#alpha!mihawk

Hind compels men and women across all the islands in all the oceans. East Blue, North Blue, South Blue, West Blue, there is no escape from the voices which carry the will of the world from advising the lives of its vassals. Often these feelings lead the aware and unaware into doing the strangest things, but always towards the place they are meant to be.

In a dangerous world such as this, only the foolhardy choose to close their inner ears to the heart's whispers.

However, even those who do close themselves off to the wisdom within them will find that fate has a way of finding them anyway. In every world love is like a hurricane, and in hind, it is no different. The bond of mates is irrevocable. While this force of nature is so often experienced and spoken of, the lesson too often goes unheeded...

For what must have been the hundredth time in the last three days, Juraquille nee. Juniper Flora digs her blunt finger nails into the darkened mark on her skin. Idol scratching at the strange scar which darkens the skin at the junction of her pale shoulder and neck, just above the shelf of her clavicle. The imprint of the teeth which made this mark have faded, it's been so long since the one who made it has reaffirmed their sharp shape. 

Though the consequence of such a bite can never be overwritten, distance between the bonded can make the tie between them go thin. Without her bond mate, she feels antsy. But having gone so long without seeing him before, this unease has become normal.   

Flora wears a plain white linen shirt, and loose trousers in black closed at the bottom by her laced up boots. A large quartz amulet, held around her neck by a fine gold chain, and a pair of matching earrings are all that distinguish her from any generic sailor.

For the last few weeks, while they traveled past an archipelago of winter islands she'd also grown used to wearing a golden fur cape, a late courting gift from her mate. But now that they'd crossed on from the winter and autumn seas, she found the fur to be too hot and she'd laid it out on the deck rail beside her. 

She sighs. 

When she's not busy missing the one her life is immortally tied to, she is trying to listen to the chatter of the crew which has been uncharacteristically quiet today, so not even they could distract her from the lingering antsiness she was fighting.

She was half-tempted to return to her quarters. Why not spend the rest of the next week admiring her vast collection of rocks and specimens, who she could spend a lifetime with and never know all the secrets of? It seemed as good a use of time as any other.

Flora liked rocks, often more than people. They were pleasant and stable, and even when they weren't nice, they were very honest about their natures. A rock couldn't lie after all, and amongst her personal belongings there was not one she didn't love with all her heart. 

But today she was compelled on deck. Perhaps it was because of the weather. She'd grown weary of the cold and snow. As much as her bed and desk sounded like heaven, no matter how she sat, or what she studied, she simply couldn't sit still. 

It's been too long at sea for her taste, she determines. That must be what's wrong. 

She much prefers being on land, and the fact they are only a few days from their next destination makes her all the more impatient. And as many ceremonial dances as she'd learned, as many blessings as they could convey, one to magically make a week fast forward in time simply did not exist, or she would have used it many times before now. 

All the more irritated, she scratches at the place which covers the left side of her neck and a tightness in her heart grows more restrictive. Unfortunately for poor naïve Flora, she does not make a connection between the sensations. 

If she had, she would have been more content to go back to her room. There, lying in bed with a special handkerchief she kept hidden in her closet and pressed close to her nose, she would let her fingers slip between her legs to relieve the tension brewing within. Though the touch of her own fingers would always be a shallow comparison to the ones she craved...

While Flora remains unaware, the crew however, notices a very peculiar scent that grows stronger every day. Each time she scratches that mark, the strength of the scent bites the air, making their eyes water and their nose hairs curl. It's grown so intense that most crew members can't even look directly at her without passing out or crying so they avoid her stanchly. 

Better than she, they could sense the coming of something emanating from her aura, and instinctually they knew to keep as far away from her as possible. 

The woman, whose serious but somewhat airheaded nature the manning members of the Cloudfairer knew well, was truly, utterly, and completely oblivious to this all. Normally she was the jewel of their ship. They were fiercely loyal to her even though she was not their captain, but as their sole patron. She was head explorer, not to mention an omega scenting like sour candied cranberries when she was particularly happy and as kind as she was cute. 

Despite all that though, currently she was the source of their own flavor of ill ease. And yet, none complained. 

