Chapter Text
Mihawk learned to loathe the silence; when he got up early, he craved the little noises that you would make around the house: the shower running, you rummaging through your things, the little tunes you would hum to yourself while getting ready for the day. The way you always had coffee in his cup when he entered the kitchen, or how you kept a mental note of his favorite dishes and cooked them quite frequently.
He realized this wasn’t like him, as someone who looked for peace and balance. That morning, he was still in his quarters, fresh from the shower and with shaving cream along his face and neck, while he reflected on the small changes he had made in his routine and preferences to accommodate you. The truth is that he didn’t mind it one bit and was happy to concede to you, but after so much time being used to having other people bend to his will, it felt strange to be wrapped around your finger.
His train of thought was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream coming from the kitchen.
Without thinking twice, Mihawk ran downstairs, grabbing the closest thing he could find — a small dagger — and busted into the kitchen, looking for the one person who had the audacity to enter his home.
You were kneeling close to the fridge, holding on to a spatula for dear life while shaking and silently weeping, while Shanks and Beckman stood in the middle of the room, both confused and surprised; Shanks was closer to you, halfway down to a kneeled position and reaching out to you so as to try to calm you down without actually touching you while Beckman stood back, flabbergasted. Mihalk could feel the beginning of a migraine coming, which only happened whenever he saw Shank’s face, but he merely lowered his weapon and came close to you, putting you back on your feet. “Come on, Y/N, it’s fine. Shanks and Beckman are not welcome, but they are not going to hurt you either.” Your skin felt cold and clammy through the thin material of your clothes, and you still had your spatula held tight against your chest as if that was the thing that would keep you safe. “Sorry girl, wasn’t trying to scare anyone,” Shanks said while rubbing his neck, “We’re just not used to Hawkeye having company, so we weren’t expecting to see anyone else around here. But not gonna lie, it was almost worth scaring you so we could see Hawkeye with shaving cream all over his face.”
You wiped the tears away with the back of your hand and giggled while Mihawk could feel his irritation growing. “I am going back upstairs; I will be back in a moment.” Mihawk turned around and went back to his quarters so he could clean himself up and get his annoyance under control — which did take him a while. As much as he respected Shanks for the pirate he way, there was no denying that the redheaded had a knack for getting under his skin.
When he got back into the kitchen, you had already whipped a full-on breakfast feast for the two pirates: a pile of pancakes topped with berries and drizzled with honey, bacon, eggs, orange juice, and jam jars were spread on the kitchen table, and you were sitting between the two men while Mihawk’s cup, unattended, was close to the coffee pot. Shanks had his mouth half-full telling you a story while Beckman drank a cup of juice, and you listened closely to whatever Red was saying. Mihawk had no clue how you made yourself so comfortable around Shanks in such little time, but that was the effect he had on people; while Mihawk imposed respect with his mere presence, many were fooled by Shanks' relaxed and laid-back posture, unaware of how dangerous he could be.
Pouring himself some coffee, Mihawk stood back while admiring the scene unfolding at his own kitchen table: you, in your yellow summer dress, and your hair falling down your shoulders, giggling and blushing while Shanks had his arm around your chair. Mihawk turned his back to the both of you as he could feel his eye twitch out of annoyance, and his jaw started to hurt from clenching it too much. When Mihawk turned back again, he saw Shanks fishing a piece of pancake out of your dish and using it to spoon some extra honey and, for some reason, that was the straw that broke the camel's back.
“Alright, I think that is enough. Darling,” he said, guiding you up from your chair and directing you to the back door with one hand on your small back while handing you your plate with the other, “would you mind having breakfast in the garden while I talk with Shanks and his man?” Without really having an option, you grabbed your glass, took your plate, and went out to leave the men to discuss their business amongst themselves.
Shanks watched you leave and looked up to Mihawk, who was still standing. “A princess, Hawkeye? Well, I never took you for the type to-”
“Shut up, Red. Just say what you came here to say and leave.” Shanks raised his brows and smiled mischievously, popping a blueberry into his mouth. “C'mon, Hawkeye, you have a pretty little thing, a runaway pretty little thing, living with you in this big ass castle, and you don't want us to talk about it?”
