rainbowmoonstonestories

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

We are one step closer get hyped

#the sandman #the sandman season 2

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

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

Read on AO3

Concerned about losing track of Mihawk as he might return to the Grand Line soon enough, you resolved to embark on a journey towards Loguetown. What you encountered there, however, was a chilling indifference, leading you to believe that the Warlord no longer had any use for you. However, he soon proved your assumptions wrong. Quite emphatically, at that.

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut! Also, it's LONG!

Another trio of weeks elapsed.

Given your recent near-deadly encounter at a public tavern, you heeded Mihawk's counsel to maintain a low profile for a while. Although his suggestion didn't explicitly call for seclusion, you opted to utilize this period for rest, expanding your knowledge through reading, and documenting your thoughts in your journal.

You found yourself penning about him as well, crafting lines dedicated to the Warlord with a fluidity that surprised even you.

Isaiah, who had granted you permission to stay in his headquarters, observed your intense focus on your writing. On several occasions, he enquired whether a certain man had captured your affections, but you consistently denied his suspicions and deflected the conversation, even as your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Isaiah wasn't easily deceived, grinning knowingly at your denials, yet he refrained from pushing the topic further. Your lack of interest in pursuing a physical relationship with him was apparent, but he accepted the nature of what you shared as purely platonic with a hint of professional dealings.

There was a time when you found it nearly impossible to keep your eyes and hands away from Isaiah. Now, however, whenever he was near you, your mind would replace his image with that of Dracule Mihawk. And you were completely overwhelmed with mortification.

The reality was, you were wrestling with understanding your genuine emotions. The magnetism that had drawn you and Mihawk together that day was indisputable, but while your feelings might run deeper, his cold demeanor following your intimate intercourse left you hollow.

Indeed, there was a glimmer of concern he had shown before departing, cautioning you to be careful in the open. But a part of you couldn't shake off the suspicion that it might have been a courteous way to conclude things with you, once he had received what it seemed every man desired from a woman like yourself.

On numerous occasions, you wished you had reigned in your impulses, choosing patience over the hurried act of ensnaring him in your allure. Even if you weren't the instigator, you had indeed tossed the bait right in front of him. The last thing you wanted was for Mihawk to perceive you as a woman of easy virtue, engaging in fleeting affairs with various men wherever you went. Regrettably, it might already be too late to clarify that misconception.

And yet again, you were clueless about his whereabouts.

Until Isaiah inadvertently let it slip.

"By the way, have you heard about Dracule Mihawk? The word on the street is that he's no longer in the Grand Line and is now hanging around in the East Blue.”

You almost choked on your drink when he casually dropped the Warlord's name into the conversation over dinner one day.

"Is that so?" You queried, clearing your throat. "What could he possibly be doing in the East Blue?”

Isaiah shrugged. "I've got no clue. Though it's pretty remarkable when you think about it, given that returning from the Grand Line is considered practically impossible for most pirates.”

You managed a nervous smile. "I suppose the title of 'strongest swordsman' isn't for nothing.”

"Oh, absolutely. But get this: rumors say that he traverses the seas on a tiny boat, featuring what appears to be a throne on the deck.”

The mental picture this conjured had you internally chuckling. However, it only reaffirmed the majestic aura you had always sensed from him.

"How can a single man possess such strength?" You mused aloud.

"It's quite the mystery. He truly seems to be from another world. Of course, I always take gossip with a pinch of salt, but we've all come to realize that in these waters, anything is possible," Isaiah replied.

You nodded absentmindedly, your thoughts wandering as you pondered the circumstances. Mihawk had originally come to the East Blue to track you down under the orders of the World Government. What could be holding him in the East Blue now, given that his mission to chase you had been disrupted? Was there a specific reason compelling him to remain rather than returning to where he belonged, something completely unrelated to you?

"They say he never lingers in one location for too long, and those who have attempted to monitor his movements have either been defeated or simply lost his trail. That man is inhuman, I tell you," Isaiah added.

There was nothing inhuman about Mihawk, at least not in your perspective. If anything, he was an honorable man, adhering to the code of the swordsman and conducting himself with integrity. He was a living enigma, and for some reason, you were drawn to unravel more.

"By the way, have you heard about Dracule Mihawk? The word on the street is that he's no longer in the Grand Line and is now hanging around in the East Blue.”

You almost choked on your drink when he casually dropped the Warlord's name into the conversation over dinner one day.

"Is that so?" You queried, clearing your throat. "What could he possibly be doing in the East Blue?”

Isaiah shrugged. "I've got no clue. Though it's pretty remarkable when you think about it, given that returning from the Grand Line is considered practically impossible for most pirates.”

You managed a nervous smile. "I suppose the title of 'strongest swordsman' isn't for nothing.”

"Oh, absolutely. But get this: rumors say that he traverses the seas on a tiny boat, featuring what appears to be a throne on the deck.”

The mental picture this conjured had you internally chuckling. However, it only reaffirmed the majestic aura you had always sensed from him.

"How can a single man possess such strength?" You mused aloud.

"It's quite the mystery. He truly seems to be from another world. Of course, I always take gossip with a pinch of salt, but we've all come to realize that in these waters, anything is possible," Isaiah replied.

You nodded absentmindedly, your thoughts wandering as you pondered the circumstances. Mihawk had originally come to the East Blue to track you down under the orders of the World Government. What could be holding him in the East Blue now, given that his mission to chase you had been disrupted? Was there a specific reason compelling him to remain rather than returning to where he belonged, something completely unrelated to you?

"They say he never lingers in one location for too long, and those who have attempted to monitor his movements have either been defeated or simply lost his trail. That man is inhuman, I tell you," Isaiah added.

There was nothing inhuman about Mihawk, at least not in your perspective. If anything, he was an honorable man, adhering to the code of the swordsman and conducting himself with integrity. He was a living enigma, and for some reason, you were drawn to unravel more.

Dodging the truth was pointless, and you ultimately acknowledged to yourself that your intimate experience with him had been truly extraordinary. His muscular physique was firm, his skin smooth yet offset by the rugged texture of his palms. His scent was exotic, his gaze a piercing gold, and his lips flawlessly sculpted. The pleasing contour of his Adam’s apple was particularly captivating.

One would need to exercise restraint in order not to be swept away by those enchanting details.

Not to mention the manner in which his lips gently pressed against yours, the interplay of your tongues, and his dexterous fingers tracing patterns on your body, externally and internally…

Interrupting your suggestive train of thoughts, Isaiah continued. "Apparently, he was sighted in the Polestar Islands a few days ago.”

Your eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Polestar Islands? Isn't that where Loguetown is located?”

"Yes, that's the one. It's a very affluent place, excellent for striking a few deals, especially with all the pirates that dock there to replenish their supplies for the Grand Line.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

He chuckled. "It is indeed. The Marines maintain especially strict surveillance over there," he elaborated. "I've paid a visit to Loguetown a couple of times; it wasn't too bad, but I always felt watched.”

Suddenly, a thought dawned on you. "Polestar is very close to Reverse Mountain, right? If the Warlord is there, it would seem he's about to return home.”

Presuming he hadn't already left…

Your heart seemed to weigh heavy, causing a painful constriction in your chest.

“Perhaps.”

If Mihawk had decided to depart the East Blue, your chances of encountering him again were practically nil, at least in the near future, as long as he stayed in the Grand Line. It was treacherous even for a fully manned crew, navigating it alone would be an impossible feat.

And so, with Isaiah fast asleep in his room that subsequent night, you scrutinized the East Blue map by the light of a lantern. Isaiah's abode was situated near Mirror Ball Island, which meant you were not too far off from Loguetown, though reaching it would still take some time. For all you knew, Mihawk could have already departed and journeyed to the Grand Line, or he could potentially leave long before you managed to get to Polestar.

However, that wasn't the sole issue.

Considering your current predicament, going to a city heavily patrolled by the Marines might not be the wisest course of action. With a large number of pirates docking there simultaneously, they might be too preoccupied to detect your presence if you wore a convincing disguise. But were you truly prepared to gamble with your safety, especially after all the measures you had taken to preserve your life?

While being a wanted pirate put you at risk everywhere you went, Loguetown was the epitome of venturing into the lion's den. What could you possibly hope to achieve by seeking out Dracule Mihawk, especially when he likely only viewed you as a fleeting amusement?

You were bereft of any assurances; there was no guarantee that you would find him there or even if he would show any interest in seeing you.

Yet, by some unfathomable logic, you found yourself incapable of stifling the longing to see him once more. Maybe for the last time before he disappeared into the vast expanse of the Grand Line.

Undoubtedly, it was a seemingly terrible idea, one that could possibly evolve into a wellspring of remorse. But the constant pursuit and hiding had exhausted you, with the ever-present threat of a blade at your throat each time you ventured out. If obtaining strength was the requisite sacrifice for the liberty to journey and endure, then you were prepared to take any measures necessary.

The next day, your sea route was set, the disguise ready and neatly tucked into your bag. You purposely left Isaiah oblivious about your destination, fostering uncertainty about your intended journey's conclusion.

Under a cloudless sky and across a peaceful sea, your ship subtly rocked as you progressed. There was an unmistakable unease within you concerning the endeavor you were embarking on. The risks were great - there was not only the possibility of completely missing Mihawk but also a substantial hazard of being apprehended again, and potentially, confronting execution.

You were gambling everything on a man you had been with only once and knew little about, a man who probably didn't regard you with the same high esteem. So, why were you devoting your time to this undertaking? Why would you expose yourself to such danger just for another chance to see him?

If your family and friends had been aware of what you were doing, they would have berated you for your thoughtless and utterly reckless behavior.

Becoming a wanted criminal meant that you were solely reliant on your own judgment, making your decisions in isolation, devoid of any guidance. Prior to setting sail into the open sea, each of your steps was accompanied by your loved ones. They had been there throughout your growth and maturation process, providing comfort, imparting lessons, and lending support.

You had it all, truly, yet somehow it didn't seem sufficient. It never was. Because you were looking for something more, something capable of disrupting your humdrum existence.

You led a prosperous life, encircled by people you cherished, bustling about in the family tavern. Admiring the glistening sea from a distance frequently felt like one of life's grandest joys, yet it was laced with a touch of sadness. Doing the same tasks repetitively for years had started to feel incredibly stifling, and the tales from customers only fueled your curiosity about the world beyond your homeland. Something was beckoning you, and you felt compelled to heed its call.

You had taught yourself navigation, and even trained to become a competent fighter, using weapons you barely knew how to wield. Despite the hardship of being robbed, seized by the marines, tortured, and pursued, those trials had given you something valuable in return. You had evolved, matured even more, and discovered a wellspring of courage within yourself that you never knew existed.

Although you could hardly recognize the person you had become, there was a sense of pride in what you had achieved.

And now, as you stared at the map unfurled on the table in front of the couch, you couldn't help but laugh at the paradox of your predicament. You had been the one evading Mihawk, and now, you were embarking on a quest to seek him out.

The day your ship docked at Loguetown, your heart pounded so fiercely that it felt difficult to swallow. You slipped into the outfit you had meticulously prepared—baggy trousers, sturdy boots, a couple of leather belts, heavy gloves, and a long-sleeved shirt that was intentionally a bit worn. In an effort to further conceal your feminine features, you wrapped your chest with bandages to suppress the contours of your bust. Your hair was tucked away into a bandana, large enough to envelope your entire head.

Using makeup strategically, you simulated dirt smeared on your face. As your reflection stared back at you from the oval mirror, you felt confident that any observer would perceive you as a young lad.

As long as you sidestepped any potential trouble, maintained a low profile, and kept a considerable distance from the marines, there was a possibility for you to leave Loguetown without any harm done.

For a solid two hours, you practiced the appropriate speeches, and gestures, perfecting the craft of convincingly masquerading as a cabin boy. The moment you entered the city, you let yourself stride forward and absorb its vistas.

Truth be told, as you crossed the threshold under the 'Loguetown' sign, you were seized by a wave of exhilaration. After all, you had arrived at the most renowned place in the entire region, the very spot where the legendary Gold D. Roger met his end. You hadn't been particularly interested in pirates and their storied past, at least not until you left your homeland.

With a bounty now associated with your name, you had to submerge into the role, to a certain extent, emulating their attitude. You held no interest in the pursuit of the One Piece or the allure of reaching the Grand Line, yet you could not deny the captivating charm of the tales spun around these pursuits. They were nothing short of fantastically entertaining.

To say that Loguetown was beautiful would be a gross understatement. Its robust architecture was breathtaking, exhibiting perfect alignment and perpendicularity in its porches. You even managed to visit the very place where the former King of Pirates had been executed, joining a throng of curious tourists staring in awe at the barren scaffold. The plaza was incredibly expansive, far exceeding the scale you had seen in pictures and conjured in your imagination.

As you ambled through the town, you crossed paths with several marines on various streets, but none of them appeared to pay you any heed. You made pit stops at the numerous shops sprinkled throughout the many corners, amassing fresh supplies for your voyage and acquiring a selection of intriguing collectibles as mementos of your visit. You dared not try on the array of gorgeous clothing articles on display, as doing so risked compromising your disguise and revealing your true identity.

Discovering a wall plastered with wanted posters, you promptly identified yours amidst the myriad of other displayed names. Cautiously ensuring you weren't observed, you scanned your surroundings and bided your time for the perfect moment to act. With a quick, practiced movement, you tore off the poster and crammed it into your bag, walking away with your well-rehearsed masculine gait.

As dinner time neared and your stomach issued a growling protest, you decided it was time to treat yourself to a well-deserved break. You secured an open spot at a table beside the window, placing an order for a refreshing beverage and your favored dish. Things were proceeding so seamlessly that you began to wonder when the next hiccup would inevitably surface. Moreover, the primary purpose of your visit to Loguetown had not yet been fully verified.

Just as you were on the brink of giving up, a voice behind you uttered something that instantly perked up your ears.

"I'm tellin' ya lads, that Warlord's gonna lose his precious title sooner than he thinks. And that ain't all.”

Warlord…

His companions let out a robust laugh. "You sure are a brave one, captain.”

"Sure am," the man responded with confidence. "You think I'd skedaddle if I met him face to face? I know he's here, lurking somewhere. And the moment I lay eyes on him, hah! I'll claim the title of the world's strongest swordsman.”

Did he truly think he was strong enough to conquer the formidable Hawk-eye? You didn't need to glance at him to know he was signing his own death warrant.

Your lips spread into a joyful, amused grin. "Good luck with that."

You hadn't meant to provoke him, and indeed, your comment had inadvertently emerged a tad louder than you had intended. You couldn't resist, the compulsion to deride his arrogance coursing through your veins.

Why couldn't you just keep to your own affairs?

"What the hell did you just say?" the man retorted sharply.

Well, it was too late to retract your words now.

Taking a deep breath, you swiveled in your chair, draping your right arm over the backrest and spreading your legs in a casual, masculine posture.

"I wished you luck, mate," you answered, lowering your voice. "We're talking about Dracule Mihawk here. Haven't you heard the tales they spin about him?"

Now that you caught sight of his face, you knew your suspicion was accurate. The sword in his holster paled in comparison to Mihawk's blade.

The pirate's face split into a madman's grin. "Why, are you scared? Can't blame ya, lad. A scrawny runt like you surely has a long journey ahead.”

You arched an eyebrow at the taunting crew, eyeing them all with a hint of pity. "I certainly have no intention of getting bisected prematurely.”

"Aww, did you hear that? The little whelp is playing chicken.”

The more they cackled at your expense, the greater your pride swelled at the success of your disguise.

"Where's your mommy, kiddo? Did you get lost?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, crossing your left ankle over your right knee. "Nah. I'm just sitting here, savoring my meal, and conjuring up the image of your pathetic face at the moment of your defeat. That is, assuming your head will still be attached to your neck.”

Shit.

You had to curb your tongue given the sharpness of your reply, which predictably ignited a flame of anger on the pirate's face. The captain rose menacingly, peering down at you with furrowed brows and eyes ablaze.

It was crucial for you to steer clear of any potential trouble, and baiting that pirate was nothing short of inviting it.

“You little-”

Fortunately, his attention was diverted by another member of his crew who rushed in, hastily murmuring something into his ear. You watched as his expression morphed from one of contempt to satisfaction, his pupils expanding and gleaming in the warm tavern lighting.

"Heh, it's your lucky day," he declared. "Seems like I've got something more important to attend to.”

He gripped the hilt of his sword, still sheathed at his side, and tossed a handful of coins onto the table to cover the crew's drinks. "I've got a Warlord to take down, and a title to seize.”

Upon hearing that, your back stiffened and your eyes widened in surprise. You needed to make your decision promptly, grabbing the chance before it slipped away.

He knew where to find Mihawk, which implied you needed him.

Without allowing yourself a moment to think it over, you too laid down money next to your empty plate and pushed back your chair. Before the pirates could disappear from your sight, you bolted after them through the tavern's door, shouting at the top of your lungs with such force that you could practically feel your throat chafing. Masking your true vocal pitch proved to be harder than anything you had ever done.

“Wait!”

The men stopped and pivoted to face you, the captain examining you with a disinterested look. "What do you want?”

You were stringing together one audacious move after another, and this time, you needed to choose your words cautiously to avoid exacerbating the situation.

"Let me accompany you," you proposed. "I'd like to witness the fight firsthand.”

"And why should I allow you to tag along? Go back to your baby bottle and head to bed," he said dismissively.

Once again, you brushed off the sniggers and jeers from his crew, pressing your lips together and bowing before them.

"My apologies, sir, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just a cabin boy... I've got a lot to learn.”

Yikes, your performance was so believable that it made you wince.

"The truth is, I aspire to be a formidable pirate one day, just like you," you fabricated. "But they don't let me do much on board, you see. All I do is scrub the deck and serve food. No one takes me seriously.”

If there was one thing you had gleaned about these individuals, it was their love for flattery, as it served to amplify their egos. In fact, the captain appeared notably gratified as you dared to peek up without breaking your bow.

Scratching his stubbled chin and pursing his lips to one side, he mused, "Well, your mommy did teach you some good manners, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, clenching your fists and beginning to feel a dull ache in your back.

"I s'pose I could let you watch. After all, there's no better lesson than witnessing a good combat.”

Ugh, thank the heavens.

"C'mon lad, move that puny backside of yours and keep up. Or else I'll leave ya behind.”

“Yes sir!”

You quickly moved toward the compact group of pirates, placing yourself squarely behind the captain, resting your hands in your trouser pockets. It was all too simple to lose sight of the role you were supposed to play, reason why you exerted every effort to shroud your feminine persona. They were oblivious, giving you friendly pats and sharing unasked-for advice on how to court a lady. The thought of their reactions, should they discover the secret you were disguising beneath your clothes, was something you could only speculate about.

You were uncertain of your destination. The crew ambled through the city, navigating hidden paths and narrow alleys, until urbanity was nearly out of sight. As you ventured further, you neared the second section of the archipelago, a natural enclave encircled by the soothing whisper of the ocean.

This was hardly surprising as Mihawk appeared to be quite a private person, showing no particular affinity for large gatherings.

The captain incessantly voiced his strong desire to claim the Warlord's title for himself. He sought to inspire fear in his adversaries and carry out illicit operations without the nuisance of marine intervention. Should he triumph over Mihawk on the battlefield, he could aspire to usurp his position and negotiate a pact with the world government.

You had to force yourself to hold your tongue to refrain from voicing your rebuttals, as you walked alongside the pirates in silence, harboring a deep-seated conviction that they might not survive this adventure.

Your primary focus was on the path you were treading, committing every twist and turn to memory.

The captain halted so suddenly that you collided with his back, causing a mild pain to shoot through your nose. You rubbed the affected area to alleviate the stinging sensation, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as you emitted a soft grunt.

And then, the pirate spoke, his voice haughty as he addressed someone who was lying down in the sand some distance away.

"Heh, look at you, lounging so comfortably atop your damn pedestal.”

You shifted to the side, striving to get a clear view of the man's target. True to expectation, Dracule Mihawk was sprawled out in a large, vacant space in front of a rudimentary bonfire. One arm served as a cushion behind his head while the big hat covered his face.

You swallowed, your heart pounding unyieldingly at the mere sight of the man you were looking for. Mihawk appeared unperturbed and relaxed, barely stirring in response to the pirate's words.

"I challenge ya, Warlord. Engage me in combat, and let's determine who truly merits the title of the most formidable swordsman to ever exist!”

Mihawk raised the brim of his hat using his middle and forefinger, offering a sideways glance, his lips pulled into a discernible frown. He let the hat fall back into place, then gracefully elevated himself into a sitting posture.

He didn't even need to utter a word; it was evident that he had been enjoying a peaceful nap, one that the fool had chosen to disrupt.

"Lazing around, are we?" The pirate continued his taunt. "My apologies, princess.”

Your teeth gritted in growing anger, despite none of the vitriol being directed at you.

Slowly, with an elegance that was distinctly threatening, the Warlord rose to his feet, gripping his sword as he did so.

"Another insect aspiring to be crushed, I see.”

You stifled the laugh that instantly bubbled up in your throat, upon hearing Mihawk's casual, calm, yet distinctly derisive tone.

"Wha- I am no insect, you bastard!" The pirate's voice rose several octaves. "And I'm here to prove it!”

You were forced to step back to evade his elbow, which swung dangerously close to your cheekbone as he drew his sword from its scabbard. The entire crew rallied around their captain, and you prudently moved aside, folding your arms and assuming the pose of an intrigued spectator.

"Have it your way," Mihawk declared, effortlessly raising his dark blade as if it were weightless.

Everything unfolded so rapidly that your mind struggled to keep up. The captain lunged at his adversary, his blade cutting through the air and missing its mark with every strike, while Mihawk evaded them with ease. The Warlord's sword wasn't even raised; it hung loosely in his hand.

Eventually, Mihawk used the giant sword to parry a strike and thrust the pirate back with such force that the man skidded several feet away. Mihawk had barely moved, and no pressure had been applied to the weapon. It was as though he was wielding a psychic assault.

Yet, the man proved to be quite resilient, adamantly refusing to back down in the face of his obvious disadvantage. He attempted another attack, seeking to outflank Mihawk, only to be tossed aside like a ragdoll, spiraling through the air before landing heavily on his back.

Eventually, the other pirates joined the fray, assisting their captain to his feet and brandishing their own weapons. Guns, rifles, blades of varying lengths. Yet nothing managed to even graze Mihawk as he deftly parried every bullet, every slash, every kick or punch.

You leaned against a tree, a smug expression on your face as you observed the spectacle unfolding before you, anticipating an imminent retreat. One of Mihawk's assailants was launched so high that he was literally propelled off the cliff, his scream reverberating over a considerable distance until the distinct splash indicated his inevitable plunge into the water.

Finally, wearied by the racket and thoroughly bored, Mihawk lifted his sword above his head and struck the ground with such force that the entire area quaked and roared, causing you to stagger on your feet. As comedic as it appeared, the entire crew was sent sprawling in the sand, the sound of cracking bones reverberating in your ears. One by one, they rose on shaky legs, clutching at bleeding noses or broken limbs. As the crewmates began to flee for their lives, the captain mustered the strength to point a trembling finger in Mihawk's direction.

"I-it's not over, Warlord," he stammered out a threat. "Soon, you wretched bastard. Soon, you will be wiped from the face of this earth!”

Mihawk offered no response, merely gazing at the man without a hint of concern, and returning his sword to its place on his back. The pirate, now isolated, whimpered and staggered through the vegetation and rocks, nearly colliding with a tree due to his unsteady footing.

In the end, their conditions were much better than your predictions.

Silence surrounded you as you shifted your attention back to Mihawk, who was evidently studying you thoughtfully now. Your eyes locked, and for a few moments, you found yourselves in a mutual, contemplative stare, enveloped in absolute quiet.

You unfolded your arms, pushing off from the tree and daring to walk toward where he stood. Mihawk watched you, tilting his head slightly to the side, clearly recognizing something familiar about you.

In his presence, there was no need to maintain your false identity. So, you halted before him, mere inches separating your face from his.

Without so much as blinking, he reached for the bandana you were wearing, catching the edge of the cloth above your forehead and pushing it back. Gradually, your hair was set free, cascading down from its restraint.

He looked at you, holding the still-knotted bandana in his closed hand.

"Fancy meeting you here," you declared, a grin spreading across your face.

His lips thinned as he exhaled through his nose, handing you the piece of cloth and stepping back. "What brings you to Loguetown?”

His lack of apparent joy at seeing you caused a painful squeeze in your chest.

"I've made a deal with a merchant in Syrup Village, and I heard that what he's looking for can only be found in this place.”

The speed at which you could fabricate a plausible tale was quite impressive, if you did say so yourself.

"I highly doubt that you'll find anything in this part of the island.”

Right, that wouldn't justify why you arrived there with those pirates. You had to come up with another convincing explanation.

And you did.

"I overheard them talking. That pirate mentioned that he wanted to duel with you, and I thought it would be fun to watch. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Mh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Should I not?”

“I have no reason to lie.”

Mihawk continued to stare at you, his liquid gold eyes seeming to penetrate your very soul.

"This is not a safe place for you," he stated plainly.

“Hence the disguise.”

"You would need more than that.”

"I've been wandering around for half a day and no one has been the wiser.”

“I have.”

“You don’t count.”

While it was unclear whether he derived any enjoyment from this verbal sparring, you found it quite amusing.

"Why?" He inquired.

"I didn't even try with you. And besides, you are you. They don't bestow the title 'hawk-eyes' on the basis of mere whimsy, do they?”

“Point taken.”

You chuckled, running a hand through your hair to smooth it out. Mihawk cast a glance at the setting sun on the horizon, its beautiful orange hues highlighting the perfect contours of his nose, lips, and chin. In a way, it felt like a recurring scene, a déjà vu, something you found yourself experiencing repeatedly with him.

You undid the bandana's knot and tied it around your wrist for safekeeping. You also took off your gloves, tossing them into your bag, when amidst the multitude of supplies you had acquired, something caught your eye.

The flask of Loguetown's finest wine.

You retrieved the bottle and removed the cap, making yourself comfortable on the sandy terrain, not too far from the cliff's edge to fully appreciate the view. You could feel Mihawk's watchful scrutiny, observing you in silence, yet making no move to join you.

While not entirely surprising, his overt show of indifference was disappointing and difficult to endure.

"I'm genuinely surprised to see you," you confessed, attempting to spark a conversation. "I thought you had returned to the Grand Line by now.”

You heard the sound of his footsteps behind you, his coat rustling in the breeze. He returned to his previous spot by the fire, reclining on one side. "I have a few matters to attend to.”

For a moment, you were gripped by the notion that even your presence there might be immensely bothersome to him.

You took a hearty swig of wine, your jaw tightening. You didn't want to think of him as just another man, playing with your emotions only to cast you aside when you ceased to be useful to him. Was his act of saving your life previously just a ploy to secure adequate compensation for his service?

If that were the case, Mihawk might be a man of honor on the battleground, but as a person, he would be undeserving of any praise.

You did your best to deny it.

"Is that so? Are the marines constantly breathing down your neck?”

You waited, listening to the crackling sound of the fire as he stared into the flames, seemingly entranced.

“Sometimes.”

You could feel your blood boiling, coursing through your veins like lava, corroding your nerves.

"Is this a regular occurrence? Having to fend off pirates who aspire to claim your title?”

Mihawk merely moved his eyes, but within a second, his attention was refocused back to the fire. "More frequently than I'd prefer.”

You had feared this could happen – that he might stop sparing even a single word for you unless absolutely required. But now, with the confirmation of his aloofness towards you, the only thing you wanted to do was to withdraw, overcome by shame.

You were an adult woman, and never before had you succumbed so rapidly and completely to the charm of a man. Not even for Isaiah. How could you have acted so thoughtlessly, so childishly, so incredibly naive?

"I can imagine," you managed to utter, hoping for a reply that might disprove your assumptions. However, your hope transformed into pure dejection when he calmly folded his hands in front of him, demonstrating complete apathy.

You sealed the bottle, stood up from the ground, and dusted the sand off your trousers and boots. In a sudden surge of anger, you tossed the flask towards Mihawk, who caught it with a quick and smooth movement, though evidently taken aback.

You couldn't even pinpoint the motive behind your action, apart from a raw urge to fling something, anything, at him out of pure resentment.

"It's wine," you stated, pulling your hair back and covering it once more with the bandana. You tightened it so much that it almost caused discomfort at the back of your head, but at that moment, you couldn’t have cared less. "You can keep it.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed, examining your every move, and taking note of the nervous manner in which you pulled your gloves back on.

"What is that?" He questioned.

“What do you mean?”

"You are mad.”

So, it seemed he was still capable of acknowledging your existence after all. But you had already hit your breaking point.

"Am I, really?”

As the sun descended beneath the line of the sea, your face was swallowed by shadow, adopting a gloomy expression that twisted with sudden disdain.

"It's getting late now, I need to leave.”

Grasping the strap of your bag, you spun on your heels, not waiting for his retort. "Safe travels, Warlord.”

A part of you longed for him to call your name, something you realized he had never pronounced aloud. You wished you were mistaken, that you hadn't wasted the past few days traveling for naught, but he didn't halt you. He didn't follow you. He wasn’t interested in making an effort.

In the end, he truly didn't care.

Admittedly, you weren't anticipating him to sweep you off your feet and kiss you the moment he saw you, but you were somewhat hoping for a more gentle consideration.

As difficult as it was to come to terms with, no matter how much your intimate encounter had been a delightful experience for you, it probably didn't leave a lasting impression on Mihawk.

The way he gently traced your scars with his fingertips, a touch that remained etched in your memory, suggested a certain tenderness. He had comforted you, aided you in his own distinct way. Could it all have been an act? Was every move, every utterance, a calculated performance with the sole intention to seduce you?

You couldn't completely rule out that possibility. Because there you were, right in front of him, within his reach, yet all he managed to do was to lie beside the fire, drained and indifferent.

Having to suppress your tears as you made your way back to the center of Loguetown left you feeling feeble, pitiful, and insignificant. How did you come to be so fascinated with such a cold man? What did you even see in him, beyond an attractive physique to derive pleasure from? He used to be your hunter, relentlessly pursuing you. Merely because he chose to let you be, purely out of curiosity about what might become of you in this world, you shouldn't have let your guard down.

Mihawk was playing with you out of boredom, and you had no intention of being a part of his game.

A game he was likely already weary of, in any case.

"A good man, you say?”

“Yes.”

"Don't be naive. I operate by my own rules, at my own pace. I can remove anyone without needing a particular reason, and I won't hesitate to topple those who dare to oppose me.”

In that moment, you couldn't help but think lowly of yourself. Mihawk had deceived you, big time. It wounded you more than you thought it would, but what happened had happened.

You'd be lying though, if you claimed it didn't shatter you.

That night, you spent a solid three hours submerged in the bathtub, chastising yourself for your illogical irrationality. The urge to cut your losses and depart was strong, but you were determined not to let everything be rendered futile because of one intolerable fool.

No, you wouldn't grant him the satisfaction of victory. You would remain in Loguetown for another day, adapting your disguise, perhaps to one that would enable you to procure those clothes you fancied. Your ship was quite nondescript, devoid of any distinguishing signs or flags. It was improbable that anyone would single it out and identify it as yours among the myriad of vessels berthed in the vicinity.

The skin on your hands was starting to prune from the prolonged exposure to water, and the once delicious warmth was now giving way to a more tepid temperature. You stepped out of the tub, inadvertently splashing water onto the floor, and swathed your body in a soft towel. You let it soak up the dampness as you aimlessly wandered around your cabin, simultaneously devising new plans for the upcoming days by making notes and markings on the map.

By then, you were well-acquainted with 98% of the East Blue, keenly aware that your available hideouts were dwindling and the necessity to don a disguise was becoming increasingly frequent. You couldn't rely on Isaiah's hospitality indefinitely, and you were still unable to get in touch with your family or return home.

Venturing into the Calm Belts was not a journey you could undertake solo, given its notorious reputation for harboring dangerous sea creatures. Despite the knowledge you had accumulated through your studies and adventures, your navigational skills weren't as refined as they needed to be, effectively confining you to one region. A few months of travel couldn't hold a candle to years of journeying.

With a worn-out sigh, you moved behind the bar counter to pour a strong glass of rum, potent enough to shake up your senses. It wasn't exactly your preferred beverage, and you only turned to it during the most difficult moments in your life.

You downed it in one swift gulp, experiencing a fiery burn in your throat and esophagus, and a startling effect on your mind. You grunted and gasped for air as you doubled over, hacking a few times, and nearly felt your legs buckle beneath you.

If anything, consuming it only served to intensify your discomfort.

You let the internal fire die down, casting an empty gaze at the couch where you and Mihawk had once sat together. Great, you thought to yourself. Now even your own place was conjuring up memories of the Warlord, precisely when you needed to erase any trace of ever knowing him.

Tightening the towel more securely around your body, you gripped the glass and moved to the sink to wash it. You stayed there a bit longer, letting the coolness of the running jet engulf your hands.

And then, courtesy of your honed instincts and intuition, you felt that something was not quite right.

You stayed motionless, your ears straining to catch any noises, any subtle changes in the air. On the surface, one might assume that everything was proceeding as usual, that all was as it should be. But the more you scrutinized the situation, the stronger your conviction became that you weren't alone in that cabin.

Somehow, goosebumps prickled at the back of your neck, ignited by the eerie perception of being watched by something, or perhaps someone.

You allowed the sink to keep running, while discreetly opening the drawer in front of you to grab the gun you maintained there as a secondary weapon. You released the glass, and with your hands still wet, you whirled around, the pistol loaded and aimed.

Your finger was poised on the trigger, ready to discharge. But the moment your gaze met those unique golden irises, belonging to only one man in the entire world, your heart skipped a beat.

"Mihawk, what the hell!”

You had taken care to secure the cabin door before withdrawing to the washroom. How had he managed to enter so seamlessly without even damaging the handle? As you glanced at it, all seemed to be in perfect order, as if untouched.

Isaiah's theory about Mihawk not being human was starting to seem incredibly plausible. He was something beyond ordinary.

"I could have shot you," you cautioned him, exhaling a long sigh of relief and returning the gun to its place in the drawer.

He was as impassive as ever, not even exhibiting a single twitch. “That remains to be seen.”

"What are you even doing here?" You questioned him, folding your arms in annoyance.

His level of self-control was admirable, considering you stood practically nude before him, clad only in a towel that barely reached your thighs. His gaze steadfastly remained on your face, never once straying lower.

However, you were uncertain if you regarded it as positive, or found it extremely demoralizing.

"I believe our discussion isn't concluded," he stated.

Puzzled, you arched your eyebrows. "Huh?”

"When you departed earlier, there was something you intended to tell me.”

"You’re wasting your time, then. I have nothing to say to you.”

“You are doing it again.”

Pressing your lips together, you waited for the water to taper off until just a few droplets fell, punctuating the silence.

When he didn't add anything else, you took the initiative to speak. "Doing what, exactly?”

You noticed his expression of impatience, despite his exterior of calm and composure. He looked up and tensed his jaw, apparently irritated by something you had done.

"You're employing that tone of arrogance,” he responded.

"So you walked all this way to my ship and broke into my cabin, for what? Just because you noticed I was having a bad day?”

You had no idea how to interpret that at all.

Eventually, he ceased being evasive. "If you have a problem with me, Cutthroat, speak frankly.”

Oh, now he had really done it. Using the appellative from your bounty poster was certainly not the smartest move.

You despised that name. The existence of a bounty on your head was loathsome to you. The label of being a criminal and the constant need to flee was something you abhorred.

"Screw you. That's not my damn name.”

Even though you had bid him goodbye earlier, he hadn't budged an inch. Hours later, he intruded into your private quarters demanding an explanation, and you couldn't decipher whether it was driven purely by self-interest and ego, or if there was genuine concern at play.

Again, he barely blinked, showing no disturbance to your outburst over the nickname he chose to use.

Feeling exhausted, mentally drained, and at a loss for words, you pinched the bridge of your nose. "Look, if you don’t mind, I'd really like to get dressed and go to bed. Can we reschedule this conversation, or whatever it's supposed to be?”

You held the towel firmly with one hand as you moved away from the counter, purposefully bypassing his eyes as you walked past him.

You couldn't even reach the nightwear spread out on your bed because he wouldn't allow it, gripping your upper arm with such force that you were rendered immobile.

"Are you serious right now??”

You tried to extricate yourself from his hold, but it was akin to battling against a boulder. His face was so stern it was almost frightening now, and that only served to stoke your own anger even further.

You wished to keep it to yourself, because what would you gain from admitting that you had hoped for something he couldn't offer you? Yet he persisted, he encroached upon your privacy and even dared to restrain you. What had you left to lose?

"You want to know what my problem is? You are the problem, Mihawk. I was right there with you, yet you made me feel like I was invisible. The thing we had last time, what was that about?”

Now it was he who looked at you with a bewildered expression. "I'm fairly certain that both of us are aware of what transpired.”

You growled in frustration. “Well of course. But the question is, what did it mean to you?”

"What significance are you looking for?”

The lump in your throat resurfaced. "I don't know. We had fun, no doubt, but if you’re under the impression that I'm some sort of plaything, you're seriously mistaken.”

“I never claimed you were.”

“No, but your actions suggested it.”

He paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted. Damn it. Why did they have to be so perfect and inviting…?

"I'm not the type who flits about with men on each island,” you emphasized.

"If you were, I wouldn't be interested. You're making assumptions based on nothing.”

Your arm relaxed under his hold, your shoulders sagging. Had you perhaps grossly misjudged the situation, forming your own conclusion and seen only what your selfishness permitted?

Or were you simply too scared of your own feelings, too lacking in courage to confront him directly?

"I carefully choose my allies, and I don't permit just anyone to hover around me.”

Mihawk had explicitly stated that he operated solely on his own terms and by his own rules, indicating his non-acceptance of any external pressure. His interest in you was genuine, but concurrently, he wanted to be the one holding the reins, the initiator of whatever was brewing between you, whenever and only if he felt so inclined.

You had approached him at the least suitable time, exactly when he was craving a moment of solitude. He wasn't indifferent, he simply needed patience and rest.

"I don't hover around you," you clarified. "I have more important things to do than just latch onto a man.”

His hold on your bicep eased, but not quite enough to let you go. "That's how it should be. Now, have you managed to shake off your sour temper?”

Ugh, he was so exasperating.

"Keep pushing like that and you'll get more than just a sour temper.”

As he raised his head slightly to look at you with a hint of dominance, you noticed his nostrils flaring and his pupils dilating. You felt it again, that potent allure towards him, the physical need that engulfed you from within.

"Get against the wall.”

You blinked once, then twice, followed by a third time in quick succession.

“I’m sorry, wha-”

"Comply with my instructions.”

You swallowed, not from fear, but because of the evident desire detectable in his voice.

Mihawk removed his hat and set it on the counter stool as you retreated, stepping back one foot at a time. He trailed after you, keeping his fingers clasped around your upper arm, until your back came into contact with the wooden wall and a soft gasp escaped from you.

Your faces were so close that you could feel his breath, slow and warm, brushing against your skin. In contrast, your own breathing was turning more rapid and shallow, with your heart hammering fiercely in your chest, the towel adding a bit of tightness.

"I'll say it again," you murmured. "I'm not a diversion, Mihawk.”

“And I’ll repeat it as well: you wouldn’t be worthy of my time if it were any different.”

