold most dear: I hardly deem you worthy of my trust presently, Captain.”

Buggy’s gasp was melodical and pitched up two octaves higher than his usual cadence. You could feel the waves of anxiety rising within his shoulders and expressed through several strangled breaths.

“I-I’m sorry, Lady Dracule. I didn’t think of it from your perspective and how my actions would-.” Whatever else Captain Buggy D Clown spoke after the first four words meant very little to you. Your mind looped them repetitively, the call and roll of the words felt both surreal and magical, you could hardly think about anything else.

“-Would’ve rather stayed on shore, it would be less flashy and make the chase all the less desperate. We could turn back if-,” Buggy’s words halted as he glanced back into your eyes, noticing the distant expression with a melancholy sorrow eclipsing your painted features. “...-Are you alright, my Lady Dracule?” he asked you.

“Lady Dracule,” you repeated, your brows forming a pillar at the center of your forehead and causing a small swell to mist your eyes, “I’m Lady Dracule, now.” Buggy took a moment to glance over your features, noticing this shift of emotion permeating through your stance.

Apprehensively, he reached his hand forward and gently caressed your shoulder. The gentle squeeze broke you out of your circulating mind, looking down and meeting the eyes of the cerulean-haired captain.

“Can I help you out of this dress and into the assortment I crafted for you, my lady?” Buggy asked softly, watching as you nodded in affirmation for his fingers to set to work.

“I’ll get this off in just a minute,” he whispered, his index fingers hooking through the loops in your back and slowly releasing the garment’s hold over your body, “And then we can think about your hair, and retouch your makeup. I’ll get Cabaji to bring us a bottle of the wine we swiped from the reception, too.”

You allowed a soft giggle to fall from your parted lips, the relief from being rid of the tightness of your dress while knowing you were in capable hands. As Buggy’s fingers aided you in being free from your garment, while respectfully aiding you into the new dress, your mind wandered to your husband and what he was doing in this moment. Did he notice your departure, or was he enjoying your joint celebrations in solitude?

“Where,” Mihawk’s yellow eyes glared accusingly around the guests through narrowed lenses, “Is,” he advanced, Yoru drawn with the pointed tip threatening the jugular of the Captain of the Red-Force, “My wife.”

Lord Dracule Mihawk, distracted momentarily by his guests and acquaintances upon exiting the ceremony space, sought out your hand to claim within his. He blindly reached beside him, outstretching his desperate hands to shepherd you to his side, his fingers brushing nothing but air in its wake.

He noticed your absence immediately.

“Easy now, mate,” Shanks raised his arms, noticing several members of his crew withdrew their concealed weaponry and aimed it at the enraged former warlord, “Easy, easy. She’s safe, I swear this to you.”

“Where is she?” Mihawk spat, his feet sliding into an assaulting stance, interweaving his body to draw closer to the red-head’s teasing face, “What have you done with her?”

“She’s with Buggy- Oi, relax,” Mihawk’s pupils narrowed, his eyes wide and wild at the knowledge departing from Shanks’ lips, “She’s safe, it’s all a part of appeasing the tradition.” Shanks attempted to soothe over the growing temper Mihawk was steadily elevating, gesturing for his crew to holster their weaponry.

“What tradition?” Mihawk barked, pressing the sharpened tip of Yoru deeper into Shanks’ neck, not quite puncturing the skin.

“We just wanted it to be perfect, Hawk-Eyes,” Shanks’ hazelnut eyes bore with no utterance of mistruth within his orbs, “And you’re a native to Kuraigana, born and raised here. This is us following your traditions to the absolute letter: crossed ‘t’s and dotted ‘i’s, mate.”

“Y-You’ve,” Mihawk stumbled over his words, darting his frantic eyes between Shanks’, “You’ve kidnapped my bride?”

“You want the map to her, Lord Mihawk?” the rational voice of Shanks’ first mate rumbled through the tense air, “I had the clown make one up, for all our sakes.” Mihawk snapped his eyes away from Shanks’ to bear into the soul of Benn Beckman. As their eyes met, Beckman fished out the tanned envelope and offered it out gruffly towards the broody and aggravated newlywed groom.

“And, are you all to just sit here and wait until I bring back my bride?” He barked at the Red-Hair crew, “Or are you coming to witness me suffer through this act of degrading humiliation?” Mihawk growled, eagerly searching through the crowd to see any contenders to refute his beckoning challenge.

“You should take your wards,” Shanks suggested, weaving his body away from the steely tip of Yoru’s point, “Your two witnesses to view your wooing.”

Zoro leant down into Perona’s ear, his brow knit with puzzlement and concern.

“I don’t follow, what is going on? Where’s our governess now?” Zoro quietly grunted into Perona’s ear, a giggle arising with her retort.

“Are you truly not following, or are you just saying that to be an imbecile?” Perona smirked, glancing up into Zoro’s serious eyes, “O-Oh, you’re serious? Okay!” Zoro patiently awaited his promised explanation, Perona thinking of the simplified version of this complex tradition to relay to him.

“In Kuraigana culture, the bride is either stolen or whisked away at a point in the evening - generally after the reception feast so the food doesn’t get cold. It looks like it’ll be a while yet before we get something to eat-,” Perona’s train of thought was broken with a growl from the green-haired apprentice.

“-Get on with it, Perona,” Zoro’s voice cut through the air gruffly, his eyes darting the surroundings for a clue of his governess’ whereabouts.

“Oh, alright. Sorry, Zoro,” Perona giggled, shaking her head and preparing her words to present once again, “The bride is then hunted by the groom and they share a moment where he must perform a task or a demonstration of artistic skill to woo and entertain his new bride. Considering she is no longer under the shroud of her own family name, but a whole new person in this case: Lady Dracule, he must win her heart under this new banner and usher her into her new life with him.”

“So, what? Is he gonna dance or something?” Zoro asked, puzzled and taken aback by the absurdity of the tradition, “Or is he gonna challenge her to a sword fight? What can he do that would woo her?”

“Zoro-...” Perona again giggled, shaking her head with a warm smile drawing her cheeks up beneath its radiance, “...-Mihawk sings.”

“Mihawk sings?” Zoro snapped his eyes over to Dracule Mihawk, watching as the lord of Kuraigana’s lips curled into a sinister snarl and brows furrowed deeper into rage.

“Two witnesses, no more,” Mihawk growled, placing the mighty blade upon his back and rolling his neck, “And we shall return within the hour.”

“Only if she’ll have you, mate,” Shanks’ grin playfully split his face, “You have to woo her. Humble yourself before her. This is your opportunity to actively pursue her,” the redhead stepped forward, clapping his right hand over Mihawk’s left shoulder.

“You never got the chance. Use this time to show her how much you want her, and then,” Shanks’ grin turned sly, glancing at Beckman who shook his head and fished out a cigarette from his breast pocket, “That’s when we can show you how radiant she is, all wrapped in sunlight.”

Mihawk’s rumbled growl cut through the air, turning on his boot heels and gesturing to Perona and Zoro with his index finger, “You two, with me. Let us depart and reclaim my bride.”

“Aye, sir,” Perona and Zoro spoke in unison, immediately springing into action and readying themselves for a short journey to find, woo and claim you with your title as Lady Dracule.

Mihawk’s fuming rage catapulted him into a near frenzy, working with haste to unroll the sails and weigh anchor, using the tide to carry his small ship and snarling at the crudely crafted map.

“This better be accurate for your sake, clown,” Dracule Mihawk spat, scrunching the map and thrusting it into his shirt pocket with his left hand. Upon withdrawing his hand from his pocket, he hovered it above his face, staring at how delicately the band of unity was glimmering under the light of dusk.

It felt balanced, as if this broad band was awaiting the day he would finally wield it atop his finger. As if his life was waiting for this moment to start, for this new role and purpose for his life to fulfill. He hardened his resolve, throwing off his outer coat and withdrawing his sleeves to his elbows. He will find you, and find you quickly.

And when he does, he will woo you.

If the moon-dress was the prelude to a masterpiece in composition, this dress would be a symphony to stand the test of time. Material as pastel as the celestial rocks littering the night sky sporadically danced across the midnight material depicting the sky at nightfall. In the dim light within the cave Buggy had chaperoned you into, the dress almost looked as if it was producing its own light.

“This is the most extravagant thing I have ever done with my life,” Buggy huffed a chuckle through his comment, “And that’s truly saying something, my lady. I’ve never done anything like this, and I’m almost jealous that I won’t be the one wearing it.”

“You’re more than welcome to borrow it for a performance, Captain,” you giggled, looking down at your arms that had been ornately decorated with chained droplets of beaded glass, “It is simply breathtaking.”

Glancing over at yourself in the reflective walls of the cave you had found yourself in, your hair was now softly falling in waterfalls against your back and your makeup retouched by the clown and his enthusiastic crew. You could hardly recognise the woman gazing back at you.

“As breathtaking as you are, my lady,” Buggy whispered while adjusting your hair over your shoulders, “And hopefully enough to get me back into your good graces?” He shifted his eyebrow upwards, glancing hopefully over your shoulder with widened eyes and fluttering eyelashes.

“You’re not out of the thick of it yet, dear captain,” you playfully taunted him, nose scrunched and smile growing, “It’s not only I you need to appease.”

As if on queue, a small commotion was occurring outside the cave. Elevated voices, a shuffling of feet and the clang of harsh metal meeting rock reverberated within the cave mouth: silence following such an abrasive sound.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Buggy repeated hurriedly, excitement and anxiety dancing in a dangerous fight for dominion over his cadence, “You take a seat on your throne and look all pretty,” he gestured with his hands flailing outwards, “I’ll finish lighting the candles,and then I’m gonna flee as fast my legs can carry me to give you two some privacy.”

You laughed at his excitement, turning and drawing up your heavy skirts to fan out atop the velvet-covered throne Buggy had placed down for you. Frantic clicks of flint and steel, a string of nasally curses, and a shifting of boot-heels tripping over themselves as Buggy set the final elements of his role in the ruse awaiting your spouse.

“Okay, I’m gonna-... woah,” Buggy’s words halted as he turned to view you on your throne, sitting with the elegance and radiancy that you had drilled into your many students over your career as a governess.

“‘Woah’, what, Captain Buggy?” you huffed out a small laugh, watching his eyes shifting over each element of your ensemble.

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, shifting his feet as if under the spell of hypnosis, “You’re not technically married if you haven’t consummated your union. You can always run away with me if you want to-.”

“Buggy,” you scolded him, your laughter now falling unwithheld from your lips, “For one: I am not cut out for a path of traveling piracy,” your smile continued to decorate your lips with its radiancy, “And two: I am in love with Dracule Mihawk, my husband.” That final confession shocked you, not admitting those words aloud to yourself or another before this very moment.

“Right, right, of course,” he laughed at himself, studying his handiwork as your skirts pooled over your feet and down the slight elevation over the rocks. The voices within the mouth of the cave continued to draw ever nearer, the agitation and anger almost tangibly felt the closer they came.

“This is where I take my leave, my lady,” he nervously chuckled, looking to the cave mouth with his lips split into a straight wincing line, “If I stay, the broody asshole will likely attempt to take my head and throw me into the sea.”

“In that case,” you smiled, bowing your head low to the clown, “This is where I thank you for the part you played in ensuring this day was a possibility.” Buggy gasped at your bow, taking a final moment to study you as you rose from your seated curtsey.

“You are so beautiful, my lady,” he whispered, bowing to you before turning on his heels and uttering a final sentence before picking up his sprint, “Congratulations on your successful ceremony. Save me a dance at your reception.”

Chuckling at his fleeing form, you were left in only a butterfly’s wing of solitude before three figures almost stampeded within the decorated hollow of the cave. Each of them halted, eyes wide and jaws slack as they took in their surroundings.

The ground was littered with candelabras, all lengthy wicks lit. Lighting a pathway towards the throne, tealights scattered the floor beside a long stretch of the softest white carpet. Upon the edge of the carpet, the material of your skirts pooled and the unnatural light of several stones attached to the hem illuminated the floor. Dark material shifts into soft lights at each subtle movement from your body, the stones on your arms providing a small ringing melody as you offer them a small, coy wave.

Perona’s smile rose on her cheeks, recovering the fastest of the three as she offered you a similar wave in return for your own. Zoro snapped his lips shut, smirking as he glanced between you and your beau who continued to be stupefied beneath this new radiant presentation.

“I have found you,” Mihawk whispered after taking a small moment to recover, “My bride, my beloved.” You smiled wider, taking a moment to study your husband as he began taking small and intentional steps towards you.

Perona hastily and quietly ushered Zoro over to the side, taking a seat on a large boulder and tapping the surface beside her in a gesture for Zoro to sit beside her. Without removing his eyes from the scene unfolding before him, he quickly sat on the stone and awaited Mihawk’s every chosen moment.

Electing to remain silent, you watched and hung onto every movement, utterance and breath produced as he continued on towards you. Before he fell within your proximity, he halted and inhaled a shaken breath as he humbly knelt with both knees on the floor, his hands laced and placed within his lap. Your breath hitched, eyes darted between his honey-coloured eyes which then immediately snapped shut.

He deeply inhaled a breath, his eyes remaining closed as he focussed on his movements. He lilted a rumbled hum, a tune unfamiliar to you produced from his nose and serenading you with its melody. Mihawk was singing, and he was singing for you.

“Never I’ve known love like this,

As vibrant as the seas.

I’ll sheathe my blade, and disarm my shield,

For a chance just to please.”

His eyes remained shut, lips almost cautiously relaying the lyrics as he produced them. After the small verse produced, his words waved more confidently through his lips and enunciated each spoken lyric.

Perona attempted to silence her elation by slapping her hand over her lips, her other hand finding Zoro’s knee and giving it a firm squeeze to express her excitement physically. Zoro was not faring much better, his own shock written on his face he could barely notice Perona’s hand on his knee as he gripped his thighs to stifle his surprise at Mihawk’s skillful melody.

“The way your lips summon me,

The way your eyes hold promise,

May your bed never be empty,

Should dawn be upon us.”

Mihawk’s eyes opened, his breath hitching as he witnessed the longing gaze you were offering to him. Your eyes swelled with emotions, lips parting and drawing up in a melancholy smile. Mihawk offered you a small, bashful smile as he continued to sing to you.

Your eyes never left Mihawk for a minute, watching as he knit his brows together and continued to utter promises through melody towards you.

“I will share my days with you,

For this to you I swear.

Nightfall I be by your side,

For it’s not yours alone to bear.”

He rose his knee from his kneeling into a lunge, bowing his head down and removing his hat from his head. A final promise uttered lyrically from within his skilled melody, you holding onto each word.

“The seas and sword were my first love,

The training alone be vast.

Although you were not my first to love,

May we both be each's last.”

Mihawk sucked in a baited breath, awaiting a small reprimand or disciplinary comment regarding his abilities. He was no singer nor composer, the lyrics produced alongside the melody were spur of the moment. His skills were of the sword, not of poetry and lyricism.

“Do my words and melody please you?” Mihawk whispered, his eyes holding firm to the floor as his dark curls bobbed to a lower bow, “Will you allow me the luxury of my heart, my body and my soul joining with yours, Lady Dracule?”

He elevated his head, his eyes softening and rapidly blinking to stifle the rising beat of his heart as he remained in his humility. A man such as he was not accustomed to humbling himself before anyone, doing precisely as he pleased and when he pleased to do it. With you, this was uncharted and untested waters. He was in love, and would spend the rest of his days romancing you should you ask it of him.

Truthfully, he was prepared to offer his adoration, praises and romance to you at all hours whether you asked it of him or not.

“You may have me, I am yours,” you answered him after several moments of pregnant pause, rising to your feet and offering him your right hand to take with his left, “Just as you are mine.” Mihawk released a breath he did not know he was withholding from his chest, the weight rolling off his shoulders and having him relax beneath your admission.

He took this moment to study your carefully painted lashes, noticing the subtle hints in tints and hues decorating your skin at the hands of the genius jester. The stars were reflected in your eyes, the pigments complimenting the change in darkened material pooling over your dress.

“C-Can I,” he fell over his words, closing his eyes and mentally scolding himself for his stumble, “Can I kiss you, my lady?” A small squeak from the corner of the room had you both break from your illusion that this corner of reality was not yours alone to share. You also had two witnesses.

Mihawk snapped his eyes over to the two words sitting happily on the boulder beside the decorated floor, scolding them with a single pointed look. At his momentary shift of focus, you used the opportunity to rise from your sitting position on the throne Buggy sourced for you and stooped down to collect Mihawk’s chin between your index finger and thumb.

You shifted his face back, witnessing the momentary shock as he gazed into your eyes. With a soft smile, you lowered your face and collected his lips with your own. Although he was kneeling, Mihawk was a tall individual. This position did not have your neck aching at its stoop, but was comfortable as you slowly pressed more of yourself against the former warlord.

Mihawk wrapped his arms around your waist, bunching the fabric within his hands and holding you firmly pressed against him. He parted his lips, his tongue darting out to dampen your bottom lip as he squeezed your hips within his wide fingers. You hummed against his lips, your fingers raking over his beard to entangle within his curled locks. He smiled into the kiss, rising from the floor and fully bracing himself against you with his forearms circling your waist.

The ruffles of the skirts below you illuminated several of the rocks littering the material, a gasp fleeing from Perona the longer she stared at the balled objects adoring the fabric.

“The rocks light up when they move!” she hushed her whisper to Zoro who waved his hand to silence her as he witnessed the loving embrace between his lord and lady. Although Zoro would never admit it aloud, he was enjoying every minute of witnessing such joy between two people he held most dear.

Breaking from the kiss, your eyes half lidded as they gazed up at your husband. His expression mirrored your own, gazing lovingly down at you with a soft smile gently creasing the corners of his eyes.

“Let’s go home,” Mihawk whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead and hovering his lips over your skin as he cradled your head against his chest, “I hope Shanks and his crew have left as some wine.”

“I’m more concerned about the food,” you giggled, prompting Mihawk to break away from your forehead and smooth his hands over your hair, “All I’ve had to eat and drink today is that single piece of honeycomb, a glass of wine for breakfast, that small sip of unity wine shared with you, and a glass of wine with the clown when he prepared me in this ensemble.” His eyes widened, looking into your smiling face in shock. You laughed up at him, raising your hand up to caress his cheek.

“You’ve only had wine and honeycomb for the whole day, my beloved?” his tone held a small air of caution within.

“Yes, my heart,” you huffed out a small sigh of laughter at witnessing his agitation. Although his anger never left, the small twitch of his lip and hitch in his breath indicated his pleasure of receiving such a high honor of that title.

“Well that will simply not do,” he growled, shifting you in his grip to slip his arm around your waist and usher you through the cave mouth, “I have some sourdough and salted butter on the ship. We’ll break into that before we partake in the reception feast.” You smiled up at your husband, watching as he wordlessly gestured for your two wards to follow behind you.

Where Perona could not stop staring at your dress, the only thing within Zoro’s focus was how you looked up at Mihawk, and how Mihawk looked down at you. The love you held for each other within that expression alone had a pang sound within his heart, and caused soft doubts to shift his perspective.

Whether spoken aloud to you or not, Zoro’s quest in becoming the world's greatest swordsman would one day rip this fresh union apart. He would kill Mihawk to claim that title, and that would surely mean the destruction of your happiness.

As you made your way through the sandy coast and onto Mihawk’s vessel, Zoro continued to seek out different ways to achieve his goals and leave you both to thrive in your happiness.

From the peaceful drift into the Kuraigana port, to the reunification with your guests, Mihawk would not allow you a moment to break away from him. Hollars and cheers at your arrival were quickly silenced as they took in the next aspect of your ensemble.

Now exposed under the light of the moon, at each small movement of your legs beneath the dark skirt, the illumination of bioluminescent rocks shook and roared to life. The fanning material danced at your feet, the weight of the many layers of broad skirts heavy upon each footstep. You truly appreciated Mihawk’s presence at your side to enable you to lean against him for support each time the gown pulled at your waist and hips.

Your bodice was encrusted with similar trails of glassy stones, the overlaying chains from your neck to your waist forming the unity of constellations between both yours and Mihawk’s birth signs. Buggy had put an excessive amount of thought into such a piece, pooling all his knowledge to provide you the best reiteration of starlight he could truly muster.

The outdoor reception space was littered with soft strings of light, a circular wooden floor elevated a step up as a makeshift dance area. Several clusters of seats were available off to the sides of the wooden floor they were standing on, where a small quartet of musicians lay off to the side of the area and softly painting the air with their melodical portraiture.