“Precisely. She is staying here as bounty hunters knew she would be with the straw hats, and some of them were stupid enough to try kidnapping her from their ship. So if you go around opening that big mouth of yours, you are defeating the whole purpose of Y/N being here.”
“Oh, and that's the only reason why she's here?”
“Why else would she be here, Red?”
“Who posed the idea for her to stay here, Hawkeye?”
Mihawk could feel the vein on his forehead popping, the way only Shanks could do.
“Red, I will not discuss the ins and outs of my arrangement with Y/N. Just say what you came here to say, grab your men and leave.”
“Oh, so we're on a first-name basis, huh? And you called her ‘darling’ before… Nice, nice.” Shanks winked at Mihawk and Beckman snorted and laughed, which just made the swordsman even more annoyed. “But I'm merely here because I need to cross-check some information.”
By the time Shanks came out to the garden to say goodbye, your breakfast was long gone, and you were merely enjoying the view accompanied by Midnight. The pirate sat by your feet in the chaise lounge with a mischievous smile as he could see Mihawk glaring at him through the windows. The swordsman couldn't hear what was being said, but he saw you throwing your head back in laughter, lightly clapping your hands. Even the damned cat was favoring Shanks, as it was now rubbing all over his legs, begging for scritches. Eventually, Shanks got up, and you did as well, hugging him before the red-haired came back inside, where Beckman waited for him. Tapping Mihawk on the shoulder, Shanks signaled to his right-hand man that they were leaving. “We'll stop bothering you for now, Hawkeye. But don't worry, your secret is safe with us.”
Mihawk merely finished his cup of coffee, which had gone cold by this point, and let Shanks and Beckman let themselves out. When you came back to the kitchen, with Midnight held in one hand and balancing your cup on top of your plate in your other hand, he could swear that he could still smell Shanks’ cologne on your, making him involuntarily scrunch up his nose.
“You should have told me about your friends. They're fun!” You said joyfully while starting to clean up the kitchen. “Shanks has a lot of stories, and Beckman is such a nice guy. Too bad my first impression wasn't the best.” Mihawk scoffed an rolled his eyes; like so many people, you weren’t immune to Shanks’ charm.
“They shouldn't be walking into someone's house without making their presence known. They shouldn't have scared you like that.”
“It was a bit embarrassing, wasn't it?”
“It was understandable.”
You smiled at him, still organizing things, pouring more coffee into his cup. “You’re too kind, Mihawk.”
He took a sip of his coffee and thought to himself how to word what he wanted to say. He wasn't the best with words or gestures, but he felt the need to do something.
“Darling, would you mind not being around while I cook dinner tonight? Just be sure to be down at seven.” You looked at him with a worried look on your face; Mihawk thought you looked almost hurt.
“Sure, sure… No problem.” You pressed your lips in a tight smile and grabbed Midnight, about to leave the kitchen.
“Y/N?” Mihawk called, and you stopped, turning around to face him. “Please don’t think there is anything wrong. I am just trying… something different.” You tilted your head while looking at him. “Didn’t take you for someone who would intentionally step out of your routine.”
“Me neither.”
Given that Mihawk seemed to consider that dinner important, you took your time preparing for it. You came down the stairs wearing an off-shoulder black dress paired with black pumps, your hair in an updo, and light makeup. The only piece of jewelry you had was a small golden cross on a thin chain around your necklace.
This was the closest you looked to the picture in your wanted poster and Mihawk stared at you unashamedly while you took a moment to look around the dining room: you had never seen it lit by so many candles, and the flower arrangement in the middle of the table was breathtaking: a mixture calla lilies, pink camellias, gardenias and red roses; You could smell the food and see a very expensive bottle of wine open in the decanter. Mihawk had clearly put a lot of thought into that dinner, and you felt touched by the gesture. Shyly, you walked until you were close to the chair he had pulled out for you and sat down, with the smell of the swordsman's cologne engulfing you like a cloud.