You recognized that it wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but the realization that he wasn't simply exploiting you, that he had chosen you, and only you, for this shared pursuit, was enough to offer some solace.

And so, you graced him with a content, satisfied smile, before crashing your lips onto his, your fingers weaving into the back of his hair. The kiss was fervent, your tongue instantly seeking entry, the tip engaging with his. Mihawk pressed you more firmly against the wall, at last releasing your arm.

He devoured you, his mouth wide open, skillfully and ardently maneuvering over yours. His taste bore a hint of wine, suggesting that he might have partaken of the one you had given him (or more accurately, hurled at him) back in Loguetown. You didn't put up any resistance when he grabbed your towel, roughly yanking it off you. In an instant, you were totally exposed and available for his gaze, and you reveled in the sensation of his skin under your palms.

His mesmerizing golden eyes held your attention as he gracefully retrieved his sword. With great care, he disengaged it from its resting place on his back and lodged it strategically by the bathroom door.

His coat slid off his shoulders as your hands ascended, but didn't fully drop. Nonetheless, the fact that he never wore a shirt made the sight all the more tantalizing. You were ravenous, desperate for him and his touch. You leaned into Mihawk, pressing your lips to his once more. The coarse texture of his beard gently tickled your chin.

His hands traced a path down your scarred back, finally coming to rest on your hips. There, they clutched a generous portion of your flesh, holding you securely. With every subsequent kiss, your moans magnified in volume, and as he began to rhythmically press his pelvis against your core, his eagerness for you became unmistakably clear.

He was rock-hard, impressively so.

"Mihawk, please," you implored. “Make it quick.”

"You seem rather impatient," he noted.

"Yes, well. Unless you've stashed another sword in your trousers, I'd argue you're in the same boat," you retorted.

In response, he only hummed, a silent admission of your assertion.

"There's no need for another sword when I have Yoru," he declared.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you questioned, "Yoru? You've actually given your blade a name?”

"Yoru is not just any blade."

With a smile, you playfully teased, "Doesn't the saying go that named swords are cursed?”

"That's mere chatter. Nothing but a joke."

He guided his lips down to your neck, gently caressing your skin and sending shivers rippling through your entire form. His right hand meandered down to his belt, leisurely unfastening the buckle holding it in place. At the same time, his tongue darted out to flirt with one of your now perked and overly sensitive nipples, causing your eyes to close involuntarily as your nails dug into his back in a state of ecstatic surrender.

All the while, Mihawk diligently worked his trousers down his legs, just far enough to allow his arousal to spring forth, standing proud and rigid.

Diverting your eyes away from his hardness proved futile as he wrapped his roughened fingers around the flushed and velvety tip. A steady pumping motion was established, the soft sliding sound of skin on skin resonating in your ears. It was an intensely erotic scene, and incredibly beautiful to behold.

He was a masterpiece.

"How much longer is this going to take?" you griped, your tone resembling a child voicing discomfort.

"Come now. You surely don't want to rush through this, do you?" he queried.

He was intent on taking his time, to tantalize you, to revel in the sight of you squirming because of him.

"Careful, my dear. You don't wish for me to go hard on you, trust my word," he warned.

"I beg to differ, because you already are.”

He paused momentarily, looking at you with a "seriously?" expression in response to your less than stellar attempt at humor.

At that, you simply chuckled, bestowing a gentle peck on his cheek.

"Whatever. You can break me for all I care," you declared defiantly.

As he nipped at your throat, your back reflexively arched, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, adding another layer of excitement to the already electrifying atmosphere.

"Mh. Hopefully it won't have to come to that.”

His hardness twitched and bobbed as he gave it a final stroke before releasing it. He then grabbed the back of your thighs, hoisting you up from the floor as if you were feather-light. You looped your arms around his neck for support, burrowing your heels into his legs.

"You truly want this," he asserted.

"You don’t say. As if you hadn't been planning this from the start," you shot back.

"You have a sharp tongue,” he commented, his tip grazing your entrance.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy i-ngh!"

Your words were interrupted by a sudden intake of breath. He penetrated you without any prior preparation, stretching you to an almost unimaginable extent and giving you time to adapt to his size. Just like the previous time, he didn't impose himself upon you, nor was he in a hurry to find his own pleasure before you were fully prepared.

In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. All the negative thoughts you harbored before he came to you, the resentment you felt towards him for his perceived carelessness, were all grounded in a misconception of his true character.

And now, you were beginning to seee him for who he really was.

To him, principles and honor were paramount. It seemed as if the same ethical code he followed as a swordsman was also applied to your intimacy. He was exceptional in all aspects, fueling the certainty that you craved more of his presence in your life.

Praise the day he was dispatched to locate you in the East Blue.

It's fascinating how circumstances can transform within a matter of minutes. One moment you were feeling as low as a crestfallen dog, the next, you found yourself entwined with him, with his manhood embraced by your warmth.

You claimed his lips again, fervently, holding the kiss until he established a rhythm of steady movements. Your back slid up and down the wall, your chest undulating. His pelvis executed precise thrusts, back and forth, repeatedly, the pattern soon enhanced by a swirling motion, hitting just the perfect spot within your walls.

It was overwhelming, all-consuming, and yet, you craved for even more.

Even amidst the physical activity, Mihawk's breathing was remarkably controlled and composed. It gave the impression that he was only showcasing a sliver of his actual strength to you. As you raked your nails down his spine, his coat slid further down his arms. He barely reacted, taking deep breaths and swallowing hard to keep his primal instincts in check.

"I'm not as fragile as you think," you whispered into his ear, teasing the outer edge with your tongue. "Please, don't restrain yourself on my behalf."

If anything, your words prompted Mihawk to slow down the act. He looked at you with a pair of astonished eyes, deep and darkened with hunger.

"You aren't aware of what you're asking for."

In reaction to his words, you gifted him another smile. It was authentic, tender, sweet, and filled with affection - a type of smile he had never truly witnessed before. You cradled the right side of his face in your hand, your thumb gently caressing his cheekbone.

The feeling of his beard against your palm, somehow, imparted a sense of true vitality in you.

“Then let me find out,” you countered.

He hesitated, examining your face for any signs of doubt, yet he found none. With newfound reassurance, he resumed his deep thrusts inside you, amplifying the speed and vigor as he continued. Responding to his movements to the best of your ability, you struggled to keep your legs from wavering. On numerous occasions, he had to lift you higher with his hands and hips, yet you were so deeply immersed in the moment that the knife pendant grazing your skin with its edges barely registered.

They weren't sharp, but the continuous contact and pressure were causing reddened areas on your skin.

The scratches forming did not elude Mihawk's notice. The Warlord briefly took his hands away from you to remove it, letting it fall onto your rumpled towel on the floor before continuing.

"There's no need to be brave," he admonished, "If you're in pain, don't keep it to yourself.”

The level of consideration he was extending to you was genuinely touching and unexpected.

You shook your head in negation. "I assure you, I wasn't in pain. Nothing could compare to what I endured at that Marine base.”

Your expression darkened at the mere mention of your past, but Mihawk didn't allow you to linger on it. Instead, he moved forward again, swiveling his hips, delighting in the moan that escaped your lips as he cupped one of your breasts with his hand.

Time appeared to stand still as Mihawk relentlessly drove in and out of you. You could feel your climax building up in your lower belly, threatening to break free. His low, barely audible groans were utterly intoxicating, and the way he peered into into your eyes with his wild, fervent irises sent shivers of ecstasy coursing through your limbs.

Mihawk was gaining as much pleasure from the act as you were, evident by the way his manhood throbbed inside of you. Your clitoris was pulsating, teetering on the edge of climax. It was tantalized, enticed, but left completely neglected.

It was too much, too exquisite, too fulfilling. No man had ever achieved this level of perfection during lovemaking; none of your past partners had demonstrated such wonderful pelvic rotation or precision.

As though intuiting your needs, Mihawk subtly moistened his lower lip with his tongue, trailing his mouth along your jaw and halting at your earlobe. "Touch yourself," he commanded.

Your heart seemed to leap into your throat and then plummet into your stomach, only to start pounding rapidly and erratically in your chest. His demand was intensely personal, even somewhat embarrassing. But despite the heat spreading across your cheeks, you found your hand instinctively and obediently drawing a path from just below the curve of your breasts, down to your navel.

His thrusts had once again slowed down, allowing him to watch you with complete attentiveness. Your fingers trailed lower, reaching your pubic bone and forming a 'V' shape with your fore and middle fingers. They hovered around the sensitive bud, not directly touching it.

You used your other hand to alter your position, securing a firmer hold around the back of his neck, right at the base of his spine. You manipulated your fingers so that they brushed the sides of your clit, teasing it, but not fully providing the stimulation it craved. You knew you were on the right track when Mihawk's hips gave a sudden jerk, his arousal quivered against your core, and his knuckles turned white around your knee, holding it up.

Eventually, unable to prolong the anticipation any longer, you caressed your clit with the tips of your fingers, using the moisture pooling there to facilitate your ministrations. Mihawk's appreciation was expressed through another low hum. He resumed his thrusts, but his golden irises seemed to be more centered on your spectacle rather than his own nearing release.

"Harder," he instructed, his voice holding a hint of frustration.

A smirk appeared on your lips as you tightened your walls around him. Your fingers quickened their rhythm, propelling you closer and closer to the electrifying climax you were yearning for.

"Just like that," he urged you. "Let me see how good it can be.”

All it took was a final push against your sensitive spot, combined with the ideal stroke from your own fingers on the tiny nerve ending beneath the hood. Your climax was beyond anything imaginable, utterly transcendent, causing you to moan out his name. It made you twitch and claw at his skin anew, projecting a breathtaking vista of a starry sky behind your closed eyelids.

Above everything else, you could assert with certainty that it was the most intense, most earth-shattering orgasm you had ever experienced.

As soon as you descended from your height, Mihawk braced his palm against the wall, supporting you and flexing his legs to deliver a few more forceful pushes into you. He grunted in your ear with the ardor of a lustful beast.

Your muscles were ablaze, your nerves shrieking. But you wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

And when he reached his completion, you found yourself soaring to the pinnacle of bliss for the second time. His eyes remained locked onto yours, unflinching. His lips were parted, teeth nearly gritted but not quite meeting, his neck was strained.

You coupled like there was no tomorrow, akin to two birds of prey in the throes of their mating season.

Wow. Just wow.

As you attempted to disentangle your legs from his waist, he had to sustain you with his arms to keep you upright. You murmured an apology, pressing against his chest and finding it incredibly difficult to extricate yourself from his hold. You expected him to leave you there, collect his belongings, turn away and exit. However, this time, things took a different turn.

He kept looking at you, his gaze entrancing, hypnotic. Your eyes landed on his lips, and when you moved to claim them for one final kiss, he didn't pull away. Your lips connected in a soft, open contact, the tip of his tongue meeting yours midway, tasting it, merging with it.

If anyone had asked you to describe it, you would have found it impossible to put it into words.

You concluded the exchange by capturing his lower lip between yours, softly nibbling on it. With your legs now able to support your weight again, you picked up the towel from the floor, also gathering the cross knife that Mihawk had dropped. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, you draped the towel over your front and handed the weapon back to the Warlord, which he promptly accepted and secured in its place.

As he straightened his coat, you headed for your clothes strewn across the mattress. Mihawk had tactfully turned away to provide you with some room and privacy, and a smile crept onto your face as you shed the towel completely, beginning to dress in your nightwear one piece at a time.

You were incredibly tired by now, stifling a yawn, and unceremoniously flinging yourself onto the bed. Any formalities with him had long since vanished.

"I've got a variety of drinks in there if you'd like something. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Mihawk swiveled towards you, his customary stoic expression reassembled, observing as you stretched out your arms and comfortably nestled against the pillow. You were so visibly exhausted, fading into sleep, that your mind was starting to switch off.

There was only one thing you wished to express to him, and you aimed to do it before you were too fatigued to string together a comprehensive sentence.

"And Mihawk," you started. "Thank you for seeking me out.”

You didn't know if he had heard you. You couldn't even ascertain if he was still in the room. He was so stealthy and cunning that it wouldn't surprise you if he had already slipped out without you noticing any sound.

Yet there he was, silently observing you as you drifted into peaceful slumber, and the soft lighting highlighted your delicate eyelashes.

And just as he was about to replace his hat and retrieve Yoru before making his departure, something guided his hand in a different direction.

An intuition urged him to remain, at least for a little while longer.

You roused in the middle of the night, discovering the lights in your cabin completely turned off as darkness shrouded everything around you. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, as you rolled to the other side and blinked away the grogginess.

When you noticed a form taking shape beside you, suggestive of someone sleeping next to you, you squinted in confusion. For a moment, sheer panic seized you, worried that a bounty hunter had managed to track you down in Loguetown's harbor and was about to attack you in your vulnerable state. But then, catching sight of that familiar nose, those lips you had tasted time and time again, the distinctive beard with its sharply pointed sideburns, and the cute mole on his left cheekbone, your heart softened and found tranquility.

There was Mihawk, lounging in your bed fully clothed except for his hat, his boots still on and neatly crossed off the mattress. His position was unconventional, more a diagonal slant, but you could sense the warmth radiating from his body, and hear the gentle cadence of his breathing as air flowed in and out of his nostrils. His arms were crossed over his chest, with the golden knife he wore suspended to the left as it hung from his neck.

Had he opted to stay as a form of safeguard given your status, or had he merely decided to rest considering the late hour? Regardless of his reasoning, it was nice to share the presence of another after such a long period of solitude. Isaiah had never had the opportunity to spend an entire night with you, as you would always dress and sneak away as soon as his eyes closed.

Drawing nearer to Mihawk, you scrutinized his features, softly running your hand over his clothed shoulder, until you succumbed to sleep once again.

The next morning, all that remained on the other side of the bed was a note, written in flawless calligraphy, which read: "I'll see you around.”

Evidently, Mihawk wasn't quite ready to return to the Grand Line just yet.

And you couldn't have been more pleased about it.

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

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

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 16

Chapters: 16/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Encountering your mother for the first time felt like a long-held dream finally coming true, and the success of the Fashion Show further underscored that your life was aligning with your deepest wishes. Then, the opportunity for your first international business trip came about, taking you to Florida.

The quiet hum of distant voices reached your ears, steadily amplifying as you gradually regained your senses. Even though your eyes stayed shut, you realized you were lying on the sofa, your father's hand gently enclosing yours.

Bit by bit, their words began to sharpen.

"I told you this was a bad idea," he sighed. "I get that you wanted to see her, but, Par, we need to be reasonable.”

Paregoros was striding nervously back and forth, her voice trembling. "I know. I shouldn't even be here, I'm contravening the principles of my realm.”

“Why now, then?”

"Because she knows. I owe her an explanation.”

Your body was rigid, and despite the urge to stir, you weren't quite prepared to confront them.

"Par, she surpassed all our expectations. Rest assured, she bears no resentment towards you.”

"She's my daughter. This is something I need to do. Not only for her sake, but... for mine as well.”

A deep silence enveloped the room as your father drew a deep, resonant breath. The sound of your mother's heels clicking against the wooden flooring reverberated in the room, halting abruptly as she quietly cursed under her breath.

"Are you joking right now? What's he doing here?”

"Eh? Who's here?" Your father inquired.

"Stay with her. I'll return shortly.”

“Wait, Par!”

The heaviness in your head and the numbness in your limbs signaled that your blood pressure was too low to permit any positional changes. All you could do was patiently wait, giving your body the necessary time to naturally readjust, no matter how long it might require.

The rapid, forceful steps of your mother were followed by the door flinging open and subsequently slamming shut with a resonant thud.

Morpheus stood there, right before your father's dwelling. His face was set in a stern expression, riddled with worry, his hands nonchalantly tucked away in the pockets of his coat.

The moment he caught sight of Paregoros stepping out from the main entrance, he steeled himself for the incoming tempest of fury, her eyes dark and filled with contempt.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here," she snapped. "You deceived me, Oneiros. I put my trust in you, and you betrayed me. I should have known better.”

“I did no such thing,” he retorted.

"Do you take me for a fool? Y/N is aware of my existence now. You assured me she wouldn't be.”

"No, I promised you she would not learn the truth from me.”

She issued a scornful laugh. "How is that any different? You knew precisely what you were doing.”

“Your secret was bringing harm to your family.”

"No offense, but you have no understanding of protecting those you love.”

Morpheus lowered his gaze, conceding that, in a way, she had rightly delivered a hit to his pride.

"Since when do you concern yourself with others and their feelings? The only reason you stepped in was because of your little escapade with my daughter. We both know where this is headed.”

His hands clenched into fists, hidden from her view. "No, Paregoros, you do not know that.”

"Don't misunderstand me, I sincerely wish for you to change. For Y/N. But you won't, you never did.”

How could he make her believe in his sincere love for you? That he would go to any extent to ensure you were the happiest woman in the entire universe?

"You leave destruction in your wake. You may be the King of Dreams, but you can't mold my daughter into one of your creations. She's not a plaything.”

His anger was mounting with each charge she put forth. Though he couldn't completely discount her words as falsehoods, his view of you transcended far beyond the idea of a mere possession.

You were his Goddess, his everything. You were the most radiant diamond amidst an infinite sea of sparkling gems devoid of a soul. You were an angel, his most beautiful dream, one he wished to cherish forever.

Paregoros had no clue of your incalculable value to him. In the end, he grasped the fact that she might never recognize it.

"Please, Dream Lord, just leave. She's well cared for here."

Indeed, you were. But the inner turmoil you underwent when meeting your mother for the first time somehow echoed through the dreamstone, penetrating directly into his realm. It punctured the fragile boundary between the two of you, striking his heart and causing it to tighten.

Nonetheless, Morpheus understood that his presence wasn't required. With your family reunited, even if temporarily, he could afford to step back for a while.

“Very well.”

Without waiting for his departure, Paregoros spun on her heels and retreated back into the house. The door closed behind her, isolating Morpheus on the lonely street just as the first droplet of rain touched his nose.

You couldn't remember a single occasion when you had passed out from a panic attack. Yet, considering the deluge of revelations you had unearthed in the recent months, it seemed reasonable that your mind opted to shut down, swamped by the sheer magnitude of information to digest.

And now, your mother was there, advancing towards you quietly and with visible hesitance, as if she feared shattering you into a thousand fragments.

Eventually, you mustered the strength to hoist yourself into a sitting position. Your father hurried over to you with a glass of cool water, brushing your hair away from your face as you sipped it cautiously, taking small, deliberate gulps.

As Paregoros knelt in front of you, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears and regret, you found yourself at a loss for words. Faced with what appeared almost like an apparition, you struggled to construct a coherent sentence.

Your father gave your wrist a gentle squeeze. "How are you feeling, lovey?”

You were engulfed by shock, confusion, fear, and uncertainty. Expressing all those emotions simultaneously seemed beyond reach.

You wanted to respond appropriately, to greet your mother in the way she had anticipated. But with your complete focus zeroed in on her, your voice involuntarily adopted a chillier tone. "Why are you here, mum?”

Paregoros pursed her lips, bowing her head. "I understand that I'm likely the last person you wished to see.”

Your heart tightened, making room for an instant wave of guilt. "No... it's not that, I'm sorry. I've been wanting to see you, to speak with you at least once since I was a child. And now that you're here with me, I... I don’t really know what to say.”

With a clear of his throat, your father interjected, "Par, it might be best to delay our conversation. After all, Y/N has a significant event coming up tomorrow.”

Despite the evident concern in your father's voice for your well-being, you chose not to retreat now that you had regained your composure.

"It's fine, dad. I can do this.”

Handing him the now-empty glass, you swung your legs off the couch and rose to your feet. Paregoros was so near now, her breath discernible against you.

You needed a private moment with her, to address the situation directly without your father's excessive protectiveness. As much as you appreciated it, this was something you needed to resolve independently.

"Mum, would you accompany me for a walk?”

"But... it appears to be starting to rain,” Your father expressed.

"We won't be gone long.”

Paregoros inhaled deeply, replying with a confirming nod and a wide, relieved smile. Without giving your father a chance to object, you darted for your jacket and snatched an umbrella on the way. Paregoros mirrored your steps as you ventured out onto the street.

The smell of the rain was perceptible, its gradual fall tapping out a rhythm on your umbrella as you unfurled it to cover both of you. You gently extended your arm, and she accepted your gesture, softly intertwining it with hers.

And thus, you began to stride in harmony.

For a considerable stretch of time, you both meandered in utter silence, tracing the sidewalk without any particular destination in mind. It was Paregoros who took the initiative, guiding you under a porch to provide shelter from the falling raindrops. The ambiance was tranquil, with the vacant roads around providing seclusion.

She was noticeably anxious, seemingly uncertain about where to begin. Her eyes were fixed on your face, as if you were the most precious being in the world.

Without a doubt, you were to her.

"I had so many things I wanted to tell you, but it all seems so insignificant now. I abandoned you, Y/N. It was never my intention, but circumstances forced you to grow up without me.”

You folded the umbrella and leaned against the brick wall. Oddly enough, it mirrored the scene you had experienced in your dream, except that this time, you were more than a simple spectator.

"I won't deny that I was deeply upset when I discovered the truth, but I've come to understand why you had to leave us behind. I am acquainted with the laws of the universe and the workings of the other realms.”

Paregoros wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her own form. “I know, but I wouldn't hold it against you if you resented me.”

"I don't, believe me. I only wish it could have been different.”

The rain intensified, creating a cascading curtain of water beside you.

"Just tell me one thing; had I not been human, what would have ensued following my birth?” You asked.

"If you were like me, you would have stayed in my domain.”

“And what about dad?”

She drew a breath, struggling to deliver the answer. "He would have been oblivious to your existence.”

You visualized it all in your mind, your father living out the rest of his days ignorant of his offspring, while you had to grow up in a different place. You might never have met him, Ella, Hob... not even Morpheus. It was only then that you came to grasp the extent of your fortune.

"Mum, despite all the ups and downs, I am genuinely grateful for the life I've been given."

A rumble of distant thunder echoed in the sky.

"When dad fell ill, I lost a part of myself in a way that I thought I could never reclaim. But things have changed. I'm now living the life of my dreams, quite literally.”

“Y/N, about that….”

"Hard times aren't fun, but they have a way of molding us mortals into better versions of ourselves. There's still a lot for me to learn on this journey, but I don’t feel alone anymore.”

“Y/N-”

"And I'm in love, mum. I've found someone who understands me and values me in a way I've never experienced before. All this wouldn't have been possible had I not been human.”

Another bout of thunder, closer and louder than the first, erupted around you, accompanied by a flash of light. Your mother's expression turned resolute as she regarded you.

And the prospects were not promising.

"Y/N, to be perfectly clear, I do not support your relationship with the King of Dreams.”

The way in which she conveyed those words was tinged with anger and disgust, causing an immediate contraction of your nerves. “Why is that?”

"My dear, Oneiros is untrustworthy. Everything he does is driven by self-interest, and he brings ruin to those who dare to associate with him. No exception.”

You could feel the fire building and blazing within you. “That’s not true.”

"You don’t know the atrocities he committed. He completely tore apart his own family, condemning his son to a life of misery and shattering Calliope's heart."

You clenched your teeth, intensifying your hold on the umbrella's handle.

"The agony of having to give you up at birth was hard enough for me. I can only imagine how traumatic it must have been for Calliope, upon discovering her son torn apart due to her husband's deeds.”

You rolled your eyes, uttering a grunt and smacking the ground with the umbrella in a display of frustration. "Yes, it was an absolute tragedy, no one is disputing that. But Calliope was the one who chose to leave Morpheus, wasn't she? It was a conscious decision.”

"And it was arguably the best decision she could have made. What kind of future could she have had with someone who condemned their own son?”

"Morpheus didn't condemn anyone!"

Your voice reverberated through the porch, compelling your mother to take a step back.

"He may have overlooked his son's plea, but how does that make him responsible for his fate? Do you genuinely believe he wanted that outcome? Yes, he was negligent. He trusted that Orpheus would heed his advice. That was the true mistake.”

Paregoros pinched the bridge of her nose, "Y/N...”

You were too riled up to stop. You would not tolerate any disparaging words about the love of your life, not even from your own mother.

"You all label him as some kind of monster, but it seems you conveniently forget that Orpheus was his son too. Calliope lost him, but so did Morpheus. Yet, all the blame is squarely placed on him.”

"Are you aware of the significance of a father picking the head of his son on the seashore?”

The torment he endured, the pain he had to bear alone, with no one else there to offer him support through it all.

"He's genuinely making an effort. He suffered through a century of hell, imprisoned and banished from his realm. I wouldn't be the person I am today if it weren't for him. Can't you grant him at least a modicum of recognition?”

She shook her head repeatedly. "It saddens me to have to tell you these things. Calliope attempted to change him, genuinely believing she could. By the time she realized her efforts were in vain, it was already too late.”

You furrowed your brows. "That's precisely the problem, this thing about others wanting to change him. I can't pass judgment on their relationship as I wasn't even born at the time, but if she truly loved him, she would have accepted him the way he was."

Paregoros parted her lips, barely managing to whisper a simple, "I....”

“Mum, honestly, I understand your perspective. But if you find yourself needing to change someone in order to be with them, it means that you're in love with your idea of that person, not the person themselves.”

She was at a loss for a rebuttal, simply unable to formulate one.

"As the Goddess of compassion, I ask you to extend that compassion to him as well. Morpheus has a heart too. It might appear cold to you, but it’s incredibly gentle and riddled with scars.”

She appeared strikingly taken aback, surprised by your words that reflected wisdom and maturity.

She reached for your hand, enveloping it within her warm, velvety ones and gently caressing the back of it. "It appears there's a lot more of me in you than I expected.”

The feeling of her touch, so soothing and energetically satisfying, somehow compensated for all those years of absence, instantly pacifying you.

"You would make an exceptional Goddess, my dear. Even better than me. You’re so empathetic, so kind and benevolent.”

You shrugged. "I'm not so sure about that. I failed to forgive the men who imprisoned Morpheus for so many years.”

"Do you understand why?”

"They hurt him, murdered his raven in cold blood. Alex Burgess never freed him.”

"That means you cared.”

She let go of your hand, only to grasp your shoulders and plant a tender kiss on your forehead.

How many times had you longed for her lips? To receive her kisses, her embraces, and her words of comfort and encouragement?

"Perhaps I judged Oneiros a bit too harshly. Maybe he does deserve a second chance after all. But Y/N, bear this in mind; he's an Endless and you are human. The law prohibits your kind from engaging in romantic relationships with those entities.”

“I know.”

"Your roots may afford you the opportunity to be with him now, but sooner or later, you'll be faced with a decision. You do not possess eternal life.”

Why did you have to be reminded of that fact just when you were attempting to push it away?

"All I care about is your happiness. And I fear that if you remain with him, it will rob you of the opportunity to build a new life with someone else.”

You grunted. "I've had my fair share of human partners and I'd rather not revisit that. Thanks.”

Paregoros looked crestfallen, her hands moving soothingly up and down your arms. "They're not all the same. Just because you've experienced heartbreak doesn't mean it's bound to recur.”

The mere thought of parting ways with Morpheus for another man was inconceivable to you.

"You don’t understand.”

"Yes, Y/N, I do. I was unable to restrain my feelings for your father and because of that, we’re having this conversation.”

You disentangled yourself from her hold, shifting a little to the side. "Yes, and due to those unfair laws, you were forced to abandon both of us. Again, I'm aware.”

Paregoros withdrew, nervously fiddling with her fingers.

"I know that you want me to be safe, mum. But whether I'm making a mistake or not, it's not up to you to determine it for me.”

While the thunder seemed to recede further into the distance, the rainfall showed no signs of abating.

"I just don't want you to endure what your father had to go through with me.”

You shook your head. "I want to be with him. Please, just accept that.”

Your mother scrutinized you, witnessing your sincere emotions reflected in your eyes, and attuning herself to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Answer truthfully, Y/N. Does he bring you happiness?”

"Like no one else ever possibly could.”

"Do you believe that he loves you? Sincerely?”

"I'm certain he does. I witness that every single time.”

In the end, all she could do was smile, taking in the profound depth of love radiating from your entire being.

"Fine, you win.”

She let go of the tension, easing her stiff body and offering her hand out towards you. This time, she waited for your move to accept it, and you had no reason to refuse.

"Y/N, just know that I've always watched over you, even during times when you felt you were on your own. I witnessed your struggles and efforts, your sorrow and your joy."

With everything crashing onto you, your lips quivered, but you steeled yourself against the urge to cry.

"Never back down and stay true to yourself. Because I know you're going to achieve so many remarkable things in this life.”

Those words you searched for but never found when you thought she no longer existed, may have come to you a little later than you would have liked, but they were as potent and uplifting as you had imagined them to be.

"And pray, sweetie. Pray, and I will be listening.”

It was her way of assuring you that she would be there in spirit, never once losing sight of you.

You let out a shaky sigh, "I will.”

Somehow, she appeared brighter and significantly warmer, swathed in some kind of celestial energy.

"I cannot stay longer," she declared. "Tell your father that I apologize.”

"Will I see you again?”

"Perhaps that could be arranged. Someday.”

A silent tranquility enveloped the two of you. Neither of you appeared capable of letting the other go, awaiting a move that didn’t come.

And then, your mother posed a final question. "May I embrace you?”

Driven by a sense of desperation as her words unlocked a flood of suppressed emotions, you enveloped her upper body in a warm embrace, tightening your hold while inhaling the pleasant scent of honey and lilies emanating from her hair. releasing a soft sob, she reciprocated with equal grief and intensity, whispering soothing affirmations into your ear.

Your fingers gripped the fabric of her cardigan, feeling the soft material inexplicably thin out and transform. As your hug loosened and you lifted your eyes, your breath hitched. She had morphed into the same awe-inspiring Goddess form that you had seen in your father's memory.

There was nothing you could say that would encapsulate the astounding beauty she radiated.

Gently, she let her hands glide along your face, cupping your cheeks with affection and pride. Reaching for her left hand, Paregoros took off one of her golden bracelets, a shiny bangle shaped like a leafy branch. She raised your sleeve and fastened it around your wrist, lightly tweaking the metal for a perfect fit. Excluding Morpheus’ dreamstone you always wore around your neck, never before had you possessed a piece of jewelry so magnificent.

"A part of me will always remain with you," she said. "I know it's not much, but...”

You moved your fingertips over the cool material, tracing all the intricate details of the bracelet. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Paregoros nodded, her lips pursed as she planted a final kiss on your cheekbone. As she left the shelter of the porch, you observed her standing in the rain, shielded by her essence which prevented the falling raindrops from even grazing her.

"Look after your father," she told you.

"He's the one who's always taking care of me, actually.”

"And he does a remarkable job.”

You noticed the melancholy in her demeanor, the anguish in her eyes as she mentioned him.

"Do you still love him?" You ventured to ask her.

Paregoros nibbled her lower lip, clasping her hands together. "I always have.”

Knowing that their love was destined to last until their final breath, going through the torment of being separated and unable to stay together, was just unbearably painful to you.

"Goodbye, my dear daughter. Hopefully, I'll see you again very soon.”

You remained still under the porch, watching as your mother vanished down the serene street, surrounded by the mystical barrier. Remarkably, she went unnoticed by everyone else, the passing cars cautiously navigating the wet pavement, their drivers remaining entirely unaware. In a split second, she had disappeared entirely, leaving you alone and isolated, consumed by your thoughts that echoed louder than the storm.

If only you could travel between realms at your own convenience, not confined by the stringent rules of the universe. Being a mere mortal, you were bound by your limitations and the unbreakable laws you had to follow.

As you mulled over it in defeat, hearing nothing but the rush of water, a mighty figure took shape behind you. Gauging by the sound of his boots and the faint shadow casting on the ground, just like before, it was easy for you to discern his identity.

And your smile was uncontrollable. "Did you hear all of that?”

"No," Morpheus' voice was deep and resonant, immediately penetrating your heart and causing it to melt.

When you swiveled to face him, you were laughing in delight. "You're not a good liar, you know.”

Concerned about your potential disappointment, the Endless averted his gaze, uncertain of how to respond.

Truth be told, it didn't faze you. The knowledge of having him beside you, invisible, ever ready to support when called upon, instilled an unwavering feeling of safety in you.

With a gentle touch on his elbow, you subtly indicated that you had absolutely no issue with him eavesdropping on you. Your only regret was that he may have overheard snippets of conversation that could potentially upset his mood.

Refocusing his beautiful eyes back on you, he confirmed that by saying, "You defended me.”

He sounded surprised and puzzled, considering your reaction to be unexpected. How many times did you need to validate just how much he meant to you? It distressed you to see him with such low self-regard.

"Of course I did. I won't stand for any of that nonsense about you.”

The corners of his lips twitched upwards slightly, indicating his genuine pleasure, perhaps even happiness, at your protective stance. This only fuelled your desire to safeguard him and be the anchor he could depend on, just as he was for you.

Looking at the pouring rain once more, your mind drifted to your father and the worry he must have been harboring for you. In your haste to leave with Paregoros, you hadn't even considered to bring your phone along.

Yet, for an inexplicable reason, you were mesmerized by the incessant splash of water. The rainfall held a peculiar charm, luring you like a siren's enchanting melody.

"Morpheus?”

"My love?”

Sporting a grin akin to a playful child, you began to move backward. "Would it bother you to get wet?”

Morpheus looked perplexed, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?”

Upon reaching the edge of the porch, you stretched out your arms, the yet-to-be-unfurled umbrella gripped in your hand. Morpheus stuttered out your name, understanding your intentions, but that did nothing to stop you. Whether it was the pre-show adrenaline or the surging cocktail of feelings, you felt compelled to act on a wildly irrational impulse.

And so, you leapt into the rain, allowing its cold droplets to cascade over you. As you looked up at the cloudy sky, you felt your hair and clothes becoming drenched and clinging to you almost instantly.

Morpheus watched in silent astonishment, observing you relish this instance of unbridled freedom. To him, it seemed as though you were washing away all that was superfluous in your life, allowing past sufferings to flow out of you and dissolve into nothingness.

And it was a sight to behold. You were stunningly beautiful, surrendered to your instincts. Wild.

He remained before you, under the porch, pulling his hands out of his coat pockets. You slicked back your wet hair, indifferent to the makeup that was surely smudging and streaking down your face. You knew that he wouldn't fuss over something so insignificant.

The rain was exhilarating and revitalizing, yet something was lacking. Cautiously, you searched for his hand, brushing against the cold fingertips before confidently seizing it and drawing him out to where you stood.

Morpheus offered no resistance, allowing you to draw him into the rain with you. His hair darkened and fell limp against his forehead as it got wet, with trails of water cascading down his face, tracing the lines of his nose, mouth and jawline.

Like the heroine from a movie, you rose on your toes and pressed your lips against his, kissing him with all the passion that was raging in your chest. The contrast between his skin and the chilly water was striking, his tongue warm and coarse. The rain had a slightly bitter taste, but it didn't bother you.

His fingers firmly grasping your lower back served only as motivation for you to persist. Amidst the flurry of kisses, you took brief pauses to breathe. Finally, when you found the strength to pull away, you looked at him, your face filled with adoration.

Morpheus was making a valiant effort to suppress the smile that was steadily emerging, failing to do so. Subsequently, he bestowed upon you another kiss, this one more profound, his arm cradling your shoulders. As he leaned in, your back curved slightly in a graceful arch as he gently bent you over. You felt your surroundings shift dramatically in a quick whirl, the water suddenly ceasing and the temperature around you becoming warmer.

To say you felt like the girl in the iconic Kissing Sailor photograph, captured at the culmination of World War II in Times Square, would be an understatement. Except in your case, there was also an added element of magic. The moment you opened your eyes and he let you go, you found yourself in what appeared to be your old bedroom, meticulously kept by your father for your overnight visits. Your clothes and hair were completely dry and back to their original state, even Morpheus appeared untouched by the raindrops.

Setting the umbrella aside, you started to question the rashness of your actions, perhaps needing a bit more consideration. Yet, Morpheus seemed far from perturbed by it.

"I’m sorry for the impromptu shower," you joked, "I've always wanted to do that.”

"You must take care, my love. I would not want you to fall sick.”

"Fortunately, I have a supernatural boyfriend always ready to rescue me.”

Despite the joyousness of the situation, Morpheus had reverted back to his somber state. He seemed immersed in contemplation, his eyes drifting until they finally settled back on you.

Without saying a word, his hand touched your cheek. He skimmed your skin with his fingers, delicately tracing paths along your chin. How could your mother ever doubt his sincerity? The way he made you quiver with a mere touch, the thoughtfulness he invested in each gesture, every small gift, every compliment and sweet word.

The way he revered both your body and heart. How he gradually tried to share more of himself with you as time progressed.

Engrossed in your romantic moment, you were startled when the bedroom door abruptly swung open. Your father stood there, holding the doorknob tightly, an eyebrow raised as he looked at the two of you. Clearly, he had expected you to return with Paregoros, not a male entity who seemed quite preoccupied with his hands on you.

With a hint of nervousness, you gulped audibly while Morpheus slowly distanced himself from you. Your cheeks flushed as if you were a teenager caught red-handed, and all you could manage was to stutter your words in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"Uhm.... dad, have you been introduced to Lord Morpheus, the King of Dreams?”

This was far from how you intended to formalize your relationship to him.

Well, oops.

The Fashion Show was unquestionably the most phenomenal event you had the privilege to participate in. You had always speculated on what it would be like to witness your creations springing to life on the runway and to gauge the attendees' reactions. Now, as you found yourself incessantly answering questions, posing for pictures, and receiving praises from the company's sponsors and directors of fashion magazines, you could affirm that the experience was utterly extraordinary.

That evening, London seemed more beautiful than ever, almost akin to an entirely different city as you took in the skyline from Oliver's car. Your phone vibrated incessantly, filled with excited messages from your father and Hob who had watched the entire show broadcasted on TV, endlessly lauding how fantastic you looked on camera.

Catching your reflection in the window, you contemplated the dramatic transformation your life had undergone in a relatively short span of time. You recalled the weary, desolate, and drained look that used to reside in your eyes during your tenure at the Burgess mansion; the woman you were then bore almost no resemblance to who you were now.

You transitioned from being despondent to the most successful version of yourself. From a state of loneliness and depression to being encompassed by the finest companions and feeling as happy as you could possibly be. Juggling your time between the Waking World during the day and the Dreaming at night, you were essentially leading two distinct lives, each of equal magnificence. You cherished your friends in the human realm just as much as you cared for the ones you made in the land of dreams.

In the succeeding weeks, the workload at Corbyn&Jones had noticeably escalated since the show, with an influx of requests from organizations and influential individuals seeking new exclusive designs for their impending events. This was in addition to the rapid rate at which most of your previously released collections appeared to be flying off the hangers, shelves and mannequins in local stores. Without a doubt, it was the most frenzied period you had ever experienced in your career. But as exhausting as it could be, you were absolutely thrilled and over the moon about it.

And just as Ella had predicted prior to the night of the show, your fame was soaring.

Your name began to surface in various articles and was highlighted in various shops as the leading figure of the brand. Your friend had stayed true to her promise, giving you all the credit and recognition you rightfully deserved. You were incredibly overjoyed to read numerous testimonials from teenagers and adults alike, claiming that your creations had boosted their confidence. The fact that numerous influencers were now donning your company's attires and promoting them on social media only drove an additional surge in sales. Eventually, Oliver had to contemplate launching an official online store, which recorded thousands of visitors within just a day of its inception.