While they all secretly adored her delight, upsetting her was not why they did not speak their minds and tell her about their discomfort. It was also not because she was the patron of their expedition, or they were afraid of losing their good pay, or that she would attack them with her strange nails which seemed to be made of crystal.  

No. They were terrified of the unknown monster that put its teeth in her, whose mere ghost on her skin made them shiver as if the reaper was breathing down their necks. No one could touch her, and they feared even to offend her, or surely death awaited them. That was what that burning scent said, even when weakened by distance and time.

Perhaps then, it was lucky that their patron was a woman of good humor. She was hardly ever in a bad mood, even if she was irresponsible at times. And now was one of those times, for what would become a very obvious reason but is currently mysterious. 

Flora sends the young officer who has come to tell her that the Captain is asking for her presence on the main deck, one of her famous smiles. He stutters but looks away quickly, unable to hide the spring of tears that the pungent air in her cabin raises to his eyes, and he escorts her to the main deck of the clipper without another word. 

When nearby, she waves at Captain Cainis, who is waiting there on the opposite side of the decks with the ship navigator and his apprentice. When he notices her approach, he nods a simple greeting without interrupting the current conversation. 

"Aye Captain!" A young man's voice calls down from the crow's nest, loud enough to be heard over the ocean wind. "Land! West of starboard!" 

Strangely, a frown fixes onto to Cainis' face instead of his usual indifference. An older man with a distinct six-pronged beard in a sharp style, Cainis was a rugged man.

As a reformed mercenary, though not a renowned one, he'd fended off enough pirates to earn the respect of everyone on the crew. And what had first been a job taken on to return a favor for an old rival had become something more special, though he'd never ever say it aloud. 

Seeing his visible upset, Flora can't help but be curious.

At the call of land, the navigator Alex Crease, a small froggish man, immediately salutes. "Our destination in another four days journey if the winds don't change. We are sufficiently supplied to make the journey, I see no reason to stop before reaching Hoi Hoi." 

No reason? Flora knows she's not the only one on board feeling stuffy and stuck. Since she can't seem to scent herself, the only other aura on the ship was of a crew desperate for any excuse to stop for a while. 

As Alex reports, the captain nods. But at the same time, the patron pulls out her telescope and looks out at the ocean.

"If it's as you say, I have no argument. The sooner we hit our destination the better." The captain decided. "Onward than to Hoi Hoi Island."

An array of 'aye captains!' follow, but he looks to his right where she still stands with a small smile on her lips which grows larger the closer her lens zooms in on the fleck in the distance. 

"Wait a moment, captain." Flora interrupts. "I like the look of that island over there." 

The captain than raises his hand and the frenetic sounds of crew moving across the clipper comes to a sudden stop. 

"Are you sure you're not looking for a day at the beach after a month on the sea? It's only a few more days travel, you should be more patient, Miss Patron. We're staying on course, as agreed on." He says and levels a pointed look towards the woman. 

On the Cloudfairer, speaking the patrons name aloud was forbidden and only Captain Cainis knew it. He also knew the identity of the one who made the crew so uneasy. By now he has grown used to the both of them, and their unorthodox arrangement. However, even he is in complete disbelief that she does not seem to realize how her scent has shifted in the last days. 

Of all things she looks smug when she says, "And if I told you I believe that island holds a horde of raw sapphire worth over hundred and fifty million beri, would that change your mind?"

The sound of jaws dropping to the deck made an audible clink. 

The captain’s raised eyebrows are no longer chiding. "Are you certain?" 

She nods. 

"It might be home to the biggest deposit we've found this trip, by the looks of the sediment layers in the cliffs anyway. They're prefect, near the surface and easy to extract, Cainis, I can almost hear it already. Do you want to pass up this opportunity?"

Thinking for a moment, the captain's usual scowl curls deeper. If they stayed course, they would make it Hoi Hoi in four days, he calculates, and they'd promised to arrive in a little more than a weeks time which left a few days for delays. This would not be the first time they'd made an unexpected stop on their journey after all, and they did have the time to spare...

"Alright," he agrees begrudgingly, "but we stop for only three days." 