Mihawk paid his guests little mind, other than a curt nod or a subtle smile to your former students. The many staff continued to present platters of bite-sized ensembles, each small taste of food attuned to both yours and Mihawk’s refined palates. Each time a tray was presented to you, you would break your conversation away from your guests and thank the staff with a warm smile on your face.

As he showcased you to his guests, he watched as the fatigue of the day was slowly catching up with you. The little stumble of your feet under the weight of the dress, the small waver in your smile when you assumed none were watching, the way you clung to his side: he was observant of your every moment and there at your side to catch you should you fall. He was yours to do with what you will, clay awaiting molding into the husband you desired him to be.

Music began to play at a more elevated volume, the guests encouraging you with a soft cheer to get you to open the dance floor together. Mihawk looked subtly off to you, noticing you were struggling beneath the layers of your skirts. No matter how vast your training in becoming a debutant yourself, nothing could have prepared you to carry the amount of weight from rocks of various shapes and sizes.

“Beloved, are you-,” Mihawk began, his short question being stolen from him by the nasally interruption of Captain Buggy D Clown.

“-If I may, my lady Dracule,” Buggy’s broad, painted smile laid brilliantly over his lips, “I have a small surprise for you.”

“Oh?” you asked, brows elevating up your forehead in curiosity.

“Your resume presented to the world government several years back indicated you were an excellent dancer, trained the best of them attending here today, in fact,” he complimented you bowing in a low and crouched stoop.

“I am a competent dancer, yes,” you admitted, eyeing him curiously as he picked at your hem with his gloveless fingers, “And I do enjoy the movement when the moment is called upon.”

“Then it would be such a shame should the moment be taken from you under the weight of this dress, my lady,” Buggy smirked up at you, a silver object playfully juggling between his fingertips. Before you realized what the object was, Buggy precautioned both you and Mihawk, “Bird-Boy, stand back. My lady, close your eyes and hold your breath.”

Immediately doing what you were told, you heard the ignition of a flint-lighter and the warm flash of open flame illuminating your eyelids to a deep crimson color. Gasps and screams from your guests informed you of all you needed to comprehend at this moment.

Captain Buggy D Clown had lit your dress on fire.

A wild rush of heat expanded over the base of your skirt, the tongues of blaze lapping at your skin and immediately cooled with bursts of icey air. As you felt the rising warmth begin to die down, you opened your eyes to witness the small, illuminant rocks burst and break to soothe over the licks of flame. Upon each burst of impact, the color of your dress would change to a crisp white, to a warm blue, down to a dark hue of red, all the way to a dim purple.

At the last burst of rock sparking and spurting over the gown, the arrangement that remained was a softer, pale dress that halted just below your knees. The slit from the hem on your left side tastefully elevated to just below the angle your thigh met at the curvature of your hips. The dress fanned out, dipping in at your waist and cinching in your bust. There were no remaining rocks nor combustive fabric on your body, much to your delight.

After you adjusted to your new weight distribution, feeling lighter and more energetic already, the picture you were left with standing before you was Buggy’s throat being impaled on the smaller blade formerly hung around your husband’s neck. Your eyes widened and your body moved faster than your mind did to halt the scene unfolding before you.

“First you kidnap my wife, now you light her on fire?” Mihawk barked, slashing at his throat while Buggy stuttered over his words, “It seems as if you are trying so desperately to get me to kill you, Clown. I should have you flogged and cast into the seas for your idiocy-.”

“-My heart, I am unharmed,” your voice broke him away from his heavy threats, his hands immediately withdrawing from the clown to cradle your cheeks within his palms. You kept your face calm, reassuring him with your expression alone that you remained unaltered and unharmed.

He floated his eyes between yours, briefly dipping to your lips before withdrawing back up to your eyes. You nodded within his hands in an act to reassure him further, your smile never faltering. After a hushed moment’s pause, Mihawk could no longer contain himself.

Hastily, he dipped his face down, lips colliding with yours and drawing several cheers from your guests. He hungrily consumed your lips, molding and shaping them beneath his with the desperation you were yet to see its equal. He swooped his hands behind your head, collecting the soft waves Buggy had created for you in fistfuls as he desperately joined his lips with yours. You slowly raked your hands over his waist, holding him close and reassuring him with soft circles against his body with your thumbs.

Squeaking against his lips at a small tug of your hair, Mihawk immediately loosened his aggressive grasping of your against you, and softly traced his fingertips over your jaw and set to cradle the scruff of your neck. The world faded from existence the longer Mihawk held you against his lips, folding himself against you and holding you in momentary blissful stasis.

Withdrawing his lips from yours, he gazed into your eyes while briefly panting to catch his breath. Shock eclipsed your features the exact moment you broke away, the cheers from your guests ignited the silence within the ringing of your ears.

“That was a good ‘en, Hawkie!” Shanks swayed in his speech as he slurred in his stupor, “Do it again!”

“Quiet down, Captain,” Beckman grunted, gently clapping Shanks on the shoulder, “That’s our exterminator you’re talking about. She deserves a little more respect than you’re offering the both of them presently.”

“Right, right. I’ll switch to water for a bit, Becks,” Shanks nodded, looking over at his crew and gesturing to the water barrels with his tankard. Mihawk never strayed his eyes from your features, constantly ensuring you were unharmed from the prior blaze.

“May I dance with you, my beloved?” Mihawk quietly offered, removing his hand from your neck and apprehensively outstretching his hands to you. You smiled at his soft gesture, immediately placing your right hand within his left and allowed him to chaperone you onto the dance floor.

At the swell of music, you hastily pressed your right hand against Mihawk’s left shoulder while he elevated your right hand to extend to the side. His left hand found the middle of your waist and pulled you against himself.

You carefully extended your left knee over Mihawk’s leg, the slit withdrawing itself tastefully to reveal your thigh to your guests. At that gesture, Mihawk immediately readjusted his stance: shifting to claim the base of your thigh within his hands as he awaited the appropriate rhythm to dictate his momentum.

“The Clown read your resume,” Mihawk smirked down at you, beginning to shift and maneuver you effortlessly within his arms, “But alas, I have not.” He nudged you with his left hand, following his lead by twirling your body within his arms and releasing his hold over you.

Both legs now firmly on the ground, you shifted your hips and began to rhythmically follow the melody rising with your feet. Holding your arms perpendicular to the ground, Mihawk collected your left hand and pressed a small kiss atop your wrist before raking his digits over your forearm.

“You never read my resume before you hired me?” You called over your shoulder, as he raised your left hand to cradle his neck behind you.

“Never,” Mihawk smiled, placing his right hand over your right and his left over your stomach. He began ushering you both with a rapid sway of his steps, a maneuver you flawlessly followed with each stride. He twirled you away, holding contact with your right arm before reclaiming it in his left hand.

“Then,” your puzzled expression remained atop your features as you once again faced Mihawk, “Why was I hired here? What drew you to me?” Your beau’s smile elevated, his eyes cracking at the corners as his nose scrunched upwards.

“Truthfully, my beloved,” he confessed, leaning forwards to indicate for you to fall backwards in your steps, “I am not certain what drew me to you. A feeling, I suppose.”

“A feeling?” you elevated your eyebrow and smirked up at him, “Something as simple as a feeling?”

Mihawk chuckled, twirling you away from him and catching your forearms within his grip, ushering your back to meet his chest. You huffed out a small exasperated breath, shaking your head and swaying with him to the rhythm.

“A feeling,” you repeated in a whisper, attempting to not allow your disdain from presenting too prominently against your features. Mihawk released your right arm, leaning forward and collecting your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Allow me the luxury of rephrasing, my beloved,” Mihawk whispered, drawing your forehead to press against his while he moved his body from behind yours to face you once more.

Drawing up his left hand, he collected your right and his right hand found your back once more. His smile continued to highlight his face, a smile you had come to adore painted on his face beneath his mustache.

“From the moment I met you all those years ago, I adored you as a skilled governess,” he confessed, stepping backwards while you followed with your forward step, “The way you managed a variety of individuals: debutants, gentlemen and all those in between. Even the witless marines-.”

“-Mihawk,” your warning tone was broken with a small laugh, your smirking reprimand forming a smile over your lips, “Be kind.”

“Apologies, my beloved,” he snickered out a small chuckle, ushering for you to step outwards before hooking you back into his arms, “I never assumed you would accept a job at such short notice in the first place.”

“I had a lull in my waiting list,” you shrugged, turning to face him with a broader smile on your face, “And the stuttering scribbles were intriguing.” Mihawk laughed at your reference to his original summons for you to begin your tutelage of the two wards under his care.

As the melody swelled, he sighed out a breath, once again placing your forehead against his own and furrowing his brows. In a low whisper, he relayed his final confession to you. There was no room for humor, nor was there a place for the utterance of a lie within his breath.

“Before there was a possibility of joining with you in matrimony, I simply thought: ‘that was that. Time to live my life as an unmarried swordsman until the next generation rises up to claim that title from me’,” he smiled, halting his movement as the music ended its swell, “I never thought I would be training that aforementioned generation to take my life, nor did I imagine this twist of circumstances leading you to be within my arms now.”

You smiled a melancholy smile, only half elevated on your face at his confession. Trailing your hand over his shoulder, you extended it up to collect his whiskered cheek within your palm, soothing over his bottom lip with your thumb.

“And is this the life you wanted for yourself, Mihawk?” you whispered up at your beloved, searching his eyes for more truth within, “To live in momentary matrimonial peace before Zoro claims your title alongside your life?”

“This is the life that I have forged for myself,” he whispered against your thumb, pressing a kiss against the padded tip, “And I will hold onto it with every breath I still use to sustain my lungs. I love you, my wife. I am yours, and you are mine, for as long as we both shall live,” he withdrew your hand from his lips and circled it over his neck, “And for whatever comes next.”

“For whatever comes next,” you mirrored back with closed eyes and lips parted, “Sounds like an awfully exciting adventure, my heart.” Reopening your eyes, you witnessed the smile once again return to Mihawk’s lips.

At the music’s end, he swooped down to claim another kiss from you. Applause rang through the air, prompting you to part from the oscillation as hastily as you had it begin. The Red-Hair pirate crew and the Buggy-Pirates had begun offering each other their outstretched hands to lead them onto the dance floor.

You felt a small tap on your shoulder at the exact moment a soft, pale hand with pink-polished fingernails brushed with Mihawk’s own shoulder. You shook your head, confused as you were ushered into the awaiting arms and broad shoulders of Roronoa Zoro.

His smile was shallow, his mind plagued behind it with the smog of heavy thoughts. Extending out his hand, you took it and curtseyed as he bowed with you. Ushering you to circle the floor with a practiced waltz, Zoro continued to twirl you in silence.

“You have gotten much better, Zoro,” you complimented him, met with only a single hum in acknowledgement. You furrowed your brows, glancing between his bourbon-hued orbs while he refused to draw his gaze up to meet yours.

“Did you enjoy the drinks? I have yet to sample the wine presented at the reception-,” you were cut off as Zoro’s thoughts spoke atop your own.

“-I am going to claim his life from him, do you understand?” he gruffly commented, glaring over at Perona and Mihawk as he spun her within his arms with a broad grin and her unwithheld smile mirroring in return, “I intend to kill lord Dracule Mihawk.” You almost stumbled in your dance, recovering quickly as he continued to twirl you.

After taking a moment to collect your rapidly lashing thoughts, you inhaled a large gulp of breath and extended your exhale slowly through your lips.

“If that is what your destiny is leading you to fulfill,” you reached up your hand and collected his cheek, turning him to meet your eyes, “It is not for me to understand, nor is it my desire to halt you from achieving your goal.” He gasped at your words, stumbling over his feet and barely recovering.

“You won’t ask me not to?” Zoro’s breath hitched on his exhale, searching your eyes for any cause for further stumble, “You won’t plead for me to find a new goal? To settle for being second best and remain that way until we’re all cracked and graying?”

Giggling at his comment, you extended your arm out and circled it over his head: twirling the conflicted man within your arms.

“I married the ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’, Dear,” you noted, your smile never wavering as you rejoined him within your arms, “It is an occupational hazard.”

Zoro’s surprise lingered on his features, his eyes misting over with the swell of emotions he did not prepare himself to express this night.

“And between us-,” you leant up to his ear, using this opportunity to draw him into a warm and encumbering embrace, “-I would rather it be you. You are someone we both trust,” you withdrew him from your arms and smiled whimsically up at him, “Someone who will grant him the luxury of a swift and merciful departure from this life, should you both be ready to take that step.”

Where you assumed he would grunt out a gruff groan, you were shocked when he leant further into your arms and circled his forearms around your waist. He nuzzled into your neck, his shoulders beginning to sink against the weight of his confliction.

“You trust me?” he choked within his soft whisper, “You trust me to give him an honorable death?” His shoulders shuddered within your arms, you immediately drew your hands up to caress his moss-coloured locks.

“Of course I trust you, Zoro. Just, if you were to grant me one simple favor,” he withdrew from your embrace, continuing to hold your waist as he stared down and awaited further instruction, “Please don’t kill him tonight?” Zoro’s laughter cut through the air, drawing many eyes over to your location as you joined him in his unbridled laughter.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady,” he chuckled, briefly joining his forehead against your own and scrunching his nose with his smile.

“Good boy,” you complimented him with a single tap on his shoulder, “And your dancing really has improved.” You nodded to his feet, noticing how effortlessly he was shepherding you throughout the movements.

“I learnt from the best, my lady,” he winked down at you, his golden drooped earrings glinting within the refraction of the lights.

As the melody crescendoed from one song into the next, you twirled from within Zoro’s arms and immediately met your right hand against a cool piece of metal, curving beneath your fingertips.

“If I may, my lady,” the cool rumble of Sir Crocodile reverberated within your chest and shot a tingle up your spine. Although no malice was withheld in his tone, the danger was always present with a man such as he.

“Sir Crocodile,” you nodded, focussing your body on allowing him to lead you throughout the floor, “I would like to take the opportunity to thank you for your beautiful dress you crafted for me.”

“I do plan on collecting that debt from the both of you, my lady,” he smirked down at you with a broad grin. His eyes held a bored malice within his purple orbs, hunching down to claim your body within his arms. The impressive height he towered over you had you feeling smaller within his grasp, an advantage you planned on gaining back from him with your wit.

“And what would you ask of me, Sir?” you smiled up at him, twirling within his arms and circling your body around his back. You drew your fingers over his flesh, watching the visible shudder arising beneath the movement, “I am a simple governess-.”

“-You are Lady Dracule, now,” he retorted, gazing down at you through the corner of his eyes, “A lady who has sway and leverage over a lord. A lady who holds the heart of such a man as he, the ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’. A lady who-.” You hastily pressed your fingers atop the golden hook, your eyes baring dangerously into his own.

“-Who was and forever will be-,” your low tone had Crocodile taken aback at your statement, “-A simple governess.”

“And what would a simple governess be able to offer me?” his amused grin parted his lips and elevated his brows. The silvery mark over his cheeks and nose had the purple hues holding more danger within their orbs, “Music and dance lessons, I have hardly a use for.”

“A governess who has done all a governess could do here,” you smiled up at him, leading him into a twirl, your spin prompting almost a laugh to fall from his lips, “Tamed and trained two unruly youths, along with having one of the world’s most powerful men fall to their knees and beg to claim me as their own.”

The smirk of Sir Crocodile rose on his lips, his words beginning to form behind his teeth only to be halted by a final word of warning from you.

“Whenever you desire such a woman to perform such an impossible and improbable task as this,” you silenced him with your words, “You know where I will be.”

At that, you bowed a low curtsey to him and attempted to flee from his arms, only for the hook to catch the crook of your elbow and tug you back into his arms for his final words.

“An expert tamer of unruly individuals,” he whispered in your ear, the ghost of his last cigar lingering on his lips as his breath met with the shell of your ear, “I shall keep you in mind for when such a purpose arises.” Unclasping your arm from within his hook, Sir Crocodile took his leave of you with a final bow.

You shook off his words, the next partner finding themselves within your arms whipped their cerulean hair against your cheek as they spun you on your toes three times in a circle.

“I truly am sorry about the kidnapping, my lady,” Buggy uttered with a warm smile, “And I am only partly apologetic for the glorious blaze.” Although you had met both Buggy and Sir Crocodile at the same time, you felt much more comfortable being wielded within his arms than the experience prior.

Buggy released you, clapped his hands three times and stomped his feet rhythmically to the music. You laughed, mirroring his posture and his rhythm back at him. His eyes widened, heart swelling at you matching his exaggerated movements and prompting him to produce some far more elaborate motions.

He was a joy to dance with, his own starlight shining within his teal eyes and reflecting back onto his various assortment of formal attire. Although no longer wearing a frill-neck collar, his cravat had just as many ruffles fluffing at his jaw.

“I am not sorry in the slightest for either,” you admitted, your own nod and spin on your toes keeping Buggy mirroring your movements first before stepping in again to claim you in his arms.

“Not even the kidnapping?” he winced out a small apprehensive grin.

“No, it was an enjoyable experience,” you confessed, laughing in his arms as he assumed the waltz position and stepped in time to the swell of music, “I especially enjoyed the wine.”

“Then you have found the perfect match in Mihawk,” he nodded, scrunching up his nose at the thought, “Personally, I don’t know how you both drink that vinegary piss. I prefer the sweets to compliment and mask my saltiness. Rum is best.”

“I thank you for your compliments, captain,” you smiled at him.

“About the vinegary piss?” his brows furrowed in confusion, his smile scrunching into a soft pout. You laughed at his comment, shaking your head at him.

“About the perfect match,” you confessed, feeling the end of the music calling to you. Buggy chuckled, offering you a small bow before dismissively waving his hand at you and uncharacteristically turning on his heel.

You were puzzled at that final gesture, not understanding where such an expression was necessary before you felt a hand clasp around your waist.

“‘S not you, love,” the voice of a red-haired captain uttered beside you, “He still is hung up on our old childhood rivalry.”

“Ah,” you gasped in understanding with a curt nod, turning in his arm to face him. Dancing with Shanks was an occurrence you were privy to experiencing from time to time aboard the Red-Force with his crew. His attitude was always playful and light with you, always a gentleman.

“You truly look spectacular tonight, Vile Exterminator,” he complimented you, shifting his dancing position to usher you with his right hand in light of his missing left hand. Joining now both of your right hands, you both stepped in and out before twirling under his arm.

“Thank you, Red-Haired Rat,” you smirked at him, feeling a pair of eyes watching you dance within Shanks’ arms.

“I think the big man wants a word,” Shanks confirmed your suspicions, nodding over to his steel-haired first mate, extinguishing his cigarette with his boot heel against the gravel road beside the dancefloor. Shanks twirled you twice more before you were flung from his arm and into the awaiting and ill-practiced hands of Benn Beckman.

“Sorry, my lady,” he uttered, his legs awkwardly swaying him from side to side with you within his arms, “I’m no good at this formal dancin’. I don’t do this.”

“I know, Benn,” you smiled at him with a soft, close-lipped grin, “But I do appreciate the effort.” He hummed with a curt cough in response, truly feeling out of place with this genre of dance.

“About what’s to come,” he gruffly coughed, attempting to spin you on the dancefloor as easily as he could ask his body to perform such a skill, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You sighed out a small huff of breath, shaking your head at him as he continued to explain to you.

“There’s a lot of knots,” he confessed with a winced, grimacing smile, “I mean, a lot of knots.”

“I trust you,” you shrugged, feeling his tension rising in his shoulders and stance. You halted the elaborate dance, ushering him off to the side of the dancefloor and opting to sway with him to the beat while he aired his concerns.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with the experience,” he confessed, the gray tint of his eyes holding you firmly within his vision, “Some of the knots are in-... -a few key places.”

Your rapid and unwavering blink told Beckman all he needed to know regarding his apprehension.

“It was my own fault for asking this in the first place, Benn,” you confessed again with a shrug, “And, I reiterate: I trust you. We’ve known each other for years, and of all those aboard the Red-Force,” you feigned a small hum of deep thought, before smiling up at the burly first-mate, “I do trust you the most.”

“I hope your trust isn’t misguided, my lady,” he grunted, your left hand being claimed by a presence at your side. The small, almost invisible smile, from Beckman informed you that the Rat was once again at your side.

“And, she’s mine again,” Shank’s playful tone cut in, peeling you away from Beckman and onto the dancefloor once more. He ushered you into a skilled twirl, your smile once again returning to your face as the swell of music reached the peak and began its crescendo towards the final.