If someone had foretold all this to you just a few months prior, you wouldn't have believed a single word.

As your days became full of non-stop activities, eight months had officially elapsed since the end of the Sleepy Seakness. Eight remarkable months filled with dreams, wonders, and mysteries, eight months of love for Morpheus.

The fact that your father was now aware of him brought such relief to your heart. You lost count of the number of times you had to explain that Dream of the Endless couldn't just accept an invitation for a human dinner at his house. Despite his initial apprehensions about the challenges you might encounter with an eternal being, in the end, your father couldn't resist continually inquiring about him.

It was truly endearing, although you were aware that Morpheus probably didn’t know how to deal with it.

One day, Ella summoned you to her office for a matter of utmost importance. You didn't have time to fret about the possibility of bad news because her radiant smile and gleaming eyes practically blinded you the moment you walked in.

"What's going on?" You asked her. "You seem extremely cheerful.”

"Oh, actually, this isn't about me at all," she responded.

"What do you mean?”

"Y/N, do you recall my college friend, Andrew Rake?”

That name immediately struck a chord.

"I believe so. Wasn't he the one who aspired to relocate to the States?”

Ella nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! We stayed in touch. Guess what? He's now the owner of his own small enterprise in Florida.”

You smiled genuinely. "That's amazing!”

"Right? But here's the best part; ever since he saw our collection on the runway, he's been keeping a close watch on our company, and you in particular.”

You were taken aback. "Me?”

"Yes, sweetie. The fact of the matter is, he wants you on board for a new project he's undertaking.”

"But... Ella. You said he's in Florida. How am I supposed to assist him?”

Ella chuckled, tapping something on her phone which subsequently sent a message to your device. Upon opening it, you discovered a PDF document containing details of a plane ticket, complete with a specified date and time for a trip that had been booked under your name.

“Ella, you can’t be serious.”

"Of course I'm serious! He's an old friend, and I'm more than willing to share your creative talents with him for a while.”

You rubbed your forehead. "We have so much to handle here. Can I really travel abroad at a time like this?”

"You have both Oliver's and my full blessing. The trip is planned for two weeks, so please, consider some of those extra days as a bonus vacation. It's a gift from us.”

"But…”

Ella clapped her hands together in jubilation. "Oh please, just bask in your success! We wouldn't be in this position without you. We can certainly manage to let you go for a few days.”

You couldn't recall the last time you had taken a plane for travel, let alone when you had even left the city of London to venture anywhere else. For at least two years and a half, arguably the longest and toughest of your life, your father had been the sole thing that occupied your thoughts.

Perhaps this blend of work and relaxation wrapped into one trip was precisely the respite you needed to unwind.

"I don't know what to say, really. You guys are the best.”

Ella playfully blew a kiss in the air. "Hush, you are the wonderful one here. So, take some well-deserved rest and start packing your bags; Cape Kennedy awaits you!”

Being on a plane seemed unreal, but you were truly leaving your country and gazing at the white clouds below.

You had always harbored a desire to traverse the globe, and thanks to your job, that opportunity was now within your grasp. Andrew, despite crossing paths with him at various social gatherings, never became a close friend. He was, nevertheless, always pleasant to be around and had an undeniably unique sense of style.

The information Ella provided about his requirements and the project were rather vague. All you knew was that he was in need of your design expertise for a task he seemed unable to accomplish on his own. His business was modest in size, with a minimal workforce. He was the sole brain behind every fresh concept, crafting each new article of clothing, which he would also proudly wear himself and display in public.

You were indeed intrigued by this collaboration, as it marked your first venture working side by side with another creative mind.

Soothed by the tranquil hum of the plane, with the gentle white noise permeating the cabin, your eyelids began to droop as you succumbed to sleep. Your head gently swayed to the side, giving a slight bump against the window.

Your body felt weightless, drifting, until the familiar beach in the Dreaming materialized before you. The sea breeze was as enchanting as ever, with its authentic salty aroma pervading the surroundings. You settled onto the sand, the grains soft and shifting around to create an impromptu pillow for you. Your blue gown shimmered like a starlit sky and flowed around your legs.

You had never seen that dress before, it would be wise to remember such a striking garment for inspiration.

Morpheus was absent, but it didn't bother you. You knew that he was still busy with the final refurbishments of his domain, keeping track of all residents and constructing new areas for the humans to revel in. Even in his physical absence, his presence was felt all around. Your Moonstone necklace glowed once more, illuminated by an enchanting blue light that danced in a rhythmic circle.

If only you had an inkling of what was happening before you, in a dream that seemed no different from any other.

A distant figure began to take shape along the seashore, steadily advancing in your direction with a measured stride. The beach land was a private corner of your consciousness, a fragment of the Dream World that Morpheus had set aside exclusively for you. Never had you seen another entity traverse it, other than Morpheus.

As you became engrossed in the vistas of the ocean ahead, a voice emerging beside you caused you to slightly jump.

“Uhm…. hello…?”

You noticed a young girl with an impressive array of black dreadlocks, punctuated by a few strands in gradient hues of blue and lime, standing right beside you. She was dressed in a long-sleeved black pullover with a striped shirt peeking from underneath, complemented by a pair of dark trousers and white sneakers.

She bore a gentle appearance, her face marked by a bewildering expression that was difficult for you to interpret.

Hi," you replied. "May I know who you are?”

After a brief pause, she introduced herself by sharing her name with you. "I'm Rose. Rose Walker."

Rose Walker? How strikingly human a name for a dream, you mused.

Despite your thoughts, you presented a warm smile. "I'm Y/N Y/LN, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Rose nodded her head, casting a curious glance around. "Where exactly are we?”

How odd…

"This is the Dreaming. Or at least, a portion of it.”

"Wait, am I asleep?”

Was she merely a strange manifestation of your mind, or had another human somehow intersected your dream?

Regardless, you chose to go along with the unfolding scenario.

"Where do you hail from, Rose?”

"I come from New Jersey, but I'm travelling in search of my brother right now.”

A brother? What was going on?

"Do you have any idea where he might be?”

"I actually do. He’s in Florida.”

Florida, go figure.

"I'm sure you will find him, Rose," you said encouragingly, unsure of what else you could possibly say to a figment of your imagination.

The girl’s eyes lingered on the sea line in the horizon. “We got separated a long time ago… and our mother passed away recently.”

Your heart sank. "Oh no... I'm truly sorry.”

"Thanks. We have a great-grandmother now. She's assisting me in my search.”

There was something profoundly unexplainable about the dream you were experiencing. The tale she was recounting, though it could potentially be drawn from your own familial experiences and anxieties, somehow rang incredibly true.

"Family is the most precious thing, isn't it?”

Rose's lips stretched into a soft smile. "It is. I really need to find Jed. Without our mother, I want to be sure he’s okay, look after him.”

"You know, Rose," you began, "One valuable lesson I've gathered is that your tenacity and determination have the power to lead you to any destination.”

More than anything else, this was a deep self-realization.

"If it's your aim to locate your brother, there won't be any hurdle capable of thwarting your efforts.”

After a moment of evident consensus, Rose exhaled deeply, "Not even foster agencies?”

Despite the peculiarity of your dream, you asserted, "Not if you refuse to allow them.”

The girl appeared to ease at your assertion, nodding and letting out another breath. An uncanny ambiance started to envelop the surroundings, contrasting the usual tranquility of the beachfront.

You couldn't quite put it into words, for when you looked at her, you had no negative perceptions whatsoever.

When she joined you on the sand, you had the sensation that a distant rock split in two, but you dismissed it because oftentimes, elements in your dreams could morph into something bizarre for no apparent reason.

And thus, the two of you struck up a friendly conversation, which effortlessly flowed with random talks, jests, and laughter. A sudden impulse to protect her welled up within you, despite the awareness that she wasn't as tangible as you were. But then again, what if she was indeed real?

You inquired about her dreams and ambitions. She wanted to repair what remained of her family, secure a job to support herself and her brother Jed. She aspired to write, to weave a narrative that was uniquely hers to tell.

You became so engrossed in her life's story, that you quickly grew fond of Rose and the purity of her spirit.

Yet, something was amiss. It was as if the Dreaming was crying out in the distance, rumbling and fracturing.

Then, a chorus of assorted voices started to materialize and reverberate around you, signifying that your in-flight nap was nearing its conclusion.

Rose seemed to hear them too, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked around in puzzlement.

"It's been wonderful meeting you, Rose," you expressed, rising from the sandy cushion and allowing the fabric of your celestial dress to billow and expand. The moonstone was radiating intensely, so much so that you momentarily wondered if it carried any special significance.

"Who knows, perhaps our paths will cross again in my dreams?”

Rose said something, but as her lips moved, you couldn't hear any word. The Dreaming became hazy and remote, almost spiraling before it vanished.

Upon opening your eyes, you saw the flight attendant strolling down the aisle, instructing passengers to fasten their seatbelts. As she passed by your row, slowing down slightly, the man in his 50s next to you took off his earbuds, and you immediatly complied with her request despite your drowsiness. Throughout the entire landing phase, you gazed out of the window, despite the slight discomfort of your ears popping and feeling plugged. It was pleasant to watch the water glistening under the sunlight, a sight that transported your thoughts back to the Dreaming, and your intriguing encounter with a gentle, enigmatic girl named Rose Walker.

But why did you sense such apprehension, with a gut feeling of some looming event? While a part of you was tempted to dismiss it as a byproduct of your travel, you were all too familiar with your own instincts.

No, you couldn't let that cloud your mind before you even set foot in Cape Kennedy. What could possibly go wrong?

As soon as you were able to stand up again, you waited patiently for the queue of people disembarking the plane, retrieved your luggage, and expressed gratitude to the flight attendants for their service. Finding yourself in a foreign country was extraordinary, the thrill coursing through you profoundly invigorating.

You made the choice to release all worries, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach receded, making room for optimistic thoughts and anticipations.

Extracting your phone from your bag, you promptly switched off airplane mode and shot a fast text to Andrew to let him know you'd arrived. Given his kindness in offering to pick you up from the airport, you didn't want to keep him waiting any longer than necessary.

With your attention absorbed in the screen, grinning at the cheerful, amusing emoji Andrew sent in response, you failed to spot Rose Walker in the midst of the bustling crowd.

What was supposed to be a business trip was about to unexpectedly evolve into an extremely perilous journey.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 17 (coming soon) ->

#dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman #the sandman fanfic

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Why The Caged Bird Sings | Chapter 4

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction) Rating: Explicit Relationships Vinsmoke Sanji x F!Reader Characters: Vinsmoke Sanji, Patty, Red Leg Zeff, Original Characters, Strawhat crew. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, minor POV switching. Summary: One night, you were brought to the luxurious Baratie Restaurant Ship, renowned for its exceptional cuisine that your family had been intrigued to sample. A particular blond and comely waiter captured your attention with his charming smile and gentle eyes, but while your beauty and sophistication intrigued him, Sanji also observed the profound nervousness that caused your jaw and body muscles to tense whenever your fiancé made contact with your hand or your parents delivered a humiliating criticism towards you. One dinner at the Baratie soon turned into a recurring event, and then more. As your friendship with Sanji slowly evolved into something that burned from within, you strove to make your longstanding dream come true; freeing yourself from a constricting existence. ------------------------- As Sanji looked at you curiously, the gentle smile never leaving his face, you asked him, "Do you know why the caged bird sings?" He thought about it for a moment before answering, "Because it has a song to give?" You chuckled at his response and shook your head. "You're not entirely wrong, but no."

Divider by firefly-graphics

Feel free to read this on AO3 if it is more comfortable for you due to its length. I only ask to support me with a like and reblog if you enjoy my work. ☺️

Author's note: Another long chapter, what is new! Things for the Reader are finally taking a good turn, with a new life at the horizon. I want her relationship with Sanji to develop properly and in the most realistic way possible, but I can pretty much confirm that, in the next update, a kiss will finally take place.

The Baratie was delivering more than a memorable meal on a casual night. In fact, you were set on crossing paths with Sanji again, perhaps even as a part of his team.

Despite your genuine intention to resolve matters at home, a whole week passed, and yet, you hadn't mustered the courage to approach your parents' door.

Mari had welcomed you into her home for as long as you needed, urging you to extend your stay until you felt sufficiently prepared to face your father's wrath. However, the harsh reality was that you would never truly be ready, as you had been grappling with this problem since you were born.

Sleep was elusive. The anxiety of potential repercussions gnawed at your insides, considering your father's unpredictable nature and the fact that he could orchestrate any form of punishment as long as it guaranteed your compliance.

"I'm telling you, just take your time. Rushing it would only backfire," Mari advised you, as you found it difficult to even consume your meal.

"I know, but I can't keep hiding here just to avoid them.”

She exhaled deeply. "I understand, but you should at least devise a reasonable plan.”

You grumbled in response. "A plan? Mari, no plan can shield me from my father's fury. I rejected the Admiral's son, and he considered it crucial to hand me over for his political gain. It's all a business transaction to him.”

"What kind of father treats his own daughter as a mere business asset?”

"Apparently, mine does.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

You shook your head, standing up and beginning to pace to and fro. "The problem is, there's no escape for me. If I confront him, he might just lock me in and force me into marriage. If I flee, he would most certainly hunt me down.”

Mari shrugged. "You could always seek refuge at the Baratie. You seemed quite at ease there, and you've even made a rather special friend.”

You attempted to disregarded her suggestive wink. "It’s the first place my father would take into account, and the last thing I want is for him to create a commotion and hassle the staff there.”

"But they could defend you. The head chef used to be a pirate, and you told us how Sanji gave Nutty a good thrashing. Honestly, that guy is fit as heck.”

“Mari.”

"Hey, I'm serious! Perhaps your judgment is clouded, but mine isn't. We all noticed the chemistry between you two. Sanji is genuinely interested in you, and with his strength and agility? Girl.”

It was difficult for you to ignore the blush creeping onto your cheeks at the thought. "That's not the issue here. I don't want to burden him more than I already have.”

She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, fine. I tried. Do it your way. But remember how long it took you to finally stand up against that jerk. I'm concerned for you, you know?”

You smiled. “I know.”

"All I'm suggesting is that you should stay here for at least another week. We can brainstorm a solution together.”

You were about to nod in agreement, when a forceful knock on her front door startled both of you. You pivoted towards Mari, straining your ear to determine if the person outside had mistakenly approached the wrong house.

"Were you expecting someone?" You asked her. "Did you invite the others?”

You immediatly felt apprehensive as you noticed her tense up in the distinct way she did when something was off. The knocking continued, more insistent than before, and somehow, a part of you already foresaw what was about to occur.

"I didn't," she responded. "Stay here.”

Mari dashed to the entrance, alert and clutching her gun as she moved. You heard the sound of the door being unlocked and creaking open, followed by her cautious, distant voice and another that was painfully familiar to you.

So familiar, in fact, that it sent a chill through your veins as soon as you heard it.

“Where is she?”

Your blood ran ice cold.

"I have no idea who you're referring to, sir," Mari replied indifferently.

"There's no need for you to hide her, she's been spotted here. Step aside, immediately.”

Your father's authoritative tone was unnerving. Even in someone else's home, he had the audacity to behave like a Marine when, in truth, he was a nobody. He leveraged his high-status acquaintances and associates as his safety net, confident that he had someone to turn to in times of need. He considered himself supremely important, treating everyone else as an inferior citizen with no significant rank.

Primarily your friends.

But Mari, being the strong-willed person she was, undoubtedly didn't feel intimidated.

"Nope, that's not going to fly with me. This is my place, so I suggest you just get lost and go hassle someone else.”

You heard the sound of the gun being cocked, and at that moment, you realized you couldn't remain idle. You were deeply indebted to her, aware that she would go to extraordinary lengths to ensure your safety and happiness. But as brave and robust as she was, and as much as you valued her protection and the zeal she invested in everything she did for you, the last thing you wanted was for her to bear the burden of your father's blood on her hands and land herself in trouble.

And despite the nature of your relationship with the man, you harbored no desire to see him meet his end.

You swiftly moved towards the door, your heart hammering in your chest as you saw her standing in the entrance, effectively barricading it.

"Mari, it's okay," you stated coldly. "I'll be fine.”

Your friend scarcely turned her head, not wishing to lower her guard in the presence of your unfazed father.

"No, Y/N. This man has wrecked your life. How 'fine' can you possibly be?”

Your father laughed boisterously. "Wrecked her life? I've only ever done what's best for her. But I don’t expect someone like you to understand.”

"How is arranging your daughter's marriage to a man she hates in her best interest?!”

It might have appeared almost comical, considering how his face was reddening and puffing up. You wished for nothing more than to see him back down and entirely give up on you, but you were aware that he wouldn't leave you alone when his personal benefit was at stake.

"Mari, that's enough," you said softly. "You're incredible and I love you, but I'll handle it from here.”

You could see her hesitance, her eyes darting back and forth, barely budging from the doorway. You gently squeezed the hand that was still clutching the gun, so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

Eventually, she dropped her shoulders and stepped aside to let you pass. "If anything happens to her," she began, casting a threatening glance at your father. "I swear, high status or not, you'll regret ever being born.”

"Watch your language, you impertinent child. I would never harm my own daughter."

"Yeah, because she's a crucial pawn in your schemes, right??”

Before he could delve further into the argument, you nudged him away. "Let's just go, please.”

You whispered a quiet "thank you" to Mari, and all your friend could do was exhale a frustrated sigh as she saw the man take a firm grip of your upper arm. You knew she wasn't the type to sit still, and there was a strong possibility that she might rally the rest of the group to follow you and keep surveillance outside your family's home.

That thought alone provided some solace, because no matter how strenuous things with your father might become over time, you knew you had a reliable support network in those good-hearted people. Your only regret was that it took so many years for you to understand that you couldn't continue letting your parents make decisions for you, simply because you yearned for their acceptance, their love, and to finally receive the decent treatment you deserved.

It was painful, and undeniably hard to accept, but that was something they were incapable of doing.

Your father was visibly enraged, not uttering a word to you during the journey. The way he was practically dragging you around was predictably filled with ire, and all you could do was respond to the onlookers' stares with a reassuring smile.

Deep down, though not really that deep, you found it absolutely mortifying, disheartening, and miserable.

Upon reaching your family's house (because you could no longer consider that place your home, it never truly was), he flung the door open. "Get in," he barked, roughly shoving you inside.

You stumbled and had to steady yourself with the back of the vacant chair at the head of the table. Your mother sat to the left, with Christopher to the right and Admiral Wheeler directly opposite you.

The atmosphere was thick with tension, your mother nervously cutting her piece of bread without even casting a glance your way, while your former fiancé's neck and jaw were rigid with stress. The admiral, on the other hand, seemed more puzzled and intrigued than anything else.

Somehow, perhaps due to your escalating nervousness, the whole situation elicited a chuckle from you as you took your seat. Your father occupied the empty chair next to his wife, and Chris immediately turned to you with a swollen, patched-up nose.

Unable to contain your enjoyment, you asked mockingly, "How's your face?"

His response was utterly foreseeable.

“Go to hell, bitch.”

“Christopher Wheeler.”

The admiral's voice was surprisingly booming, startling everyone present.

"What?! She started it!”

His father grunted, lightly smacking his hand against the table and causing his glass to vibrate on it. "How old are you, 12?”

It was unusual and somewhat unexpected, as the Admiral usually maintained a neutral stance, seldom intervening unless it was to make a joke. Somehow, you got the impression that he was taking your side for the first time, but you didn't want to deceive yourself with something that could simply be a product of your imagination.

Chris lowered his gaze, muttering a curse under his breath. Your mother's hands trembled with agitation, while your father cleared his throat to commence his speech.

"Admiral, I believe my daughter owes you an apology," he declared. "I'm certain this is all just a misunderstanding and she will come to her senses.”

The man leveled his gaze at you, expectation clearly etched in his eyes, yet remarkably devoid of any irritation. “Is that so?”

You sighed, feeling positively incensed and not in the mood to hold back. "No. I am perfectly sane.”

With a growl, your father took a deep breath, making an effort to recollect his composure. Sensing his tension, your mother tenderly grazed her fingers against his wrist, doing the best she could to defuse the situation.

"She's not serious. Y/N merely panicked when your son proposed to her, nothing more.”

With a look of disgust, you shifted your attention to your father. "May I remind you that you're not in my head.”

He nonchalantly brushed you aside with a dismissive wave of his hand, anxiously awaiting the Admiral's response.

Nevertheless, the Marine kept his focus directed at you, narrowing his eyes as though wanting to perceive something that you couldn't quite put into words.

"Perhaps she should speak for herself," he suggested.

Your father was left dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open as he glanced back and forth between you and the Admiral.

A slight smile appeared on your face. "At least someone values my opinion.”

The admiral gave a nod of his head, which threw Christopher into a state of discomfort.

You had no intention of holding yourself back. "He slapped me. Are we truly going to overlook that?”

Christopher coughed, squirming in his chair like a mouse caught in a trap.

"Hold on, what? Is that the truth, son?”

“W-well…. uhm….”

Admiral Wheeler released a sigh of defeat, shrouding his face with his large hand while incessantly shaking his head.

“I was angry!”

Frankly, you expected your former fiancé to deny it, to pretend innocence and claim that you were spinning stories for self-defense, all while maintaining the facade of a noble and respectful man. However, in the end, he appeared so inconsequential and weak that it evoked pity in you. He seemed to crave his father's approval, reflecting the same longing you nurtured towards yours for a very long time.

The Admiral pronounced your father's name with such severity that it made both him and your mother wince. "I'd like to have a word with your daughter. In private.”

Your father was visibly panicking, for things were veering in a direction he hadn't predicted. "Uhm, well you see.... I don't think that's a good ide-”

“I insist.”

The Marine's face was marked by a large grin, yet it was so strained and intimidating that it managed to scare even you.

Ultimately, your parents had no choice but to comply, sinking back into their seats like two frightened children. You had never seen them appear so distraught.

"Y/N, would you mind accompanying me to the kitchen?”

The noticeably softer way in which the Admiral addressed you was disarming, yet you appreciated it all the same.

As he rose from his chair and ambled away, the silence that enveloped the main room was deafening. You promptly followed him and closed the kitchen door behind you, feeling a bit uneasy as you had never really established much familiarity with the Admiral.

Mr. Wheeler settled in comfortably, exhaling a relaxed breath and signaling for you to join him. Heeding his gesture, you took a stool next to him, the flickering fire in front of you, your gaze resting on the chicken being prepared.

At the current pace, you were sure it would end up burnt, but you found yourself lacking the energy to make a comment on it.

"Sir, I apologize for dragging you into this," you finally voiced. "It wasn't my intention to disrespect you or your son.”

He arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "Do you think I wanted to speak with you because of that?”

“That’s not it?”

"No, my dear. I am actually interested in understanding how you truly feel. It's evident that you don't wish to marry my son. Thus, I'm curious as to why you adhered to your father's directive up until this point?”

Your eyes dropped to your hands, your chest constricting with emotion. "Because I wanted to make him happy."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Even if it implies condemning yourself to a lifetime of unhappiness?”

"It's pathetic, isn't it?”

"No, Y/N. It's not.”

For some reason, his unexpected kindness brought tears to your eyes, and you found yourself suppressing a sob of despair that rattled you to your core.

"In reality, I am the one who owes you an apology.”

You sniffled, wiping your forming tears away. "Why is that?”

"For all this time, I merely stood by in silence, permitting your old man to do as he pleased. I considered him a valuable asset, given his extensive network and the wealth of information he has access to.”

You listened in silence, engulfed in the grief you had suppressed for far too long.

"I've been observing you. I assumed you would object, as your expression suggested you were not in agreement with his instructions, but then you never did.”

Your attention was fixated on the flames consuming the chicken, which was now assuming a questionable dark hue.

"Eventually, I convinced myself that I was wrong, that you willingly chose this path and had your unique way of expressing it. I never truly took your feelings into account, I remained silent, and didn’t step up to protect you.”

"You weren't obligated to look out for me, Admiral," you asserted.

"No, but you were on track to become a part of my family. Under the assumption that you would marry my son, I should have shown more consideration.”

"What changed, then?"

"You did. The night we dined at the Baratie, I noticed something in you that wasn't present before. You looked so heartbroken… so out of place. And for the first time, you snapped.”

You recollected the way your father treated you that night, so disrespectful, demanding a level of submission you were no longer willing to exhibit.

"It was rather amusing, truth be told. I witnessed you finally standing up for yourself, and your father was unable to control that.”

Your lips trembled as you managed to summon another smile for him.

"You see, when my wife passed away, I pledged to my son that I would be a good parent, to prevent him from feeling any sense of deprivation growing up," he elaborated. "But I made a grave mistake; I ended up spoiling him, granting his every wish. I even facilitated his career progression because I knew he aspired to follow in my footsteps.”

While Admiral Wheeler typically radiated confidence, strength, and composure, he now seemed like an entirely different person. The man sitting beside you was vulnerable, sensitive, and laden with flaws that made him a bit more human. Just like you.

"When I recognized that he had become self-centered and excessively prideful to the point of discomfort, it was too late. I could no longer influence his character.”

"Admiral, I may not like your son, but Christopher has some redeeming qualities too.”

"I appreciate your intention to assuage my guilt, but there's no need to defend him. Never did I teach him it was acceptable to lay a hand on a woman.”

"I wasn’t exactly nice to him. I’m not saying that I deserved it, it’s just…”

He tenderly squeezed your shoulder in a paternal way. "No, there's no excuse for what he did. And I'm extremely sorry you had to endure all of this."

There was so much you wanted to convey, but despite the immense effort to organize your thoughts, the only thing that managed to escape your lips was a simple "Okay.”

"Just tell me something, Y/N, and please answer honestly. Do you believe I can trust your father?”

His question took you by surprise, but it was clear to you that by that point, the Admiral had grown deeply doubtful of their partnership.

For a brief moment, you deliberated whether it was appropriate to reveal the truth to him. Perhaps, if this had happened just a few weeks earlier, you might have felt unable to do so.

But as the Admiral had pointed out, you were no longer the same.

"From a professional standpoint, he excels at what he does, and he holds a significant amount of knowledge that could be advantageous to you.”

“But?”

You pursed your lips together, constructing the most persuasive sentence possible to convince him.

"But I don't believe he's trustworthy. You've seen what he tried to do with me; he shows no qualms when it comes to his own interests.”

He affirmed with a tilt of his head. "Seems like I squandered my time on such a greed-driven mastermind.”

“I’m sorry.”

"Don't be. If anything, I came to this realization before it was too late.”

He pushed his chair back and stood up, switching off the fire and waving his hand to dissipate the building smoke. The chicken was undeniably overcooked and much too charred to be edible. What a waste.

“Well, this room now reeks.”

In a fit of genuine amusement, the admiral returned to your side, giving you a supportive pat on the back as he did so.

"You know," he admitted, " You've always been superior to anyone else in my circle. You exude honesty and innocence; everything you do is heartfelt, even in moments when you're not fully aware of it.”

Ironically, the praises you had wished for from your own family were now being bestowed upon you by the man they chose to be your father-in-law.

“Part of me harbored the belief that you could change my son, turn him into a better man, and succeed where I have failed,” he admitted. "But the reality is, he would only end up shattering you.”

As the smoke dissipated through the open window, it unveiled the chicken that looked defeated, drained, and consumed. A mirror image of how you had felt for too many years.

"I want to make amends, Y/N. I understand that I'm not your family, but I believe your parents aren't the best figures to look up to. Should you ever require anything, absolutely anything, don't hesitate to approach me.”

Unconsciously, a sigh of relief escaped from you. The knowledge that you had an ally, someone as influential and impartial as he was, brought a measure of consolation, however slight.

"Thank you, Admiral. Your words carry great significance for me."

Reflecting on the intimidation you experienced the first time you laid eyes on Admiral Wheeeler, you found it mildly amusing now. Your worry was unfounded, as a powerful wave of confidence swept over you, bolstered by the man’s reassuring presence.

At that point, the prospects could only get better. After all, once you've hit rock bottom, there's no direction left but upwards.

You had emerged victorious.

After a lifetime of living in fear, enduring criticism and subjugation, you had finally triumphed in your battle against your family.

Admiral Wheeler had officially cut all professional ties with your father, which resulted in the latter exploding in rage, blaming you for being a complete catastrophe and ruining his career. However, this time, regardless of the aggression he unleashed, you didn’t even flinch. You allowed him to vent while you calmly sipped your tea, also taking satisfaction in how his former partner chastised him, forcefully ordering him to leave you alone and treat you with respect.

But it didn’t stop there. The Admiral chose to demote his son effective immediately, compelling him to regain his position without any form of favoritism. Your ex-fiancé was seething, on the brink of desperation so intense that you believed he might succumb to tears any moment. He glanced at you as if you were the most repulsive creature he had ever encountered.

And you were thoroughly gratified.

With most of your belongings already stowed away in your secret stash, there wasn't much you needed to retrieve from your old room. You happily left all those incredibly uncomfortable clothes untouched, as you were mainly focused on collecting a few leftover books.

Now that the Admiral and his son had left, the house fell into silence, and you found your parents in a state of utter defeat, staring blankly at the floor as you stepped into the living room.

You observed them to gauge whether they had anything additional to contribute to their ceaseless list of insults, but it appeared they no longer had the energy to even try.

Quietly, you moved towards the door, holding your bag and wrapping your hand around the handle. But before you could open it and step outside for the very last time, you felt the need to voice your feelings, despite knowing they would likely take no effect.

“You know, things could have been different. If you had treated me like a daughter rather than a tool from the moment I was born, I could have truly added value to this family.”

Your father grunted, shaking his head to dismiss your argument.

"I understand you wanted a son, dad. I apologize for not being the one you had hoped for.”

He looked away, and your mother wrapped her arms around herself, releasing a deep sigh.

“You've enslaved me and molded me into a submissive echo of a person. I've done nothing but strive to please you, to provide what you desired. But in the end, it was never enough.”

He was about to retaliate, but this time, your mother took his hand and signaled him to restrain himself.

And so, you persisted undeterred.

"I wish I could say that I hate you, but despite how much you've hurt me, I can't deny that I still love you after everything.”

Your words appeared to deliver a potent message, akin to an arrow hitting dead center. However, you didn't let their sudden discomposure detain you any longer. 

Most likely, they were simply wounded in their pride more than anything else.

"But, as much as I'd like to erase the past, the fact remains that I won't be able to ever forgive you.”

Your mother bit her lower lip, and your father appeared to hold a similar degree of resentment. Certainly, you didn't expect him to envelop you in his arms and plead for a second chance, but the prioritization of his status over his own flesh and blood inflicted yet another painful wound to your heart.

"I wish you a good life.”

Your grip on the bag's strap tightened, and without a single backward glance, you thrust the door open to be welcomed by the evening air, with the final rays of the setting sun fading on the horizon. 

And by your friends, who were patiently leaning against the wall of your family’s house, prepared to step in at any given moment if necessity arose.

Your parents made no effort to hinder you. They neither called out your name nor insisted that you remain. 

Everything had come to an end, and you were completely freed from the chains that had kept you trapped in a lifelong nightmare from which you had finally awakened.

"What are you going to do now?" Rory asked as she sat on the couch with you. "I'm glad you're finally free from that despot, but technically, you're now homeless.”

"No, she is not. I have plenty of room here, she can stay with me,” said Mari.

You chuckled, sitting up straight. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't think I'll be sticking around in this town.”

They all froze on the spot, staring at you as if they had just seen a ghost.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Marlo asked.

"Well, at least for the immediate future. I'm not entirely sure where I'll end up eventually, but... there's something I really want to do now.”

Your friends shared a knowing look with each other, immediately emitting a satisfied, mischievous 'Ooohh.’

"Wait, guys, it's not what you think.”

"Really?" Rubio sat on the opposite side of the couch, nudging you with his large elbow. "So you're not going to tell us you're heading back to the Baratie for that chef-guy?”

You rolled your eyes. "It's not exactly like that. Well, not entirely.”

"Aha!”

"I'm serious! He's not the primary reason, I still owe them for the chaos that Christopher created.”

Mari rested her hand on her chin, pondering aloud. "You know, that's not a bad excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse!”

Marlo snickered. "Yeah, and I'm a fish-man. Come on, we know you all too well.”

At times, they could be exasperating, but without a doubt, they had a better understanding of you than you did of yourself.

"Okay, fine. I admit I do want to see him again... but there's something about the Baratie that I can't quite put into words.”

Rory's expression brightened. "Wait, you want to work there?”

"Maybe? I am contemplating it. I need to compensate them for the wasted food and damaged tableware.”

Marlo nodded. "That makes sense, but it might only be for a short time. How much do you think that stuff was worth?”

Mari started to mentally tally up. "Well, their cuisine is of high quality and not exactly the cheapest. The tableware may not be particularly expensive, but they ended up with at least two plates and two glasses to replace.”

“Let's not forget about the tablecloth to wash,” you added.

Rubio gave a nonchalant shrug. "So maybe a week or less?”

“Most likely, yes.”

You exhaled a sigh. "Guys, this is just a hypothesis. I'm not even certain they would allow me to work there at all.”

Mari shot you a wild, excited grin. “But you have an inside connection.”

"Indeed! Sanji would definitely put in a good word for you," Rory chimed in.

The enthusiastic way they encouraged you was simultaneously embarrassing and thrilling. Their backing prompted a hearty laughter from you as they all gathered around, embodying the spirit of the close-knit family they represented.

Thus, as Mari was delineating the specifics for your formal employment request, she assured you a safe passage on their ship.

The day you left your hometown to return to the Baratie, your anxiety escalated to levels you thought were only attainable when dealing with Christopher or your father. Now, as you attired yourself and mentally braced for an endeavor that could potentially lead to a total flop, managing your soaring nerves emerged as your most formidable challenge yet.

This time around, only Mari accompanied you on your journey. The others had their own obligations to attend to, and they felt it would be awkward to all turn up simply for you to hand in a job application.

In a way, they acted as if you wouldn't be returning, hugging you tightly and wishing you a marvelous time at the floating restaurant. Their optimism undeniably compensated for your own scarcity of it, and they succeeded in instilling a bit of positivity in you.

The weather was pleasant, warm with a touch of moisture in the air, but offset by the cool, revitalizing sea breeze. The ship felt notably empty with just you and Mari on board, but you didn't want to burden the others with the expectation of always being in your company.

The reality was, you were uncertain about what awaited you. Not only were you unsure about possible developments with Sanji, but there also existed a risk that Zeff might scoff at you for even nurturing ambitions of securing a role at the Baratie. What could you feasibly contribute to their team other than some dishwashing and kitchen tidying? Your home cooking skills weren't outstanding enough to be of use, and you couldn't think of any other particular talents you possessed. You had dedicated so many years striving to liberate yourself from your constrained existence that you barely had time to develop new ones.

Luckily, Mari was there to bolster your spirits and remind you that cleaning itself was indeed a valuable ability. You had a notable knack for being quick and extremely meticulous in that area, and such a trait would be a significant asset for any restaurant, irrespective of its reputation.

Being used to your parents' critique, it was difficult for you to harbor the same self-belief as your friends did, but you determined that it would be worth attempting regardless of the result.

Now, as you looked at the ocean waves softly swaying the ship, immersed in your thoughts, Mari clasped your hand in hers and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Hey, I know that embarking on a new life can be daunting, but I'm incredibly proud of you for what you've accomplished.”

You replied with a smile, returning the supportive gesture. "Whenever I think about it, I feel as though I might wake up and discover that none of it was real.”

Mari shook her head. "Believe me, Y/N, it's absolutely real. And all jokes aside, I must say that I genuinely root for you and Sanji.”

“I barely know him. And I'm not sure if I can truly take his compliments at face value.”

"Why, do you believe he's merely toying with you? Because I think he’s serious.”

You took a moment to consider your response, then declared, "No, it's not that. I can see in his eyes that he's not lying. But in the end, I'm just one amongst the multitude of customers he's come across, and you've seen how prone he is to flirting.”

Mari emitted a grunt. "Yes, but that's different. Do you want to know what I genuinely saw?”

“What did you see?”

"Sanji is handsome, and an incredibly talented cook too. But despite his good looks and talents, I think he's actually a little insecure. I could be wrong, but who knows what that guy has been through.”

Upon contemplation, you realized you didn't really know much about Sanji's past, as he hadn't divulged anything beyond his life at the Baratie, his spats with Zeff, and his dream of discovering the All Blue. You hadn't asked, but it was plausible that Mari had a point.

"What I'm saying is that the way he looked at you was authentic, and I'm not speaking from my biased perspective. You know that I can be quite straightforward when necessary. Sanji likes you, I'm sure of it... and if you ended up working there alongside him, all doubts would be dispelled.”

Mari was known for being a sharp observer, and she rarely misread someone she had the chance to assess at first sight.

"Perhaps you're right," you conceded. "But wouldn't that make things even more complex for us, being coworkers?”

"Oof. The worst-case scenario would be the two of you not getting enough privacy, but the real fun always kicks in during the night anyway.”

With laughter bubbling up, you affectionately bumped your forehead against hers. "You're such a mischief-maker.”

“And proud of it!”

While you dearly valued all your friends equally, the connection you had with Mari was distinctively special, leaning more towards a sisterly bond. From a young age, she had always been exceptionally resilient and served as an inspiration to you, someone who remained impervious to those who attempted to pull her down. She was consistently there for you when you needed her, never once refusing to stand by your side. Despite her critique of your lack of bravery against your family, she never passed harsh judgment, offering unwavering support through your tribulations.

Even at this point, she expressed concern to the extent of guaranteeing your job security, fully cognizant of the potential reality of embarking on the return journey solo.

The commute to the restaurant was seamless and serene. You seized this opportunity to delve further into your books, inscribe reflections in your journal, and engage in thoughtful discourse about your future aspirations. Working at the Baratie, irrespective of how long it may last, was a promising stride towards your total independence.

Your parents never permitted you to secure a job on your own, always orchestrating strategic meetings to ingratiate you with society's elites and political figures. The roles you were assigned were fairly mundane, often restricted to tasks such as serving drinks or filing paperwork. The earnings you made were under your family's surveillance, and squirreling away bits of Berries for personal use proved to be a laborious endeavor.

For the first time, you had the opportunity to achieve something solely for yourself, free from their meddling or overbearing presence.

However, the instant Mari pointed out the emerging silhouette of the Baratie in the distance, an immediate wave of weakness swept over your knees and a queasy sensation began to churn in your stomach.

"Y/N, take it easy! It's not a big deal, all you need to do is smile and maintain a polite attitude. That's something you've been trained to do all your life.”

"No, this feels different. I've never been so invested in a job application before.”

Mari gently rubbed your back as you hunched over the table, shrouding your face between your arms. "What if I don't measure up?”

"Enough of that talk! You'll do great, believe me. Anyone who passes on you would be making a foolish mistake."

"Do you really think so?”

"Of course I do. Now, perk up. I know you're also anxious about Sanji, but he should actually serve as a positive motivator.”

You groaned. "Please, let's not go there.”

"Alright, listen carefully," she instructed in a stern voice, compelling you to raise your head and meet her eyes. "The fact that you hesitate whenever someone brings up his name signifies that you've encountered a man who could finally shake your world. As we both know, that's a rarity.”

You acknowledged with a nod.

"Like I said, I'm confident the feelings are mutual, so that's not something you need to fret over. Just go with the flow, take things as they come.”

You sank back into your chair, a look of resignation on your face. "I'm at a loss, Mari. Everything feels so surreal to me at this moment.”