She gasps. "Only three days?? That's hardly any time at all!" 

"And you'll thank me for it later." He grumbles, then turns to the ship awaiting orders. "Men! We're headed ashore!" This time the 'ayes' are not interrupted. Reformed or not, no sailor can resist the idea of treasure on an island, even if they have to dig it up themselves.  

I looooooooo-ooooooooove Mihawk. I loooooooooove him. So. So. Much. My husband.

Anyway… this story is actually an accompaniment to an obsessively large project I’m working on, which is a write along of OP with a reader insert x Zoro at the center focus (but some unique pack building in there too). I have the entirety of the East Blue Saga done, almost done with everything through Alabasta, and some stuff written off and on up until Wano so… a huge project.

If you are interested please let me know!!

Now, you can get the rest of this story early on my Patreon for just a dollar, (plus some extra stuff I probably won’t publish here) and if you want to know more about my version of omegaverse the “Hind” you can get my free book on Smashwords or my Website! (The same deal will work with the big write-a-long too)

Thank you so much for reading my self indulgent friends! Until next time~

With Love, Bede

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After spending so long at a distance, seeing each other in passing but unable to spend a night together for an entire year, the idea of riding with him on the raft sounded like a dream. Setting sail after dusk, sitting between his legs with the most precious of her things and a few changes of clothes in hand, they left the spring islands and headed towards the only island claimed by the hawk-eye'd flag. 

The ocean never looked so vast as it did from the back of a raft, the waves peaked so high or the wind so unruly. Sea monsters were no longer just the size of mountains, but seemed to swell to the size of islands, every danger amplified by the smallness of their vessel. Dangerous things found him constantly, though they also often fled after simply realizing whose aura had lured them. 

If she hadn't already believed him fearless, the ease in which he navigated their perilous journey home proved it. 

Many, many hours of that week’s journey were spent wide eyed with terror and clinging to his arm, the arm rest of the only seat on the raft, or his thighs for dear life, she also spent them with her mate, a gift of endless time they did not get often. They spent some in silence, lots simply sleeping which is decidedly more comfortable than it should be given the circumstances. And a good deal they also spend speaking about anything they could think about, mostly about the things they hadn't had time to talk about in the brief moments they'd seen each other in the last year. 

However, another part of their time was spent so scandalously she thanked the stars above they didn't cross many ships. For in all honesty, they spent most uneventful hours of the day connected at the hip. 

Sometimes he was unhurried, practically cockwarming himself in her and hardly moving at all. His nose at her neck, she’d sit there squirming for as long as he demanded it, utterly consumed by him until she forgot they were at sea at all. The surrounding blue of many shades a blur as tears of pleasurable overstimulation made her vision hazy. Slowly he’d start to move, sometimes by thrusting his hips upward in sharp deep strokes that suddenly spiked her core. Other times he lazily rocked her hips against him, or ordered her to roll them, so that the tip of his cock never stopped kissing her cervix. 

Though she was past heat, in those moments she couldn't help but beg him to breed her. Outside of rut, he could not knot like they both wanted (especially after hearing a plea as sweet as that), but the rush of his seed in her never failed to make her cum over and over. It was nearly torture. 

The other times though, where they were both feeling bolder, he took advantage of her limber body. Though there wasn't much room on the raft to get truly creative with their positions, as she stretched and bent to whatever shape he desired. He used her like a fuck toy thinking of how much more he could pull from her on dry land. 

And in between the sex, they did talk and it was always too easy. Since their first meeting three years ago she'd been on the run in one way or another. And though they were bonded and she trusted him with her life, sometimes when she’d been alone on the Cloudfairer, still felt like they hardly knew each other. That was until they were allowed the time to be side-by-side and she could hardly imagine there was a her that had ever been without him. 

When they returned to the island their trip was over, and he was gone within a day but a new promise between them that he would return soon. The memory of his arms wrapped around her body still fresh, she placed her hand on her stomach imagining it was his and smiled. She was very sure about one aspect of the future, even if the picture of this vision wasn't quite certain yet. 