As Shanks made to draw you into another embrace at his chest, you felt the tug of your waist pull you back within familiar and comfortable arms. A warm smile and a flush rose to your cheeks, humming as you lent into his chest.

“Missed me, beloved?” the man behind you held an air of confidence, turning you within his arms as you looked up at him through half-hooded eyes.

“Always, my heart,” you retorted, elevating your arms to seek out the nape of his neck. He hummed at your confession, mirroring your adoration down at you, “Shall we have a rest? Enjoy some mead and begin the fire?”

“A fire?” the elated voice of the cerulean-haired clown-captain called out in joy, “We’re having a fire like the good old days?” Shanks hesitantly walked beside Buggy, offering him a small smile and confirming with him.

“Just like the old days,” Shanks nodded, looking between Buggy and Mihawk, “Back when Roger made us collect the wood, but wouldn’t let us near the flint and steel.”

“And look who’s got the spark now, boys!” Buggy’s crackled cackle and his powerful stance prompted laughs to rise among the guests. Beckman shook his head, wordlessly directing the Red-Hair crew to begin building a fire for you and your husband to enjoy.

You nuzzled into the warm and exposed chest of your husband, feeling the weight shift from you against him as he slightly elevated you off your feet.

“I think sitting down is a good idea,” you confessed, looking down at your worn shoes and rapidly swelling feet from the elaborate dancing and carrying the weighty dress.

“Then that is what we will do, my beloved,” Mihawk smiled softly down at you, pressing his forehead against your own as he enjoyed the feeling of holding you in his arms once again.

Sitting within the arms of your husband, the crackle of the fire illuminated the guests that remained behind at the castle, some setting up bedrolls and pitching tents within the surroundings.

Mihawk hooked his arm around your shoulder, drawing you against himself and pressing soft kisses against your temple while whispering sweet phrases and poetry within your ear. His beard tickled at each short utterance, prompting a giggle to fall from not only the words, but the feeling of his beard against your skin.

Shanks was the first to notice the small lull in atmosphere, a fiendish grin finding purchase against his lips as he refilled his tankard from the barrel of mead.

“Alright, you lot. According to the customs of Kuraigana,” Shank’s stumbling and partially inebriated voice slurred, “We all know what comes next for you two. We’ve ‘gotta follow all of the traditions of the land. You know, so the ghostly hag is happy.”

“What are you implying, Red-Hair,” Mihawk’s prior warm tone cracked under its now icey exterior, “Surely you don’t mean-.”

“-Why the ‘Bedding Ceremony’ of course!” Shanks attempted to rise to his feet, stumbling backwards and momentarily sitting upon the lap of his first mate, who apprehensively caught him. “Thanks big man,” he mumbled, rising successfully to his feet and thrusting out his tankard, “You go up there with your Sunshine bride, and we wait out here and make as much noise as we can while you perform your husbandly duties.”

A warm flush rose to your cheeks, littering your face with the warmth of blood swelling to the tips of your ears. You could feel the rapid pulse beating in your eardrums, your heart stampeding your racing mind of all thoughts of what was yet to come.

“Then you come and rejoin us as one flesh,” Shanks concluded, saluting Mihawk with his broad tankard, “And we drink to the happy couple, and carry off our celebrations into the wee hours of the morn.”

“Is this truly a custom of this land, my heart?” you uttered quietly to the broody bearded man at your side, his attention snapping over towards you. His eyes softened as his heart swelled, lips parting while drawing up his right hand to caress your cheek.

“Unfortunately it is, my beloved,” he whispered with a half-smile, “And a custom we need not adhere to should you find discomfort in such a feat.”

You allowed a small giggle to fall from your lips, leaning into Mihawk’s gentle caress and pressing a soft kiss on the heel of his palm.

“It could be worse,” you allowed the giggle to rise in volume as your smile broadened, “In Germa-Kingdom, the guests watch the act while they throw sugar-coated almonds at the newlyweds in the hopes it will aid in producing male offspring.” You placed your hand over Mihawk’s, his still holding your cheek as his smile mirrored your own.

“I suppose this custom is not so bad, then,” Mihawk chuckled, rising to his feet and offering you out his hand, “Shall we, my beloved?”

“I suppose it is time,” you smiled in return, placing your hand within his and allowing him to hoist you up from your position on the log. Mihawk’s brows creased, mild agitation forming at the center of his forehead. Before you could ask him what was bothering him, he turned his head to Beckman: who was already rising to stand.

The blush returned as your eyes widened, almost forgetting what you had requested of the cursed moss-agate ring on your unity finger.

“Beckman,” Mihawk’s agitation growing in depth as the hoarse growl rumbled in his throat, “In light of the fact this is part of the covenant pact forged with the ring-.”

“-I would not lay a single finger unnecessarily on your wife, lord Mihawk,” Beckman’s whiskey voice hummed as he inhaled his cigarette to the filter end, “Would you prefer it be Shanks in his current stupor using his right hand and teeth?”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk barked at the suggestion.

“Then I will make it quick and precise,” Beckman reassured him with a curt nod, “Follow up in twenty minutes, and your bride will be awaiting you to unwrap her within your marriage bed.”

Beckman outstretched the crook of his elbow, a satchel containing what you presumed to be your sun-dress shrugged over his shoulder. You apprehensively withdrew your hand from Mihawk’s, giving him one more longing look before you allowed yourself to be ushered into the halls of Castle Kuraigana.

You both walked in silence, unsure of what words needed to be spoken between you before you engaged in this next aspect of your night together. The silence was peaceful, the soft tranquility you had not experienced since beginning this venture of matrimony. You were almost thankful this moment was granted to you to share with one of your most respected acquaintances in your time as a governess.

He chaperoned you into the halls, finding the door that led into the suite allocated to both you and Mihawk as the lord and lady of Kuraigana. In the wake of the soft tranquility, anxiety at the anticipation of what’s to come awoke within your chest. Your heart elevated its rhythmic thundering, your mind beginning to swirl and race as the anticipation only grew.

“Take a moment, my lady,” Beckman’s soothing voice hummed at you, “All the time you need, alright? It’s a lot of changes to adjust to, and I would never dream of rushing you.”

“Thank you, Benn,” you exhaled, rolling your neck and attempting to stifle the rise in your anxious thoughts. After a few small breaths, you reopened your eyes and smiled to yourself as you felt finally ‘ready’ to begin this new chapter of your life.

The door shut behind the first-mate of the Red-Hair pirates, you made your way behind the dressing screen. You silently thanked Buggy for ensuring this garment was easier for you to remove than the one prior, but anticipation rose in your chest as Beckman revealed a satchel to you.

“This is going to be extremely difficult to do whilst blindfolded, my lady,” he gruffly chuckled, retrieving several golden strands of linked chains from within the canvas bag, “Are you certain this is adhering to the covenant you made with the aetherial pest?”

“To quote my own words, Benn,” you shook your head and straightened your shoulders, “‘Sunlight: a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its purpose. A dress so scantily designed that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance’.” Your voice mocked your own recollection, prompting Beckman to chuckle at your tone.

“Well then, there may be a small hiccup in our plan,” he shrugged, taking out a strip of lengthy material and beginning to fold it in half. Upon measuring the half-width, Beckman used his canine teeth to puncture the fabric and tear it into two, thick strips.

“What do you mean, Benn?” your eyes followed his movements with both intrigue and curiosity.

“For his eyes alone,” he quoted back at you, chuckling as he handed you one of the strips, “Looks like I won’t be the only one experiencing sensory deprivation in this little encounter, my lady.” Taking the fabric from his outstretched hands, your brows knit together before the realization hit you.

“You’ll have to wear a blindfold too.”

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

Sapsorrow - Chapter 5

Masterlist here, Series Masterlist here.

@i-am-vita, thank you for the beautiful banner

Word Count: 8,910

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow "Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail

(FanaticSnail Note: I did not get every element I wanted to into this chapter, but I didn't want it to go for too long. Much more to come!)

Song Suggestion: Nocturnal Waltz

The air was siphoned from your lungs at the firm tug of satin ribbon at your back. You hung your head low, eyes closing as you braced yourself against your bedframe with your palms and forearms. A small giggle rose from the woman behind you, continuing her incessant tugging and cinching with all her might.

“Not quite so tight, Perona,” you winced, focussing on stabilizing your voice as you firmly directed her. A small whined groan of disapproval was called from her throat as she began to lessen her firm grip.

“But you have such a pretty waist, my lady,” she complimented you while weaving the dual strands into each other, “Of all the times to show it off, now would be the time to display exactly what Mihawk signed up for.” She concluded her knot tying, ballooning the satin out into a delicately knotted bow and tucked it within the laced corset to hide it from view.

Huffing out a final breath of exasperation, you placed your right palm beneath your breasts to rest atop your diaphragm and elevated to a formal posture. The gown felt spectacular to wear; the material feeling lighter than air while giving you the comfort and security of having the object melt into your figure. The dress was black, an option you did not choose for yourself. In fact, none of this dress was what you would have chosen for yourself.

The black material clung to your chest, a single triangular sash attached to your left shoulder that was pinned to the middle of your back and waterfalling down your frame to pool behind you at your feet. Your bust was an interesting choice. The material was bunched in a fashion to mimic feathers, stitched above a heart-shaped cup to carry your breasts within it. The deep cut in the middle of the gown accentuated your cleavage and stopped just below where you would deem it tasteful to halt its descent.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped over to your vanity, looking at the assortment of jewelry you were tasked with placing atop your body. The dress flowed as effortlessly as the veiled tailfin of a betta fish; imprisoned within the pool of its owners’ design. You had never felt more like a fish on display, the glass sheet of clarity distancing you from the expectant audience.

“Are you okay, my lady?” Perona’s voice uncomfortably close to your right hand side caused you to jolt at her squeaked question. You snapped your head over to greet her wide and innocent eyes, staring unblinkingly at you. Her lips were elevated into a smile, although concern was written on her brows.

“I am perfectly well, Perona,” you stated automatically, turning once again to fixing your collection of ear and hairpieces atop your head. All emeralds, golds and platinums sparkling with an assortment of topaz stones in their deep amber hue. You elected to ignore how close Perona drew herself against you, her face now perpendicular to your cheek as she continued to gaze her unblinking eyes directly into your face.

You growled beneath your breath at her proximity, finally clasping your right earring to your lobe. You reached down to open your vanity draw, raking your fingertips over an assortment of glass vials of fragrances. You halted your hand over your usual scent, rising it from its space in the drawer and beginning to uncork its steel top from its glass canister.

“Are you really going to wear that one?” she whined at you, her hands floating down to the wooden drawer and brushing her hands along the variety of bottles, “what about that one that you wore when we walked in the garden? The one that smelt like bitter honey, and it had that intoxicating woodiness. The one that screams: ‘I’m a sultry mistress, take me by the hips and guide me firmly onto your-.”

“-Perona! Halt your vulgarity!” Your disciplinary voice cut through her train of thought, prompting her eyes to upturn into a mischievous twinkle.

“...I was going to say ‘dancefloor’, Governess,” she giggled, raising a bottle of her suggested fragrance and thrusting it into your hands while simultaneously removing the one you had opened prior. You inhaled deeply, rolling your narrowed eyes at her before apprehensively uncorking the vial and spraying the fragrance on your wrists. You circled the vial around yourself, placing the scent on the sides of your neck, the point between your shoulder blades and began to place the glass bottle back into the cabinet.

Perona snatched the bottle from your hands, quickly sprayed the lowest point of your cleavage and laughed as she dropped it back into the vanity draw. Hastily, she floated her ghostly body away from you and made her way towards the door - as far away as she could be with a feigned surprise expression; reveling in how cross she had made you. Your jaw hung open at her audaciousness, eyes wide in fury only briefly before you sighed out a laugh at your ward.

You glanced at yourself one final time in your mirror, checking to see if there was a single manicured curl out of place before you nodded to your reflection and turned to exit your chambers. As you opened the door, you were greeted by Zoro with his arm elevated in front of him. His fist was balled, his knuckles about to begin their descent to alert you of his presence beyond the wooden barrier.

His hazelnut eyes met yours, his breath halting in his throat as he took in your formal attire. You smiled at him, dancing your eyes over his attire before your brows furrowed at the stretched satin vest firmly clenching his wide torso. In the light of the black material, accents of green were patterned within the embroidered material. The relinquishment of a pale shirt beneath it being a final firm act of defiance at squeezing himself into the mold of the upper classes, but remaining incredibly attractive to the eye regardless.

“Woah,” Zoro sighed, using his surprise to examine your attire while you continued to take him in. You met his eyes once more before your eyes darted up to a single sprig of his moss-coloured hair hanging in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, immediately bringing your bangled and jeweled hand upwards and claiming the lock into your fingertips and tucked it backwards into his combed hair.

“You look very handsome, Zoro,” you praised him, slowly drawing back your hand as you searched for more out of place elements of his outfit to correct his frame with. You noticed a small amount of fray of satin on his left pectoral, prompting your fingers to delicately pick at the material to remove its strand.

As you were distracted by searching over Zoro’s frame for more irregularities in his attire, Perona shot Zoro a teasing look; her lips curling upwards into a broad smile. Zoro’s frown deepened as his blush continued to dust his nose, ears and cheeks. His top lip sucked into his mouth, his bottom lip curling into a deep pout in embarrassment as he continued to ignore his elevated heartbeat as you praised him.

“What a gentleman,” you purred at him, Perona laughing gleefully behind him at his tense stature. As her taunting giggle, you spun to chastise her. Her dark eyes were complimented in the accents of black in her tulle and taffeta skirt, her own corset accented with a pink so deep it almost seemed red in the candlelight.

“That’s enough mischief out of you, young lady,” you reprimanded her, her giggle halting with a gasp. She bowed her head to you, eyes closing and pouting with her lips. Shaking your head, you drew your hand away from Zoro and claimed her chin beneath your fingertips.

“You look beautiful, Perona,” you praised her, meeting her large doe-eyes as her eyelashes parted. Her pout softened into a smile as she reached forward to interlace her hands into your own. You crinkle your nose at her, an action reciprocated with the pink-haired debutant, allowing a moment of playfulness to fall between you and your ward before you turn back to the young gentleman.

“Are you ready to go?” Zoro asked you, his brow arching up in question. You inhaled as deep as your corset would allow you, before nodding along with your slow exhale.

“You seem nervous, are you sure you’re okay?” Perona asked, eyes holding concern while searching your face. You lulled your neck back, looking up into the ornate ceiling and taking a moment to notice all of the intricate carvings drilled into its mastery. Placing your hands up to cradle the back of your neck, you allowed your professionalism to slip in front of your wards for the first time; speaking to them as you would friends, rather than pupils.

“I usually have no qualms in attending formal galas,” you admitted, not yet bringing your head back down to meet with your wards, “but this-... this is not just a formal gala. This is a ball thrown to announce the intentions of unifying myself and a lord. I-...” you trailed off, finally meeting the patient eyes of your wards. Perona’s expression was full of empathy at your confession, brows creasing at the center while Zoro’s face remained unmoving and firm. You allowed your lips to twitch up into a small smile, nodding briefly and slowly blinking your eyes at them.

“-I am ready,” you ushered them with your hands in front of you, shooing them with your fingers. Perona was the first to turn from you, interweaving her hand within the crook of Zoro’s elbow and tugging him away. He continued peering at you over his muscular shoulder, shooting you a pointed look to wordlessly ask you if you were truly comfortable with them leaving you to make your entrance. You warmly smiled at him, eyes soft and delicately reassuring him. He finally turned away, revealing the dark satin knotted pattern vertically cinching his waist and straining under the pressure of his broad chest.

Zoro was wearing a corseted waistcoat. Someone had to cinch in his corseted waistcoat. You narrowed your eyes at them, watching how proud Perona looked as she raked her eyes over his assembly of attire. You allowed a silent laugh to fall from your lips as you drew the conclusion: Perona cinched Zoro into his corseted waistcoat.

As your pupils disappeared from your sights down the hall, you began your own trail down the halls towards the uproar of lively strings in jovial melody. Knowing the protocall, you waited by the partially closed doors for your formal announcement. You peered through the crack of the door, noticing how extravagantly the ballroom was decorated through this small window into your future.

Dracule Mihawk had spared no expense in adorning the walls and halls with an intricate display of his vast wealth. The walls had ropes of golden cast vines dripping from the ceiling, leading down their intricate spirals in spirals towards the guests with bushels of crystalline rose-shaped flowers. The assortment of guests were freshly decorated in clusters of frills, furs and feathers; their pearls and gems glistening under the candlelight.

That is where Mihawk caught you, breathless as he took in his beautiful intended bride to be. You were a sight to behold: wonderment dancing without restraint behind your eyes as you took in the celebration occurring beyond the door. He stuttered in his movement, opting to remain in the shadows just a moment longer as he continued looking over your body firmly secured within the material of his own design. If you got to choose three outfits for yourself to adorn on your wedding day, he wanted just one to suit his own interests. And within that singular choice he made, you were pure perfection incarnate.

He straightened his shoulders, rotating them within his pale sleeves below his own cinched vest to rid himself of any final nerves as he approached you.

“My Betrothed,” Mihawk’s purred voice broke you away from your stooped position; your body responded immediately by fixing your hunched posture upright. You turned, eyes meeting with the amber hued orbs shrouded in shadows.

“Betrothed,” you responded, dipping low into a deep curtsey with your head bowed. The small dip of your head bounced your curls and jangled the intricate headpieces within your manicured locks. Mihawk clicked his tongue, stepping away from the shroud of darkness to finally grace you with his presence.

Mihawk’s signature hat was no longer attached to his head; his hair displaying their natural curl and wave beneath a dark, embroidered tricorne. The usual white of his feather was replaced with a blackened ostrich feather, ombre with a deep crimson accentuating the tips. He paid extra attention to his grooming, ensuring not a single sprig of his facial hair was out of place. A pale shirt with ballooning sleeves was tucked beneath a tight black vest. The boning running down his torso catching your attention and forcing his built chest to display; the way it tightened him was sinful and made his shoulders look that much broader.

As you continued to shamelessly rake your eyes over his slowly approaching body, Mihawk’s yellow eyes were hyper focussed on the small gap in your plump lips as they parted. He couldn’t help the tingle that shot up his spine, knowing how you truly felt for him from your unwitting confession earlier. He relished in being an object of desire, not feeling this form of flattery for quite some time.

By the time your eyes met, you noticed a small twinge of a smile threatening to break through the honey-coloured irises. You tried as you might to remain professional and stoic, knowing within your heart that this match with him was never something to occur naturally between you. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself as you attempted to regain your composure. He was intoxicating, every ounce of the lord of Kuraigana was simply-.

“-So beautiful,” he spoke in a voice above a whisper, reaching down to adjust the darkened satin strap clinging to your shoulder by the pinch of his thumb and index finger. You looked down at your dress, noticing his eyes continued to linger on the satin sashes and interwoven pieces attached to your bodice.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled, watching the way his fingers danced atop the material to smooth over the dress. Mihawk’s eyes drew themselves quietly over your neckline, dancing at your jugular and slowly seeking residence on your lips. He watched as your breath rose and fell between the two rose-coloured borders framing your mouth, fixated on every crevice and divet atop them. He watched them begin to dance as you uttered to him in question.

“Am I everything you hoped I would be?” he heard your voice ask him, breaking him away from his thoughts and snapping his intense eyes upwards to gaze into your own.

“What was that, Betrothed?” he asked, desperately hoping for you to say those words once more.

“Is this everything you hoped it would be, my lord?” you restated your words, blissfully unaware of Mihawk’s mind fluctuating words and unspoken intentions between the lines of your question. You gestured to the dress and fixed your posture once more, waving over your diaphragm to rid the material of any gathered lines from your prior stoop.

He huffed out a small breath of exasperation briefly before gesturing with his right index finger in a circular motion, indicating his desire for you to twirl for him to view it in its entirety. You sighed out your own exasperated breath and skillfully stepped backwards and twirled the pooling skirts of the intricate dress. The slit on your right thigh split to reveal your sheer, black stockings beneath your sharp, pointed heeled shoes. He raked his eyes over your slow turn, looking to each of the elements he had chosen to include: the boned corset with the laced back, the embroidered satin with feathered details and the plunging neckline to mimic his own.

You were perfect. Everything, perfect.

As your twirl halted its crescendo, your skirts fluttered before falling back into their waterfall position by your feet. Looking up into his face, his stoic expression was completely unreadable. You had no idea what thoughts plagued the eyes of your betrothed, nor did you ever assume it would be your place to ever ask.