It was unfathomable how a single night at the Baratie had the power to completely upend your life;  One minute, you were betrothed to a Marine you had no interest in, succumbing to your father's will. Then, as if struck by a lightning bolt, you broke free from your cocoon, asserting your rights and discarding your shackles in an astonishingly short span of time. 

And now, you were en route back to the Baratie in pursuit of a job, all while dealing with the unsettling emotions stirred up by a man you only met twice.

Your infatuation with Sanji was undeniable. Despite your tries to brush it off, from the very first moment your eyes locked with his, you were completely smitten.

It may have been childish, likely ridiculous and possibly doomed to burst like a bubble in the wind for all you knew. Yet, despite your trepidations and uncertainties, a persistent voice inside your head urged you to heed the call of your heart.

Mari's smile widened, and she tenderly stroked your hair in a soothing gesture. "Sweetie, everything will work out. Relax, take a deep breath, and give it your all.”

And naturally, your only recourse was to gather all the strength you possessed and press on.

Upon reaching the restaurant's entrance, your feet inexplicably froze. You observed various patrons walk up to the deck and step inside, all primed to relish the most delectable fare the East Blue had to offer. Although it was still quite early and not exactly dinnertime, the enticing aroma wafting from the restaurant—a tantalizing blend of grilled meat, fish, and roasted potatoes, capped off with the unmistakable sweet scent of freshly baked cake—indicated that the Baratie staff was always well-prepared.

You had anticipated the place to be less crowded, but securing a conversation with Zeff might prove to be more challenging than you had originally thought.

"Y/N, let's go. What are you doing standing here stiff as cod?”

"Mari, I don't think I can go through with this," you proclamed, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, don't be silly. Of course, you can.”

She took your upper arm in her firm grasp, and you had no choice but to let her coax you out of your paralysis. Upon crossing the threshold, Mari instantly engaged in a dialogue with the fish-man. She pointed out a table that, to your repeated surprise, she appeared to have reserved for the forthcoming hours.

"One of these days, you'll have to let me in on your secret," you said to her.

"Pfff, I have no idea what you're talking about!”

You trailed after her animated figure through the dining room, which, although noticeably less crowded compared to the main area, was still bustling with activity. 

The table was cozy and beautifully set for two, already decked with some enticing bread. Unfortunately, your current stomach condition was far from ideal, making the thought of savoring any food quite uninviting. Nevertheless, your resolve to meet Sanji again, potentially as a part of their crew, was not shaken.

No sooner had you reached your seat than a familiar voice echoed from across the room. Its charm was instantly enthralling, causing you to whip your head around so quickly that you could almost feel your nerves stretching within.

There stood Sanji, attired in his crisp white chef's uniform, deep in conversation with a waiter near the kitchen entrance. The instant your eyes fell on his brilliant smile, the blond hair gently falling over his left eye, the defined contour of his jaw, and the rhythmic bobbing of his Adam's apple, it felt as if your chest was about to explode. You redirected your attention back to Mari, taking in a deep breath as you felt your cheeks glow with warmth.

"Mari, he's here.”

"Yeah, I can see that.”

“What should I do?”

"What are you waiting for? Go say hi!”

She was thoroughly enjoying herself, her giggles echoing at your evident agitation in Sanji's presence.

"He's on duty, I can't just go over there and distract him from his responsibilities.”

"Actually, nevermind. I think he's just spotted us.”

Your heart leaped so violently that you needed to swallow it back down. "What?! You're kidding, right?”

“I’m not joking. Don’t turn around, he’s heading our way.”

Shit shit shit shit.

What were you even supposed to say? Would he be glad to see you? How could you maintain a cool exterior when you were struggling to keep your rambling in check? What if-

“You’re back!”

Mari pursed her lips in an effort to contain a burgeoning laugh, a reaction that was completely justifiable given the circumstances.

You spun around, and the moment you locked eyes with him, your breath was completely taken away. Because, honestly, how could a man possibly be this attractive?

Regardless, you managed to summon a bright smile in response. "Sanji, hi!"

“Hey!”

The gentleness that radiated from his greeting was simply overwhelming. He didn't afford you a moment to digest the situation, as he promptly swept you into a hug that was gentle, slightly cautious, yet concurrently bold. You could catch his aroma interlaced with the scent of cigarette and the kitchen's fragrances. It was soothing, it was sweet, and it was unforeseen.

Sanji appeared genuinely thrilled to see you there, and you courageously lifted your hands to hesitantly reciprocate his embrace.

Despite the barrier of clothing, you could feel the hardness of his muscles against your palms.

"I was concerned about you. Are you okay?”

The realization that he had been thinking of you was flattering and heartwarming.

"Yes, I'm doing well.”

You appeared to lose track of your surroundings, and even Sanji seemed reluctant to draw away from you. The sound of Mari's throat-clearing brought you back to reality, urging you to create a distance from him as you regained your poise.

"Good to see you again," she addressed him.

Sanji responded with a graceful smile, reaching out for the hand she had extended for a formal shake. In a classic display of his gentlemanly manners, albeit a bit extravagant yet still charming to see, he opted to lightly kiss her knuckles instead. "The pleasure is mine, madam.”

"Oh my, where have you been hiding all this time?"

Seeing as she was looking straight at you with an almost unnoticeable wink, it was clear that she was asking that question on your behalf.

Sanji looekd bashful, eyeing you with an enchanting glint in his aquamarine eyes. It made you go weak in the knees, akin to a punch in the gut that left you breathless and light-headed.

Mari, quickly picking up on your temporary disorientation, immediately intervened to break the ice. She leaned casually against Sanji, resting her arm comfortably on his shoulder. "Could we possibly have a word with your boss? There's a matter of utmost importance that requires discussion.”

Right, you thought to yourself. Of course. Pull yourself together, Y/N!

Sanji's brows furrowed in confusion. "You want to speak with Zeff?”

Mari subtly nodded to nudge you, shifting her eyes to the side as a signal towards him.

"Oh, uhm... yes. Is he around?”

"When isn't the old man breathing down my neck?" He responded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'll get him.”

"I appreciate it, thank you.”

His smile broadened considerably, his expression reverting back to his playful, flirtatious manner. "Anything for you, beautiful.”

Why did his compliments always make you blush as red as a ripe tomato? Your cheeks felt like they were set ablaze as you watched him walk away, and your heart pounded so violently that you were half-convinced it might cause the entire establishment to tumble violently into the sea.

Gosh. Even his walk was alluring, not to mention the way he swept his left bangs away from his face.

"Mari, I swear, you're going to be the end of me.”

"In what way?”

"Just look at me. I’m a mess.”

She scoffed at your words. "Enough of that. Cheer up, I assure you there is no chance he will reject you. And by 'he', I'm referring to the head chef.”

"How can you be so sure?”

"You'll see. Just trust me on this, okay?”

Somehow, her smile suggested that she had been keeping a substantial piece of information hidden all along. "Mari, what is it that you're not telling me?”

"Ease up.”

You looked at her in disbelief, observing her casual movements as she settled into a seat and picked up a piece of bread from the basket at the center. Sighing in resignation, you mirrored her actions, settling into the chair on the opposite side of the table, but not daring to touch even a single crumb.

Each passing second felt like an eternity, the uncertainty of what the day held looming ominously over you. Your father's harsh words persistently invaded your thoughts, echoing in your ears as if he were shouting them from right behind you. "You're a failure. You won't achieve anything on your own. You are nothing without me.”

There was more to you than the image he consistently tried to project. Yet, every time you attempted to place some faith in your abilities, he always managed to pull you back down. His influence was felt even in his absence.

Minutes ticked by, too many to keep track of. Just as you were on the verge of standing up and storming out of the main door, Zeff's gruff voice resounded into the dining room.

"Well, I'll be damned!”

For a moment, you feared he was critiquing your presence before you could even speak to him, but it didn't take long for you to realize that his words weren't meant for you at all.

"Zeff!”

Your eyes expanded in surprise as you watched Mari greeting the chef with the familiarity of an old friend. Her hands comfortably encased his larger one in a warm clasp. "Thank you for making time for us. I know how busy you can be.”

Wait, what?

"Do you remember my friend, Y/N?”

To say that you were utterly shocked would be an understatement. What sort of joke had you wandered into?

"Aye. I hope you're faring well now.”

Despite your attempts to regain your voice, you could only nod in response.

"She has something to discuss with you," Mari interjected. "But it would be best to have the conversation privately, just between the two of you.”

Zeff hummed in understanding. "I suppose I can take a minute off.”

Your blood turned icy as the pieces fell into place. The effortless way Mari had secured a table when others had to wait weeks in line, her overbearing confidence about your hiring request - it all suddenly made sense given how well-acquainted she was with the person in charge.

A part of you felt betrayed, as if you had been deceived right from the start.

Mari called out your name, noticing your complexion turning pale. This time, your reaction had nothing to do with your previous anxiety, which had now completely dissipated and been replaced by a newfound determination to uncover more.

"I apologize, but... you owe me some explanations.”

Zeff placed his hands on either side of his waist, chuckling with amusement. "You didn't mention it to her, ey?”

Mari grinned like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Oopsie.”

"Don't give me an 'oopsie' now, this isn't something to be taken lightly.”

"Listen, we will talk about it later, I promise. For now, just go with Zeff and do what you need to do.”

Now, in light of your discovery, your skepticism had greatly deepened. Would he even consider hiring you based on your own merits, or were things already prearranged, again?

Not wanting your journey to have been entirely futile, you eventually resolved to engage in conversation with the head chef.

"Fine. But don't think you're off the hook so easily.”

Mari remained as calm and confident as ever, not perceiving your warning as particularly grave.

Shifting her focus back to the mustachioed man, she offered an innocent smile. "She's more feisty than she looks.”

Zeff was a far cry from the serious former pirate you remembered. Whether this change was a result of Mari's visit or merely a buoyed spirit, you couldn't really tell.

"I'll keep that in mind," He said with a hearty chuckle. “Come on, this way.”

As he pivoted to guide you to a more secluded area, Mari offered a gentle shove on your back and flashed two thumbs up. Despite her encouragement, uncertainty lingered in you as you quietly followed the the man with the pegged leg towards the known environment of his office.

The chef settled comfortably into the chair behind his desk, courteously offering the one in front of him for you. As you sat down, you played with your fingers, unsure about how to initiate the dialogue.

Eventually, you posed the most straightforward question that came to mind.

"May I inquire about how you know my friend, sir?”

Zeff grasped his long white hat, setting it delicately on the table and revealing his tousled blond short hair. "Ah, that's quite a story that she might want to share with you herself.”

You arched an eyebrow with no intention of backing down, anticipating further explanation.

He sighed deeply, then confessed, "I knew her father, a long time ago.”

From your recollections, the man had met a tragic end in a maritime accident when Mari was but a child, the specifics of which she had never wished to divulge. By the time you first encountered her, he was already gone. She consistently spoke of him as a hero she aimed to emulate - a figure of strong morality and impressive fighting prowess.

It wasn’t hard for you to grasp the truth behind what she hadn't disclosed.

Delving deeper into it, you asked, "He was a pirate, wasn’t he?"

“….Aye.”

Considering her personality and her typical approach to handling things, it indeed provided a believable explanation.

And then, you could see a wave of melancholy wash over Zeff's features.

"She's a good kid," he continued. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree”

Regrettably, you couldn't entirely concur with that sentiment. "Sometimes it does, but that's a different story.”

Zeff watched you with intense scrutiny, observing as you lowered and shook your head in an attempt to dispel unwanted memories.

"Did you want to ask me something?”

Tightening your grip on your knees, you confirmed. “I do, sir.”

“Go on, then.”

It seemed that Mari hadn't actually revealed your intentions to the chef. Either that, or he was exceptionally good at concealing it.

"Firstly, I wanted to sincerely apologize again for the actions of my ex-fiancé during our last visit.”

"Nah, you shouldn't be the one apologizing," he emphasized.

"I accompanied him here, so it falls on me. I wanted to ask if there's any way I could make amends for the ruined food and damages.”

Zeff pondered your question, stroking the top of his big mustache. “What do you have in mind?”

You swallowed your nervousness, doing your best to articulate a suitable proposal without stumbling over your words.

"Is there any possibility that I could.... work here?”

Just as anticipated, a look of surprise slightly enlarged his eyes. "You want to work in my restaurant?”

"For as long as you deem appropriate. I don't have much to offer, but I could... maybe undertake cleaning duties? Wash the dishes? Things like that. I don’t require any compensation.”

When he persisted in his silence, you were consumed with apprehension that he might belittle you. What could a girl like you, primarily groomed to appear attractive and agreeable to affluent men, possibly contribute to a restaurant like his?

"I understand that I'm not exactly an ideal candidate. My cooking skills are quite basic, and I don't have any standout abilities that would make me a valuable addition to your team.”

He paid careful attention, noting how your eyes sparkled with unwavering conviction.

"But I'm a quick learner, and I'm really skilled at polishing things.”

"Why here? Why the Baratie?”

His interest was sincere, and it was highly probable that Zeff was trying to understand you and your motivations.

“If you want to work for me because of what that worthless excuse of a man did, don't bother.”

How could you possibly explain to him the depth of your interest, proving that it extended way beyond merely settling a debt?

As per Mari's advice, the most advantageous way to secure the job was to communicate your thoughts openly and honestly. Your brightest prospect of success stemmed from utilizing your innate strengths and maintaining your true self.

You had spent your entire life in pretense, masquerading as someone you never wanted to become.

"Sir, may I speak frankly?”

“Please do.”

And surely, Zeff was not a man to be readily influenced by insincere proclamations.

"I genuinely like it here. I spent an entire evening in your kitchen, and I was impressed by the passion and teamwork of your employees," you expressed. "From a young age, I was instructed to be assertive in all aspects of my life, all in the pursuit of finding a suitable husband who could provide political advantages for my parents.”

A large, unpleasant lump was developing in your throat, but you chose to disregard it.

“I had no voice in any decision, not once was I allowed to choose my own path. I was constantly reminded that I held no value on my own, and unfortunately, I started to believe it.”

The man’s gaze softened and his shoulders eased.

"For once, I want to choose for myself, to prove that I am more than what they led me to convince myself of.”

"Prove to whom, to them?”

“To myself.”

Suddenly, you felt a surge of tenacity that you never thought you could summon, realizing you had nothing left to lose.

"I'm not a chef, nor am I an experienced waitress. All I'm asking for is a chance, without anyone else dictate who I am.”

A silence descended between you two. Zeff's expression transformed to one of seriousness and focus, his eyes narrowing. The fact that he didn't dismiss you outright and was prepared to pause his work to listen was a hopeful sign. However, the impact of your words was still uncertain.

Eventually, he reacted with a pleased "hah!", evidently valuing your honest admission.

“Just so we’re clear,” he started, “Working here won’t be easy.”

"I'm not expecting it to be, sir.”

"We rise early, and the kitchen needs to be operational at all times.”

“Naturally.”

You were not one to oversleep or shirk your responsibilities anyway.

"It can turn into a real mess, with many dishes and pans to scrub.”

"I'm accustomed to putting a lot of elbow grease.”

The more you answered, the more satisfied he seemed. He sported a friendly and gentle smile, complemented by his long, twisted mustache.

"If you work, you get paid. You don’t owe me anything. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

His intentions were unequivocally transparent, leaving no margin for error. However, despite the apparent success of your request, your mind was struggling to process it.

“And just another thing,” he uttered. “Whatever is happening between you and the Little Eggplant, it needs to stay out of my kitchen.”

Though he didn't seem noticeably irritated, the mere mention of Sanji was enough to instantly set you on edge.

"Oh... no, I don't.... we... I mean, there’s nothing going on.”

With a subtle smirk, Zeff let out a muffled chuckle before picking up his hat and resettling it on his head. "You start tomorrow morning, be ready at dawn. ”

You stared at him, mouth wide open in sheer incredulity, letting his words sink in. “Wait, that’s it?”

"I thought you wanted the job.”

"I do! It's just... I wasn't expecting you would accept.”

Zeff took a deep breath and released it with a prolonged exhalation. “You are asking me, and I don’t see any compelling reason to decline.”

"You… you’re not doing this because of Mari, right?”

“If you’re under the impression that I would hire you based on someone else’s endorsement, you are mistaken.”

You were at a loss for words to express your feelings. Relief, joy, and excitement all coursed through you simultaneously.

"I see something in you. They may have led you to believe otherwise, but whoever fed you that crap was blinded by their ignorance.”

"I... thank you, sir.”

Your parents overlooked your value despite your numerous attempts to prove yourself. How could he recognize it so effortlessly, just through that brief narrative of your life?

From everything Sanji had shared with you about the head chef, you had anticipated him to be somewhat difficult to engage with. In reality, he surpassed all your expectations, proving to be a man of depth and remarkable insight.

As Zeff rose, steadying himself on his foot and peg, you followed his lead. The walk to the dining room had an unreal quality, as if you were moving within a bubble, wrestling with something that verged on being a product of your imagination.

Yet, it was as real as it could possibly be.

Zeff offered one last piece of advice, pledging to formally introduce you to the staff by day's end. Mari, in response, immediately wrapped her arms around you, celebrating your success and assuring her old friend that he would never regret bringing you on board.

As the chef left to return to his responsibilities, Sanji reappeared, throwing inquisitive glances your way as Mari energetically shook your hands, her fingers entwined with yours. Part of you pondered if it would be best to keep it a secret until the last possible moment, but you could sense his curiosity gnawing at him.

Considering the fact that you had unexpectedly returned only to request a meeting with his boss, you couldn't really find fault with it.

With a single nod of her head, your friend granted you the honor of announcing the news, stepping aside and moving back to the table. You felt unready and unsure of his potential reaction. The thought of him being disappointed, possibly even losing interest in you, was creating a distressing knot in your stomach.

Regardless, there was no turning back for you, and you were committed to see it through to the end.

"Well, you see, starting from tomorrow, we're going to be coworkers.”

There it was, you had dropped the bombshell right in front of him. Your breath hitched again as you waited, watching his facial expression transform from confusion, to surprise, and then to quiet contemplation. After that initial moment of astonishment, his bright and loving smile re-emerged.

"Now I have an additional reason to fulfill my duty. Welcome to the Baratie, Y/N.”

Needless to say, the urge to hug him once more was irresistible. Your arms encircled his neck as you rose on your toes. It was a spontaneous act, carried out without much deliberation, fueled by your escalating emotions.

And your heart skipped a beat when he returned the gesture, tenderly supporting your back and soothingly caressing it with his hands.

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

#one piece liveaction #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #sanji x reader #opla fanfiction

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Currently about to finish Chapter 16 for "Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings" and Chapter 4 for "Why The Caged Bird Sings".

I will start working on the next chapter for "A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea" as soon as I'm done with these two!

#update #fanfictions

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

More Sandman S2 Pics

Now, that’s an unholy amount of outdoor lighting, so we’re definitely talking a scene that needs a well-lit outside of a building.

Source

So let’s put it all together:

They only filmed for a few hours (between 2pm and 1am), which pretty much excludes major changes to the outside set-up, which brings us to:

We have snow. Tons of it, not just a tiny scattering

The architecture is Saracenic with onion domes

There’s a balcony that’s lit like a Christmas tree

Murphy wears his long coat he only wears in the Dreaming

The inside of the Royal Pavilion would in theory make for a very good banquet hall, BUT we are on a very, very tight schedule

If you’ve ever done any film acting, you know how painfully long even the shortest scenes are to set up and shoot. While I would love to think they did any of the banquet scenes (esp. the family dinner), I think that won’t have happened, simply because they were only there for less than 12 hours and seemed to have focused on the outside during a lot of that time. But you can certainly take a few inside shots and do the rest in a studio later.

The balcony is useable for both Season of Mists and Brief Lives. Again, the time question comes into play.

And why the snow? That hints very strongly at either The Hunt or A Game of You, although I think the latter makes less sense because of the seeming importance of the building (there is none in that scene in AGoY that remotely looks like it, plus Morpheus isn’t in that bit).

I am slightly confused at this point because there are so many options, so I’m thinking:

Outside for The Hunt because of the snow and the onion domes

Balcony potentially for either SoM or Brief Lives, although I’m leaning strongly towards the former at this stage (did anyone see Kirby or know where she is right now?)

If there’s any time left, they’re going to use the inside for some ambient shots for some banquet scene, but they’ll neither do the full family dinner nor any of the “key of hell” stuff because it would take far longer than a few hours to do all of the inside and outside shots. The schedule is simply too tight.

Also putting the link to the poll back in for the other shots and your vote, because we’re back on our guessing game bullshit and worse than ever 🤣:

So what does everyone think?

#the sandman #the sandman season 2 #I can't freaking wait

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

I love him omg.... 🥺

BTS from season 2 🤤☺️☺️

#the sandman #the sandman season 2 #dream of the endless #the sandman morpheus #I love this character so much ugh #and Tom is just amazing

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

That moment when you find a charm with your fanfic's title ♥

#random #the sandman fanfic

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

The second half to my recent Astarion X Tav fic. I hope you all enjoy!!!

“So she thoroughly taught him that one cannot take pleasure without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every glance, every last bit of the body has its secret, which brings happiness to the person who knows how to wake it. She taught him that after a celebration of love the lovers should not part without admiring each other, without being conquered or having conquered, so that neither is bleak or glutted or has the bad feeling of being used or misused.”

― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

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

Read on AO3.

Dracule Mihawk, a man shrouded in mystery, had an allure that was almost impossible to ignore, even with scant knowledge about him. As fate would have it, this powerful attraction was reciprocated.

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut!

When you offered that invitation to Dracule Mihawk, your intentions were unclear even to yourself. His heroic deed of saving you from a nearly unavoidable fatality seemed to instinctively provoke this response, and the prospect of an early departure was far from desirable, given the considerable time it took you to expunge his presence from your thoughts.

But now, as he stepped onto your ship and entered your private quarters—a place where no other man had previously been allowed—your heart refused to stay silent. The confined space of your vessel, where the bar area was placed in close proximity to your bed with only a modest couch acting as a divider, certainly did not help the situation.

Fortunately, you had a separate room dedicated to personal hygiene, discreetly placed on the opposite side and hidden behind a modest door. Thus, you allowed him to make himself comfortable, promptly excusing yourself to retreat into the washroom.

You hastily freshened up to restore your appearance after the strenuous battle, fixing your makeup and swiftly changing into a new attire. You didn't want to come across as overly provocative, but as a woman, you felt compelled to look decent in his commanding presence. You opted for a pair of velvety shorts, fastened with a broad belt that featured a striking golden buckle. You also picked a soft, high-quality leather top, adorned with a tasteful set of front laces that ensured it clung flatteringly to your torso. You chose, however, to completely abandon any form of footwear, allowing your legs and feet to be entirely unencumbered.

While looking good was of utter importance, you also needed to feel comfortable in your own space. Perhaps it was a bit too much considering you had a special guest, but you always valued presenting your authentic self, regardless of the occasion.

Or maybe, unbeknownst to you, Mihawk's calming aura instilled such a sense of ease that any need for formality was discarded. This notion struck you as profoundly ironic, especially considering that his initial task was to pursue and capture you.

Or worse.

As you exited the room, your bare feet meeting the cool wooden planks, your eyes locked with his golden stare. He was seated on the couch, legs crossed elegantly with his hands resting on his knees. His sword, tall enough to be mistaken for a menacing figure, was strategically placed beside the couch. Despite the indoor setting, his hat remained firmly on his head.

He was silent, scrutinizing you with an intense gaze. Attempting to maintain your composure, you sauntered over to the counter and fetched a pair of glasses.

With an air of nonchalance, you remarked, "You strike me as the wine type. Do you like it?”

"Wine is fine," he responded, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of indifference.

You acknowledged his response, turning to uncork one of the most exquisite wines procured in the East Blue. As you proceeded to pour the liquid, his expression immediatly altered, his eyes catching a glimpse of the scars on your back, stretching across your right shoulder from under your sleeveless top.

"What is that?"

He shattered the silence with a question that momentarily eluded your understanding. You swiveled your head around to face him, registering how his focus had drifted to your back. It didn't take long for you to discern what had suddenly ensnared his interest.

You answered with a casual shrug, filling both your glasses. "A souvenir from the Admiral I took down.”

Would he even have the inclination to learn about it? Did you harbor the bravery to revisit a nightmarish past you had strenuously endeavored to expunge from your memory?

Mihawk maintained his silence, which eventually led you to decide to lay it all out. "He took pleasure in using my back as his personal canvas to inflict and inscribe his marks.”

The echo of the man's laugh still rang in your ears, his sadistic, malevolent grin imprinted in your mind.

"Everything started with a mere piece of bread. I was starving and my timing was off. They assumed I was a pirate, never bothering to reason with me or listen to my side of the story.”

You made your way back to the couch, extending his glass for him to accept. His hawk-like eyes were transfixed on your form, not blinking once. Gradually, Mihawk accepted the offered wine, his fingers lightly grazing yours in the process.

You resumed your narration, settling down on the plush cushions next to him. "They always label pirates as the scum of the earth, the vilest breed of men alive. I've encountered my fair share of despicable ones, that's a fact, but the Marines can surpass them all in their depravity.”

Mihawk sipped his drink, his focus drifting away as he seemed to be engrossed in deep thought.

"It's not your identity that defines you. It's your actions, your choices. Deeds can resonate more powerfully than words.”

He swallowed the ruby-red, invigorating liquid, and you couldn't help but be captivated by the movement of his Adam's Apple.

"I apologize if I'm boring you," you confessed, smiling. "But tell me something; is your presence here really just a mere coincidence?”

Finally, as he set his glass down, holding it just above his lap, he hummed in response. "I have no interest in chasing after you.”

"Ouch," you answered playfully. "That's unfortunate. I was under the impression I was starting to grow on you.”

The way his eyes shifted back to you from the side, stern yet somehow comical, elicited a gentle chuckle from you.

"Regardless of what brought you here, it turned out to be beneficial for me, so... thank you.”

You changed your position, leaning your back against the couch and bringing the rim of the cold glass to your lips. As you moved, your thigh brushed against his, sparking a fleeting touch that sent a flutter of butterflies to your stomach.

Your hand softly traced your belly, where a few twinges of pain from the kick you received were still lingering. Mihawk appeared to notice this, his eyes falling on your fingers as they curled around the soft fabric of your top.

"I wonder, who is Dracule Mihawk, truly?" You pondered aloud. "You are not the subservient figure everyone portrays when they talk about you Warlords, are you?”

"I am certainly not,” he said with a grimace.

You appreciated the concise and earnest responses he offered when he was perfectly capable of delivering more elaborate speeches out of the blue. He was one-of-a-kind, enigmatic, and undoubtedly a man of many talents.

Once, you were filled with fear at the mere thought of him. Now, all you felt was a pulsing curiosity and a magnetic attraction.

"No, of course. I can see that.”

If only you could probe deeper, uncover more about this formidable man who had the power to erase your existence with the slightest touch.

"What held you back when you first saw me?" You questioned him. "I wasn't even aware of you then. You could have easily trapped me, vanquished me as you were expected to do.”

"Like I mentioned, I wanted to verify for myself if the reputation that preceded you was warranted.”

"Yes, and you also told me that you can become particularly laidback when you don't have anything interesting to keep yourself occupied with.”

He gave an almost imperceptible shrug, raising the glass back to his lips for another sip.

"Was that all there was to it? Boredom? Did you spare my life simply because there would be nothing to gain from my death?”

Was there something more underlying his benevolence?

"Why are you interested in knowing?”

"Because I don't get it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, Mihawk. I do.”

He didn't react, merely looking at you while keeping a calm and elegant posture on the couch. He had the aura of a refined Lord from affluent lands, akin to a king who carried his throne with him wherever he went.

"I left my hometown with the aspiration of finding a better life, oblivious to what I could find. All I was met with was prejudice, cruelty, violence, and greed.”

He listened in silence, gently swirling the half-empty glass in his hand.

"I genuinely thought you were no different, that you would kill me. But not only did you spare my life once, you literally saved my neck today.”

You leaned in, tilting your head to lock gazes with him more intensely. “I wasn't your responsibility, you could have left me there.”

His eyes dropped momentarily, only to return to your face with renewed determination.

"I simply chose not to," he responded.

No explanation or reasoning. His statement just stood as an unquestionable fact.

At that, you smiled. "Like I said, actions can define us better than words will ever do. You might be a Warlord of the sea, and the most formidable swordsman in the world. But more than anything, you're a good man.”

"A good man, you say?”

“Yes.”

"Don't be naive. I operate by my own rules, at my own pace. I can remove anyone without needing a particular reason, and I won't hesitate to topple those who dare to oppose me.”

Clearly, his aim was to sound intimidating and threatening. Yet, for some reason, his efforts didn't seem to impact you as he intended.

"Obviously," you retorted, as if his words were the most normal thing to hear. "But here's the thing; I held my knife to your throat, and yet, here I stand.”

His eyebrows arched as he regarded you with a mix of playfulness and mockery. "Did you believe that would frighten me away?”

"Certainly not. My point is that you didn't even make an attempt to disarm me.”

"So?”

You sighed. "So, we're back to the beginning. You could have overpowered me in a multitude of ways, left me to my fate, but for some inexplicable reason, you decided to help me.”

He hardly even blinked.

"You claimed I was intriguing, yet I mean nothing to you. I don't even pose a substantial challenge in battle.”

"That is your perspective.”

"No, it's an undeniable truth.”

"You were battling against a whole crew of men eager to claim your head.”

"And they would have succeeded if it weren't for your intervention. What do you think would happen if, for some reason, I found myself in a fight against you?”

He rolled his eyes. "All I'm hearing is pointless prattle.”

He definitely had a knack for being unnerving as well.

"What enjoyment could you possibly derive from keeping me alive?”

For the first time, you saw him genuinely struggle, as he parted his lips to speak, but halted himself mid-sentence. He pondered over it, searching for the appropriate explanation to provide.

When he finally did, you felt your breath hitch in your throat due to the spark you saw in his golden irises.

"I'm intrigued to see where your resilience might take you.”

You blinked a few times, feeling the glass almost slip from your grasp. "Are you implying that it would be a waste if I were to die?”

"This world could use a bit of a shake-up.”

The Warlord was artfully sidestepping your questions, not providing the answers you seeked but instead offering new perspectives on his intentions. As the strongest swordsman with no real competitor capable of giving him a worthy challenge, he had no other ambition left to chase after. Was he longing for a new type of world, reformed with more deserving and honorable people like yourself?

Your lips stretched into an even wider smile as you quietly brought the remaining drops of your wine to them.

He mirrored your action, draining his glass without breaking the eye contact, before setting it on the coffee table in front of him and rising to his feet.

From your seated position, he appeared incredibly towering and commanding.

"You ought to leave this town," he suggested, reaching for his sword. "Before someone else decides to come after you again.”

The color almost washed out from your face as you realized that he was about to depart. You knew it was irrational, preposterous, and somewhat immature, but you weren't ready for him to leave just yet.

Perhaps it was the wine, coupled with the earlier Daiquiri, clouding your judgment and bringing forth your most illogical thoughts. But for a fleeting moment, you were tempted to grasp his coat, draw him back down, and ask him to stay for a little while longer.

But you didn't.

"Oh... uh, yes. I should indeed.”

You also rose from the couch, moving towards the counter, intent on procuring more wine to drink. Without even a second thought, you poured some into your glass, watching as the crimson liquid flowed out, reminiscent of the blood that once seeped from your now healed wounds.

"It's ironic, you know," you voiced out, unable to suppress your churning thoughts.

"What is?" He asked indifferently.

You weren't supposed to reveal it, you shouldn't have let the alcohol amplify your instincts.

You didn't bother to turn around, as your mind became chaotic the moment you let it all spill out for him to hear. "There was a time when I wanted to just rid myself of you. But now, I almost wish you didn't have to go.”

As much as you tried to find a reasonable explanation, you couldn't decipher what it was about Mihawk that had you so enthralled. You had only shared a few words with the man; he was a solitary figure with an apparent disinterest in anything or anyone around him, unless it involved a good fight. He was sent by the Marines to hunt you down, only to observe you and then let you be. He saved your life of his own volition, stating that he wanted to see where your path would lead.

He was a stranger, someone you might not encounter again anytime soon.

And somehow, irrespective of the influence of alcohol, you found yourself needing him.

Given that Mihawk had noticeably halted in his tracks, you anticipated him either distancing himself with a harsh retort or simply walking away, disregarding your partially inebriated state completely.

However, he didn't even budge, boring holes into your back with his hawk-like, fiery scrutiny.

You spun around, leaning against the counter and bringing the glass to your lips once more. "Stay safe out there, Warlord.”

How foolish did that sound? If there was anyone who didn't need to worry about a single thing, it was Mihawk. You had heard tales of how he could even slice a bullet in half when someone attempted to shoot him unawares.

And yet, a part of you still felt compelled to worry about him, to wish him safe travels, free from any potential hazards.

Silly, that's what you were. So utterly, ridiculously silly.

However, events took such an unforeseen twist that you didn't even know how to process it. Silently, he returned the sword to its original position next to the couch, before taking a few strides in your direction. He halted right in front of you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He simply inspected your puzzled face, quiet and thoughtful, while you could only return the stare with a questioning expression.

The moment he reached for his hat, your heart rate quickened, pounding so heavily that you could hear it in your ears. For the first time, he removed the accessory, liberating his head from its covering, and placed it on the counter right beside you. You observed his forehead, no longer in shadow, and his eyes seemed even brighter and more golden. The dark roots of his hair were impeccably combed and aligned, with his soft locks following the curve of his head and ending at his nape.

Unable to hold back, you let your eyes fall directly onto his lips. They were perfectly sculpted, the upper lip creating a sinuous curve, looking absolutely enticing and positively delectable.

He continued, slowly taking hold of your glass and removing it from your hands, only to gently place it on the other side of the bar counter. You were left speechless, bewildered, and at a loss for words. Your hands lingered in the air, now empty.

You wanted to ask him why he was standing so close and suddenly looking as if he wanted to devour you. You wanted to understand what was going through his mind, but you couldn't even construct a coherent sentence because he didn't give you the chance to. His fingers brushed along the back of your neck, sliding upward, and gathering a handful of your hair in his fist. He wasn't gripping you particularly hard, but his hold was firm enough that your head was gently tilted backward. Your pupils dilated, and his followed suit. He wasn't causing you any pain, not even the slightest bit... but you could sense the roughness in his actions.

“You do enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”

His voice was low and alluring, his hot breath on your skin exhilarating.

You smirked, swallowing your nervousness. "What can I say? Water is for the weak.”

He hummed in his typical manner, seemingly approving of your comeback.

"I should warn you, I'm not the gentle type.”

You laughed, your breath slightly shaky. "Is that supposed to scare me off?”

Instinctively, your hands found solace around the edges of his coat, drawing him closer against you.

His grip on your hair slackened, but he kept you securely in place. "If it did, I would be disappointed. As long as you understand what to brace yourself for.”

"Why are you still talking?”

The corners of his lips tilted upward, so subtly that it could easily go unnoticed. It was a faint grin that made your knees feel weak.

“Not a worthy challenge, hey?”

In that moment, you understood he was referencing your earlier statement. You might have been utterly insignificant against him on the battlefield, but he was clearly viewing you as a great adversary throughout your intimate banter.

Somehow, that provided a significant boost to your confidence.

You tightened your grip on his coat, breathing against his lips, your own barely brushing his chin, eagerly anticipating his next move. "Still talking. Come on, you can do better than that.”

It didn't take long for him to finally relinquish his own inhibitions. Without any warning, he crashed his lips against yours, initiating what you could only describe as the most intense, sexiest, and passionate kiss a man had ever bestowed upon you. His mouth was so forceful and quick that you could barely keep pace; his tongue immediately found yours and initiated a sensual dance.

You didn't want to be left behind. Pushing aside the slight haze clouding your mind due to the wine, which you could also taste on his lips, you grasped the lapels of his coat and reciprocated the kiss with equal intensity and a mounting desperation. His fingers completely let go of your hair, only to fan out over your nape, enveloping it in his grip. His mustache and beard were tickling your face, but you found it absolutely enchanting.

Only when you felt the need to breathe again did he detach from you with a wet pop sound, immediately descending to your neck to plant open-mouthed kisses on its sensitive nerves.

You felt his touch on the front of your top, as his middle and forefinger started to tug at the laces, undoing the main knot slowly but with evident eagerness. He wasn't joking when he said you shouldn't expect the gentle type, as he preferred to get straight to the point without much preamble. Given his typically apathetic demeanor, you were taken aback to see him so engrossed in the situation, let alone in you. Never for a moment did you think he could view you in such a manner, and whether he was doing it now in response to your provocation, or because of a deeper interest that began well before that day, you weren't sure.

You surmised that he needed to let go from time to time to release his tension. After all, he was still a man.

And you were completely on board for it.

His lips were impatient, almost hungrily latching onto the skin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your eyes rolled back into your head, and a soft moan escaped from your lips, which only spurred him on to touch you with even more force.

It was different, and it was new. But he wasn't causing you any pain, and this rougher side of him was rather enticing.

He lifted your top, the fabric brushing along your stomach, up to your breasts and over your chest. You silently complied, raising your arms and allowing him to remove the garment, which ended up tossed on the floor. His eyes were mesmerizing, and you couldn't look away.

Now, with only a thin bra as your shield, a surge of self-consciousness began to creep in. Despite this, you stood your ground, refusing to let it hinder you. Tentatively, you slid your hands along his arms, daring to rest your fingertips on his collarbones. He waited, motionless, anticipating more.

Your exploration continued, descending to his pectorals and lightly brushing the cold metal of his golden cross. Then, you moved back upwards, sliding your hands under his coat, gently pushing it off his shoulders to remove it. His skin was silky smooth and warm, it made your mouth water from your caresses alone. The coat dropped next to your shirt, and without it, he suddenly seemed incredibly bare despite still wearing his trousers and boots.

It was quite amusing to see. His coat was like a suit of armor, a cape, protecting him from all that was undesirable. And now, he stood there, a figure of strength yet imbued with vulnerability, prepared to surrender himself to you.

Once more, blinded by your desire for him, you fervently locked your lips with his. Your arms encircled his neck, fingers entwining with the strands of his hair. The discomfort of your back against the counter urged you to move away from it, unintentionally pressing your breasts against his chest in the process.

"Bed," you murmured amidst the flurry of kisses, just before you leapt into his lap, wrapping your legs securely around his waist.

It was a bold move, one that he welcomed with a firm grip and squeeze of your thighs. With careful steps to avoid tripping over the table and couch, Mihawk made his way to the mattress, unceremoniously hurling you onto it. You bounced as he climbed up, encasing you between his legs on either side of your body. His penetrating stare from above served as a vivid reminder of who was truly in command, eliciting a smirk of satisfaction from you.

His right hand gravitated towards the cross pendant on his chest, while his left one deftly located the knot of the black lace that held it around his neck. He loosened it, only to take off the golden cap of the cross, revealing a concealed small knife within it.

Admittedly, you were decidedly perplexed and anxious, observing him gaze down at you with the dagger held delicately between his fingers. However, the moment he guided the blade to your chest, positioned precisely above the center of your bra, his intentions became clear.

The instant he slid the knife under the band connecting the cups of your bra, you stopped him by seizing his wrist.

"Don't you dare," you warned menacingly. "It has a clasp, you know.”