Once she finished breakfast, she made way out of the basement they used as a bedroom and then set to exploring her home. Though she'd been here before, it was only for days at a time and she still felt like a stranger in these empty halls.

Gloom Island was dreary in many ways, as the name implied. The only remaining building on the entire island was a fine castle with stately proportions and many thin watch towers surrounded by foreboding ruins and a dark forest. Yet, it was oddly peaceful. The wind made a certain kind of muted flute-like music when it blew through the ruined town and the fog that gathered here was wispy and romantic. 

She didn't wander far. More than afraid enough to meet the fearsome fighting baboons that were said to live here in the remnants of this kingdom so she kept her exploring inside. Cobwebs and rooms full of furniture covered in clean white sheets filled most wings, which must have been unused before the war, so the places Juraquille used frequently were obvious. 

The entry way, main hall, dining room, a sitting room, the library office, and the kitchen were all mostly clean and contain evidence that he liked to sit by the windows and read.

Over months the island and its maze-like halls became home, and the baboons not the wailing phantom in the forest. She gardened and cooked, read and studied, cleaned and assimilated her things into the basement when they were finally delivered by Cainis. Though he only stayed for an hour or so to help, it was nice to see him again and she was sure to make him take a cask of wine back to the Cloudfairer, which waited for his return a safe distance away from the island. 

It was there the seastone lined rooms were the safest and sturdiest in the whole castle, so they made what was once a dungeon into a living suite. Working until these rooms were shaped into a crystal palace, with lights kept low so the facets of her treasure shone even into the newly furnished nursery nearby. Even the baboons learned to bow and wave as she passed and made small unseeded fields on their part of the ruins which made her smile. 

All the while it became most obvious that she was pregnant. 

From time to time, Mihawk came home from the sea. He was still away for months at a time, when he was home, they could stay together longer than a few hours, like they did at sea. For every month that he was gone, he stayed at least a week in the palace. Each time surveying curiously all her progress in changing and maintaining their home. But he never stayed long. For three years he'd been out at sea, and was slowly making his retreat from the Grand Line to not appear obvious. First, he came for a day or two, then weeks, then a month which stretched on to several. As she grew larger it became harder to move around and he felt more compelled to stay at her side. 

They spent most of their time together reading in the basement under the fractalated light of fine quartz in a nest of fabrics she'd found around the castle that now smelled so much of them she'd forgotten the dusty mess she'd found them in. He liked wine far more than she'd realized, a large collection of it in a subsequent basement room he constantly drained. And though he spent much of his days training, he also liked to study history, usually reading about ancient battles whose conclusions hardly mattered anymore.

Still, reading together was a shared pass time they both enjoyed. The quiet between them as they operated in their own minds and seemingly in different worlds was a supreme comfort to Mihawk, who grew quickly tired of idle talking and overly energetic personalities in his daily life. His wife brought him peace, and more than that she brought a brightness and a joy to these once grim halls that he almost couldn't recognize the castle. 

Where she was, life was breathed back into him. It was almost a dangerous feeling; he loved it so much. As those feelings grew, the desire to settle down did as well. Not to set down his title as the Greatest, of course, but he no longer cared about the passing dramas of either the Pirates or the Marines.

When the transponder snail rang, the one from the Navy his mate didn't like looking at it, she'd been sound asleep on his shoulder. The book she'd been reading laid slump against her swollen belly and her even breaths were the only sound for miles until that damned brrrt brrt brrrt -ing sound interrupted his evening. With immense irritation he rises from his seat as smoothly as possible as to not disturb her sleep and takes his call upstairs to the dining hall in a flash. 

The message from the Navy is the last he'd like to hear, and at the worst time. He has to leave now or risk losing his status as War Lord, which was highly convenient to possess, especially now there was something under his banner he'd like protected from the marine’s attention. And a bite in the Admiral’s voice told him this wasn't the last favor they'd be asking for under threat. He neither agreed or refused and hung up the call, frowning all the while. 

He'd leave, but not until morning and this he told his mate. She'd grown far, far too used to his presence each day, she'd nearly forgotten his true nature. He was a warrior and a wanderer, and even without the Navy calling he would leave again. Though it pained her to see him go now she did not argue or try to stop him, knowing he could feel how she felt far more clearly than she could express with words. 

