#Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Dracule Mihawk's older sister headcanons (part 1)

Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This idea was born from a conversation with @giurochedadomani, as well her amazing blog. This is part one of two, part two is here.

*****

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister is twelve years older than him. They are born in an impoverished noble family; she receives a good education and pretty clothes, but has no dowry nor prospects. She is born with a lame leg, which makes it difficult for her to walk unless assisted by a cane. 

🗡️ Her father is a distant man, not physically violent but too occupied with his books and hunting and social visits to pay any attention to a female child; her mother is a kind, melancholic woman, unhappy in her forced marriage but who has found some happiness in the rearing of her daughter, and charity, and painting - one of the few appropriate hobbies for a noblewoman. Her mother paints a little portrait of her and her daughter together; it is not particularly good, since the artist lacks any real talent, but Mihawk’s sister will keep the painting with her for the rest of her life.

🗡️ Her mother dies in the birthing bed; she cries all her tears as she cradles her newborn baby-brother in her arms, deaf to the midwives asking to take him to wash the blood and the amniotic fluid away. She has no idea what will become of her, and him, now that their mother has passed, but as she holds him against her chest, the fussy baby immediately calming at her comforting presence as he looks at her (yes, he looks, and she knows newborns are almost blind, but she can’t shake the impression he is actually staring up at her, tranquil and almost solemn) with those lovely yellow eyes he can’t have inherited from anyone in their family, she promises she’ll take care of him, she’ll protect him and make sure he grows as the honourable, good man their mother had hoped he’d be.

🗡️ Mihawk is the male heir their father had hoped for, but by the time the child is six or seven lord Dracule has already started distancing himself from his son, and realising he doesn’t particularly like that stubborn, quiet child, who like his sister looks much more like their mother than him. Mihawk is clever and polite but wilful, not exactly disrespectful but clearly not deferential to a father he doesn’t respect; the child never cries nor begs for forgiveness, not even when his father uses a belt to discipline him or has his meals taken away. 

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister is a quiet, withdrawn young woman, not unpretty but pensive, who spends much of her time reading and embroidering; she loves roses, and finds happiness in growing them in the house’s garden. Having been prohibited from making friends with the lowborn people of the nearby town, and with both of them being reserved, introverted people, the two siblings spend much of their time together despite their large age gap. Since the family cannot afford a governess, she is the one who teaches him to read and write, and gives him as good an education as she can.

🗡️ She also teaches him to sew, a feminine art that, nevertheless, she thinks he could have to make use of in the future. One day, when Mihawk is seven, their father accidentally finds the two siblings in the parlour, with his sister helping Mihawk sew a button on a pair of trousers; lord Dracule orders him to stop and, already inebriated and in a bad mood after an evening spent playing card with disastrous results, he slaps his daughter, ordering her to stop raising my son like a sissy. Mihawk reacts to defend her, pushes his father away from her so forcefully the man stumbles, and then instinctively grabs a letter-opener from the desk to point it against the man. “Touch her again and I’ll kill you.” he threatens; the blade is tiny, and unsharpened, and the child weighs perhaps a fourth of his father, but lord Dracule is suddenly terrified, and as he looks in those eyes he has always disliked for some reason, and that now stare at him, merciless and furious, he knows his child would be more than ready to actually kill him, if he ever hurt his sister again. 

🗡️ He never does, but the awareness that he is scared of his seven-year-old son is a shame lord Dracule knows he will never forget. He starts despising, even hating him, while he simply ignores a daughter he considers too dull and unintelligent to be of some use for the good of the family. 

🗡️ One day the two siblings are allowed the rare treat of a visit to the town; they visit a tea house, and Mihawk, already a little gentleman, opens the door for his sister, insists on carrying her parcels and walks slowly to make sure she doesn’t fall behind because of her bad leg. As they return to their carriage, they walk past the town’s recently inaugurated swordsmanship school; Mihawk stops, hit by an impulse he couldn’t explain, and “May we go in for a moment?” he asks, which his sister of course concedes. She has no idea, but she has changed his beloved little brother’s life forever, and hers as well. 

🗡️ An hour spent observing the swordsmen practising in the school, exchanging parries and thrusts, and Mihawk has decided this is what he is meant to do, the art he will devote the rest of his life to. While happy for his usually apathetic little brother’s enthusiasm, his sister highly doubts their father will let him join the school, for a variety of reasons; perhaps, she muses, she can sell what little jewels she owns, and it will be enough to pay the tuition for a year or even two. Their father already spends as little time with his son as he can, he may not notice Mihawk disappears for two hours three times a week…

🗡️ They have no time to put their plan in action, since two days later, after Mihawk has convinced an old tenant of his father, a carpenter, to carve a wooden sword for him (he’d rather have a real one and is already sure he could wield it easily, but the family owns no weapons and the few guards they have left are incredibly jealous of theirs) his father announces he’s going to marry again. The bride is from a rich but non-aristocratic family, a classic nobility-marries-wealth deal. She plans on having children (which is unlikely, Mihawk’s sister thinks, since the future groom is getting on in years, but she has the good sense of keeping that reflection for herself) and has no interest in dealing with any step-child; their father, all too happy to get rid of his turbulent, rebellious son and insipid, gloomy daughter, has decided to send them away, without even granting them a pension and literally throwing them in the streets.

🗡️ Mihawk feels no sadness in leaving his father, even though he regrets his hopes to attend the swordsmanship school are dashed, at least for now; his sister, on the other hand, is hurt by their father’s callousness, sad at having to leave the house she has grown up in, and scared about their future. She wants to take care of her little brother, she dreams of sending him to a good school and letting him pursue his interest for the sword, but how? Having no formal education herself means she cannot apply for a job as a governess, and her bad leg makes it hard for her to perform most jobs. As she lies in their bed (a couple of distant relatives have accepted to host them for a few days, but she knows she has to find a way to support them both quickly, before they are booted out for the second time) worry making it impossible for her to sleep, she feels her brother’s small body cuddling against hers under the blanket, his arm circling her waist. “We’ll find a way to survive.” he promises in a whisper, the determination in his voice making him look much older than his age “I promise. You won’t have to do it all by yourself; I’ll help you, and I’ll protect you.” 

🗡️ She finds more consolation in that innocent, confident promise than she would have imagined; she holds him in her arms, promising herself, and her mother, there is nothing she won’t do to protect him and offer him a chance at life, even if it means having to sell her own body or resort to crime. 

🗡️ Almost miraculously, a way out is offered to them a week later, when an old, richer friend of their mother offers Mihawk’s sister a job as a companion; she is paid very little, and the young woman is to all intents and purposes more a maid than a lady-in-waiting, but she is happy with her new situation, since her employer has accepted to house Mihawk as well as her, and even to have him study with her children’s tutor, which will grant him a good education. She works hard; she falls in love with a guest of the house, she is loved back, but receives no marriage offer since the man is also penniless and has to marry rich to support his family. She cries for days, heartbroken, but goes on, already resigned to remain a spinster but happy to see his brother grow into the attractive, clever and capable man she had always known he could be.

🗡️ Mihawk doesn’t particularly like his new housing situation, but makes do for the sake of his sister; he is asked to perform odd jobs around the house, which he does obediently, but when the lady’s children try pushing him around, he uses his wooden sword to whack them and make it clear how already dangerous it is to mess with him. The children leave him alone; they resent him, and whatever hope a friendship would be born between them is dashed, but Mihawk couldn’t care less, because the company of his sister is the only one he has ever wanted, and in any case he has no use for friends, since all his time and energies are focused on something else…

🗡️ As luck would have it, the lady’s older brother is a capable swordsman, a former soldier who has won renown on the battlefield with the Marines and then, having discharged himself after the death of his father, a professional jouster. He treats the new lady’s companion and her brother with distant courtesy, but his interest is piqued when he sees the child practising (actually, waving it around as he imagines slaying an army of enemies and saving his sister from a ferocious dragon) with his wooden sword in the garden; he sees the raw talent, the naturalness of the relatively heavy weapon in the child’s hand, and most of all the stubborn determination of one who believes in himself and in what he can achieve, a particular state of mind in balance between confidence and arrogance that makes Mihawk spend all his time with that simple piece of wood, all day, every day, come rain or shine. As if holding a sword were as natural, as essential, as breathing; as if the lack of a blade by his side made him feel as if his arm had been amputated. 

🗡️ The lord looks discreetly at the child for a few days, without approaching or speaking to him; then, he takes his second best sword, joins Mihawk in the garden while the child does his best to mimic the complex attacks he learnt from a fencing manual his sister has found in the house’s library (and fails miserably; just… not as spectacularly as most other children would) and unceremoniously hits him across the back with the flat of his sword. “Keep your guard up, boy.” he orders “And widen your stance, otherwise you’ll lose your balance. You’re so thin a gust of wind could make you fly away. Doesn’t my sister feed you enough?”

🗡️ That’s how it starts. Mihawk knew already this is what he is meant to do, and at the mature age of eight, he realises the sword can be his way out of obscurity, his chance to prove the world what he is worth - not an unwanted son, not a child servant, not a charity case, but a great, dangerous, famous swordsman - the greatest swordsman in the world, perhaps, one day. Someone other people would respect, and not cross if they valued their life; someone who would not rely on the charity of others to survive, but who would amass riches of his own and whose name would be famous all over the world. A man, chiefly, who could offer his sister a comfortable life, worthy of the noblewoman she is, not having to earn her keep working but with servants of her own, free to pursue her interests and eat good food and wear nice clothes. 

🗡️ This is what pushes him forward; ambition, and love. A diabolical combination, that soon proves fruitful nonetheless. 

🗡️ The lord never proposes Mihawk, or his sister in her role as tutor, to take him as an apprentice; he simply does, and starts training the child. He talks to the lady to have Mihawk exempted from his chores around the house, and reluctantly acquiesces when the child’s sister refuses to allow him to stop attending his classes to make him focus on the sword - an unexpectedly determined stance from an usually quiet and demure woman. Apart from that, master and apprentice spend virtually all their time together; the training is hard, especially for such a young child. His small hands are soon covered with calluses and blisters; the lord uses a blunt blade, but that hurts nonetheless and Mihawk soon starts carrying bandages and antiseptic with him in order to clean his wounds before returning home and not have his sister see him bleed. His master is inflexible, no matter how gifted and dedicated his young apprentice is, and even cruel, as if he enjoyed torturing a child who barely reaches his elbow; he doesn’t, but he knows taking it easy wouldn’t do, not with him, not if he is to unlock the enormous potential inside the hawk-eyed child, which is what they both want. He is stingy with his praise, and generous with his criticism; his apprentice must be the least lazy child in the world, driven by an almost fanatical drive to succeed, but he pushes him even further, beyond the limits of his still tender body and his already steel-like mind, until Mihawk and his sword are one, until he can use it like an extension of his arm.  

🗡️ And as the lord expected, but faster than his most optimistic expectations, Mihawk doesn’t simply progress; he blooms.

🗡️ He is not even ten when he wins his first competition, a regional and relatively important tournament; he is the youngest competitor, and most of the opponents who look down at him (literally; he hasn’t gotten a growth spurt yet, and he is still as slim as a girl) soon have to change their minds as they witness the inflexible ferocity he fights with, knocking over boys twice as large as he is, determined as if his own life were at stake. He wins, most of his opponents unable to land a single hit; the lord approves, complimenting him with a brief, rough pat on the back and his first sip of beer, drunk secretly on the carriage on their way back home, and his sister is prouder of the cheap medal he brings her than if her little brother had found the One Piece, but there is no monetary reward and his name is only mentioned in passing in a short article on the local paper. Mihawk, while secretly happy for his victory, is frustrated: he wants more, and because of this he asks his master to enter him in more important competitions, with prize money he can bring back to his sister.

🗡️ The lord approves of his apprentice’s ambition, but he knows Mihawk is not yet ready to face the world; he could try to reason with him, but deeming that the best lessons are the ones one learns on their skin, he instead calls a couple of his acquaintances, kids barely older than Mihawk but who at this point are still immensely superior to him, and tells them to go as not easy on him as they can. Mihawk fights back valiantly, but in the end the lord is forced to carry him back home, his face bleeding and his dominant arm broken.

🗡️ That night, Mihawk and his sister fight for the first time in their life: she begs and then even orders him to stop, or at least to find a less inflexible master, because she doesn’t want his brother’s obsession (because this is what it is, and she cannot deny it anymore) for swordsmanship to lead him to his death; he stubbornly refuses, defying her for the first time in his life. He has heard recently his father has already replaced them with a new child, a boy, and he sees how tired his sister is at the end of her work day, how her bad leg hurts after being on her feet, walking and going up and down the stairs, for so long, how dismissively her mistress treats her (not outwardly cruel, but making a point to remind her she is a servant - specifically, one hired out of charity) and how empty the little tin box she puts away her savings in is. He knows he is still a child, and that the last thing his sister would want is for him to feel responsible for her; and that is exactly why he wants to persevere on the way he has chosen for himself. 

🗡️ “I won’t. If that… displeases you, if that pains you, I’m sorry; I don’t want you to worry, or to make you cry. But the sword is my destiny, and our opportunity for a better life; without it, I am nothing. It is not that I love it more than I love you, or that I don’t care about your feelings; but this is what I am going to devote my life to, and please, if you want me to be happy, don’t hold me back.”

🗡️ She doesn’t; she cries in bed, aware Mihawk is different from most children and would probably be as maniacal in his pursuing of swordsmanship even if he were a crown prince, and still ashamed she can’t offer him a better life, one in which a ten year old doesn’t need to take responsibility for their survival. Still, she decides to leave him be, confident (or simply hopeful?) the lord will remember his apprentice is still young and most of all aware she simply can’t stop him, no more than she can forbid rain from falling or teach a wolf to eat plants. She doesn’t need much; she’d rather have a less tiring job, to earn a little more and not to be reminded on a weekly basis by the lady they would have ended up in the streets without her, but she is content with what she has. Mihawk is different. Mihawk has chosen the way of the blade, and is destined to greatness, even she can tell; keeping him home or begging him not to take the risks that way of life entails, even with the best intentions, would be useless and even deleterious, not unlike denying a flower the water it needs to grow. In the end, no matter how much her brother loves her and wants to make her happy, the choice is not hers; for people like Mihawk, destiny is already drawn.

🗡️ Mihawk grows. The lord’s training destroys him, sometimes physically, pushing him beyond limits he didn’t know he had, and re-builds him as a sword-wielding machine. He gets stronger, and as he grows, his body does as well; soon his abilities exceed those of his peers, and of swordsmen older and older than him. The lord, wanting Mihawk to also learn other styles and techniques, introduces him to fellow fighters, both of his age and much older, to fight and to learn from; he also enters him in more and more important tournaments. Mihawk soon starts making a reputation for himself; some of the kids he meets during his training or the various competitions offer him their friendship, but he snubs them, more out of lack of interest than of haughtiness. He doesn’t care for company, and his sister’s love is deep, encompassing, uncompromising; what else would he need?

🗡️ During an important tournament, he crosses paths, and swords, with a boy barely older than him, born in the East Blue; the fight is brutal and in the end Mihawk defeats him, but in his heart he must admit Roronoa Arashi is one of the strongest opponents he has ever fought. 

🗡️ When he is seventeen, the lord admits there is not much else that Mihawk can learn from him, or in their little corner of the world; his name is well known by now, maybe the most capable swordsman in the country even though he’s still a boy, but this is sort of fame Mihawk is not interested in, nor does he plan to live off his cash rewards or open a school to teach the next generations of fighters. He needs to go in the world, he tells his sister one evening as they sit on a bench in the house’s garden after a brief stroll (Mihawk doesn’t miss how exhausted she looks, at the end of a week spent taking care of the lady’s brattiest child, who is sick and demands to be attended night and day, her delicate hands made red and swollen by her duties a washerwoman. She’s all right, she promises him, after all she’s still young and the lady has promised her three free days once her child gets healthy, but the sight makes Mihawk seethe with helpless anger), to test himself against the best swordmasters in the world and learn from them, which will make him stronger - the strongest, one day; quite a result to aspire to, especially for a person barely out of boyhood, but this is what he is destined to do, the only occupation he would be content with. “I… I am going to depart come spring, as soon as the tide turns.”

🗡️ His sister doesn’t protest, not even when her brother tells her he plans to become a pirate, not out of a particular interest for that way of life but simply because so many great swordsmen live on the sea, and facing them would have the double advantage of testing his abilities and claim their bounties to support them; they both know that choice will undoubtedly have the consequence of bringing him to the attention of the Marines, who would then put a bounty on his head. Only the Gods know how dearly she’d want to keep him from going, to keep him with her, safe and close so that she won’t miss him like a part of herself, but she loves him too much to try and stop him, or even just to hold everything I have done for you against him. She doesn’t, and instead she makes sure he has everything he needs when he finally departs, on a clear but cold morning.

🗡️ Mihawk gifts his sister a beautiful dagger, with a rose engraved on the hilt; it is small enough to be hidden among the folds of her skirt, but the blade is sharp enough to seriously wound an enemy. “My master told me centuries past men used to hide a blade in their walking sticks; I’ll have one of them made for you, for your cane.” he says “But in the meantime please, promise me you’ll always carry this with you. I’d make me sleep better, knowing you have the means to defend yourself.” She considers it an excess of caution, because what danger could she ever find herself in?, and in any case she doubts she would be able to use it effectively, but she doesn’t want Mihawk to worry about her while he’s away and accepts the dagger, almost invisible in the small sheath hanging from her belt.

🗡️ “Please, be careful; take care of yourself, of your health, and promise you’ll write to me.” she begs him. She knows those words make her sound like a nagging mother and won’t matter in any case, because her brother is just a little too confident in his own abilities and the sort of man who would fight any opponent he’s interested in, no matter how low his own chance of survival is, but she can’t help it. It seems yesterday that he was still the quiet, too-serious child who clung to her skirts and glared at any man who approached her, and while she’s sure he is destined for greatness and smart enough to take care of himself, part of her regrets he had to grow up.

🗡️ So he leaves; she feels alone, but fortunately Mihawk does write often, and it’s not long before he starts making a name for himself, as a pirate and a swordsman both. “Hawk-eye Mihawk” they call him; she keeps aside every newspaper article she finds about him, her heart full of pride and anguish at the same time, and wonders if their father has heard about him, what he thinks about it. A matter of a few weeks, and he already has a bounty on his head; he’s in Loguetown to witness Gold Roger’s death. He’s fast, he’s strong, he’s solitary, without a crew following him or allies to ease his job; he doesn’t want them and even less needs them. He faces many strong foes, and dispatches most of them. He’s wounded more than once, sometimes badly, but he survives every time; he knows victory, but defeat as well, a bitter taste on his tongue he swears he will soon forget. Stubborn and just a little overconfident, he nonetheless learns from every adversary he meets, as he travels around the world to test himself and become what he is meant to be. Like his sister, he dresses himself with elegant practicality; he is still able to mend his clothes, and he starts embroidering roses on his coats and jackets, a hidden message he knows his sister will catch when she sees his picture. I think about you every day. I know you pray for me, and I am grateful for that and for everything you have done for me. I love you more than anything else in the world; and one day, I will give you the life you deserve. 

🗡️ The first large bounty he claims, he sends all of it to his sister, asking her to leave her job and rent a comfortable abode somewhere; he’ll send more money soon, and she’ll never have to work again. She doesn’t, deeming it is still too early for them to rely on her brother’s earnings to survive in case he decides piracy is not for him or, Gods forbid, he gets hurt, but in a year three more bounties arrive, each higher than the last, and then a guest of the lady gets drunk and puts his hands on her, and she uses the dagger Mihawk has gifted her to make him back off, and wounds him. She is not sacked, because the lady recognizes she had to defend herself and even does her best to comfort her, but she is tired of that house and tired of that state of things, and hands in her notice.

🗡️ She writes to Mihawk to inform him, and asks if he’d let her use the money he sent to buy their childhood home, closed for years after their father moved with his new family to a more fashionable and comfortable residence. “If that makes you happy; you don’t have to ask for my permission, use the money as you want.” he writes back; he doesn’t plan to return to live on land permanently anyway and, while he regrets not having been there to protect his sister from her assailant, he is full of pride for how she was able to defend herself “Hire servants, furnish it as you want. I want you to feel at home.”

🗡️ She uses a middleman to buy the house, not wanting to have her father know she is the client, but a few days after taking possession (she has moved into her mother’s old rooms, using her own as a study) she is told the previous owner has arrived, and asks to be allowed to take a few personal belongings he had forgotten there. She says yes; when her father arrives, she presents herself wearing the most regal of her mother’s old dresses; she expects him to be surprised, even flabbergasted, but the man’s face turns white, as if he were seeing a ghost. “(name)?! What in the world are you doing here?!” “I live here. My brother has bought it for us, and now I am the mistress of the house.” she answers, straight-faced; she was prepared to feel sadness, or resentment, or even hate, upon seeing the man who has destroyed her and Mihawk’s life, but she doesn’t; the only feeling in her heart is a distant contempt, as if her father didn’t even deserve the effort for some stronger emotion “Shall I send the maid to help you find your belongings, sir? I am quite busy and I am sure you won’t want to stay longer than you have to.” She remains courteous, as appropriate for a woman of her standing, but doesn’t offer the guest any refreshment, calls him sir instead of father, and at last she asks to see the things her father is taking to make sure they actually belong to him, pretending to accuse him of theft. Her father doesn’t protest, even though he has gone red in the face with anger; a moment before leaving he looks at her, and he’s about to talk (to say what she doesn’t know, but she could wage her life it is not something kind) but then she looks back at him, and she has normal brown eyes, not her brother’s intimidating hawk gaze, and she is still shorter and half his weight, but it’s enough, and the man scuttles away, his head bent low, towards the garden where she has already planted a number of beautiful rose bushes.

🗡️ There is a portrait of her father she has found in a storage room, debating whether to let him have it or let it be; once the man has left, Mihawk’s sister drinks a full glass of red wine, then places the portrait on the floor and steps and then even jumps on it, smashing it to smithereens, unleashing all the rage and pain and helplessness she has felt for years on that innocuous wood-framed piece of fabric. Then, panting, brings everything to the house’s backyard and lights a match to it; she looks at it burning, the flames’ warmth dancing on her skin, and she feels the shackles she has carried all her life open and fall, leaving her free to breathe for the first time in her life.

[fanaticsnail]

The Spear and the Sword

Masterlist Here.

Word Count: 3,807

This is the final fic for the year, a wonderful prompt given by an anon months ago. Thank you to @since-im-already-here for beta reading and correcting grammar. If there's any issue, know my sister is to blame, folks.

@gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @vespidphoenix happy new year!

Warning: blood, gore, flirtatious dialogue, mutual pining, playfulness in battle, enemies to lovers, warlord reader, fluff, Mihawk x female!reader.

I said I'd get it done before the new year. Happy New Years Eve to my fellow Aussies!

This was too much. This was far too much. This was far too much for lord Dracule Mihawk to fend off alone. His great sword Yoru was spattered with the blood of several foes, each impact meeting his blade creating more lethargy in the broody sword master of the seas. His title of “worlds greatest” was hanging in the balance as more enemies approached him with more fervour than ever before.

“Garp,” Mihawk growled into his den-den-mushi earpiece, “you said there would be a few hundred. This is in the upwards of a couple thousand. What is going on back there?” Static and groans of battle were met within the earpiece in return, huffs of gruff breath and thumps of fists coinciding within the ferocious melody.

“It was all I was aware of, Mihawk,” Garp growled once the battle was silenced in the background of the call, “my marines are barely holding up on this end. The other warlords are occupied, I’ve got none to spare you.” Mihawk almost met with a single shot from a bullet, weaving away with a dance-like twirl to dodge the metallic, circular object. He swiped his lengthy blade within the air and kicked back the individual who shot at him, his torso falling to impale themselves against a fence post as a result of the blow.

The town he was tasked to protect, a marine base home to several prominent family members within the world government; alongside the sick, weak, young, and elderly, were currently engaged in a war-like battle with pillagers and pirates from the four corners of the north, east, south and west blues. This army was accumulated under a foreign flag, their jolly roger unfamiliar to both marines and warlords alike. Mihawk had been fighting at the front line alone, his ship destroyed under the destruction of war: his traveling vintages of fine wines claimed by the seas.

As another made his approach, Mihawk huffed out an exhausted and frustrated breath while continuing to swipe to relinquish the foes and meet them with the sharpened edge of his blade.

“Mihawk,” Garp interrupted his flow of battle with his voice cutting through the air within his snail earpiece, “we might have someone available. You’ve worked with her before, a warlord like you. She’s on her way.”

“Boa?” Mihawk asked while placing his fingertip to the shell of the earpiece, “I thought you said she’s on the other side of the north blue right now.” Garp growled at one of his underlings, directing them in some nonsensical way that Mihawk couldn’t quite register.

“No, not Boa,” Garp replied, panting into the earpiece with exhaustion overcoming himself. More clangs, clashes and thumps were heard within the earpiece, Mihawk turning to continue forcing the pillagers back to the shore of the beach.

“No,” Mihawk uttered firmly into the earpiece, “anyone but her. Give me cadets, give me your least valuable soldiers, give me prisoners. Literally anyone else-.”

“I don’t have anyone else!” Garp roared into the earpiece, prompting Mihawk to flinch away from it while furrowing his brows in anger. Both men managed to calm themselves down, Mihawk taking a moment to silence his rage by taking a few deep breaths.

“Put your former grievances and your ego aside, warlord,” Garp ordered within the earpiece, “she’s what we have, and she’s perfect. World’s greatest weapons-master, in fact.”

“I’m aware of that,” Mihawk murmured through his clenched teeth, his teeth grinding as he bit back his lackluster words, “she’s violent, impulsive, ferocious, messy. She’s feral and she’s the bane of my existence.”

“Have you even spoken to her?” Garp questioned, a small humorless laugh falling through his widened grimace, “she’s exactly what we need, Mihawk. You do this, and I’ll let you off the tether to tend your farms, sharpen your sword – or even sheathe it for an entire year.” Mihawk narrowed his eyes, huffing out a frustrated breath and brandishing his sword out to the side in preparation for another recuperated attack from the approaching armada.

“How soon will she be here?” Mihawk asked, his beard protruding while snarling with his upper lip drawing back.

“She’s already on the other side of the war line,” Garp confirmed with him, a final slam of iron-barred doors echoing within the background of the ship, “I’ll patch her through now.”

-

You tilted your head down, looking up at the coastline full of ships approaching the marine-base through your lengthy eyelashes. You drew back your playful smirk, allowing the elevation of your heartbeat to begin to work itself to frenzy within your ribcage. You were known far and wide for your battle-ready ferocity; allowing your rage to take over your emotions within the thralls of battle to relinquish many a foe.

Combat mastery began at a young age; bare knuckle boxing in gladiator cage-matches being one of the first types of combat you overtook the championship of in your youth. After boxing and grappling, you moved on to wielding large hammers and battle axes, enjoying the weight within your fists as you crushed skulls and decapitated limbs. After heftier weapons, you opted to train under the mentorship of a superior fighter. They taught you to throw the spear and reclaim it swiftly, giving you pointers to always meet your target with the piercing tip of the bladed end.

You were nothing, coming from nothing. No family to speak of, you traveled the continents, claiming title after title of world's greatest weapon-master with ease. The only one you were yet to best was the current reigning lord of Kuraigana, his title of World’s Greatest Swordsman continuing to badge itself against his bare chest with pride. Arrogant prick was the first thought that sprung to mind regarding the nature of his aura. You had seen posters, articles and even catalogs regarding his training history and weapons mastery.

As your status was elevated to warlord, the world government approached you for protection against several foes and to take on contracts they would rather not involve themselves with, you accepted under two conditions: they allow you to handle matters in your own way, being the first. Your own way, being: “I will get this done, regardless of the mess, and you will clean it up after I’m done with it.”

The other condition is you were to be given absolutely all the information available to you regarding the contracts: no children, no women: no innocents. Those were your rules. You didn’t care how feral the children were, nor how arrogant and uptight the women were. If they were innocent, you refused to do harm to them, or unleash your wrath onto the world government themselves. There were absolutely no qualms to your requests, printed in bold atop your profile.  

Vice-Admiral Garp had no quarry with your methods, usually placing a den-den-mushi somewhere about within the battlefield to watch your barbaric tirades on the field in awe at your ferocity. 

That was how Mihawk knew of your battle prowess, your pictures almost always covered in some form of dirt, mud and blood within the heat of battle. He absolutely despised mess, but was always held captive to your almost beckoning and sultry gaze as you removed your spearhead from another foe. And you knew him in a similar likeness, his images always clean-cut with not a splash of battle worn on him. Given the call you just received from Garp, you were quivering in anticipation to remedy such a plight from him.

“I’m going to patch you through now, Weaponsmaster,” Garp’s lilted brogue uttered into the den-den-mushi within your ear. His voice almost was quivering itself in anticipation of witnessing the carnage you were about to unleash against the armada as far as the naked eye could see.