The way he arched an eyebrow at you spoke volumes, subtly hinting that he had no intention of wasting his time with it.

With a frustrated groan, you arched your upper body, managing to reach the clasp yourself and unfastening it within mere seconds. "I swear, men can be so lazy at times.”

As you allowed the straps to slide off your shoulders, maintaining the cups in place, Mihawk reassembled the cross and casually placed it on the nightstand next to your bed. He immediately locked his mouth with yours, quickly removing your bra and haphazardly tossing it into the room, his hands simultaneously finding its place on your waist.

You could feel his palms smoothly traversing your sides and making their way up your spine, but the moment his fingertips grazed over some particularly sensitive scars, you jolted upward, and a muffled gasp slipped past your lips.

He paused, his actions coming to a standstill as he studied you. A sudden rush of embarrassment overtook you, prompting you to cast your eyes downward.

"Sorry about that," you apologized, your voice faint and almost inaudible.

You feared that he might decide to leave, irked or repelled by the unsightly network of scars that was ingrained into your skin, resembling an irregular spiderweb. You instinctively guarded your body, precariously perched on the edge of the mattress, awkwardly biting your tongue.

His tone was firm, authoritative, yet unexpectedly gentle when he spoke to you. "Show me.”

Before you had the opportunity to look at him again, he hastily guided you to rotate, nudging you to sit facing away from him. You found yourself frozen, rendered mute, with your arms protectively crossed over your chest as he inspected your back. He observed every nuance, carefully tracing the outlines of your scars with his index and middle finger.

When your voice finally found its way back, you released your pent-up thoughts. "It's not a pleasant sight, I know.”

"I've seen worse,” he stated.

He sounded unperturbed, casual, as if what he was observing was nothing to fuss over.

You smiled. "And done worse?”

"That might be true as well.”

Somehow, as macabre as the conversation was, it managed to lighten the mood, eliciting a brief chuckle from you.

“Are you scared of me?”

But then, his question took you by surprise. "No. Why?”

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

And you realized that he was right, as your entire body quivered under his soft touch. Despite his inherent deadly nature, it felt incredibly soothing to have him attentively handle the scars you so deeply despised.

It was nothing he hadn't seen before. As a swordsman, he had undoubtedly came across countless injured and fallen bodies in all sorts of gruesome conditions. Your scars meant nothing to him, and yet, he behaved as someone who genuinely felt a need to reassure you about them.

In a way, you got the impression that he was attempting to make you feel proud of the marks you bore.

"I'm not afraid, Mihawk. Not of you.”

Should you have been, really?

"And right now... this feels nice.”

His fingers decelerated their movement, hovering over the lengthy scar that trailed along the back of your shoulders. He tuned into your breathing, shaky and rapid, using it as an indication for his subsequent moves.

He drew you closer, reaching out to guide your arms away from your chest, granting him a better view. The cool cabin air heightened the growing excitement stirring in you, causing your nipples to stiffen instantly. Releasing your wrists, his roughened palms smoothly traveled along your stomach, eventually encircling your breasts, now fully exposed. Holding their soft flesh and lifting them, his thumbs traced tantalizing circles around the tips, making you involuntarily lean onto his elbows for support.

You let your head find comfort on his shoulder, the slight prickling sensation of his beard grazing your cheek. He was relentless, teasing you with his enticing motions, awaiting the moment when you would unravel under his skilled touch. Already, you were a picture of disarray, moaning and squirming within his hold.

Both of you rose to your knees for better positioning, and as he continued to stimulate your body, you could increasingly feel his undeniable hardness pressing against you through his trousers. You grappled to maintain your balance, his thumbs quickening their pace on your nipples, while his hips executed synchronized grinding circles with yours.

To say he was driving you wild would be an understatement. One of his hands left your chest to venture lower, this time, making a beeline for your belt buckle. He quickly managed to undo it, slipping inside your undergarments, and reaching his intended destination.

The moan that escaped you was quite unabashed, but there was little you could do when his fingers discovered your clitoris, skillfully stroking it up and down. Any other man, upon getting to this point, would stop before you could reach your climax, purely to extend your pleasure and ensure that you wouldn't finish before them. Mihawk, however, was not just any man, and judging by the escalating pace of his fingers, it was clear that he had absolutely no intention of severing the physical connection.

He was typically impatient and easily bored, evidently searching for some entertaining diversion to pass the time. Edging you didn't appear to be his goal, and the moment you could sense your impending gratification, trembling and writhing uncontrollably, he applied even more pressure against you. You could feel your clit throbbing, on the brink of release at any moment. Mihawk remained quiet, not making a single sound, his breaths echoing in your ear through his nose.

It was intensely heated, unbearably seductive.

As your legs parted, he took advantage of the moment to gather some of your wetness and employ it to enhance the friction. Your nails dug into the flesh of his arms, yet he remained unfazed and continued. Eventually, he began to move in sync with you, navigating to your entrance and tenderly caressing your clit with the heel of his hand.

The ease with which he curled those digits inside and promptly found your most sensitive area was astounding. He targeted it directly, moving in and out, making a constant beckoning gesture with his fingers. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your voice growing progressively louder, but you found it beyond your control to rein it in.

Your orgasm crashed onto you, exploding from your core like a lightning strike. You jolted and moaned, gasping for breath, as the bed emitted creaks beneath you. He didn't retreat, instead, he slowed his pace but never fully disengaged. Only when he was certain you had no more to offer, did he carefully remove his fingers, affording you the opportunity to regain your lucidity.

It took you a moment to gather yourself, leaning over the mattress and collapsing onto it.

"Well," you declared. "You certainly know what you're doing.”

"Why, did you believe me to be completely inept?"

"Not at all. It's just... you really don't dawdle, do you?”

As you rolled onto your back, you nearly choked on your own saliva. He was hovering over you again, casting a menacing stare from above while he unbuckled his own trousers. Before you could fully process it, the gleaming, flushed tip of his member emerged from the elegant slit in the front of his trousers, a view that subconsciously incited forbidden imagery by putting his navel on display in a normal setting.

He appeared to pause, awaiting something. He glanced at you with a hint of expectation, subtly lifting an eyebrow as if conveying: "What are you waiting for?”

Thus, with your heart fluttering wildly and your stomach churning, you raised your hands to further uncover him, pushing his trousers down along with the undergarments and letting his arousal spring free. It was proud and formidable, as robust as a sword, as fierce as a beast.

Without waiting for him to speak or make any further action, you encircled the base with your palm and guided your hand along its length to the tip. He didn't overtly react, but you noticed him swallow subtly and press his lips more tightly together.

You replicated the maneuver, but with increased pressure and quicker movements. He kept his hands still at his sides, but his fingers twitched intermittently, indicating to you that you were on the right track. You cherished his calmness as much as you relished witnessing his chest heaving at a faster pace than before.

Regrettably, he didn't allow you to complete what you had started. The moment he decided he'd had enough, Mihawk grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand aside. He grasped the hem of your shorts and panties together, swiftly sliding them off your legs in one fluid motion.

He possessed no patience at all, simply taking whatever he wanted, repositioning himself between your legs and aligning with your entrance. As much as you would have loved to see him come undone under your touch, you couldn't truly protest, for you wanted him as intensely as he yearned to be inside you.

His face was stoic, unaltered, almost as if chiseled into a mask. But the way his golden eyes sparkled before you, and his jaw tightened in response to the palpable need overtaking him, managed to stir you even more than the sound of a man moaning in pleasure.

You shifted on the mattress, clutching the covers and spreading your legs further to grant him optimal access. Once again, he hummed in approval, encircling your thighs with his arms and drawing them to his waist.

But he silently stared at you, the tip of his arousal gently nudging your folds without proceeding.

Bewildered, you inquired. "What?"

"Are you truly certain about this?”

Your mouth fell open as you regarded him in disbelief. “I'm right here with my legs spread wide and your damn dick against me. It's a bit late to question me now, don't you think?”

He drew a breath through his nose. “Do you understand what you're about to get into?”

“Uhh… yes? We’re supposed to have sex here. What else could there be?”

Mihawk subtly thrust his hips forward, his warm length nearly entering.

"I won't be gentle," he responded.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

"Even if you plead with me, I won't stop.”

“Do you think I’d ever do that?”

You inferred he simply wanted to ensure you were granting him clear consent to continue. And while you strived to maintain composure, feeling him so close yet so far away, you held respect for his unconventional gentleness. Or whatever it could be called.

“You’re brave,” he stated with a hint of satisfaction. "But don't shed tears later.”

You rolled your eyes. "Mihawk, seriously. Just do it. If you believe I'll break and weep, then don’t.”

To further emphasize your point, you moved your waist allowing his tip to partially slide in. You bit your lower lip to suppress the emerging moan in your throat, and comfortably adjusted by raising your arm and positioning it just behind the pillow under your head.

You were presenting yourself to him, unconditionally, prepared to accept everything he had to offer.

Unable to resist his impulses any longer, Mihawk finally made his move. With a firm, confident thrust, he fully sheathed himself in you. A hiss escaped your lips as you inhaled sharply, your body pushed upwards, head thrown back in response.

You felt unbelieavably full, and without giving you a moment's respite, he quickened the pace. He moved with a rough, and powerful rhythm, his fingertips digging into your skin so deeply that you could feel his nails on it.

At first, your body stretched to accommodate him, a sensation that was slightly painful and not as pleasurable as you wanted it to be. But as soon as you adjusted to it, your muscles relaxed, leading to a wave of delightful ecstasy that ignited your core and sent electrifying sensations through your nerves.

And it felt unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Your moans were soft and melodic, contrasting with his quiet grunts that echoed in his chest. Mihawk quickened his movements even further, generating a set of scandalous sounds that deepened your blush. He was moving with such intensity that you feared your bed might split in half, given the way it vibrated against the wooden wall.

Then he stopped, albeit briefly, to guide you into a different position. "Turn around.”

There was an undeniable ecstasy in the way he treated you. His actions were primal, far removed from romantic, yet paradoxically, despite the evident force in his behavior, he still seemed to treat you with a degree of tenderness and delicacy.

You complied, bending over the mattress, and without wasting any time, he entered you again from behind.

Isaiah had been a wonderful lover, the best you'd ever had, until Mihawk came into the picture. Though you typically refrained from making comparisons, acknowledging that every man is unique in his own way, you couldn't ignore the irrefutable truth: the Warlord was in a league of his own, making you feel guilty for even entertaining such a thought.

The act was carnal and sensual, stirring within you a desire for more when you believed there was nothing else to ask for. He felt absolutely wonderful both in and out, and his touch, tracing over your scars with a strangely protective tenderness that you didn’t expect, ignited a flame in your chest that cascaded downwards. Your clit throbbed, your inner walls convulsed and gripped him with an impossible tightness. You could sense your climax approaching for the second time, spurred on by his relentless thrusts.

Neither of you spoke, but it was fine. You were engrossed in the moment, disregarding the ache in your limbs from the previous exertion. Letting go of the built-up tension post-battle was exactly what you craved, and Mihawk had his fair share of unsettled nerves too. For all you knew, he could have countless women scattered across the four Blues, but the desperate and hungry way his body melded into yours indicated that he wasn't one to frequently seek out or appreciate the company of others.

People often depicted him as a lone wolf, a man enamored with his sword. And yet, here he was, providing you with the most remarkable sexual experience of your entire life.

You found yourself entirely consumed, yielding to his dominant aura, continuously pushed against the mattress, moaning in delight. He had warned you that he wouldn't stop, not even if you pleaded with him, but the only entreaties that escaped your lips were for him to quicken his pace and to continue for as long as he could go.

When he brought his mouth close to your ear, prompting your knees to spread wider with his own, there was only so much you could do to prevent your core from exploding.

Mh. You're managing this better than I expected you would, I'll give you that.”

A chuckle bubbled up from you. "I thought you held me in higher regard.”

“I certainly do now.”

His left arm slithered around your shoulders, securing itself around your neck to encase you and hold you in place. His other hand glided along your side, sneaking to the front and locating your clitoris, so sensitive that you nearly climaxed the moment he pinched it.

You were panting quite heavily now, teetering on the brink of orgasm as you rested your cheek against his arm. You didn't even realize that you were pressing kisses to it, grazing your warm lips along his skin, which was hot and salty.

"Are you there?”

You nodded your head. "Almost.”

"Would you look at that. Your endurance is impressive.”

You laughed, a surge of pride filling your heart. “You're talking too much again, Warlord.”

“Mhh.”

You absolutely adored the vibrations that resonated through his chest whenever he hummed. You felt him pulsing and twitching inside you, signaling that he was as close to the brink as you were. As the resounding slaps of skin meeting skin filled the air around you, his fingers expertly manipulated your sensitive bud. His fingers stroked it, moving in rapic circles, combined with the consistent stimulation of your tender spot inside.

It was too much, and you buried your face in his arm the moment you finally crossed the point of no return.

Your second orgasm was even more intense than the first, a feat you never truly believed was possible. You twitched and trembled from head to toe, tightening around him with each wave of pleasure that took some time to recede.

Eventually, he joined you, quietly succumbing to his own pleasure, grunting softly and brushing his lips against the scar on your shoulder. You were aware that Mihawk did not harbor any specific feelings for you, but despite that, you found his gesture deeply endearing.

And with that, your heart constricted.

As the enchantment of the moment faded, he extricated himself from you and left the bed, fastening his belt and heading back to where his coat lay. As he slipped into it and reached for his hat still resting on the counter, you watched him. Disappointment washed over you for reasons you couldn't quite articulate.

Gathering your strength, you pushed yourself up from the mattress, hastily collecting your underwear and putting it back on, disregarding the shorts strewn on the floor. It took a moment for you to locate the bra he had tossed, which had ended up in a distant corner.

His golden cross knife was still on your bedside table. It felt significantly lighter than you had anticipated as you held it in your hand, lingering on its weight a moment too long. Mihawk was right behind you, his towering presence looming over your smaller frame, waiting for you to return it.

You turned immediatly, smiling, taking hold of the cord on either side and looping it around his neck. You tried to recall the exact length he preferred, gently positioning it on his chest and tying a knot to keep it in place. The ends of his short hair tickled your hands as you secured it, and he allowed you to do so without a single protest or complaint.

Somehow, that act felt even more intimate than what you had just done. His gaze was once again fixed on you, frozen, expressionless, difficult to interpret. The temptation to kiss him again was strong, but with the sexual tension now gone, you feared he might not reciprocate.

And so, you took a step back. "Thank you for the company," you said evenly, feigning indifference to the entire situation.

Whether he believed you or not, you couldn't ascertain. As he casually strolled towards the couch to get his sword, a surge of disappointment engulfed you, leaving you more downcast than you were prepared to acknowledge.

You knew it didn't mean anything. But for the very first time, a part of you had dared to hope there could be something more. You dragged your feet to the bar counter, picking up his empty glass from the table along the way. You quietly cleaned things up, letting the cold water from the sink cascade over your hands.

And just when you thought he had already left, he spoke words that instantly set off a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, soaring straight to your heart.

“Be careful out there.”

You glanced at him once again. His face was as impassive as ever, but the fact that he had taken a moment to express his concern was more than sufficient for you.

You grinned in delight. "Always.”

With a barely noticeable nod, he slung his sword onto his back and stepped away, opening the cabin door and disappearing up the steps. You stayed there, still, listening to the rhythmic sound of his boots meeting the wooden floor as Mihawk steadily departed, until silence engulfed your vessel.

You didn't know when or if you would see him again. The only thing you could do was hope that, sooner rather than later, you would encounter those mesmerizing golden eyes once more.

And as fate would have it, you did.

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

#one piece liveaction #opla mihawk #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #smut #one piece liveaction fanfic #opla fanfiction

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 15

Chapters: 15/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Warning: This chapter includes some detailed smut.

As the upcoming fashion show loomed and your days became increasingly packed, you found scant time to contemplate anything else. However, the emergence of an unfamiliar figure unsettled you.

Note: I needed to write this now, as I won't have another opportunity later to include Desire again until a certain point. I used the Dreamcast audio as reference again for their interaction.

I honestly don't know if smut can be incorporated during the Vortex part, so I thought to add more of it here.

Hob's eyes widened while gripping his tea cup. Following a few moments of blinking to regain his bearings, he gingerly set his mug aside. Then, fueled by a playful energy, he simulated an explosion by placing his hands around his head and even supplied his own sound effects.

With a smile and a nod of your head, you echoed his sentiments. "It's mind-blowing, I know"

"I might be an immortal, Shortcake, but you have your fair share of supernatural roots.”

"We are definitely not your everyday humans," you agreed, bursting into hearty laughter.

"It must be tough though, isn't it? To know that your mother has been around all this time," he carried on, his tone shifting to a more serious one.

"It is. But, now that I can think about it from a different perspective, I can at least understand why they had to keep it a secret."

It took you several days to digest your newfound revelation, but despite everything, you couldn't stay upset with your father who was merely doing his utmost to protect and care for you.

"You know, Hob, sometimes it feels like I've quantum leaped. It’s as if the reality I'm experiencing now is not the one I used to live in. I know it sounds a bit Star Trek-y, but..."

"No, no, I understand. You've undergone such significant changes recently. It makes me wonder if our dear friend had a hand in all this," he mused.

"Maybe not directly. To be honest, I can't even imagine where I'd be without him.”

Hob gifted you a warm smile, looking at you with a blend of care and understanding. "You truly do love him, don't you?”

"Immensely," you affirmed, your voice teeming with genuine sincerity.

"I could see a remarkable change in him, but I'm certain that you're also to thank for that," He noted thoughtfully.

“I didn’t do anything, really.”

"The only time I tried to get him to confide in me, he shied away. I still don't know exactly how you two met, but he adores you. That much is clear.”

A faint blush quietly spread across your cheeks as you savored your tea. Even though Morpheus typically kept a guarded demeanor, it was comforting to realize that his affection for you was evident to others.

However, an abrupt thought caused you to falter, prompting a moment of hesitation before you ventured to raise the subject. You debated whether it could be inconsiderate to mention it, but your curiosity was as potent as the infamous curiosity that led to the cat's downfall, a sentiment frequently echoed by Ella.

And so, you chose to bring it up.

“Hob, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Shortcake. What is it?”

You glanced downward, your grip on your cup tightening. "Wasn't it difficult for you, having to see the ones you loved grow old and pass away?"

You almost chastised yourself mentally when you saw a trace of sadness cross his eyes. Nevertheless, he composed himself and provided you with his answer.

"Yes, it was. But not once did I consider giving up on love."

"So you managed to move on, to fall in love again... and again."

"I know where this is going," Hob interjected, disrupting your whirlpool of emotional musings. "I speak from experience when I say that he will never truly be able to move on from you."

"I know that he won't forget. It's just..."

"It’s not comforting, I get it.”

You stared at the tea, its still surface seeming to mirror your somber expression.

"It's stupid. I made my choice fully aware of what I was signing up for.”

"We may understand the consequences, Y/N, but they won't be enough to deter us from getting what we want," Hob declared, his voice a blend of wisdom and melancholy. “Look at me. I could have left this city, even this entire Country, long ago. I could have avoided undue stress and accusations of practicing witchcraft. I could have ceased the charade of pretending to be my own descendant, and yet... I made the decision to stay. To meet new people, knowing that I would never get old.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you listened.

"What's the purpose of immortality if it means spending your life alone? You could follow in my footsteps and ask to never die. Wouldn't that be an interesting adventure?" Hob suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, you've brought that up before.”

"Have you given it any thought?”

"No, not yet. I just can't envision myself living forever.”

Could you even bear to remain stationary like Hob did? How would you maintain your friendships, career, and every other aspect of life without the incessant need to explain your lack of aging? You truly admired Hob's perseverance, although it was something you likely wouldn't be able to replicate. The idea of being Morpheus' sole love for all of eternity was enticing, yet the choice to accept immortality was not something you were ready to undertake.

Hob tenderly encircled your wrist with his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. His eyes sparkled with a joyful glint as he regarded you.“You never know, my friend. You never know.”

As more days began to turn into weeks, your workload steadily mounted. The preparations for the fashion show were progressing seamlessly and at a satisfactory pace, yet you could palpably sense the rising tide of disquiet in the atmosphere.

You lost track of the times you had to prevent Ella from nervously scratching her skin. As she repeatedly revised the lineup, her anxiety levels soared to unprecedented heights. The event bore great importance for the company, being the first major show in which the Corbyn&Jones brand was participating. You couldn't really blame her for feeling swamped, considering your situation was quite alike.

Your name was slated to be highlighted as the sole creator of the show's exclusive collection, and Ella had discussed the potential this could have in advancing your career as a designer, along with the enormity of the situation that was just now beginning to sink in.

At last able to take a respite from the organizing, you sauntered towards the lounge area with some coffee, hoping to replenish your energy. As you entered the room, you noticed one of your colleagues, Freya, absorbed in her tablet, barely acknowledging your arrival. She appeared to be immersed in deep thought, sighing from time to time, projecting an aura of concern and distress.

She was known for her vibrant energy in the office. Seeing her so dispirited now, you couldn't help but intervene.

"Hey Freya, are you okay?" You inquired, cautiously settling next to her.

Oh, Y/N," she responded, turning her head and managing to conjure up a strained smile. "Yes, I'm fine.”

Judging by the faint redness surrounding her eyes, barely concealed by her makeup, it was easy for you to tell that the truth was far from what she claimed.

"No, something's off. Would you like to talk about it?”

She let out another lengthy, wavering sigh. "I... it's nothing, really. It's ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous if it makes you cry.”

Freya offered a self-deprecating chuckle, hastily blinking away the tears welling in her eyes before meeting your gaze squarely.

"I've received an invitation to a friend's wedding,” she disclosed. "It’s happening in two weeks. We've been close since middle school, you see… and I just know that if I decline the invite, she'll lash out at me.”

"Is there a specific reason behind your reluctance to attend her wedding?”

Freya sniffled, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. She then tapped on her tablet's screen and extended the device towards you.

"This is the dress she selected for all the bridesmaids, including me.”

You stared at the image in disbelief, taking in the red monstrosity displayed in front of you. The design itself wasn't inherently ugly, but to say that it was unsuitable for a bridesmaid would be a gross understatement.

"Wait. You’re joking, right? She expects her bridesmaids to wear this?”

She nodded. "I’d look like shit.”

"That’s not true. The problem here is that such a dress is far from an appropriate choice for a wedding. Does she really want her guests to be focused on you ladies when she's supposed to be the center of attention?”

"She's quite controlling and insists on having everything her way, regardless of others' feelings or opinions. She always had a thing for showy stuff, and her wedding is far from modest too.”

You placed the tablet down. "Have you talked to her about it? If her fashion choices diverge significantly from your style and make you feel uncomfortable, she should respect your sentiments.”

"Oh, I have, but she's as stubborn as a mule.”

She was justifiably upset, but beyond that, you could see how appalled she was at the prospect of potentially having to don an attire that simply wouldn't suit her, or any other bridesmaid with a shred of good taste.

"Freya, this isn't right. A good friend should consider the way you feel. I understand that this is her wedding, but she cannot expect all of you to comply without voicing any objections.”

She diverted her gaze, toying with the golden bracelet that adorned her wrist. "Y/N, have you really taken a good look at me?”

“Yes?”

"All my friends could easily pass for magazine models, while I've always been the black sheep in the group. Quite literally.”

You pursed your lips, feeling a surge of heat coursing through your body. "Freya, you don’t realize how incredible and beautiful you are, do you?”

“You don’t need to flatter me.”

Her voice bore a trace of irritation, indicating that she felt somehow offended.

"It's not a matter of needing to, it's simply how I see you.”

She lapsed into silence.

"Listen, if attending her wedding means that you have to wear something you hate, then don't go.”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.”

"Why? Just because she demands your presence? It's clear that she doesn't value your opinion, or you as a person. So why should you care about her reaction if you refuse?”

"It's..." she hesitated. "...not that simple.”

Witnessing her lack of self-assurance was heart-wrenching, especially considering she was one of the first members of the team who embraced you as part of the family from day one. Freya was kind-hearted, humorous, perpetually cheerful, and tackled her job with a positive attitude every single day. Despite her struggles to recognize her own beauty, you couldn't really pinpoint a single flaw in her.

Consequently, realizing that her supposed best friend was the source of her distress and suffering, fueled your resolve to take action, any action, to restore her joy and self-assurance.

"I assume she's chosen red as the color scheme for all of you?”

"Yes, she wants this thing in red."

"What if you opt for a different dress, one that maintains the elegant yet sexy style and color, but without being as revealing?”

"Oh no, she would absolutely go nuts. She's set on this dress, period. That's just how her mind functions.”

You huffed. "Look, Freya, whether you attend her wedding or not is entirely your choice. But you really shouldn't let her exert this level of control over you. Let me try something, I have an idea.”

Her eyes expanded in astonishment. "Wait, what? You're not planning to design something for me, are you?”

“Why not?”

“Uhh…. because you're already swamped with work between our new collections and the show?”

Getting up from the couch, you dismissed her concerns with a wave of your hand. "I can do it in my spare time, it's no trouble at all.”

"But...”

"No buts. Allow me to do this for you. And if you're not convinced, then I'll let the matter rest.”

Freya found herself flustered and at a loss for words, searching for an appropriate thing to say but failing to find one.

In the end, she acquiesced. "Okay.”

"Just give me a few days, I'll create something for you that will spark jealousy among all your friends. Even the bride.”

As you finished your coffee and exited the room, you picked up the sound of her voice uttering your name. She leaped from the couch with all the haste she could gather, bolting after you, her eyes ablaze with a fresh spark of hope.

"How do you do it?” She queried, her breath labored from the unexpected exertion.

You weren't entirely certain about the implication behind her question. “Do what?”

“You're always attentive and take everything to heart. Even when Maya did all those horrible things, you urged us to forgive her and uplifted our spirits.”

You quietly listened.

"How do you manage to be so compassionate in a world like this?”

You didn't require a moment's thought for that, as the answer was an innate response to you. Now, more than ever, you grasped the foundation of something you had always taken for granted, something that had been ingrained in your being since birth.

And for the first time, after many years of believing it to be your worst flaw that would bring nothing but disaster, you felt a wave of pride in possessing it.

Your smile broadened and your eyes shimmered under the soft lighting of the corridor. "It runs in the family.”

In the subsequent week, your inventive mind remained persistently active during your time at home, outside office hours. You functioned much like a machine at full throttle, failing to switch off, with only brief intermissions for meals or nightly rest. Serving as a maid for Alex Burgess had conditioned you for prolonged hours and demanding tasks. But now, your heart and mind were wholly immersed in the endeavor, and you found immense satisfaction in your accomplishments.

One night, you were so engrossed in your creation that you didn't notice Morpheus silently materializing behind you, moving with the stealth of a cat as he cautiously advanced towards your desk. He tuned into the sound of your pencil gliding across the paper with precision, observing how you swept your hair back and tucked it behind your ear, revealing a portion of your neck that he couldn't help but gaze at. He absorbed your occasional hums as you scrutinized your sketch, and the rhythm of your steady breathing that resonated directly with his heart.

When he softly murmured your name, in a low tone like a tender melody, you lifted your head and partially turned in your chair, discovering the King of Dreams standing near you, appearing contemplative and unsure.

The genuine happiness you felt upon seeing him reverberated throughout your room. "Hi!”

Morpheus pouted. As he typically did. Oh, how much you cherished that expression of his.

“You are not in bed.”

You shot him a puzzled glance. "Uh... no. Wait, what time is it?”

As you extended your hand to grasp your phone, unlocking the screen to inspect the LED, you emitted a startled gasp at the sight that greeted you. The white numbers at the top of the display glaringly read 3 AM.

How could you be so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn't even realize it was well past your bedtime?

"Sorry… I was distracted.”

You closed your sketchbook, pushing your chair back to stand up. Morpheus remained immobile, and as you rose to your full height, your lips came close to his.

“You were not in the Dreaming,” he murmured.

Although this wasn't his first time checking on you for burning the midnight oil, it was undeniably the longest you had kept awake in a considerable while. Knowing his worry about the possible repercussions for you, given his past experiences with Nada, a pang of guilt ebbed at you for not being more mindful.

"I know… I lost track of time. I'm getting ready now, promise. Could you wait for me?”

Morpheus nodded in agreement, but held his position without moving.

You brushed his cool fingers with your own, tenderly taking his hands into yours and placing a gentle kiss at the corner of his lips. As always, he softened at your touch, reciprocating your gesture and holding you tighter, his thumbs gently stroking your knuckles.

It was a repeated exchange to which you had become accustomed, but it never lost its charm. His scent, the paradoxical coolness and warmth he exuded, his voice, his mere presence. You craved all of it as much as the air you breathed.

"I'll see you in a bit," you announced, reluctantly releasing him and unzipping your hoodie. The moment you retreated to the bathroom, washing off your makeup, cleansing your face and slipping into the comfort of your nightgown, he had already vanished, evaporated, awaiting you in his realm.

The moment you sank into the mattress, turning off the light and being soothed by the softness of the covers, it was only a matter of minutes before sleep overtook you. You remembered those times when you failed to surrender to your fatigue, the insomnia that Morpheus' imprisonment had caused. It was all gone, nothing more than a distant memory, a story that you hoped no one would ever have to experience again.

You were eager to reunite with him, deep within the Dreaming. A world that felt like home.

When your eyes fluttered open, you found yourself still lying in your bed, your vision gradually adjusting to the darkness. The lights seeping in through the window began to illuminate parts of your room, but as you rolled over, something felt out of the ordinary.

You were unable to discern exactly what was wrong, as everything seemed to be positioned correctly. However, there was an indistinct fuzziness, a sensation of floating that left you questioning the authenticity of your wakefulness.

A dark silhouette emerged at the end of the bed, but before you could react with a heart-stopping scream, you quickly recognized Morpheus, watching you with a dignified posture. You held your breath, barely blinking, awaiting his next move or words.

Then, very quietly, he moved onto the mattress with the agility of a stealthy predator. Yet, you were far from feeling like a frightened prey.

You propped yourself up, the covers sliding down from your chest. "Am I dreaming?”

"You are," he responded, inching ever closer to your form, his right hand tracing the outline of your covered legs.

"You're not an illusion, are you?”

He offered you a faint smile. "No.”

“Good. I’d be disappointed otherwise.”

His hand reached the hem of the covers, shifting them down, further and further, until more of your body was exposed. The nightgown felt peculiarly warm, enveloping you like a cozy bath.

"I'm intrigued. Why choose this setting?”

"I wanted to offer you something more... familiar, for this occasion.”

You chuckled, biting your lower lip as you could already feel the arousal stirring within you. How could you lose your composure in such a way, just by watching his face inching closer to yours?

"And, what exactly is this occasion...?”

Morpheus looked intensely into your eyes, brimming with hunger and love for you.

"You desire me, Y/N," he revealed. "I can sense it.”

As much as you felt inclined to deny it, you realized just how fervently you needed to feel him against you. Given your work commitments and his responsibilities as the King of Dreams, the time you could allocate for each other was rather restricted, let alone for intimacy. Consequently, you were left to savor quick exchanges of affection that only intensified your craving for more.

It was truly maddening, but it couldn't be helped.

And in a way, it was somewhat exciting.

"I could claim that it's not true, but you're in my head right now," you stated, wearing a smile. "And quite frankly, I would never deny you.”

Morpheus moved closer, nudging you back against the mattress with a mere push of his fingers. Your body was under his enchantment, one that you didn't have the slightest wish to break.

"Please, allow me to attend to you.”

You swallowed, feeling your nightgown being lifted, its fabric brushing against your skin as it rolled up.

"What about you?”

"This is your dream," he replied. "All of this, is for you.”

His hands continued to guide the fabric upward until it reached your breasts, allowing it to rest just above your nipples, while he took in the sight of the rest of your body, completely bare, spread out before him like the most delectable of treats.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered about the whereabouts of your underwear, but you conjectured that he might have conveniently made it vanish. Regardless, you had no qualms about it.

“Morpheus-”

“Shh.”

His lips grazed your cheekbone, tracing a path along your jawline, chin, and down to your neck. You felt his middle and forefinger glide down your stomach, lightly tickling your navel and moving lower past your belly. You glanced down, admiring his long digits as they continued their exploration, but just when you anticipated they would venture directly to your sensitive center, they veered off course and moved towards your thigh.

Your breathing quickened, your heart pounded fiercely, and your legs instinctively parted for him when his hand encircled your knee. Your nipples were continuously rubbing against the nightgown, generating an exquisite friction between them and the silky material. His touch was tantalizing, deliberately slow and feather-light, escalating the tension you felt emanating from your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was executing it impeccably well. Never before had you imagined a lustful dream could be so satisfying.

At last, his fingers began to glide forward, and his other hand slipped under the nightgown to cradle the curve of your breast. The sensation you experienced when his thumb just barely swiped over your nipple was electrifying, but the way your body jerked, quivered, and twitched didn't seem to faze him in the least.

Even though your senses were considerably amplified in your dream state, your body had always been especially receptive to a man's touch. Morpheus had ceaselessly demonstrated that your pleasure was paramount above all else, and yet, it continued to feel incredibly mesmerizing. You couldn't tell if it was owing to his magical essence or an exceptional degree of restraint, but his consistent focus on giving rather than receiving was truly exceptional.

Your fingers gripped the bedsheets when he explored your labia, outlining its shape yet not fully delivering the pleasure you wanted. As his other thumb maintained its attentive caress on your nipple, your back curved gracefully. The sensations were so vivid and intense that you feared you might awaken prematurely, preventing the dream from reaching its climax and interrupting what Morpheus had initiated.

You let out a moan, a curse forming between your teeth as his fingers found your clit, establishing a steady, gentle rhythm that you thought would never suffice, but soon produced that familiar tingle that signaled it wouldn't take long for you to let loose. Even with the most tender of touches, with his fingers lightly stroking your clitoris up and down, sweetly, gently, Morpheus was offering you the universe.

Your legs parted even further, his long coat billowing out behind him, as if intending to enfold the two of you. He paused, guiding one finger towards your entrance, probing it gently to reach your delicate spot inside, akin to pressing a switch to light you up. Your pleasure escalated, not quite enough to trigger your orgasm, but sufficient to make your clit pulse and your whole body tremble in ecstasy. He remained so tranquil, so concentrated, so solemn and silent. You felt as though you were one of his masterpieces, sculpted like a work of art, the most exquisite of dream creatures under his guardianship.

He moved back to your hood, lifting it and stroking his moistened fingers over the sensitive bud underneath, yet again, without increasing his pace or exerting any substantial pressure.

The familiar feeling of satisfaction was approaching, teetering on the brink of release, but just barely eluding your grasp. You brought your hand to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt, and moving to his collarbones. Your lips parted, silently pleading to be kissed, only to be instantly met by his own in a sensual and heated choreography.

The Moonstone pendant served as a beacon, enveloping both of you and your environment in its radiant blues and whites. It was so potent that tiny particles of light emanated from it, creating a protective halo around you.

"You're amazing," you confessed against his mouth. "Has anyone ever told you that?”

Morpheus seemed momentarily speechless, pausing his movements, but keeping his fingers connected to your core.

"That is not a word I have often heard used to describe me.”

Your head flopped back onto the pillow, feeling defeated. "Seriously, what's wrong with everyone?”

"You may be the first to see me as more than just the King of Nightmares.”

"Nightmares? What you’re giving to me right now is far from a nightmare.”

You kissed him again to emphasize your point, reaching for the hand that was securely cupping your breast. "You are Dream of The Endless. My Dream.”

He inhaled shakily as his eyes gleamed, and his fingers resumed their ministrations on your clit. Despite their touch maintaining a consistent tenderness, barely grazing your skin, the rhythm of his movements hastened. Processing it was unfeasible as the slick strokes rapidly kindled the sparks, triggering your orgasm to erupt beneath his fingertips. It surged up to the nipple he persistently stimulated, and dispersed into a serene state of bliss.

It might have been a dream, but it felt unequivocally spectacular.

He patiently waited for your pleasure to subside, and then, he retracted his hands from you. He grasped the wrinkled fabric of your nightgown, pulling it down, the creases miraculously straightening as it outlined the contours of your body.

Your haziness was intensifying, indicating that the Waking World was beginning to reclaim you. You resisted it, maintaining your focus on him as he observed you, clenching your hands into fists and drawing in a deep breath to anchor yourself.

You felt fulfilled, satisfied, and thoroughly cared for.

However, he did not.

Despite his desire to make everything solely about you, you couldn't accept it as fair. Therefore, you shifted yourself into a more vertical position, tugging the Endless towards you by his coat. This movement prompted him to position himself above you, taking care not to impose his entire weight on your smaller frame.

"Y/N-"

"Shh.”

This time, the roles were reversed, and it was you who hushed him to continue.

"I understand that you wanted this to be about me. But, despite it being my dream, we're still in your domain.”

You extended your hand towards the back of his neck, weaving your fingers through his short tresses. "I'm going to wake up soon, but before I do... let me give you something in return.”

You didn't wait for his reply. By the time he parted his lips, your hand was already making its way towards the button of his trousers.

He made no effort to stop you, allowing you to unfasten his garments, unveiling his eager arousal springing forth, ready and needy. How unfair would it be to leave him unattended, untouched, overlooked?

Morpheus was desperate for you, hungering for your touch.

Your nose brushed against his as you maintained your grip around his neck for support (and comfort), and your fingers promptly encircled the head of his member. His legs, straddling you, tensed and stiffened the moment you glided your hand down to the base, only to replicate the motion several more times. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford the same level of tender and unhurried strokes. At any second, you could be thrust back into your real bed, and you didn't want to risk waking before he reached his own peak.

The way he groaned, so faintly, imperceptibly, holding himself back, was something you found incredibly appealing. You drew him even closer, accelerating your pace, ensuring that all his most sensitive regions were stimulated.

You continued your ministrations, increasing the speed, feeling the pull of the Waking World, akin to invisible ropes winding around you. You resisted once more, concentrating on the moist sounds your hand produced against his hardness, on his lips tenderly brushing yours as soft as a tender brush on a canvas.

You loved every single part of it.

And just when you thought you might not finish in time, that he would be left there alone, unsatisfied, forsaken in his desires, the perfect touch on his tense underside drove him to that delectable edge that you both longed for. His hips jerked forward repeatedly, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth letting out a few low grunts that intermingled with your breath.

In due course, your hand reduced its speed until it ceased entirely, but it remained connected to him as he softened. You gently scratched his scalp with your nails, playfully tousling his hair, and planted a kiss upon his forehead.

You released a joyful laugh when he curved his lips, looking absolutely content and thoroughly satisfied. You went on to pepper his face with even more kisses, whispering about your immense love for him, your fortune in having him, his talents in every possible way, and more.

It was the most delightful awakening you could ever wish for, a grin permanently etched at the corners of your lips as you left the Dreaming behind.

Freya was in absolute shock. She looked at the freshly tailored red dress laid out for her to see, designed specifically to her tastes and body size. Her eyes had sparkled with excitement when you showed her the initial sketch, but seeing her now, tears of joy streaming down her face, made you feel as though you'd accomplished an extraordinary feat. Unbeknownst to her, you had collaborated with the rest of your team to orchestrate this splendid surprise, with Ella's full backing.