“We never did choose a title to address each other with, did we?” Mihawk’s left eyebrow elevated as the corner of his lips twitched in question, “Although I do remember stating that you lowering yourself into your subordinate default was no longer appropriate.”

“We initially discussed referring to each other as ‘betrothed’, my-,” He shot you a warning look, forbidding you to say a final utterance to the formal title. You rotated your neck to rid it of its agitation as the two of you began circling each other. Each step Mihawk took, you mirrored it with a step of your own, “But I suggested that was no longer appropriate and sounded too rigid.”

“And have you thought more of it?” Mihawk questioned, allowing his body to be danced with yours a few steps in front of the door where you were to make your grand entrance. He halted his rotation, opting to step forward and bring your bodies all the more closer to each other. You refused to allow him to intimidate you with his presence.

“Have you?” You quipped in return, stepping closer to him and almost pressing your torso against his. He almost cracked a small smile, the ghost of its presence whispering over his mustached lip as he continued to stare his unmoving gaze into your eyes.

“When I introduce you to our guests; I will refer to you as my bride,” he declared, choosing to press his right hand an inch above your hip; slowly dragging it to fall into the mid of your back, “But as you’ve plagued my thoughts of late, my heart calls to you by another name.”

His eyes held a firmness to them, desiring for you to understand your place as his intended, but also harboring more affection for you than you once realized. You were drawn back to your conversation earlier with the Farm-Hand of Kuraigana, your heart singing the praises of the eyes and the voice of the man in front of you. That voice now referring to you almost akin to the prospect of ‘beloved,’ both had you reveling at the notion of affection being possible between the two of you, but also frightening you with the aspect that this could all be due to the suspicious curse that haunts the ring on your unity finger.

“I am your bride,” you whispered, dancing your eyes between his briefly while placing your right palm atop his heart and pushing against it firmly, “and I am fine with being introduced as such, as I would introduce you to our guests as my beau.”

As your heart began to drum frantically, and anxiety nipped at your neck at your approaching confession; a loud fanfare began its call to introduce the lord and intended lady of Kuraigana to the guests below the marble staircase. The shock of the interruption broke you both from your trance, eyes snapping from one another and jolting to the awaiting audience below.

You felt the left arm of Dracule Mihawk reach forward and claim your right arm within the crook of his elbow. Stooping down, he gently voiced a small utterance, “We will talk more on this later. For now, know this,” He leant down to whisper a small secret within your ear, lips brushing gently with the outer shell as his breath danced over your skin, “I’m here by your side, and I will not drop you.”

Your mind immediately began swimming with circling thoughts of the dirt, twig, fur and feather-covered Farm-Hand who has spent his morning with you. He journeyed with you, educating you on interests throughout the land belonging to your betrothed you clutched with your arm. He carried you, allowed defenses to break down between you and confessed to his own romantic ailments.

You refused to let your displeasure be shown on your face by the knowledge that this man you called ‘friend’ had spilled your secrets to your intended beside you: opting to falsify a pleasant smile as Mihawk chaperoned you to the balcony. This would be a conversation to be explored between you the next the two of you should meet.

Applause erupted below as you stepped in tow with your fiance, his face stoic and unreadable as it was moments prior. He guided you down the steps, slowly making your descent below with the mable clicking pleasantly with yours and Mihawk’s formal shoes. As your feet concluded its journey down the steps, the room had once again sprung to life with the merriment of your guests and the uproar of melody drawn from the small orchestra at the corner of the room.

Perona and Zoro were off to the side, opting to stare at the amount of guests within the large ballroom while drinking wine together. You raked your eyes over to several members within the upper class you had trained from youth; a broad, warm smile drawing itself to your face as your eyes met with your former gentlemen and debutants. Each of them you locked gazes with, stooped to a low and perfect curtsey and bow. Your pride in their tutelage swelled your heart and greatly improved your prior disgruntled mood.

That was, until, you caught the whiff of the choking scent of a sour cigar. The nicotine-woven smoke spurred towards you, drawing over your hair and face and dancing with the perfume you had meticulously applied against your skin earlier. You snapped your head towards the position the intrusion was occurring, narrowing your eyes as they met with the purple irises of an incredibly tall and broad gentleman.

Your beau beside you was no short individual, his height far greater than yours. But this man in his broad stature eclipsed the two of you with his presence. His beady eyes held a dangerous, cold-blooded and reptilian stare as it met with your own. You refused to look away from his intimidation, choosing to feign your practiced kindness against your features.

“Sir Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly addressed the man in front of you, “allow me to introduce my bride.” He carefully unwove your hand from within the crook of his elbow, prompting you to automatically step your body between Mihawk’s and this ‘Sir Crocodile’ to formally greet him. He had a cigar clutched between his teeth, his brows upturned in boredom but his eyes holding nothing but complete intrigue. He removed his bitten cigar from his lips by stabbing the tip of a golden hook attached to his left hand and moved to collect your right within his.

Stooping low, he drew up the back of your hand to press his lips against your knuckles with his eyes closing in respect. From this angle, you had the brief opportunity to study his face; noticing a large scar separating his eyes from the bottom half of its face that looked to be particularly painful in origin.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” His raspy voice rumbled at you, the air of danger being omnipresent in the air and surrounds, “I have heard many wondrous things about you.” He opened his eyes at you while his face remained close to your knuckles, looking up at you through his eyelashes with narrowed eyes. Opting to mimic his response and mirror it back to him, you responded in a similar likeness.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” you uttered in return, a smirk now pulling at your lips in lieu of your false smile, “And I truly wish I could say the same in return.” The rumble of his voice was now ignited with a small chuckle thrust from his lips as he ascended back to full height.

“The Hawk of Kuraigana has not spoken about me to his blushing bride?” Sir Crocodile quipped, his brow raising as his eyes snapped over to Mihawk’s, “My, my. And here I thought we were friends.” Mihawk attempted to contain his composure, not allowing the Crocodile’s suggestion get the better of him.

“I do not recall making much mention regarding my bride’s achievements to you either, Crocodile,” He uttered through a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. You continued to hold your gaze firmly on the man in front of you, watching his nonchalant amusement dance over his eyes. His jaw continued to hold a bored and exasperated expression, even as he returned his cigar to his lips on the pointed tip of his golden hook.

“I did my own research on such a woman. A governess, Mihawk,” he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine-lace smoke and turned his jaw away from you to relinquish its presence in his mouth while his eyes remained on yours, “And a talented one at that.” You felt the tension between the men rushing between them like the rapids of a river of cloudy water.

“I am an exceptional governess, sir. May I confess to you a trade secret?” you smiled, stepping closer to the larger man and putting a greater distance between you and your fiance. You smirked as he stooped lower, using his pointed hook to smooth a stray hair from his forehead back.

“Please,” Sir Crocodile’s eyes narrowed and humor danced behind his darkened pupils.

You angled your chin upwards, looking down your nose at him through your elongated eyelashes and holding your face stern, “One of the greatest joys in my line of work is finding the stubborn ones,” you stepped closer into him, his smile creaking at the sides, “breaking them in,” your own smile continued to pull upwards, mirroring the playfulness now depicted between you, “and taming them.”

In an instant, Sir Crocodile’s eyes snapped over to meet the intense amber gaze of your beau behind you; an unreadable darkness contained within his purple hue. You witnessed the pointed gaze reflected in the irises of the crocodile, the deep amber hue of your betrothed honing in on the man in front of you; eyes narrow and jaw clenched tight as a steel vice.

“And what a fine job you will make of him yet, my lady,” the rumbled laughter of the crocodile ran through his chest, finally returning to his great height and releasing your hand from within his. He returned his eyes to meet yours, curtly nodded his head in a polite manner and uttered a simple, “Congratulations to the both of you,” before turning back to Mihawk.

“After you conclude with the pleasantries, you will both meet me in the foyer to view the item I have made for you,” he ordered, a smirk pulling at his lips as Mihawk’s frown deepened, “As we agreed, Mihawk. A hundred hands have sewn it.”

Your eyes widened only slightly at the thought, remembering the words Perona had uttered while in her trance; “a crocodile has the moon.” So this is how he is doing it. A wealthy man with the world at his beck and call, commanding those around him by the curt snap of his fingers. Sir Crocodile’s smirk broadened, nodding again and adding a simple; “Lord Dracule,” and a further utterance of, “my lady.”

Mihawk’s presence once again found itself by your shoulder, an elbow extended for you to weave your own through it. As you took his left arm, you found his dominant hand atop your right hand and held it firmly in place. You turned your head to gaze up at the man beside you, his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the retreating figure of the reptilian man from earlier.

“You managed him quite effortlessly,” he uttered in a voice only available to your registry, “But heed this warning,” Mihawk turned his head, his eyes meeting yours and depicting complete seriousness within his face, “Sir Crocodile is not a man you can trust, nor would I want you to ever be left alone with him.”

You nodded your head to him, your gaze fluttering down to focus on his lips moving so beautifully beneath his tailored mustache as he so eloquently spoke. Mihawk followed your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering as they continued to hold firm to his lips. He furrowed his brows, watching as your eyelashes fluttered up to meet your eyes against his amber orbs.

“Consider your warning received,” you uttered breathily, angling your chin up to look down your nose at him, “Are there any further guests I should be equally fearful of, or is it just the crocodile being cause for concern?” He hummed, beginning to chaperone you throughout the grandiose ballroom; all the while continuing to hold his dominant hand over yours within his arm.

As Mihawk opened his mouth to begin disclosing information about his other unruly guests, a loud commotion was occurring within the lounging area of the room. Muffled yelling, angry voices and clashes of wood slapping and scraping against marble echoed within the halls; the musicians electing to continue performing their serenade despite the interruption.

“Can’t you do anything right? No! Over here, here,” the scratchy and hoarse voice barked, prompting the steady shuffle of feet and another loud crash of plank on tile. Mihawk released your hand from within his, continuing to link his elbow with your arm as he hastily drew himself closer to the sound.

As guests parted, your eyes could not seem to form rhyme or reason as to what you were truly looking at. Your eyes were initially drawn to the train of thick, blue locks that veiled down the back of the brightly colored jester in front of you. Clasped firmly around his neck, an off-white ruff with a tight crinkle spiking off with its horizontal diameter incredibly large in size. You raked your eyes down his back, noticing a pale shirt ballooning out and tapering at the wrists beneath a gold, blue and red diamond-printed and patterned vest. Leather pants of the same pattern clung to his body like armor, accenting every muscle beneath it as he stomped his boot-clad feet against the marble floor.

“You idiots,” he growled, folding his arms over his chest briefly before flailing it out in front of him, “This is for Mihawk’s bride! Do you want to lose your heads? Because, so help me, if you drop that box one more time, I’m gonna-!” He turned away from the people in front of him, locking his teal eyes against yours.

All words fled from the mind of the blue-haired clown-captain as his teal eyes danced with your own irises. His lips opened and shut, nothing forming within his painted mouth as his throat struggled to produce coherence.

“Buggy,” Mihawk curtly snapped, bringing the clown’s attention over to meet Mihawk’s warning face, “May I introduce you to my bride to be?” Immediately Buggy’s entire body was fixated on taking you in. His arms gesturing out in front of him, his right heel extended and bending his left knee in a deep bow. He held unbreaking eye contact with you, taking in your every expression and response you gave to him: from the softness in your smile, the reprimanding presence in your eyes, to your manicured curls, to the way your breasts were perfectly displayed in the tight bodice of the-.

“-A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” your melodic introduction broke his attention away from staring at your bodice, drawing his eyes up to once again meet with your own.

“Believe me, Starlight. The pleasure is all mine,” Buggy’s voice rumbled, a small quiver detected in his throat. Mihawk’s sharp cough drew the clown’s eyes back to meet with the lord of Kuraigana with a winced grimace-like grin forming over his painted lips.

“Mihawk,” He elevated his voice in a loud greeting, leaning forward and clapping his left hand over his right shoulder, “I have the thing for you,” he cocked his head over to the large wooden chest, the smallest sliver of pale chiffon jammed within the iron brim of the frame. Your eyes darted over to the material, your legs carrying you far enough away to no longer hear a hushed conversation between your intended and the jester.

“Fuck me, Mihawk,” Buggy hushed out his breathy exclaim, choosing to fix his gaze on your stoop as you looked at the box with curiosity, “She’s spectacular. And you’re telling me you didn’t want her as soon as you laid eyes on her? If you still feel that way, by all means I’ll take her off your hands-.”

“-No.” That verbal warning was all it took to have the clown-captain sucking his lips into his mouth and eating his words. The two men continued to stare their unwavering eyes over your body as you rose from your stoop.

“Is this-,” you began, attempting to hide your unease at the notion that two of the three requirements were potentially presented to you in the same night, “-Is this one of the-?”

“-This is starlight for you, Doll,” Buggy chimed in, a broad grin decorating his painted face as he stepped closer to you, “If I may?” he asked, presenting his right hand out to collect your own. You danced your eyes briefly over to meet with Mihawks, an unreadable expression once again remaining stoic against his face.

You placed your left hand within Buggy’s, his grimace-grin softening with his eyes as he brandished your arm open to take in your whole appearance. He started with your feet, drawing his eyes up the slit of the full bodied, satin skirt and stopped his gaze at your waist. Holding it there a moment, he stepped closer to you and continued slowly looking over your figure, small hums exiting his large, red nose at each point he drew his attention to.

“You. Oh, you,” He exclaimed, stepping closer still to your body. He hovered his left hand in front of your waist, his right still claiming your left within its caress, “You are going to look so radiant in that dress. You’re going to want to kiss me, Mihawk. Your bride- you, Doll,” he hovered his hand over you, eyes watching yours as you held your attention fully on reading the flashy individual in front of you, “The stars are going to envy your radiance. Fuck, you’re gorgeous-.”

“-Enough, Clown,” Mihawk’s bored vocal warning hand Buggy’s embrace immediately flees from your arms and holds them up to display defenselessness. Mihawk made eye contact with one of the members of the household staff, wordlessly directing them with a small gesture to remove the wooden box and move it elsewhere, away from prying eyes.

You took that small moment to look over to where your former students were gathered, each taking to the dance floor with ease and gliding along the surface with practiced precision. Your heart swelled, the feeling of pride rising to adorn your cheeks with a content smile. Mihawk turned away from Buggy and the staff, his lips parting as he began to relay something no longer deemed important as he stood in awe. He wanted to commit the way your face lit up to memory: the upturn of your eyes, the shape of your lips as they rose in glee, the way your eyelashes partially shielded your twinkle in your irises.

“You danced with your bride yet, Hawkie?” Buggy quipped at Mihawk’s ear in a tone and pitch low enough to only be heard by the swordsman. Mihawk looked through the corner of his eye, narrowing his pointed gaze at the clown by his side.

“We are greeting our guests, Clown,” he spoke through his scowl, his voice warning the clown to desist with his incessant line of questioning and lewd comments regarding his intended spouse. Buggy’s eyes widened with an enthusiastic twinkle, his pearled teeth baring into a large smile.

“Well, hop to it, bird-boy,” Buggy jested at the broody lord, pressing his gloved hand down to clap over Mihawk’s left ass-cheek. If Mihawk were not indebted to the clown for creating a prominent piece to save his mortal soul, he would have had him drawn and quartered for such an action.

The curt sound of a slap drew you away from your students to seek out its source, only to find the clown with a triumphant smile plastered on his face while your betrothed bore his eyes into him with a burning hatred. Sensing a small amount of tension from the two, you nodded your head to the clown with a polite smile and wove your right hand within the crook of Mihaw’s left arm once more.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir Buggy,” you meant every word spoken through your lips; your smile genuine for the flashy fool, “And I thank you for aiding my beau with his task in completing an impossible task. Truly, sir.” Buggy’s face beamed up at you, his body now crouched in a flamboyant bow to humble himself before your feet.

“My lady,” he uttered in a hushed whisper, rising once more to his full stature; his frilled collar bobbing beneath his lengthy blue hair, “I am just a clown. I aint worth all that-.” You shook your head, elevating your voice to cut off his train of thought.

“-And I am just a governess, sir,” you nodded your head, pursing your lips and smirking up at him, “We are worth far more than the titles that make us, do you not agree?” Mihawk continued to lay his face stoic, attempting to disguise his rise of adoration through clenching his jaw. He gave a short nod to the clown, dismissing him as he led you further within the crowd.

You stood silently at his side, nodding politely as he continued to guide you on to make the acquaintance of several more lords from nearby lands, and notorious pirate captains he felt obliged to extend a formal invitation. He could not fault your ability to navigate the room, carefully balancing and reflecting energies and intentions back without fault nor flaw.

That was, until, your eyes met with the intense and playful glint of a redheaded captain Mihawk truly thought would pose no threat. Standing amongst several close members of the Red-Hair pirates, all dressed in tailored suits with their weapons tucked in tasteful spaces amongst the belts and ribbons. As Mihawk began to form words to introduce you to his former rival, the Redhead immediately shot a wide and winning grin pulling at his lips, with surprise written in his chestnut eyes.

“Vile Exterminator!” Shanks exclaimed with glee, his eyes meeting yours with enthusiasm. Mihawk’s face paled, shock written all over his face at his introduction to you. He snapped his head over to meet with your face, meeting only with playfulness depicted within your eyes

“Red-Haired Rat!�� you responded back with an equal amount of surprise. You unwove your arm from its place hooked within your betrothed as Shanks stepped forward and circled his one arm around your waist. He hoisted you off your feet, circling you around within the air as his eyes danced between yours.

“I thought that was you in the announcement,” Shanks uttered affectionately into your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss upon the skin, “Could recognise the disdain in your eyes anywhere, love.” He placed your feet back onto the floor, giving you an opportunity to place a gentle reprimanding slap against his chest.

“Charming as you ever were, Rat,” you uttered, stepping away from the redhead captain and politely bowing to the silver-haired first mate beside him, “Beckman, always a pleasure. Keeping the Rat away from the henhouse?”

“Always, Exterminator,” Beckman smiled, inhaling a deep breath from his cigarette and exhaling it away from your face.

“Good boy,” you praised him, watching the corner of his lips tick into a small smirk at the verbal reward you offered him. The lord of Kuraigana followed the exchange like a hawk examining a potential kill. He was not amused.

“It appears you have history with my bride, Red-Hair,” Mihawk stated with narrowed eyes, warning written in his unspoken expression. Shanks’ grin only seemed to grow further, if at all possible. Shanks danced his eyes between the two of you, taking in your appearance as you stood beside the broody former-warlord beside you.

“I have been known to bump into her from port to port,” Shanks confidently declared, shooting a winning wink from his tri-scarred eye. You rolled your eyes at the movement, returning back to your prior position beside Mihawk and interweaving your arm within his.

“One or two of my prior debutants had an affection for sailing men,” you spoke slowly, training your eyes on the pirates smirking with pride in front of you, “It was my job to chase them out.” Mihawk released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slow enough to not draw your attention away from your stare in front; but not subtle enough to escape Shanks’ knowing glace.

You turned to the man at your side, noticing the tension arising in his jaw as he continued to look at the redhead captain in front of you. Placing your palm firmly on his bicep while circling it, you gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze, drawing his attention back down to you. Your left brow quirked up at him, a small purse of your lips as your gaze drew down to his mouth.

“I have also been known to acquire passage aboard the Red Force if I am in dire need,” you commented, floating your eyes back up to hear the amber hue of your intended’s eyes. He stooped down, turning his head away from Shanks’ teasing expression. His breath tickled your neck, his scent intoxicating as he purred a gentle reprimand in the shell of your ear, “And you said you were a lady.”

The hue of a warm blush rose in your chest, flushing your cheeks with its radiant heat. You clenched your jaw tightly closed, your brows furrowed as Mihawk pulled away from your neck with his lips twitching up into a small smirk. Shanks raised his right arm out defensively, a huffed laugh exiting his mouth with a grimace-grin akin to one the clown presented earlier.

“I assure nothing untoward has ever occurred between myself, my crew, and your intended, Hawk-Eyes,” he laughed, prompting a rumbled chuckle to gather within the chest of the smoking first-mate beside him. You snapped your pointed gaze back to the red-head captain, narrowing your eyes at him and wordlessly chastising him to hold his tongue.

“Rat,” you nodded your head, dismissing yourself from this conversation while unlinking your arm from within Mihawk’s.

“Exterminator,” He nodded in return, training his eyes after you as you made your way unchaperoned within the ballroom. Mihawk stood in place, turning back to glare at the red-head in front of him. He again opened his mouth to begin a lengthy verbal battle with his former rival, only for Shanks to immediately speak over his words.