But it seemed like the very moment he left, trouble struck. It took only until midday, when she was out harvesting strawberries from her garden.  She saw the disturbance first, like a flash in the sky, though just barely perceivable. Then she heard the crashing of trees falling and the island shook. 

Was it a meteor? An ocean anomaly? Whatever it was, the baboons were as curious as she was, and so they all formed a party and headed into the woods where they quickly scattered at the sight of a young woman sleeping in the center of a strange bear shaped crater. She was cute, all dressed in pink and black, but she appeared to be terribly wounded. 

Slowly Flora waves a baboon forward and they carefully take the girl back to the castle.  What little she knows of first aid she performs, though she doesn't take this stranger down into her nest where only she and Juraquille may go, but up to the west wing room where the healing sun shines from time to time through the island's dusty cloud cover. It's a labor to walk so far in her condition, but she checks on her patient diligently until the moment she bursts forth into liveliness. 

Thankfully, it quickly becomes certain that this stranger didn't seem hostile, but she wouldn't explain who she was or where she came from. Instead, she'd taken one look at a lone pregnant woman in the castle and sighed as if disappointed, and wandered the castle and its grounds on her own. 

There was a week of strangeness, this woman floating about, seemingly disinterested in all life and deeply depressed. The only signs of her around were small feminine wails and the occasional sighting of her formless body slipping through walls. Only one night, when Flora was outside the safety of the seastone later than her usual sunset curfew, did she hear Perona truly weep. 

It was there she learned the girl's name was Perona, and also of her desperate loneliness. Her desire to return home was strong, but it was unclear if the home she longed for still existed. And the only thing she wanted in this world was a cute place to sit, a bagel, and a cup of hot coco. 

Now there was only one thing in that list that Flora could provide the self-proclaimed Ghost Princess if she refused to stick around to share in Flora's company. And so, she began to prepare and leave out a fresh cup of hot coco out in the kitchen just before she headed downstairs, when she knew Perona came in to eat. 

After a few days of frustratingly just accepting this kindness, Perona hunted down her benefactor and demanded to know who she was and why she bothered being so nice. That was easy enough to explain, she was in need of help and the other had the capacity to give. Ghostly screeching followed and running away, it didn't seem like Perona much liked that answer. But the nightly offerings of drinks were still accepted, along with a few changes of clothes that seemed to fit her style. 

Were they friends now, or just friendly? That was unclear. It was a tenuous but not unpleasant arrangement--and truthfully it was just nice to have any company at all. Even if they stayed at this slightly awkward impasse until another strange blue blip of light in the sky distracted Flora from her morning gardening. A new visitor, obviously, and as she dusted the brush and soil off her apron, she wondered who on earth was sending all these people here!

After it, a shot of pink, white, and black streaking across the sky. Perona, who could move faster than Flora could even when she wasn’t a shuffling pregnant woman, went to quickly investigate. Flora--never one to like getting left out--finished her work quickly, and moved to gather the baboons to see who had arrived. But she didn't even get the chance before the ghost woman returned in a rush.  

"Hey, preggo-lady, there's a guy here and he's really hurt. Can I use your castle?" 

"Another one of you? Of course, bring him in, I'll help--" 

"No!" Persona shot up into her face. "He's dangerous. I'll deal with him, just stay in the basement or something. And don't come out until I say it's safe!" 

"But you can't go into the basement. And who will cook, or tend the garden?" 

"The baboons will probably work in the stupid garden! Just get downstairs, I'll take care of everything." The girl with ghostly hands does really try to pull on Flora's arm though her touch was as ephemeral as her body. "Just listen to me, okay?!"

"Alright, fine. But my name is Flora." She said sternly. "Call it and knock on the door five times quickly and I'll know it's you."

"Whatever, whatever, thanks. Go now, bye!" 

And then she was gone. With a miffed little huff, she does waddle off to the basement. Three days passed before she decided to get up, remembering it had taken nearly a week for Perona to awaken. Though it was nice, without Mihawk around the basement was boring and she wanted to do something, feeling too restless to read. So, she decides to cook.