“Thank you, Vice-Admiral,” you sang in an almost sultry tone within the earpiece, “I know you’ll be watching closely.”

“Aye, I will be lass,” Garp’s voice laughed into the earpiece. You were very well aware of how fond the older gentleman was of watching you work, not minding in the slightest at the attention and preference you got from him.

“Mihawk, you there?” Garp’s voice echoed within the earpiece, prompting you to wince away from his growl slightly.

“I am, Vice-Admiral.” A moment of pause occurred before Mihawk spoke again, “Weapons-master.”

“Sword-master,” you smirked, your voice almost purring at him, “a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“That I’m sure of,” Mihawk replied in a bored tone. You were slightly taken aback by his standoffish mannerism, your brows furrowing low. He absolutely knew who you were, holding a title as warlord and world’s greatest weapons-master. You rotated your shoulders and clicked your neck to rid yourself of annoyance and prepare yourself for battle.

“Conceited Cunt,” you spat, unaware that the contact was still drawn between the three of you – only becoming aware once Mihawk’s voice relayed back to you, “Feral Filiform.”

“Easy now,” Garp’s voice called over the linked den-den-mushi, “Complete this feat first, then get to your flirting.”

“If you think that’s what flirting looks like,” Mihawk winced into the shell, touching his index finger to the outer shell of the den-den-mushi, “I pity your wife.” You chuckled at his crude comment, almost tangibly feeling the rage pouring off Garp in waves through the den-den-mushi attached to your inner ear.

“Save your insults for the enemy, pirate,” Garp spat into the earpiece. You heard Mihawk hum, prompting you to roll your eyes at the interaction. The ships over the shore began to fall closer to your small vessel - the rise of the tide ushering you into the new thralls of battle. You noticed there were a few hundred ships, all carrying an amassment of crew of various sizes. You once again rolled your shoulders back and pursed your lips. 

Placing your fingertip to secure the shell deeper within your ear, you smirked out a final taunt to the warlord.

“This is what was bothering you? Couldn't you handle the troop all by yourself, swordsman?” You cooed into the voice responder. Silence and static was met within the drum of your ear, a stifled growl also accompanying it. You decided to get in a final jab to taunt him, “I could dispatch the armada by myself. Why don’t you take a break, old man? Sit your pretty little ass down on the beach and sit back to watch the show.”

“I’d like to see you try, barbarian,” Mihawk growled in return. Your ship brushed against the hull of the first ship to the rear of the fleet; your presence immediately making itself known as you housed yourself effortlessly over the railing. You laughed into the earpiece, feeling the rapidity of your heartbeat rising in elevation to frenzy yourself before first contact is made with your many foes.

Your spear was flung through your hands to indent itself against the top mast at the middle of the vessel, skewering several members of the mighty crew onto its pole as meat would dangle from a kebab. You grappled, kicked, flung yourself at the crew; using your hands and their own weapons against them to relinquish them from their life. Once they all fell victim to your battle mastery, you again reached your hand up to the shell-responder.

“I bet my left breastplate I will get to the middle before you, Swordsman,” you taunted him, your legs carrying themselves with haste towards the railing of the ship. You jumped high, the air lifting you and drawing your body down against the next vessel. 

“I bet my waist-belt you absolutely won’t, Wild-Woman,” the swordsman snarled into the earpiece, Yoru circling around and pushing the troops back with one fell swipe. Mihawk’s teeth drew themselves back, enraged at his taunt being met with a small melodic giggle. 

“Oh, this is how we’re playing, is it?” You whispered breathily into the earpiece, your spear clutched within the fist of your dominant hand as you stabbed at the next approaching foe. You giggled again, feeling at home on the battlefield. The life drained from the eyes of the enemy under the tip of your spear; another shipful of foes falling on their knees at your expert ministrations.

“Fine,” you smiled into the earpiece, singsong and humor dripping from your tongue, “I’ll see your belt and raise you my entire breastplate.” Mihawk growled in response. You held your ground, immediately flinging yourself at the next ship. 

Rather than to take on several members of this crew, you shrugged your shoulders and thrust your spear downwards - sinking the vessel below your feet. You sprinted against the ship’s deck as it began to be claimed by the sea water below, ushering you on to the next ship. You threw your spear to the next vessel, embedding the tip into a lit cannon and witnessed the beautiful implosion it made; launching the spear back into your awaiting palm as you jumped onto the next one. The blast sunk the ship it was fired from, the cannonball flinging itself to sink the one laying perpendicular to the vessel. 

Mihawk was not paying attention to your battle mastery, assuming you were still undertaking the first vessel you had docked your ship against and fighting like some untrained and feral marine. He snickered at the thought, himself already aboard his second vessel after pushing back the troop from their approach of the shore. 

“I’m looking forward to claiming your breastplate,” Mihawk’s voice audibly smirked into the earpiece, “to add to the winning pool, I’ll claim that spear too.” A shiver of anticipation shuddered against his spine at the audible growl he managed to pull from your parted lips. Holding your spear more firmly within your hand, you growled back at him. 

“There are several things I doubt you’d be able to do correctly, swordsman. Wielding my spear is the first that springs to mind,” you smirked, watching the bubbling of water rise as another ship sank against your skill, “pleasing a woman is the other.”

In order to remain silent while listening to your quips back and forward to each other, Vice-Admiral Garp clapped his wide palm over his lips to stifle an outrageous and unbridled laugh rising in his chest. Bogard smirked, hearing the commotion from the speaker molded into the desktop den-den-mushi, placing his hat over his eyes to hide his joy. 

“I’ll gladly show you I can on both counts, woman.”

“You can certainly try, warlord”

“I will absolutely succeed, fellow warlord.”

 Garp and Bogard were held on the edge of their seats, watching through binoculars the battle mastery balanced between you both while your quippy dialogue read as commentary to your mighty feats. 

“Fine,” you again smirked into your earpiece, clothes and armor littered with the spilt blood of your enemies while your hair stuck to your face under the salty sea-spray, “If I am to give up my weapon to the cause, I will have something of equal value offered in return.”

“Yoru is not something I would ever part with for something as childish as a-,” Mihawk began, his words halting as you offered your trade.

“-If I win this little coo, you pretentious prick, your pride is coming with me,” you called into the shell attached to your ear. Feeling all the pent up rage and frustration of the respect of your skill not being met in return for your affection, you offered the best solution you could find. 

“If I get to these exact coordinates, all foes falling before me,” you relayed the coordinates, Garp, Bogard and Mihawk hanging on your every utterance, “you will report back to Vice-Admiral Garp donning nothing but your stupid cross-blade, your stupid Yoru and your feathered hat.” The battle paused, the enemies halting their approach with their brows furrowing in almost disgust and awe. You held up a halting hand at them, awaiting a vocal response from Mihawk to your taunt. 

Mihawk’s brows themselves were lowered, his eyes narrowed as he sought you out in the field. He couldn’t find you, couldn’t see a trail of destruction in your wake. He continued to search for you within the crowd, but was still unable. 

“In that complete and utter unlikelihood,” Mihawk began, still craning his neck to seek out your form, “I accept the terms. Prepare to have your spear, your breastplate and my own satisfaction in claiming some semblance of femininity from you while I wield your body effortlessly.”

“And you prepare yourself to be absolutely humbled in response, your pride and ego removed because-,” you smirked, your eyes finally meeting with the yellow hue of the feathered warlord only a few hundred feet away from you, “-I’m nearly there.”

Mihawk’s eyes widened as he witnessed you jump to the next vessel, twirling within the air to throw a small axe into the base of the ship and sinking it by placing a wide hole within its bow. You were, indeed, very close to the coordinates. His widened gaze looked harder, noticing the absence of over half of the wide armada sinking to the bottom of the sea. How had he not noticed it before? Why, in all his stupidity, would he ever agree to this without looking properly first? Clearly, he had underestimated you. Or overestimated his ability to easily outmatch you. 

The elements had changed along with the tide. Your battle-ready ferocity was overcast by an aura of calm playfulness; you giggling into the earpiece as you continued falling foe after foe beneath your spear, fist and axes. In turn, Mihawk was the one to begin to shower himself desperately in the blood of his enemies; curling up his lip at the mess alongside his stupidity at undertaking such a bet. 

“C’mon Hawk, keep up. You’re nearly there. Flap your wings harder,” you’d giggle into the earpiece, uncaring whether blood, sinew or bone showered your body in the baptism of battle. 

“Stop your stupid teeth from gnashing, Hyena. Your taunts mean very little to me,” Mihawk panted, his feet carrying him with more haste as he continued to unblinkingly search for you. 

You giggled again in response, your feet almost carrying themselves closer to the finish line. Your enemies within the armada were fleeing from the utter horror you created, your wolfy grin and playful eyes not matching the energy of the gore befalling your form. Many simply dove overboard, ran to the next ship away from you in their cowardly retreat - only to be met with another approaching warlord with his mighty sword clutched in his dominant hand. 

As Mihawk panted for breath, his adrenaline propelling him to the finish line leaving a trail of destruction in his wake; his steps quivered in his tracks as his gaze met with yours.

You were sitting on a barrel, twirling the twine around your spearhead nonchalantly with a litter of bodies laying at your feet. Your left brow was arched upwards, the knowing smirk plastered against your plush lips as you hummed a tune of victory through your nose. 

“Looks like I’ll get to see what your other sword looks like,” you cooed in a melodic tune, not meeting his gaze and remaining aloof, “you can leave your boots at my feet. I think I might wear your coat home with me, Swordsman.”

“You are disgusting,” Mihawk spat at you, his breath finally catching up with him. He was now left breathless at witnessing your ferocity, the wild shape of your battle-worn eyes holding him hostage with tense emotion. 

“You agreed to the terms, Mihawk. Now it’s time to pay up-,” you uttered darkly, snapping your head over to his form with your eyes narrowed at him.

“-I meant your appearance. So wild, so feral, so-,” his next words caught in his throat as you drew yourself down from your sat position atop the barrel, “-unladylike.” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes in your approach. Wiping your forehead with the back of your arm, you rid your face of the bone, blood and sinew blocking your view of him. He was a very pretty man, the most beautiful you had seen in a long time. Although slightly taken aback by his clean and uptight appearance, you stood your ground. 

“What would you have me wear then? Silks and satins while I dance amongst the chaos? I think not, lord Dracule Mihawk,” you spat at him, laughing dryly at your own comment. Mihawk sucked in a small breath through his nostrils, wincing at your comment with his lips curled into a snarl. You overemphasized a sigh, placing your spear against your back and stretched your arms to cool down your body. 

“I’ll make you another deal then, Mihawk,” you smirked again up at his towering form, “I’ll go and get cleaned up and don some pretty little dress for you,” you prodded his bare chest with your index finger and traced a pattern against his pectorals, “and you can go and relay the play by play to Vice-Admiral Garp completely starkers, okay?” 

Mihawk growled, eyes looking to your tender touch against his chest and almost again finding himself falling to his knees under your radiant ferocity. He rolled his neck, arched his soldiers back and leaned into your touch. 

“Fine,” he spat in response, gripping your bloodied wrist beneath his palm and curled fingertips, “but it better be something tight and preferably black.” You giggled at his comment, raising your other hand up to his cheek and patting it affectionately with a small utterance. 

“What a good boy you are,” you praised him with another cooing taunt, scrunching up your nose and smiling with your feral eyes, “now take off your boots, coat and pants and run along now. I’ll be all dolled up for you and ready for you at the waterfront tavern. I might even see that your clothes are cleaned, pressed and waiting once you arrive.”

Your comment finally broke him, a warm laugh cracking through his tough exterior and rumbling within his chest to pour from his mustached lips. 

“It’s a shame I lost,” he leant his cheek into your touch, prompting you to furrow your brows in curiosity. He stooped his form lower to you, tickling your face with his playful and breathy whisper, “I would’ve liked to have shown you how well I can please a woman.”

Eyes were either focussed exclusively on the ceiling or marines would simply turn around as the darkened and well seasoned lord of Kuraigana entered the military office building. Holding true to his word, and the promise of good company after his humiliation, he sauntered confidently into Vice-Admiral Garp’s office donning nothing but Yoru strapped to his back, his cross-blade hanging loosely from his neck, and his feathered hat atop his sea-sprayed, curled, dark locks.

[macbethsymphony]

Port Wine & Sake | Chapters 1 & 2

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

wc: 5.8k

Chapter rating: SFW

Whole fic content/warnings: eventually NSFW and 18+, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, slight alcohol abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics

Summary: You were tired of the fucking nuisances freeloading in your brother's castle, but it seemed you had no choice but to endure. A tumultuous romance between Roronoa Zoro and Dracule Mihawk's sister, set throughout the 2 year time skip.

Also on AO3 if you prefer

Your heels clicked violently against the cold marble floor, the feathery hem of your robe flowing behind you dramatically. “MIHAWK,” you roared, your voice echoing thunderously down the corridor as you strode with purpose towards the entryway. 

Your lip curled in disdain as you caught a glimpse of pink hair disappearing through the wall in front of you. You had enough of these fucking children freeloading in your brother’s castle. 

The specter princess, Perona, had been a source of trouble from the outset, her annoying negative hollows and ceaseless demands wearing thin on your patience. And then, she had somehow managed to summon another one. The green-haired boy, Zoro, had been barely clinging to life when he’d first arrived. He had been a monumental challenge to nurse back to health and yet he remained oblivious and thankless in the face of the colossal efforts you had made on his behalf. Instead of showing gratitude, he wandered the halls aimlessly, trying to escape this cursed island. Every time the pink-haired annoyance had brought him back, he had been on the brink of death, nevertheless his resolve never faltered. The determination was almost… admirable. Even through the curtains of your anger, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still alive.

You took a sharp turn, the reverberation of your stomps traveling through your legs. You dodged an incoming ghost with a grace that was becoming practiced ease. The fucking bitch was trying to stop you.

"MIHAWK!" Your frustration boiled over once more as you descended the steps, your fist clenched tightly around the expensive bottle of port in your grasp. The tie at your waist loosened, allowing your robe to fall open and reveal the thin silk of the jet-black slip you wore underneath. You edged at the limit of decency, the softness of your thighs, the roundness of your cleavage on display, but you didn’t care in the haze of your fury.

You spotted your brother’s silhouette against the glass of the front door, the two nuisances in tow behind him. Good. You’d settle this once and for all. The scorching intensity of your gaze caught the warlord’s glacial stare, a quiet conversation flaring between you. 

You closed the distance, the click of your heels a statement in themselves as the sound reverberated loudly in the silence.

“Sister,” he acknowledged you when the tips of your toes defiantly touched the edge of his boots.

You glanced up at him wordless argument still carrying on. You squinted in contempt. You knew that look in his eyes. “No,” you said coldly, in no mood for leniency. 

His gaze narrowed in turn, gaging your resolve. “I will hear them out,” he stated as matter-of-fact.

“You will not,” you retorted, unwilling to back down.

You spotted the pink-haired girl shift nervously in the periphery of your vision. It was rare to see her squirm. You scoffed in anger. Of course she would only show respect in the face of your brother’s power.

Mihawk’s stare remained steadfast. Your grip tightened on the bottle in your hands, knuckles whitening.

“These children have overstayed their welcome,” you added with a scowl. “You will send them on their way.”

“We shall hear them out, (Y/n),” He said in answer, moving past you, heading towards the dining room.

He’d used your name. He only did so when he was final in his decisions. Your jaw clenched as the two uninvited guests followed him. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you turned and followed too.

Perona eyed you with uncertainty as you made your way to your habitual chair. As brother and sister sat at their respective head of the table, she was suddenly acutely aware that her fate depended on the outcome of this conversation. Her gaze avoided yours as if she knew she was the primary cause of your vexation.

You sank rather ungracefully into the plush embrace of the red velvet, a deliberate act of rebellion against the stifling formality of the room. In petty defiance, you lifted the bottle of port to your lips, taking a sip directly from its neck, all the while keeping your stare fixed firmly on Mihawk. You couldn't help but smirk as a subtle twitch crossed his features. You knew all too well his contempt for such uncouth behavior; after all, fine wine deserved nothing less than the reverence of a proper glass.

As the seconds stretched into an uncomfortable silence, Perona's agitation became increasingly palpable, her movements growing more restless with each passing moment. "I-I'm sorry for causing—" she began tentatively, her voice trailing off.

Your scoff cut through her attempt at an apology, your tone dripping with disdain. "Save your breath," you snapped. You didn't even deign to spare her a glance, your eyes fixed firmly in a battle of will against your brother.

A snort from the green-haired boy punctuated the tension in the room, his amusement at the exchange evident.

Mihawk's voice sliced through the atmosphere like a blade through silk, his words commanding attention. His unwavering gaze swept across the faces assembled around the table before settling on yours. "We will hear their plea, (Y/n). That is final," he declared with an air of authority that brooked no argument.

Your teeth ground together, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. But you knew better than to defy Mihawk when he had made up his mind. With a begrudging nod, you reclined back in your chair, the bottle of port cradled against your thighs. With a subtle gesture, you indicated to Perona and Zoro that they could speak.

Perona shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes flickering nervously between you and Mihawk. "Um, well, you see," she began, as she tried to voice her thoughts. "We didn’t choose to come here. Kuma sent us."

Incredulity washed over you, as you turned your gaze from Perona to Zoro. His nod of approval to the specter princess's statement only heightened your surprise, coloring your features with a mixture of shock and astonishment.

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Your fucking coworker, Mihawk?” you shouted in anger looking back at the warlord.  

You observed the imperceptible shift in his stance at the revelation, but his expression remained unreadable.

The sound of young man clearing his throat drew your attention, prompting you to turn your head and meet his gaze. His eyes, steady and unwavering, held a firm resolve as he spoke. "I have no intention of staying," he declared with conviction, his voice carrying a hint of defiance.

You couldn't help but scoff at his confidence, your skepticism evident. Images of the army of humandrills surrounding the castle flooded your mind, reminders of the countless wounds you had tended to. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, boy," you retorted, your tone laced with doubt.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, a sudden tension seizing his frame as your words hit their mark. You could practically feel the wave of anger emanating from him as he stiffened in his seat. It was evident that you had struck a nerve, and the glare he shot your way was nothing short of furious.

You met his gaze head-on, a sneer on your lips, refusing to back down. There was a challenge in your stare, a silent invitation for him to unleash whatever retort he had brewing.

Before he could respond, Mihawk intervened, his voice commanding attention. "If you want a small boat, there is one on the west side of the castle," he suggested, his tone both authoritative and diplomatic.

The tension in the room escalated as he pushed himself from his chair with a strained effort, the legs of the intricate piece of furniture grating against the stone floor. Perona's reaction was immediate, her panic palpable as she shot up from her seat with wide eyes.

"What the hell?!" she screeched in a mixture of disbelief and distress, her usual composure unraveling in the face of her companion’s sudden departure. "Don't leave me alone! You fool!"

Zoro ignored Perona's frantic pleas, his gaze fixed determinedly ahead as he limped towards the door with stubborn resolve. His movements were stiff and labored, a testament to the injuries he had undoubtedly sustained earlier in the day.

As you watched him limp away, conflicting emotions churned within you. There was a flicker of worry mingled with a begrudging sense of admiration for his obstinate resilience. Despite yourself, you couldn't help but scoff inwardly, the bottle of port in your hands finding its place to your lips once more.

A bitter chuckle escaped you as you took another sip, the rich liquid burning its way down your throat. What was the point of even caring? He seemed intent on getting himself killed, after all. Perhaps you should just let him, sparing you the trouble of stitching him up any further, elbow deep in blood.

Mihawk's gaze remained impassive as he observed the unfolding scene, his expression unreadable to most. But you could clearly see the hint of approval in the subtle tilt of his head, a silent acknowledgement of the boy’s determination.

Swordsmen and their damned pride.

As the door swung shut behind Zoro, leaving Perona standing alone in the center of the room, the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. Mihawk looked at you and you knew in that instant that he’d taken his decision.

“I will allow you to stay,” he said simply, eyes not shifting away from yours as he spoke to the source of your annoyance.

“You will?” The pink-haired pest smiled.

You ignored the hope in the girl’s voice as you bristled at your brother’s decree, the feeling of frustration simmering within you threatening to boil over. “And what about me?” you demanded, your tone laced with venom. “Must I endure this circus indefinitely?”

Mihawk’s demeanor softened, a rare hint of empathy shining through the golden hues of his eyes. “I trust you can handle the situation with grace, Sister,” he replied unusually gently.

You scoffed, a sneer breaking the elegance of your features. Grace. The word rang hollow in your ears as you fought the storm that threatened to reign over your temper.  

You sank further into your chair, your expression bordering on insolent. You had half a mind to continue the argument, but your pride wouldn’t allow this conversation to degenerate into pettiness in the presence of a guest.

The silence between siblings dragged on, only broken by the specter princess’s incessant worries for the swordsman who had just left. You smirked as you watched Mihawk’s patience grow thin, he hadn’t been in their company for an hour and he was already struggling. It was an almost sweet revenge, if only you didn’t have to endure the torture too.

“Perona, if it troubles you so much, why don’t you go look after him,” he snapped, although his tone remained cordial to the unknowing.

“What?! Why would I do that?” She screeched. Ah, there it was. Her petulance was back now that her worries were eased. “The idiot can die for all I care,” still, she stomped out of the room, inevitably going to find the younger swordsman.

You watched Perona storm out with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The girl's mood swings were like a tempest, unpredictable and chaotic. But at least her departure brought a temporary reprieve from her incessant chatter.

As the door shut behind her, you let the quiet rule over the both of you for a moment. You turned your attention back to Mihawk. His gaze was fixed on you, a silent question lingering in the air between you.

You met his stare head-on, refusing to back down. "I won't pretend to be happy about this," you muttered, your words laced with bitterness. "But I'll tolerate their presence... for now."

He nodded in acknowledgement, his expression unreadable as always. "I appreciate your cooperation, Sister," he replied, his tone even.

You scoffed, the rancor lingering in your voice. "Cooperation implies I have a choice," you retorted, your gaze flickering to the bottle of port still clutched in your hand. "But I'll play along... for your sake."

A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the faint sound of arguing drifting through the thick walls. After a moment, you rose from your seat with a sigh, prompting Mihawk to quirk an eyebrow in your direction. You shrugged nonchalantly, crossing the room to the credenza where several bottles of wine lay.

Selecting one at random, you retrieved two glasses and carried them back to where he sat. You leaned on the edge of the table, observing him warily. Your tongue passed on your teeth as you deliberated how much patience he had left. With practiced ease, you uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount into each glass. The rich red liquid shimmered softly in the dim light of the room as you passed him the glass.

He savored the wine with a deliberate slowness, his eyes drifting shut in appreciation of the velvety flavor that danced across his palate. Though it still needed time to breathe, its initial taste was nothing short of delightful.

"It’ll do you good to be around people your age," he remarked casually, setting the glass back down on the table with a gentle clink.

Your reaction was immediate, a scowl breaking across your features in response to his comment. "Don’t you fucking dare," you started, your tone thick with bitterness and incredulity.

A warning passed his lips, your name was spoken softly but with a weight that carried a subtle reminder to tread carefully.

Your jaw clenched as you fought to rein in your temper. Instead of succumbing to the urge to snap at him, you leaned forward, your focus shifting to the intricate details of his coat. With practiced precision, your hand followed the seams, exploring the armscye, tracing the eyelets and the leather cord that replaced the traditional stitching.

Though there were signs of permanent stretching, you found no further damage, a small relief amid your frustration.

A gentle flick of your fingers against his neck prompted him to tilt his head, allowing you to continue your observations without interruption.

"How did you find the changes I made to the jacket?" you inquired, your attention fully consumed by the collar as you awaited his response.

He shifted slightly under your examination, a faint hint of annoyance evident in his demeanor. Yet, he remained cooperative, his own compromise to the situation, permitting you to inspect the garment without protest. 

As your fingers moved along the collar, tracing the lines of your craftsmanship, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. The jacket had held up remarkably well, even through the turmoil of a war. Truly, a reflection of your commitment to perfection.

His response came after a moment of contemplation, his voice measured as he offered his feedback. "The changes are subtle but effective," he remarked, his tone neutral. "The fit is much improved, the changes you’ve made to the sleeves allow for a better range of movement and increased comfort."

Your lips curved into a faint smile at his words, a glimmer of satisfaction creeping into your expression. It was gratifying to hear his acknowledgement of your efforts, even if it was delivered with his characteristic stoicism.

"Good," you replied simply, mentally tallying all the modifications you wanted to try for the next version. "Let me know if you have any requests for future alterations."

With a final nod of affirmation, you leaned back. Your gazes met each other in a far calmer display than before. Your fingers found the stem of your glass, taking a well-earned sip. “I am glad you are back safe, brother.” You said genuinely, your eyes gentle.

As the tension dissipated, you appeared more youthful, your features softening without the weight of anger. Mihawk couldn't suppress the faint smile that graced his lips as he raised his glass to his mouth, the crimson liquid flowing in smoothly. "It feels good to be back," he confessed, a sense of contentment evident in his tone.

You cast a glance towards the window, noting the subtle shift in the ambient light as dusk descended. The evening had drawn its curtains over the sky, painting it in hues of twilight. You hummed in consideration. "Since you are so insistent on letting them stay,” your voice dragged on in a gentle pause. “Please make sure to bring him back inside before he meets his end at the hands of those baboons," you said, the words leaving your lips with a reluctant resignation.

theHis brow arched gracefully at your demand. “He is more resilient than you think,” he assured you, his words carrying a loftiness of confidence.

His affirmation beckoned your attention back to his countenance. You squinted, trying to decipher the secrets hidden within the depths of his gaze. "Is that a sliver of respect I detect in your tone, Brother?" you taunted, the corners of your mouth curling upward in a playful dance, teasing out the nuances of his response.

You observed as he put his hat back on, rising to ensure your request would be fulfilled. “Perhaps,” he conceded, his tone laced with a trace of elusive admiration.

You snorted, as you watched him leave. It was a rare intonation, one you’d barely ever heard in all your years together.

 "Oh, and (Y/n)," Mihawk's voice cut through the air with a hint of reprimand as he stopped in the doorway. "Please do make yourself presentable when we have guests."

Your response came swift and sharp, a blade polished by an eternity of familial repartee. "I will take no commentary on my lack of propriety from you, dear Brother,” you retorted laced with a whisper of playful sarcasm. You looked him up and down, “But do try to keep your shirt closed... especially now that we have guests."

The warlord’s mask cracked for an instant, his eyes rolling almost imperceptibly, an acknowledgement of your jest. “You’re incorrigible, sister,” he let the door close in a heavy thud behind him.

“MIHAWK,” you shouted after him, knowing that even though he would not answer, he could hear you very well. “Do come and get me, when you inevitably come back with that boy tittering on the edge of death.”

And it did not take long until they indeed came to fetch you. With a sigh, you rolled the sleeves of your robe and went to get the medical kit. After all, there was little difference between stitching silk and closing wounds.

Roronoa Zoro needed to get the fuck off this cursed island, and he needed to leave NOW! He had to get to Luffy. His captain, no, his friend was alone. He should have been there, fighting by his side. If only he wasn’t so fucking weak… none of this nightmare would have happened. But, not only was his crew waiting for him, between the Thriller Bark girl's antics driving him up the wall, the looming threat of the man he’d sworn to defeat and your peculiar brand of insanity thrown into the mix, he was about to lose it himself. 

He reluctantly blinked his eyes open, greeted by a wave of pain coursing through his body. Each limb felt like lead, dragging him into a pit of exhaustion. His gaze, heavy with fatigue, slowly lifted to find your silhouette illuminated by the flickering candlelight, perched gracefully in the plush confines of the chair beside his bed.

Ah, that's right—he had passed out from the pain. Mihawk had brought him back from the brink of death and held him down as you’d patched him up. As he lay there, his eyes took in the delicacy of your traits, the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders, and the softness of your thighs, accentuated by the shortness of your black silk slip and open robe. What was he doing? Was he delirious from the pain? You were infuriating, unreasonable, flat-out insane. Nothing about you was pleasant, from that petulant smile to your awful bedside manners.

“Remarkable. You’re still alive,” you quipped with bitter sarcasm, wrenching him away from his thoughts, your eyes not looking at him, a deep frown of concentration marking your features. 

With meticulous precision, the small blade in your hands glided through a block of cheese as you tried to create the thinnest slice possible. He knew that knife. His stare narrowed as he placed it back in his mind. Was that the knife Mihawk usually wore at his neck? His gaze dropped to the chain attached to it. For fuck’s sake it was. It somehow pissed him off, hard. 

You let out a sound of triumph as you held up the paper-thin piece of cheese to your mouth, the light seeping through it before it melted against your tongue, the metal glinting tantalizingly as it touched your lips. You reached for the glass of wine at your side, taking a sip with closed eyes, delight on your features as you savored the taste.