“I have almost completed your request: so close I could almost see the vision. Mihawk-...” Shanks paused, stepping closer to the swordsman and turning him away from his crew. Both mens eyes fell over your form as you smiled and conversed with your prior students; introducing them affectionately to both Perona and Zoro now at your sides. All smiles, all beautiful and lovely smiles capable of having the highest of highs stoop to the lowest they’d become under the majesty of your smile.

“-Mihawk,” Shanks again spoke breathily, “I hope you are truly aware of how much of a lucky bastard you are,” He wrapped his arms firmly over the lord’s shoulders, the feather atop Mihawk’s hat bobbing under the swift movement. Mihawk sighed, closing his eyes and feeling a rise of agitation forming as the redhead continued to keep his one remaining arm hooked over his shoulders.

“I am fully aware of how truly amazing she is, Red-Hair,” Mihawk began, clicking his neck in an attempt to rid himself of such agitation, “And I can admit to you, as my oldest rival, that I have begun to develop a fondness for her. I would never give in to such an emotion, but rather shield her from how much I adore her.” He turned to face the captain once again, baring his eyes fully into his with a blinding and furious intensity; remaining blissfully and shamefully ignorant to your slow approach behind him.

You heard the next words of their hushed conversation, each word twirling like a dagger to the heart; but no context of the prior words spoken between them.

“I would have never chosen such a woman for myself,” Mihawk confessed to his rival, “I never wanted to marry, to take a wife, and to open myself up to the prospect of love. I am hating every minute I have to continue leading this facade.”

Your face fell, hearing the swirl of those words echo within your mind falling from the lips of your betrothed to your oldest acquaintance. Your heart shattered, hearing the words formed with a man you had begun to harbor affection for - a man who you were set to marry as soon as the final demand was met. You bit back the rise of bitterness within your throat and opted to not respond or react to the hurtful words spoken from the lips of your betrothed, but rather clear your throat and stilling your expression by flipping back to your prior state of pure professionalism.

“I am glad we agree on our mutual displeasure at the prospect of joining together in matrimony,” you attempted to mask your heartache by allowing your rage to bubble to the surface, “Perhaps after we conclude with this sham, we could ask Red-Haired Shanks to process a speedy annulment? He is a captain, after all.” Mihawk snapped his face over to meet with your own, watching as your lips drew into a thin line and chin drew upwards into the air.

“Would you excuse us, Shanks,” Mihawk stated suddenly, immediately reaching his left hand forward and grasping your right within his palm. Rather than to react by pulling your hand out of his grip and stomping away like the young teenager within you screamed at you to do; you allowed him to lead you away from the soiree of guests and out onto the quiet balcony overlooking the moon-dusted garden.

You held your surliness prominently against your face, not speaking nor listening to the amassment of voices laughing merrily together within the ballroom. As soon as you both marched through the threshold of the balcony, Mihawk immediately shut the doors behind you to shroud you both in darkness. Without turning to face you, he uttered darkly with his voice dripping in unrestrained ferocity.

“Is that how you truly feel about me? About this?” Mihawk growled, balling his fist and placing it on the wall beside him. You remained expressionless, choosing to vocalize your answer. You compartmentalised your emotions, boxing them away as you had trained yourself through the years to do so.

“Answer me,” He whispered, turning to finally face you. His brow was deep, his lips parted and eyes brimming with fury.

“What good would gracing you with an answer do here?” you asked him, shaking your head at him. He stepped forwards, prompting you to dance away from his rapid approach. His footsteps stuttered, his arm halting its reach for you as you continued to hold your face stoic and expressionless.

“Was it all a lie?” Mihawk whispered accusingly, “Everything you told me: was it a lie? My eyes, my voice - all of it?”

You furrowed your brows into the middle of your forehead, attempting to recall a conversation you had with him regarding those aspects of your adoration for him. Your eyes held a seriousness to them, the private moment you shared with the Farm-Hand being the only time you had ever confessed to such a thing again dancing into the forefront of your mind.

“You were eavesdropping on me? Ensuring I was behaving as your intended should? Watching me with the Farm-Hand as a parent would hover over an undisciplined child?” Your fury began to rise and elevate your voice within your throat, “I can assure you, my lord,” that final title had another growl free itself from the throat of the lord of Kuraigana, “I have never behaved in a manner unbefitting a lady-.”

“-That does not answer my question, Governess,” his voice roared with passion, his hair being freed from its confinement beneath his hat as his right hand removed it and cast it to the side, “Was it all a lie?” You backed away from him, your fingertips finding the coarse cement of the marble barrier behind you. You sighed, huffing out your agitation and allowing the moment to suspend your rage as you glared at him.

“Was what a lie? Articulate your words, sir, and I may yet grace you with the answer you so desperately seek,” your passion flared, your correcting reprimand strict and firm in your voice and stature.

At that small challenge, Mihawk was on you in an instant; his hands seeking out your waist and pulling you flush against him as his lips bruised yours in a vicious caress. The intensity of the oscillation dizzied your head, swelled your heart and confused your mind with this degree of unrestrained affection.

He raked his hands over your ribcage, drawing them behind your back, his fingertips slowly raking up each of the divots of the corset behind you. He hooked his arms between your shoulder blades, as your hands found themselves entangling within his raven curls. The brush of his silken mustache grazed your gradually swelling lips as you returned the kiss with equating intensity. You felt his teeth take your bottom lip between them, biting with fury as he drew you closer within his firm embrace. You gasped into his mouth, feeling a groan siphon itself from his lips into your own.

He broke his lips away from yours and began to place open mouthed and heated kisses against your jaw, relishing in the way your skin felt beneath his lips with the cries of surprise propelling him onwards.

“You have ruined me,” he growled into your cheek, raking his teeth over your jaw and up to your ear, “Look at what you’ve made of me.” He drew his lips away from your earlobe and began trailing hot and desperate kisses down your neck, inhaling the sweet perfume Perona had so subtly sprayed on you earlier. You whimpered as he placed a kiss on your pulse, soothing over the rapid beat with his tongue as he felt your breath hitch.

“Mihawk, stop,” you whispered, his actions immediately halting as he snapped his head away from your neck to gaze up into your eyes. Wide and worried was the expression he was met with, his desperation seeping out of his eyes and weeping down onto his face. He sighed, pressing his forehead onto your own, his eyes closing as he felt your anxiety roll off of you and onto him.

“I would never hurt you. You are my bride, my belov-...” his words trailed off as his throat closed them painfully between his tonsils. Your eyes widened as his remained closed, watching the pain draw up onto his face at his unspoken confession. You closed your eyes, leaning into his affectionate touch and inhaling deeply.

“I would never allow myself the luxury of harboring affection for you should you desire severance,” you admitted with a soft smile, drawing your forehead away from his as his eyes reopened to meet with yours. He sighed, both removing your arms from one another while remaining a whisper away from each other.

“And I would never find myself willingly breaking away from you, my lady,” Mihawk quipped in return, his lips threatening to break into a curled smirk beneath his mustache. You were the first to smile, reaching up your right hand to caress his left cheek beneath your palm.

“Perhaps we should return to our event, my lord,” you uttered, dancing your eyes between his before reaching your thumb down to remove some of the lip paint that had passed onto his face from your own, “I may even provide you with the dance you asked me for those many years ago.”

A sound fell into the air that you didn’t realize your heart yearned to hear fall from the parted lips of the lord of Kuraigana. His lips broke upwards, eyes cracking gently at the corners and his heart poured from his mouth in a small uproar of hearty laughter. This laugh felt so familiar to you, yet the sight of his face depicting such a sound was the most beautiful thing to take into your sights. He sighed, leant into your palm and pressed a gentle kiss into your flesh with his eyes briefly closing.

“I would want nothing more, beloved.”

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Text

Sapsorrow Chapter 7

Masterlist Here, Sapsorrow Masterlist Here

Word Count: 8,800+

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

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Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Thank you for your patience, I had this chapter beta-read twice. Thank you to @since-im-already-here and @vespidphoenix for their kindness in volunteering to do that for me! Such love and appreciation for you both.

Song Suggestions: Casper's Lullaby,

Their Wedding Serendade: Turning Page - Sleeping At Last

“I will not marry him.”

Her voice held such sorrow, but her cries fell on deaf ears as her governess began to tug her hair into place with the rough scrape of a bone comb. Thrown onto her hands, pale gloves thrust up to her elbows by the hands of her ladies maids; her shoulder straps readjusted to float down her forearms like beams of radiant moonlight.

“He has heard your demands, and seen them done. You are his princess...”—her governess’ voice paused while she shook her head to rid her eyes of her own tears—“...and now you are his bride. You bound yourself to him the moment you placed that damned band over your unity finger.” The small quiver in her tone had the princess’ eyes spilling over with a fresh stream of hot tears.

Immediately springing to her feet and snatching her hair out of the firm grip of her ladies maid, she flung herself against the corner of the room. Her face was littered with tears, her eyes swollen and lip bruised from the force of her teeth clamping on them.

“My princess,” the governess spoke, her hands quivering as they reached out in an anxiety induced panic, “You have been training your whole life to marry royalty. This was a title you were born to bear. You are to be queen of your lands, ruler of your home country. With your union to the king-.”

“-I will not marry him!” She beat her gloved hands against the wall, her enclosed fists almost shattering her bones atop the cobblestone walls. Sobs rocked her shoulders, her wails echoing throughout the hallway and flooded the ceremony space with her grief. Attendees held a similar somber expression, along with royal subjects celebrating with glee at the prospect of a new queen.

“My lady,” the governess’ voice shook as she stepped closer to the shaking princess and placed her hand over her shaking shoulder, “My lady, please.”

The bloodshot eyes of the royal princess snapped up to her with a cold and frightening stare.

“What would you have me do, my governess? Wed this man who is more than twice my age? Dine with this man, consummate a union with this man? A man who already rules over these lands as king? A man who i-is-...”

Her eyes fluttered closed as a fresh surge of tears fell from her darkened orbs.

“A man who is my father?”

The princess rounded on her ladies in waiting, her eyes now incandescent with helpless rage. “What would you do?” she continued. “What would any of you do, were you in my place? The law of the land binds me to this ring. I have become plagued by an unnatural and grotesque curse-.” Her voice halted in her throat, plagued by her own revelation.

That is exactly what this was. This was a curse.

A curse on her soul to bind her in matrimony to her own flesh and blood. Where other children dreamed of fairytale romance, being spirited away into the arms of a lover, she was bound by fate to this ring.

The princess’s gaze landed on a pot of water hanging in the fireplace. As she walked in that direction, her eyes never leaving it, the water went from simmering to bubbling to boiling over. Hardening her resolve, she grasped the iron handle and removed it from its place above the fire.

“My lady! What are you-,” the calls of her ladies in waiting were silenced by a single look from the governess.

The princess’ sobs began to crack and cackle into maniacal and sinister laughter.

“I will curse you. I will curse all of you,” she booms, casting the glove from her left hand to reveal a violet ring encrusted with an array of several stones bound within a thick band. Nine stones of unique colors danced within the light, their forms melded into a large central stone in the middle. The green hue of moss overshadowed the radiance of the smaller stones, the thick band dwarfing her unity finger.

“If you are thinking of casting it into the fire, my lady,” the governess stepped closer, her hands held with palms facing outwards in defense, “The damage is already done. You are bound to marry him, there is nothing you can do.”

The princess flung the band from her finger and threw the object into the iron pot.

“In that hopelessness, I shall thee bind,” she intones in a hundred voices, at once of the deepest bass and highest soprano. The attendees within her chambers stepped back, some thrust onto their knees under the powerful boom of her voice.

“Whosoever shall find, claim or attune to these crafts, their souls shall be cursed under the plague of unity,” she continued, her hair shifting in colors and tones to several shades closer to death, “May their suffering feed my heart with gladness and life, as my suffering brings gladness onto thee.”

“-My lady,” the governess spoke, her eyes widening in fear as she witnessed the princess wither beneath her curses, “My lady, please-.”

“-And as my yearning for a love true and just shall never be quenched,” the princess’ voice hitched, her own tone dominant within the vocal strands of external forces, “I will allow the wearer to place a plague of conditions on their heart the moment the craft is thrust upon them.”

Her hair whipped in the unnatural wind, the ring now smelting down into a lava of molten gold. The gems began dancing within the pale light as smoke poured from them in hues darker than night.

“Should their conditions never be completed,” the princess continued, her heart swelling with vicious rage, “I will claim their souls and bind them to my own in eternal suffering a year from the day it begins.” She ripped a fistful of her vibrant hair, placing it within the concoction alongside her tears.

The ladies in waiting, the maids, and the governess clutched their hearts and covered their screams with their hands as the clouds of smoke spread through the chambers.

“My lady!” The governess shrieked, “Princess, please! You do not know what it is you are making. This unnatural phylactery has no place in the lands of the living. My princess-.”

“Your Queen,” her voice boomed, her pupil-less gaze snapping over to her governess. Her face contorted into an unnatural and cool gray tone, her vibrant hair lifeless in hue while whipping around her face within waves of spectral ocean.

“My queen,” the governess repeated, bowing her head to the royal witch. Her hue returned to her, the gold simmering down as she poured the liquid onto the coals below the surface. An unnatural steam rose within the flames, the vapors smelling of metallic blood mixed with the sweetness of honey.

“I-I just-...” the princess wailed in defeat, her shoulders slouched, “-I just wanted to find love, governess. I wanted so desperately to find peace with a spouse of my own choosing. I wanted a partner to court me; to woo me, to cherish me. I never wanted-.”

“Sapsorrow, your king awaits you,” A voice called from behind the door, interrupting the unnatural scene within. As the ladies glanced nervously between the princess and the door, the final words of the princess’ confession bound all but one stone within nine rings, leaving the central moss agate laying dormant, as if awaiting a final command.

“I just wanted a love that was truly mine.”

The echo of those final words plagued your mind, dancing as the concept of time began to mould from the past and spring you into your future. The repetition of ‘truly mine’ rotated and stirred within your slumber, breaking the peace you had once found for yourself beneath your bedsheets. You catapulted from your huddled pile of blankets into an upright position; your damp hair clung to your brow and sweat stuck your nightdress to your body. Your plagued slumber left you with more questions than answers.

Had the spectre wanted you to see that image? Did she have control over your mind, did your attunement to the moss agate ring bind to you? Drawing your right hand up to your face, you rotated your thumb and index finger over your temples to rid yourself of the nightmare that seemed to persist each time you lay down to slumber.

A light rap at your door had you jolting from your thoughts, snapping your head towards the wall and hastily making your way over to the interruption.

“Governess!” A hushed feminine whisper called to you, “Governess, can I come in?” Perona continued her polite rapping, the drum of her knuckles gathering up rapidity against the wood in an anxious thump. You sighed, shaking your head and allowing a small smile to dance over your features.

Collecting the iron handle beneath your hands, you open the door and immediately become overwhelmed by the embrace of your pink-haired pupil. She squealed into your ear, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet as she attempted to twirl you.

“You are getting married to Mihawk today!” Her voice squeaked with high-pitched enthusiasm, “Have you tried on your dresses? Have you written your vows? Did you read his letter yet? Have you thought about your perfume? How are you doing your hair? Are you doing it in three different styles for the three different outfits?”

The sheer rapidity of her questions had you unable to find an anchor to hold them. You fluttered your eyelashes shut, shaking your head hastily and attempting to wrap your mind around her flurry of words.

“Of course you haven’t read his letter yet, I still have it! I am scatterbrained today, my lady. I can barely contain all of the excitement!” She continued, breaking away her contact from you and thrusting a wax-sealed envelope into your hands.

“Perona-?” You began, your voice halting as she danced past you into your chambers and staring at the two mannequins in the corner of your bedroom beside your changing shield. Her voice caught in her throat, all air relinquished from ballooning her lungs. You turned to face her, holding the envelope close to your chest as a warmer smile drew itself to your features.

“O-Oh-... Oh m-my-...” Perona’s words found no harbour against her lips, all thoughts became silenced within her mind as she hovered over to the dresses. You allowed a warm giggle to rise within your throat at her fawning over the objects.

“Do you like them?” You asked her, cocking your head over to the right hand side to find a better angle to read her face.

“They are beautiful, my lady,” she whispered, reaching her hand towards the sleeve of Sir Crocodile’s creation and halting before her digits found purchase, “Can I touch them-?”

“-Don’t you dare, Perona,” A gruff, masculine voice called from the corner of the room. You snapped your face over to the doorway, noticing Zoro donned in lengthy tan sleeping trousers and a dark yukata hanging limply at the front.

“Zoro!” You gasped, drawing your chemise closer to contain your form from his eyes, “It is one thing having Perona in my personal suite, but another to have a young gentleman while I’m clad in my nightdress.” Zoro shook his head, his wolfy grin taunting you beneath his down tilted head.

“Would you change your tune if I said I have wine?” Zoro’s brow quirked up, revealing a green bottle from behind his back with a small, nonchalant shrug. You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head and removing your arms from concealing your chemise from vision.

“Have you got a saber tucked somewhere on your person, Zoro?” You quirked your own brow up in question. Zoro laughed, turning away from his lean to reveal three swords clinging limply against his hip.

“You can take your pick, my lady,” he shrugged, his hand lying on the hilt of his favoured blade. You opened your arms to him, gesturing for him to enter your suite with an elaborate flurry of motions.

“Then by all means, my green-haired pupil,” you mixed your tone somewhere balanced between absolute sarcasm and unwithheld appreciation, “Welcome to my humble abode. Shall we begin by getting ourselves ready for the ceremony, or having a drink before breakfast?”

Zoro answered wordlessly with a small smirk. Withdrawing the white blade from within its scabbard to claim the cork from the top of the wine bottle, and unlatching the wax by severing the rim with his sword. He reached towards your small dining table, upturning three of the four teacups from their place atop their saucers and pouring the amber liquid to the brim.

“You gonna open your letter?” he asked, nodding to the envelope clutched within your hands and reminding you of its presence, “We’ll do a small cheers and give you a bit of privacy to read it.”

“I hope you are both planning on giving Mihawk a similar wake-up call,” you laughed, reaching forward and claiming a teacup from Zoro’s outstretched grasp. Zoro chuckled, shaking his head as he raised his own teacup to clash the rim with your own.

“Oh, he’s been up for hours,” Zoro confessed, Perona giggling as he handed her her own teacup, “He’s been brooding in the ceremony space: hovering over the decor and pacing, last time I checked.” Perona struck the corner of her teacup against Zoro’s before meeting the edge with your own. Your brows furrowed, glancing from the corner of your eye outside your bedroom window to seek out the elevation of the sun.

“How many hours remain between now and the ceremony?” you asked Perona with a partial anxious quiver depicted within. Perona stepped forward, brushing her shoulder against yours in a small gesture of comfort.

“You’ve got two hours, my lady,” she whispered, prompting your heart to nearly stop beating and your breath to halt in your lungs, “That’s why I thought to wake you-.”

“-And why I thought to bring you booze,” Zoro added, throwing back his teacup and downing the contents in one heaping gulp, “Just to take the edge off.” Your hands stuttered, taking a small sip of the wine within your cup before setting it back down.

“I thank you both for your thoughtfulness, my dears,” you gave them a small downturned smile, your brows triangulating in the center of your forehead, “I have thoroughly enjoyed my time getting to know you as my pupils-.”

“You’re going to be our lady now, my lady,” Perona added to your thoughts, “No longer just our governess, but something akin to an adoptive mother beside Mihawk as our apprehensive father.” Your breath caught in your throat, hitching at the thought of becoming unified not only to a spouse today, but upholding a promise to chaperone the two wards at a place of higher standing.

“Don’t think too hard about it, my lady,” Zoro reassured, his brow furrowing down. Placing his mug down on the table, he reached his hands up to clasp your shoulders beneath his heavy-handed grip, “You’ve already got so much goin’ on in your head, just know-,'' his breath caught in his throat as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He was bewitched by the charm of your melancholy and apprehensive expression, your doubts begin to spiral behind your eyes.

‘You are not good enough for this role. This is not your place. This is not a role you were born to play. This was a role that always belonged to someone of higher standing; someone of higher class-.’

“-Know we would be proud to have you as our lady, not just a governess hired to serve a role,” Zoro continued, collecting your chin beneath his fingertips to hold your gaze with his own. Perona stepped her body closer to you, weaving her arms around your waist and hastily drawing her cheek to press against your back.

“I can hear her too, my lady,” Perona whispered into your back, prompting you to break your eyes away from Zoros to glance over your shoulder. Perona’s large, dark eyes looked up at you with sorrow and understanding held within her orbs, promises of empathy propelling her utterances, “And any words she brings onto you harbouring doubt, I will smother you in nothing but kindness and love to reassure you.”