She pressed her ear to the door and closed her eyes, listening for any sounds in the stones which might be dangerous. But on hearing nothing out of the ordinary she opens the door only to come face to face with a broad green haired man wrapped in messily tied up gauz wrap. The three swords sheathed at his hip make her nervous, even though he's skidded to a stop midway down the hall far. For a moment, they stared at each other in surprise. 

Quickly debating if she should close and lock the door as quickly as she can, he raises his voice. 

"Oh, um, sorry for bothering you, lady. Is this the way to the beach?" 

"What?" 

"I need to get to the beach. Do you know the way or not?" He very gruffly asks again.

Looking around at the dark walls of what once was a dungeon, she looks back at him, more confused than ever. 

"Do you?" He pushes. 

Hesitantly, she points behind him, "Go up those stairs and take a right, then head straight until you see a big four way hallway crossing and turn left, then keep going straight. There'll be a few doors, but you'll make it to the front going that way."

He goes really still, a dumb sort of empty look enters his eyes. 

Yet, he nods and says, "Got it." 

But instead of turning around he continues running forward after looking left and right at a speed which should be impossible for someone who looks as injured as he does. She debates for a moment more heading back inside the basement and awaiting Perona as was promised. But despite his difficult attitude, their new guest didn't seem so bad, so she heads up to the kitchen. 

In the distance she could hear Perona yelling. And by some coincidence, all three of them arrive in the dining hall at the same moment. 

"I told you to stay in the basement! And I told you to lay down!" She shouts then lets out an exasperated whine, an accusational finger, then deflates. "No one listens to me around here!" 

"I thought you said you were taking me to the forest." The swordsman crosses his arms and looks around. "We haven't even left the castle, are you sure you know where you're going?" 

"Why you--" 

Just as casually he talks over her without pause, "At this rate I should just jump out the window and try my luck. It's an island, I'll make it to the edge eventually." 

"The edge of your life maybe." Perona puffs her cheeks out. 

"Alright, alright everyone. I made some soup, how about we all just take a seat and rest for the night, huh?" 

"I don’t need to eat, I need to get off this damn island!" He grunts and runs off with Perona following quickly after. 

More screaming follows, for wherever Perona goes noisiness follows, and a moment later a huge crash rumbles the walls. Flora lets out a deep sigh and eats her stew alone.

By all accounts a miracle, Perona managed to wrangle the half-alive swordsmen into a bed in the north tower. Presumably carrying him after he lost consciousness fruitlessly battling the baboons most of the night. Perona floated downstairs, looking miserable, when Flora offered to properly bandage up the boy and look at his wounds since it would trouble them both if he died. 

Climbing up the stairs took most of the morning, even with help, since the children awaiting the start of life within her were nearly ready to be born. Perona's endless complaints and chides came from a place of worry. She was also an omega, so perhaps her instincts told her that it was dangerous for them to approach this strange directionless alpha. But nonetheless she helped her up, listened patiently to how to administer the medicine that would keep his wounds from festering, and how to tightly wrap a bandage. 

The very moment the work was done, Perona ushered the other out of the room with a stern warning to leave this stranger alone. After a half an hour of berating, Flora promised to be more careful and ended up spending most of the day in the basement alone, feeling all the more antsy. This time, there were no expeditions to keep her mind off the urgent feelings of her body and the yearning she had for her mate. 

When would Juraquille finally be home? She wondered. What was he doing that was keeping him away so long? And what would he think about the two characters that she'd let inside their home?

Though she'd sworn to chain him to the bed, the next morning Perona was running after the green haired swordsman once again. Breakfast in hand, Flora’d meant to ask her ghost friend to share a quiet morning, but Perona was nowhere to be found. Instead, Flora was only greeted by the bandaged hooligan running past her basement hideaway. His apology yelled over his shoulder, as he refused to stop and get caught by Perona who was yelling directions at him that he obstinately ignored. 