He clenched his fists. His frustration simmered beneath the surface, mingling with a sense of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. Your carefree arrogance only served to exacerbate his agitation.

With a grimace, he forced himself to lean up on his elbow, ignoring the protests of his weary muscles. His gaze flickered to the creaked open door, the burning desire to escape clawing at him with renewed intensity. His captain needed him. He had a promise to keep, and nothing – not even his own battered body would stand in his way. 

Summoning every ounce of willpower he possessed, he pushed through the pain, determination slowly lending strength to his limbs. Before he could fully sit up, your eyes snapped dangerously to his, freezing him in his attempt. 

 “What do you think you’re doing, boy?” your voice was calm but the coy smile on your lips held menacing threats. 

His jaw clenched. “I need to leave,” he declared, his words tinged with desperation. “My captain needs me.”

Your gaze narrowed. “Is that so?” you mused as you slowly slid a leg onto the bed, your foot rising when it touched him. 

You let it fall none too gently, bare foot meeting his lower abdomen. There was defiance glinting in your stare as you raised your other leg with a smile, crossing your ankles over him and sinking in your seat comfortably. “You can try again when you’re healed.” You went back to the block of cheese in your hands, uninterested by him once more. 

The agony that staggered through him at your touch was deafening, he slumped back, lightly bouncing against the bed. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to stifle the grunt of pain escaping him. 

Fuck.

You were infuriating. With each passing moment, the realization of his own helplessness grew more profound, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. 

“Woman,” he groaned, his voice thick with anger. The single word, laden with frustration and exhaustion, slipped past his lips like a curse, hanging heavy in the air between you. Yet, despite the venom in his tone, there was an underlying note of desperation, a plea masked by his stubborn pride. 

You didn’t look away from the knife as it sliced into the cheese, the blade visible through the thin layer. But the way your brow arched in amusement and the ghost of the smirk gracing your features told him that you’d heard him well enough. 

“Yes, Zoro?” you replied innocently, his name drawled out emphatically from your plump lips. 

He wrestled the urge to snap at you. “Let me go,” he demanded with a resolute frown.

Your mouth curved into a sly smile, a glimmer of mischief passing in your eyes. You hummed in consideration, drawing out your answer. “And why should I do that?” you teased, sinking more comfortably in your chair, your feet inching ever so slightly closer to a wound on his chest. 

His muscles tensed instinctively, a moan of pain escaping him between muttered curses. “My captain needs me,” he repeated in a growl.  

You let out an annoyed click of your tongue when the slice of cheese broke in the middle of the block. Your eyes met his, all playfulness gone, replaced by a sharp displeasure instead. “Yes, yes, I know. Your captain needs you, you need to go back to your crew, three days or something, you’re already late, et cetera, et cetera,” you rambled on coldly. “You’ve said so over a hundred times, boy. It won’t change the fact that you’re bedridden.”

Tension lingered in the air as your words hung heavily in his mind. You muched almost aggressively on the broken piece of cheese before downing the glass of wine, stare not leaving his as he deliberated.

“I can handle myself just fine,” he retorted defiantly, trying unsuccessfully to rise from the bed.

His stubbornness was met with a derisive snort, your eyes rolling in exasperation. “Clearly,” you remarked dryly, your tone heavy with sarcasm as you gestured toward him with the cross-shaped knife in your hands, the chain rattling against the wood of the armrest in the sharp movements. “You’re the very picture of strength and resilience.”

His teeth ground audibly. If only your feet weren’t pinning him down, then he’d at least be able to make it to the door. He struggled for a moment, his soft grunts of effort the only sound filling the room.

“I won’t be kept here against my will,” he declared eventually, his hand grabbing at one of your ankles almost painfully, trying to pull it off him.

You raised an eyebrow at the unexpected tantrum, then you started giggling, until rich laughter flowed within you. “Against your will?” You laughed harder. “Are you implying I care about your well-being, little swordsman?” You brought the bottle of wine to your grinning lips, taking sips between chuckles.

He bristled at your amusement. “Release me, woman,” he snapped, his grip tightening around you. 

He didn’t notice the flicker of pain that passed your features in his rage. A flicker you expertly hid behind the facade of your smile.

“Oh my. Did I hurt your delicate sensibilities?” You snorted at him nonetheless. “Don’t worry, I’m not stopping you. If you want to leave, you can leave.” You paused, cocking your head to the side. “Or are my feet so heavy that you can’t stand up?”

Zoro's frustration reached its boiling point as he glared daggers at you, his muscles tensing with every fiber of his being. You were fucking mad. The urge to lash out, to throttle you, to break free from the invisible chains that bound him to the bed, surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to consume him in its relentless grip.

But as he pushed against the weight of your feet, the searing pain that shot through his body served as a harsh reminder of his own limitations. With a guttural growl of frustration, he released his hold on your ankle, his hands falling limply to his sides as defeat washed over him like a suffocating blanket.

For a long moment, silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his ragged breaths. You watched him with a mixture of amusement and pity, the corners of your lips curling into a satisfied smile as you savored the taste of your victory.

“Ah, right,” you suddenly spoke when he finally closed his eyes in defeat. You slid your feet off him, reaching to the side table and tossing something on his chest. “Mihawk said there’s something about that captain of yours in the papers.” 

His eyes shot open. You couldn’t be fucking serious. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?!” He yelled at you as you got up from your chair, giving your ankle a few twists.

You ignored him, bending down to put on your heeled slippers. He tried to lift his arm, grab the paper. 

He NEEDED to know.

You waltzed to the side table, the feathery hem of your night robe grazing the marble of the floor as you sheathed the knife back and draped it around your neck. Your hand grabbed the bottle of wine and you turned on your heels, fabric bellowing softly behind you in a flurry of black. His hand fell to his side, paper crumpled in his fingers as he struggled to hold it long enough to see.

“Oi,” he snapped with urgency. “Woman, what does it say?” 

“Who knows,” you said in a singsong, humming a random tune below your breath. You moved to the door. “I didn’t understand it myself.” You crossed the threshold to the corridor.

Zoro panicked. Fuck. What did it say?

“Woman,” he yelled after you. “Fuck, come back here.”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

It took three days for Roronoa Zoro to decipher the contents of that newspaper, but he had figured it out. To your amusement, he was now sitting on the floor, his features etched with determination as he eyed your brother. You arched an eyebrow, barely hiding your smile behind the rim of your wine glass.

You looked at him curiously, the intrigue of his actions somehow extremely entertaining. Your gaze flickered to his face. It was easy to forget how young he was through that wall of will power. But as his mouth moved silently, as if rehearsing something, the softness of his traits hit you. He was pretty, you guessed, with his barely noticeable freckles and stubborn fire in his eyes. You cocked your head. Maybe even handsome if you were to put him in better clothes… after all those earrings of his. You licked your lips. Yes. You rather liked them.

“So, Zoro,” you drawled out, breaking the quiet atmosphere ruling over the room. “Did you figure out the code, or are you still trying to stare it into submission?”

Silence dragged on as he ignored you, but the twitch of a scowl that passed his mouth was answer enough for you. How adorable.

"Please," Zoro finally said, his voice uncharacteristically humble as he bowed his head toward Mihawk. "Train me as a swordsman!"

You choked on your sip of wine, coughing as you struggled to regain your composure. Perona let out a small, shocked gasp, her eyes wide with surprise. You glanced at your brother, trying to read his expression. His attention flickered toward you briefly, making sure you were alright before returning to his glass, making the younger swordsman wait. Oho , there was unmistakable displeasure in his gaze as he peered into the red liquid, swirling it absentmindedly.

“Are you asking your enemy for instruction?” Mihawk finally said, his eyes still avoiding Zoro. “I’m disappointed in you, Roronoa,” he admitted. “Shame on you.” You listened, entirely engrossed by the scene before you. It was by far the most entertainment you’d had in the past decade. It was rare to see Mihawk so expressive. It made you wonder what he truly thought of the man before him to react so. “I think I overestimated you,” he continued, his words punctuated by a long sip from his wine glass. “Get out of here. I have no time for a boring man.”

Oh, how you wished you could see the boy’s expression. You bet it was priceless. You noticed how he obstinately didn’t budge, his jaw tightening. Yet, he was not backing down. The weight of Mihawk’s scorn seemed to press on him, but his resolve was unshattered. You heard the unsteady breath he took in before continuing.

“I want to get stronger,” he cried out, somehow digging his forehead more intensely into the marble floor. 

Mihawk considered his plea as he filled his wine glass, the sound loud in the uncomfortable silence. “You were beaten by the baboons. I have nothing to teach someone like that.”

"I beat the baboons," Zoro declared, his voice reverberating through the room.

Oh! Interesting. You watched as clear shock registered on your brother's face. It was a rare sight, seeing Mihawk genuinely surprised. You couldn't help but smile; it was a reminder that even the world's greatest swordsman was human.

Mihawk’s gaze finally settled on Zoro, who was bowing deeply before him. The tension in the air was palpable.

"But I’m not so stupid as to think that I’m good enough to beat you," Zoro continued when the silence stretched on.

Mihawk's confusion was evident in his furrowed brow. "Then why are you bowing to me and asking for my guidance?"

Zoro took a moment to consider the question. "I want to beat you," he said simply, his voice unwavering. The straightforwardness of his answer was almost comical, and you couldn't suppress a giggle. Somehow, your amusement seemed to lighten Mihawk's expression as well.

"You’re asking me to train a swordsman who wants to kill me?" Mihawk laughed heartily, the sound loud and rich. “(Y/n),” he turned to you. “Teach Perona how to treat him, you’ve already done more than required of a graceful host.” 

You hummed in consideration. “I suppose I can,” you eyed the pink haired girl with slight annoyance.

She flinched at the coldness of your stare, her mouth opening in protest.

"And you, ghost girl, learn to treat him," Mihawk called out to Perona, before she could say anything. "The training will begin when you’re recovered," he added, turning back to Zoro.

Perona floated over, a mixture of curiosity and irritation on her face. "Fine, but don’t expect me to be nice about it," she grumbled, already on her way out. “Oi, you dumbass, come with me.”

Zoro straightened up, a determined glint in his eyes as he followed her out.

“You’re enjoying yourself, Brother,” you couldn’t help but muse as you filled your wine glass.

Mihawk's stare met yours, and for a brief moment, you saw the glimmer of amusement there. He took another sip, his demeanor returning to its usual stoic calm. "Perhaps," he admitted, the word hanging in the air between you like a rare treasure.

You leaned back in your chair, peering into the velvety darkness in your glass thoughtfully. "He's got spirit, I'll give him that," you remarked, watching the door through which Zoro and Perona had just exited. "Do you really believe he'll be worth your time? You’ve never taken anyone under your wing before."

Mihawk's gaze remained on the swirling liquid in his glass, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. "He reminds me of someone," he mused quietly, almost to himself.

Curiosity piqued, you leaned forward slightly. "Oh? And who might that be?"

For a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. But then, with a small, nearly imperceptible smile, he said, "Myself."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, the sound ringing through the room. "I see.”

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[alexa-fika]

Subheaders by @firefly-graphics

Dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Kitchen Menace (Thatch x child!Reader x Marco)

Hungry for truth(yandere!Thatch x Reader) Inspired and written by/with @quinloki and 💧 anon

Fists for Family (Rayleigh x child!Reader x Shakky)

Special Treasure (Rayleigh x child!reader x Shakky)

Embracing Feelings and Family (Rayleigh x winged!child!reader)

Tree Escapades (Rayleigh x child!reader x Shakky)

Adventures in the past ( Roger pirates x child!reader)

Midnight Lessons (Mihawk x child!reader)

Papa to the Rescue (Mihawk x child!reader)

Teasing Distractions (Mihawk x child!reader)

Picky Eaters, Tricky Givers ( Mihawk x sick!child!reader)

Baby Feathers (Mihawk x winged!child!reader)

Failed Takeoffs (Mihawk x winged!child!reader)

Tough Swordplay (Mihawk x Winged!Child!reader)

New Begginings (Mihawk x Winged!Child!reader!), Part Two~

Escape, Friend, Return (Mihawk x Winged!child!reader x Zoro, Sanji)

Fruitless Negotiations ( Mihawk x blind!child! Reader)

Baking Fails (Mihawk x winged!child!reader)

Repercussion Stance (Mihawk x child!reader)

Sandy Bonding (Crocodile x Dracule!child!reader)

Circus Escapade (Cross guild x Dracule!child!reader)

Ghastly Cuteness (Perona x child!reader)

Clumsy Ghostly Guardians (Law x child!reader)

Breaking the Cycle (Law x child!reader)

Lost again? ( Heart pirates x child!Dracule!reader)

Thiefs in the making (Chopper x child!reader x Nami ft Sanji)

Unexpected Visit, Unexpected Family (Ace x child!reader x Luffy)

Sleeping Techniques (Shanks x child!reader x Beckman)

Wandering Dragon (Whitebeard pirates x dragon!reader x Revolutionary army) Part 2

His One-Piece (Whitebeard pirates x reader)

Stolen Help ( Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

Parties and falls ( Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

Claws out (Whitebeard pirates x Cat!Reader)

Stuffy Meetings (Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

Puppy Love ( Shanks x child!reader x Whitebward pirates)

Enemies Yesterday, Babysitters Today (Whitebeard pirates x Dracule!winged!child!reader)

Lost Birds ( Red Haired Pirates x Dracule!child!reader)

Monkey Sitters (Dracule!child!reader)

The tale of Cats and Birds ( Zoro x reader)

Secretly Lost ( Zoro x child!reader)

Delivery for One (Crocodile x pigeon!reader) , Part two Part three

Rise of the Usurper (Doflamingo x pigeon!reader)

Guide in the Darkness (Smoker x blind!child!reader x Fujitora)

Eyeliner (Eustass kid x sibling!reader)

Killer Timeouts (Eustass Kiddx sibling!reader x Killer)

Soaked Set-up (ASL x sister!reader)

Revenge and Teasings (ASLx sister!reader)

Sickly Cuddles ( ASL x sick!sister!reader x Shanks)

Chiefs and Brothers (Sabo x Sibling!reader)

Lasting Memories ( Shanks x child!reader)

Pest Problems ( Shanks x Mouse!reader x Benn Beckmann)

Bye Family, Hello Family ( Luffy x brother!reader)

Bombs Beware (Ussop x sibling!child!reader)

Instincts or Recklessness (Marco x reader)

Cure for Inflictions ( Marco x Reader)

Chilly Prisoner ( Kuzan x hellhound!reader Part 2

Lost Sight ( Sanji x child!blind!reader)

Ghostly Mishief ( Sanji x ghost!child!reader)

Hunger and solicitude (Brook x ghost!child!reader x Sanji)

Insubordination and Cynophobia (Smoker x Kitsune!Reader)

Lost ways, Found people (Smoker x reader)

Little Gardener's Pirate Odyssey (oc!child x one piece characters platonic)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,Chapter 4

Little Stowaway Wanderer (Oc!child x whitebeard pirates)

Chapter 1

Little Stowaway Wanderer (child!Reader x Whitebeard pirates)

Chapter 1

[cozage]

New Multi-Chapter Fic: The Moss that Grew in Gloom

A/N: A multi-chapter fic I promised weeks ago is finally starting!! With Made for Two being complete, I finally can redirect some of my efforts to other things, and this is at the top of my list! I hope you enjoy!!

Characters: female reader x Zoro, (Mihawk and Perona are also present)

Summary: As the daughter of Dracule Mihawk, you've spent your life in almost complete solitude. But that changed one day when a green-haired swordsman makes a smashing appearance.

Word count: 5k

Chapter One: The Fall of a Swordsman

| Next Chapter | Masterlist| Read on AO3

--

Your life began when a moss headed man crashed into the pavement outside, you just hadn't known it yet. 

It was the second time someone had fallen to Gloom Island since you had been alone. Your father had been called away to help with an execution, and he had forbid you to tag along. The Warlord had left you alone several times before, but this was the first time a person had come crashing into your castle. And now that number had doubled to two.

You and Perona peered out the window, looking at the place of impact. 

“I think he’s dead,” you said, looking down at him from your second story bedroom.

“He looks familiar…” Perona mumbled. “We should go see.”

You frowned at the body outside. “Dad said not to leave the castle while he was gone.” 

“Yeah but aren’t you a little curious?” Perona’s wide eyes were stuck on the unmoving man.

“Not really.” You turned away from the window, back to your room. “The baboons will deal with him if he’s not dead yet.”

“You’re so cold!” Perona pouted at you, and she ran to your door. “I’m going to save him!”

“Suit yourself,” you responded, opening a book. “But I won’t be helping.”

You didn’t see Perona for a few days after that. You knew she had managed to save the green-haired man and drag him back into the castle, and you knew she was tending to his wounds. The sounds of banging and the occasional shout from both of them proved that. 

“I do know him!” She said, entering the kitchen. It was one of the few moments you left your room with a stranger in the house. You had managed to avoid Perona and the stranger whenever you ventured down for food, but you had known it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed. 

“He’s a Strawhat!” she continued. “They were the ones fighting Moria and sent me to this dreadful place in the first place!” 

That caught your attention. “He has that power? He’s that strong?”

“Well, no..” Perona said, thinking back to her time on Thriller Bark. “I think it was a crew mate of his that did that.”

You frowned, but said nothing at that. You did remember the Strawhat Pirates from the news, and your father took an interest in one of the crew members, but you couldn’t remember which one. But you didn’t remember any ability like that being on their wanted poster.

“I guess he’s alive, then.” You tried not to sound too interested. “Will he make a full recovery?”

Perona groaned. “He’s SO needy! And he’s complaining about EVERYTHING! The food, the bed, the way I wrapped his wounds! Nothing is good enough for him, I swear!”

You laughed at the irony of that. Perona hadn’t stopped complaining about this place since she had arrived either. Nothing was ever good enough for her, even in a giant mansion on a secluded island. 

Not that you were upset about her presence. You didn’t mind Perona most of the time. Sometimes you even liked her. But on those days when you just wanted to be alone, she was always there. She was like a little sister who was always demanding your attention, always wanting to do something with you. It had been strange to get used to after such solitude with only you and your father your entire life. 

Perona finished making a sandwich, and looked your way. “You should come see him!”

“I told you, I’m not helping.” You left the words hanging in the air as you walked out, hearing her frustrated breath huff out behind you.

--

You finally met the mysterious intruder a few days later, when he barged into your room unannounced. Your eyes flicked up from your book as your door slammed open. He had mossy green hair and tanned skin, and you could tell he was in good shape under his bandages. He was covered in them, and you could see why he was complaining about Perona’s handiwork. She had wrapped them so tight in some places, you were surprised he could move. 

“Wha--Who the hell are you?!” The man demanded, gawking around your room. Your sword laid next to your chair, and you saw his eyes slide over to it.

“It’s rude to demand someone’s name when you haven’t introduced yourself,” you said, returning your gaze back down to your book. 

You could hear him grit his teeth in frustration, and you resisted the urge to smirk at his reaction. 

“Look, woman, do you know where my swords are or not?”

“Swords?” Now that caught your attention. You looked back at him and found his gaze was still on the sword next to your chair. You closed your book, mentally marking where you were in the story, and then placed it down on the coffee table next to you. 

“That stupid ghost girl stole my swords!” 

You stood and picked up your weapon, turning it over in your hand. “Swords as in multiple?”

“Three.”

“Three?” 

His eye twitched in frustration. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“How long have you been looking for these swords?” You walked over to the door where he was standing. “And don’t ever barge into my room again without knocking first.”

He gritted his teeth, and you could tell he wanted to say something back, but he refrained. He moved out of the way for you to pass through the door. “I’ve been looking for a few days.”

“A few days?” You laughed at that, thinking it was an over exaggeration, but his silence made you realize he was being serious. “You must be bad with directions.”

“It’s not my fault it’s a maze in here!” He shouted back at you. You rolled your eyes and bound down the steps, hoping he was capable enough to follow you. 

“Perona,” You call out at the bottom of the stops. “Where’d you hide this guy’s swords?”

“It’s not my fault!” the pink-haired girl cried, floating into the room. “I told him exactly where they were! Up the stairs and down the hallway!”

“Thanks!” You bound back up the left staircase, and when you got to the top, you realize you didn't see the swordsman anywhere. You had just run down the stairs and then back up them, how had you lost him already?

You didn’t have time to figure out where he went. Honestly, you cared more about his swords than you did about him. You just wanted to see how his blades looked. 

His swords were exactly where Perona described. It was as he said: three swords sitting together in the room. 

You could feel the energy rolling off of one of them when you opened the door. It was respectable for a swordsman to carry a blade with such a strong personality, but you weren’t interested in a sword with an attitude. 

The next one that caught your eye was a sword you never thought you’d see in your lifetime. Shusui, the legendary katana from Wano. The last you heard it had been buried with its previous owner. You unsheathed it and held it out, slashing the air a few times. The balance was perfect, and it almost made you envious of the user. If you didn’t have the sword you possessed now, you would certainly be taking this for yourself. 

You sheathed Shusui and turned your attention to the last sword, a white-hilted one. As you bent down to grab it, a strong hand grabbed your shoulder. You quickly turned, unsheathing your own blade and holding its tip out against the perpetrator’s throat. 

It was that damn pirate. You had been so caught up in looking at his swords, you hadn’t noticed him come in. He was smirking at you with a brow raised, eyeing the sword in your hand. You rolled your eyes and lowered your sword, scoffing at his cockiness. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he said, nodding at the blade in your hand. You squinted your eyes at him suspiciously, but handed your blade over to him and then bent down to pick up the white hilted one. 

As you examined it, you couldn't help but find it familiar-looking. It was a great sword, and it was made with the finest materials by an extraordinarily skilled blade smith. You were jealous of the man who got to call it his own. Wado Ichimonji, you believed it was called. It wasn’t exactly your style, but you could still admire it nonetheless.

You could hear him gasp behind you, and you turn to look. His fingers reached down to run along the light blue blade as he inspected it. 

“Wait-” 

He cried out, more in surprise than in pain, and he yanked his hand away from the blade. You could see that his fingers had beads of blood forming on them, cut by the razortooth edges that ran along the flat of your blade. 

“Sorry, I forgot to warn you.” You sheathed his blade and walked over to him. You reached out for his hand to examine it for any serious damage, but he yanked it away from you. 

You scowled at him, but he continued to inspect your blade, turning it over in his hands. He slashed at the air a few times, and you could feel the waves of air roll over you. If he knew how to actually use the blade to its full capacity, he’d be quite powerful with it. You suspected that the other swords in his possession weren’t by luck.

“Roronoa.” You had been piecing the information together for a while now, and you were fairly certain in your guess of his identity. 

“You know me?” He said, eyeing you cautiously. 

“I’ve heard of you,” you corrected.  Your father occasionally commented on him when he was in the paper, and you knew the story of how he had challenged the Warlord in the East Blue. At the start of the Grand Line, he hadn’t been anything impressive, but over the few months he’d been there, he seemed to have made a name for himself. 

“You have a nice blade,” he said, handing it back to you and walking over to pick up his own. 

“Nikko,” you say, giving it a quick glance before putting it at your side again. “You have nice ones as well. Except that cursed one. I’m surprised you can handle it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you worry, I’ve got it under control.”

You nodded back to him, not quite sure you believed him. “Are you planning to stay with us for a while?”

He scoffed at your question. “I’m returning to my captain as soon as I can.”

It’s your turn to laugh now. “Good luck. In your condition, you won’t make it to the coast.”

“Yeah well, you don’t know what I’m capable of.”

You snorted at his response, but offered none of your own. With the conversation over, you turned away from him and back to the door to take your leave. 

The sound of rock collapsing comes from the swordsman’s direction, and your head whipped back around to see what he’s done now. You just catch a glimpse of moss-colored hair jumping out of a cut opening in the stone. 

“You brute!” You screamed down at him as you watched him fall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?”

But he didn’t respond, he just hit the ground and started running. 

“Where’d he go?!” Perona’s shrill voice came from beside you. “He’s my ticket off this dump of an island!”

“This dump of an island is my home,” you said, irritated with the bubblegum girl. Maybe it would be better for her to take her leave.

“Enjoy it! I’m leaving with him!” She floated through the opening that Roronoa had made, and began chasing after him. 

“Watch out for the-” you shouted as loud as you could, but she was already out of earshot. 

You looked up, as if you were mumbling a prayer. “Father, where are you?”

--

You found them at the wooden cross, surrounded by baboons. You watched from the woods at Roronoa struggling to fight, and as the baboon went in for the kill, you jumped in front of him and sliced the baboon across its chest with Nikko. 

“I don’t need you saving me!” You heard the man call from behind you, anger thick in his voice.

“Oh? You don’t?” You turned back to him and sheathed your sword. “Fine then. Do it yourself.”

Most of the baboons had learned to fear you, but this green-haired stranger was no threat to them. Once your sword was put away and walked out of range, they began their attack against him again. 

You watched the match in disappointment. You expected better from the man who was supposed to best your father in a sword fight. But this was just pathetic.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” Perona screamed at you from above. 

“He doesn’t want my help,” you hissed, loud enough for him to hear. “Why don’t you try, Perona?”

“You think I can take those things?!” She squeaked, and you turned your attention back to the fight, just in time to see Roronoa get thrown backwards into the wooden cross.

He hit it with such force that he left an indent on the wooden marker, and then fell face first into the ground. He laid there for a minute, and you grabbed the hilt of your blade, ready to draw if the baboons made an attack.  

It wasn’t necessary though, because you finally noticed his presence. You relaxed, clicking Nikko back into its sheath. Only a second later did the baboons notice, and they all began to flee from the area. 

Even Perona and Roronoa seemed shocked, and you could see the green-haired swordsman tense at the realization of who was appearing through the fog. He grabbed his cursed blade, using it to pull himself up to his knees. 

“You better not do that, Roronoa Zoro,” your father said, eyeing the man before him. “You’ve been injured beyond your limit. Do you think you can beat me when you can’t even beat the baboons?”

You snorted at that, pleased that your father was equally unimpressed with the swordsman. Roronoa Zoro, he called him. 

Mihawk’s gold eyes flicked to you, and he frowned. “I thought I told you not to leave the castle while I was away. I expect a full explanation of the events that occurred while I was absent.”

You bit your lip, frustrated with the reprimand, but said nothing. You knew he wouldn’t listen now. He had bigger things to deal with, like the two new houseguests who had appeared while he was gone. 

“Why the hell are you here?!” Roronoa demanded, looking at your father. 

Your father’s attention moved back to the man on the ground. “I’ve been living in that castle for quite some time. Why are you here?”

“I got blown away by Kuma, a member of the seven warlords like yourself.”

“I see…” Your father looked at you briefly. “Is he telling the truth?”

You nod. “He is.”

“Very well. That explains why Strawhat came to Marineford with other people.”

Roronoa’s eyes got wide at the mention of his captain’s name. “You saw Luffy?! How was he?!? Was he alright?!”

Your father seemed unfazed by the green-haired man’s desperation. “He’s still alive probably. But I assume that he’s been very badly traumatized.”

“What happened?”

“He lost his brother.”

Roronoa blinked. You could see every muscle in his body tighten in anguish. “What did you say?”

“Fire-Fist Ace died before Strawhat’s eyes.”

Everyone stood there for a moment, frozen. You could tell the news had rocked the pirate. His facial expressions were extremely easy to read. He looked confused, angry, helpless, and upset all in the same moment. 

After a moment, he struggled to his feet. “I have to go. I have to go find Luffy.”

After the swordsman and Perona took off, your father looked at you with a frown. You knew he was disappointed, but you weren’t entirely sure what you had done to make him feel that way. 

“Please explain to me why there are two new people on this island.”

You began walking back towards the castle. “I believe Roronoa is right. Kuma sent them here, separately. There was a pawprint impact zone around Perona when she arrived on the grounds. I did not leave to inspect Roronoa’s site when he arrived a few days later because it was outside of the castle grounds.” You paused for a moment, letting him absorb all of the information. “I didn’t leave the grounds, father.”

“And yet you are off them now,” he shot back. 

“They were in danger! I couldn’t-”

“I do not care about the lives of those two. And I do not appreciate you risking your own life to save them.” You heard it as he paused to keep his voice from rising any further. The worry laced in his voice that was initially masked as anger. He took a breath, and his voice returned to his normal cadence when he speaks again. 

“Do not do it again.”

You grinned at him, deciding to press your luck. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“You can handle yourself. I am aware of that.”

You laughed lightly, and decide to abandon the topic. You had missed your father desperately while he was gone. 

“How was Marineford?” you asked. 

“Like I said, the execution was successful.”

“But how was it?” you pressed. Sometimes your father forgot to turn off the whole mystery persona with you. 

He hummed, thinking how to describe it. “There were some complications. Mainly Roronoa’s captain. He’s quite a problem for the Navy.”

You chuckled at that. “Runs in the crew, I guess.”

“What do you mean? Has he been a problem?”