“You really didn't have to do all of this, Mihawk.” You said softly, clutching your hands. “You've done so much for me already, I should be the one doing something like this.”
“Darling, please. I am trying to do something.”
“What is it that you're trying to do?”
He poured you a glass of wine and didn’t respond, simply looking at you. Mihawk admired the blush that slowly crept on your neck and ears; under his intense gaze, you felt like a prey under the scrutiny of a predator, but it didn't make you want to run — in a weird way, it made you want to see what would come next; you didn't feel threatened at all, you felt just the thrill of the chase and desperately wanted to know what would happen next.
Mihawk could sense your eagerness and, smugly, chose to do things even slower: bringing out dinner, he enthralled you into a conversation about nothing of substance — he, who hated small talk, coaxed you into telling him all about your homeland: the food, the people, the clothes, the traditions… he managed to keep you speaking throughout the meal, from entrées to dessert.
As much as he thought he wasn't good when it came to expressing his feelings (and Mihawk would definitely throw himself out of the highest window he could find if anyone ever came close of thinking of him battling his feelings), Mihawk had acts of service as his love language; during the time you two had spent together, he had taken mental notes of the things you liked and disliked, and he made sure to prepare a dinner with all of your favorites.
Still listening attentively to you, Mihawk took you by the hand and guided you to the garden, where his old record player was already set up. An old-timey song played softly, just enough for you to feel the beat and get yourself immersed in the atmosphere — just like Mihawk wanted.
Taking you by the hand, Mihawk started slowly waltzing with you in the garden. You felt your head spinning, breathless, as it was almost too much — the soft lights, the fireflies around, the perfume of the flowers, and the music. He could see that you were almost overwhelmed, your eyes dazed and glossy.
“Can I ask you a question?” you said in a small voice, looking up at him; Mihawk acquiesced with a nod. “You keep calling me darling, but… You had never called me that before today. Why?”
With a deep breath, the swordsman looked up to the night sky, trying to string the words correctly to try and convey exactly what he wanted; even though he was someone who was known for being precise and clear-cut, Mihawk wasn't exactly known for being talkative or expressive - quite the contrary, actually. “Miss Y/N, I do admit that I was intrigued by you since I first saw you; you stood out with the strawhats in such a way that I could not stop myself from gravitating towards you. Of course, by then I already knew some pieces of your story, the little information that had been divulged in the newspapers, but during that game of chess we had, even though we didn't speak much, I felt drawn to you. Asking you to move here was definitely something out of character for me, but the thought of you moving on with the strawhats and getting hurt was unbearable. Having you here was… different. Even though I have had long-term visitors before, having Roronoa and Perona around was similar to living with two toddlers, as they cannot be around each other without bickering; but you made this house into a home, somehow, despite being here for such little time. And earlier today, when I saw you and Shanks… it irritated me. Deeply. Because I don't want to have anyone having that, the domestic feeling that I have with you. Being completely honest, ‘darling’ was more of a warning to Shanks - not that it matters, as he couldn't care less. I just wanted him to leave us alone. I don't want to share you, Y/N.”
You looked at him, big eyes going all over his face, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. Mihawk saw you parting your lips slightly, trying to come up with something to say, but he couldn't resist the urge to slide his hand on your waist up to your nape and better angle your face so he could kiss you.
You gasped, surprised, feeling his beard tickling your face and his breathing against your skin; your pillowy lips, soft and warm, felt heavenly against his own. Closing your eyes, you shyly held onto his collar as Mihawk held you tightly, pressing his body into yours. He could feel how hard and fast your heart was beating as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, enjoying the gasp he got out of you and the way your knees stopped working for a second; as much as he wanted to keep you there forever
Mihawk didn't want to stop kissing you, but he had to, as he could feel you getting out of breath. He pressed his forehead against yours, watching you trying to catch your breath, your chest moving rapidly and your cheeks flushed. “If we are ever to come close to Shanks again, he better keep his hand to himself.”