Hours later they returned. Perona's mouth turned downward, and as she dragged his limp body back inside, she fell to the floor beside him and sobbed in a more genuinely distressed way than normal. Whoever, or whatever he was to her, it was clear he was ill and recovering poorly. As toughly as he clung to life neither woman could scent him at all. It was a sign of close at hand death for an alpha to lose his aura and it seemed Perona finally realized that. 

The next day Mr. Swordsman did not get up from bed, and the quietness in the castle was strangely eerie. Over the last few weeks, it seemed that the noise of arguing had become something almost familiar, and though it sometimes annoyed her to the point of eye twitches, the quiet was unsettling. 

Perona ate, said little, and floated back upstairs with an usually serious look on her face. 

The next morning the yelling was back as Mr. Swordsman was up from bed and looking for his weapons. Meanwhile, Perona insisted she didn't hide them, they were back in his room if he would just go back to rest, but it was useless. He wouldn't listen, and even if he was trying to find his way back upstairs whatever wounds he'd gotten must have given him brain damage since he could not help but be lost.

Flora hardly had the energy to tell them to be quiet. She felt so swollen it was hard to walk, and the unborn brood in her stirred frequently which made every moment of the day feel like it might be the one. More than anything she wanted her mate at home and by her side. She refused to look at the newspaper, but when the war broke out, she knew something was wrong. 

She felt when the battle started, a furious charge that fed however many miles away through their bond pulled her attention away from her book and went on for hours. Indignation, curiosity, resignation, all burned strong. These were the feelings on her mind as she fell into a fitful sleep that night out in the library, unable to lift herself and walk downstairs. And when she wakes up the next morning in such intense pain, she groans loud and lowly, one hand on her stomach and the other to her forehead and drenched in sweat. 

Shambling up onto her feet, she's intent on getting downstairs to the nest before another contraction hits, although she's sure it's not time yet for delivery. She's read the books on this a hundred times now and is prepared to go through the birth alone. So many women before her, with their bond mates out at sea never to be seen or heard from again, had done it. She would live through this, even if she didn't like it.   

No one was in the castle, she could hear the baboons angrily screeching outside, and wondered what the swordsman and Perona must have done to upset them so much. But there was no way to know. She only noticed the noise enough to realize that she was alone. Taking it slowly, she hobbled out of the library, past the dining hall, into the kitchen, down a secret hall and finally made it to the stairwell before collapsing to her knees as the contractions started again. 

When it was over, she could no longer stand. Peering down the stairs was like looking into hell when walking on her own felt impossible. And so, she decided to slowly scoot down, one stone step at a time, with every jostle making her feel so uncomfortable she wasn't sure if her babies would let her make it to the bottom. 

Frustrated tears welled up in her eyes, though she continued to descend. She'd keep moving, even if minutely. She had too! Giving birth alone on the stairs was just too dangerous, and her heart mourned this loneliness terribly. Even if Perona came back—even if that directionless swordsman walked by—she'd beg them for help. But there was no one. 

Another contraction forced her to stop and she clung to the warn down railing for dear life, trying to stop herself from slipping down while she slowly kept moving forward. When she finally made it to the bottom, she was panting hard. She took a second to compose herself before getting on her hands and knees to crawl towards the door she was looking for. She only managed to reach half way to her destination before she realized it was too late. It was time, there would be no more delays. 

Pulling herself across the floor to lean against the wall, another contraction nearly made her scream. 

Desperate, she cried out into the empty hall, "Where are you? Please Alpha, I'm scared, I don't want to do this alone."

The only response was a slight echo of her own voice. 

She almost cried, but bit her lip. There was no time for self-pity. Forcing herself to get into position she remembers the instructions in the books she read, the breathing techniques, and the signals from her body she was looking for. Her own breath was so loud in her ears she didn't hear it when the sound of footfall coming closer softly pattered.

She groaned, and tried to keep her breathing even and her wits as clear as they could be. She closed her eyes and began counting, about to time her pushes until, that is, she felt a hand cusp around her back and her eyes shot open. 

Her breath sucked in when she saw him. "Mihawk!" 

"Is it fine to move you?" 

She can't think about answering his question now that he's in her sights. Her hands grip his forearm tight as she can, "When did you get back? What happened? Are you alright, I felt something terrible happen, I was so worried about you." 