You looked at him, irritation on your face. “There's a hole in one of the second story guest bedrooms now. He got irritated with how complicated it was to navigate the castle and just cut his way out.”

Your father frowned. “I see. They’ll be quite troublesome houseguests, won’t they?”

You were so shocked by his response that you stopped in your tracks. “They’re staying?”

“Do you think they’re going to get off this island in their current state?”

You laughed at that question. You had been thinking the same thing. At least someone was of the same mindset as you. 

----

Later that night, you heard Perona enter the castle. Based on her grunts of frustration, she was carrying the swordsman. He lasted longer than you thought he would. You chose to lock your bedroom door that night. The last thing you needed was to wake up to a lost, poorly bandaged swordsman barging into your room. 

Every morning, you would hear Roronoa scream as he woke up, which prompted Perona to scream in return. The two of them would hobble out of the castle, trying to fight their way to the coast. And every night, long after sunset, Perona would drag the swordsman back into the castle and rebandage his wounds. Just for the cycle to repeat the next day.

You wanted to scream at the mossy-haired man. He would never get anywhere if he didn’t let his injuries heal. If he just rested for one or two days, he might have enough energy to make it. But he refused to rest. The only thing he could think of was his captain. 

“How long do you think he’ll keep doing this?” You asked your father, spreading some butter on your toast. You had fallen into a strange pattern over the past two weeks with your houseguests, but you were getting tired of it.

“It is…unclear.” You could hear the disapproval in his voice, and you laughed at it. 

“You told the baboons not to kill him, didn’t you?” 

You looked over at him inquisitively, but he didn't respond. 

“He’s such an arrogant swordsman. Why are you sparing him?” 

You were met with silence again, causing you to huff in frustration and pick up the News Coo. 

“Oh, you were correct,” you said, looking at the front page. “There’s news of Roronoa’s Captain today on the front page. He’s alive.”

“Let me see!” A girlish squeal came from behind you, startling you. She grabbed the paper out of your hands, staring at it. “I’ll need to show Zoro!”

“Hey! I was reading that!” You screamed after her, but she whisked away without looking back at you. 

“There’s still time to go talk to the baboons,” you grumbled as you stood from the table and began to retreat to your room. You could hear your father chuckle behind you, but you didn’t bother looking back. 

You spent the day in your room, and were surprised to hear the pink and green-haired combo come back earlier than usual. The sun was still up, and based off of the sounds they were making, the swordsman was still conscious. 

You tiptoed down the hall and stood near the base of the stairs, hidden from sight. 

“I want to beat you!” You heard Roronoa scream. You decided to peek around the corner to get a better view of what was occurring, and you could see that the swordsman was bowing before your father. It was not a sight you expected to see, especially in conjunction with the words he had just spoken. 

Your father laughed at his words. A full, hearty laugh. “You’re asking me to train a swordsman who wants to kill me? You’re insane. And what you’re asking is nonsense. Even so, what you’re doing is still embarrassing.” But the swordsman stays kneeling, waiting for an answer, and your father watches him with interest. “Seems like you found something more important than your ambition. Hey, ghost girl. Treat him.”

Perona pouted from her place near your father. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

You took the opportunity to step out into view of the room. “I’ll do it,” you offer. “I’ll treat him.”

Your father watched you with his sharp gold eyes, hesitating for a moment. But he nodded in agreement after a brief pause, coming to a decision. 

“Very well. The training will begin when you’re recovered.”

“Thank you,” Roronoa said, struggling to stand on his feet. You offered no assistance. If he could not walk to the medical bay on his own, then he did that to himself. 

You walked alongside him in silence. He didn't ask for help, and you didn’t offer it. It was a slow and painful walk to the medical room, but the swordsman completed it on his own. 

You pulled his bandages off gently, unraveling the long mess of Perona’s handiwork up his arms and down his torso. He had plenty of fresh wounds both internally and externally, but the wound that caught your eye was an old one that ran diagonally across his chest. You were certain the cut was made by Yoru, and your fingers began to run across it to examine it further, but Roronoa smacked your hand away. 

“Do you mind?” He hissed, pulling away from you. 

You rolled your eyes, but abandon the inspection and walk to the back of the room. As he limped over to the bed, you grab a new roll of bandages and gauze. 

“You should shower before we rebandage everything to give it a chance to breathe,” you said, looking through the cabinets. “There’s a bathroom through the second door you can shower in.”

“I showered two days ago,” he said simply, sitting on the bed unmoving. 

You paused what you were doing and turned to look at him. “Exactly. Go shower.”

“I don’t need to.”

You frowned. “Yes, you do.”

You heard him suck in a breath of air. “I’m not showering, woman. Rebandage my wounds or leave me alone.”

It was his tone that really irritated you, and Nikko was in your hand before you knew it. You slashed the air, sending a blunt force air cannon to smack him in the back of the head. 

“Go shower!” You screamed at him, just as the strike made contact with his head. 

You heard him grunt in pain, and quickly resheathe your blade and continue to search for more bandages.

“What the hell?!” he said, looking back at you. But you acted like nothing happened, and you heard him get off the bed and shuffle towards the bathroom to fulfill your request. He was mumbling curses under his breath, but you’d take the win. 

It takes him a long time to reemerge from the bathroom, and you picked up the News Coo from this morning to finish reading. You read about Monkey D. Luffy’s 16-bell toll at Marineford, and his honoring the fallen in the battle. There’s a full analysis of whether the pirate was marking the dawn of a new era or if he was declaring war, which you found particularly boring. 

You finally heard the click of the door, and the swordsman reappeared from a steam-filled bathroom. You smiled proudly at your small accomplishment, seeing his freshly washed hair fall over his face like strands of algae. He hobbled over to the bed and gently sat down on it. You were still reading the article about his captain and decided to ask him something that had been weighing on your mind. 

“What’s with his tattoo?” You asked, looking back to the picture. “3D is crossed out, and 2Y is written.”

“It’s not a tattoo.” He winced slightly as he adjusts himself on the mattress. “It’s a message. We made a promise to meet at a certain place three days later.”

“And that meeting time was moved to two years from now?”

He nodded. “Exactly. Everything else was for publicity. This is a message exclusively for us. Luffy made a decision. Meet at Sabaody in two years.”

“It sounds like your captain is quite smart.”

He snorted at that remark. “He’s not.”

You laughed at his bluntness and put the paper down. At least the swordsman was honest. 

You picked up his arm with your hands, and you can feel his strong muscles tense in your grip. “Relax,” you demand. He was always so damn rigid. 

You rubbed his forearm, lightly massaging it along upwards to his biceps, and then his shoulder. You worked in silence, besides Roronoa’s occasional groan or your scolding hiss to get him to stop tensing. 

By the time you got to his mid-back, he had finally started to loosen up, and you could feel his muscles responding to your touch. You went down to his lower back before curving across and starting on his opposing shoulder to work your way down his other arm. 

You could feel his eyes on you, watching you silently as you stayed absorbed in your work. Your father had done this to you hundreds of times over your life. You could only hope it felt as relieving for Roronoa as it did all of the times your father had done it for you. 

You stopped when you got to his fingers, and looked up at him. “Do you mind if I bandage your wounds now, Roronoa?”

He stared at you for a moment with a bewildered look in his eyes. You stare back, refusing to look away. Your father always taught you that it showed weakness to look away first. It was better to start out intimidating and then loosen up around others once you knew they were trustworthy. But pirates were rarely trustworthy. 

“Zoro,” he choked out, his eyes finally skirting away from yours. “You can call me Zoro. And yes, uh, you can. Do the bandage thing, I mean.”

You nodded and picked up the bandages to begin wrapping his arm. You could hear him huff a frustrated sigh, and you curiously looked over at him. 

“Well?” he said, looking at you expectantly. 

You felt your eye twitch at his sudden moodiness. “What?” you shot back, matching his energy. 

“Are you going to introduce yourself?”

Right. You knew a lot about Roronoa Zoro, but he didn’t know anything about you. You introduced yourself with your name, but didn’t offer any other information. 

He accepted that introduction, at least for the moment, and you finish wrapping both of his arms in silence. When you were finished, he flexed under his bandages, and he smiled a bit. 

“You’re better at this than that other girl.”

You laughed at that, starting on his torso area. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“What did you do before you got here?”

You paused, looking at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, messing up a piece of your wrap and forcing you to start over. “Didn’t Kuma send you here too? Like me and Perona?”

“Oh. No,” you clarified. “I’ve been living on Gloom Island for about seven years now.”

“Seven years?”

You nodded and kept wrapping, but Roronoa didn’t let the conversation go. “What have you been doing for seven years?”

“Training, I guess. Reading. Exploring the island.”

He tensed. “But the baboons…”

You shot him a look. “Stop tensing or it’ll be too tight on you. The baboons aren’t anything to worry about. There’s only one or two on the island I have some trouble with.”

“Tch. Whatever you say.” You could tell he thinks you’re lying, but you don’t care. You finished wrapping his torso and gave him one last check-over to make sure the bandages all held. 

“Why Dracule Mihawk?” you finally ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. “What do you mean?”

“Why train under him? Why work to defeat him?”

His eyes narrowed at you, as if he was trying to comprehend what you were asking. “He’s the best, isn’t he?”

You nod, and the swordsman gets a wicked grin across his face. 

“I’m going to beat him and the best. My name is going to be so famous, it’ll reach the heavens.”

“I see,” you said slowly, watching him. You could see in his expression that he means it, and he’ll stop at nothing to reach his goal. You went to take your leave, stopping at the door and turning to look at him one last time. 

“Then I wish you luck in that journey, Zoro.”

[nicorobinmywife]

I'm happier living with you. | GN Reader X Mihawk.

"Moria-sama is alive! Moria-sama is alive! - your big sis, Perona, flies around happily at the news that Gecko Moria is alive, of course, after releasing a great scream that echoed throughout the whole Kuraigana Island , even Hawk-Eyes had to cover his ears, already being used to the dramatic personality of the ghost princess.

"what's going on?! Perona?! - you were in the garden watering the plants and picking some berries, thinking about making a strawberry cake for Mihawk, but once you heard your big sis scream, you left everything behind and ran thinking she was in danger, not caring if Hawk-Eyes would scold you for soiling the castle floor.

you barely entered the room and Perona jumps on you telling you excitedly that your former captain, Moria, is alive, leaving you shocked.

two years ago, you and your sister were part of his crew, however, you never liked Moria that much, never going along with him stealing other people's shadows and using zombies to do his dirty work, the main reason you joined Moria's crew was just to be close to your sister.

during the events of Thriller Bark, thanks to Bartholomew Kuma, you and Perona got sent to Kuraigana Island, that's how you met him: Dracule Mihawk, the strongest swordsman in the world.

despite his reputation, he was kind enough to let you and Perona live in his house, you don't even know how he has so much patience to deal with you and her, but these past two years you couldn't help but become attached to Hawk-Eyes.

you've discovered a side of him the world would never know, he enjoys cooking, spending the day reading novels over a cup of coffee, he even enjoys farming, a passion you and he have in common, you feel happier living in his castle than you did on Thriller Bark.

you found yourself slowly falling in love with the Warlord, it all started when you became jealous seeing that he spends a lot of time with an annoying swordsman who looks like a moss-head, Zoro, you thanked god when he finally left and went back to his crew, he was nice and sometimes you found it funny how he was constantly getting lost around the castle.

keeping those feelings hidden for two years was hard, not even your sister could guess that you have feelings for Hawk-Eyes, you know you had zero chances with Mihawk, although he treats you so well, he probably only sees you as Perona's shy sibling, who blushes every time he talks to you.

it was impossible to know which was more painful: living with Mihawk and not being able to tell you love him, or going back to Moria with your sister and living a miserable life, your sister was so happy to get back to her captain while you weren't sure what decision to make.

Perona was so excited while packing her bags that she didn't notice you leaving the room, you needed to know what Mihawk thought about you and your sister leaving after spending two years living together, will he miss you?will he miss hearing your laugh? will he miss farming and picking fruits with you in the garden? will he miss spending the day reading novels with you in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's company? or when he cooks while you just watch with curious eyes? you needed to know.

"I imagine your ghost sister has already told you the news." - Mihawk looked at you entering his room, as usual, he was sitting in the armchair with a book and a cup of coffee.

"yeah...she is very excited to get back to Moria-sama, and I'll go along with her. - Hawk-Eyes raises an eyebrow at your slightly saddened tone, realizing you aren't as excited as your sister. - "thank you so much for letting us live with you, Mihawk-San, I will never forget this place...I will never forget you." - you barely have the courage to look him in the eye, fearing he doesn't even care that you're leaving.

Mihawk remained silent, which made you conclude that he really doesn't care, he won't miss you, what a fool you are?you lowered your gaze and walked towards the door, about to leave the room, when Hawk-Eyes finally said something.

"be careful on your way." - you widen your eyes in disbelief, does he care about you? you nod your head without saying anything, but once again Hawk-Eyes said something. -"unless you really don't want to leave."

you looked over at Mihawk closing his book and putting it on the table next to him, he gets up and walks to the window, not looking at you, all you wanted was to admit your feelings to him, you didn't want to go back to Moria, your only place was at Mihawk's side, maybe going back to Moria is the best option, maybe with time passing these silly feelings can disappear.

"with what the world government is planning, the best option is for you to stay away from my presence." - Hawk-Eyes tells you that the government is planning to abolish the Warlord system, and if that happens, he will lose his privileges as a Sichibukai and become a wanted person like the old times.

hearing that, you felt it was more of a reason to stay by his side, not like Dracule Mihawk needed you to protect him, but you didn't want to leave him alone either.

"the best you can do is leave, I don't want you being targeted by the government for associating with me." - your lips tremble listening to his words, for the first time Mihawk shows that he cares for you in some way.

"I'm not going anywhere!" - you bravely exclaim with clenched fists. - "I don't want to go back to Moria-Sama knowing that I'm happier by your side! I don't care if I'm targeted by the government or the navy, I'm only leaving here if you ask me to! do you want me to leave?! tell me! tell me to go away and I'll go right now! - tears run down your cheeks making you feel pathetic for crying in front of him.

Was this how the two best years of her life were going to end? Mihawk was going to go back to being a wanted criminal while you live a miserable life with Moria, his crew and his zombies?

Mihawk finally looks at you with his intimidating eyes, walking towards you with an expression that is impossible to decipher.

"I won't ask you to go, because I want you to stay here with me." - his face comes close to yours, making you shiver slightly as you look right into his hawk eyes. - you're a fool if you think i don't know you have feelings for me. - was it that obvious? your face starts to blush, of course he's noticed, Mihawk is a very observant man, he's certainly noticed the way you act around him, and the fact that you want to stay with him willing to put yourself in danger and face any enemy instead of just leaving with your sister is just another proof of how much you love Hawk-Eyes.

"that's true, but that doesn't matter, you would never have feelings for me." - you muttered feeling silly admitting your feelings for a man who probably doesn't love you, does Mihawk at least ever loved someone?

"you miscalculated" - his pale fingers run across your lower lip as he whispers in your ear. "I got interested in you from the first time I saw you, that's why I let you and the ghost girl live here, do you think I never noticed how much you blush when I talk to you? or when you got jealous when Roronoa became my apprentice? you insult my intelligence."

a small smirk forms on Hawk-Eyes' lips, you lowkey got angry that he let you spend those two years suffering trying to hide your feelings, but at the same time, a wave of happiness runs through your body, knowing that he feels the same way about you.

"Mihawk..." - before you could speak, Hawk-Eyes pulls you in for a warm kiss, barely able to process what's going on, you thought this was just another one of your crazy dreams that you usually have about him, Mihawk was really kissing you, exploring every corner of your mouth with his tongue, his hands tighten around your waist, keeping you closer to him and making sure you don't leave.

"now you will have to explain to the ghost girl that she will have to leave alone, because you will stay here with me." - after finishing the kiss, Hawk-Eyes whispers in your ear, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "is this what you desire? stay here in my castle living with me? say it, mi amor".

"I don't want to be away from you, there's no other place where I can be happy, my place is here." - Satisfied with your response, Hawk-Eyes pulls you in for another kiss, this time with more desire and intensity.

you'll have a hard time explaining to your sister that you're not going with her, hopefully she'll understand that you now belong to Dracule Mihawk.

---the end---

[hhighkey]

Decode // Chapter Three, Dried Flowers

Dracule Mihawk (opla) x OC (female reader)

Rating: mature

Story Contains: live action characters, related and non-related one piece plots, unspecified religion, OC is a nun on sabbatical, trauma, violence, age gap (40 v 23), insecurities and self doubts, possessive / protective behavior, kidnapping, true loves, eventual smut

Note: WOW its been awhile I am so sorry

Masterlist

-

SEVEN YEARS AGO

The sounds of pattering feet against ivory tile echoed in the empty halls of the Saint Mana Monastery- a line of veiled nuns walked towards the temple. Angelic chimes rang through the air from the chilled breeze. Soft murmurs of prayers left the lips of bowed heads that never wavered formation. 

A year had gone by since Sabine's father shipped her off. How her hands still shook with anger when she thought of him- his hideous face with the larger than life mustache. A weak, pathetic man who cared for nothing more than himself and booze to hold him over another day. Oh how she prayed at night he'd receive his karma, or wonder if he already had. As her head bowed and her breathing quick, she felt herself grow angry thinking about him. 

The shining midday sun glittered through stained glass in the temple- an expansive room with little pews for the nuns knelt on the cold tile floor. Dressings dragged as perfect rows in front an altar formed. Prayers, both in silence and echoing unison, rang out over the monotonous hour. Like a choir of singing angels existed in the holiness as glittering colored light shone, chimes and lovely words alike breathing life into stale air. 

Each day was of strict routine, monotonous repetitions asides the holy day of Sundays. Early mornings causing early nights. Constant prayers and studying. Chores. Prayers again. Then little alone time which caused little individuality to flourish between sisters; a purposeful thing, intended to create to create pliable female worshipers,

Before 'silence time' however, there was a waiting stack of dishes needed to be ready for dinner. 

Which was how Sabine found herself in the kitchens with other girls her age. Her eyes had grown heavy with each passing minute. Her brain all foggy from a restless sleep and racing thoughts that felt like a knife stabbing her chest over and over. This wasn't what she saw her life being at sixteen– washing dishes in a neat assembly line with water all splattered on a nun's habit she wore each day. The closet of her room was filled with dozens of the same fabrics, it seemed. 

Normally one for conversation when able, it was quickly noticed when she wasn't partaking. Sabine looked at each plate she rinsed as if it were the devil, glaring eyes and pursed lips. 

"What about you Sister Mary Sabine?"

Sabine's head jerked to look towards the other girls assigned to dish duty, whose eyes bore into her, "Huh? Sorry, wasn't listening."

"What would you want out of life if you weren't a nun? Sister Mary Ellen says she'd work in a brothel! Can you believe it?"

"We all want what we can't have," Another Sister said, "Life of temptation always seems so fun."

"So, what about it Sabine?" Continued interrogation from the ever-chatty blonde, Sister Anna Lea.

"Yeah, what's your deepest darkest desire?" 

Sabine stopped, held the sopping wet plate in hand as she hummed to herself for a moment. She didn't want to say the first thing that popped into her head but she couldn't think of anything better to say-

"I want a husband," Sabine then said with a dreamy look in her eye, "Someone who meets me and knows I'm the one. I don't care about having kids, I just want to be loved and in love."

A few snickers followed her reply but most hummed in an agreement of solidarity, "Genuine question, why do priests and cardinals get to marry but not us? Sexist that we have to marry ourselves to the Father."

The group of girls Sabine spent her time with were of like age- teens to young twenties, most hadn't taken permanent vows like herself. So it was no surprise their talk turned to gossip about outdated ways. As much as Sabine agreed she tried to never engage even inadvertently, you never know who's listening, and she preferred to bide her time with her head down. Good behavior, as if she were a prisoner waiting for an early release.

"Ladies."

As if on cue— The matriarch, the most feared one of the elder nuns who sat on top, stood in the doorway hands on her hips. Most girls had shocked, wide eyes as they stammered apologies or turned back to their duties. 

Sabine could only shake her head, feeling nostalgic thinking about a life she'd probably never have. Daydreaming as the hours ticked by, her stomach filling with butterflies and chest tightening as she thought about scenarios of loving encounters with a man. 

It was 9:00PM when an intrusive knock jolted her and her dorm-mate, Sister Therese Sienna, up from their beds. Half-awake they looked at each other before Sienna crept to the wooden door. Their room was small and plain, not expected of two teenage girls. Peeling white walls with crosses hung on each surface. Simple wooden wardrobes and a centerpiece rug. Windows that had to be glued stuck, with pilling curtains covering them. 

Sabine rubbed her eyes as she looked around, shifting in the primarily uncomfortable bed, "Who is it?"

Sienna, with a huff, opened the door revealing Sisters Anna and Lea, "Oh the chatty squad is here,"

"Don't be like that," Lea shrugged, "You two aren't asleep."

"Neither are you two?"

The two uninvited visitors pushed their way in, with Lea marching proudly to Sabine's bed side to strip her of her covers. She recoiled from the sudden chill in the air and attempted to shield herself. 

"Get dressed, we have plans."

"Plans we didn't agree to," Sabine murmured, grabbing a lone shawl across the chair at her bedside. Yet she wasn’t willing to sit this out, not the way Lea had a smug confident look on her face. 

Neither of them were fond of the idea of being out past curfew, especially without an in depth explanation. Only by the light of oil lamps and scattered candles could they move about, footsteps echoing in the cavernous monastery halls. They were like little scurrying mice, constantly looking over their shoulders and around corners, fearful. But growing in certainty as they entered a more desolate area of the monastery. 

"Oh hurry up," Lea spat under the moonlight that streamed through a cracked window as they hurried by it. 

"You're being ridiculous." 

An eerie silence amidst their footsteps as they descended an older flight of creaking wooden stairs, made Sabine internally cringe. This wing of the monastery was creepy. Old. Worn down. Probably disease ridden in the air they breathed. Old paintings that collected dust amongst the broken cement walls, doors boarded up, and relics discarded haphazardly.

Rumors said a prior cardinal died here after performing a ritual, or an exorcism, the stories are different depending who speaks them. That afterwards series of misfortunate events began to take place, sudden deaths and great grievances that would plague their church for years. After a nun took her own life in the tower, it was officially regarded as dangerous for use and locked up. But all locks could be broken. 

Sabine felt unsettled. A pit in her stomach made her more on edge than past times they’d snuck into the abandoned ward. It felt like the eyes of the people in the paintings followed their every move with starch judgment, it filled her with shame. But the adrenaline to have say over her life that was unjustly ripped from her, was too tantalizing to say no to. 

“Good, we’re all here.” An older girl with long blonde hair spoke as they all formed a circle in a dimly lit room. It was further down than Sabine had been before, no windows and the air was heavy and moist. Her pulse began to hike. 

Thin papers with messy scrawl were passed around. Eight girls in total were present around scattered petals that gleamed a color unknown to her. And eight goblets of burgundy wine were handed out next. 

“All of you are girls that have shown interest in men, disdain for the unjust rules thrusted upon women in our situations. Women in this world in general. I found an old book, which appears ancient and during my time studying it, I have found a ritual that when done correctly, will bring you to your true love during your lifetime. That someone is meant for us all but there is no guarantee to meet them.” The blonde said in a serious tone, a fire behind her words that had Sabine hanging on to each one. 

“How.. Will we know? If we meet them.” A Sister asked. 

“It says- you just know. That it’s like your world changes, that you don’t think you’ll be able to survive without the person, that it’s more than love, that they compliment you, cherish you, protect you. It may be foolish, may not work, but there should be no downsides to doing the ritual. Harmless to try it right? Especially on the off chance it is real.”

Murmurs sound. Sabine knows she’ll do it. Not a bone in her body willed her to leave. It seemed all the Sisters were in agreement, that the ensuring possibility of meeting your soulmate through a ritual made perfect sense. What was there to lose besides never crossing paths with them? 

Or they all knew it was a form of child’s play. A fun little thing to do as girls who wanted something more than the Sisterhood. Their way of rebelling. 

“Now do what the papers say, we’ll all speak together.”

Sabine bent down to gather the flower petals into one hand, the other holding the directions the older girl wrote out. Her fingers trembled. 

"I cast this circle of flowers round, in calling for a love meant for me, to find me."

She sprinkled the delicate petals in a circle in front of her. She felt chills run down her spine, a disheveling cold gust she swore was her imagination. 

"Forever will my true love bind.”

Next each girl drank their goblet of stale communion wine, the raunchy taste making Sabine shudder. Was it stupid to feel anew? A fluttering in her chest as her extremities tingle in and out of numbness. The tips of her fingers down to her toes, up to her head tickled in a glittering daze and immobilization while she stood stuck staring at the circle she made. 

At sixteen she didn’t have the capabilities of forethought or critical thinking beyond that of her generalized life experience. How foolish to smile like an idiot as she made sure every drop of the wine was drained. The girls were all too giddy. Definitely too loud with their giggles and conversations that would have normally had a matriarch descending on them like a hawk. But feet below the surface in a desolate room of an abandoned wing, they were undisturbed to gossip through the night. 

-

PRESENT

"Father, please help Zoro through this storm. Provide him the strength and courage to conquer this obstacle. I put my trust and submit my ways unto you to seek help for his battle. Amen." Sabine's mouth was dry as she spoke, hardly above a whisper. Tears stung her bloodshot eyes as a faint throbbing numbed her face. 

Seeing him like that— all clammy, skin as if he'd see a ghost. Bandages peeking from his shirt where a pink tinge of dried blood stained as a reminder of what'd taken place. Sabine, in such a short amount of time, had grown fond- protective in her own way- over the crew. All younger than her, so she perceived them as her dear kids in a sense.

"Why do you feel so bad?" Nami whispered, a cold tone masked behind the question, "I went to leave, to leave the crew. And you feel guilty because you'd been flirting with that Warlord?" The redhead frowned, seemingly answering her own thoughts in her mind as her eyes widened, "Oh- cause you haven't experienced-"

Sabine held her hand up, signaling for Nami to stop, "I think I'd surprise you. It's not necessarily guilt, I don't quite know what it is really. Responsibility maybe? Or the fact I've spent hours listening to those who want to be saved, and act like I'm some saint? Maybe this is all I can do to offer help."

"I think I'd surprise you too." Nami shuffled in place. 

"I don't think you would. I can tell from your far away gazes and survival skills. I know you're hiding something." Normally Sabine wouldn't talk out of turn like she just did. Taught to always nod in understanding, listen intently while carefully thinking through a response. Taught to never interrogate but gently lead in the direction they point. 

"What are you profiling me? I'm not some drunkard, abusive marine stumbling into a church to repent."

"I never said that," Nami was right with her implications, Sabine needn't play her role as a nun with them. And she wasn't with her harsher than normal words as this was what she felt was a final chance to intervene. Nami was bubbling up, "Maybe hiding wasn't the best word to use. I know from experience when there's more to a story. I'm not judging, nor am I asking you to share. But we're all supposed to be a crew, yeah?" 

If Sabine could see Nami's face from where she stood with her back turned, grand line map in hand, Sabine would see the troubled tears in her friend's lash line. And she'd see how Nami's moment of pain fell to a blank stare, determination suddenly dancing in her eyes. 

Sabine frowned as Nami left, her footsteps echoing as they sounded further and further away. She let out a heavy sigh, chest deflating as her shoulders slouched. Guilt about how harsh she'd been, but nevertheless she wanted to speak her mind. 

Her legs screamed from soreness as she stood, carefully moving closer to Zoro's sleeping form. Standing over him, she let her fingertips graze over his clammy skin. She wiped the sweat from his brow-line with her thumb, reaching for a cold moist towel that rested on his left bicep. 

"Oh Zoro," Sabine whispered, "You kids are just too much to handle sometimes I swear." Not that she was much older than them, almost five years she thinks. A smile cracked on her lips about how Usopp never failed to mention her elderly age. 

The reality of it all wasn't that Sabine nor Nami were inherently evil due to pieces of themselves they kept hidden. It only further justified how complicated life is— how complicated people are. 

Sudden commotion, beyond what Sabine was told to expect, made her hesitantly leave Zoro and head to the Going Merry's deck. Her heart palpitated in her chest with each slow step, hand gliding along the walls for any sort of balance. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears as the banging intensified like muddled water swirling. Crouching down, looking over the bannister, her stomach sank. 

Hand clamped over her mouth to silence herself, 

"No!" She still managed to stifle out watching Arlong toss Luffy into the sea. Quick relief washed over her as Sanji jumped into the sea to go after him immediately. Splashes of torrent aqua blue. Technicolor drowning within her chest like trying to scream underwater. But curiosity shimmered in Sabine's eyes as she watched Nami leave with the fishmen.