You gently encouraged Freya to try the dress on, assuring her that only by wearing it could she appreciate the full beauty of the sophisticated design and velvety fabric. The moment she emerged from the restroom, you couldn’t believe your eyes. She was even more stunning than you had envisioned, making your own creation appear as if you were beholding it for the first time. The full-length sleeves and high neckline imparted the dress with a modest and elegant appearance, while the front opening tastefully showcased a generous portion of her cleavage. The lengthy gown gracefully traced her curves and swept the floor, and the slit on the right subtly revealed her leg.

She even let her voluminous hair down from the usual high bun she wore and touched up her lipstick, the high heels and earrings she selected that day appeared to be an impeccable match.

It was a day to be remembered, truly. The way she embraced and thanked you, as if you'd bestowed upon her the most anticipated reward. The confidence she exuded by agreeing to be photographed in the studio like a professional model, everyone thoroughly enjoying the occasion, showering praise and throwing a genuine party with drinks and snacks in her honor. All of this warmed your heart, filled you with happiness and fulfillment, and reaffirmed that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, Freya mustered the courage to send one of her photos to her bride-to-be friend. She expressed her desire to wear the new dress at the wedding, which understandably caused quite a stir. The woman was adamant that all the bridesmaids should be clad in identical outfits. If she couldn't procure the same dress for the others, then Freya wouldn't be permitted to wear something distinctive. You were afraid that this might dampen her spirits and ruin her good mood, but to your surprise, Freya resolved that if she couldn't wear your dress, she wouldn't attend the wedding at all.

You had crafted it solely for her. She was the only one who had the right to decide when and where to wear it. After the party, she chose to reserve it for the night of the show, using it as publicity for both the Corbyn&Jones brand and you.

"You know, Y/N, I think what you do is quite magical," she told you. "You might not even realize it, but you literally create dreams that have the power to transform others.”

“Really?”

“Of course! I mean, just by trying out this dress today, I feel like a completely different person.”

You found it paradoxical that you, of all people, were being described as someone capable of making dreams a reality.

"Let's just say that I have some good inspiration in my life," you confessed with a smile.

Freya lifted her glass, clinking it against yours in a friendly toast. "Well then. Cheers to your good influence and genius!”

The night of the show was a mere two days away. While everyone was busy preparing and setting things up at the designated location for the event, Ella beckoned you to her side, the printed lineup practically attached to her hand. She looked distinctly terrified, while Oliver was able to maintain a more composed demeanor despite his own nerves.

You'd be lying if you said that the impending occasion wasn't impacting you in a similar way.

"I know this is somewhat last minute, but one of our sponsors would like to meet you in person this afternoon.”

You furrowed your brow. "One of the sponsors? Why?”

"Oh, that might be my doing. I may have boasted about you a tad excessively.”

You shook your head in playful disbelief. "Seriously, Ella.”

"I know! But you are literally our leading figure. It's only a matter of time before more prominent people decide to make their move.”

"I'm just a designer, I'm not the one in charge.”

"Our sales have seen a significant increase these past few months, thanks to you. Come on, let me sing your praises.”

You chuckled. "Fine. When should I expect them?”

"You're scheduled to meet the sponsor in the main hall around 4pm.”

“Noted.”

Ella let out a squeal, which she attempted to suppress due to the many people around, hailing from different brands and sectors.

"I'm genuinely proud of you. You truly deserve all the success that's coming your way.”

“Honestly, Ella, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your call.”

"And I wouldn't have called if it weren't for your email. It's funny how life works, isn't it?”

You found yourself nodding with conviction, reflecting on all the remarkable things, whether challenging or rewarding, that had entered your life since you left the Burgess mansion.

Since you encountered Dream of the Endless. Your beloved Morpheus.

If only you had known that the person you were about to meet wasn't who you expected them to be.

By the time you made your way to the main hall, Ella had returned to the office to finalize the remaining details with Oliver. You had been constantly active all morning, barely managing to squeeze in time for an outdoor lunch, arranging the garments for the presentation, and refining the lineup. You were on the brink of being tardy for the appointment, and you left the backrooms in such a rush that you unintentionally left your phone behind.

Casting a quick glance around the luxurious space, you cleared your throat and adjusted your hair to ensure you looked presentable. You didn't spot anyone who seemed to be waiting, so you opted to sit on one of the vacant couches, taking a moment to observe your surroundings.

You found yourself completely zoned out, watching the staff bustling about and your competitors occasionally strolling past, until a voice jolted you from your trance.

"Why, hello there. You must be Y/N Y/LN.”

You raised your gaze to encounter a distinctive figure standing in front of you. They were attired in a white suit, which exposed a portion of their chest and highlighted an oval pendant suspended from a lengthy silver chain. Their blonde hair was flawlessly slicked back, a pair of round earrings graced their ears, and red lipstick accentuated what seemed to be a sincere, yet cryptic smile.

But what truly captivated you was the color of their eyes, which you couldn't pinpoint due to the lighting making them gleam gold.

"Oh, uh, yes. That's me," you stammered.

Their smile broadened. “It's quite a pleasure to meet you in person.”

Their voice was smooth, calm, and suave.

"Likewise," you responded, sitting up straighter and adopting a more professional tone.

"Do you mind if I join you?" They asked, gesturing towards the empty space on the couch beside you.

"Not at all, please have a seat.”

There was something inexplicably peculiar about this sponsor. They settled themselves next to you, a tad too close for your liking, you might add. Aiming not to appear overly nervous, you swiftly collected yourself and returned their smile.

"I'm surprised that you wanted to meet. Do you have any specific questions you'd like to ask me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. You could say that I'm interested in your... desires.”

You required a moment to process their words.

"My desires...?”

"Look where you are," they declared, sweeping their impeccably manicured hand to indicate the place. "This must be like a dream come true for you, isn't it?”

You had the distinct feeling that they found this thought amusing, leaving you uncertain about whether they were mocking you or not.

"Well, yes. It certainly is. I've worked really hard to reach this point," you affirmed.

"And yet, I can see that you're still searching for something.”

What were they even hinting at?

"There's always scope for improvement," you elucidated. "I may have come a long way in this industry, but that doesn't mean I can't continue to learn as I progress.”

"Is that what you desire? Greater wealth and recognition?”

You were uncertain whether they were attempting to carry out an unconventional interview, or if their words held some concealed subtext. Was this genuinely the sponsor Ella had spoken to you about?

For a moment, a fear gripped you that you might have encountered the wrong person entirely, perhaps someone dispatched by your competitors to probe and expose your vulnerabilities. But as you threw a cursory look around the hall, you didn't notice anyone else seeking you out.

"I wouldn't say that, no. I engage in what I do because I love creating something that empowers the wearer to feel comfortable in their own skin."

They hummed in ponderation. "Well, I guess that's not too far off from what I do.”

“What is it that you do?”

"My dear, I am in search of individuals who are just like you, drawn to those objects of their desire like a butterfly to a candle's flame.”

That was quite an enigmatic and poetic way to respond. You inferred that as a sponsor, they were particularly discerning about the brand and company they decided to invest in. Possibly, as the one fundamentally in control of the main collections of Corby&Jones, they aimed to painstakingly scrutinize your intentions and authenticity.

It was entirely plausible, all things considered. Yet, there was an odd element that was making you feel uneasy.

“So tell me then, what is it that you want? Don't be shy. Or perhaps I should try to guess?”

Alarm bells started sounding in your mind the moment they edged even closer, their fingers lightly sweeping your hair away from your face.

“You want something sensual, or maybe something precious. Or... maybe someone special. Or maybe you want all three. Yes, I think that might just be the case. ”

The last thing you wanted was for your company to lose one of its most significant sponsors, but your patience was already stretched thin and you could not bear any more of it.

Sporting a nervous chuckle, you cautiously lifted your hand to gently move theirs away as diplomatically as you could, using your left leg to redistribute your weight and subtly distance yourself a bit further from them.

"I’m sorry, but I'm afraid your guess is inaccurate.”

“Is that so?”

"I have a boyfriend. I have no need to seek anything or anyone else, as I've already attained everything I've ever wished for.”

You could almost swear their expression transformed into a blend of disappointment and annoyance, even though they managed to somewhat retain their smile.

"Well, that's unfortunate," they proclaimed. "But you see, all humans are creatures of desire, twisting and bending to their whims.”

You were still unable to understand what all of that was about. Regardless of their motive, you had no interest in discerning it.

"I wouldn't want to come off as rude, but I really need to return to my work. Is there any particular matter you wanted to discuss with me?”

Your attempt to abruptly terminate the conversation and depart clearly took them by surprise, as you noticed them purse their red lips and squint their eyes to scrutinize you. The longer you gazed into those irises, the more the notion strengthened that they were indeed gold. But such an eye color was improbable for a human, wasn't it…?

Eventually, they reverted to their initial politeness. "But of course. I was merely curious to finally meet the famous Y/N Y/LN. Go ahead, continue with your work. I won't hold you here.”

With a simple nod of your head, you excused yourself, standing up from the couch and offering your hand in a professional manner, which they accepted. Their grip was firm, warm, and oddly comforting, yet at the same time, a chill ran through your entire body.

What you experienced in that moment was truly bizarre. A part of you felt as though you knew them, or at least, there was a familiarity in their presence that echoed Morpheus and Teleute. A distant voice in your head reassured you that there was no need for fear, that they could calm your spirit and provide the most exhilarating ride you could ever imagine.

And it terrified you.

The instant they released you, you practically dashed off, fumbling in your pocket for your phone to give Ella a piece of your mind about the situation, only to discover that you didn't have the device with you.

And you were oblivious to the way they continued to gaze at you until you were out of sight, narrowing their eyes and resting their fingers on their chin in profound thought.

"My, what a fascinating mortal being,” they commented with a broad grin, before releasing a prolonged, amused laugh through their perfectly white teeth.

The moment you reentered the backrooms, Freya hailed you and advanced with a brisk stride, extending her hand that was gripping your phone. "I found it on the table next to me. Ella sent you a message, I noticed her name flashing on the screen.”

Speak of the Devil…

"Thanks, Freya. I'll check it right away. I'll be back in a minute.”

She nodded in recognition and gave you a thumbs-up, before resuming her task of arranging the chosen outfits on their corresponding hangers.

You unlocked the screen and navigated straight to your friend's chat, freezing in place as soon as you read her message.

You could feel your blood chilling as you recognized that the person you had just interacted with was, in fact, not the one you were initially supposed to meet. You had found them strange, slightly ethereal even, but overall suitable for that specific setting, notwithstanding their flirtatious conduct.

And now, staring in utter disbelief at your phone screen, you could only conjecture about their real identity, how they knew your name, and most importantly, why they were there for you.

The only logical explanation you could arrive at was your initial assumption about a competitor sending one of their own, but you couldn't dismiss that nagging feeling in your gut that they were someone, or perhaps even something, entirely distinct.

Without a moment's hesitation, you tucked your phone into your pocket and sprinted for the main hall, hoping to still find them there and obtain an explanation. Regrettably, they were nowhere to be seen, as you couldn't spot their elegant attire, blonde hair, or golden eyes.

You came to the realization that they hadn't even introduced themselves to you. You had no name to associate with them, no concrete information about their profession or location whatsoever. You were left without any leads, while they appeared to have a clear understanding of who you were. Could you possibly be dealing with an admirer who had infiltrated the showroom solely to see you?

In the end, all you could do was return to your responsibilities and let the matter slide, even though it certainly nagged at you for the remainder of the day.

With all arrangements for the imminent show complete, Ella and Oliver gave their team a well-deserved day off before the grand event, ensuring that everyone could rejuvenate and approach the coming day with renewed energy. Capitalizing on this chance, you planned another visit to your father, as time with him had been scant since the revelation about your mother. The last time you awoke from the Dreaming, he implied there was something he wished to talk about, but assured you it wasn't pressing and could be postponed.

However, as soon as he opened the door to greet you, it was evident that something about him was off again. He appeared hesitant, leaving you lingering at the entrance without fully inviting you in, his countenance displaying unease.

"Dad? What's wrong? Can I come in or are we planning to have lunch here on your doorstep?”

He exhaled deeply, shifting his gaze towards something in the living room. "No, it's just.... there's someone here.”

"Oh... a guest? Would you prefer if I came back next week?”

"No, no, there's no need for that," he paused. "Actually... they're here for you.”

You attempted to conjure a mental image of who they might be. "Huh...?”

At last, he moved aside to let you in, closing the door behind you and assisting you with your jacket. But before you could proceed further, he gently grasped your arm and placed both his hands on your shoulders.

"Y/N, I didn't plan this. Whatever happens, know that I will understand if you decide to leave.”

“Dad, seriously. What’s going on here?”

Reflecting back, you should have realized that there was only one person who would potentially want to converse with you. You had barely interacted with his friends a few times, and he was the sole family you had left. There was no one else who would wish to see you in his house.

Except for someone you believed would never be allowed to come near the two of you, ever again.

When he remained silent, lowering his gaze, you pivoted and ventured into the living room. There, you noticed a woman stationed by the window, her eyes fixed outside, responding to your entrance with a slight flinch.

You couldn't instantly recognize her, but as she slowly swiveled around to face you, your heart abruptly stopped. You found yourself staring at the woman from your dream, the memory that Morpheus had transferred from your father's mind into yours. She nervously fiddled with her thumbs while clasping her hands over her lap, swallowing hard and blinking rapidly to clear her tear-filled eyes.

You felt a dizzy spell coming on, unable to react, as your father slowly moved to stand beside you, nervously anticipating some sort of response from you.

And then it came, your voice shaky, trembling, emerging as a whisper. "Mum....?"

Upon hearing that, she managed a smile in your direction, summoning the courage to take a step towards you. "Hello, Y/N.”

You began to hyperventilate, your ears filled with a loud ringing noise and a dreadful wave of nausea started to swell within you. She repeated your name, but it became inaudible. Her lips were moving, yet no sound was perceptible, as the unbearable ringing in your ears drowned everything else out.

You had reconciled with that she would only exist as a faint echo in the background of your existence, a distant figure you'd never have a chance to see or converse with. Caught completely off guard, you found yourself in her presence for the first time, a moment you had yearned for since your childhood years.

And you were petrified, completely paralyzed with fear.

Your father gently prodded you, trying to elicit a proper reaction that stubbornly refused to surface. Your breathing grew rapid and strained as you struggled to supply enough oxygen to your brain.

Until everything descended into darkness.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 16 (coming soon) ->

#the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman writing

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

The Touch (An Astarion X Tav/Reader Fan-Fic) - Part One

"I would touch you a thousand times over, if it meant giving you salvation from the evils that plague your, body, mind, and soul. I would touch you a thousand times more, if I was gifted with such a courtesy, just to see your lips adorned with euphoria and ecstasy, to forget all and everyone who has ever harmed you…”

An unfortunate mishap in the Grymforge has left Tav suffering through an inexplicable and troublesome malady that is not quickly curable. Unable to withstand seeing you suffer until your companions can procure an antidote, the vampire spawn takes it upon himself to ease your suffering. But what Astarion was not prepared for was how willing you'd be to accepting his help, as well as the sentiments that would be expressed thereafter.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Hi! Do you take requests? No worries if not!

Hi!

Not for the time being, but I'm open to ideas! :D

#ask

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

My brain activating as I brush my teeth, coming up with entire scenes for my next chapters:

#yep #my brain is random like that #writing #fanfiction writing

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Why The Caged Bird Sings | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction) Rating: Explicit Relationships Vinsmoke Sanji x F!Reader Characters: Vinsmoke Sanji, Patty, Red Leg Zeff, Original Characters, Strawhat crew. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, minor POV switching. Summary: One night, you were brought to the luxurious Baratie Restaurant Ship, renowned for its exceptional cuisine that your family had been intrigued to sample. A particular blond and comely waiter captured your attention with his charming smile and gentle eyes, but while your beauty and sophistication intrigued him, Sanji also observed the profound nervousness that caused your jaw and body muscles to tense whenever your fiancé made contact with your hand or your parents delivered a humiliating criticism towards you. One dinner at the Baratie soon turned into a recurring event, and then more. As your friendship with Sanji slowly evolved into something that burned from within, you strove to make your longstanding dream come true; freeing yourself from a constricting existence. ------------------------- As Sanji looked at you curiously, the gentle smile never leaving his face, you asked him, "Do you know why the caged bird sings?" He thought about it for a moment before answering, "Because it has a song to give?" You chuckled at his response and shook your head. "You're not entirely wrong, but no."

Divider by firefly-graphics

Feel free to read this on AO3 if it is more comfortable for you due to its length. I only ask to support me with a like and reblog if you enjoy my work. ☺️

Note: This chapter took me some time because I wanted it to be just right, being focused on the forming bond between Sanji and the Reader before the next part. I do not plan to make a long story out of this, but the chapters might all be quite big and detailed.

Over the next hour, you wrestled with your pounding heart, striving to push away the notion of remaining on the Baratie ship till the next day. Sanji, with an air of casualness, mentioned that a room was already set and ready for your use, extending the offer without a hint of complication.

When Sanji inquired if you wished for him to accompany you, you swiftly declined, asserting that you weren't weary enough to call it a night yet. Instead, you proposed to enjoy a rejuvenating drink at the bar, an idea to which Sanji cheerfully concurred, flashing one of his charming (and irresistible) smiles.

The sky was captivating, filled with infinite stars that seemed too numerous to count. The evening air was cool against your skin, but there was a noticeable uptick in humidity. The lounge area inside the fish's mouth was near deserted, with only a handful of patrons left, lost in their intoxication and slumped over the bar counter.

Sanji escorted you to the round grouping of couches situated against the mouth of the ship, skillfully uncorking a bottle of blueberry-lemonade rum. You had never considered yourself much of a drinker, rarely finding pleasure in the taste of alcohol and turning to it only when your emotions plunged into a pit of despair. However, given the heightened stress you had endured that night and your present state of restlessness, you felt that a touch of rum was more than justified.

You found comfort in the enveloping silence as you both settled on the couch, close enough to feel the heat radiating from each other. The alcohol successfully soothed your mind and, even though your heart continued to flutter in response to his aroma permeating your senses, you felt more serene and less tense.

You looked up, gently pressing your lips against the glass, and found yourself spellbound by the immense, dark blue spectacle stretching out before your eyes.

"This feels good," you commented aloud. "I can't recall the last time I took a moment for myself.”

Sanji gazed at you, his smile never fading. "A beautiful woman like you should be pampered all day.���

With your head nestled against the back of the couch, you subtly turned your neck to face him. His smile broadened even further in response, and after a fleeting moment of thought, you broke into a tender chuckle. Sanji chimed in, his shoulders easing as he swirled his glass in his hand.

"You certainly have a way with words when it comes to charming a lady, don't you?" you asked playfully.

"And you haven't seen the best of me yet," he replied with a wink.

Raising an eyebrow, you moved to the side, supporting yourself with your elbow on the couch. "A man of great confidence, I see.”

He snickered, adjusting his position and tilting his head slightly. "That marine was clueless about the treasure he possessed," he remarked.

You couldn't keep track of the number of times your heart had skipped a beat in his presence.

Casting your eyes downward, a blush of embarrassment mixed with appreciation tinged your cheeks. "I'm no treasure, Sanji. I'm merely a woman who's been treated like a puppet for far too long. And I let that happen without putting up any fight," you confessed.

"I wouldn't call your actions tonight 'any fight',” he declared.

You tightened your lips together. "It certainly took me quite a while, didn't it?”

"I'm not in a position to judge. And I would never do that to you.”

Your eyes shimmered, a warmth akin to molten honey spread throughout your chest, and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in your belly.

"Honestly, the things you say... they might be the kindest words I’ve ever heard.”

His expression mellowed, transforming into one of sorrow. "How could anyone be cruel to someone like you?”

"You should ask that to my family.”

"I witnessed enough two weeks ago.”

"Right. My father put on quite a show, didn't he?”

"He wasn’t as bad as your fiancé.”

You shuddered. "I really detest that word. I mean, he wasn't exactly my fiancé. Not in my eyes.”

"Not in mine either.”

At that, you laughed once more, and unconsciously, you found yourself inching even closer to the cook.

"Thank you for what you did. Seeing him getting a good kick in the butt for once was absolutely priceless.”

Sanji took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and stretching his arm out to set the half-drunk glass on the table in front of the couch. “I can’t deny that I enjoyed it.”

"Oh, you were certainly invested in it. Your moves were rather impressive.”

He allowed himself to sink back onto the softness of the seat, staring at his hands as he began to absentmindedly fiddle with his ring.

"I couldn't bear to watch him hit and threaten you as he did," he said, his jaw tightening at the memory.

You responded with a sincere smile. "He was known for having an anger problem, but... well.”

Sanji's attention moved to your cheek, and you had to exert control over your reactions as he gently swept his thumb across your skin to inspect it.

"Is it causing pain?”

As his finger traced the irritated spot, all you felt was a comforting caress.

“No, it isn’t.”

"The swelling has gone down.”

"Thankfully you happened to have that salmon available.”

It was quite astonishing to see how both of you couldn't contain your laughter while conversing with each other. When he drew back, the absence of his touch left you feeling instantly hollow. Something in his mouth reflected the soft glow of the lanterns, causing you to notice he might have a piercing situated just beneath his tongue.

When you noticed that you were zoning out as your thoughts momentarily derailed, you cleared your throat and shifted your focus back to the stars. Sanji stayed quiet, a satisfied look on his face as he turned his gaze skyward. From his pocket, he retrieved a cigarette and a lighter, sparking it into life and savoring the nicotine-filled inhalation. As he breathed out, a cloud of smoke ascended, dissipating gradually into the darkened atmosphere.

Remaining there, in silence, with a man you were just getting to know yet felt inexplicably at ease with, you discovered the therapeutic potential of simply sitting in good company. Sanji was chivalrous, respectful, affable, and empathetic. His flirting occasionally teetered on the edge of being excessive, yet his attentions, though most likely extended to the opposite sex in general, didn't bother you in the slightest.

With your drink now fully consumed, your eyelids started to droop. His voice, calling out your name, seemed distant as you found yourself slowly giving in to the lull of sleep right in your current spot.

"Y/N," he gently repeated. "Come on, beautiful, you can’t keep your eyes open.”

"Mh..? What? Oh." After a moment of disorientation, you rubbed your temple and sat up straight, all while he took the glass from your hand, placed it next to his own on the table, and rose to his feet.

When he offered his hand to you, you accepted it, allowing him to aid you in standing up. His closeness made you feel self-aware, especially considering how his lips were now mere inches from your forehead.

"I'll take you to your room.”

You nodded, mirroring his movements as he pivoted and headed towards the entrance. His steps were unhurried and confident, and all you could do was marvel once more at the outline of his broad shoulders and expansive back.

The Baratie was practically empty, and you trailed behind him through the dining hall, along a corridor, and up a flight of wooden stairs. There was an incredibly calming quality to the sounds produced by the ship, as the planks creaked in a gentle rhythm.

Upon arriving at your destination, Sanji pushed open the door and ushered you into a cozy cabin. As he lit the lantern situated on the bedside table, your eyes began to sweep across the room, absorbing the diverse array of objects. The cabin was neat and orderly, with maps, and notes decorating the table positioned beneath the window. You could discern a few cookbooks, an ashtray, and a packet of cigarettes that looked very familiar.

In that moment, it dawned on you that the room he was offering wasn't just a spare one kept for potential guests or new recruits. The cabin had an overwhelming sense of him, exuding an immediate assurance that it was indeed his personal space.

"Wait, Sanji.”

When you pivoted on your heels to face him, you caught the slightly bashful expression on his face. "Apologies, love. The other cabins are currently being used for storage.”

"I see... but-"

"This one is yours for the night."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "What about you?”

"Don't worry about me, I'll manage.”

"Sanji, no," you moved a step closer, gently touching his forearm. "I can't inconvenience you further after everything you've done for me.”

"Nah, you're not an inconvenience at all. Besides, I can't let you sleep on the kitchen floor.”

"I could sleep on the couch outside. It's comfortable enough," you suggested.

"I can't allow you to do that.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but found yourself at a loss for words. His disarming smile made it impossible for you to decline his offer. The orange hue emanating from the lantern cast a spectacular light against his perfect jaw.

"I guess I owe you another one.”

"You don't owe me anything.”

"Yes, I do.”

He chuckled softly under his breath, glancing downward and swallowing subtly in response to the sudden intimacy.

"Good night, Y/N," he said, pulling away from you and reaching for the door handle.

You wished you could have said more, but a lump in your throat held back your words. "Good night, Sanji," was all you could master.

As he stepped out of the cabin, carefully closing the door behind him, you released a long, deep breath you hadn't realized you had been holding.

Another man might have exploited such a situation. You were there, alone with him, nowhere else but in his very own quarters. He had saved you from Christopher's onslaught, cooked a delectable meal for you, and even relinquished his bed for your convenience. Given your insistence on repaying him, there was just one thing he could have requested from you.

Because, as a matter of fact, that's what they all wanted.

Everyone, except for him.

For a fleeting moment, you contemplated whether you should have allowed him to stay.

Despite your extreme fatigue, sleep seemed elusive. Perhaps it was the knowledge that you were in Sanji's bed, coupled with the realization that he was spending the night elsewhere, stripped of his usual comforts because of you. Alternatively, it might have been the fear of what awaited you upon your return home, grappling with the reality that, sooner or later, you would have to confront the repercussions of your defiance.

When you awoke, dawn had already bathed the ship in its golden hues. The makeup around your eyes felt uncomfortably dry, and you were eager to shed your current attire in favor of something more fitting. With a reluctant push, you forced yourself to sit up, attempting to tame your bed hair with your fingers and smooth out the creases in your dress. You voiced a grunt of disapproval, regarding the heels positioned in front of the bed with a look of distaste.

You abandoned the comfort of the mattress and traversed the lukewarm floor barefoot, your vision trained on the ocean beyond as you squinted against the intense sunlight. Not far away, you noticed a small ship that was immediately recognizable, and a smile played on your lips as you watched it sail closer to the Baratie. Mari and the others had arrived.

Immediately, you ensured the bed was neatly made, quickly slipped into your shoes, and hurried towards the door. Carefully avoiding any missteps, you descended the staircase, retracing your path from the previous night in reverse. You entered the serene dining hall, with the sounds of chopping and boiling echoing from the kitchen. Sanji was notably absent, and although seeing his face first thing in the morning would have been pleasant, the discomfort of wearing the same clothes from the previous day was too bothersome to disregard.

As you stepped outside, the sea-salted air filled your lungs. A shroud of morning fog masked the horizon, but the outline of your friends' ship, now almost docked, remained visible.

When the ship came to a standstill, Mari surfaced from the lower deck, her face lighting up. She agilely hopped down, dashing towards you with her arms outstretched. You had to brace yourself as she crashed into you, wrapping your shoulders in a firm embrace.

"Y/N! I'm so incredibly proud of you!”

You laughed in surprise, "Come on, I didn't really do that much.”

"Are you kidding me?" She retorted, "You finally managed to get rid of Nutty after all this time.”

"But it's not over yet.”

"Yes, it is. Because I won't let you get near him ever again.”

With a sigh, a wave of gratitude washed over you for her unfaltering support and protection. Marlo, Rory, and Rubio also made their appearance, waving at you from the bow of the ship.

"I brought you some clothes. I can't stand seeing you in that skimpy dress and those stilettos. How do you even manage to walk?”

You grinned. "You eventually get used to it. But, I admit my feet are really aching now.”

Mari made a sound of disgust, seizing your hand and pulling you aboard their vessel. “Honestly, what would you even do without me?”

“I’d be lost as hell.”

Her determination over the smallest details was both amusing and inspiring. She behaved like a true bodyguard, prepared to confront anything that might obstruct your path.

The moment you set foot onto the main deck, Rubio engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug, Rory clapped her hands in celebration of your successful outcome, and Marlo gave you such a hearty pat on the shoulder that it almost sent you teetering to the other side. Damn him for being a muscular giant.

The affection they demonstrated was something you would cherish for the rest of your life.

"I hate to come off as a freeloader, but would you guys mind if I take a quick bath? I feel like all the food they cooked in there has seeped into me.”

"Ah, so you are the source of this delightful steak aroma," Marlo observed, rubbing his stomach in anticipation and punctuating it with a suggestive lick of his lips.

“Screw you.”

As their jubilant cries reverberated through the ship, you maneuvered your way to the wooden tub, shaking your head in amusement.

The area designated for personal hygiene was quite compact, with a modest collection of rugs and towels, meticulously folded and stacked on a stool. While the tub could only accommodate one person at a time, it proved ample for washing away the sea salt and lingering kitchen odors from your skin. As amazing as the Baratie's cooking was, carrying its scent was not part of your agenda.

You let the dress drop onto the floor before unceremoniously tossing it into your personal clothes box. You picked out one of the outfits that Mari had discreetly tucked away in your hidden storage, preparing it and setting it aside for later use. Evidently, Mari had anticipated your needs and had already filled the tub for you with suitably warmed water. None of your friends expressed any complain, giving you the freedom to luxuriate in it for as long as you desired.

And so, you took your time, employing a coarse sponge to scrub away any lingering traces of oil and food that might have resulted from Christopher's tumultuous outburst. The warmth enveloping your body was comforting, and the entire room was now filled with steam.

The moment you slipped into your trousers, a sigh of relief escaped your lips. The comfort of casual daily wear far surpassed that of any sophisticated dress and high-heeled shoes. Even your hair boasted a different style now, and the shirt you opted for allowed for better movement. The leather jacket added that touch of edginess you were seeking - a look your family would never wish to see on you.

When you finally converged with your friends in the kitchen cabin, they were astonished at how distinct, yet improved, you looked in your characteristic appearance. Feeling rejuvenated and more comfortable with yourself, you settled into a seat and accepted the cup of coffee they had set aside for you.

Mari didn’t waste any time and immediately inquired about the juicy details of your night at the Baratie, as well as how things with your now ex-fiancé took such a dramatic turn. By the end of your tale, Marlo was laughing so hard that he was brought to tears at the mental picture of Christopher being forcefully kicked by a waiter (not a waiter - a cook, you corrected him), while Rory squealed in excitement. Rubio conveyed his deepest solidarity concerning your immediate refusal, but Mari was staring at you in total disbelief.

"Wait, Y/N. Please tell me you didn't do it,” she said.

"Huh? Didn't do what? You already knew that I rejected him.”

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant.”

"What did you mean, then?”

She scoffed. "Did you seriously spend the night into that cook’s bed… without inviting him to stay with you? For real?”

You raised an eyebrow. "Mari, don't go there.”

"Oh, come on! After all he's done for you, you didn't even give him a kiss? If I were in your place, I would have certainly made a move, straight to his d-”

“Mari!”

A collective bout of laughter erupted once again, and you facepalmed so hard that you nearly struck yourself in the process.

"What's wrong with that? How long has it been since you last hooked up with a decent man?”

You rolled your eyes. "Too long ago to remember. And I don't think it was with anyone decent.”

"She has a point," Marlo chimed in. "He was such a skinny loser."

"Pretty sure that wasn't the reason why I dumped him," you clarified. "Stop thinking like the muscular beast that you are."

He responded with a toothy grin, playfully flaunting the size of his bicep.

"Seriously though, I'm impressed he didn't actually try to sleep with you," Mari persisted. "And from what you've told us about this Sanji, I believe you might have stumbled upon a rare gem this time.”

"Isn't he just toying around, though?" Rory inquired. "He's a gentleman alright, but what if he does this with every attractive lady he comes across?”

"Without even trying to put his hands on her? No, it's clear he took her situation to heart," Mari concluded. "He kicked her fiancé in the butt without hesitation, in his own workplace.”

"Well, either way, all this talk about him just made me want to meet the guy in person," Marlo declared.

"Oh, I agree," Rory interjected.

“Good thing we don't have to wait for that.”

Confused, you turned to Mari again, giving her a questioning look.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? Oopsie.”

Judging by her joyful expression, you realized that she was scheming something behind your back. “Mari. What are you talking about?”

A grin of absolute satisfaction spread across her face. "You see, we managed to book a table for brunch today.”

“…at the Baratie.”

“Yes, at the Baratie. Where else?”

Silence descended upon the room as you blinked a few times. “Wait. That must be a joke. There’s no way you could find a spot so easily.”

Mari proudly flicked her red hair off her shoulder. "Y/N, who do you think you're talking to? You know I have means to get what I want.”

Your jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"Don't ask her. Not even we know the details," Marlo whispered into your ear, stifling another fit of laughter at your reaction.

Eventually, you let it go, as arguing with someone like Mari was as futile as trying to converse with a wall.

"You guys are insane.”

Rory stood up, darting towards you and wrapping her arms around your neck, pressing her warm cheek against yours. "And you love us this way!”

Indeed, you absolutely wouldn't have them any differently.

Entering the Baratie was becoming a routine for you. The grandeur of its elegant dining room, with its polished aesthetics and sophisticated ambiance, was now incredibly familiar. The tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen had become a sensory marker you eagerly anticipated. Even seeing the fishman's face at the entrance had become a delightful and comforting sight.

Brunch time was as bustling as dinner typically was. The number of people flocking to the floating restaurant was astounding, with an influx of ships docking alongside your friends', seemingly materializing out of nowhere. The fact that Mari secured a reservation so quickly was still a shock to you, but you chose to heed Marlo's advice and simply savour the good fortune you had received.

As you were led to your table, your eyes inadvertently drifted to a corner adjacent to the kitchen. The blonde cook was right there, and his mere presence in your peripheral sight was enough to cause your heart to flutter.

Caught in a moment of starstruck awe, you remained rooted to the spot in the middle of the dining room, motionless as your friends continued ahead.

"Y/N, what's the hold-up?" Mari questioned, halting halfway.

Barely shifting your gaze towards her, you raised your hand in acknowledgment. "Sorry, I'll join you in a moment.”

You then turned and walked away, striding purposefully towards Sanji. He appeared to be engrossed in folding napkins and arranging food and drinks on a silver tray, dressed in his chef's uniform and casually flicking his hair away from his face with a slight toss of his head.

It didn't take long for him to notice you. The moment his gaze locked with yours, his face lit up, and the smile you cherished so much spread widely across his lips.

"Hey you," you greeted him, mirroring his joy with equal fervor.

"Hey! I'm surprised to see you're still here. You look... different," he commented, appraising you from head to toe. "Undeniably gorgeous.”

You grinned in response, by now accustomed to his compliments and playful flirtations, but still appreciating every bit of it. "Between you and me, I don't usually like wearing dresses. This is the real me.”

"Honestly, sweetheart, you could even wear a bag and still look beautiful in it.”

You let out a laugh. "Oh, stop it. I wanted to thank you for letting me stay in your room. I hope I didn't inconvenience you to the extent of sleeping somewhere uncomfortable.”

“I managed just fine. And you’re very welcome.”

For an instant, it seemed as though the atmosphere around you had charged with electricity. An unbroken silence descended upon the two of you as your eyes stayed intertwined. There was something extraordinary about Sanji, something more profound than mere attraction towards the opposite sex. You noticed the passion in his mannerisms when he had prepared a meal for you the previous night, and the tangible rage etched on his features when Christopher posed a threat to you. His talks about Zeff and the hurdles he was encountering, the mournful twinkle you spotted in his eyes when he confessed that standing up to the man was a complex ordeal.

Sanji was more than just a good-looking cook playing the role of Prince Charming. The more you observed him, the stronger grew your desire to unravel his enigma.

The booming voice of Mari, beckoning you from the table, abruptly pulled you back to the present moment. As you pivoted, you caught sight of your friends watching you, their faces illuminated with wide grins of satisfaction.

"Are you with them?" Sanji inquired.

"Yes, they're here to pick me up. My friend over there somehow reserved a table without even informing me. I have no idea how she pulled it off.”

Sanji let out a chuckle. "Well, it seems that you're in good hands today.”

"I am. Uhm... I should go join them now. Will we meet again later?”

You didn't want to seem excessively clingy, but the moment you voiced that question, a part of you plummeted into a pit of embarrassment.

Yet, your words only served to widen his smile even more. "Absolutely, sweetheart.”

As you nodded and retreated a step, you were convinced that your cheeks were flaming. You observed him lift the tray and take it to the closest table, all the while you ambled away, caught up in your whimsical thoughts.

The moment you sat down, you immediately sensed four pairs of piercing eyes fixated on you.

"Okay, I have to admit it," Mari started, "That guy is attractive as fuck.”

“He’s definitely a handsome one, good shot Y/N!” Rory exclaimed.

"More handsome than me?" Marlo queried, "Come on, I'm way more appealing than him.”

"Oh, don't be jealous now. Of course, you're the best.”

Marlo wasn't entirely convinced, but he draped a muscular arm around Rory’s shoulder, wearing a smug expression.

"I mean, as a man, I can't exactly be objective about his appearance,” Rubio started, "But he was practically devouring you with his eyes alone.”

You cleared your throat. "Was he really?”

"Honestly, Y/N, how clueless can you get?” Mari groaned. “That cook would be all over you if he could.”

"That's not true.”

"Actually, my dear, she's quite right," Marlo chimed in.

“Guys, seriously! You've barely seen him for two minutes from here. He’s not like that.”

"Yeah, what sets him apart at least, is that he seems to respect your boundaries.”

Rory, Marlo, and Rubio all nodded in unison.

You sighed. "Whatever. Can we change the topic, please?”

"Oh wow, look at how flushed your face is!”

"Awww, how adorable. Our dear Y/N has a crush.”

"Shhh, lower your voices!”

When they burst into another round of snickers, you shook your head, suppressing a smirk that was beginning to form. It was extraordinary how different and comfortable you felt with them, compared to the other times you had found yourself in that very same room. Just the night before, you had been wishing to escape as soon as you arrived, and now, you desired nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with your friends, savoring the most delectable cuisine that could be found in all of East Blue (and perhaps, in the entire world).

If anything, this only solidified that you were perilously close to completely upending your life, and the prospect of returning home invoked the most dreadful sense of fear you could ever experience.

You all ate to such an extent that you felt on the verge of bursting. Rory was almost moved to tears, thrilled by the outstanding cuisine, while Marlo consumed everything he had ordered with astonishing eagerness. Rubio was making a determined effort to relish his dessert, wishing it would never end, while Mari was so delighted with her meal that she would have licked her plate clean if it wasn't considered as such an indiscretion.

Throughout your brunch, Sanji had surfaced at your table, meticulously detailing each dish with commendable sentiment. Rory and Mari, both remarkably beautiful, didn't elude the cook's attention, and he lavished them with a cascade of compliments and charming banter. However, the exchange of smiles and whispered words between you and Sanji seemed to single you out, making you feel distinctively special. At one juncture, he slipped out of the kitchen with a dish he didn't want Zeff to see, placing it before you with a gentle touch on your shoulder as he whispered into your ear. You blushed continuously for ten minutes when your friends began to tease you affectionately about the gesture.

As lunchtime passed and the early afternoon sun began to shift its position, the dining room slowly started to empty. You could hear the music emanating from the bar outside, coupled with the increasing volume of your friends' voices echoing throughout the space. The tranquility of the instance felt entirely dreamlike, a stark contrast to the habitual family turmoil and incessant demands you were accustomed to.

You had been seated there for a few hours, yet, there was not a single moment where you felt an urge to leave the table.

Only when your stomachs were satiated and your meals entirely consumed, did your friends place the necessary quantity of Berries on the silver tray accompanying the bill. You had proposed to reimburse them later with the funds from your private storage, but they remained unyielding in their decision to indulge you.

You were so immersed in your complaint, that Mari's exit from the group escaped your attention. Only upon sensing her missing presence beside you, did you scan the surroundings in an attempt to locate your friend. The instant you did, all color drained from your face.