Heart swelling at her utterances, your eyes began to pool over with gladness. The mist of your eyes clouded your vision as Perona continued to sing her praises into you.

“I love you, my lady,” Perona hushed, her eyes beginning to dance with her own emotion. Her lip quivered, looking up into your eyes with true adoration and love at you, “We both do, don’t we Zoro?” At the sound of his name, Zoro’s breath caught itself within his mouth for the second time.

You trailed your eyes back over to his, breaking away from your contact with Perona, and meeting his hazelnut orbs with your own once more. No whisper of a word, nor utterance fled his lips; all emotion depicted in the slight shudder of his eye and quirk up of his lips. Sighing out, you drew your arms around Zoro’s waist, turning your head to feel his heartbeat below his warm chest. Perona continued to nuzzle against your back as Zoro’s hands on your shoulders snaked over your back and pulled you both closer to him.

“I am so glad to have met you both, dears,” you whispered, scrunching your eyes shut and deeply inhaling your insecurities, exhaling your worries into the air as they held you firmly.

“Zoro, you need a bath. You stink, and I can smell you from here,” Perona called over your shoulder, “I pity your proximity, my lady. He’s probably spilling that musky smell onto you, meaning we’ll have to bath you too- My lady! We’re running out of time!” Perona immediately broke away from the embrace, tugging at your hips to break from Zoro’s grip and leading you to the changing shield.

“You: bath,” Perona ordered, pointing her finger at Zoro, “And you,” she snapped her eyes over to you, “Moon-dress first, right?” You sighed, nodding your dismissal of Zoro with a light smile. Zoro grunted a cough, adjusting his waistband around his yukata, and nodded in return before exiting your chambers. He halted at the table, collecting the half-drunk wine bottle by the neck, before heading through the door and latching it again with a small click.

“My lady, the moon first?” Perona asked once more, taking your attention from the door to gaze into her eyes. You nodded in confirmation, prompting her to shove you behind your changing screen to rid your body of its night chemise. You folded the chemise over the door of the screen, as the variety of items presented themselves to you in order from lesser to grander.

“Perona, sweetheart,” you called to her, your voice holding an anxious laugh, “There is far too much material here for me to continue thrusting this onto my body.” Perona laughed in response, walking over to the screen and peeking over the top of the wooden frame. She inhaled deeply, a small squeak propelling her inhale. Her brows rose in excitement, her eyes upturning in glee at the first part of the assembly of the moon dress.

The bodice of the dress clung to your breasts, an ovular shape wisping in layers of tulle and smoothed satin to draw over the midpoint of your shoulders. Trailing down from its seamless layers, your back was joined with an elaborate assortment of ridges and latches. Upon investigating it initially, you were unsure of why such items were joined in bands of silver, onyx and gold to its back until it hit you.

This was truly the moon.

The silvery hue of the beams, the mystery of fluttered blues and pale whites cascading from end to end; all bound by circular divots of darkened onyx and quartz to resemble faces and craters atop the lunar surface. The many layers of skirts laid a train ending in the same ovular shape as the neckline atop your chest.

“O-Oh, my g-goodness,” Perona’s voice managed to stutter out, her soul mirrored within her expression of youthful adoration and excitement, “You look so beautiful, my lady. As luminescent and radiant as the moon in peak of nightful.” You sighed with your smile, brows upturning and weight falling away from your shoulders.

You gave Perona a small twirl, the material pooling and drifting as effortlessly as warm mercury over cool stone. She gave you a small applause and a small jittery cry of joy before ushering you over to sit at your vanity. Glancing up at your features, the illumination of the dress mixed perfectly with the tone of your skin and hair.The task had been executed flawlessly.

“Now then, my lady,” she said, shaking her head and clapping her hands, “I am going to leave you to get yourself primed, painted and dressed with the jewellery-,” Her eyes widened, “-Jewellery, my lady! I have to get the jewellery!” She hastily turned back around and fled to the door, flinging it wide and immediately cowering away from a large, balled fist descending to where wood once was.

You recognised the scent first, the smell of cigar tobacco and ashen smoke wafting into your chambers mixing with the expensive and earthy cologne of the hulking and boorish-.

“-Sir Crocodile,” you uttered as you began to rise from your vanity. Turning to face him, the intimidating aura of the hulking man hung behind the threshold of your door.

“My lady,” he nodded his head in response, his head ducking below the frame to meet the purple hue of his eyes with your own, “May I enter your space?” Perona sucked in a breath, darting her eyes between the man at the door and you in your bridal dress in a small panic. Without turning his head, Sir Crocodile’s eyes met with Perona’s through the corner of his narrowed gaze.

“I harbour no ill intent with your mistress, little mouse,” Perona pouted at his words, prompting the twitch of his smirk to pull at the corner of his lips. He cleared his voice, removing the cigar from his lips and extinguishing the flame atop the stone wall beside the door frame; an action prompting your lips to curl in a small snarl.

“As I were the means to provide you with such a dress,” his sinister smirk drew up to his cheeks, the huff of cigar smoke pooling from his lips, “I desired to be the first to see you in your radiancy. How are you enjoying your daw' alqamar-,” he shook his head in reprimand for his verbal linguistic slip, “-Your moonlight, my lady?”

Several thoughts lingered in your mind: a reprimand for using your wall to douse the burnt end of his cigar, asking him to leave your space to continue dressing yourself for your wedding, thanking him for the skill that designed and crafted the garment over your body. Elevating to your feet and walking over to the door frame with precision and grace, you halted your movement and dipped into a low stooped curtsey.

“Sir Crocodile,” you spoke in a low and stern tone, “I would offer my praises and my gratitude to you presently,” your tone twitched in subtle agitation as you rose to your feet, “But I am a bride, and my groom is awaiting me.” Crocodile hummed through his nose, his smirk continuing to hold against his lips as he stared down at you. He took a moment to stare at your bodice, his brow twitching as he cocked his head.

After taking a moment's pause, his eyes softened to a point almost unavailable to an untrained eye.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” he offered in a hushed whisper, “That dress was made for you by my means,” he stooped lower, remaining outside the threshold but hovering closer to you in proximity, “And you wear it as it you were born to don such a garment.”

At those final words, both Perona and Sir Crocodile left you in your solace to prepare yourself for your wedding ceremony. As you applied the final stroke of paint to dance atop your lips, from the corner of your eye; you spotted the parchment paper sealed with a wax stamp not dissimilar to the letter of summons from Mihawk those months ago.

Placing down your lip-paint brush, you reached for the letter and unfolded the crease and snapping the small seal holding it closed. Immediately, your eyes widened at its contents:

“My Beloved Wife,

In light of harbouring no such secrets between us; I have written the vows I desired to forge with you, and present them to you before we meet for the first time as husband and wife.”

You halted your reading, the swell of emotion elevating your heart to a risen drumbeat of both adoration and anticipation. Quickly reading through the customs he wished to claim over the ceremony, your smile broke your sorrow as you truly witnessed how much thought he placed into each declaration and decree. So many elements, so many customs you were learning held meaning for your husband to be; you found yourself awestruck.

“I have no such means for communication with you before we meet to truly know if you agree with the terms.

But know this,

I appreciated you for your skill as a governess to our wards, I found myself smiling at your playfulness as my Lost-Lady, and I am looking forward to the future that we will find ourselves forging; unified as one.

My darling, I do

I will.

And I will always love you.

Dracule Mihawk ~ Your Devoted Husband.”

A small drop soaked the page, swelling the signature lovingly scrolled ink into the bottom of the page, smudging its words. Shocked, you rose your hand to your cheek to find a damp trail of tears falling against your cheeks; completely unaware of when you had begun to cry. A small laugh flung from your lips, prompting you to sniff and shake your head before setting to the task of reapplying your paints and perfumes to the highest quality.

The final step was placing the cascading veil atop your hair and covering your eyes, sheer in material appearing to illuminate pale blue under the lights. In your hand, you clutched your bouquet of lilies, roses, and baubles of babies’ breath. Nestled into the arrangement peered throughout were small wisps of blue forget-me-nots, a small nod to your prior filterless encounter with your Farm-Hand and you as his Lost-Lady.

The halls were littered with similar flowers, illuminating the area with bulbs of roses, flurries of jasmines and hiding within the scattered arrangements: the same innocent and small forget-me-nots in clusters joined with twine. Although walking alone, you felt the presence of all guests loitering within the ceremonial space of Castle Kuraigana to propel you.

Murmurs of hushed voices, small conversations resonated within the halls and beyond had your heart beating with irregular jumps in anticipation for what awaits you behind the large, closed doors. You sucked in a breath, the trail of your moonlight dress dancing along the lengthy hallway for each movement of your feet.

‘You are truly going through with this, are you? Joining yourself to a role that you have no place in unifying with-.’

“-Sapsorrow,” your hushed voice rang into the air, the atmosphere cooling at the immediate utterance of her name. Whispers and hushed hums alerted you of her presence standing beside you in her spectral regality.

“You dare speak my name, Governess?” the voice to your side answered you, your spine and follicles standing in tingles at her tone. You rolled your neck on your shoulders, twitching your hands by your side to rid it of your anxiety as you turned to face the spirit haunting you.

Her hollowed eyes framing her pupil-less gaze found your face, her sinister smile resting comfortably against her lips. Hair swiping in a wind not present as she moved, her dress pooling at her feet like a flag within water. She was a horror to behold, but there was a deep melancholy reflected in her eyes.

“Queen Sapsorrow,” you stooped low, bowing yourself almost to the floor with your humility, “I express my gratitude to you.” You heard her spectral voice hitch in her unnatural throat, her animosity fleeing from her in the wake of curiosity. Before she opened her mouth to speak her taunts to you, you spoke once more as you rose to your feet.

“I have no parents; no father, nor mother,” you confessed to her, your eyes depicting your honesty through each word spoken, “No family to call my own, until this very moment.” You stepped closer to her, reaching out your hand to bare your right palm to her.

“I was alone in this world, drifting from place to place and finding purpose as a governess - an excellent governess,” you corrected yourself with a smile. Her uneasy and cautious expression unwavering for each parting moment you held her hostage with your words.

“You are the reason I am here, and I will forever be grateful to the future you had bound to me,” She clicked her tongue at you, scrunching her nose to reveal her snarl at you. You hardened your resolve and continued, “Two wards: a man akin to a roguish son, alongside a beautiful and delightful daughter. In this unity: I have found a love that is truly mine,” you concluded, a warmer smile drawing up to reveal your teeth to her in a kind smile.

Sapsorrow’s eyes widened, her unbeaten heart fluttering and reigniting within her chest at hearing her own words reflected from the lips of another.

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk?” you offered her, stepping closer to her and continuing to hold your hand elevated to the front of you.

“Excuse me?” Her spectral voice called, her tone somewhere between offended and bewildered at such an offering.

“Would you care to join me as I take the walk, Sapsorrow?” you again offered, gesturing to her spectral hand with your forehead, “From what I know of your history in the tale once told to me, you deserve your own happy ending. Walk with me, and I will be glad to share mine.”

“You think my curse ends with just you?” Her form faded from vision, her voice reverberating in the hall outside of the ceremony with you, “Oh, I have eight more curses to awaken, you arrogant woman-.” Her voice held source from all corners of the hallway, “-Nine if you account for the clause that stupid tall blonde placed upon the band lying around that inked doctor’s neck!”

Her sinister cackle broke her sentence, unnerving you more than the words she was speaking,“I shall start with those who aided you in completing your conditions; the easiest of the three to ensnare will be the Crocodile, for I know where his ring lay-.”

Your breath hitched at her confession, her own words halting as she attempted to stuff them back into her undead lips. A rough spectral sigh drifted within the walls, her face once again revealed to your eyes. She looked softer, almost human now. Her hair was less wild, her face less horrifying, and her eyes soft and baring pupils within them behind her thick and lengthy eyelashes. The was truly beautiful, her sorrow depicted alongside an unfamiliar warmth in her undeath.

“I will allow your happiness to lie only with you, Lady of Kuraigana. You deserve peace today,” she confessed, a warm smile rising to her lips as she leant forward to take your hand, “Enjoy the time you have with your love.” She stepped forward, pressing her left hand against your offered right, a tingle dancing against your skin at the contact.

“This is where I leave you,” she confessed, floating backwards slowly towards the high ceilings, “But I will be watching your future closely.”

“Thank you, Sapsorrow,” you offered your gratuity by slinking down to another low bow. Halting her final exit by the upper window, she turned once more and glanced at the corner of her eye at you and smirked through the left hand corner of her lips.

“The Sun-Dress is my favourite, my lady,” her small laugh propelled one of your own to dance alongside hers, “If I had a heart, I would even show mercy on Red-Hair for such a fine craft. But alas,” her beauty once again faded into the horrifying spectre you had initially seen her as, “I do not.”

Her spectral body disappeared from the window, a swell in orchestral melody commencing as soon as she departed from the space. You were once again drawn to this single moment, your heart beating now in anxiety of what your future held for you.

You were to become Lady of Kuraigana, bound to one of the former warlords of the seas. The World’s Greatest Swordsman as your beau, the Lord of this land you were now to call home. As you began to step towards the threshold of the door, the wooden barriers were pulled back by members of staff to reveal the attendees within. At the end of the ornately decorated row, your gaze immediately found linked with the honeyed hue of your beloved.

Flowers lined the pews within the large room, candles alight with warm flames to illuminate the shadowy row. All eyes snapped to you, gasps fleeing from their lips as they took in your incredible beauty dressed in an arrangement as radiant as the moon. You could audibly hear the smirk from the hulking Sir Crocodile, as praises of your dress were flung into the air with their comments and sighs.

The music swelled, a small smile drawing up to your face as you propelled yourself forward while clutching your bouquet close to your naval. You thanked your veil from shielding your nerves from prying eyes, a small blush dusting your cheeks as you shamelessly raked your eyes over the body of your intended.

His shirt was dipped into a deep ‘V’, tasteful frills decorating the hemline against his collarbone and neck. His overcoat lay open black in colour with the softest shade of mauve within the inner shield. Dark, leather pants were clasped by a golden buckle decorating his waist, the outer frame of his thighs supporting embellished embroidery in the similar mauve decorating his overcoat. Atop his head, his signature hat with his puffed, white feather dancing behind the broad brim and shielding his curled locks beneath it.

In all your time spent with Dracule Mihawk, you could safely assume you had a grasp on how to read the subtle changes in his stoic face. His lips were barely parted, his eyes only slightly widened and his face only a single shade away from his regular hue with the dusting of the palest pink. Once again, the thought hit you like a puff of cautious wind: you were to wed Lord Dracule Mihawk, become his wife and he your husband.

If his words to you were left unread and unwritten, you would have no doubt plaguing your mind at this very moment of one thing. Lord Dracule Mihawk was hopelessly, truly and deeply in love with you.

As you approached the final steps towards him, you slowly turned to view Perona standing to the side of the aisle, noticing Zoro standing beside your intended: both holding similar expressions mirroring your own. You had all been awaiting this moment with the greatest anticipation: from the moment your accidental hands toyed with the moss agate ring, to the knowledge the curse bound you now by fate.

Mihawk opened his mouth, watching as you slowly placed your bouquet he had affectionately crafted for you within Perona’s outstretched and awaiting hands. The officiant gave you a soft smile, turning to address the large number of attendees scattered amongst the pews in their most formal attire.

“Valued and adored guests here gathered,” she began, her arms gesturing outwards in a warm embellished wave, “On behalf of the Lord and Lady to be of Kuraigana, I would bid thee welcome to witness the unification of two souls in matrimony.” Mihawk had yet to tear his eyes off you, paying attention to all words spoken by the woman in front of you, but hypnotised by your presence at his side.

“There are a few elements to witness performed here. We are to leave no stone unturned nor phrase unuttered in their bonds forming,” she continued, turning away and gathering a larger twin candles within her hands and holding them to the side of her body, “Lord Dracule, you may reveal your wife from beneath her shroud, so we may witness her declarations departing from her lips.”

Mihawk rose his hands to your collar bones, his fingertips pinching the sheer material within his thumb, index and tall finger and hastily withdrawing the shield from your face. He allowed himself the luxury of the backs of his hands brushing with your cheeks as he flung the sheer fabric over your hair, a shaken breath escaping your lips at his tender touch.

As your eyes met without filter between you, his expression finally revealed more to you than a subtle tick and twitch. The air was sucked from his lungs, his eyes softening as he found his body drawing closer to you almost against his will. You smiled up at him, adoring this new and unrefined experience of adoration dancing over his face.

“I present you with two candles,” the attendee informed you, placing them out in a gesture for you to take them from her hands, “I shall alight the wick of Lord Dracule's, and he will speak his actions and their meaning aloud.” She lit his wick, gesturing for you to turn to face one another with your candles extended in the middle of your bodies.

“With this flame,” Mihawk uttered in full clarity, “I vow to light your way through all darkness that plagues you.” He extended the flamed tip to ignite your candle in front of you.

“Under its light,” you uttered with a small bow to him, “I trust you to guide me.” A small sniff from Perona, attempting as she would to halt her emotions from expressing themselves, had a similar experience rising in Zoro behind Mihawk. The two wards witnessing their Lord and Lady now unifying themselves in matrimony finally began to find harbour within their hearts in each passing moment and gesture.

Taking the candles from you and placing them within their designated dishes on the table and elevating a silver goblet and accompanying decanter. She poured the crimson liquid within the spherical container, offering to place the cool stem within your fingertips.

“Your cup may never empty,” you expressed, offering to your swordsman the container, rotating the object twice within your hands first and bowing your head low, “For I will be the wine that fills it.” His fingers brushed over yours, grasping them and taking them with him as he elevated the wine to his lips. He continued holding his hands over yours as he offered the goblet up to your own lips.

“May I be the wine that fills your cup,” his smile twitched at the corner as he added, “And may you always be satisfied with the contents that replenishes you.” A small blush rose to your cheeks as your eyes never broke from Mihawks. He elevated the wine to your lips, allowing for a small sip to pass from your lips. The celebrant reclaimed the goblet from your hands and placed it beside the lit candles, rising now a tray with two cubes of sticky honeycomb atop the surface.

“This may get a little messy, bear with us everyone,” the attendee expressed, drawing a small teetered chuckle and rise of giggle from your guests. Mihawk allowed the softness to be depicted in his face at the small giggle that fell from your lips, both claiming the sticky cubic piece of honeycomb into your fingers.

“I shall serve you in all the ways you require,” you both spoke in unison, “And may the honeycomb taste sweeter coming from my hand.” You both placed the sticky cubes within each other’s awaiting mouths, both laughing at the mess atop your fingertips. Without hesitation, Mihawk clasped your wrist, holding your hand in place as his tongue danced around your fingertips to skillfully rid them from the honey. Your shocked expression was shrouded by the presence of Mihawk’s thumb within your own lips, prompting you to perform a similar action to suck the sticky substance to rid its presence from his digits.

Small whistles and flirtatious commentary fell from the lips of the Red-Hair pirates, hooting and hollering in their support of such an unbridled expression of lust within the ceremony. Another rise of laughter occurred between you as you retracted your fingertips from each other’s mouths. The attendee placed the tray beside the goblet and returned with two thin sheets of material and offered them to Zoro and Perona.

Perona reached forward and gathered the material within her hands, Zoro apprehensively doing the same with no frame of reference as to why he was doing so.

“The two wards under the care of Dracule Mihawk will present the ties to bind you, solidifying their positions in upholding you within your commitment to one another as your chosen witnesses,” Mihawk turned away from you, as you did him, to gather the material within the hands of the wards behind you.

“May our bond continue to grow all the years you choose to remain with us in unity, Perona,” you whispered to her, prompting her to smile through her tears that began to fall as soon as your vows commenced.

“I will stay as long as you’ll have me, my lady,” she confessed in a similar tone, offering the sash for you to take into your arms.

Although you both were too wrapped to hear the conversation occurring behind you, Zoro and Mihawk had a similar moment parting between them.

“Although you are destined to earn my title as ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’ in single combat, I am proud to call you a son under my familial name, Zoro,” He uttered with a small twitched smirk and narrowed eyes.

“I will hold both such titles with honour, Lord Mihawk,” he reached forward, his arms containing the sash and prompting both Mihawk and you to return in facing one another.