But as much as Sabine wanted to be shocked or angry like others of the crew— she wasn't. A level of understanding grew in her chest as the minutes went on allowing her time to think. Little growing vines crept into her head as she recalled Nami's words and body language alike. Arlong would have torn the ship apart to find the map- would have torn Sabine and a recovering Zoro to pieces after taking down Luffy, she was sure. So Sabine stayed quiet even as Zoro woke and the others shared their uncertain opinions— she knew Nami did it to protect them. That she'd been right to assume the younger girl was nursing a secret. A searing sensation made her gasp, as her legs gave out, causing her to go down onto the ship’s deck. She clawed at her chest, at the clothes that adorned her and covered the necklace hidden beneath. 

On the dainty chain was the ring. Mihawk’s ring. Why it felt as if it burned her skin she did not know. The suffocating sea air swirling into her nostrils and intoxicating her mind with its musk and scents from the restaurant. 

It was a gorgeous piece. Sabine could not tear her gaze from it as she studied it. Too large for any of her fingers. Eclectic yet manly, clearly worth more berry than her life would ever be. Truly, it was a piece of him. She could recount the deep vibrations of his voice settled within her core, how his calloused fingers bruised along her skin. And how his lips were on her forehead. She could feel it. Feel his intense aura that warmed her insides like it was wrapping her in an all encompassing, protective blanket, to keep the outside world from laying a finger on her. 

Terror instilled itself, this wasn’t supposed to be happening to her! Close encounters with death. Pirates. Life itself! She should have stayed locked up in her isolated palace that was the monastery. 

But then Sabine realized something. That the terror she felt was from her thoughts. Thoughts that leaving her Sisterhood was the path she needed to take. And that was terrifying, the thought of giving up what was comfortable. All this time sailing with the crew and she wasn’t any closer to coming to a decision, not until meeting Mihawk. 

-

posted: july 12 2024

taglist : @zzbloody-animezz @honeybeezgobzzzzz @mythical-goth @iraaiitz @moonmaiden1996

[thebunnednun]

New profile pic!! Oh and updates 4/14/2024 (Master list too)

Finally, something that looks like me!

Oh, btw the names Angellica or Angie for short. I don't mind being called BUNNEDNUN either babes.

My wifey: @elarakive

My sister friend: @thealtofvalleyxdoodles My girl: @orange-milky

WE ASLO HAVE A COMMUNITY LINK NOW!!:

Now let's get down to business,

An updated schedule will be as follows:

Mundane Monday: The beginning of the week is always dreadful so let's make it fun with some crack fics. Memes, Memes, MEMES galore!

Tearful Tuesdays: Angst posts will be the main thing on here. I'm thinking of some hurt and comfort fics. I'm already working on a Buggy fic for this. I'm not opposed to happy endings but in general, think of an onion cutting itself for these. They don't all have to be romantic and I'm creating something for Trafalgar Law here.

Wonderful Wednesdays: I will update two of the current fan series on this day maybe three if I have the time. So far the list includes:

*Enchanted meeting (Buggy The Clown x Straw-hat reader)

*Shadows of the Blade (Dracule Mihawk x Assassin reader)

*Capturing hearts (Iñaki Godoy x Photographer reader)

*Please Don't Hate Me! (Juan Ruiz x Imperfect reader

*Whispers of the heart (Dracule Mihawk x Maid (Pirate Queen) reader)

*Love Sick (Buggy the Clown x Straw-hat reader)

*Bound by Justice (Sabo x Marine! Reader)

*Carnival Confessions (Portgas D. Ace x Straw-Hat! Reader)

*If you only knew how much I love you (Sabo x Straw-hat! Reader x Ace)

*Make you mine!~ (Trafalgar D. Law x Cheeky~ Crewmate! Reader)

*Throw Me Overboard! (Buggy the Clown x Fm! Reader)

*Gone Fishing! (Sabo x Sea creature Straw-Hat! Reader)

*Good neighbors (Farmer! Bakugou Katsuki x Gardener! Reader)

*Dancing Under the Stars (Red-Haired Shanks X Bar/ DanceClub Owner! Reader)

*In the Arms of a Stranger (Charlotte Katakuri x Bride! Reader)

*Unexpected Dinner Guests! (Koby x Straw-Hat! Reader)

*Tempted to touch! One piece Men x Fm! Reader (Multi fic)

*Shadows in the Night! (Trafalgar D. Water Law x Ethereal spirit! Reader)

*Sweet dreams!~ (Trafalgar D. Law x Hot Doctor Wife! Reader (Modern Au))

*Golden afternoon (Monkey D. Luffy x Crew mate! Reader) *LOYALTY (Katsuki Bakugou x Sugar Baby! Reader)

*You're my Coffee (Shouta Aizawa x Pro Hero/Teacher! Reader)

*Overworked (Katsuki Bakugou x Stressed! gf! Reader)

*Build a Boyfriend (Mirio Togata x Pastel Goth! Reader)

*The One That Got Away (Katsuki Bakugou x Girlfriend! Reader)

Sanji, Usopp, Nami, Ace, Law, Robin, Boa, Chopper, and Zoro will be loading soon. I have many, many, MANY, ideas but no time right now.

Thoughtful Thursdays: Just some random conversations and ideas thrown out there. I'll try to host polls so you guys can vote on what you want next. Basically a rest day for me though because there's just no way I could write everything in one shot. (/@ ~@)/~* I've tried and it ends with me updating around 3AM or sum.

Follower Fridays: Requests from followers are posted. If you have a story request or anything you want to ask go ahead and do so on this day. Just make sure you send them in early so I can get to it in time. If you send something the day of I might be able to make it happen.

Sexy Saturdays: Send me your best Saturday night requests: ie dancing, funny adventures, or crazy antis with the one-piece crew or another fandom. I'm very familiar with Naruto and MHA (and any other anime honestly I doubt there's anything you could request that I don't know.)

It's all about having fun and having those Saturday night vibes babe!~

Sweet Sundays: Romantic One-shot posts! Any character of age and as long as it's not a child. I would be open to doing a reader insert where they are a parent or parental figure though. I find them to be very endearing.

As always your requests are welcomed and comments are very much appreciated. Sorry again for being gone for so long. I want to pick up my serious especially and make the chapters juicy again.

I also have a spring tee shop for merch related to all the stories!!

Every little bit helps me to pay for my tuition! <33

Thank you guys again for your patience and understanding.<<333

Don't forget to check out my a03 account of the same name!!

My new goals are to keep up with the schedule and get 50 followers by the end of the month! I wanna keep growing our family. :3

Most of all, remember that you are safe here and loved.

Until next time my loves!~

[luffyvace]

☆*:.｡.MASTERLIST.｡.:*☆ part two 😘

Here’s masterlist part 1: (they both have the same anime’s included)

Masterlist part 1 <3

One piece

Monkey D. Luffy:

Luffy x male! Harpy reader (requested)

The Luffy package! (Includes General & relationship headcanons, as well as Luffy quotes—relationship implied) [A birthday special!!]

If Luffy accidentally makes you cry

Luffy x reader who can rap

Luffy x Vice captain of the strawhats

Luffy x amab reader (also has Zoro and Ace) (Requested)

Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro x amab reader (also has Luffy and Ace) (Requested)

Nami:

Nami x fem reader (with Sanji the wingman) (requested)

Nami x male! Reader with water water fruit (requested)

Usopp:

Usopp x male reader (requested)

Vinsmoke Sanji:

Dating ~ Sanji Vinsmoke ~ headcanons pt1 (pt2 is OUT💋)

Dating ~ Sanji Vinsmoke ~ headcanons pt2

Sanji x reader who rejects his princess treatment

Sanji Vinsmoke x male reader

Nami x fem reader (with sanji the wingman) (requested)

Robin:

Robin x male! Reader with the water water fruit (requested)

Brook:

Rant about Brook’s time skip powers from fish man island arc (fixed! :3)

Neferatari Vivi:

Vivi x male! Reader with water water fruit (requested)

Vivi x female reader headcanons (for women’s day) (also has Boa Hancock)

All the strawhats:

What the Strawhats would watch on yt (hcs)

Portgas D Ace:

Ace x amab reader (also has Luffy and Zoro) (requested)

Perona:

Perona x female reader

Boa Hancock:

Boa x male! Reader with water water fruit (requested)

Mihawk’s daughter! Reader x Doting! Wine aunt! boa! (Platonic) (requested)

Boa x female reader headcanons (for women’s day) (also has Neferatari Vivi)

Eustass Kid:

Kid x male reader hcs (requested)

Dracule Mihawk:

Mihawk’s daughter! Reader x Doting! Wine aunt! Boa Hancock! (Platonic) (Requested)

Hunter x Hunter

Yandere! Hero! & Villian hxh au! pt1 (hero ver.)

Yandere! Hero & Villain! hxh au! pt2 (villain ver.)

My hero academia

Demon Slayer

Kamado Tanjiro:

Tanjiro b day hcs!!

Bungo Stray Dogs

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa:

Akutagawa as your boyfriend headcanons (gn, also these are for his b day)

Dazai Osamu:

Dazai b day hcs!!

All (or most) bsd characters:

what bsd characters are like driving!!

Saiki K

Saiki Kusuo:

Saiki K x gn! Reader relationship hcs

Saiki K x fem! Implied reader who is his favorite (anonymous) author (requested)

Saiki k x m! Reader bf! Texts (requested)

Saiki k x (fem implied) reader who looks cutesy but writes horror books (that has a old man friend who writes innocent stuff) (requested) (help idk how to explain this)

Saiki k x (fem implied) reader who has a chaotic side blog (requested)

Saiki k x reader who’s author friend put the two of you in his book as a background couple (requested)

Saiki x fem reader who’s being stalked by Makoto (Teruhashi’s brother)

Saiki k with little sister reader! platonic hcs <3

Saiki k’s gf and sister (reader) meet!! [A continuation of the one above]

Hairo Kineshi:

Boyfriend! Hairo Kineshi x gn! Reader hcs (requested) (fixed! :3)

hairo boyfriend texts (with male reader) (requested)

hairo’s kisses headcanons (requested) (an original series’s of mine :3)

hairo’s love languages and how he shows pda (male reader) (requested)

hairo x male reader who has psychic powers (requested)

hairo x male reader—celebrating your b day’s together!! (Requested)

hairo x insecure/shy male reader hcs (requested) (fixed! :3)

Mikoto Aiura:

Girlfriend Aiura hcs (gn)

Mob Psycho 100

Reigen Arataka:

Sitting on Reigen’s lap hcs

Reigen’s Childhood headcanons (requested)

Black Butler

Ciel Phantomhive:

Ciel x gn! Reader relationship hcs

Undertaker:

How Undertaker courts you

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Dracule Mihawk's older sister headcanons (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This idea was born from a conversation with @giurochedadomani, as well her amazing blog. This is part two of two, part one is here.

If you're expecting an happy ending, please go read somewhere else.

*****

🗡️ The lord dies unexpectedly, a sudden heart attack as he sleeps. Informed by his sister, Mihawk returns immediately; they haven’t seen each other in two years, and as they embrace, she marvels at how much he has grown up, how tall and strong he has become. He is still her little brother, quietly affectionate and attentive to her needs, who kisses her hand and holds her against him as if never wanting to let go, but there is a new inflexibility in him, the steel-like determination of a man who goes his own way, content with his own company and leaving everything and everyone behind him, because he respects few and has patience for even fewer. She doesn’t fully know whether this is a new facet of his personality, born of the solitude and the hardship of his life as a pirate, or something that has always been part of him, and the last two years simply brought it to the surface; what she is sure of is that she doesn’t like it.

🗡️ They take part in the lord’s funeral, standing arm in arm, both all too aware of the gossip fluttering around them. She looks straight ahead, simply but elegantly dressed, making sure to offer her condolences to the lady but otherwise avoiding small talk; she knows they are talking about her, her impoverished background, her time as a maid for the lady during which she waited on some of them, and their improved situation thanks to her brother’s piracy. She ignores them; she has nothing to be ashamed of and she knows, and why should she care for those people’s opinion when none of them ever cared for her and hers?

🗡️ Mihawk utters maybe ten words in two hours; he stands for a while in front of his old teacher’s grave, aware that the man had nothing more to teach him, but also of everything he owed the lord, who gave him the chance to become the man he is and to take care of his sister, who cared for him when no one else did. Their relationship was close but formal, he wouldn’t say he loved his master like a father or that he was loved like a son; but Mihawk mourns him, and I’ll never forget what you have done for me, he promises in the privacy of his heart. I swear I’ll make you proud.

🗡️ Mihawk should technically sleep in the master bedroom, the one that once belonged to their father, but his sister knows him and has prepared his old one - after having a bigger bed moved in. Mihawk promises to stay until her upcoming birthday; he’s happy to see her, and relieved to see her happier and more confident than two years back. She has made friends with some women in the nearby town, she excitedly tells him, and has started helping one of them who owns a photographer’s studio, having developing an interest in the art; one day, perhaps, they can formally start working together, because while it is a relief she doesn’t need to worry about the future or that her leg will prevent her from earning her living, she needs to keep herself occupied. She offers Mihawk to discuss their expenses, because she wants him to know she’s not wasting his money, but he assures him there is no need, because he has full and complete trust in her and actually would be happy to know she can now afford whatever she wants, be it a new dress, a lady’s maid (ah!) or a palanquin to ride around. That is a sort of life he could never be happy, or even just content, with, but she is, and Mihawk is proud he can now repay everything she has done for him, taking care of her as it is her duty as a brother.

🗡️ Before he leaves, she takes a picture of the two of them together, makes two copies, one the size of the pretty bedside frame she has bought recently, to keep next to their mother’s old painting of the two of them, and the other small enough to be carried around, and gives it to her brother. “I know we have no need of tangible tokens to remind us of each other, and you are not the sort of man who wears a locket, but please, keep this with yourself. And remember you can always come back, no matter where you are, no matter what you have done. I don’t care about the money, or the house; I just want to know you are safe.” He promises; he gifts her a ridiculously precious necklace for her birthday, with a gem carved in the shape of a rose, and two days later she sees him leave once more, and she misses, and fears for, him again before his little ship has disappeared beyond the horizon.

🗡️ Years pass. Mihawk’s name is now known all over the four seas and the Grand Line, and many are the swordsmen who both fear and admire him, but Mihawk’s mind is focused on two goals. The first is to find a sword worthy of him, one capable to channel his strength and power without breaking; like any swordsman worth his salt knows, though, the best swords are conquered, not simply bought, and while he wouldn’t be against killing a fellow fighter to take their sword, were it worth the effort, for the time being he resigns himself to wait for the right weapon to come his way. His second objective is to find the greatest swordsman in the world and defeat them to conquer their title and have the whole world witness his strength. His sister, while aware that ambitious outcome is well within her brother’s abilities, suggests him to wait, since he is still so young and still hasn’t found a sword worthy of him, but Mihawk is determined: his opponent, a man whose name is not spoken but whispered all around the world and who even the most veteran Marine officers fear to face, is getting on in years, and unlike what many others would do in his place, he plans on facing him before he starts losing his strength and Mihawk’s victory is devoid of any value.

🗡️ The man, mainly known by the moniker The Blue Crane, doesn’t bother to hide his whereabouts, aware that only a fool would search for him with the intent to cause trouble. Mihawk (the fool) easily finds him. He challenges the Blue Crane to a fight to the death. The man accepts. The fight is hard, brutal, bloody, several centuries-old trees felled and enough blood lost to support a whole transfusion centre, but in the end the result is the one any witness aware of the history of the two opponents would have expected…

🗡️ … Mihawk has been defeated. Soundly, unquestionably, and sustaining injuries serious enough to make the doctors doubt his survival. His sister is called, and runs to his bedside; for ten days (and nights, so much that the doctors start worrying about her) she watches over him, thinking this cannot be the end, not for him, not for them, not when he is still so young and she has barely had the time to learn to miss him while he’s gallivanting around the Grand Line. She doesn’t pray, she never has; but she talks to him, even though he remains unconscious for days and she doesn’t even know if he can hear her; she begs him to be strong, to return to her, because he has a whole life ahead of him and can’t leave her alone…

🗡️ In the end, he wakes up; the recovery is long and slow, which is frustrating for a man who has never idled a moment in his life, even more because he knows he has been lucky and he survived only because the Blue Crane thought he had already killed him and let him be. It is not the first, but it is the bitterest defeat of his life; he was able to hold his own against the strongest swordsman in the world, he should be proud of himself, but he is not and, he swears, one day he will regain his honour by killing his opponent, even if it means losing his own life in the process.

🗡️ He doesn’t share his intentions with his sister, but she has expected it ever since she was informed of what had happened; she knows how important it is for Mihawk to conquer the title of the Blue Crane, and that he would let nothing and no one stop him. She has always promised herself she would never get in the way of her brother’s dreams, because he must be free to live his life as he wishes to and she doesn’t want to clip his wings, but she is exhausted, still scared and already convinced that no matter how powerful he becomes he is destined to lose his life before he gets his first grey hair, either because of an opponent’s stroke of luck or the Marines who have sent a whole platoon to capture him (they have already tried. Thrice.) or whatever danger he may encounter in his life as a pirate.

🗡️ For the first time since he was a child, and for the same reason as the other, they fight; bitterly and loud enough the whole hospital hears. Mihawk tells his sister she doesn’t get to mollycoddle him, because he’s an adult and he will not let her stop him from achieving his full potential; she calls him a conceited egoist, who thinks being able to wield a sword gives him permission not to care about everything else and who has never matured beyond the child who was abandoned by his father. They are both hurt; they both forgive. Mihawk recovers, goes back home for a while (because he has missed his sister and does need to rest, but most of all to please her and because he knows he owes it to her) and promises that he will not challenge the Blue Crane again before he has improved sensibly. It is quite possibly the least reassuring promise he may have made; but she accepts it, and never speaks of it again. 

🗡️ He has known Shanks since they were boys; Mihawk has told his sister about the red-haired pirate, and she was happy to learn her brother has something akin to a friend, but Shanks knew nothing about her until one day he found her and Mihawk’s picture, fallen from his jacket’s inside pocket. “Who is this pretty lady with you, Hawkie? Is she single?” he asks; Mihawk knows he’s merely joking, and in any case Shanks is not the sort of man who bothers women, but he glares at him with such ferocity the red-haired pirate raises his hands and swears he meant nothing by it.

🗡️ Their father dies. Neither cares.

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister starts working in her friend’s photographer’s studio; she doesn’t really need the money, but enjoys it and soon becomes good enough at it her services are requested for private events and newspapers ask to print her pictures. At a party given by her friend, she meets the hostess’s brother, a man who is as different from Mihawk as he could be: shy, a bit awkward, but friendly and openly kind and who is content with a tranquil, predictable life, with his job as an accountant and, one day, a family. Their eyes meet across the room; he smiles; she waves, but neither has the courage to approach the other until the hostess takes both out of their misery and introduces them. When at the end of the night he shyly asks for her company at dinner, she is flabbergasted: she is well beyond the usual age for women to be courted, and considering she has been called bland in the best of cases and the situation with her leg has not improved since she was twelve, she never expected someone she just met to be impressed with her. But he is; and she says yes, and this is not the sort of exciting, thwarted love story teenage girls like to read about, but it is theirs, and it is true, and it makes her happy.

🗡️ Exactly ten years after Mihawk has taken to the sea, both siblings experience a turning point. Mihawk finally finds the sword he had spent a decade waiting for; it is the fruit of the work of a famed swordmaker, an old woman who had disappeared years before and who everyone thought dead. Mihawk meets her by sheer coincidence, and immediately asks her to forge a sword for him, whatever the cost may be; the artisan replies that she cares not for money, but will only put her art at the service of a man who deserves it. She puts Mihawk to the test, some terrible endeavour that brings his strength as a man and as a fighter to their limit; still, he succeeds, and true to her word, the swordmaker gifts him a huge black swords: it is her masterpiece, that she has spent months creating a decade before, after her own master had come to her in a dream to tell her she would one day find a man worthy of it. 

🗡️ The sword is beautiful, huge but light in his hands, as if it were really made for him specifically; Mihawk likes the black blade and the gemstone-ornated hilt. This is no cutthroat dagger, nor simply one of the greatswords some try to use in the hopes the length and weight make up for their lack of talent; it is precious like a jewel, beautiful to look at, but severe and forbidding, openly dangerous enough anyone would think twice before approaching it - not unlike Mihawk itself. This is his sword, and he is its wielder; a perfect match, the sort of feeling other people experience about a soulmate.

🗡️ He’s so satisfied he decides to show the sword to his sister, returning home for a surprise visit; she welcomes him with open arms, and is happier than ever to see him, and impressed by his new weapon, which is way bigger than her. “They say the best swords have names.” she points out “Any ideas?” Mihawk shrugs; he’s content with simply having conquered a weapon worthy of him, and doesn’t feel the need to name it as people do with a lapdog or a country house. He is more interested in his sister’s own news: her gentleman friend has asked for her hand, and she has accepted. “He is a good man, and he loves me very much; he treats me very well. I love him too, Mihawk, I really do; I am not asking for your permission, like you wouldn’t have to ask for mine, but it would mean the world if you approved.” The dinner during which he meets his future brother in law is slightly less tense than they all expected; Mihawk finds his sister’s fiancé a bit insipid, not to mention he is already losing his hair, but he must admit the man does seem to treasure his sister, and the research Mihawk has charged a detective to do on him, to make sure the man is not a fortune hunter or in the habit of hitting or cheating on his partners, yields reassuring results. He gives his sister his blessing; he accepts to give her away (actually, he would have been offended if she hadn’t asked) and only asks her to write a prenuptial agreement with her fiancé, to protect her interests in the event things go bad. He still thinks she deserves better; but she is happy, and so he is as well.

🗡️ They decide for a spring wedding, and the ceremony is just a month away when Mihawk receives the Marines’ proposal to join the newly created Warlords of the Sea. As they have always done when one of them is faced with an important decision to make, he asks for his sister’s opinion, but she is unsure: knowing her brother no longer has an enormous bounty on his head would reassure her (even if bounty hunters have never been a danger for Mihawk and the few who have challenged him quickly learnt that he may not be the greatest swordsman in the world yet, but he’s already too superior to be bothered by people of their sort) and the alliance would give him more leeway to pursue his business as he wants. On the other hand, joining the Warlords could do more harm than good. “They may need you, but you don’t need them; this simple fact suggests you have nothing to earn from allying with the World Government.” she points out one day as they enjoy an evening stroll, walking leisurely close to the rose garden that is her pride and joy “I know you are too strong and clever to let the Marines order you around; but why should they send you to deal with their problems?”

🗡️ As usual, even though she’s not a pirate herself, she has understood the matter perfectly, giving him valuable insight while leaving the choice to him; Mihawk doesn’t need his sister to decide for him, but he values her opinion and knows she is cleverer and more capable than her gentle disposition and reserved nature may suggest. Whatever decision he may take, he promises herself, her security will be his first priority: what if, once he joins the Warlords, the Marines look for something to use against him should he refuse to do as he is told, discover her existence, and threaten her…?

🗡️ Mihawk has always done his utmost to protect his sister, even since he was still a child, and especially after he took to the sea; the small, sleepy town she lives in is a safer place than most, and she knows better than to wander about after dark by herself, but he has hired three guards to ensure the safety of the house, and who escort her every time she travels by carriage - a precaution she deems excessive, but she has accepted for his sake. He has made good on his promise to provide her with a cane with a blade hidden inside, even though they don’t have much time to practise its use together; she makes sure to have all doors and windows bolted at night, as well as the main gate.

🗡️ All those precautions are put to the test exactly once; and they prove futile.

🗡️ Mihawk has never forgotten the promise he made to himself, as well as to his sister, to wait before challenging the Blue Crane again, and he feels the moment has come to reclaim his honour and conquer the title he has desired since he was still a child. His abilities have improved enormously since their first, disastrous fight, and he has not met an opponent worthy of him in years; almost as important, he now owns a blade capable of withstanding any attack and to channel his full strength. He is ready, he feels it in his bones, in his blood. He decides to wait until after his sister’s wedding, to make sure she is not alone in the event that the fight claims his life; once she has settled in, he will go meet his destiny, and this time he knows he will emerge victorious. 

🗡️ What Mihawk doesn’t know is that the Blue Crane has also been obsessing about him, and their duel years ago. The greatest swordsman in the world is all too aware that advancing age has been sapping his strength for years; no challenger has defeated him yet, but it is simply a matter of time, and he, the man whose name has made any fighter in the world quake in their boots for decades, will be disgraced, bested not by a superior opponent but by the simple weakening of his muscles and reflexes. Nothing in his life has ever mattered but his title, and soon, maybe in a matter of months or even weeks, some callow youth who simply had the good fortune of being born a few decades after him will take it, and the Blue Crane’s name will be forgotten…

🗡️ … and then the man opens a newspaper, sees the picture of a familiar hawk-eyed man, and his heart sinks.

🗡️ No one in maybe thirty years has been as close to defeating him as that young man; no one’s ferocity and disdain for his own safety and life if it meant emerging victorious from the fight has scared him as much as his. The Blue Crane might have admired and even liked him, if that young man, that Mihawk, hadn’t forced him to use all of his strength and ability in order to win - in order to survive. The young swordsman’s strength and willpower had been like nothing he had ever seen; the Blue Crane, who in his life had defeated and killed hundreds of opponents, had known in his heart that had Mihawk been just a little more mature, just a few years more experienced, the outcome of their duel would have been very different. That thought alone had made him feel ashamed of himself, and he had made sure to kill his opponent, to avoid the risk of a more mature and fulfilled Mihawk returning to ask for a rematch.

🗡️ Or at least, he was convinced he had killed his young opponent, even though the newspaper tells a different story. How could Mihawk have survived his wounds? And why did he simply leave, without checking to make sure his opponent was actually dead? Is old age making him lose his wits, as well as his strength and speed? The Blue Crane reads of Mihawk’s exploits in the newspaper, and his fears are confirmed: the young swordsman has come into his own, becoming a feared pirate and an even formidable fighter. Why hasn’t he returned to ask for a rematch? He doesn’t seem the sort of man who would be cowed by his past defeat, and the danger of losing his life. Is Mihawk still training, aiming to further hone his skills before challenging him again? Or does the young man consider him too old now to represent a worthy opponent? The thought makes the Blue Crane seethe with anger and helplessness; but whatever the truth, he decides, he has to do something, to prevent his honour from being besmirched by that bird-eyed man. He can’t help ageing, with all the consequences the process entails, but he is the strongest swordsman in the world, and he wants to die with the title grasped in his hands, which means… that he has to kill Mihawk before Mihawk comes to kill him.

🗡️ Finding where Mihawk lives is harder than he expected, but the Blue Crane is able to call in a few favours, and to track the younger swordsman down to his old family house where, he hears, Mihawk is expected to return soon for a family wedding. He arrives at night; he makes quick work of the guards standing outside and penetrates the house, hoping to take Mihawk by surprise, and unharmed - the only way, he must admit, he is sure to win. Unfortunately Mihawk is not at home, his return having been delayed because of the bad weather; but his sister is, sitting at her desk despite the late hour and busy organising the RSVPs she has received for the wedding, her white dress hanging from the wardrobe’s shutter, ready to be worn on the next morning. She hears a noise coming from the corridor, but before she has time to reach for her cane and go check, the door opens, and an older man appears in front of her; she has never seen him, but he is holding a sword in his hands, which explains everything - or at least most of it.

🗡️ “Mihawk is not here. Whatever you want, coming here without his permission is the stupidest thing you could have done.” she calmly states “Now you need to leave; return in two days, and you can challenge him…” The Blue Crane doesn’t listen; he understands this woman, whoever she is, is trying to protect him from Mihawk’s ire, which from his point of view is so offensive it hurts physically. If the younger man really doesn’t consider him a worthy opponent anymore on account of his age, he reasons, maybe he should prove the master of the house he’s still as dangerous as he was twenty years ago, and that it would be highly unwise to take him lightly. He’s usually not the sort to harm innocent civilians, especially women, and he realises that harming a relative (or fiancé? No, it can’t be his wedding as well, the Blue Crane reasons, this woman is too old) would make Mihawk even less merciful than he normally is, but he is not afraid (really, he’s not!), and this will at least mean his opponent will take him as seriously as he had on their first fight…

🗡️ To her credit, as she realises the man intends to hurt her, maybe to send a message to her brother, Mihawk’s sister reacts quickly; she grabs a heavy paperweight from her desk and throws it towards him, hoping to distract the man at least for a moment, and then quickly reaches for her cane, at the same time filling her lungs to scream. “Help me!! Please, help…!” Neither attempt yields results; the guards are dead, and even if she could reach her weapon she is no match for the Blue Crane, for his resentment and shame and hopeless rage. He grabs her by the hair; she can feel the gelid kiss of the blade across her naked throat, and a moment later a waterfall of blood is splattering over the front of her dress. She stammers, trying to ask for help, to ask for her brother to save her like so many times he has promised to do, even if it meant dying himself; she had forgotten how helplessness felt, and being reminded like this, now, is terrifying. She knows she is being killed for something Mihawk has (or hasn’t?) done, but feels no anger or resentment towards him; only sadness, and regret, they won’t have more time to spend together, and she won’t get to marry, and be happy with her husband, and perhaps even though she’s probably too old they had been planning to have…

🗡️ It’s brutal, and excruciatingly painful, and somehow dispassionate, the man not even looking at her as he robs Mihawk’s sister of the gift of life, as if he were carrying out a task he finds no interest or pleasure in, because he doesn’t care for her, who is simply a means to an end, a message he wants to send. But at least it’s quick, and a minute later, as he cleans his blade on the skirt of her dress, the Blue Crane is contemplating whether he may as well wait for his opponent or it’s best to leave and return once he’s sure Mihawk is at home, when suddenly he’s not alone anymore. Mihawk has returned; he has been hit by a sense of foreboding the moment he stepped on land, back from one of his first raids as a member of the Seven Warlords, a full hour later than expected and inexplicably sure something terrible was about to happen, and he has run home, fearing to find out his sister had been cheated on, or even beaten, by her fiancé, or that she had had an accident.