"Guys...? What is she up to?”

Marlo was already breaking into muted chuckles, while Rory dismissed it nonchalantly with a wave of her hand. Rubio slung an arm around your shoulder as your attention fixated on Mari, who was engaging in a cheerful conversation with none other than Sanji himself, who had emerged from the kitchen to gather the settled bills.

You managed to hear Mari expressing her gratitude aloud before she spun on her heels and returned, and you scarcely registered Sanji's smile aimed in your direction when she did.

"Mari," your voice came out stern and low. "What was that?”

"Relax! I was merely engaging his services for the day.”

"Wait, you did what?”

"Considering it will take us a while to return, I thought we could take advantage of his culinary expertise. Nothing overly extravagant, just a packed dinner for our journey.”

“Oh, you’re brilliant!”

“Indeed, good thinking Mari!”

You rubbed your temple, taking deep breaths to soothe your frayed nerves. Given the amount of food your group consumed, it seemed highly unlikely that any of you would feel sufficiently hungry to partake in dinner by day's end. Mari's move was merely a pretext to invite Sanji aboard their ship, observe him closely and, without a doubt, provide an opportunity for you to spend additional time with him away from his usual environment.

"Did he agree?" You asked her.

“Oh yes.”

Well, shit.

You were torn between feeling grateful, or extremely anxious. The mere notion of having him so near to you and your soul family, without Zeff, Patty, or any other colleague on standby to yank him away, caused your entire face to be flushed with a deep shade of crimson once more.

Yet, deep within, your mind was silently shrieking with exhilaration.

As you waited for Sanji aboard your friends' ship, your heart was racing so fast that you felt like a teenager on her first date. Even though it wasn't intended to be a private encounter between the two of you, with Mari and the others around, you knew that privacy was not an option anyway.

And yet, the anticipation was killing you.

Upon Sanji's arrival, it came to your attention that he had discarded his chef's uniform, not even opting for his signature black jacket. The sight of his button-down shirt, tightly embracing his upper body, and the visible flex of his lower arm muscles as he lugged kitchen supplies and utensils, only intensified your emotional unrest.

Mari led him to the stove, and without hesitation, he settled in, rolling his sleeves up even further. Rubio, who had recently taken a fond interest in cooking, attempted to glean some useful instructions from the chef. Despite his playful refusal to reveal his culinary secrets, Sanji still provided a few practical pointers that your friend eagerly jotted down.

A smile found its way onto your face as you relaxed your shoulders and comfortably leaned against the dining table. Your smile wasn't particularly intended for Sanji, yet the moment he caught sight of it, he responded with a radiant grin of his own, one that became increasingly endearing to you with each passing moment.

Clearing your throat, you approached him, fully aware of your friends' attentive eyes watching your every move. "Can I assist you with anything?”

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You're not expected to do the work.”

You shook your head. "Still, please. Let me help you.”

"Yes, she's quite good actually. She's been dedicating a lot of time to practice.”

You shot Marlo a stern look, silently urging him to drop the subject. Unfortunately, your friends showed no signs of letting up.

"Oh right, she did! If you two join forces, I have no doubt it's going to result in the best dinner we've ever had!”

Rory's enthusiasm was so overwhelming that you almost felt the urge to scream and bolt. Sanji regarded you with a curious expression and a raised eyebrow, a look you quickly tried to dismiss. "It's not like that. I was forced to... I mean.... just, may I?”

Recognizing your growing desperation, Sanji didn't have the heart to turn you down.

"All right, love. Could you chop the carrots for me?”

Somewhat shyly, you nodded, washing your hands and picking up the knife from the table. Mari's barely suppressed giggle could be heard, and she met your playfully threatening glare with an innocent look.

"So, Sanji. How long have you been a cook?" Rubio asked, watching as you began to slice the vegetable.

His voice echoed with delight and pride as he replied, "I've been training since I was a child.”

"Impressive. It runs in your blood, then. Can you cook, like, anything?”

“I can make anything.”

“Now I’m jealous!”

The atmosphere became noticeably lighter and more carefree. Your friends were at ease, engaging in leisurely conversation and warmly interacting with the man who had clearly piqued your interest. The more you collaborated with the cook, the more your deep, meaningful glances with him became frequent.

Convinced that it was best to leave the two of you to your own tasks, Mari stood up and stretched her arms. "I believe it's time for a little rest. I've eaten so much that I'm starting to feel drowsy. What do you say, guys? Shall we let them finish the preparations?”

Immediately catching on, they all nodded in agreement and vacated their seats with lightning speed.

"Looks like the kitchen is in capable hands, catch you later," Marlo announced as he departed, throwing you a playful wink.

As they all withdrew, an awkward silence seemed to descend upon you, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of a knife chopping and water boiling. Alone with Sanji again, you could feel the warmth radiating from his shoulder, so close to yours that they were almost touching.

Swallowing nervously, you apologized, "I'm sorry for their behavior. I hope they didn't make you feel uncomfortable.”

"Not at all. They seem like nice people.”

You allowed the freshly cut carrots to tumble into the simmering pot. "They truly are. I honestly don't know what I'd do without them.”

"You seem happier when you're with them," he observed.

"I am. We've been together since our childhood days. My parents never really approved of them, so I always had to come up with an excuse to sneak out and meet them.”

Your hand grazed against his as you handed him the ladle.

"Life hasn't been easy for you, has it?”

"No, not really.”

You watched him with admiration as he skillfully stirred the contents in the pot. The tantalizing aroma of the stew wafted up, tickling your nostrils and igniting your appetite once again.

"So, what's this about you training in cooking?" He inquired.

“It’s not what you think,” you replied, a chuckle escaping your lips. "My family wanted me to become the ideal wife, so they sort of nudged me into the kitchen to prepare meals suitable for a husband. I like cooking, but my skills are quite avarage, really.”

“You’re actually doing well.”

"All I'm doing is chopping vegetables, sprinkling some seasoning, and staring as you do all the heavy lifting.”

Your attention was more drawn to his arms and hands for entirely different reasons, but that was a piece of information he didn't need to know.

"It's not every day I get the opportunity to cook alongside a woman as pretty and intelligent as you.”

It was difficult to hold back your blush.

"I'm not that clever. If I were, I wouldn't have ended up here with that guy in the first place.”

Sanji's smile faltered only for a fleeting moment, before returning just as bright as before. "You certainly didn't deserve any of that, but… I'm glad it led to our paths crossing.”

In that moment, your mind was swarming with doubts and questions. Did he extend this level of kindness to any attractive woman he encountered at the Baratie? Were you developing feelings for the wrong man, someone who showered you with compliments while possibly having a multitude of women waiting in the wings?

The more you mulled it over, the less fearful you became as your impressions of him persisted. Could someone as gentle and courteous as he seemingly was, be the flirtatious player as Rory had insinuated?

Admittedly, your limited experience wasn't much to draw from, especially considering the sparse past relationships you had managed to keep concealed from your family. And yet, in Sanji's presence, you felt a sense of freedom and security that not even Mari and the others could provide.

"It might seem like an obvious thing to say, but I'm glad too.”

Underneath his hair, you could see his lips curling into a confident grin. And before you could utter another word, he turned towards you, a spoon filled with warm stew in his hand, gently pressing it against your lips.

"Would you mind tasting this for me, beautiful? It might be a bit hot, so be careful.”

Using the counter for support as your knees seemed to weaken, you held one hand under the spoon and gently blew on it to cool the meat down. The moment you brought your lips to it and allowed the stew to slide into your mouth, it instantly melted on your tongue, causing your taste buds to burst with joy.

"Oh, wow," you exclaimed. "This is delicious. But honestly, everything you make is perfect.”

"I had a good assistant.”

"You did most of it.”

"You have a precise knack for chopping, an acute sense of smell, and an excellent eye for seasoning. You're more talented than you give yourself credit for.”

You shrugged. "I never considered it to be something praise-worthy, but thank you.”

With the stew fully prepared, Sanji ladled generous portions into different bowls, sealing them with tinfoil to retain their warmth and prevent any foreign substances from contaminating the food. Between moments of laughter and diverse talks that allowed you to get to know each other a little better, you spent the afternoon preparing a variety of dishes, ranging from your friends' favorites to some of his specialties. By the time you finished, you estimated there would be enough food to last even through the next day, if not longer.

YYou had never experienced this much joy while preparing a meal before.

As you cleaned your hands with a towel, you looked at him with uncertainty, feeling a question bubbling up within you but hesitant to put it into words. Finally, having settled down next to him with a glass of water, you decided to take a leap of faith and speak your mind.

"Hey Sanji, can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything you want,” he responded gently.

"So, I assure you I didn't rummage through your things, but I couldn't help noticing a few notes and maps on your desk. This place, the Baratie, it's not really where you want to be, is it?”

While his smile didn't fade, it was evident that your question had struck a chord.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to answer tha-”

"Have you ever heard of the All Blue?”

His question took you by surprise, but as it was a name you faintly recognized, it still had you deep in thought. No, it wasn't new at all. You were absolutely certain that you had come across it at some point. Perhaps it was mentioned in a story during one of your tedious dinners with Marines and notable figures. Or maybe it was something you found in a novel of some sort.

You searched your memory until something finally clicked. "I think I have. Isn't it a sea of legend, said to be the only place in the world where the North Blue, South Blue, East Blue, and West Blue seas intersect?”

Sanji looked at you with a surprised, yet pleased look.

You chuckled. "Yeah, I’m a bookworm.”

"Beautiful, intelligent, and impressively well-informed.”

"Oh, come on, really. Is this All Blue what you're searching for?”

Sanji's face turned solemn, tinged with a melancholic air. "There are fish from each of the four seas. It’s the ultimate dream of every chef.”

You nodded understandingly. "I can see why.”

"The All Blue is rumored to be located somewhere in the Grand Line. Yet, no one has ever found it.”

"And you believe it's not real?”

Sanji lifted his eyes from the table. "What about you?”

You didn't need to think it over. "I don't see why it shouldn't be. Whether it's legendary or not, the fact that it's known suggests there's some element of truth to it.”

Once again, his lips widened into the most beautiful of smiles, leaving you momentarily breathless.

"I know it's real. It has to be.”

"So... are you planning on setting out soon?”

Sanji let out a heavy sigh. "No.”

"But... I don't understand. I thought you wanted to find it?”

"I have responsibilities here, sweetheart. I can't just abandon Zeff.”

Your hands came together on the table. "So this is what you were referring to when you mentioned things were complicated?”

"Yeah.”

Despite your belief that he had every right to pursue the All Blue, you held back voicing your opinion on the matter. After all, you knew very little about his relationship with Zeff, and the fact that he was willing to sacrifice his dream for this man suggested their bond was far deeper than you initially perceived.

As if sensing your internal deliberation, Sanji continued speaking.

"He saved me, Y/N. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. I owe him my life.”

As he delved deeper into the story, and as much as you wished to know more, his explanation was enough for you to fully grasp his standpoint.

"And you?”

“Me?”

“Is there anything that you want to do?”

In that moment, you knew that he was asking about your dreams, wondering if you had one so intense that you'd consider setting sail into the open sea.

For the first time, as no one had ever asked you such a question, you found yourself at a loss.

"I'm not really sure," you replied. "The only thing I've ever wanted was to break free from the strict rules and impositions of my family. I've never really paused to consider what else could be out there for me.”

"I would call that a dream. One that you've just managed to fulfill.”

"Not really, no.” You absentmindedly fiddled with your fingers. "Perhaps in part, but there's still so much left to do. I'll never truly be free as long as they continue to expect my return.”

Sanji seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he nudged his chair a bit closer to you, just enough to be able to place his hand on yours.

"Then don't.”

Without any hint of embarrassment, you affectionately squeezed his wrist. "I have to. Otherwise, I'll just be hiding, and that's not what I want. I need closure.”

He pursed his lips together, nodding in silence, but maintaining his comforting grip on you. His touch was gentle yet firm, so incredibly grounding that you wished it could last forever.

Sadly, as the kitchen door swung open, you had to abruptly pull back and move slightly further from him.

"How's it going, guys? This room smells heavenly!”

You glanced down and ran your fingers across your forehead, while Sanji subtly cleared his throat into his hand. Mari looked at you, her smile broad and knowing, her eyebrows raised so high they seemed to touch the sky.

"It's all ready," Sanji responded, his voice slightly hoarse.

Unable to resist, Marlo immediately approached the covered stew, peeling back part of the tinfoil to take in its scent. "Holy cow, man. You're incredible.”

"Y/N deserves just as much praise.”

"Oh, I'm sure," Mari said, draping her arms around your shoulders from behind and squeezing a bit too tightly for comfort. "I want the deets later," she whispered into your ear.

Rubio stepped forward, giving Sanji's back a friendly pat and expressing his gratitude for the remarkable service. As dusk approached, it dawned on you how much time you both had devoted in that isolated chamber, and how rapidly the hours had slipped away in his company.

For the second time that day, your friends refused to allow you to dip into your savings, even though you were more than ready to compensate Sanji for all his efforts. Every single one of them.

But in the end, would money even suffice? You still felt a lingering indebtedness towards him, and you made a solemn vow to yourself that one day, somehow, you would reciprocate his kindness in a much grander, more significant way.

Mari persisted for a solid fifteen minutes, trying to convince him to accept the payment. Sanji was adamant that he didn't require any compensation, asserting that his joy stemmed from ensuring all of you were content and well-prepared for your journey home. However, no one could ever win against Mari’s obstinacy, and he was compelled to accept the payment with a slight reverance as he reluctantly took their Berries.

The mere idea of returning to your hometown felt like a weight on your heart, and the prospect of bidding farewell was agonizingly painful.

Recognizing that he needed to return to his duties at the Baratie, you proposed walking with him, not wanting him to endure Zeff's criticism for his extended absence. Naturally, Mari and the rest didn't oppose, silently motivating you to seize this chance.

Thus, both of you disembarked from the ship, strolling side by side down the wooden pier. The sea breeze brought a pleasant salty touch to your skin, and you were at a loss for words, unable to interrupt the serene quiet.

In the end, he was the one to shatter it.

"Will you be all right, love? Truly?”

His concern was moving, and it only made you want to stay and never leave.

"Yes," you replied with assurance. "Truly.”

“You do realize that you're stronger than you think, right?”

You smiled. "I do now, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

You stopped, pivoting to face him and sweeping your hair away from your face. "You did a lot, actually. Maybe you don't even recognize it, but the way you speak has a way of calming a lady's heart. It certainly worked with me.”

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Believe me. With you, it’s natural.”

"If that's the case, I'm flattered.”

You resumed your walk, moving forward until the entrance to the Baratie stood directly in front of you. A part of you longed to grip onto him and beseech him to let you stay, to grant you employment at the restaurant, to protect you from any potential danger you might face at home.

Because, at the end of the day, you never learned how to stand on your own two feet. The reason it took you such a long time to finally break free from your family's control was that you had spent your entire life craving their love and approval. You sought validation, a confirmation that you were enough. But all you were met with were cruel words and expectations that shaped you into a person you didn't identify with, nor you wanted to be.

Sanji helped you understand that you weren't someone to be despised. You were deserving of protection and care, and your true value far surpassed the worth your family had ascribed to you.

"Will I see you again?" He asked, resting a hand on the door without pushing it open.

"As if I could go on without ever tasting your cooking again.”

You both shared another bout of laughter, trading one last look before you retreated a step. "Take care, Sanji. I'll see you soon.”

Without awaiting his reply, you turned and initiated your departure, taking a few steps along the pier as more ships began to approach.

But as you forced yourself to reach your friends, your body seemed to resist, decelerating until you came to a complete standstill, unsure of your subsequent action.

"Oh, come on! After all he's done for you, you didn't even give him a kiss?”

Mari's words reverberated in your mind, and although you had initially cast aside the notion as dreadfully improper, now your hands quivered with the urge that was overtaking you.

You swiveled your head, sneaking a look back at Sanji who had stayed exactly where you left him, motionless, observing as you walked away. Summoning a spontaneous burst of bravery, you made long strides to return to his side. His lips began to part to say something, but you halted him by resting your hand on his chest and pressing a modest, tender kiss onto his cheek.

It was cautious, as gentle as the touch of a feather. But the way he traced his fingers along your arm to grasp your wrist was an unmistakable indication of his appreciation for your gesture.

You barely locked eyes with him as you pulled back, your cheeks blushing at the sight of them. You didn't even stop to consider what you had just done, turning and darting off, making a beeline for your cabin with the intent to confine yourself and never come out. Only when you reached the main deck did you dare to look at the Baratie, realizing that the door was fully open and Sanji was nowhere in sight.

Throughout your voyage, your friends teased about the palpable tension and electric atmosphere that seemed to spark whenever you and Sanji were near each other. They highlighted the unmistakable mutual attraction, causing your cheeks to heat up even more. It was now impossible to deny that there was some form of connection between the two of you, but with the unresolved situation back home looming over you, you opted to shelf those thoughts as there were more pressing matters at hand.

The feeling was sickening, excruciating, and completely daunting. As you stared at the town materializing in the distance with a cup of coffee in your shaking hand, you promised yourself that this time, regardless of the potential fallout, you would stand up for your own welfare.

Now, unlike ever before, you knew exactly what to do. And for the first time, you had a clear objective to accomplish - you desired to see Sanji's face again above all else in the world.

Final note: I didn't fully describe my OCs because I thought it would be fun for the readers to come up with their own vision and interpretation, so you are free to see them however you please, only using my little details as an indication.

Also, people have speculated that Sanji has a piercing just below his tongue, considering that something shiny seems to show up there in a couple of scenes. Someone confirmed that Taz Skylar, Sanji's actor, actually has one irl, so I thought it would be nice to include it here! 😆

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

#one piece liveaction #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke #sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 2

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

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

Read on AO3.

Chapter Summary: Dracule Mihawk had disappeared from your sight, but fate had a particularly perilous way of intertwining your paths again.

Three weeks had elapsed since your confrontation with Dracule Mihawk on the island, and he remained faithful to his vow of discontinuing his pursuit. That allowed you to revert to your typical pursuits of brokering deals and traversing the wide expanses of the East Blue, free from the constant dread of being ensrared or harmed by the world's mightiest swordsman.

Every now and then, you still had to evade unexpected bounty hunters who recognized you during your travels. However, in comparison to the formidable and perilous threat that Mihawk could have presented, it was a matter of little concern.

And yet, despite the frustration brought about by the game you played with the Warlord, there was a part of you that genuinely longed for the thrill of being chased by him once more.

The truth was that he had left a profound impact on you. Even with his stern and aloof exterior, he had displayed a degree of compassion that day, a rarity since you had left your home. His guidance, albeit delivered in a brusque manner akin to a critique, was valuable. Furthermore, he commended your tenacity and survival tactics, despite his scant understanding of your combat techniques.

And then, there was his voice, exuding a commanding presence that demanded attention. It was smooth, it was alluring, and it possessed an enchanting quality that was truly unforgettable. The mere thought of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Dracule Mihawk was undeniably attractive, and despite your disdain for it, you couldn't help but wish that things had turned out differently between the two of you.

Being a woman of your age, you had never been one to develop adolescent-like infatuations with men. You partook in fleeting romances and casual encounters when circumstances and desires aligned, but never did you let yourself become infatuated with someone you hardly knew. Granted, there were a couple of favorites you endeavored to see more than once, yet none of those experiences held a candle to this one.

It went against your nature, and you detested the feeling of being consumed by those kinds of emotions. However, despite your discomfort, it became progressively challenging with each passing day to banish him from your thoughts.

As another week slipped by without any sighting of Mihawk, you found yourself envisioning the Marines' reaction upon discovering his defiance of the World Government's orders, allowing you to move freely and carry out your activities unhindered. Given what they had subjected you to, you were steadfast in your resolve to witness their ultimate downfall and defeat, propelled by their own arrogance.

Although it may not have been significant in comparison to what you had to endure, you could still perceive it as a minor victory.

Exiting a shop, your bag was filled to the brim with fresh goodies and supplies. You savored this little luxury amidst the chaotic outcome you had obtained. You had emerged from the depths of the slums, propelled solely by your own determination and grit. Climbing the ladder single-handedly, you attained heights that seemed inconceivable when you first bore your scars.

Occasionally, the sight of those marks in the mirror still made you flinch. Whenever you found yourself in a physically intimate situation with a man, there was always a lingering concern that they might recoil in revulsion. Up untill now, your experiences in this aspect had been minimal, as you consciously maintained a certain distance to avoid any potential entanglements. There was just one man who candidly expressed his discomfort, confessing his fear of inflicting pain upon touching you. Regrettably, his admission tainted the mood, prompting you to collect your belongings and depart, never to meet him again.

However, a certain merchant seemed to have taken a particular interest in you. Over the past eight months, you conducted numerous transactions with him, trading valuable artifacts that he was more than eager to compensate generously with gold. Although there was no romantic attachment between the two of you, you genuinely enjoyed his company and found him to be a delightful presence whenever you spent time together.

Driven by a few drinks, one night, your casual banter took an unforeseen twist and evolved into a passionate exchange that was mutually regarded as one of the most exhilarating experiences you had ever shared with someone. He exuded a certain masculine beauty, characterized by a strong jawline and captivating deep green eyes. Moreover, he treated you with utmost care and respect, expressing genuine admiration for your resilience and acknowledging your exceptional ability to handle yourself in combat.

There was a moment when you briefly contemplated taking your relationship with him a little further, but you realized that it would be impossible for you to pursue it. Your free-spirited nature made it difficult for you to envision settling down with a man who shared the same libertine lifestyle. Or at the very least, as long as there was a bounty looming over your head.

One day, you found yourself engaging with him in another deal. Yet, for the first time since your acquaintanceship, you felt an unfamiliar detachment and a complete absence of any desire to be intimate with him. The usual routine played out as he poured you a glass of wine, brushed his fingers along your thigh, and tenderly kissed the side of your neck. It felt nice, warm, and tantalizing, yet the familiar spark that once existed between you seemed to have vanished.

Or rather, as he drew closer to you, the image of Mihawk's golden eyes flashed vividly in your mind.

He was completely taken aback when you distanced yourself, but staying true to his gentlemanly demeanor, he could only honor your request and withdraw. Feeling a momentary embarrassment, he quickly cleared his throat and responded with a kind smile when you apologized.

“No harm done, sweetheart. I can't expect you to be in the mood all the time," he reassured you.

"Thank you, Isaiah. I'm just feeling a bit tired today," you replied, not quite sure how to fully describe your current state.

The man let out a soft chuckle. "I don't doubt that. You're never in one place for too long. But, are you sure you're not thinking about someone else? You can tell me, I won't be offended.”

Your attention snapped back to his face, eyes widening and cheeks turning pink. "What gave you that idea?”

He shrugged, cleaning his emptied glass. "It's just that you've been in all sorts of moods, and you've never turned me down before. Not to mention, you seem a little distracted today and barely touched your drink," he explained.

You vigorously shook your head. "Nothing like that. You know I'm not interested in love, anyway."

“Things can change.”

"Not for someone as wanted as I am.”

He looked at you in silence, his eyebrow raised and his lips curled into a soft grin. "You deserve so much better than this."

“Do I, really?”

"The lifestyle you lead, it suits you well, but you're just too good for what you get in return," he expressed. "You are honest, kind, and honorable. All qualities that don't really go well with today's standards, especially in the open sea.”

As you made slight movements with your hand, your eyes remained fixed on the ripples that formed and elegantly danced on the surface of the crimson liquid remaining in your glass. "In all honesty, I don't even know what I want," you admitted. "Every day, I find myself engaged in a constant battle for my own survival. It's draining, yet there's also a strange thrill that accompanies it. Does that even make sense? At this point, I don't even know what to do with my life anymore.”

Isaiah laughed, returning to his chair and crossing his arms. "I’m sure you'll figure it out. In the meantime, I'll continue to keep you as my exclusive supplier, for as long as you allow me to.”

You offered him a smile, placing the glass on the table and gracefully leaving your seat. "Your support is truly valuable, Isaiah.”

"Of course. That's what friends are for.”

"Friends..." you mused, cherishing the warmth of the word. Ever since you left your hometown, you didn’t have anyone to rely on.

In the end, Isaiah was perhaps the closest thing you could find to a friend. While there were a few additional benefits that made him a little more special, he remained a good friend nonetheless.

"That's what we are, aren't we? I certainly consider you to be one.”

As you walked away, a glimmer of delight sparkled in your eyes, embracing the newfound certainty. "Indeed," you replied with a cheerful tone, before bidding farewell to the merchant and disappearing into the night, leaving his headquarters behind.

Three weeks later, you were beginning to lose hope of ever meeting Dracule Mihawk again.

It was what you had wished from the beginning. You didn't want to constantly feel his presence looming over your shoulder wherever you went. Now he was gone, nowhere to be found, distant from your reach. Just as it was meant to be.

And for some reason, you hated it.

It was frustrating to feel such a powerful attraction towards someone you had only properly met once. Not even Isaiah, with his charm and good presence, had ever evoked such intense emotions within you. For a while, you made every effort to get as much information as possible, trying to uncover the Warlord’s whereabouts. He continued to remain as elusive as a shrewd bird of prey, a figure so mysterious and feared that even pirates themselves would hesitate to utter his name.

Eventually, you made the decision to gather yourself and let go of the feelings stirring deep inside. You carried on with your life to the best of your abilities, determined to consider him a mere shadow of the past.

And it worked. Little by little, as you kept yourself occupied with various tasks to earn your Berries, you were beginning to forget about the Warlord and your ridiculous infatuation. He was nothing more than a peculiar apparition, someone you had encountered along your journey and parted ways with.

Until one day, unexpectedly, you crossed paths with him again.

After a lengthy sea voyage and the exploration of a new town, you sought solace in a lively tavern. The crowded atmosphere provided a sense of comfort as you took a seat at the bar counter, savoring a refreshing drink by yourself. The air was filled with joyous laughter and the melodies of sea shanties. People from all corners of the world congregated, sharing meals and a myriad of stories that transcended cultural boundaries. The tavern became a vibrant tapestry of diverse perspectives, with groups of friends reunited to find a moment of respite and tranquility in each other's company.

Your ears were attuned, eagerly seeking out snippets of conversation that could offer valuable insights or opportunities.

As you savored your drink, a man settled comfortably next to you, his presence feeling somewhat intrusive. He ordered a fine bottle of rum, his voice booming and his large tattooed bicep brushing against your shoulder, invading your personal space. You attempted to brush it off and focus on your own affairs, but now the man's attention was fully focused on you.

"What’s a fair lass like ye doin' 'ere alone?"

You rolled your eyes in response, gulping down the cocktail to deflect any interaction.

"Not much of a talker, ey?”

You turned your head, meeting his bearded face, and offered an innocent smile. “Just savorin' me drink, matey," you replied, playfully mimicking his accent.

The man snickered in amusement as he filled his glass. "I must admit, it be quite a bold move for ye to come 'ere, with so many people around."

"It is meant to be crowded. If it weren't, the innkeeper would surely go broke," you replied.

"He! Ye speak true,” he said, enjoying the camaraderie.

You held his gaze without wavering, your instincts on high alert as you tried to discern his true intentions. While he might appear as a man attempting to make a connection with a random lady at the bar, something about him felt off, leaving you unable to pinpoint exactly what it was.

"I be merely surprised, lass. Wasn't expectin' the likes of the Cutthroat herself to be frequentin' these public haunts.”

The moment he mentioned the nickname they had bestowed upon you in the wake of your crimes, all doubts faded away. The acknowledgment in his words validated that he was aware of your true identity, and it was highly likely that you were precisely what he had been seeking all along.

You inhaled deeply, momentarily frozen in place, your glass suspended mid-air. Striving to keep your composure, you casually crossed your legs and averted your gaze, pretending to be unfazed by the revelation.

"What can I say? I have a fondness for a good glass of Daiquiri from time to time," you replied, mustering a normal tone as you attempted to divert the conversation.

"Refined palates do tend to gather,” he said, nodding in agreement. "Tell ye what, lass. I'll let ye finish yer drink, but after that, ye'll be comin' with me," he declared.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance as you questioned, "Is that so? And what if I refuse?”

"I'm afraid ye don't have much choice.”

The sound of a gun hammer being cocked pierced through the clamor of the crowded tavern, capturing your attention. Your eyes landed on the alarming sight of him discreetly aiming a pistol at you from beneath the counter, his hand resting on his lap.

"Yer fortunate that I ain't one for attractin' attention," he whispered, his voice laced with a warning.

You smiled once again, a hint of defiance in your expression, as you twirled your finger along the edge of the glass. "My, ain't ye a humble man," you quipped with a touch of sarcasm.

Casting a discreet glance around, you came to the unsettling realization that nobody in the vicinity seemed to be cognizant of the imminent danger he represented or the impending pandemonium that was about to erupt in their midst.

"Aye, wouldn't want to deprive ye of yer very last Daiquiri.”

You theatrically touched your heart, a funny expression playing on your face. "Aw, how touching. Comin' from a man who wishes to end my life.”

"Sorry, lass. It ain't personal. I make a living out of takin' down the likes of ye."

A sigh of resignation escaped your lips as you ran your hands wearily across the rough texture of the wooden counter. You met the bartender's inquisitive gaze as he diligently polished tankards, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm sorry," you told him, preemptively expressing remorse for what you were about to do.

Before the bartender could inquire further, you swiftly emptied your glass and stood up. Without giving it too much thought, you shattered the glass against the hunter's head, simultaneously grabbing the back of his shirt and forcefully pulling him backward. In one seamless motion, you gripped the hand that held the gun, effectively disarming him with a single, unexpected move.

‘Too easy.’

With the weapon firmly in your possession, you pressed the cold barrel against his bleeding head, asserting your dominance over the situation. The bartender sought refuge behind the counter, while the other patrons erupted in gasps of astonishment. A hushed silence fell upon the tavern, every gaze fixated on the unfolding spectacle.

The bounty hunter raised his hands in surrender, his eyes widening as he swallowed hard, clearly caught off guard by the sudden turn of events.

"I've got a busy schedule, matey, so I'm afraid I won't be able to accept your kind offer.”

Hoping to leave the situation as it was, you opted to resolve matters by paying for your drink and the damage caused, dropping some cash onto the counter. Feeling weary from the day’s travels and not wanting to spoil the atmosphere for everyone, the idea of getting into a prolonged and draining altercation was the furthest thing from your mind.

You had clearly set your expectations too high.

The man erupted into a boisterous, hearty laugh, seemingly unfazed by the blood trickling down his face. "Ye think it'll be as simple as that? Ye be sorely mistaken.”

Suddenly, more men emerged from the crowd, brandishing their weapons. They immediatly closed in, forming a tight circle around you, guns and swords at the ready. Menacing and resolute, they held their fighting stances, leaving you completely trapped and vastly outnumbered for the first time.

‘Well, shit.’

The bartender, who had just emerged from his hiding spot, let out a shrill scream of terror and hastily retreated back into hiding, disappearing from sight once more.

"And you said you didn't want to draw attention," you sneered. "A whole group of heavily armed brutes against a lone woman? What a pathetic bunch of scum.”

The hunter's voice reverberated, echoing through the tense air. “Like I said, lass, it ain't personal. They'd pay a hefty sum for ye."

"I’m flattered.”

Your eyes flickered, darting from one assailant to another. Your mind raced, meticulously analyzing every nook and cranny of the tavern, searching for potential escape routes and formulating strategies for self-defense. You studied every detail with utmost focus, seeking a way to ensure your survival.

Fortunately, you had honed your instincts to a razor-sharp edge, and you had no intention of wasting a single moment. With determination in your eyes, you advanced toward the hunter, wrapping your arm firmly around his neck in a tight hold. His pistol remained securely in your grip, further enhancing your leverage in this tense standoff.

And thus, the show began.

As expected, the guns aimed in your direction were fired, unleashing a torrent of shots that filled the air with a deafening roar. Drawing upon every ounce of strength, you lifted the hunter's body just in time, using him as a shield against the incoming barrage of bullets. They striked him repeatedly with a relentless onslaught targeting his head, face, and chest. He could barely utter a protest as the fatal shots found their mark, his body succumbing to the overwhelming force of the gunfire.

You propelled the lifeless body of the hunter forward, creating a momentary diversion that captured the attention of your attackers. You kicked a nearby table, sending it crashing to the ground, and sought cover behind the overturned furniture. Kneeling down behind the impromptu barricade, you protected yourself as the assassins continued their assault. With the gun firmly in hand, steady and precise, you emerged from the side of the table. The first bullet hit one of the hunters in the upper leg, causing him to crumple in agony. You didn’t stop, adjusting your aim and firing again, this time shooting another man squarely in the chest. He crashed to the ground, his body lying motionless in a pool of blood.

The remaining hunters ran forward, wielding their sharp blades as they struck the table, severing it and forcing you to roll away for cover. You retrieved your own pistol from its belt holster, unleashing a barrage of well-aimed shots with both guns simultaneously, causing them to recoil in surprise.

Reaching for your sword, you unsheathed it, blocking a powerful blow that nearly knocked you off balance. You were struggling to find clarity as you fought to catch your breath, the intensity of the battle taking its toll, leaving you physically and mentally exhausted.

The tavern resounded with the deafening clang of blades, the sharp crack of gunshots, and the visceral grunts of those engaged in combat. You delivered a flurry of quick slashes, powerful punches, and precise kicks, fighting back against the attacks and successfully defeating another opponent. However, with each new assailant that appeared, your optimism dwindled.

Despite your strength, agility, and sharp wit, the sheer number of enemies was just too much for you to handle alone. As a particularly forceful knee landed in your stomach, causing you to double over in agonizing pain, you felt as though you had reached the limits of your options and there was nothing left for you to attempt.

You had depleted all the ammunition in your guns, and there was no opportunity to replenish them with a fresh set. Your sword slipped from your grasp and fell to the floor, sliding just far enough away that you couldn't retrieve it.

As the man who kicked you raised his axe high, aiming for your neck, desperation fueled your actions. Your hand instinctively tightened around one of the stools, intending to hurl it in his direction. With a surge of adrenaline, you poised to launch the stool, hoping to disrupt his attack and seize an opportunity for a counterattack.

Yet, it became evident to anyone present that you had miscalculated your timing.

In a stroke of incredible luck or perhaps the intervention of destiny, a distinctively black blade intercepted the deadly slash with a resounding clang. The sudden impact sent the assassin tumbling over, crashing forcefully onto his back.

The resounding vibrations of metal filled your ears, resonating throughout your entire being. They flowed through your form, eliciting an involuntary shiver that enveloped you from head to toe.

And there he stood, Dracule Mihawk, a figure of immense power and regality. His mere presence demanded attention as he surveyed the battlefield with his hawk-like eyes, radiating an aura of authority. The intensity of Mihawk's gaze seemed to pierce through the very souls of your adversaries, transforming their once-veiled confidence into sheer terror.

"It... it's him!" One of the men exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear. "It's Dracule Mihawk!”

"What... here...? It can't be...!" Another hunter stammered.

The brute who had previously aimed to sever your head from your shoulders kicked his feet frantically, desperately attempting to create more distance between himself and the legendary swordsman. “N-no…! We… we need to leave!”

The sight of your enemies scrambling in fear, darting back and forth and uttering curses, struck you as comical. Meanwhile, Mihawk remained steadfast and resolute, his eyes calmly surveying the scene as his sword hovered just above the floor.

One by one, the hunters hastily fled from the tavern, escaping the scene of frightened patrons desperately seeking safety. Broken furniture lay strewn about, serving as a grim reminder of the battle that had just transpired, with three lifeless bodies and streaks of blood scattered around. Regaining your breath, you leaned on the stool for support as you pulled yourself up. Pressing one hand against your aching stomach, you steadied yourself and took a moment to survey the aftermath of what had unquestionably been the most dangerous battle of your life.

With a fluid and practiced movement, Mihawk secured his blade on his back, ensuring that it was safely stowed away. As he relaxed his shoulders, a tangible sense of calm and assurance seemed to fill the atmosphere. His mere presence radiated a power that served as a formidable deterrent, dissuading anyone else from daring to venture forth.

In that moment, you were uncertain of how to react. Your gaze remained locked on the back of Mihawk's head, his dark locks cascading from beneath his imposing hat. As the need for communication lingered in the air, you felt an urgency to find the right words to express yourself.

This was certainly not how you had hoped to meet the Warlord again.

Your brain felt drained and incapable of functioning at its usual capacity. The fatigue and mental exhaustion led to a slip of the tongue, and the words that escaped your lips were far from what you had intended to say. "What are you doing here?”

Finally, Mihawk turned around, his golden eyes locking with yours in a piercing stare. Time seemed to stand still as you eagerly waited for an answer that didn't come.

”Are you following me again?" you asked, the unintentional sternness in your voice betraying a mix of irritation and curiosity.

"I said I would not, and I stay true to my word," he declared, his voice calm and composed.

"So you're here by mere coincidence?" you questioned with a hint of skepticism.

He rolled his eyes upward, his gesture conveying boredom and exasperation. "As a matter of fact, I was.”

You couldn't understand why you were harboring such bitterness, particularly considering that he was the sole reason your head remained attached to your neck. Perhaps it was the feeling of defeat fueling your emotions, or maybe it was the fact that you appeared slightly worse for wear.

It was all over, and you were still alive.

However, the shock of placing yourself in jeopardy in a public setting only heightened the frustration that had been building inside of you for quite some time. Dealing with two or three bounty hunters at once was well within your capabilities, but being surrounded by an entire crew of them was an outcome you had never considered before.

In hindsight, as a wanted criminal, you should have taken into consideration all possible scenarios.

They chose to carry out their assassination in a crowded public place, without any regard for the innocent people who were simply trying to enjoy a peaceful meal or drink. That simply provided undeniable evidence of the existence of avaricious, self-centered, and utterly detestable beings in the world. Of course, given the circumstances, they were left with limited options: either you complied with being forcibly taken away or you resisted and fought back against your captors. But they displayed no signs of remorse or hesitation in carrying out the beheading in front of numerous young spectators, showing a complete lack of concern or empathy.

To them, your identity as a woman held little value, as their desire for wealth and status overshadowed principles of justice and common sense. You were reduced to nothing more than a prize, just like any other pirate with a bounty on their head.

It wasn't a new realization, but it reinforced your vulnerability and highlighted how ill-suited you still were for this kind of life. The question loomed: what if a similar situation were to occur again? What if you were to find yourself cornered by an even larger group of predators, without the presence of someone like Mihawk nearby to come to your aid?

That thought intensified the ache in your stomach, and you felt an urgent need to escape and inhale some fresh air.

With a spur of energy, you straightened up and turned on your feet. As you hurriedly moved, you quickly snatched your sword from the floor, propelling yourself towards the door and bursting out. The sun was descending, bathing the streets in a gentle, warm light, painting them in hues of orange and gold. The sea breeze carried with it the invigorating scent of salt, which you welcomed into your lungs to sweep away the growing anxiety.

You heard the soothing footsteps approaching you from behind, instantly recognizing the person without needing any confirmation.

"I had everything under control," you lied, pride concealing your true emotions.

"It was a match of ten against one. You handled yourself quite admirably, if only for a moment.”

You scoffed. "How long have you been there?”

"You're lucky that I arrived just in the nick of time.”

Did he truly have the opportunity to assess the situation, counting the bodies, before intervening? Or was it a deliberate choice for him to wait until you were on the verge of succumbing before coming to your aid?