He hefted her up into arms easily. "It is no time to talk about war. I left quickly." 

"War?" She gasps, but her questions die away when the contractions return.

"Another time." He repeats in a sterner tone, when his normal is intimidating enough. "When are you due?" 

"They don't want to wait any longer. Are you ready?"

Hard yellow eyes peer down his nose at her, "Absolutely." 

"Then put me down, I need to push." 

"In a moment." He promises. 

Instantly they rush forward in a flash too fast for her eyes to keep pace with. They arrive at the door to their underground apartment and are inside in another moment. Surrounded by the soft light she's carefully set up, and the voices of her collection, and the scent of her mate she feels so deeply relieved she might cry. 

Gently, she's laid down carefully in the nest she's made in the nursery just for the purpose of bringing her young into the world. Though she groans softly as the slight jostle she also smiles. It's truly right here, surrounded by the soft humming voices of her happy collection, the home she's carefully made, and her mate's hand clasped tightly in her grip, she believes this is the time and place for her family to begin. 

That day, three pups were born to this world. 

The largest and first to come into the world was a big baby boy, who had very obviously inherited his father's sternness along with his high arched eyebrows. Though no more than hours old, he scowled in his sleep in a familiar way which made Flora giggle. Naming his first son Alucar, she could see Juraquille planning his eldest son's destiny as he observed him sleeping in his arms. He'll be a big alpha one day, stronger than a mountain, though now he is simply a well fed bean wrapped in a soft blanket. 

Their second child arrived not an hour later, more fussy than the first. He is soon named Stien, after Mihawk's favorite uncle who inspired him to take the sword. And though it seems he too will grow into a fine alpha, he did not come into the world with the same severity of his brother. They lay side by side on the chests of their parents, sharing the same trajectory.

Willow, the last born, has the sweetest gentlest of aura and a surprisingly thick head of hair. She was special, though how special exactly they couldn't quite put their finger on it, other than to think they'd never seen a more perfect omegan pup. While the boys looked like tiny mirrors of their father, it was very clear that Flora was her mother’s. From the shape of her hands to her nose, and Mihawk was fascinated by her, taking her and Stien in his arms, when Alucar cried for a second feeding and his mother's scent. 

It's in a quiet mood like this, somewhat exhausted but feeling so much lighter, that the family spends their first evening together. Though they wouldn't open their eyes for two weeks or so, Flora was sure they each had inherited the hawk's gaze. 

Later, she would be proven wrong on one account. While gentle Willow and stern Alucar certainly stared up at them with intense glaring eyes, sweet Stien's were a mirror of his mother's.  

When all three babes sleep with a soundness which is afforded only to the newborn and those with innocent hearts, Mihawk can't stop staring at them. One after another, he analyzes his newborn children for several minutes at a time.

"I have a daughter. And my sons are born at the death of Whitebeard." He murmurs, "It truly is a turn in the age." 

She gasps out loud. "Whitebeard is dead?" But when Willow stirs, she lowers her voice and repeats in shock. "Whitebeard is dead?" 

"Yes. Along with many others." He says vaguely.  

They sit in silence as the news settles into the air. Then she closes her eyes, too tired to be overly upset, but aware enough of the sea and its politics to know what it meant that Whitebeard would no longer sail the world's waters.

It's troubling news, but unurgent enough to them in this moment that the story can wait until the morning. She's half-asleep by the time Mihawk speaks again, just nearly lulled to sleep by the sound of puffing newborn breaths. 

"One thing." 

"Hm, what?" She mumbles, sinking into his side just a little more. 

"What destroyed the windows on the west side of the castle?"

"Oh, about that." She yawns. "We have guests. Be nice."

"Nice?" He grunts. "Guests?"

But the woman was already well asleep. 

Wine Dad Mihawk, do you see my vision!! I just have such a soft spot for this character, I wait thousands of chapters just to see him every so often--and you know what, it's worth it!

If your in the mood for more of my version of him, I have some extras for this story (more finished/some not/some headcannons) on my Patreon which may or may not ever see the light of day, I don't know!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed my lovely little toads. Be well!

With Love, Bede

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