“May this knot you tie demonstrate to those present here the symbol of your unity,” the attendee uttered to you, prompting a skillful dance of fingertips brushing and hands clasping one another to tie the two sheets into a single knot in the centre. You and Mihawk both presented the unified material to the celebrant, who collected it from you by the knot in the centre. She placed the knot beside the dish containing the small syrupy honeycomb remnants, raising a box containing two bands of gold within.

“My lady, you may raise your hand to place the ring atop your beau’s unity finger and relay your vows onto him,” she gestured for you to claim the larger band within the box, elevating it to his left hand and hovering it over his fingertip.

“My beloved,” you began, glancing from his hand to dart your focus between his two honey-coloured eyes, “These are the vows of promise I swear unto you, unifying us in marriage.” He awaited expectantly his breath hitching once more as you relayed your confession of love onto him.

“I will never possess you, for you belong to none but yourself,” you smiled at him, beginning the descent of his ring slowly over his finger, “I cannot command you, for you are free.” Shimmying the object over his first knuckle, you continued to relay your vows.

“I pledge to you that your name be the one I cry into the night,” your smile cracked at the corner of your face at a small stifled squeak from Perona, “And may mine be the smile that greets you the morning after.” You slid the ring over his final knuckle, securing it to the base of his finger before interweaving your fingertips with his.

“May this ring be a symbol of my devotion to you, unifying us as one to all those who view it,” you concluded. Finally meeting his eyes once more, his glazed over eyes held such softness for you it felt too intimate for his public persona. He firmly squeezed your right hand within his left before unweaving his fingertips from yours and collecting your ring from the box presented by the attendant.

“My beloved,” he began, clasping your left hand with his right, and elevating his left hand to hover the golden band above your left finger; his own new band catching your eyes as it danced in the light, “These are the promises I swear onto you through my vows of devotion.” He slid the ring slowly over your fingertip, his eyes never breaking away from your own as he presented his words.

“I will never command nor possess you,” he ushered the ring over your first knuckle, “For your will belongs to you alone.” Sliding the ring over your second knuckle, he continued to relay his vows slowly onto you.

“I pledge your name to be cried from my lips in the night, and my smile-...” his right hand gently squeezed your fingertips as his smile drew up onto his face, “-be what greets you on the morrow beside you.” Perona stifled another squeal behind her unoccupied hand clapping over her lips, prompting a smile to break over your own lips.

“May this band unify us in matrimony, and be a beacon of my promise to all who view it,” Mihawk concluded, immediately stooping his lips to press a chaste kiss atop your knuckles, much to the detest of the celebrant. She clicked her tongue to reprimand him, shaking her head with a smile of her own.

“Given your lips can’t hold their restraint, my lord,” her warning tone playfully reprimanded him, “I will now allow for the lord and lady to solidify their unity in the sharing of their first kiss as husband and wife. You may both collect each other and seal your covenant with words left unspoken. You may now share your lips with one another.”

Mihawk immediately began his descent, cradling your jaw beneath his left hand and shepherding you towards him with his lips parted in anticipation. You hastily drew your own left hand up to his right cheek, your right hand finding purchase on his waist and anchoring yourself to him as he finally pressed his lips onto your own.

His lips were slow in movement, savouring the sweet taste of sugary honeycomb mixing with the bitter wine presented to each other earlier. He gasped into your mouth, opening it to deepen the unity between you by presenting a small flick of his tongue into you. His nose brushed with your own, his hand on your jaw fell immediately to your waist and clutched you firmly against his waist. Brows furrowed in unbridled passion, the world around you fled from memory at each press of his lips against your own.

You slid your hand up to clasp his shoulder, a small squeak fleeing from your mouth into his as he turned your body in a low dip towards the guests in their seats in the pew. This action drew you away from your lustful hypnosis, the applause and cheers of your guests gleefully erupting into the air. He hastily drew your body back upwards with the flitter of your luxurious dress pooling behind you.

“I am now delighted to pronounce, through this seal of unity,” the celebrant concluded her presentation, “The Lord and Lady Dracule of Kuraigana. Celebrate and uphold them, and may jovial celebrations continue into the night with merriment.” Mihawk clasped your hand and placed it into the crook of his left elbow, beginning his ushering of you to flee with him from the ceremony space to continue into your reception.

Several of your guests greeted you both with their offerings of congratulations and affirmations, Red-Hair Shanks prying your husband away from your arms with his arm hooking over his shoulders and ushering him into a warm embrace. You made eye contact with the first mate of the Red-Hair pirates, who offered you a polite smile and the nod of his head; both of which you returned with actions mirroring his own.

However, as soon as you became distracted by the embraces falling to your now husband, your elevated mood of joy was immediately halted as a floating and severed gloved hand clapped over your lips. You could not offer a hum of protest, nor a scream as your body was pried away from Mihawk’s and into the hallway outside of the ceremony space.

“All part of the plan, Starlight,” a soft, nasally voice reaffirmed you in your ear. You turned your head to meet with the face of the flashy-fool himself, his face painted to the highest quality. His hand rejoined his forearm with a small suctioned ‘pop’.

“I’m gonna take my hand away from your face now, alright? You gotta be quiet and listen to what I’m ‘bout to tell you,” He nodded, his eyes serious with no room for joking. You nodded in return, prompting a smile to rise to his lips.

“I’ve done some reading,” Buggy informed you, his tone apprehensive and nervous, “And there’s a custom in Kuraigana regarding weddings that sounds way too fun to be left out of ol’ Hawkie’s.”

“And what may that be, sir Buggy D Clown?” Your frown deepened the longer Buggy kept you away from your new husband. He chuckled at your apprehension, a sly smile now developing further in elevation.

“You are to be dressed in a new gown, no longer a bride but a wife under his name,” he confirmed with a nod, your understanding reflected in your own nod. “As your new dress is placed onto your body, you’re a new woman. And as a new woman,” his eyes twinkled with mischief, “Your groom has to woo you to win back your favor.”

“What are you saying, sir?” you narrowed your eyes, and threw him an accusatory and pointed look.

“What I’m saying, Starlight,” he continued, linking his arms with yours and beginning to shepherd you further away from your celebration, “Is that I’m going to kidnap you and dress you in your starlight gown,” he grimaced a small grin, “I may have had a couple of my crew break in and steal the mannequin earlier,” he quickly uttered before waving his hand in front of him to halt your protests, “And he has to humble himself and perform a skill worthy enough to win your favour.”

Your bewilderment was pictured over your face, looking from his eyes and apprehensively allowing him to draw you to the peer.

“What type of skill, Buggy?” you asked him, your curiosity peaked the longer the clown explained himself.

“Could be anything, Starlight,” he shrugged, his playful smirk pulling wider. His eyes twinkled, the paint falling within the crows feet beneath the blue and white hues, “He could dance, sing, recite poetry, he could even juggle. It truly doesn’t matter as long as you’re impressed and successfully wooed.”

You took the moment to study him. From his painted face, to his beautiful assortment of a red and yellow diamond patterned vest, to his tanned leather pants, and all the way back up to his hair braided and styled away from falling in front of his eyes. He threw his best grin at you, his lips curling in an apprehensive and crooked smile. You shook your head, stepping closer to him.

“Does Mihawk know about this?” You uttered quietly, your dress shifting behind you in your haste. He sighed out a shuddered laugh of dark glee.

“Oh, I’m certain Red-Hair is filling him in right about-...” he trailed off, thinking long and hard about his answer. As soon as your feet found the wood of Buggy’s ship, the anchor rising and sails drawn down by his crew, he gestured to the doors of Castle Kuraigana in the distance.

“-Now.”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #mihawk fanfiction #sapsorrow au #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk sapsorrow au #mihawk storyteller au #mihawk fairytale au

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fanaticsnail · 3 months

Text

Sapsorrow Chapter 6

Masterlist here, Series Masterlist here

Word Count: 7,353

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

(Image Source)

Song Accompaniments: Crumbling Dreams - Milo the Otter!, Moon Dance - Danny Elfman

Reopening the large double doors to the large ballroom, Mihawk ushered you through the threshold with his guiding hand placed on the small of your back. He allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and taking a moment to compose himself as your perfume danced past him upon entering the room. Stepping behind you and reopening his eyes, his yellow hue was met with the intense purple gaze of the giant, reptilian man darkening your radiancy with his intimidating aura.

“My lady,” Sir Crocodile addressed you at his side, “If I may be granted the luxury of taking your arm a moment. I have decided to rescind my invitation for your beau to view the creation I have crafted and allow it to be a moment for you to take with your eyes only.” You cocked your head to the side, turning your chin towards the lord of Kuraigana at your side, but continuing to hold firm your gaze onto the large man in front of you.

“I hope you are not suggesting I am to enter a room alone with you, unchaperoned, Sir Crocodile?” you quipped, your left brow arching and lips pursing at the suggestion. Sir Crocodile allowed the rumble of his chest to exhale his sour cigar through huffs of laughter.

“Of course not, my lady,” he uttered once his laughter stifled. Mihawk bore his golden gaze into the smirking face of the dangerous reptilian man, baring his own intimidation onto his towering body, “There will be three others with me, one of whom I likely deem the most competent out of the bunch. I take it you know the Red-Hair Pirates a little more than you do the blue-haired clown?”

You sighed, nodding your head in confirmation before turning back around to face your intended. He was less than impressed at the notion you were to be spirited away by the three men he tasked with aiding him with his impossible tasks, with the potential notion of viewing you in a variety of states of undress. It was written all over his face: jaw clenched, eyes narrowed and brow angled down to depict his displeasure at the suggestion. As he was about to speak up, another presence with a familiar scent of dried tobacco leaves and gunpowder arrived at his side.

“Don’t you worry yourself, Hawk-Eyes,” Beckman hushed his rumbled drawl against his shoulder, “If anything goes awry: I’ll shoot first, and apologize later for ruinin’ your marble walls.” Mihawk snapped his gaze over to the silver-haired first-mate of the red-hair pirates, continuing to hold firm his scowl and hissing in a firm breath through his nose as he eyed him.

“I take it you’re the competent member of this coup to pry my bride from my arms and away from our engagement soiree,” Mihawk snarled, his brow deeply furrowing in the center of his forehead. Beckman smirked, his lips ticking up at the corner of his mouth.

“Would you prefer to place the safety of your bride in the rat, the reptile, or the idiot?” Beckman shrugged his shoulders up in question. A crackly, sharp “Hey!” growled from behind the crocodilian man, followed by the chuckle of the red-headed captain you have come to enjoy. Mihawk tilted his neck sharply to the side, a short ‘click’ elicited from his spine as he processed the words.

Mihawk unwove his arm from your back before claiming your right hand within his left, turning you to face him in an intricate and elaborate twirl. Stepping sidewards, he withdrew you from the towering and unwanted company without excusing himself and halted your movements. Gazing deeply and lovingly into your eyes, he drew your right hand up and placed a kiss atop the back of your knuckles. Your breath hitched in your throat, floating your gaze between focusing on each of his eyes as he broke the deep kiss against your hand.

A thousand questions flew between the two of you internally. From you, mainly, was how long had he felt this way for you. Surely not for only the month you had stayed at castle Kuraigana, but a lord should not be turning his head to a governess at decorative galas. For Mihawk, he was questioning how deeply he trusted the four to be alone with someone so dear to his heart… Or how much trust you placed in Beckman in your interactions prior.

Through the unspoken discussion, you fought an unwinnable battle internally. You chose to disregard your formal training and allow a moment of softness to overtake your stoic form. Reaching upwards, you placed your left hand on Mihawk’s cheek and shepherded him into yourself, placing your lips gently against his left cheek as you cradled him against your palm. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and froze his shoulders in place.

His eyes snapped up, meeting first with the brown hue of Red-Haired Shanks’ eyes, who shot him a playful wink as soon as he witnessed the small gift of affection.

“I will not be away from your side if you are uncomfortable with this, beloved,” Mihawk uttered in a voice little above a whisper. You smiled against his cheek, withdrawing your lips from him and looking up at him through your eyelashes. He quickly drew his honeyed eyes back to meet with yours, softening as soon as he met your affectionate gaze.

“These are the gentlemen you trusted enough to complete this task,” you whispered under your breath, a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, “And I trust Beckman to handle it should it become too much for me.”

“As do I,” Mihawk confirmed, leaning down towards you. He drew his hand up to your face, hovering it over your hair with a small apprehensive quake to his movements; invisible should one be not looking for it, “I would not see a single hair atop your head harmed.” He brushed your cheek with his fingertips gently as his hand found itself cupping your shoulder.

“There was a time I did not see eye to eye with these men,” he uttered his warning sternly, ensuring you held firm to each word he relayed to you. Allowing a small giggle to fall from your parted lips, eyes upturning in a taunting glee, you allowed your eyes to fall to rest on his mustache-topped lip.

“My lord,” you uttered darkly, drawing your eyes up to meet slowly with his once more, “You are behaving as if you forget the true reason you invited me here in the first place.” Stepping your body closer to his had him drop his hand and draw themselves to your hips once more, head head angling down to meet with your approaching lips to whisper in his ear.

“I handle the most undisciplined of pupils,” you sighed against his ear, Mihawk closing his eyes to resist the shudder of joy at your breath dancing against his lobe, “Getting them to behave,” you watched his shoulders finally give into the shudder, prompting your lips to curl up into a sly grin, “Is one of my strengths.”

You withdrew from his proximity, allowing your half-hooded eyes to meet his through your eyelashes. Mihawk was holding his composure to his regular stoic rigidity, but his slightly blown pupils held a different prose. He lightly ticked his lip up to the side, allowing a softness to rise within his eyes as he gazed at you. Although neither of you confessed to harboring deep affection on the balcony moments prior, you could tangibly feel how far Mihawk truly held fondness for you.

“Perhaps we should draw this evening to a close,” Mihawk suggested, glancing past you and around the room, “It would seem the preferable option, considering it could look to others that you are abandoning me to flee into the night with four men you met moments prior.” Both Mihawk and you allowed a small laugh to fall between you at the notion. He retracted his hands from your waist and elevated his right hand in a gesture to the orchestral arrangement to halt their performance.

“Honored guests,” Mihawk spoke up, his voice alerting the surrounding participants to halt their conversations and turn to face him, “My bride and I have been delighted at your attendance here this night.” Mihawk turned, interlacing your right arm within his left and presented you both to the crowd gathering.

“I trust you can all find your own way from the halls to take your leave,” Mihawk nodded to the great doors, aligned with rows of candelabras dancing and illuminating the castle’s exit’s. He smirked at the corner of his lips before adding, “Should you desire aid in your exit, I would sooner ask Perona to navigate you than Zoro. He has a knack for getting lost within the walls.” A small grumbled groan was almost audible to the side of the room, no doubt in your mind it was thrust from the lips of your green-haired gentleman in training.

“We will be looking forward to accepting your responses regarding your future attendance at our upcoming wedding,” You curtseyed to the crowd, bowing your head respectfully; a gesture which was returned with equal enthusiasm by your prior students in attendance with their chaperones, “It has been a delight to make your acquaintance, and to see you all again.” You danced your eyes over your students, them all returning your smile with vigor.

The guests began to file out of the open doors of castle Kuraigana, the large reptilian man once again extending his elbow in a gesture for you to take it. Paying one more glance to the side at your intended and meeting his eyes a final time, you unlaced your hand from within the crook of his elbow and interwove it within the arm of Sir Crocodile.

“He doesn’t love you.”

Your brows furrowed, looking straight ahead and not sure where the doubts were coming from. Shaking your head to rid your mind of the thoughts, you engaged Sir Crocodile, Buggy and Shanks in polite conversation as they ushered you throughout the halls; the protective presence of Benn Beckman behind you aiding you in feeling safe with the two strangers alongside the red-haired rat.

Perona watched your retreat with great interest; her wide eyes narrowed as she witnessed the exit with the four men. Zoro smirked, his brow arched up as he playfully gave his commentary on the situation.

“What is it?” He smirked down, hovering over her shoulder, “Don’t like the thought of our Governess being without the great lord to protect her from the three burly men and that stupid clown?” Perona’s lips were tight in a firm line, her focus on the back of your head. She began to hover in the air, slowly finding her body drawing itself closer to your own, staring off into the distance.

“I just thought I saw-...” Perona began, cocking her head sharply to the side and holding firm her gaze, “Something watching.”

—----------------

Beautiful.

Everything was simply beautiful. The layers of satins, silks, chiffon, ivory, embroidered golds and silvers. The two dresses were everything your greatest fantasies could have ever dreamed up, and then exceeded the expectations tenfold. Each gentleman presented their designs to you; Sir Crocodile’s first. The hue alone was enough to make your eyes gloss over and a sigh pulled from your lungs at its mastery. Buggy the Clown’s presentation had the gloss begin to prick at the corners of your eyes and trail their diamond lines down your cheeks.

But Shanks. Shanks. Shanks’ contribution had the change of pace from dreaminess to a bashfulness you had not experienced in some time. Excusing yourself from the other two men after bowing respectfully to the hulking Sir Crocodile, and encumbering the clown in and embrace for their efforts, you were chaperoned into a small room with both Beckman and Shanks to accompany you.

“Now, love,” he began, prompting your eyes to fall forward and dance over the mannequin’s bodice, “This is the concept only. I’m still working on the finer details, and I won’t leave the port of Kuraigana before it finally comes to me,” he took your shoulder beneath his palm and ushered you over to the bodice, the curtain draping behind you to shield the three of you from the other two gentlemen. Beckman continued to hold his eyes firmly against the sealed crack in the velvet curtains to ensure no prying eyes view the lingerie Shanks had made for you.

“See, this is where it goes over your breasts,” he gestured to the torso of the onyx bodice of the mannequin, releasing your shoulder from beneath his palm and tugging at several robes of gold hanging limply, “And these tie everything in place. The symbolism behind it is you, yourself, are the sun. The gold is what encases you beneath it, the rays,” he released the golden rope and adjusted the sheer robe over the shoulders, “The rays are bound by each of the knots tying it together.”

“How would you ever expect me to remember how to assemble the knots and the strings myself?” you furrowed your brows, attempting to see the vision Shanks had for the outfit. Shanks chuckled, clasping the back of his neck as he winced a little in anticipation of your reaction.

“Well, Exterminator,” he laughed at you, prompting you to arch your brow and seek him out in the corner of your eye, “Some assembly is required by another person. I’d never do anything you, yourself, are not comfortable with, but,” He drew himself in front of you, “If you’d prefer it just me, I can use my right hand and my teeth to bind you within it.” Your eyes widened at the suggestion.

“I do not desire your sharpened rat-teeth near me, Shanks,” you reprimanded him, your brow decreasing and resting in a straight and serious line. Shanks winced a little at your elevated words, but nodded to your boundary.

“Would you prefer it if Beckman did the knot tying?” The usually stoic man had his ears pricked up at his name, still holding his eyes firmly against the line of the curtain but listening more intently to the conversation behind him, “What say you, Becks? You keen on doing some knot tying for our most precious and beloved exterminator on her big day?” Beckman sighs, shaking his head and takes a few moments to answer that very pointed and heavy question.

The first moment you met him, he found you effortlessly managing the crew of Red-Haired pirates from their lustful advances on a menagerie of young ladies in silks and satins. This piqued his interests, him desiring to learn more about the protective exterminator and her role in shepherding the youthful gentlemen and women in society.

After many years of running into you from port to port, he treated you with the utmost respect and found himself hanging onto your every command as a loyal knight taking instructions from his queen. From then on, you were the friend he confided in and trusted to handle the troop easily when ushering you throughout the seas on the red-force. Of all aboard, you trusted Beckman the most to treat you well.

“If you would prefer me to complete this task for you, teeth free,” he smirked, placing a cigarette between his lips and igniting the tip with a lighter, “Wouldn’t wanna do nothin’ you’re uncomfortable with, my lady. This would be a rather intimate experience, and I wouldn’t dream of putin’ ya in a position you’d not deem appropriate.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, truly now realizing what task you placed on your intended when you initially requested the former warlord to complete.

“I require a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its intended purpose. A dress so scantily designed, that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance.”

Your heart panged with guilt, eyes wide but frown depending as you relayed your own words within your mind. Before your words had enough time to gather more thoughts behind their intentions, you found yourself murmuring below your breath; Beckman responding in a similar tone to your question.

“Could you do it blindfolded?”

“I will do my best, my lady.”

“You better get to planning your wedding, love,” Shanks called up from behind you, prompting you to turn back around to face him, “I think I’ll have it for you sooner than you might think.”