You placed your hands on your hips and took a few deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly. In that moment, "lucky" was the most apt word to describe you either way.

"You were right," you muttered. "One of these days, I might end up getting myself killed.”

"Not if you learn the art of laying low," he replied.

Raising an eyebrow, you spun around to face him again. "I can't exactly isolate myself on my ship."

His head tilted slightly with a quizzical expression displayed upon it. "Confinement is not what I was referring to.”

The longer you studied him, the more challenging it became to interpret his attitude. Although he had mentioned finding you intriguing during your previous encounter, you still couldn’t fathom the true motive behind his benevolence towards you.

But as the sun sank below the horizon, casting a soft glow upon his jaw, chin, and lips, you made the decision that, for now, you didn't quite care about unraveling the mystery.

After all, you were gazing directly at the man who had just rescued you from the brink of death.

As sunlight caressed your face, a kind, sincere smile spread across your lips. Your eyes naturally reacted and transformed, becoming brighter and more radiant in color. You could still hear the commotion from inside the tavern, but the tranquility of the street and the breeze blowing through your hair and his coat gave you the feeling that the rest of the world had faded away.

Mihawk's lips parted slowly, signaling his intention to say more. Yet, no words escaped his mouth, and he maintained unbroken eye contact with you, without even a single blink.

It was one of the most peculiar moments you had ever experienced in your life. As your eyes remained locked, the connection you had initially felt when you first gazed into those golden irises resurfaced. It was a bond as powerful as the imprinting between animals, except in this case, you had once been his prey, soaring away like a gull fleeing from a falcon.

Your stomach was in pain, but this time, it was due to an entirely different reason.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you summoned the courage to look away. You briefly glanced at the harbor in the distance, only to find yourself snapping your attention back to him just a few seconds later.

"Let me offer you a drink in my quarters," you said with a spark of boldness. "It's the least I can do after you saved my life.”

For a moment, you feared he would decline your invitation, as his firm stare seemed devoid of any particular emotion.

With a barely perceptible nod, he uttered his words in the most apathetic tone, yet to you, they sounded like the sweetest melody to ever grace your ears. "A drink wouldn’t hurt.”

A delighted grin spread across your face as you took a few steps backward, then performed an elegant spin, walking away from the tavern and heading straight towards your vessel, embraced by the enchantment of dawn.

The steady sound of his boots hitting the ground assured you that he was following closely behind you.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 3 (coming soon) ->

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

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 14

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Being deceived your entire life was not something you were prepared for. Fortunately, once again, Morpheus was there to provide support.

Note: This chapter is quite long. I was considering to split it and just add the second part to the next one, but I didn't want to make it longer than intended. In chapter 16, the Vortex part will officially begin.

Morpheus was ready to go to any lengths for you. The way you never took advantage of his power and treated his gifts with the utmost care was everything he could ever hope for. You were a genuine treasure, illuminating and uplifting the spirits of everyone, including Morpheus himself, without needing any refinement.

The pendant adorning your neck served as a powerful symbol, bestowed upon you to safeguard you from harm and infuse you with a piece of his essence. It was common knowledge that the Endless had the ability to prolong a mortal's life just by being near them, but when it came to you, Morpheus was resolute in ensuring that you wouldn't slip away from his hold sooner than he wished.

However, there was still an important piece of information from your past that remained hidden, a vital detail that Morpheus was forbidden to reveal. Despite being bound by a verbal agreement with Paregoros that prevented him from speaking about it, as the Ruler of the Dreaming, he possessed a talent for uncovering and taking advantage of loopholes to serve his own interests. Leveraging his abilities, he employed his gift of inspiration to ignite the creative brilliance of artists and writers, leaving an enduring imprint on history. Their invaluable contributions continued to be revered and celebrated across generations in textbooks and literary masterpieces. The dreams and nightmares he meticulously crafted had the power to shape the trajectory of mortals, guiding them towards a myriad of choices they would make in the Waking World.

He persuaded Richard Madoc to set Calliope free. He convinced Maya Davies to openly address her actions at the office, dealing with the burden of guilt and self-disappointment that would haunt her for an extended period of time.

There was no feat beyond his grasp within his domain. The purpose of the Dreaming itself was to fulfill such a role, granting him the ability to accomplish anything.

And so, he made the decision to inspire yet another human - someone he had never personally met, but who held immense significance and closeness to his beloved.

According to your account, your father was going through an emotional breakdown that tormented him with sleepless nights and anxious days. There wasn't a specific nightmare haunting the man, but his dream record offered Morpheus valuable insights into the root cause of his troubles.

Thus, Morpheus ventured into the vast expanse of dreams within his realm, searching for the particular one he sought. He wandered along an endless path that twisted and turned, encountering a series of ever-shifting scenes that emerged from the mortal realm. Passing through a gate adorned with roses, he effortlessly opened it with a simple wave of his hand. Stepping inside, he walked along a secluded beach, seemingly abandoned except for three figures near the edge of the sea. Among them, only one person was truly asleep, while the other two were mere projections of the human's subconscious mind.

The soothing sound of the waves enveloped the atmosphere, while the sun radiated its warmth from above. Your father, in his younger years, relaxed on a beach towel, a serene smile adorning his lips. He watched with attentiveness as a little girl constructed a sandcastle before him, showering her with praise for her imaginative creation and encouraging her to make it even more magnificent. Beside him, Paregoros rested her head on his shoulder, expressing her love for their daughter and her longing to perpetually preserve that cherished moment of togetherness.

Morpheus stood nearby, observing and hearing everything, yet maintaining a respectful distance. He watched as you lifted your head, your captivating eyes moving from the sandcastle to meet his gaze. A smile formed on your face, acknowledging his presence before redirecting your focus back to the construction in front of you., acknowledging his presence before redirecting your focus back to the construction in front of you.

As a replica of your childhood self, you existed solely within his realm and nowhere else. This version of you was nothing more than an abstract entity recognizing its master, yet even as a dream, you radiated a gentle warmth that had the ability to melt his heart.

He continued to observe the family for a little while longer, sensing a tinge of intrusion into a private moment not intended for his eyes. Morpheus contemplated turning away and departing, but to his astonishment, your father spoke in a way that seemed to be directed at him.

"Isn't it beautiful? This is how I’ve always envisioned things, for all of us.”

Morpheus walked closer, daring to stop just a few inches away.

"But this isn't real, is it? It's merely a construct of my mind. Just a dream.”

Morpheus' attention shifted back and forth, alternating between your father, Paregoros, and the little Y/N.

"Yes, you are sleeping,” the Endless replied, his voice echoing in the salty air. "But that does not diminish the significance of what you are dreaming about.”

The man chuckled softly, bringing his hands together around his knees. “’Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?’”

Morpheus reacted with a pout, furrowing his eyebrows, while the man responded with a wide smile. "It's a quote from Harry Potter. Have you ever read that one?”

“I have not.”

"Please excuse my digression, then.”

Paregoros and Y/N carried on as if nothing was happening. Your father cast a sidelong glance at his partner, his expression growing darker and more solemn.

"This is not my first time here," he realized. "But I must confess, I do not recall ever seeing you. Have we crossed paths before?”

“No.”

“I see. For some reason, you seem familiar to me.”

He pondered over it, attempting to dispel the haze of the dream from his mind. Eventually, he shook his head and snickered to himself again, finding amusement in his own thoughts.

"Ah, never mind," he said dismissively. "I think you remind me of a character from another book, The Sandman. But that's just foolish, isn't it?”

Morpheus remained silent, but this time, a barely concealed grin formed on his lips.

Even in his dreamlike state, the mortal was perceptive enough to notice it. “What?”

"You are quite like her," Morpheus noted.

Your father blinked in confusion. "Her?" he questioned, seeking clarification.

The King of Dreams tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed upon the little girl once more. The man followed his line of sight and, with a quick glimpse at you, he understood. "You know my daughter?”

Morpheus nodded in confirmation.

"But… how...?"

"No matter. The truth that you are keeping from her seems to be tormenting you.”

Upon hearing this, the waves receded partially, and a deafening silence descended, causing your father's shoulders to slump in defeat. “You know that as well?”

"You attempted to shield her from something that was just too much for the both of you. Your love for your daughter is immeasurable, but it is time for you to let go of this burden," Morpheus advised.

"How am I supposed to do that? I’ve been lying about it her entire life.”

"Your daughter is prepared, and she will not hold any resentment against you for it."

As the conversation continued, Paregoros kept her attention on the little girl, who was diligently shoveling and shaping the sand with a perpetual smile on her face.

"I don't want to lose her," he confessed. "She's everything I have.”

"Your fear is a perception, an obstacle that must be overcome.”

"Easy for you to say," the man responded. "She went through hell because of what I did, because of our deception. How could anyone forgive such a thing?”

"Y/N has achieved remarkable accomplishments. She is more than capable of accepting things that surpass mortal understanding.”

"You speak as if you know her better than I do.”

"I do possess precise knowledge of all of you, far better than you have of yourselves,” Morpheus asserted.

Your father raised an eyebrow and asked, "All of us? Who exactly are you?”

“Mortals like you have limited recollection of your dreams while awake.”

"Do you think I will forget you?"

"You may."

"Are you even real?"

"I am."

He narrowed his eyes, cautiously studying the Endless with great scrutiny. "You are him, aren't you? You are the King of Dreams."

“You do not appear surprised.”

He shrugged. "All stories originate from reality.”

Morpheus was convinced that your qualities were a legacy from your mother, with her inherently compassionate and benevolent nature. Yet, as he observed your father now, so composed and open-minded, he concluded that a portion of your value also stemmed from his good heart and understanding.

As Morpheus delved into the mortal's mind, he could see the tremendous effort he had been putting forth for your well-being.

"If you are unwilling to heed my words, at the very least, place your trust in your daughter," he urged.

Your father's eyes cast down, and in a sudden twist, his entire appearance reverted back to his present self. Both Paregoros and Y/N dissolved into grains of sand, scattering away with the wind, their presence fading like a distant song.

"She won't hate me, will she?”

"Hate? Y/N has nothing but love in her heart," Morpheus affirmed.

"While she does indeed hold love, she also carries a lot of pain."

"Your deceit is likely to nourish that pain. For her, and for you," Morpheus cautioned.

The man curled up, wrapping his arms around his legs, fully embracing them. The temperature began to plummet, causing even the skin of his dream to tingle with cold. "I'm terrified, Lord of Dreams.”

"Your fear is lacking significance. The heaviness of your secret is causing you harm, is this truly what you wish?"

Your father shook his head vigorously. "Absolutely not," he declared with conviction. "But I want her to be happy. And I fear that this will shatter her and rob her of that happiness.”

As much as Morpheus desired to offer words of comfort that could refute those concerns, he found himself unable to do so. Still, if there was one thing he was certain of, it was your strength.

"Your fear cannot be compared with the consequences you could face."

The man let out a deep sigh, tracing circles in the sand with his finger. "The human mind is quite a tangled mess, isn't it?" he mused.

"You always create more problems for yourself.”

Your father let out a lighthearted laugh, "That is so true.”

He directed his gaze, settling it on the horizon where the ocean formed a distant blue line, distinctly separating from the sky.

"I will give it some thought," he finally concluded. "Thank you for your guidance, your Majesty.”

Morpheus offered a final nod, maintaining his position as he closely observed the mortal's reactions. Just like you, the man seemed completely aware, effortlessly assimilating into the environment and actively engaging with it. He was also unique, a rare individual that Morpheus seldom came across in his realm, amidst the multitude of people dreaming all at once.

"Fair you well," he said, waving a hand in front of his face. "This dream is over.”

As office activities resumed the following week, it came to your attention that Maya had chosen to resign from her position within the company. In order for Oliver to drop the report, she agreed to make a financial contribution to compensate for the damages she had caused. In a remarkable turn of events, Maya went as far as visiting the office to extend a heartfelt and formal apology to the entire team, including you.

Maya appeared like a mere shadow of her former self, with a noticeable paleness and thinness. The makeup around her eyes was minimal, and her lips lacked any hint of lipstick. Despite her evident exhaustion, there was a newfound sparkle in her eyes that you had never seen before.

The collective shock persisted for days as everyone tirelessly worked to rebuild what had been lost. Gradually, the burnt garments were meticulously remade with precision, and the studio started to regain its pristine condition. The broken computers were replaced, while the damaged ones were repaired and restored to working order. A new electrical panel was installed and fully functional, and the walls were repainted back to their original ivory white color.

As the weeks went by, all of you became increasingly prepared for the upcoming Fashion Show. Everything had returned to normal, and your life was steadily improving, with each day bringing even greater prosperity and abundance.

However, just as you were settling into your routine, the universe decided to throw a new obstacle onto your path.

One day, after avoiding your questions for quite some time, your father finally invited you to visit him and discuss something of extreme importance. He didn't provide any details over the phone, but he promptly reassured you that it had nothing to do with his health.

Although the news brought some relief, it was impossible to ignore the tremor in his voice. Ever since you mentioned your Greek heritage, he had been behaving strangely, indicating that his melancholy had a deeper root than mere nostalgia. Whenever you were with him, he appeared solemn, lost in thought, and emotionally distant.

Morpheus had explicitly stated that his dream record remained relatively undisturbed, without any nightmares that could account for his distress. It was high time for you to uncover the truth, and you were determined not to leave your father's house without a proper explanation.

Undoubtedly, what you were about to uncover surpassed your expectations by a significant margin.

Throughout the entire lunch, the man strived to keep the conversation flowing smoothly. Yet, his strained smile betrayed his attempt to suppress his anxiety. You watched him, giving him the space to talk about his days and the new books he had bought, without putting any pressure on him. 

While you quietly cleaned the dishes, he kept immersing himself in his storytelling, explaining every detail of the books as a diversion for himself, leaving the tea you brewed largely untouched before him. 

Despite the urgency you sensed in his voice when he first called, as the day wore on, he still couldn't muster the courage to voice what was really troubling him. Thus, recognizing his struggle to initiate the intended conversasion, you decided to take the lead and bring up the subject yourself.

"Dad, you know that I enjoy our time together, but I need to ask you right now. What's happening with you?”

The instant you inquired, his feigned smile disappeared from his face. He closed his eyes, pausing to reflect, then released a shaky, prolonged sigh before he left the table and moved to the couch in complete silence.

You followed him, settling beside him and clasping his wrist. "No more lies. I’m here for you.”

His fingers clenched around yours, placing his other hand on top. "I know. You always are," he murmured. "And that's what makes it so difficult.”

“You’re worrying me...”

“Y/N, the truth is, I owe you an apology.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. "For what?”

"There's something I've been keeping from you. Something significant.”

Your heart rate increased, "What are you referring to?”

"I.... I'm so sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

Suddenly, he began to weep, releasing all the accumulated stress and regret. His body trembled uncontrollably, his sobs intermittently broken by loud hiccups. He doubled over, fervently caressing your hands in his desperation.

“Dad! What's gotten into you? Please, talk to me.”

He longed to respond, but his voice was drowned in the echoes of his heartfelt cries. All you could do was provide some solace, tenderly stroking his back and laying your cheek against his shoulder.

He took a few shallow breaths, attempting to regain his composure. His hands kept wiping his face, trying to erase the relentless tears.

At last, when he was able to speak again, he let the secret out unrestrained. “She’s alive. She’s always been. It was all a lie.”

If anything, his outburst only served to add to your confusion. “Who’s alive? I don’t understand.”

"I had no choice,” he continued. “She asked me to, for your sake. And I thought it was the right thing to do.”

By that time, your patience was wearing thin. "Dad, you're not making any sense. Who is she?”

His hiccups interrupted him again, causing his voice to shatter as he responded. "Y...o.u...r...... mo....th...er.”

It felt as if you had been doused with a cold shower. "My... mother...? What?”

He nodded frantically. "Y...yes," he trembled. "She's....alive.”

Your heart seemed to stop, only to restart at an even faster pace as you pieced the puzzle together. Since childhood, you were told the heartbreaking story of your mother passing away during your birth. You were robbed of the chance to see her, to hear her voice, or to experience her nurturing love.

A piece of you always felt absent, and there were moments when you wanted nothing more than to have her presence by your side.

She couldn't possibly be alive. No, surely you were misinterpreting his words. 

"Dad, this is absurd.”

"I couldn't, Y/N,” he lamented. “I... we.... it was just too much.”

You ran your fingers along your forehead, struggling to process his declaration. “If what you say is true, then where is she? And why?”

It couldn't possibly be real. Not a single bit.

Or could it…?

"She's not like us, lovey. She is... so much more than you could ever imagine.”

Then, like a bolt of lightning, a thought struck your mind. It was a piece of information you had heard before, which had completely slipped away. Even amidst the enigmatic circumstances, it was something you struggled to fully grasp.

“You don’t even know me. Why do you care so much about my relationship with Dream?”

The Fate in the center parted her lips into a broad smile. “Oh, we do know you, love. For you are the daughter of your mother.”

You felt the blood inside your veins turn icy cold. “My…mother…? What-”

“She does not know yet, sister-self.”

How could you have overlooked it, when what the Fates disclosed to you that day was enough to stir questions within you? You dismissed it as another of their baffling riddles, not considering to delve deeper.

And there was more.

“It would seem that your lineage is directly associated with Paregoros.”

“Excuse my ignorance, but… who would that be?”

“She is the personified spirit of consolation, comfort and soothing words. A companion of Aphrodite, Goddess of love, and Peitho, the Goddess of persuasion.”

“And I am related to her? What does that make me?”

“You are mortal. But you seem to possess certain qualities of her, which perhaps will spare you the cruel fate that is otherwise customary for any human I dare to come close to.”

Your blood surged through your veins as the realization started to sink in, unveiling what might be the most astounding truth you could ever anticipate hearing. You tried to sweep it away, given the high likelihood that you were jumping to erroneous conclusions.

And yet…

" She is... so much more than you could ever imagine.”

When your father noticed your growing panic, his crying escalated. "I never wanted to keep it from you, I swear! I told her it was a bad idea, that you had the right to know who she truly was. But... she couldn't. She... she wasn't allowed to.”

She wasn’t allowed to…

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It was the only way.”

Slowly, you withdrew your hands from his shaking form, rising to your feet and taking a few wobbly steps towards the window. You made an effort to maintain your composure, folding your arms as a ripple of chills shot up your spine, branching out to your arms and the nape of your neck.

"The photo you took with her," you managed to say, pushing down your nervousness. "You said she was reserved and didn't like having her picture taken, but she agreed to give you at least one photograph.”

“Y-yes…”

"And conveniently, her face in the only photo you have is obscured by a lens flare.”

“I know…”

You had always been curious about your mother's appearance, unable to discern her features clearly in the photo due to the overpowering brightness.

"It wasn't an accident, was it?” You concluded.

“I… I don’t know,” he sniffled. “I suppose so.”

"You said she's not like us. Is she even human?”

You had grown up with the conviction that your mother had tragically sacrificed her life to bring you into this world. During your childhood, the guilt, derived from the belief that you were the cause of her untimely death, nearly drove you into the abyss of despair. Schoolmates cruelly taunted and branded you as a bane, someone who should have never been born.

The notion that she was actually still alive, hiding and perpetuating a false narrative without ever reaching out to you, seemed like an unfathomable concept that you found incredibly difficult to accept.

Just as your father seemed to be calming down, another sob overtook him. "No, lovey...”

As the dialogue progressed, the range of possibilities began to constrict.

"I need to know her name,” you asserted. “Her real name.”

Your father sprang up from the couch, swallowing hard and unfastening the collar of his shirt. His voice was rough and weary. “Paregoros,” he conceded. “Her name is Paregoros.”

Paregoros…

Your mother was a Goddess, the spirit of consolation, about whom you had never read in any book or website. She was unknown, invisible, a phantom who left nothing behind except for her own family. You were the daughter of a deity who deemed it acceptable to simply leave you to your fate for being a mere mortal. 

Did Morpheus hold this knowledge when she was brought up in your conversation? Had he uncovered her true identity, only to deliberately keep it hidden from you?

Your father approached your immobile figure, his apologies intensifying as he called out your name.

"Sorry, I need some air," you stated, spinning on your heels and striding past him without so much as glancing at his face.

Your father remained stationary in the center of the living room, tears cascading one after another as you sprinted away. The resounding slam of the door startled him, leaving him with no other option but to resort to prayer. He prayed for your return, and above all, for your forgiveness.

You didn't know how long you walked for, nor did you have any idea of your destination. You advanced like a robot on autopilot, your feet carrying you forward, your gaze distant and unfocused. You crossed numerous streets, turned various corners, and strode past multiple shops, glancing at their display windows without truly seeing what they sold.

Your mind was still grappling with the revelation you had just unearthed, uncertain of how to cope with it all. As you wandered aimlessly through the park, you found yourself pacing back and forth on a secluded, tree-lined path, vigilantly ensuring that nobody else was around. As your anger welled up within your chest, you buried your face in your hands, unleashing a scream so forceful that it nearly stole your breath away.

You were panting, running your fingers through your hair and squeezing your burning eyes shut. There were so many questions, doubts, and bewildering theories swirling in your mind, all of which you couldn't untangle on your own.

For the next hour, you attempted to ease your nerves by sitting on a bench, but unfortunately, it did very little to pacify the inner tempest that raged inside you. You watched as several passersby went about their activities—some jogging, others enjoying a serene walk with their family, their dog, or their romantic partner.

The more you sought an escape, the deeper your mind delved into it.

You waited until the sun began to dip below the horizon and solitude enveloped you completely. Struggling with coherent thought, you rose from your seat, tightly gripping the Moonstone and focusing all your energy on summoning the King of Dreams. "Morpheus," you said with a tone of anger. "Morpheus, can you hear me? I need to speak with you. Right now.”

You tuned into the soft rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds from the trees above. In the stillness, when no other motion was detectable, you felt as though he was beyond your reach, resolving that your only choice was to wait until nightfall. However, there emerged a figure right behind you, whose presence was unmistakably familiar.

"Y/N.”

You gathered yourself, your fists clenched, gradually turning and lifting your gaze to meet his. Morpheus was wearing the usual modern coat he always opted for in the Waking World, and his expression was a mixture of perplexity and concern.

He frowned, noticing the redness around your eyes. "My love, what-”

“Did you know?” You interrupted him, your tone questioning and accusatory.

“Know what?”

Your lips pressed together, holding back the emerging tremble. "I'm not simply associated with Paregoros, am I? I'm her damn daughter. Did you accidentally forget to mention it, or were you genuinely unaware?”

You hoped you were mistaken, that he, in spite of his position and wisdom, was simply oblivious to the true connection you shared with the Goddess in question.

The way his jaw strained and he cast his eyes downwards instantly shattered that hope.

"Why did you lie to me?”

“I did no such thing.”

"Really? Then what exactly did you do?”

Morpheus appeared calm, but you could tell that your sharp tone was getting under his skin. He peered intensely into your eyes, his feelings and intentions apparent as he spoke. "In the beginning, I truly believed she was merely a part of your lineage. It took a thorough inspection from Lucienne to correct our misunderstanding.”

"You still kept it to yourself, though.”

Morpheus wavered, taking a moment before providing a suitable reply. “It was necessary.”

"Did you think I couldn't handle the truth?”

"No. It was your mother who asked me to keep it a secret from you.”

You looked at him in disbelief, your mouth dropping open. "Wait, you spoke to her?”

"She requested a meeting.”

You released a laugh filled with revulsion, raising your gaze to the sky. "So she contacted you. Just like that.”

“Yes.”

Your mother couldn't make an effort to speak to you even once, never trying to approach her own child. And yet, she went out of her way to message the Lord of Dreams, solely to enforce her ban on revealing her identity to you.

Was she observing you covertly, watching your life like a detached spectator munching on popcorn?

"And you accepted her terms?”

“I assured her that you would never learn the truth from me.”

You scoffed. "Whose side are you on, exactly?”

"Y/N, can you not see it?” He inquired, his eyes mellowing.

“What am I supposed to see here?” Your voice escalated further, sounding desperate and reverberating in the space around you.

Morpheus didn't falter, stepping closer and encroaching on your personal space. "I said you would not hear it from me, and yet, you have learnt the truth. From whom?”

“How does that make any diff-”

Right then and there, it struck you.

Your father had dodged your pressing questions for weeks, never appearing inclined to divulge something that was noticeably gnawing at his soul. Then, unexpectedly, he was prepared to reveal the secret he had guarded for a lifetime? Out of nowhere, first thing in the morning?

The unwavering and confident expression on Morpheus' face, along with the slight smile he offered, provided you with a silent confirmation.

You laughed again, but this time, it was imbued with joy and relief. Because at that juncture, you realized that the King of Dreams had leveraged his sway and might to influence yet another mortal for you.

How could you have doubted him after all the trials you had weathered together?

"That’s cheating. You know that?”

“Perhaps. but in the end, I kept my oath.”

Upon reflection, and as your agitation began to subside, it seemed like the most judicious decision he could have possibly made. After all, he wasn't the one who should have borne the responsibility of disclosing such truth to you.

You smiled, lifting your hands to the sides of his neck and planting a gentle kiss on his lips. "And I even yelled at you. I'm such a fool.”

"My love, you are suffering from a state of emotional distress.”

"It doesn’t matter, it was wrong of me.”

Your fingers slid down to the front of his coat, and you found comfort resting your forehead against his chest.

"I just… I don't understand. Is it so wrong for Gods to fall in love and create a family?”

His hands gently settled around your shoulders. "There are rules that we must obey for the preservation of our domains.”

"You're saying there's a rule that forbids deities from associating with their loved ones?”

"Circumstances alter significantly when humans are involved.”

Even the Endless weren't allowed to partake in romantic relationships with them. You were the exception, allowed to remain by his side without the severest penalty befalling you for violating the universe's laws. Was your kind so trivial, worthless and lacking that it constantly had to be belittled and cast aside?

Not that you found this particularly shocking, but still.

"I don’t see how terrible it would have been for me to know.”

"It is not a suitable reality for a mortal child.”

Would accepting a mother, who was bound by her duties as a Goddess, be more detrimental than you believing she no longer existed?

"I needed her, Morpheus. I needed my mother.”

Once more, you lifted your head, searching for his eyes. "I've uncovered so many amazing things in the recent months that I believed only existed in my dreams. Things I was not supposed to see, nor to experience the way I did.”

A gust of wind swept through his hair as he regarded you with a penetrating look.

"I’m not a child anymore. I had to handle everything on my own for so long, working for my father’s well-being and haunted by the fear of it being useless and insufficient.”

Morpheus listened, barely even blinking.

"I was terrified. And I found myself thinking, so many times, that if my mum was still with me, with us… maybe things might have been different.”

Morpheus slightly opened his mouth, directing a quick glance towards his pocket.

“Is it possible for me to meet her? To talk to her?”

"My love, such matters require the highest level of caution.”

"Do you believe I'm being hasty?”

"Allow a few moments of reflection to absorb the knowledge you have obtained.”

You let out a deep sigh. "You mean coming to terms with the fact that my entire life has been a lie from the day I was born? That might take a while.”

"Your existence carries a greater level of significance, despite your inability to see its importance at this time.”

"How could it hold any significance when I've been pushed to the sidelines?”

He leaned in closer, looking down at you and firming his hold on your upper arms. He was fervent yet composed, quieting all surrounding sounds again so that the only thing you could hear was the soothing timbre of his voice, coupled with his earnest and heartfelt proclamation.

"It is a blessing.”

You let it seep in, permeating your heart and spreading its warmth throughout your body. Almost instinctively, one hand moved to your chest while the other reached for his face, fingertips lightly brushing against his chin, the contour of his jaw, and his cheek.

"You always know just what to say that makes me love you even more.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, only to promptly revert to his solemn demeanor and slide his hand into the right pocket of his coat. As you followed his movements, you saw him retrieve the familiar leather pouch of sand, observing it in quiet contemplation.

"I could show you," he proposed.

“Show me what?”

"My realm might hold the answers you are seeking.”

Grains of sand gently floated in the air, escaping from the pouch and performing a dance above your head. They sparkled, twinkling like miniature stars.

"Now?”

“If that is what you wish.”

Somehow, the little bag in his hand was radiating an unusually powerful attraction, enveloping you in a bubble of tranquility. Your understanding of his realm was still rather limited, and your grasp on your mother's origins was even more sparse. If direct confrontation with her to voice your queries wasn't a possibility, then you were left without a better alternative.

You offered a smile, moving closer to whisper into his ear, “Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.”

Morpheus appeared amused, regardless of whether he was familiar with the song you quoted or not. You created a small gap between you to allow him access to the contents of his pouch, from which he extracted a handful of golden, magical sand.

And thus, he inclined towards you, placing his hand before his lips. As he gently blew into his palm, the sand drifted delicately over your face, causing your eyelids to become instantly heavy. As your eyes closed, you felt progressively lighter, while your surroundings started to morph into an entirely different setting.

It was akin to being transported into another universe, journeying through the cosmos.

Meanwhile, your body was succumbing to numbness in the Waking World, but as he enveloped you in his arms, you didn't come close to falling.

Morpheus would never allow you to fall.

It was unlike anything you had seen during your past transitions to sleep. It felt as though your consciousness was levitating in space, gliding forward as a bewitching galaxy materialized before you. You were navigating an unseen path, walking through vibrant nebulae and stars.

In the distance, two figures materialized, standing face to face as you neared. Echoes of voices reverberated through the cosmic spectacle as everything became increasingly vibrant and clear with each step you took.

Once the scenery settled, you recognized the Greenwich plaza in front of the church, completely deserted except for two individuals standing beneath the main architectural arch. Their faces were difficult to make out, but the male voice was certainly one you had been familiar with since birth. It didn't take much time for you to notice that the man was your father in his younger years, while the identity of the woman standing before him was left to your speculation.

With your heart pounding rapidly, you cautiously edged forward, striving to discern their conversation. The woman appeared to be cradling a sizeable bundle of white cloths, gently swaying it to and fro.

"How can you ask me something like that?" Your father bemoaned. "She's your daughter. You simply can't abandon her with me and go.”

"I'm not forsaking her," the woman declared, her voice resonated like a melody, albeit laden with sorrow and guilt.

Upon reaching the porch, you finally managed to gain a comprehensive view of the enigmatic woman. She resembled the one from your father's photograph, except that her features were now clear and discernible.

She had an uncanny resemblance to how your elder sister would look, if you had one.

“Mum…?”

"No, that's precisely what you're doing," your father persisted. "You visit me after 9 months, a period during which I couldn't even support you through your pregnancy and childbirth, only to tell me that I must care for her as you take leave?”

Your heart plummeted.

"You don't understand," she murmured, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Then make me understand.”

Paregoros let out a shaky sigh, her eyes fixed on the newborn nestled in her arms. "You know who I am," she whispered. "My journey to the Mortal realm was only meant for duty's call. Our chance meeting, the unexpected love that blossomed, and now, this baby... none of these were in my original script.”

The quietness was shattered by your father's scoff. "Is that all I am to you? Just a character from a story that was originally written with a different ending?”

“Is that all I am to you? A mistake?”

Somehow, that dialogue stirred memories of the time Morpheus had unveiled the truth about Nada, describing his relationship with her as a colossal blunder that defied the established norms.

"Absolutely not. Our relationship, and our daughter, are treasures I wouldn't exchange for anything else in the whole universe.”

He exhaled deeply. "Then, why?”

"Because she can't stay with me. And I... I won’t be able to be at your side.”

Her voice quivered as she tenderly brushed her cheek against the baby's forehead, a gesture so poignant that it made your chest constrict and ache profoundly.

"What is this?" You questioned. "Is this an actual memory?”

"A memory within a dream," Morpheus responded, appearing next to you.

“My father’s?”

“Yes.”

The man tightened his fist against his mouth, holding back a surge of tears.

"What should I even do?" He implored his lover. "How can I manage this alone? She needs her mother too.”

The Goddess sniffled softly. "You will do just fine.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes I can. Because I know you.”

Your father stepped closer, casting a glance at the baby who seemed to be peacefully sleeping.

“She looks just like you,” he said, a smile of affection gracing his lips.

"You should hear the volume of her cries. She's as headstrong as you are.”

“Hey!”

Without realizing it, you reached out to clutch Morpheus' sleeve for support, engulfed by a tumultuous wave of sorrow and serenity as you observed your family together.

"One last thing," your mother murmured. "It's crucial that she remains unaware of the truth about me and my origins.”

"What? Are you asking me to lie to her?”

"She needs to lead a fulfilling life, without the constant speculation of whether or when I'll return to see her. I don't want her embarking on a futile quest for me, squandering precious time and energy."

Your father shook his head in disbelief. "What am I supposed to tell her?”

Tears welled up in Paregoros's eyes and swiftly rolled down her cheeks. "She must believe that I won't be coming back. To her... I need to be perceived as dead.”

Your father gasped in shock. "No... that's completely unacceptable.”

“My love, please…”

“I can't possibly tell her that. That's..... no. Just a big fat no.”

"It's not as if I'll never be keeping an eye on her. Or you,” she clarified.

"But she won't ever see you. Neither will I.”

“I know.”

“How is that even fair?”

“It is not.”

“Then don’t let me do this.”

The sight of your father pleading with her to stay, or at the very least, to permit the two of you to see her again, was so heart-wrenching that it brought tears to your own eyes. The mere thought of losing Morpheus was enough to rip you asunder. Seeing how your father had to progress without the love of his life, having no control over the entire ordeal, was so overwhelmingly heartbreaking.

It astounded you how well he managed to hold himself together, all on his own.

"I can't. Please understand... I need to be assured that she will be safe. That she'll find happiness. If I choose to linger, I'll not only be defying the laws of my domain, but I'll be sentencing both of you to a life fraught with endless pain.”

"And do you believe that I won't be in agony either way?”

She exhaled deeply. "I'm giving you the opportunity to move on.”

In that moment, you understood. Paregoros was tethered to an eternal existence, while your father's life was destined to be much shorter, aging with each passing day as she remained unchangingly pristine. She wished to liberate the two of you from that heavy burden, enabling you to live your lives in the human world as fully and joyfully as possible.

In a sense, your situation with Morpheus was not too dissimilar. He had already existed for millions of years, and there was no foreseeable end to his longevity. You, on the other hand, were as mortal as your father, and that only reinforced the stark realization of being merely a transient presence.

Morpheus was observing the dream intently, maintaining silence and allowing you to stay close.

“If you think I'll just forget about you and develop feelings for another, my dear, you are sorely mistaken,” your father retorted.

Paregoros let out a chuckle as she dabbed at her face to clear the tears away. "I knew you'd say something like that.”

You smiled, your watery eyes shifting back and forth between them.

Are you absolutely certain there's no other solution?" He asked. “She has a right to know who her mother truly is.”

"I'm afraid there isn't.”

Slowly, and with an evident reluctance, she handed over the baby to him. He wrapped his arms around the tiny bundle, cradling the child with such delicacy that for a moment you feared he would drop her.

"Does she have a name?"

Paregoros shook her head. "You should have the honor of deciding, considering what I’m forcing you to do.”

Witnessing your parents holding you, so intimately close to each other, was utterly surreal.

"I believe I have the perfect one in mind," he said proudly.

"What do you wish to name her?”

His smile broadened. "Y/N. I'm quite fond of Y/N.”

Y/N...." she echoed, letting the name dance on her tongue. "Yes, it fits her perfectly.”

Paregoros leaned forward to plant a kiss on the baby's cheek, her lips trembling as she struggled to pull herself away.

"May you be the happiest, my cherished Y/N.”

When her eyes locked onto your father’s, you could see the suffering in their exchanged silent stares. They shared a kiss, deeply engrossed in the final moment they could spend with each other. The sound of their hearts fracturing in two was almost audible to your ears.

Suppressing her emotions, Paregoros pulled away once their lips parted, transforming into the most sublime and beautiful Goddess you could ever envision. Her white dress clung to her figure in a way that was absolutely enchanting, the train of the gown trailing on the ground. Her hair, now partially swept up, cascaded down in a stunning flurry of curls, and her wrists were embellished with solid gold bangles and bracelets.

"Fare you well, my treasured love. I trust that you will look after yourself as well.”

"I will at least try," he responded, tears streaming down his face. "For her sake.”

Paregoros nodded, her face showcasing the most melancholic of smiles.

When she pivoted away, your father buried his face into the white fabric swaddling the baby, holding himself back from calling out to the woman again. She halted in her tracks, taking a deep breath as she absorbed the sounds of his sobs, before resuming her slow, graceful stride.

"Wait....don't go," you blurted out, trailing behind her. "Mum!”

"She cannot hear you," Morpheus reminded you gently. "She is a recollection from the past.”

"You claimed there was no nightmare in his dream record," you pointed out. "But then, what is this?”

Morpheus swiveled his head, his focus settling on your father, who was weeping and clutching his child, not having the heart to watch his love disappear.

“Look.”

The expression on the man’s countenance changed dramatically as the baby girl opened her eyes. She silently watched him, studying his unfamiliar face, her mouth moving adorably. Your father greeted her by uttering her name, gently stroking her soft chin with his index finger.

As soon as she flashed a smile, you were all enveloped by a radiant, powerful light. Your father was immediately enchanted by that sweet innocence, developing an intense desire above all else to protect such a delicate, pure being from any harm, regardless of the cost.

"My precious little girl... let's go home. Together.”

As evening drew near, your father was losing hope, convinced that you wouldn't return for the day. He sat at the dining table, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously, the ticking of the clock punctuating the passage of time.

He exhaled a lengthy sigh, rubbing his weary eyes and letting his forehead rest against the table. He questioned his decision, pondering if he was truly meant to heed the advice of his subconscious.

He fished out his phone, tapping aimlessly on the screen, hoping for a call or text message that never came. He opened the messaging app, ready to initiate a conversation with your number, but he ended up erasing everything he attempted to type.

He was tempted to get dressed and head straight to your apartment, hoping to at least find you there. But before he could rise from his seat, he sensed a sudden materialization within the room.

He leapt to his feet and let out a scream as a shadowy figure approached, but his fear quickly turned into confusion when he realized it was none other than the King of Dreams himself, holding you in a bridal carry.

He blinked a few times, giving himself a pinch to confirm he wasn't dreaming.

The entity silently observed him, bringing you to the couch and placing you onto the soft cushions.

"It's you...." your father uttered, scarcely believing the sight before his eyes. "Is she...?”

"Yes, she is in slumber,” the Dream Lord replied.

Your father ventured to take a few steps forward, kneeling on the floor for a closer inspection of you. Your breaths were regular and serene, and he could almost swear there was a hint of a smile spreading on your lips.

“She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?”

The King of Dreams didn't respond, but judging by the tender way he was holding you, your father could sense that there was more to the relationship between the two of you.

"You have looked after her well,” he declared.

"She's angered with me, isn't she?”

"No. She is not.”

The Endless stood upright, stepping back to afford the man ample space to sit near you.

Your father gazed at you sweetly for a moment, reflecting on how much you had matured and swelling with pride at your remarkable accomplishments. 

In the end, Paregoros was proven right. Whatever could have become of his life had it not been for her and you, was a prospect he didn't even want to entertain.

And while you were relishing your time in the Dreaming with Morpheus' complete approval, he was about to express his gratitude to Dream for returning you to him.

Unfortunately, before he could even speak, the Endless had already vanished.

Note: I obviously don't own the quote from Harry Potter or the Mr. Sandman song. I just like adding random easter eggs here and there at times.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 15 (coming soon) ->

#the sandman #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman writing