🗡️ The truth is immensely, irremediably worse, and he is more and more worried (more and more scared) as he finds no trace of the guards patrolling the house; he enters, and the Blue Crane is looking down on him, literally since the older man is standing at the top of the long staircase leading to the upper floor where the bedrooms are, and the man is not known for his violence towards women and civilians, not to mention his sister would pose no danger to him, but Mihawk just needs to look at the older man, at his gelid and triumphant expression, to feel his legs give way under him. What have you done to her, you bastard?!, he’s about to ask, a moment before realising he doesn’t need to.

🗡️ He doesn’t ask why; he doesn’t need to, and he doesn’t care. If only I hadn’t waited, he thinks, and a moment later he has grasped his sword and launched himself towards his enemy. Not a word is uttered. Swords clash; Mihawk’s fury is terrible, merciless and bloodthirsty, and the Blue Crane has barely the time to realise how big of a mistake he has made before Mihawk kills him, not using one his most sophisticated techniques, like most swordsmen would deem appropriate when facing a worthy opponent, but with a brutal, simple lunge at the heart - and through his back. He lets the body of his opponent fall tumbling down the stairs as he runs towards his sister’s room, abandoning his sword unheedingly on the floor and hoping against hope it’s not too late, that there’s still time to save her, but there isn’t, and while her body is still warm and the blood still dripping from her wound, Mihawk knows she’s already gone. He cries, holding her in his arms and kissing her brow, and remains by her side for what feels like hours, feeling himself victim of a terrible nightmare he cannot wake from and at the same time all too aware what has happened is true, real, and is only his fault.

🗡️ He doesn’t cry at the funeral, even though he knows his broken heart will never feel whole again; part of him wishes he could, even though it wouldn’t make him feel better, so much that he looks with envy at his sister’s friends (she has so many, she who had long thought she was too shy and demure and uninteresting to be liked) who weep openly, unashamed in their pain. He has informed his sister’s fiancé of the identity of her killer, as well as the fact he has been punished, but the other man doesn’t blame him, doesn’t accuse him of being the reason of the death of the woman they both love; part of Mihawk wishes he would, and while he has never particularly liked or respected his former-future brother-in-law, he now feels a kinship between them, and when the other man says he will never stop loving her, Mihawk believes him. They mourn her together; but in his heart, Mihawk also knows he’s saying farewell to the best part of him, the one capable of kindness and compassion, and that after spending his whole life despising their father for abandoning them, he has now committed an even more unforgivable sin.

🗡️ She is buried in the rose garden, her engagement ring on her finger and her favourite necklace on her breast. Mihawk plans on closing the house as soon as he can, without putting it on sale, to make sure nothing and no one will ever disturb his sister’s sleep; he has never felt so guilty and ashamed, and most of all so alone, in his life, but he knows he deserves that pain, he accepts and even relishes in it. He has let her down, he thinks as he looks at the casket being lowered in the grave, leaving her alone when she needed him the most, and even if he could he wouldn’t ask for forgiveness because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He is now the strongest swordsman in the world, uncontested, but he feels no joy; he feels the weight of his sword on his back, thinks back to a brief conversation he had with his sister years back, and the hint of a joyless smile appears on his lips.

🗡️ There are roses on her gravestone, their beauty as eternal as her kindness and grace deserved to be, and then the date of her birth and of her death, and an epitaph Mihawk has carved himself…

Lady Dracule Yoru. Beloved sister. Wherever I go, I will carry you with me…

[fanaticsnail]

big sister snail 🫰🏻

plz a garp fluff

(mad daddy issues mmkkm)

Bonnie Lass

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,659

Summary: As the assistant to one of the warlords of the seas, it is your task to man the small den-den-mushi earpiece assigned to Mihawk: managing his assignments, scribing the notes of importance. As the receiver drones on, you answer the call and are greeted to the familiar brogue of the Vice-Admiral you had not yet met face to face. 

Themes: age gap, flirtation, “The Garpening”, Vice-Admiral!Garp x Assistant!Reader, mutual pining, faceless swooning, den-den-mushi calls, suggestive dialogue (not heavily NSFW but implied themes), f!reader, gendered terms used. 

Notes: Garp do be looking mighty fine at the faceless end of the transponder ear piece… I blame @sordidmusings and @carrotsunshine for this. Came out a lot more flirty than intended, but then again - it's Garp.

The vocal hum of the small shell of the den-den mushi had your head lulling on your shoulders. A sigh depleting from your chest alongside an eye roll had you place the firm shell against the shell of your ear, hooking over the curvature and securing it against your lobe. 

Being Lord Dracule Mihawk’s personal assistant was no easy feat; securing such a luxury to work for a man of high reputation challenged you in all the ways that mattered. His intimidating aura, alongside his world renown title as “World’s Greatest Swordsman,” had challengers from all four points of the seas calling his receiver at all hours of the day. 

Setting down your morning coffee against your work station, you huffed out an exasperated breath, and pressed down against the shell of the receiver to begin a verbal dialogue with the recipient at the other end. 

"Lord Dracule Mihawk residence, state your name and purpose," you drawled monotonously with a practiced disdain, fishing out your notepad and pen to begin to notarize any key points to the call. A small pause occurred before the familiar rumble of a partially hushed tone drew a shudder through your spine. 

"...Oh, Bonnie Lass. I wassnae prepared to hear such a sweet melody from a pretty lady so early in the morn,” the voice hushed against your earpiece, your heart swelling at each syllable he graced you with. You shook your head to stifle your nerves, a smile threatening to break over your lips.

"Good morning to you too, Vice Admiral,” you purred professionally into the earpiece, “Shall I fetch Lord Mihawk for you?" The soft crackle of distortion hid the verbal growl in refutation from him. 

Of all of the calls you had been privy to receive, the ones you looked forward to the most belonged to the rumbly drawl of the marine vice-admiral. The initial meeting of his gruff aggression to your playful vocal tone immediately held him smitten against his desk, leaning his chin on the heel of his palm and a dopey smile gracing over his features. 

He had not felt this way for an individual in some time, never allowing himself to give in to entertaining the thought of joining himself so affectionately with a woman, for anything more than a brief fling. As his gruffness met the honey-sweetness of your voice, all words of caution were flung to the wind as he drank in each word you purred at him.

You were much the same in a similar sense. Your duties performing as Mihawk’s assistant held every waking moment of your attention, constantly chasing the broody warlord around with itineraries, notes and alerts, and jobs he’d received at the call of the marine headquarters. 

"Allow me the luxury of hearing your voice a little longer, Lass,” his voice held a small promise of your regular flirtation engaging with one another, hitching at the ‘L’ in ‘Lass’, “You know what your pretty melody does to a man like me."

Rotating your head on your neck, you stifled the rising tension of your fluttered heartbeat. You could only admit to yourself what the brutish whispered tone of the Vice-Admiral roused in you, refusing to speak it to light with a verbal confirmation. A small smirk rose to your features, the hardened pelt of your heartbeat elevating in your chest.

"Vice-Admiral, you're making me blush,” your coy purr called to him, serenading him with your flirtatious tone. Although you could not see him, his rumbled cocky laugher held you hostage to his comments.

"That's not all I could make you do, Lass,” his voice rumbled against your earpiece, his drawl vibrating against your eardrum, causing your blush to rise and follicles to stand to attention to his every command. 

Although you had never met face to face, you could tangibly feel his smile within the mouthpiece of the den-den-mushi. He had informed you prior that he was more than twice your age, not a factor you had pushing aside your flirtatious words and halting them completely. Although your curiosity held you bound to his words, you refused to look up imagery of him in fear of shattering the illusion you had crafted for yourselves.

Garp was sure he had pushed a boundary with that final statement, anxiety pulsing at his neck with an intense rapidity. Panicked, his eyes floated to his desk and catching his attention over the novel he had been reading over the past few nights.

"Did you read that chapter we were talking about yesterday?" he’d asked you suddenly with the craving the answer you held behind your smile. You looked to the leather bound book beside your notepad; it’s words sprawled over your desk beneath its open pages.

"I did, Vice-Admiral. It was beautiful,” you recounted the playful and romantic words written on their page, “I especially enjoyed the part where they met face to face for the first time-." Your playful and longing tone was met with a small, dry laugh from the vice-admiral.

"-I know what you're hinting at, Wee Bonnie,” his voice cut you from your thoughts, his brogue causing a subtle swoon within your chest, “Your boss won't let you come on his next task, so we're not going to meet for a while yet.” 

Almost allowing a small whine to depart from your lips at such a confirmation, you instead hardened your resolve and played into his wild flirtations. 

“Vice-Admiral-,” you began, halting by his next rumbled words alone.

“-Garp, lass,” his vocal reprimand called to you, “Call me Garp, wee Bonnie. We’ve spoken so much of late, you have no need for such titles anymore.” Your heart swelled, a warm flush rising to your cheeks at such an utterance from a powerful figure. 

“Garp,” your voice called to him, his body curling into the receiver further for every drawn out syllable you poured onto him, “I will be ushered into whichever seas you call my lord to be. Should you desire to meet face to face-.”

“-I shall forever desire to meet such a beautiful woman. I crave hearing your laugh in person,” he halted the end to your declaration with a confirmation of his own. Your heart fluttered at the rising anxiety depicted at the mouthpiece end of your receiver. After a few moments pause, your smile had your words beaming through the transponder.

“Was there a particular reason you called the Dracule residence, Garp?” Your voice ticked at the end, hoping to stifle any personal favoritism from the vice-admiral at the other end of the call. No such stiflement occurred, the vice-admiral’s voice crackling through the static of the den-den-mushi to affirm you instead.

“Just wanted to hear your voice, Bonnie Lass,” he confessed, his breathy voice dancing within the same frequency of your heartbeat. Your giggle rose a swell within the vice-admiral, his longing for you physically depicted within his risen hue of a pink flush. 

“You have heard me, Garp. Does this mean I will not hear from you until you call for my employer again?” You quipped, your smile dancing on your teeth with its humorous jest. 

“If I had my way,” his rumble broke you from your taunting, hanging on his every syllable with glazed orbs and dancing heart elevation, “I’d have you on my lap and whispering your praises into my ear each time the sun rose and set each day.” You drew your dominant hand up, clasping over your lips to halt a girlish squeal from departing from your lips.Taking several moments to halt your rapid heartbeat and youthful anticipation, you drew the mouthpiece into your lips to allow every vocal utterance to flee from your lips. 

“Vice-Admiral,” you gasped breathily, flicking your tongue out to dampen your lips as you hardened your resolve, “I do not think you could handle such an attentive partner fawning over you on your lap.” You heard his breath suck in through his mouth, halting as it hit his chest.

“Garp,” He corrected you in a breathy whisper, “Call me Garp.” 

“Garp,” your voice purred as you continued your train of thought, sitting back against your office chair and kicking your right foot as it hooked over your left knee, “You would not know where to place your hands, should you ever find my company upon your lap.” Although the crackle of distortion drew against the earpiece of the den-den-mushi, it did very little to withdraw the growl from the other end of the call.

“I could think of several places I would place my hands, Bonnie Lass,” he uttered in a low rumble allowing great distance to fall between each syllable, “You’d be begging and crying for my attention to remain in a certain few key places.” 

At that final confirmation, you allowed a girlish giggle to flee from your chest sooner than you could contain it. Each small, melodic twinkle of your laugh held Garp captive beneath the whisper of your breath. 

“Are you flirting with me, Vice-Admiral?” Your playful voice called to him, his den-den-mushi staring at him with a vacant stare. He held onto your every word, huddling closer to the mouth-piece of the transponder.

“I will always flirt with you, me wee Bonnie,” he confessed, swiping his hand over his hair to rid him of his tingling nerves, “Why do you think I call on Lord Dracule Mihawk so much?” You allowed several moments to contemplate his question.

“Because his swordsmanship outnumbers you and the marines one thousand to one?” You offered him weakly, your resolve as half-hearted as your soul cried it to be.

“Because I desire to hear your voice,” he confessed. Your breath hitched within your throat, your heart hanging upon each word he uttered, “You are the reason I summon him each morning, and call on this line before I sign off for the day. Just to hear the small rise in your voice, Bonnie Lass,” he continued. You could almost tangibly feel the rake of his index finger against your jaw to usher you into himself. You could feel his presence, the cologne he adorned upon his neck, jaw and wrists through each utterance. 

“Mihawk has certain skills we desire to abuse, yes. But, you,” He continued, the rasp turning breathy and slow in each drawl, “Oh, you. You are the reason I am at the end of my transponder in the wee hours of the morn, holding myself hostage to my desk at a small utterance of your voice.” His confession held you stationary against your desk, your breath refusing to dance in order to release any tone from your lips. 

“You are why I call on Mihawk so much, lass,” He continued, “Your voice makes me feel young- makes me want to be a better man.” You hung on his words like a lifeline coaxing you to shore. You slunk down onto your desk, cradling your lips within your palm to stifle your breath. 

“What I would do to such an innocent flower of Kuraigana,” his raspy rumble teetered off to verbalize his rising stutter, “I’d have you thrust against my desk, screaming my name like a prayer as I sink my teeth and lips against your sensitive flesh. The pleasure I could grant you with my lips alone would have you bound to my bedchambers with desire and longing-.”

“-Is that Garp?” The voice of Dracule Mihawk broke you away from your flush, shaking your head at each flirtatious thought pouring from his lips, “Another assignment so early?” 

“My lord,” you bowed to him, your voice breaking the vice-admiral away from his utterances of flirtatious promise, “The Vice-Admiral was only calling to offer you praise in completing your prior assignment-.”

“-That’s not all I was praising, me wee Bonnie Lass-,” Garp's voice broke you away from your concentration in relaying your verbal commands to the lord of Kuraigana.

“Is there another assignment, or shall we halt the call?” Mihawk’s verbal warning ticked at the corner of his mouth as it rose into a knowing smirk. Your startled expression allerted all Mihawk needed to know of your call, the dance of his knowing smirk threatening to break through as he claimed the shell-end of the den-den-mushi receiver from your earpiece. 

“Vice-Admiral,” Mihawk’s voice called over the mouthpiece, “The office hours are from the time the sun rises in the east blue, until its hues dance in the evening over the grand line.” Your voice hitched, the silence unbearable in the office alone with your employer. You caught the hitch of his breath, the swell in his pupils and the growl in his throat as he handed back the receiver into your hands.

“Make it quick,” He uttered, placing the shell once more within your ear, “We leave Kuraigana within the hour.” Mihawk walked away, the pointed tip of Yoru dancing at his ankles with each swell swing. You slowly drew the mouthpiece up to your lips, hanging on the silence depicted within the static. 

“Vice-Admiral?” You called to him, your voice timid and direct. Your question was met with silence on the other end, no swell of a voice, nor sneer of a whisper depicted within the earpiece of the transponder. As you drew a reluctant hand up to end the call, the raspy voice you craved swelled within the earpiece.

“I’m still here, Bonnie Lass,” it called to you. You stifled the need to stifle the flames of joy within your chest at the swell of his voice, your heart beating with an unnatural rapidity. 

“I am grateful, Vice-Admiral,” you confessed, your withheld breath leaving  you as the flutter of Mihawk’s tailcoat disappeared from view. After several moments had departed in silence, Garp’s voice called once more to you.

“It seems we are to meet face-to-face afterall,” his chuckle did very little to stifle his anxiety within, “Mihawk has granted you passage to stay within the halls of my vessel while he rids the land of the plague of piracy.” Your heartbeat elevated, swooning at the mere thought of putting a face to the name of such a powerful man. Although you spoke daily, your anxiety played a heavy part in meeting such a decorated man within the marines. 

Sucking in a heavy breath and hardening your resolve, you turned your attention back to the parchment you began to notetake upon. 

“In what capacity will we be meeting, sir?” You asked him, your voice stifling your anxiety with succession. You heard Garp suck in an anxious breath of his own, halting his racing thoughts with free words than his jumbled thoughts would allow. 

“I would have you wined and dined,” he confessed, his voice low and laden with grandiose splendor, “And while your boss concludes with the heavier business, I will look forward to spoiling you with the splendor my toils have offered me.” Your heart fluttered at the notion, before the imagery began to plague you of what ‘after’ may look like at the conclusion of your dalliance. Before you had the time to speak of such woes, your words were stolen from you at the utterances of the vice-admiral you had come to adore. 

“It is now that I may offer my apologies to you, love,”  He uttered into the mouthpiece, “I desired to not shatter the illusion we had created for each other. Believe me, Bonnie Lass. I had intended to leave you faceless in my dreams. But-,” his voice drew off into a small raspy hum, the growl of his voice perking up at the end of his last utterance, “-I had found a den-den-mushi graph of your likeness,” your anxiety began to thicken in it’s stupor, only halting at the further compliments of the man behind the call, “And I had found myself hypnotized beneath your beauty.” 

Unsure of how to feel at this utterance, you allowed a small, apprehensive giggle to depart from your lips. Sensing your uneasiness, the den-den-mushi shell on your desk began to vibrate and drone on in its print of a piece of parchment paper. 

“That is me in all my rapidly aging glory, lass. The last shot I had received from the militia,” Garp’s voice confessed. You eagerly reached for the parchment, flipping the page over to reveal his face to you. 

He was handsome. His eyes relayed a kindness and ferocity you had not encountered in your experience prior. His silvered hair, his wispy accents atop his jaw. Everything held you captive and plagued by every thought you had sent his way in the near year you had spoken with him.

After taking a moment to collect yourself, your smile returned to your lips.

“I am very much looking forward to meeting you in person, vice-admiral,” you confessed breathily, staring into the eyes of the print within your fingertips, “Wined and dined? Is that all the simplicity you offer for me, Vice-Admiral?” 

The rumbling chuckle held your attention, the peaks of your hair follicles lying at the back of your neck alerting you to danger did naught but encourage you. 

“Bonnie lass,” his rumbled voice purred into the earpiece of the receiver causing a shudder to run through your from coccyx to crown, “I would wine and dine you to your heart's content; pleasing you with many a ministration with my hands, mouth and tongue until no thoughts occur within that pretty head of yours except how good I make you feel.”

Your soul screamed, your heart heavy with the burden of desire at each utterance of his fighting words. Sucking in a sharp breath, you cradled the earpiece into your mouth as you quietly uttered to him your desiring praises.

“After all this time, you think so little of me to sit there and take what I’m given?” You challenged him, your voice purring at each of your affirmations, “Vice-Admiral,” you drew your tone down. Shepherding the earpiece against your lips to quiet your tone further, “You may wine and dine me should you truly desire it,” you rotated your neck on your shoulders, ridding it from a click located within, “But only I would make you dance between the borders of ‘so good’ and ‘too much’ before I have your writhing between my legs in a dance of absolute bliss.”

Before Garp could offer a retort to your challenge, you continued your taunt in a low tone within the mouth piece. 

“Your lips will tremble, your eyes will flutter in their daze,” you continued, "I’ll have you in every sense of the word before you’ll fall to your knees before me, offering me praise and adoration while begging for me to continue.” A rumbled shudder rolled over his spine and shoulders as he leaned into the call, focussing on your every word. 

“A-And the fact that I’m a little older?” His voice called to you, begging for you to enable him of his lust for you, “You are not perplexed nor disheartened?”

“I am intrigued, sir,” you rephrased his unspoken question, drawing out your syllables with your tongue and teeth, “And I shall take what I am given with a smile on my face.”

Several unspoken moments fell between you, neither one to break away from the illusion that perplexed you. You sucked your lips between your teeth, gnawing at them while the vice-admiral contemplated your words. A shuddered inhale revealed he was ready to inform you of his thoughts.

“I am ready to receive my orders, my lady,” he sighed, his voice riddled with anticipation and desire. You allowed yourself a moment to collect your racing thoughts to form cohesion, offering him a sensual verbal command of your own.

“I look forward to giving them and more to you, Vice-Admiral,” your smirk was depicted through the lifeline Garp held onto. Hs white-knuckled grip on the mouthpiece of the transponder and the desk below his fingertips shuddering with each passing moment he had not held you within his arms. He shuddered in a heavy breath, furrowing his brows in concentration. 

“Would you allow me the luxury of giving you a kiss?” his voice quirked up, his tone subtle and almost boyish in question. You allowed yourself a small giggle in response, leaning into the desk to grace him with an answer.

“All this talk of worship and orders, Vice-Admiral,” you laughed a huffed giggle, “It would be a shame if such lust fell to waste.” The rumbled voice of brutish confirmation held your ears lingering on every utterance of the words departing from his stubbled lips.

“Until we meet face to face, me wee Bonnie Lass,” The vice-Admiral’s voice sung to you.

“Until such a time, Vice-Admiral,” you uttered in confirmation, your vocal tone filled with youthful longing yourself.

Concluding the call with a mischievous grin, you drew your eyes up to the door of your office where Mihawk was leaning against its frame. Your smile never ceased, prompting Mihawk’s smirk to tick up his left hand corner. 

“Vice-Admiral Garp?” he asked, his brow also elevating with his grin. You shrugged, nodding in confirmation and biting back the rise of your smile. Mihawk sighed and shook his head, turning from the door and walking down the hallway.

“We will find a way to exploit this, I’m sure of it,” he called over his shoulder, “But for now, get packing. We leave in an hour.” 

You jumped to your feet, ignoring the next vibration of the den-den-mushi call in favor of following the orders of your boss. Your eagerness had you bouncing with each step, causing Mihawk to let an exasperated breath to leave his body at your youthful giddiness. 

A meeting with the Vice-Admiral, with threats and promises interwoven from his lips, had you buzzing and bobbing with each minute that ticked by. You hoped you both would live up to the hype you had created in the small pocket of the universe, no doubt in your mind that it would. 

Tag list: I am sorry about "The Garpening." He's got a hold of me, and I'm taking you lot with me. @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @feral-artistry

[macbethsymphony]

Port Wine & Sake | Chapter 4

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

wc: 7.7k

Chapter rating: NSFW

Whole fic content/warnings: NSFW, 18+, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, slight alcohol abuse, dysfunctional family dynamics, past trauma

Summary: You were tired of the fucking nuisances freeloading in your brother's castle, but it seemed you had no choice but to endure. A tumultuous romance between Roronoa Zoro and Dracule Mihawk's sister, set throughout the 2 year time skip.

Chapters [1 & 2] ◈ [3]

Masterlist

Also on AO3 if you prefer

Tag: @itsagoodluckkiss

Chapter 4: The First Month — Midnight Wanderings

As Roronoa Zoro’s training intensified, he often found himself roaming the halls in the dead of night. The adrenaline from Mihawk's relentless regimen still coursed through his veins, keeping him awake when he should have been sleeping. It was during one of these restless nights that he first glimpsed you wandering the eerie corridors, your figure shrouded in a ghostly robe that billowed behind you like a specter haunting the damned cursed castle.

At first, he almost mistook you for Perona, the way your silhouette moved with an ethereal grace, illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the high windows was otherworldly. He almost expected you to disappear through a wall, almost called out but something stayed his tongue—a faint trace of cinnamon and something uniquely you, a scent that clung to the stillness of the darkness and pricked at his senses. Zoro had hesitated, his annoyance at the interruption of his solitude mingling with a begrudging curiosity.

He watched as you moved with a purposeful stride, the unusual softness of your features catching his eye despite himself. You seemed driven by some unseen force, your path illuminated by the thin glow of the moon. He followed you from a distance, justifying it to himself as idle boredom. The corridors were silent save for the quiet echo of your footsteps and the far away hum of the sea beyond.

That first night, you had simply wandered back to your room. Zoro had stood there, hidden in the shadows, watching as you disappeared behind your door. The encounter left him with a lingering sense of intrigue that gnawed at him, an unwanted added distraction he couldn’t shake.

The next night, sleeplessness plagued him again and he found himself in the halls, hoping—against his better judgment—to glimpse you once more. But as he roamed the corridors aimlessly, you were nowhere to be seen.

You could feel yourself slowly unraveling. You knew you were sleepwalking again. Your feet were sore from your endless wanderings, exhaustion loomed over your shoulders but most of all you were bored. Bored out of your fucking mind. Roronoa Zoro had finally started his training and as you’d promised Mihawk, this meant the end of your entertainment.

The little swordsman was even avoiding you. You weren’t sure if you should be flattered of that fact or annoyed that he had seemingly disappeared from your quotidian. It was truly a dreadful situation. A tragedy.

You kneaded the dough with a bit more force than necessary. Perona had asked for bagels. Well asked wasn’t quite the adequate word. Demanded was more like it.

The dough resisted under your hands, an extremely poor substitute for the excitement Zoro's presence had brought. You glanced out the window, where you could just make out the training grounds in the distance. The rhythmic clanging of swords carried faintly on the breeze, a reminder of where your distraction had gone.

With a sigh, you focused back on your task. Perona's demands weren't going to go away on their own and you had learned that keeping the specter princess happy greatly improved your peace. Besides, it wasn’t the worst of requests. You quite enjoyed bagels yourself.

As you shaped the dough into perfect circles, your mind wandered, replaying moments with Zoro. Oh, how easily he flustered. How he twitched and squirmed so beautifully beneath your stare. You bet Mihawk was having a field day training him.

You sighed.

It was truly a shame, such great entertainment wasted on sword training.

”What’s got you sighing like that?” Perona interrupted your train of thought. The girl floated in from behind you, peering over your shoulder as you worked.

”Wouldn’t you like to know?” You smirked, not looking up from the dough.

She huffed, hovering closer. “Oh please, he’s not THAT interesting,” she remarked, leaning in with a mischievous grin.

You shot her a sideways glance, a knowing smile playing on your lips. “No? You should see the way he reacts when you catch him off guard. It’s priceless.”

Perona rolled her eyes. “You two siblings are insane,” she stated. “He’s not interesting. He’s just another swordsman obsessed with his training. Entirely boring and entirely not cute.” She poked at one of the dough circles. “And yet here you are, making bagels and sighing about him.”

You gave her an overdramatic shrug. “What can I say? Boredom has overtaken my life once more.”

“As I said, entirely insane.” Perona floated to the other side of the counter, facing you. “You even played doll and dressed him. What a complete waste.”

You chuckled, the memory of his reaction as your nail had grazed his abdomen delightfully sweet on your mind. “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, girl? Do you desire new clothes too?”

”Don’t call me like that.” She pouted. “How old are you anyways?”

”It’s really none of your business,” you replied, your tone a touch too short.

She frowned at that, her passing interest growing into something more concrete. “What? Are you actually younger than me?”

Your jaw clenched, and you regretted your words. You should have simply given her a bullshit answer. “I wouldn’t know, Perona. Father wasn’t particularly keen on birthdays.”

That seemed to shut her up for a second. She let out a small “oh” of realization as your statement sank in.

You couldn’t help the hint of bitterness coloring your tone as you continued. “Don’t dwell on it too much. It’s not something I tend to think about, myself.”

For a moment Perona hovered in silence, seemingly lost in thought. Then with a shake of her head, she switched gears, returning to her mischievous demeanor. “So, about those bagels. Any chance I can get a heart-shaped one?”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile gracing your lips once more. “I can try. No promises though.”

”And, yes,” she said. “I would also like new clothes. So make me a dress.”

You laughed, a hearty laugh. “Now, why would I do that?”

As Roronoa Zoro swung his swords in precise, furious arcs, the rhythm of his training became a battleground of its own. Amidst the clash of steel and the exertion of muscle, your presence haunted him like a persistent ghost. He couldn't escape the memory of your laughter, the way you effortlessly turned your interactions into a game of wits that left him off balance. It was infuriating how you managed to get under his skin with such ease.

He needed to get stronger, he reminded himself. For Luffy. His captain should never have been fighting alone.

Each swing of his swords echoed with frustration. The more he trained, the more his thoughts drifted to you—your sharp retorts, the way you so easily unraveled his composure with a mere glance or a fleeting touch. It was maddening, it had been days since you last played with him. And yet, you were still a torment that gnawed at him relentlessly.