—----------------------

Tucked beneath the duvet after ridding yourself of your gown and scrubbing the night off your skin, you reminisced the words Shanks spoke over you. You shook your head, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation you had found for yourself. A small shriek allowed itself to exit from your lips as you hid your face beneath the covers; yourself devolving to a teenager encumbered by their own stupidity circulating within their minds.

“It won’t be enough. It will never be enough.”

Your ears pricked up at the voice, prompting you to throw the covers of your bed from your face and seek out its source. Slowly scanning the room, you found no such presence within the corners of your wing. The bothersome thoughts circulating within your mind seemed to have a physical presence; a presence that continued to watch over you as an executor would watch a prisoner place their head within the circle of a guillotine.

Laying back down against your plush mattress, you began to be eclipsed by invasive and tiresome thoughts so tangible that your body felt more tired upon reawakening than it did attempting its slumber. Once again, no birds serenaded the morn due to its distance between breaking the daylight against the purple hue of cool nightfall.

Sucking in a breath from your nose, you flung the covers back with your exhale and began to aggressively tug trousers and a blouse onto your body, alongside your socks and boots. Perhaps pushing yourself further to exhaustion may coerce your body to allow slumber to claim you.

Attempting to furiously walk in silence was no easy feat. The desire to allow the remaining members of the household to enjoy their restfulness overcame your own need to behave erratically and childish in the moment, but you were looking forward to enjoying stomping to your heart's content to satisfy your inner angry teenager once walking among the grounds.

After opening the cold, wooden door to the castle; you silently crossed the threshold and clicked the latch behind you as softly as you could muster with the iron-barred door’s affinity for squeaks and clanks. You turned and hastily embarked on your descent down the stairs and onto the footpath leading towards the vast grapevines throughout the castle grounds. The pebbles kicked up with dust beneath your heels, scuffing your shoes as you picked up your brief sprint to the winding and heavily fruited vines.

Upon reaching the first row, your steps halted their motion as your mind began to process exactly what was happening before your eyes. Your fingertips began to shake at your hips, your jaw slackened and eyes wide.

Dracule Mihawk, lord of castle Kuraigana and lands surrounding, former warlord of the seas, current world’s greatest swordsman, your betrothed and intended husband, was gardening. Hands holding firm to the base of a mattock and humming under his breath, he slammed down the iron tip to pry the earth of its rest. His brown trousers were stained with the waxy coat of the ground, cementing itself against his calves and leather boots.

His shirt was hanging on a post beside a small, dirty triangle of cloth and a round, large brimmed straw hat, leaving his entire chest and back exposed to the sunlight as it began to share the radiance of the dawn. Beside the hat lay an intricately designed bouquet tied with twine and lace and laying carefully within the circle of the upturned hat.

A grunt fell from his lips per impact of the earth, halting his hum as his body continued upheaving the ground to a point he deemed far enough to stop digging. His forearms and biceps shook upon impact, his pectorals and abdomen compressing upon retracting the object from its place embedded in the earth. As he turned away from the hole he dug, he rubbed his forearm against his brow to rid it of the sweat and grime.

He sighed as he began retrieving a small vine with bare roots and placed it within the hole, kicking the dirt beneath his boot heel to place the earth securely around it, and stomping to resolidify the ground. Straw hat, ruffled pale shirt, covered in mud, gardening, flowers in a bouquet.

It all began to swirl within your mind, watching as he sighed once more before placing the pale shirt over his head. He secured the face shield over the lower half of his face and began spraying the hole he had just covered with rain water. The earth began to splash up under the pressure of the nozzle of the hose, dampening his pale shirt and caking the top half of his body with sticks, mud and hay from the compost. More water began to splash up into his face, him shaking his head and grumbling below his breath, verbally reprimanding himself.

“Never messy in combat, never messy in gardening,” Mihawk yelled at himself in a hushed tone, “But you slip below the vines one time and now you’re this-this-...” He sighed again, raking his fingers through his exposed locks a final time before shaking his head, “This Farm-Hand. The creature from the earth created to serve as friend and confidant to your beloved. Why must she make me so-... so-...” He growled, intentionally now splashing his body with water, raindrops falling like glass from each curl attached to his radiant head.

Hastily, you stepped as quietly as you could away from the scene in front of you, hearing the vocal chastations echo with each angry grumble exiting from his mouth. You placed your back against a nearby oak tree and took a moment to process internally what you had seen and heard. Clapping both hands over your mouth, you began to teeter into a giggle.

The lord of Kuraigana, your betrothed and beloved, had intentionally been attempting to woo you all this time with flowers each day for a month. The first time you had caught him was when you were wandering the halls in your nightdress, apparently the first time he had ever fallen amongst the sludge while gardening: covering his body from head to toe in an amassment of the earthly elements.

You risked a peek at him, witnessing as he shook his head further; now completely under the disguise as your friend: the Farm-Hand. Fur, feather, straw, clay, mud, sticks and stone cover all apart from his honeyed eyes and his straw hat. He has assembled his beastly persona, a caricature of the man you had come to adore through your time spent with him.

A portion of you wanted to continue this torturous facade for him, not one to enjoy trickery or deceit and wishing to punish him in some way for his lies. Although immediately after that single thought, you smiled for your sweet Farm-Hand, adoring the extent he was willing to go to enjoy speaking with you with no filter apart from the muck and slop he adorned on his body. After toying with the notion within your mind, you decided on behaving in the former: not wishing to allow him the upper hand in this next interaction.

“Farm-Hand?” You called to him, weaving your body from behind the tree and exposing yourself under the first light of the dawn, “Farm-Hand, is that you here so early?” You watched as he began to scramble, at first attempting to askew the floral arrangement behind his back from view before holding it at heart-level.

“Lost-Lady,” his voice called to you, disguising what you thought to be a small stumble in his footing as he began to clamber towards you from his prior position gardening. His boots met with the sludge, sliding the earth from beneath his footstep and successfully dropping him down to his knees. You sucked your lips into your mouth, witnessing a man full of dignity and grace be brought down to his knees while cradling flowers against his chest.

“Sir, are you alright?” you asked, beginning your hasty descent towards him and almost losing footing yourself.

“I would not be so hasty-!” Mihawk called at a moment too slow, watching as you lost your own footing beneath the sludge of his own making and being dropped to a low crouch; managing to collect yourself at the last moment. “My lady, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I am uninjured, my darling,” you reassured him with a small chuckle, bringing your eyes up to meet with his shielded face, “It is you I am more concerned. Do you tumble often? Must be very poor on the knees.” You silently hoped he both would and wouldn’t catch onto your vocal slip up, darting your eyes between his to check over his reaction to the name.

“I try not to lose my footing often, my lady,” he confessed, reaching out his unoccupied left hand to you to ensure you were steady enough in your crouched position, by offering you additional aid should you need it, “Contrary to what you might think, I am actually rather competent at gardening.” You smiled, rising to your feet and collecting his left hand within your right to support him in his rise.

“I believe the world of your abilities, sir. Now, allow me to aid in your rise to your feet once more,” you smiled down at him, his eyes meeting your own with an almost overwhelming amount of adoration. You hoisted him up to his feet, uncaring at the passing of grime onto your clothes from his.

You began to walk in silence, the destination of the castle steps once more in sight for Farm-Hand. You noticed his shoulders slouching and the weight of a mental burden begin overencomber him beneath the waves of thought. You furrowed your brows at his posture, unsure as to how to address such an issue.

“Is there something the matter, Farm-Hand?” you asked him, slowing your step beside him to check him over.

“All is well, Lost-Lady,” he uttered in a half-hearted manner. You purse your lips, a frown finding its home against the center of your brow as you looked him over once more. You decided against continuing this little facade further, and halted your steps all together as you both stood at the entrance of the doorway. Sighing out a huff of agitation, you shook your head before hardening your resolve in addressing the proverbial elephant in the room: although you were truly unsure as to how.

You rotated your neck, a small crack produced from its circular motion in response. Drawing your eyes up to meet with his and stepping into his aura, you looked down at the floral arrangement in his hands. The hues were as vibrant and beautiful as each day prior, although this bunch seemed to hold an almost desperate apprehension and appreciation. There were so many intricate elements, it looked as if he absolutely scanned each leaf, petal, and stem within the greenhouse and beyond to draw each piece into it.

“Will you be joining me for breakfast this morning?” you coyly asked him, trying to tease out whether he would give himself up willingly or continue with this little facade no matter how much it pained him to do so. He looked at you, puzzled and perplexed, and began to attempt to assemble a response to your question.

“I will be where I always am for breakfast, my lady,” he responded, his eyes looking very pleased with his retort. You hummed in response, nodding your head externally while internally agitated at his successful avoidance of the question. Your betrothed seemed to not desire giving himself up willingly; which spurred you on to push harder.

“Even now he hides his face from you. He intends to deceive you until the bitter end.”

You shook your head of the thoughts whispering into your consciousness, casting them aside by closing your eyes and assessing your internal monologue. Reopening your eyes, you gazed back into his honeyed hues and smiled once more at him.

“Then I shall bid you farewell, sir,” you nodded politely and began to take your leave of him to only be halted by his firm grip holding firm to your right bicep beneath his left hand. You halted in your steps, turning back to look at him with your eyes filled with something Mihawk was not expecting to see from you.

Sorrow. Doubt. A deep and upturned sadness eclipsed over your face and caused him to stumble over his next words to you.

“I thought we were past all of those titles, Lost-Lady,” he attempted to reassure you with his words, only for you to pull away from his grasp. You apprehensively drew your right hand up to his face, hovering in front of his hat and mimicking the same movement over his features as he did the night prior. You sighed as your thumb brushed against his shielded chin before finding yourself cupping his shoulder beneath your palm.

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘Farm-Hand’,” you sighed, a smile pricking at the corner of your mouth as you continued to watch his eyes stagger beneath your pointed look, “Or shall I return the title you bestowed onto me?”

Mihawk was perplexed. Had you been spying on him? Did your ears hear the internal monologue he decided to relay verbally, actively mocking himself for his idiocy? Surely not. Hopefully not. He yearned for this deceit to flee from his form. No longer desiring to adorn this shield and to be the man beneath this amassment of muck for you; he wanted so desperately to cast aside titles and just truly be yours.

“And what title may that be?” Mihawk whispered beneath his breath caught within his throat. His gaze followed your fingertips as they circled around the flowers within his hands, prompting him to release them into your grip. You slipped your hand from his shoulder and turned to begin your withdrawal into the manor with one final quip over your shoulder.

“Thank you for the flowers. I will cherish them as I do all of the others you have presented me each day.” Beginning your ascension to your wing, you couldn’t help but wonder why he decided to continue adorning the mask you had already seen slipping and cracking at the corners.

“Perhaps it was truly because he does not truly love you.”

After retreating back into your designated wing, you shook the thoughts away from your mind and replaced the flowers atop your table with the fresh assortment he had crafted for you. You sighed out a small breath and began changing from your soiled clothes into your regular gown for tutelage of your two wards for the day.

Breakfast was far from silent that morning. Perona had begun chittering away about which lord and lady had begun courtship. She provided her commentary on the dresses and suits adorning each member of the attendees, focussing on the amassment of silks and satins clinging to the infamous clown-captain of the east blue.

“Did you see his frilly collar? Wasn’t it stunning?” her voice did little to hide her excitement regarding the frills and feathers, “And how beautiful his hair is! How does he keep his locks so silken on the seas, Mihawk? In fact, how do you keep them so-.”

“-Why must you continue to listen to the whining of the insufferable child? Flee from this land and find a suitor attuned to your interests and class-.”

“-And the amount of weaponry on the red-haired pirates! Did you see Yassop’s pistol, Zoro?” Perona continued with glee. Zoro grunted, reaching for a small rice-ball and placing it onto his plate before pouring himself a small, ceramic dish of tea from his ocha teapot.

“And the green-haired boy? Do you think he truly need of your services? He is a swordsman, no mere gentleman in need of a few curt lashes upon his behind. You can do nothing to train him further in the ways you know best. Leave.”

“I did see,” he grunted, rising the small mug to his lips and taking a sip, “I aim to tell my sharpshooting crewman about it when I get back to ‘em. Usopp would be keen to-.”

“Even now your intended ignores you. He has no interest in fostering the flames of your affection.”

You inhaled a deep breath, a shaken hand reaching forward to grasp your teaspoon within it and stirring a spoon of honey within the mug. You placed the spoon beside the mug and began to raise it to your lips and take a small sip of the liquid within.��

Mihawk was not accustomed to this amount of silence from you. You often engaged with the wards in conversation over breakfast and went over the agenda for the day. Routine, structure and discipline were the three aspects alongside true professionalism he had come to enjoy with your mornings. Whatever plagued your thoughts held you completely in silence and unable to speak those words to life.

“Beloved-?” Mihawk began, attempting to regain your attention, only to witness your eyes continue to stare at the teapot placed in front of you.

“The moon, the starlit sky; they are beautiful dresses. But the golden assortment? Do you truly think that be enough-?”

“-My love, are you quite alright?” Mihawk attempted to gain your attention once more, only to become more concerned at the state of your daze. Perona halted her conversation with Zoro, looking over to Mihawk before drawing her eyes over your hunched form.

“Why don’t you set them in a glorious blaze, hm? What would be the harm in setting fire to those beautiful gowns? It should save you both the trouble of going through this sham of a marriage-.”

“-Hey!” Perona’s booming and otherworldly voice held dominion over the room, prompting your eyes to immediately draw themselves up to your pink-haired ward in confusion. Her rounded, dark pupils were holding firm to a space beside your left ear, the internal monologue halting itself as you glanced up. Perona began to levitate above the breakfast table, her hands reaching forward with her palms presented outwards.

“Step away from my governess, Hag!” Her voice held several tones within the single vocal strand, the air sucked from its delight of the morning rays. Zoro immediately was drawn to his feet, unsheathing his sword from beside him and brandishing it with flourish. Mihawk also rose to his feet, nodding to Zoro briefly, before he closed and reopened his amber eyes; now a ruby iris surrounding its glow. Zoro did the same, his iris crackling under the new color within his orbs.

You felt a weight being shifted off you as Perona’s hands sunk into the air beside you and cast it upwards. Feeling the rush of wind beside you, you inhaled a shaken breath and closed your eyes in a tight squeeze and held your lips in a tight and firm line. Feeling alone of the inner monologue, your hands were taken within the cool hands of your betrothed; prompting your eyes to flitter open.

“She is gone, beloved” he crouched at your left hand side, looking up into your eyes with concern interwoven within the once more amber hue of his irises. “Have her words bring you no hindrance nor whisper of worry. She can do no harm on this plane.” He reached up his hand and claimed your cheek beneath his palm, soothing you with his thumb rubbing circles within your smooth skin. “Her words are poisonous. The only harm she can truly do on this plane is with her words alone. I promise you, you are safe.”

“How long has she been here, Mihawk?” Perona asked at your other side, her eyes fixed on a pinned point in the roof and remaining unblinking, “She seemed so sad.” Mihawk continued to hold you within his sights, as he desired to ensure your emotional wellbeing after an encounter with the spectre of the witch that plagued him.

“She has been here with me since the ring was placed atop our governess’ unity finger. I had heard her voice only once before such a time,” Mihawk informed the three of you within the room, “And it was when I commissioned the ring to be set within the woven band itself.”

Drawing your eyes over to his, you danced your sorrowful eyes between his and allowed yourself a moment of weakness to lean into his palm with your cheek. He sighed at the small gesture, leaning his crouched body further into your and searching your eyes for any thoughts you desired to relay onto him.

“She fled from me two days ago when I had began concluding the task placed on me,” Mihawk continued to confess, removing his hand from your cheek and collecting both of your hands within his own, “I thought we were rid of her, considering-,” he halted his words, continuing to leave them unspoken within the air, but written all over his face.

Considering I love you.

Your soft smile in return had Mihawk’s heart swell within his chest. He drew your hands up to his face, the knuckles on your hands brushing his mustache as his lips caressed each joint above your fingers gently and deliberately. Perona smiled an impish smile as her eyes met with the display of affection between her lord and her governess, prompting her to swiftly gather the arm of the swordsman and direct him away from the room with an echo of protestations: “Hey, but I didn’t get to finish my breakfast-!”

Mihawk used his right leg to hook beneath a chair at your side and draw it close to him. His cocky smirk continued to hold against his lips as he continued gazing into your eyes, prompting you to roll them and chastise him with a click of your tongue. He drew it close to yours, sitting directly beside you and released one of your hands to collect your teacup and present it to you.

“My, my lord,” you smirked, taking the teacup from his hand and raising it to your lips, “offering to serve a lowly governess at breakfast?” It was his turn to chastise you with the click of his tongue, tutting you at your personal degradation.

“I thought I told you,” Mihawk began, choosing his next words by searching within his mind, “What was it you told the clown? We are more than the titles that make us?” You giggled, watching the corners of his eyes gather as his lips drew up into a small smile, “And we are far beyond simplistic roles, do you not agree?”

“Like the roles we chose for ourselves?” you offered the first extension of the relationship between your alter-egos to unmask between the two of you. He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head down in deep thought.

“I never thought of you as a lady who was ever lost,” he whispered, his tone low and deliberate, “I had always thought of you as a woman who commanded every space she found herself within. Even as a man far more advanced in his years,” he continued, reopening his eyes to look lovingly into your face, “I had always seen you as a woman who could have the mighty fall to their knees- much as you had me do this morning.”

Sighing your laugh, feeling the physical weight fall from your shoulders as your smile elevated your lips with its relief, you drew yourself closer to your beau and placed your forehead against his own with your eyes shut tightly.

“Does this mean I will no longer be receiving flowers from my beloved Farm-Hand, adorning an assortment of mud and grime?” you quipped at him, taking your bottom lip beneath your teeth. He huffed out a laugh of his own, withdrawing his forehead from yours and replacing it atop your brow with his lips.

“If you so desire for your Farm-Hand to bring his Lost-Lady your daily gift of flowers, I will gladly become him once more for you. However,” Mihawk drew his eyes back to yours, an almost playfulness dancing behind his honeyed gaze, “I expect my Lost-Lady to be in naught but her nightdress in return.”

—-----------------------

“I-I think I’ve done it,” the redhead captain exclaimed, his shaken right hand gathering the material beneath his hand and looking over it one last time, “I’ve done it! Becks! Becks!”

Shank’s cries of glee echoed throughout the red-force, his crew alerted to his excitement and began gathering themselves at their posts. Beckman rose to his feet, beginning to direct the crew in their duties to prepare to board the pier of Kuraigana once again.

“All hands! All hands on deck!” Shank’s voice called, his right hand waving a piece of parchment paper in absolute delight, “Hoist the colors, sound the alarms! We got to get the word to Hawk-Eyes! He marries on the morrow! Beckman, Becks-,” Shanks halted his feet, thrusting the parchment into the awaiting and overworked hands of his first-mate, “You reckon you could do that blindfolded, mate?”

Benn Beckman straightened the parchment with an assortment of intricately composed directions with diagrams and mathematical equations correlating with the design. He frowned, eyeing the minute details and beginning to commit their paths to memory.

“As I said, Cap’n,” Beckman confirmed, meeting the hazel gaze of Shanks’ awaiting and hopeful face, “I will do my best for the lady.” Shanks clapped his hand over his shoulder and began making his way to address his crew as Beckman began visually putting together the guide and its make within his mind, practicing several intricate knots with the strands of the rope beside him.

“The Vile Exterminator is getting married to the Hawk of Kuraigana! What a match!” Shanks cried in glee, the red-haired pirates cheering as they readied themselves to exit the ship and leave it behind to once more celebrate with the former rival of the captain.

“I will find your ring, Red-Haired Shanks,” Shanks’ smile dropped from his face as he snapped his head to seek out the voice, “I will find your ring and I will claim your soul as penance for your aid in keeping Mihawk’s from me.”

Shanks’ rubied eyes met with the cursed and haunting spectre of the ghoulish witch haunting his former rival and his former sailing companion.

“Do your worst, witch,” he addressed the spectre, “I would sooner lay down my life than see those two part from one another. You should be happy! You’ve got what you wanted. They will be unified and your curse shall be lifted. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To see others have what was taken from you? To see them happy and thriving with each other?”

The spectral woman, her hair thrashing and wild, snarled at him before her form dissipated from its place in front of him. Shanks mockingly snarled in return at the position the ghostly woman was prior, opting to pay her warning no mind as he began prematurely celebrating with his crew by opening a fresh keg of ale. Gathering his den-den-mushi to inform the bride and groom of his success in completing the task, he dialed after placing the receiver against his shoulder and waited for the other end to pick up.

“It’s done, Hawks. Congratulations, you marry on the morrow!”

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