No.

He needed to get stronger. He wouldn’t let what happened in Sabaody happen again.

Zoro’s mind flashed back to the moments that lingered like a curse—the curve of your lips as you teased him, the warmth of your breath on his skin, and the tantalizing scent of cinnamon that clung to the air long after you had left. Those memories, intertwined with the intensity of his training, threatened to drive him to madness.

Damn it.

He needed to get stronger. For his crew, for his friends.

He gritted his teeth, focusing harder on his strikes, hoping to drown out the reminiscences with the physical exertion. But no matter how fiercely he swung his swords, your presence remained like an indelible mark etched upon his consciousness. The memory of your softened features in the moonlight, the way that sheer robe you wore at night, that short slip and how it left nearly nothing to the imagination.

Fuck.

He needed—

"You're distracted, Roronoa," Mihawk's voice cut through the air, bringing Zoro's attention back to the present. The warlord observed him with his characteristic stoicism, but there was a hint of something else in his gaze—almost amusement.

Zoro’s mouth twisted at being read so easily. “I’m not,” he stubbornly denied.

“Those forms of yours would disagree.” Mihawk stepped forward, drawing his sword. “I would suggest you don’t entertain my sister’s antics, but I doubt that is within your control.”

Zoro’s jaw clenched as Mihawk’s words hit their mark. He knew the warlord saw through him, saw through the façade of focus he tried to maintain during training. Swinging his swords with renewed determination, Zoro fought to regain his composure, but the memory of you kneeling before him as you laced up his pants lingered like a stubborn shadow.

“I’m not distracted,” Zoro insisted, his voice edged with frustration as he parried Mihawk’s assault.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, his swordplay graceful and precise, effortlessly overpowering him. “Denial suits you poorly, Roronoa.”

The memory of the tips of your fingers grazing his skin plagued his mind once more and his strike faltered, allowing the warlord to bring him to his knees, blade at his throat.

“I can see what she meant,” he continued with a rare smile. “You are delightfully easy to rile up.”

Zoro scowled.

“Emotions play a large part in winning battles, Roronoa.” He lowered his sword, letting Zoro rise. “Learn to control them.”

He needed to get stronger.

The second time Roronoa Zoro caught you wandering in the dead of night was days later. He had almost convinced himself that the first encounter was a one-time fluke, a bizarre chapter in the castle’s ghostly narrative. The sprawling fortress was enveloped in darkness, the moonlight barely filtering through the heavy clouds, casting an eerie, fragmented glow along the stone corridors. The silence was thick, oppressive, wrapping around him like a shroud.

It was a rare solace, this peaceful solitude. A respite from Perona’s incessant chatter and, more importantly, a break from the piercing scrutiny of your stare.

Your stare...

It lingered in his mind, unsettling, annoying. He gritted his teeth.

It was the soft echo of steps that made him stop, barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a series of faint, smeared footprints on the usually pristine surface of the marble floor. He bent down, observing the dirt tracks and, disturbingly enough, specks of blood that marked the path. Irritation flared further within him—why did you have to bring chaos even in your sleep?

Still, he quickened his pace, following the trail. The delicate scent of cinnamon pricked his senses, signaling that he was drawing closer. You moved slowly, your features bathed in the dim, cold glow of the moon. Your eyes were half-lidded, your expression serene, almost childlike. The sight was unsettling, and yet, there was a beauty to it that he reluctantly acknowledged.

A soft murmur escaped your lips as you reached a wall, barely audible in the stillness. Zoro strained to hear, trying to catch the fragmented words. “Father... locked all the doors... trapped...” you mumbled, nails digging into the stone. “The doors...can’t get out…”

There was no distress in your tone, only a grim acceptance that tugged at something he didn’t like deep within him. He dimly spotted tear tracks glistening on your cheeks.

Eerily beautiful.

Before he could take another step, a figure emerged from the shadows. Mihawk moved with his usual grace, his gaze fixed on you with a softness Zoro hadn’t known the warlord was capable of.

Zoro froze, watching as Mihawk reached out and placed a hand over yours, stopping the mindless digging of your fingers. “You’re safe,” Mihawk’s voice was a low murmur, soothing. “No one can harm you here.”

You didn’t turn to Mihawk, your eyes still unfocused, far away. “But... Father... the doors...”

“Hush, now,” Mihawk whispered, his tone softening further. “I’m here. There are no locked doors.”

You seemed to relax in his hold. “Father,” you stumbled, and Mihawk settled you. “Father’ll be angry.” Your voice was so quiet he barely heard the last few words.

The warlord’s stare caught Zoro’s eyes, and he flinched under the coldness of the amber gaze. “Father’s not here,” Mihawk’s tone was tender, a sharp contrast to the expression on his features.

He should not care. Really should not care.

He watched as Mihawk picked you up effortlessly, as your face buried itself in his coat.

“Forget what you’ve seen, Roronoa,” Mihawk said as he passed him.

Forget, huh?

Yes, he could do that. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

Or at least, he tried to convince himself he didn’t.

"You've started wandering again," Mihawk's voice, calm and measured, cut through the stillness as he strode into the dining room.

You winced, pausing mid-bite. The weariness from your restless nights was evident in the dark circles under your eyes, a testament to the strain you were under.

"I am aware," you replied, your words tinged with frustration, each syllable a sharp edge against the tranquility of the early morning hour.

He observed you silently for a moment, his gaze inscrutable, a flicker of concern hidden deep within his amber stare. "It's becoming a problem," he said finally, his tone devoid of accusation, merely stating a fact that hung heavily between you.

You brought the piece of bread back to your lips, chewing with a slight annoyance, not tasting the buttery jam as you watched him pull out a chair and sit down across from you. The quiet scrape against the floor felt unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent room.

You sighed, the weight of his stare pressing down on you, an invisible burden that seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. "As I said, I am aware it has," you muttered, the depths of your voice trembling almost imperceptibly, a crack in your usually composed facade.

Mihawk's sharp eyes missed nothing. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his posture uncharacteristically relaxed. "You need rest," he said, his tone softer now, gentle. "This can't continue."

You looked down, avoiding his penetrating gaze. "It’ll pass," the vulnerability in your voice betraying how close you were to crumbling. “You know it always does.” The words felt heavy, laden with the exhaustion that had settled deep in your bones, making every night a battle you seemed destined to lose.

Mihawk's stance eased a little at your answer. "It seems our guest has also been following you on your nightly escapades,” he added, almost as though it was an afterthought.

Your gaze snapped back to him at that, a slow, satisfied smile spreading on your lips. “Has he?” you cooed with sudden interest. “And here I thought our little swordsman was trying to avoid me.”

A flicker of amusement danced in Mihawk’s eyes, though it was fleeting. "It seems you have a way of captivating even the most unwilling participants," he replied, his tone light yet laced with an underlying seriousness.

You leaned back in your chair, a smirk playing on your lips. "Oh, I’m well aware of that," you said, the confidence in your voice masking the exhaustion that still clung to you.

Mihawk raised an eyebrow, leaning back as well. “I would appreciate it if you stopped distracting my student.”

You were about to say something clever, maybe a little provocative when the sound of arguing made the words disappear on your tongue.

“Are you dense or something?” Perona's sharp screech sliced through the air, her annoyance palpable as she directed her scolding at Zoro. “We’re in this room three times a day, minimum. How is it possible you still don’t know your way around?”

Zoro shot her a sidelong glance, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “I made it here, didn’t I?”

Perona rolled her eyes dramatically, her exasperation evident. “Barely. It took us over an hour. For someone who supposedly helped defeat Moria-sama, your sense of direction is abysmal.”

Zoro scowled at Perona, the frustration clear in the tightness of his jaw. “I didn’t ask for your help,” he muttered, throwing himself in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Perona huffed, her hands on her hips. “Well, you should. If you keep wandering around like this, you’ll never make it to the dining room in time for breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.”

The tension between them was almost tangible, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at their bickering. “Now, now,” you interjected smoothly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Leave him alone, Perona. It’s not every day someone manages to get lost in a straight corridor.”

”It is quite the miracle you ever make it to training,” Mihawk added.

Zoro’s scowl deepened, his pride clearly bruised by the collective teasing. “I didn’t ask for your commentary either,” he grumbled, the frustration evident in his voice.

You smiled sweetly, leaning back in your chair. “Just trying to help,” you said, feigning innocence. “You seemed to be having a rough time, little swordsman.”

His jaw twitched visibly. “I’m not little,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You laughed.

Zoro's breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles screaming in protest, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth more intense with each exhale. He tried to ready himself, tightening his grip on his swords, bracing for the onslaught he knew was coming. Mihawk’s eyes bore into him. Sharp. Calculating.

“Again,” Mihawk’s voice cut through the air, cold and unyielding.

Zoro barely had time to raise his blades before Mihawk was upon him, his strikes swift and merciless. Each clash of their swords reverberated through Zoro’s bones, the sheer force of Mihawk’s blows driving him back, step by agonizing step.

He tried to focus, tried to find an opening, but Mihawk’s movements were a blur, a dance of deadly precision that left Zoro scrambling to keep up. His vision wavered, the edges of his sight tinged with red. Was he hallucinating? The warlord’s strikes seemed more brutal than usual, each one carrying a weight that threatened to crush Zoro’s spirit.

“Is this all you’ve got, Roronoa?” Mihawk’s evident boredom was a dagger to Zoro’s pride. “You’ll never defeat me with such feeble attempts.”

Gritting his teeth, Zoro pushed forward, his swords a whirlwind of steel. But no matter how fiercely he attacked, Mihawk was always one step ahead, his defenses impenetrable. Zoro’s frustration mounted with each failed attempt, his body growing heavier with every passing moment.

Sweat dripped from Zoro’s brow, mixing with the blood that trickled from a cut above his eye. His grip on his swords faltered for a split second, and Mihawk seized the opportunity, disarming him with a single, decisive strike. Zoro’s swords clattered to the ground, and he fell to one knee, gasping for breath.

“Get up,” Mihawk ordered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “You’re not done yet.”

Zoro’s vision swam, the trees and the sky spinning around him. He reached for his swords, his hands trembling. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to stand, to face Mihawk once more.

“Again,” Mihawk said, his tone unwavering.

Zoro lunged forward, his movements fueled by sheer willpower. But Mihawk’s blade met his with a resounding clash, effortlessly deflecting his attacks. Each strike sent shockwaves through Zoro’s body, his limbs growing heavier, his breaths more labored.

“You’re slow,” Mihawk taunted, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Predictable.”

Zoro’s frustration reached a boiling point. With a roar, he unleashed a flurry of attacks, his swords moving with lightning speed. But it was a hopeless struggle, the warlord's swordsmanship was flawless. He parried with ease, his expression never wavering, not a drop of sweat or dirt marring his skin.

His vision blurred further as exhaustion and pain took their toll. He could barely keep his grip on his swords. He stumbled, his legs buckling beneath him, and Mihawk’s blade was there, waiting, knocking him to the ground with a final, decisive blow.

Zoro lay, his chest heaving, every breath a struggle. He could hear Mihawk's footsteps approaching, each step a reminder of his failure.

“Do you see now, Roronoa?” Mihawk’s voice was calm, almost gentle, but the words cut deeper than any sword. “You have strength, but you lack control. You have determination, but you lack discipline. Until you learn to master both, you will never defeat me.”

Zoro’s vision darkened, his body refusing to move. He could hear Mihawk walking away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

“Ghost girl, patch him up,” Mihawk's command was sharp, the final blow to Zoro's pride.

He lay there long after Perona finished patching him up, watching as the sky shifted from its usual gray to hues of twilight. It was only him and the moon, and even though his mind was swirling with pain and exhaustion it was still a peaceful moment.

With a grunt he sat up, his eyes falling on his swords, still scattered on the ground. Slowly, painfully, he crawled over to them, his fingers wrapping around the familiar hilts. Each movement was agony, but he refused to give in, to let his body dictate his limits.

With unwavering determination he stood up and he brought Wado Ichimonji to his mouth. He got into stance and then… then he saw you.

You, tittering on the edge of the balustrade. You, your hair flowing in the cold night wind. You, ethereal under the moonlight.

His breath halted.

For a moment he thought you’d jump and his sword fell from his mouth and he instinctively took a step forward, not that he could do anything from so far away. And his heart both stopped and beat too hard in his ears.

But then you simply backed away and disappeared. Disappeared as though you had only been a hallucination his psyche had conjured out of desperation.

And he cursed himself. Cursed the hold you had on him. Cursed the fact that he was not able to keep you from his mind.

You were always vaguely aware that you were dreaming, but your consciousness never quite allowed you to return to reality. You knew the halls you wandered through were not real, that you were not back in the nightmare of your childhood, and yet the dreams persisted. The walls around you were the same cold, unforgiving stone, the same locked doors and barred windows. There was also a faint awareness that you were sleepwalking, the sensation of your feet against the floor just a little too real for it to be purely a dream.

But the scent of that familiar cologne filled the air, the unmistakable smell making your heart race with fear and anger. It was always there in these dreams, a cruel reminder of the control he had wielded over your life. You wandered aimlessly, your feet carrying you down usual paths, your hands brushing against the rough stone walls.

The memories forever played out in your mind, a loop of pain and helplessness. You could hear his voice, sharp and demanding, as if he were right behind you. You flinched at the phantom sound of his steps, your own quickening as you tried to escape his hold. But no matter how fast you moved, you were always trapped, always locked in this prison of memories.

Your fingers traced the edges of a door, the wood splintered and worn. You tried the handle, knowing it would be locked, but the compulsion to try was too strong. It rattled in your hand, and a grim acceptance overcame you.

Your gaze locked with the one window you knew was never sealed.

It would be so easy.

As you pried the panes open, the cold night air rushed in, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the halls. You felt a momentary sense of freedom, a fleeting respite from the relentless memories that plagued you. The ground below seemed to call to you, promising an escape from the torment.

It would be so, so easy.

You opened your eyes, taking in the sight before you. The wind was freezing on your skin, far colder than the one of your dreams. You were so up high, tittering on the edge of the balustrade. Your gaze met Zoro’s from afar. You watched as the sword in his mouth dropped down. He looked concerned. How adorable. For a moment, you moved your foot, still with half a mind to jump, half a mind to end it all but instead you laughed, rich bitter laughter.

It was the dreams talking. The past, not the present.

You gave a long shaky exhale.

“Have you been following me for long?” you asked Mihawk, whom was hovering right at the edge of the balcony’s door.

“Long enough,” he answered simply. “You were rather uncooperative tonight.”

You sighed, hopping backwards, back onto the stone floor and turning to face him. “I see,” you dragged on the word. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

He hummed, following you as you stepped back inside. Your steps instinctually brought you to the cellar and you selected two bottles of wine at random from the top shelf.

“You should rest,” Mihawk said as he watched you continue to browse. You chose a bottle of port, taking a moment to shift your hold so you could carry all three bottles comfortably.

“I’m going to drink Mihawk.” You strolled past him. “Get entirely wasted, forget for a moment, so while I appreciate you keeping me safe, I’d also appreciate it if you left me alone for a while.”

Mihawk's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched you. His expression softened just a fraction, the concern in his gaze unusually barely hidden.

"Drowning your sorrows in wine won't solve anything," he said, his voice calm but firm.

You laughed, the sound hollow and bitter. "Perhaps not, but it will give me some sort of reprieve," you replied, your tone matching the emptiness you felt inside. "For a few hours at least."

He didn't respond immediately, and you could feel his stare boring into you, weighing his next words carefully. "Very well," he finally said. "Try not to do anything too dumb, Sister.”

You offered him a wry smile. "When have I ever, Brother?" you teased, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

With that, you turned and made your way to one of the salons, the bottles of wine clinking softly with each step.

It seemed to Roronoa Zoro that the only thing in this damned castle he could find, was you. Every corridor he turned down, every hallway he explored, he couldn’t for the life of him find his way back to his fucking room. And still, his steps brought him to you.

He paused outside the slightly ajar door to the salon, a soft humming and the flickering warmth of a fire drawing him in. He cursed himself. He couldn’t help it. He pushed the door open further and stepped inside.

You were seated by the fireplace, a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other. You looked up as he entered, a wry smile playing on your mouth. “Well, well, if it isn’t my little swordsman,” you drawled, raising your glass in a mock toast.

Zoro scowled at the nickname, ignored the urge to snap back. His eyes unwittingly roamed your form. Seared into his mind how the short black silken slip you wore rode dangerously high along the plushness of your thighs, the way your hair framed your face, how your features were unusually relaxed, the tint of wine on your lips, the way one of the straps was sliding lower and lower against your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t drink alone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. “Oh? Then you should join me?” You took a sip of your wine, watching him over the rim of your glass.

He huffed, dropping into the chair opposite you. “I’m not here to babysit you,” he said gruffly, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his voice he didn’t quite understand—concern, perhaps?

You leaned back in your chair, studying him with an almost lazy interest. “No, you’re not. You’re here because you’re lost, aren’t you?”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, the firelight casting shadows on his face. “You’re annoying,” he grumbled.

“And yet, here you are,” you retorted, pouring another glass of wine and offering it to him. “Drink with me, Zoro. Maybe you’ll find me less annoying.”

He eyed the glass warily, his instinct screaming at him that it was a bad idea. But something about your demeanor made it impossible for him to refuse. With a grunt, he took it from your hand, the touch of your fingers against his sending a jolt through his system.

Fuck.

He downed the wine in one gulp, barely tasting the rich flavor as it burned its way down his throat. You watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity, refilling his glass without a word. Zoro took it, this time sipping more slowly, the alcohol warming him from the inside out.

“It’s been a while, little swordsman. Did you miss me?”

Zoro’s jaw tightened at your question, his grip on the wine glass firm. “Miss you? Hardly,” he retorted, though it lacked the venom he intended. The warmth of the wine and the flickering firelight softened his resolve, making it all the more difficult to maintain his usual gruff exterior.

You chuckled, the sound rich and melodic, filling the room with an odd sense of comfort. “Oh, come now. We both know you enjoy our little exchanges. Why else would you be here?”

He huffed, taking another sip of his wine. “As you said, I’m lost. This castle is a damned maze.”

You leaned back in your chair, your eyes never leaving his. “Is that so? I hear you’ve been keeping me company.”

Surprise flickered on his features which he quickly tried to mask with a scowl. It didn’t work though, the slow spreading smile on your lip’s infuriating. “Why do you always have to be so—“

You laughed and the words died on his tongue.

“So what? Annoying? Vexing? Overdramatic? Theatrical?” you listed off each word with exaggerated flair. Your laughter bubbling up again as his scowl deepened.

In a languid movement you got up and he downed the glass in his hands in a desperate attempt to quiet his beating heart.

“Oh I know!” You continued, your fingers slowly brushing against his shoulder. “Sanctimonious? Maddening? Irking?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You knew you had a little too much alcohol flowing through your veins for you to make sensible decisions and by the way he’d just downed the entirety of the almost overflowing glass you’d poured him so did he. But you wanted to play. You needed to play. Your boredom craved to be satiated and Roronoa Zoro was the perfect little plaything to satiate its incessant demands.

He was so pretty struggling like that, the challenge in his steely gaze intoxicating.

Despite the haze of alcohol, you remained keenly aware, attuned to the signals he might give were he to choose to stop you. You doubted he would, however. No, he would not. If you were reading him well, and you knew how easily you could read him, he wanted this…perhaps even more than you.

He was so pretty struggling like that, his body held taut, desperately restraining himself.

The way his gaze fixated on you spoke volumes, clouded with a raw intensity that could only be interpreted as desire. As you continued to speak, your words tumbling out in a provocative stream, you wondered if he truly comprehended any of it. His attention seemed consumed by something primal, a hunger that mirrored your own need for amusement.

He was so pretty struggling like that, entirely lost to the allure of lust.

Drawing closer, you abandoned decorum, slowly you pressed your knee between his legs. You leaned in close, your lips almost touching his earrings, your hand finding balance over the backrest of his chair.

”You’re so easy to rile up, Roronoa Zoro,” you whispered, your breath grazing his skin.

The only thing you seemed to like more than fine wine and messing with him was the sound of your own fucking voice. Fuck. You were so pretty taunting him like that. So pretty, so pretty, so pretty. He needed you to shut up or he’d do something he’d regret.

Zoro gritted his teeth, his pulse quickening as your words echoed in his mind, yet remained unregistered. Each of your smiles, every playful insult, all of your fleeting touches, only served to ignite the simmering frustration within him.

You were close now, hovering over his seat, the smell of amber and cinnamon filling his every senses.

"You're so easy to rile up, Roronoa Zoro," your voice had a lilting quality, a teasing edge that drove him to the brink. You leaned in closer, your knee slotting between his, your hand finding balance on the backrest over his shoulder, your breath warm against his ear. "Maybe one day, you'll actually do something about it."

You were playing with fire and you both knew it. But as your gaze locked with his and he registered the mischievous glint in yours, it became evident to him that you were exactly aware of what you were doing and that you clearly didn’t care.

Zoro's fists clenched at his sides, fingers digging into the wooden armrests until his knuckles went white and his nails left crescent marks. The muscles in his jaw worked overtime to keep his composure. Damn you and your games. He wanted to walk away, to distance himself from your intoxicating presence, but he found he was rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Your lips moved but he didn’t hear anything.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice an imperceptible growl. "So beautiful.” The words were so low they were lost in the air between you.

You may not have heard the words but you’d definitely read them on his lips. He cursed himself, cursed that he’d slipped up. He expected you to taunt him further, say something clever, but instead, you laughed, the sound like a bell chiming, and it drove him to the edge.

His self-control was fraying, unraveling with each passing second. He could feel the heat rising in him, a primal urge to close the distance between you, to capture those taunting lips with his own and silence you in the only way he knew how. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.

“It’s been so long since we’ve played together.” Your hand traveled from the backrest to his bandaged chest, sliding down and dangerously close to the waistband of his pants then to his thighs.

You dropped to your knees, pushing his apart, settling yourself as though it was your rightful place. Your hands went up and down his thighs, then your nails dug in hard in the leather as they roamed back up one last time, closer and closer to his crotch, finding the laces at his waist.

“How about I thank you for entertaining me tonight?” You cooed, pulling absentmindedly at the cords, your cheek resting on his tensing thigh as you gazed up at him through your lashes.

Zoro's breath hitched, the sight of you between his legs nearly undoing him. Your touch, your voice, your proximity—it was all too much, yet not enough. He watched, mesmerized, as you slowly worked at the laces of his pants, your eyes never leaving his. The smirk on your lips was a promise of the wicked intentions you harbored, and he could feel his resolve crumbling under the weight of his own desire.

The alcohol dulled the edges of his restraint, making his mind fuzzy and his body hyper-aware of every movement, every touch. Your fingers brushed against his skin, and he shivered, a low growl catching at the back of his throat. "You're playing a dangerous game," he managed to rasp out, his voice strained with the effort to maintain control.

You tilted your head, your cheek pressing further against his thigh as you looked up at him with a mixture of mischief and defiance. "Is that so?" you murmured, your tone dripping with faux innocence.

With a swift, deliberate motion, you loosened the last of the laces, your fingers grazing his heated skin, riskily close to his crotch. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he sucked in a breath, his body responding instinctively to your touch. His hands, which had been gripping the armrests, moved to your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to anchor his sanity in reality.

"Stop," he said, but the word lacked conviction. It was a weak attempt to assert control, to regain the upper hand, but the truth was, he was losing himself in you. In this moment, your touch, your presence, was a drug he couldn't resist.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through him. "Are you sure?" you asked, your voice low and sultry. You tugged at his waistband, and his breath came out in a harsh exhale. Your fingers slid beneath the fabric, teasing, exploring, never quite where he needed them to go. His head fell back, eyes closing as he surrendered to the sensation. “I’ll stop if you really want me to, little swordsman.”

Your breath was warm against his skin as you leaned in, your lips brushing his abdomen in feather light touches. The tension was unbearable, the hunger overwhelming, and he knew he was on the verge of breaking.

You sensed it too, your grin widening as you watched him struggle.

"Fuck, woman," he muttered, his voice a gravelly whisper. He opened his eyes, looking down at you with a mixture of frustration and raw, unbridled lust. His hand moved from your shoulder to your hair, tangling in the strands as he pulled you closer, the intensity of his need overwhelming any remnants of hesitation. “Fuck.”

You smiled, a slow, satisfied smile that told him you knew exactly what he meant. "Good," you purred, your hand moving with a practiced ease that made his pulse race. "Now let me thank you properly." You finally dragged his aching cock out of his pants.

You ran a finger along the underside, your breath hot against his tip. “Already?” You teased, gathering a bead of precum and bringing it to your lips. “I haven’t even started yet.”

You held his gaze as you brought your tongue to him, licking a slow thick stripe before giving his tip a soft kiss. His response was a guttural sound, half-growl, half-moan. You deftly slipped the straps of your slip down, revealing your chest, your fingers playing with your erect nipples.

"Fuck," he muttered again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes were captivated by the show you gave him but as a small mewl escaped your lips, his gaze met yours once more, and for a moment, everything else faded away. There was only you and him, locked in this dance of lust and power.

As you moved to take him into your mouth, he let out a low, shuddering breath, his entire being falling back against the chair. The sensation was overwhelming, a combination of pleasure and torment that left him gasping for air. He could feel his control slipping, the tight leash he kept on his desires fraying with every passing second.

"Please," he whispered, the word escaping him before he could stop it. It was a plea, a surrender, a desperate acknowledgment that he was at your mercy.

You paused, looking up at him with triumph in your eyes. "That's more like it," you murmured, your voice a sultry purr.

His hand twitched at that, his fingers itching to grab harder, to pull you closer and control this tortuous game. But he held back, a war raging within him. He ached for your touch, but he would be damned if he gave you the satisfaction of seeing him lose control any further.

You, however, feasted on the desperation in his gaze, drank in every shaky moan escaping his lips as yours wrapped around his length. You wanted to hear more, craved to hear him beg. You hollowed out your cheeks and he almost bucked under you.

Adorable.

You took more of him, your nose nearly finding the patch of green hair at his base. His lids fluttered shut in pleasure. That wouldn’t do. You needed to see him unravel. You backed a little before taking him again, one of your hands traveled between your thighs and you moaned around him. His eyes snapped open as the sound hit his ears, as he felt the vibrations around him and the unbridled lust that broke on his features was the sweetest of victory.

In this moment, he was yours. You held all the power of the world over him. He was lost and you were his guiding star.

His fingers tightened their hold in your hair, his thighs trembled at your sides. You moaned around him again and again. The taste of him, the feel of him against your tongue, was intoxicating, and you reveled in the way he shuddered beneath your touch.

You slowed back down for a moment, savoring every sound he made, each little reaction but as his grip tightened and his hips bucked, you increased your pace, taking him deeper, faster, harder.

His breathing grew ragged, moans filling the room as you brought him closer to the edge. He was lost in ecstasy, the pleasure overwhelming, and you knew he couldn't hold back much longer.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice a desperate growl. "I'm gonna—"

You pulled back slightly, your eyes meeting his as you stroked him with your hand, your mouth still teasing the sensitive head. "Do it," you whispered, your voice filled with anticipation. "I want to taste you."

With a final, shuddering groan, Zoro gave in to the pleasure, his release hitting your tongue. You took him in, savoring the taste, the feel of him pulsing in your mouth, and you didn't stop until he was spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

His seed was hot in your mouth. You smirked as you snaked your way up, straddling him with ease. You traced his jaw then his lips, prying them open gently. Your hair formed a curtain around you as you leaned closer, your lips almost upon his.

You let his cum dribble out of your mouth and into his, lust thick in your gaze as your fingers mixed the milky white with his spit. His eyes never left yours, something akin to reverence merging with the haze of release swirling in them. You absentmindedly grasped for the bottle of port at your side and brought it to your lips. As you savored the rich sweetness, you pushed further almost choking him and he groaned and you delighted in the hold you held over him.

You put back the bottle, craving for his touch. Your hand reached for his, dragging it along your outer thigh, then to your core, letting him feel how wet you were. “It’s a shame you came so fast, little swordsman,” you moaned as his fingers gathered your slick. You had half a mind to pursue your own rapture but instead you continued to guide his hand up, pressing it harder against the softness of your breast, to your cheek. “We could have had so much more fun,” you teased as your reddened lips wrapped along his slick digits.

You let them go with a pop and moved in closer still. Your tongue met his lower lip, then your teeth and through your grin you nipped at the soft flesh. Your lips finally found his, and your tongues swirled together, the taste of both your arousals mixing with the sweetness of the port wine.

Zoro's senses were overwhelmed by the intoxicating blend of your taste and touch. The coldness of your spit on his fingers, the softness of your breasts beneath his hold, and the way your lips and tongue moved against his—all of it combined to create a maelstrom of desire that left him breathless and yearning for more.

He groaned into your mouth, his hand traveling to your waist, somehow pulling you closer. The heat between you was palpable, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and desperation. His hands dug into your flesh, knotted into fine silk, the ache to claim you, to make you his, growing stronger with every passing second.

You let out a moan, which he drank in with intensity. It was intoxicating, it made the world disappear, ecstasy flowed through his veins. He rolled his hips under you and you let out another one, needy and muffled against his lips and he reveled in it. His fingers traveled under your slip, seeking your skin, tracing your spine, tugging you into him.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmured against you, his voice rough with lust.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling with mischief and satisfaction. “Good,” you said as you slipped away, leaving him stranded in the heat of his desire. “I like being in your thoughts.”

Your hands met his, and you dragged them away from you. You touched his cheek tenderly before pulling up the fallen straps of your slip and smoothing down the thin fabric. With slow deliberate steps you made your way to the door. You looked back at him, delighting in his confusion.

Adorable.

“Thank you for playing with me, little swordsman,” you giggled, disappearing into the corridor. “Come and find me, if you want to play again,” you called out.

And just like that you left him in a haze of bewilderment and wild desire. His ragged breath slowly tamed and the heat of your presence dissipated so quickly he almost thought it had all been a hallucination. With a shaky hand, he reached for one of the bottles on the side table, not caring as he brought it to his lips.

Port wine. He scowled as the liquid hit his tongue. He’d never been a fan of port. It was too sweet. Too rich. Too expensive. But in this moment, it was intoxicating.

Previous Chapter | Next chapter (coming soon)

Masterlist

[alexa-fika]

Ace

Unexpected Visit, Unexpected Family (Ace x child!reader x Luffy)

Soaked Set-up (ASL x sister!reader)

Revenge and Teasings (ASLx sister!reader)

Sickly Cuddles ( ASL x sick!sister!reader x Shanks)

Trio Turned Quartet ( ASL x f!child!reader)

Roots (Ace x f!teen!reader)

Izou

Bright Escapes (Whitebeard x gn!reader x Izou)

Marco

Instincts or Recklessness (Marco x reader)

Cure for Inflictions ( Marco x Reader)

Kitchen Menace (Thatch x child!Reader x Marco)

Young Love (Marco x f!winged!reader)

Thatch

Kitchen Menace (Thatch x child!Reader x Marco)

Hungry for truth(yandere!Thatch x Reader) Inspired and written by/with @quinloki and 💧 anon

Claws Down ( Thatch x cat!reader)

Whitebeard

Bright Escapes (Whitebeard x gn!child!reader x Izou)

Tale as old as time (Whitebeard x wife!reader x whitebeard pirate)

Crew

Menace ahoy (Whitebeard pirates x male!child!reader) (f!version)

Wandering Dragon (Whitebeard pirates x dragon!reader x Revolutionary army) Part 2

His One-Piece (Whitebeard pirates x reader)

Stolen Help ( Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

Parties and falls ( Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

Claws out (Whitebeard pirates x Cat!Reader)

Stuffy Meetings (Whitebeard pirates x child!reader)

Puppy Love ( Shanks x child!reader x Whitebeard pirates)

Enemies Yesterday, Babysitters Today (Whitebeard pirates x Dracule!winged!child!reader)

Apawling attitude (Whitebeard pirates x f!cat!child!reader)

Solace and Comfort (Whitebeard pirates, Mihawk x gn!child!teader)

Demonically adorable (Whitebeard pirates x Nezuko!reader) Part 2

Baby Stowaway (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader)

Birds of a bunny (Whitebeard pirates x f!child!bunny!reader)

Reckless charmers (Whitebeard pirates x f!reader)

Naughty Bratty (Whitebeard pirates x gn!child!reader)

Unexpected Reasons ( Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader)

Abandoned Treasure ( Whitebeard pirates x f!child!reader)

Dorks and Forks (Whitebeard pirates x gn!reader)

Puppy Escapes (Shanks x gn!reader x Whitebeard pirates)

Little Brothers Beware (Whitebeard pirates x sister!reader)

Tale as old as time (Whitebeard x wife!reader x whitebeard pirate)

Puppy Lessons ( Whitebeard pirates x gn!reader)

Little Stowaway Wanderer (Oc!child x whitebeard pirates)

Chapter 1

Little Stowaway Wanderer (child!Reader x Whitebeard pirates)

Chapter 1

[discodreaming]

HELLO! i've now opened my inbox for my followers/mutuals to talk to their favorite character!

you can send in random sentences, inbox prompts that you see on my blog or even confess your love!

please be sure to be respectful and kind to not only me but the muses.

this will be very much like roleplaying. to continue communication you can send in more inboxes or you can even link the inbox to a conversation to communicate with your beau/family/friend!

please do not request any minors/anthropomorphic in romantic or sexual ways, I'm begging you. i will only reply to the platonic/familial ones.

you may talk to at least 2 muses at once in one message, all to prevent being overwhelmed. this may change once i get comfortable enough to handle more.

all romantic and nsft inboxes or starters towards muses will require slow burn

all ships are multishipped but can be single shipped if you guys can build up their romance meter!

this will only be reader x character, oc x character i will put on either another blog or a different post.

* note: i will accept 5 oc x character in this post for the time being: 1/5

however for certain events i can bend these rules for you to get a romantic scene with your crushes!

or even just hanging out with your friends!

characters i will write for right now:

note: this list will change every now and then as i advance further into the shows or a character is requested more!

if you don't see a character you like here and would like to see me try my hand at playing them, don't be shy to tell me!

bold = characters I've played before

one piece! ( pre timeskip )

romantic options: nico robin, nami, sanji, zoro, usopp, buggy, sir crocodile, dracule mihawk, shanks, portgas d. ace

platonic options: chopper, franky ( may change ), luffy ( im currently on the pretimeskip )

up to debate: please ask !

rwby ! ( all season 9 ages )

romantic options: weiss schnee, blake belladonna, yang xiao long, jaune arc, taiyang xiao long, raven branwen, qrow branwen, emerald sustari, sun wukong, neptune vasillias, james ironwood, winter schnee, mercury black

platonic options: ruby rose, nora valkyrie, lie ren, pyrrha nikos, penny polendina, professor ozpin, oscar pine, neopolitan

up to debate: salem, cinder fall

fruits basket !

romantic options: shigure sohma, hatori soma, ayame soma

platonic options: tohru honda, yuki sohma, kyo sohma

castlevania animated !

romantic options: trevor belmont, adrian 'alucard' tepes, sypha belnades

edens zero !

romantic options: rebecca bluegarden, weisz steiner, homura kogetsu, kris rutherford, shiki granbell, labilla christy

platonic: happy, witch regret, sister ivry, hermit mio, valkyrie yuna, elise crimson, justice

d.gray man !

romantic options: yu kanda, lavi, tyki mikk, howard link, cross marian

platonic: allen walker, lenalee lee, nea d. campbell, wisely kamelot

psycho pass !

romantic options: akane tsuneori, shinya kogami, nobuchika ginoza, shuusei kagari, yayoi kunizuka, shion karanomori, shogo makishima

platonic: tomomoi masaoka

owari no seraph

romantic options: guren ichinose, ferid bathory, kureto hiiragi, shinya hiragi, seishiro hiiragi, crowley eusford

platonic: yuichiro hyakuya, mikaela hyakuya, shinoa hiiragi, yoichi saotome, shiho kimizuki, mitsuba sangu, krul tepes

yuukou no moriarty

romantic options: william james moriarty, albert james moriarty, louis james moiarty, sherlock holmes, fred porlock, sebastian moran, mycroft holmes, james bond

fate/ ( /zero & /stay night)

romantic options: saber, kirei kotomine, gilgamesh, cu chulainn

platonic: shirou emiya, rin tohsaka, waver velvet

up to debate: kiritsugu emiya, irisviel von einzbern, archer emiya, tokiomi tohsaka, diamuid ua duibhne

please don't: shinji matou, ryuunosuke uryu

fairy tail

romantic options: lucy heartfilia, gray fullbuster, erza scarlet, mirajane strauss, laxus dreyar, gildarts clive, loke, elfman strauss, juvia lockser, fried justine, evergreen, bickslow, rogue cheney, sting eucliffe, kagura mikazuchi, aguria yukino, natsu dragneel, mystogan, cana alberona, gajeel redfox, erik, jellal fernandes

platonic: wendy marvell

record of ragnarok

romantic options: adam, jack the ripper, kojiro sasaki, qin shi huang, hades, beelzebub, hermes

platonic: souji okita

up to debate: the valkyries, nikolas tepes, thor, poseidon, apollo,

obey me

romantic options: lucifer, mammon, levianthan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor,diavolo, barbatos, simeon, raphael, solomon,

platonic: luke

up to debate: thirteen, mephistopheles

kingdom hearts ( kingdom hearts iii )

romantic options: terra, aqua, xemnas, zexion, saix, axel, demyx,

platonic: sora, kairi, riku, roxas, namine, xion, ventus, vanitas, ephemer, skuld, brain

genshin impact

romantic options: wriothesley, albedo, alhaitham, ayaka, ayato, baizhu, ajax, cyno, dehya, diluc, eula, ganyu, itto, jean, kazuha, kokomi, xiao, heizou, shenhe, kaeya, rosaria, yae miko, beidou, lisa, kaveh, zhongli, nigguang, neuvillette, yela, candace, thoma, yanfei

platonic: hu tao, venti, faruzan, sucrose, chongyun, freminet, layla, mika, fischl, collei, noelle, yun jin, barbara, xingqiu, amber, bennette, xinyan

up to debate: keqing, lyney, aether, lumine, wanderer, lynette, kuki shinobu, sara, kiara, gorou, mona, nilou, yoimiya, charlotte

please don't: klee, sayu, qiqi, diona, dori, nahida, yaoyao

final fantasy

romantic options: cloud strife, tifa lockhart, aerith gainsborough, zack fair, reno, rude, genesis rhapsodos, reeve tuesti, angel hewley, sephiroth, vincent valentine.

platonic: barret wallace, yuffie kisaragi

detroit become human

romantic options: connor, markus, gavin

platonic: kara, hank

devil may cry

romantic options: dante, nero, vergil

platonic: trish, nico, lady, v

jojo's bizarre adventure

romantic options: dio brando, joseph joestar ( part 2 & 3 ), caesar anthonio zeppeli, jotaro kujo ( 4-6 only ), rohan kishibe, bruno bucciarati, leone abbachio, narciso anasui, johnny joestar, gyro zeppeli, diego brando

debating: jonathan joestar, jolyne cujoh, weather report

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 6

Some Kind of Death Wish

Numbers Game Masterlist

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2864

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: You are tempted by Crocodile and Mihawk's offer. What would your sister say about you now?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Cigars, Swearing, Angst, Smut, Established Relationship, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Guilt, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Dom Dracule Mihawk, Cuckolding, Vaginal Fingering, Biting

A/N: I feel like my brain has been scraped out and replaced with this fucking fic, lol. I hope you enjoy the ride 🖤

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

“You heard him,” Mihawk tutted, gesturing lazily. “The clown wants to watch us take care of you. No reason to feel guilty then.”

It felt like every part of your body was clenched together, shaking with more intense need than you ever thought possible. You were a raw fucking nerve.

“Let her be, Mihawk,” Crocodile sighed, but his large hand still burned your shoulder. “Just tell us when you’re ready.”

Buggy’s eyes had fallen away from you, staring at the coffee table. 

Your mouth opened and closed again, nothing but air coming out. 

“Of course, Crocodile. All we’re here to do is take care of our little treasure. I’d never want to start before she’s ready,” Mihawk drawled, leaning away from you as he sipped his wine, humming to himself before continuing.

“But I believe you are ready, aren’t you, little rabbit? I believe the only reason you’re not begging right now is because your body is aching so badly you can’t speak.”

Your lip quivered, the smallest whimper you’d ever heard pushed from your throat.

“Is that true, darlin,” Crocodile soothed, his low voice vibrating through you. “Do you want us to help you out?”

You didn’t know why you were stuck. Every part of you was screaming, ‘yes.’ But you’d piled so much guilt onto yourself over the past few days. And there was Buggy.

When Buggy had looked you in the eyes, and said he wanted to watch, your stomach twisted with something that wasn't guilt.

You managed to move, bringing your shaky hands up to cover your face.

“Alright, Miss Y/N,” Crocodile said, patting your back before removing the warmth of his hand. “Let’s call it a night.”

“Give her a few minutes. She’s almost there.” 

Mihawk sounded almost bored again. Detached. He’d stopped touching you, and his voice had lost its teasing tone. 

You could leave. You could go to bed. 

You wondered what your sister would say about you now.

That there’s something wrong with me. That I got myself into this fucked up situation. That I’ve got some kind of death wish.

Your hands dropped down to your lap, shaky breaths bringing you back.

Back to your body that was vibrating with near painful need.

There probably is something wrong with me.

You dug your nails into your thighs, shivering from the sensation.

But I might as well enjoy it. 

“Please.”

The word was barely audible, so you cleared your throat.

“Whatd'ya need, sweet girl,” Crocodile asked, his voice making your eyes flutter.

You looked up, Buggy’s eyes almost wild as he watched you. Your breath caught, losing momentum under his gaze. 

But he nodded. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smile, not of sadness, or joy, or anger. But of acceptance. 

A weight lifted. Parts of your brain tried to hold it there, to keep you feeling guilty. 

“What would you like, Miss Y/N?”

Mihawk’s voice made you sigh, even without its devious pressure.

You leaned back against the couch, the scent of these two men like some heady bait, luring you toward the hook.

Maybe you wanted to be caught.

“I want you to take care of me.”

It felt like you were a puppet, and all of your strings had been tied together, leaving your body trapped, frozen. 

Speaking those words cut your strings, and your body came loose, almost limp now as you felt free from your own bindings. 

Free to follow their strings now, and beg to be caught on their hook.

Crocodile shifted in his seat, turning toward you. His fingers trailed through your hair, coming to rest on your neck again.

He leaned down over you, kissing your temple.

“You’re our girl now, Y/N. I’ll make sure you get everything your pretty little heart wants.”

Mihawk startled you as he took your hand, laying a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“He’s right. You’re ours.”

His gaze was heavy, almost frightening again. Until this man who never smiles gave you a wicked smirk.

“Although, it’s not your heart that’s doing the wanting right now, is it? What does my little vixen crave?”

Once again, all he’d done was touch your hand, look at you, say a few words. But your head fell back onto Crocodile’s hand, and your mouth parted as you fought to keep your eyes on his.

He stared at your mouth, eyes focusing as you pressed your tongue out slightly to wet your lips. 

He squeezed your hand, tilting his head. Reminding you that he’d asked you a question.

“Please, sir. I want you to touch me.”

Oh, the thrill you felt at the way Hawkeye fucking Mihawk reacted to your words. He sucked in a breath, eye’s fluttering as he looked up slightly. 

It all looked muted, as if he had caught himself.

“Crocodile, I’m going to take care of our girl. Do you accept, or are we going to have a battle every night?”

Every night?

“I’ll watch the show, for now.”

He squeezed your neck, his gaze heavy on your skin. 

“Perfect. There is something I’ve been curious about,” Mihawk mused, bringing a hand to your jaw to tilt you toward him. 

You stopped breathing as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his mustache and goatee lightly tickling your skin. 

It was almost chaste, until his tongue found its way into your mouth, dancing with yours. There was a rhythm to his kiss, and you could feel it slowly build. Like an ember into a wildfire, the heat grew until you were reaching for him, soft whines in your throat.

Then you moaned into his mouth, your eyes flying open to see his squinting slightly, almost mischievous. 

His fingers were under your dress, sliding easily between your thighs, the evidence of your need leaving you drenched.

You ate the satisfied hum from his mouth before he pulled away from the kiss. 

“Magnificent,” he purred, withdrawing his fingers from your thighs to hold them in front of your face.

Your skin flushed, and you pressed your knees together, embarrassment pulling at you.

“Our little pet may have ruined your coat,” Mihawk chuckled, spreading his fingers to show the other man the thick strings of slick, dripping down his hand onto your lap. 

The scarred man gave you a crooked smile, touching his hook to your chin. 

“Our sweet girl can get the money back for us, huh, sugar,” he teased, the potential threat only speeding your pulse. “Besides, we weren’t taking care of you. You should have told us how needy you were.”

He kissed the top of your head again as Mihawk reached down for more, letting his wet fingers shine in the light. 

“Did she ever get this wet for you, clown?”

You tensed, meeting Buggy’s eyes over that dripping hand.

He stared at it, jaw clenched. And said nothing. 

“You chose to stay and watch, Buggy,” Mihawk sighed. “If you’re going to sulk, then you can go back to your room like a child.”

“N-No,” Buggy answered softly.

“No, what,” Mihawk prodded.

Crocodile, started rubbing your neck with that large hand, soothing the tension that had built again. 

“No, she never got that wet with me.”

He could have left. He could have left.

You tried not to carry guilt for his humiliation. Not when he chose this one. 

And then he was ignored again, all attention back onto you. 

“Come here, darling,” Mihawk said, offering his hand. Crocodile lit his cigar, giving big puffs as he watched you stand. 

“This is a lost cause anyway,” the swordsman declared, pulling the larger man's jacket off the couch, and spreading it across the coffee table. 

Your knees were shaking, and you didn’t know what to do with your hands as you stood on the plush carpet, and waited. 

Mihawk sat back down, motioning for you. He grabbed your hips to stop you from passing him to your seat on the couch. 

“What…”

“In a few minutes, I’m going to lay you on that table, and give you that release you’ve been fighting for these last few nights.”

Your hands clenched in embarrassment again, but he soothed the words with gentle strokes of his hands along your hips and waist. 

He tugged at the bottom of your dress.

“Let me get it,” Crocodile demanded, leaning forward. Mihawk didn’t stop you from taking the few steps away. 

Crocodile pulled you gently, and you found yourself kissing another ex warlord of the sea. You stood between his thighs, tasting the rich flavors and smoke of his cigar. 

His fingers dug into your lower back, as if he was keeping you from running away.

You didn’t run.

That frightening face. 

It had smiled at you. It was kissing you. 

You traced your fingers on the sides of that face before wrapping your arms around his neck. 

His low growl pulsed through you, and his grip got even harder, the kiss deep and intense.

“Mm, I knew you were a sweet girl,” he praised, gently pushing you back a step.

“You won’t be needing these cheap rags anymore.”

You didn’t understand his smile. Until he pulled your dress forward with his hand, then pierced into it his hook, tearing the red fabric from your skin.

Gasping, you’d gripped onto his arm for support. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he breathed, pulling you close again as his hand roamed over your lingerie and bare skin. 

Mihawk cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, yeah, swordsman. I just wanna check one more thing.”

He kept intense eye contact with you as his hand started at your knee, then slowly traveled up to find all that proof of how they affect you. 

He teased his fingers through the slick, sliding between your sticky thighs, until he reached your core. 

His hands were bigger than anyone's you’d even met. You didn't think any human could be as tall as him. 

Just one of those big fingers teased along your panties. 

Just the barest touch over your clothed clit sent you moaning, knees loosening. 

He’d used his one hand to tease you. When you stumbled, he caught your weight in that hand, cupping your needy pussy. You grinded yourself against his palm, digging your nails into his expensive shirt.

His laughs sounded more pleased than teasing, and he gave you a peck on the cheek as he helped you over to Mihawk, who seemed to be losing his patience. 

“Hold on,” Crocodile called after picking up his cigar again.

“If I knew it would be such a nuisance to shar–”

“Sweetheart,” Crocodile cut the swordsman off. “Are you on birth control?”

“Oh! Um, yes,” you blinked at him.

“Good. There’s more coming with your clothes and things for when your stock runs out.”

“Uh… Thank you,” you choked out, not sure how to feel about him buying you birth control before you’d had sex. But you were grateful that he had. 

“I told you, we’ll take car–”

“You’ve gone and distracted our pet now,” Mihawk pouted, finding his comfort wine again. You caught Buggy staring at you, and tried not to look his way again. 

“All that work I did to drive you mad,” the golden eyed man almost whined, “and now I won’t get to watch you break on my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back, and you stumbled again in front of him.

Chuckling, he tugged you down onto his lap. He pressed your back against his chest, all that bare skin sending heat right through you. You whimpered at the hard press of him against your ass, that tightness in your core begging you for release.

“Maybe it’s not all lost after all,” he purred in your ear, the tickle on your neck making your shoulders tense up. 

“Maybe my little rabbit doesn’t need much to make her desperate.”

One hand splayed across your stomach began trailing up to your chest. The other hand on your thigh teased closer, starting to slide in all that wetness. 

You didn’t mean to. But your hips dug in, grinding down to feel more of that hard length beneath you. 

He bit your shoulder, making you cry out, arching your back.

“Mm, you even like a little pain, do you? You are such a good girl for us.”

His praise felt incredible, almost like he was touching you, pleasing you. Your head fell back against his shoulder. You’d been ashamed when you let it happen earlier. 

But now you writhed in his lap, whimpering as he teased your neck with kisses and bites, the tickle of his facial hair adding to it all.

He hummed against you as one of his hands reached into your bra, massaging your breast, making you gasp with light pinches on your already hardened nipple. 

Finally, finally, his fingers reached your core, and you twitched at his playful touches. He spread your legs with his knees, then tapped his fingers up and down over your panties.

“I’ve never seen someone this wet before. You must have wanted us to take you so badly.”

His taunts weren’t questions, so you just kept whimpering, trying to press against those fingers to get some relief. 

“Is that what you’ve been picturing while this poor little pussy soaks your fingers each night?”

“Please,” you almost sobbed.

“No,” he chided, robbing you of even those torturing little touches, his hand rubbing over your thigh instead.

“Fuck, please…”

“I promise, little rabbit,” Mihawk rasped in your ear, his touch, his voice taking over your entire existence. “I will make you come so many times that you’ll beg me to stop. But first, you need to do what you’re told.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

His heavy breath, the hint of a moan sent your eyes rolling back, arching your back against him even more. 

“Tell me, what did you think about while you touched yourself these last two nights?”

Your head fell to the side, and you saw Crocodile watching your every movement, smoke curling in the air above him. His legs were spread wide again and…

Fuck.

Mihawk bit your neck, your body jerking at the sudden sharp pain.

“You won’t like what happens if I need to ask again, pet.”

“It was… I was thinking about — Fuck… I was thinking about both of you fucking me at the same time.”

You cried out with pleasure as Mihawk’s long fingers dipped into your panties. He played along your folds, then his masterful touch over your clit had you so close already, so fucking desperate. 

“Does my pretty pet want to come?”

“Yes, sir. Fuck, please.”

Two fingers slid into you, all your wetness readying you for him. 

His fingers curled, and he preyed on that perfect spot within you as his palm rubbed over and over on your clit.

You had never come that hard before. Your vision went blank, and you dug your nails into that velvet couch while you twitched and screamed. 

“You had better scream my name, rabbit,” he growled in your ear, biting your neck again.

You obeyed. You screamed it so many times, until your body was limp.

He hugged you against him, tracing fingers over your skin as he kissed your neck softly.

“Astounding. What a little treasure you are, hm? You did so well for me.”

You whined in his arms, eyes watering as your breath started to slow. 

“My turn.”

Crocodile’s gruff voice poured through you, making you twitch again. 

“I’m not done.”

“What else do you have planned, swordsman? Because I’d like a taste before you knock her out.”

You giggled, sitting forward. Mihawk grabbed your shoulders as you swayed in his lap. 

He sighed. 

“I suppose you’re right. I was going to make her come on my tongue next before testing how well our little darling can take cock.”

He hummed again, pressing kisses to your shoulder after you’d moaned at his words.

“Give her here,” Crocodile commanded, reaching out his arm. “I could use somethin' sweet to eat.”

Mihawk sighed, but helped you move, scooting you down the couch toward the larger man. 

Crocodile pulled you against his side in a hug, kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t help the contented sigh that left you. 

“Find somewhere else to sit, clown.”

You sat up, seeing Buggy’s red face, the faded greasepaint shining under beads of sweat. He stared at Crocodile with wide eyes, not meeting your gaze. 

“I said move. I’m gonna make Miss Y/N come in my mouth on that chair. Don’t make me–”

Buggy jumped up, twisting his body around to face the other direction. But he wasn’t fast enough to hide the press of his hard cock jutting from his lap, that stretchy fabric doing nothing to hold him in place. 

“Looks like the showman is enjoying the show,” Mihawk drawled, pouring yet another glass of wine. 

Buggy hopped around behind the couch. He leaned on his elbows over the back of it as Crocodile shook his head, helping you stand.

“Do you think the fool is capable of learning,” Mihawk wondered aloud. “Maybe if he watches–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Crocodile growled as he leaned over you. He smiled at you again, touching his fingers to your chin. Then he brought those huge fingers down to rub over your clothed clit again, drawing a breathy moan out of you as you fell back onto the chair. 

He knelt in front of you, gripping his hook below the armrest to pull you, and the chair, toward him.

“The clown’s never gonna taste anything this sweet again.” 

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I don't even know what to say anymore. I'm going to go disintegrate.

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy

Part 7

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

[al9ayf]

Hiiii

I wanted to ask if you can write a scenario where Mihawk accidentally ate an aphrodisiac pleasee🙏🙏🙏

so sorry this took a while i had writer’s block for a little but i really loved how this turned out (went overboard a little too tbh 😭) ty for the request ❤️

ᥫ᭡ 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 | dracule mihawk x f!reader

｡˚ word count: 2.27k

｡˚ content warning(s) :: general nsfw

the silence of the castle messed with you.

it felt abandoned most of the time. it was so quiet and dead, you took to spending time with perona who was very hard to get along with. but she deemed you cute enough to be around her, so you both tolerated each other. and you only were around her because mihawk was too busy training zoro. it was better than being alone though.

that night was the same as every other night for the past few months. you were with perona in her bedroom, painting your nails with her as you both talked about anything and everything that crossed your minds. it was fun to be sitting there on her bed, laughing and talking shit. you came to appreciate her now and then, and even considered her to be a sister (one that is greatly annoying at times).

when you finished your nails, you placed the nail polish on the nightstand and got up. you walked over to the window to look out into the clearing. zoro and mihawk were training, as usual. you could barely see their silhouettes, but it was a full moon so your eyes adjusted to the glowing moonlight as you looked down upon them.

“they’re still out there?” asked perona, walking up behind you. you didn’t bother to turn and look at her.

“when are they not out there?” you asked.

“they’ve been at it for hours! he never gives that idiot a break, let alone a drink!” she walked away from you and laid back down on the bed. “i’m getting bored…”

you watched them for a few seconds longer before turning away. you didn’t know where your relationship stood with mihawk. you never did. you weren’t dating nor were you his wife, but it often felt like it. at first, you were just an occasional fuck here and there for the pirate captain. then as time went on, you became something more to each other. the relationship went from late-night sex to a constant want of being with each other all the time. that is until zoro arrived a few months ago, begging to be trained by mihawk. you never really were with each other again since. even perona took notice since she liked to tease you about it.

you didn’t like admitting to it, but you felt like a second thought to mihawk at this point. you only ever were with him when it was time for dinner, but that would mean zoro and perona were with you there as well.

you had to look back out the window to see if they were still out there. you needed to see him again, it’s been far too long. even a private conversation would be lovely. as you watched the two swordsmen come walking back to the castle, you couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself.

“they’re back,” you said, turning around. you quickly exited perona’s room with her following behind you. you speed-walked to the stairs where you caught mihawk and zoro talking by the front door. you and perona listened in on their conversation (in which you had no interest). she didn’t know why she bothered participating with whatever was going on in your head, and you not even saying hello or even engaging in the conversation only made her even more bored.

she looked at you, then at the men, back at you. “well?” she asked.

you looked at perona, almost in confusion since you didn’t realize she had followed you. the look upset her, so she scoffed in your face and walked back to her room. you were only even more confused by how rude she suddenly became, but that was perona, so you didn’t think much of it. your attention returned to mihawk as soon as you heard the conversation ending. zoro walked up the stairs and you started walking down them. you greeted him as you walked past him, and he did the same.

you stopped at the last step and placed your hand on the railing. you didn’t say anything and neither did he. mihawk only came closer to you, and even though you were on the stairs, he was still taller than you. his red eyes that resembled fire looked deeply into yours, and for the first time in so long, you felt as if he cared about you again. but that feeling went away as soon as you heard zoro leave the immediate area, and mihawk finally spoke up.

“do you need something?” he asked, rolling his sleeves up. his voice was so deep, so soothing. you haven’t talked much, so every time you heard his voice, it made you so happy. but then there was his tone; almost like he just wanted everything to be over with. almost like he forgot that you two were something.

you looked behind you just in case perona or zoro were nearby, then back at mihawk. “i was hoping that you were free for the rest of the evening. i’d like to spend some time together,” you walked down the last step and now stood directly in front of him. you moved your hands behind your back and held them, looking up at him ever so slightly, and pushed your chest out a bit. you smiled just a little. at this point, you were hinting about going to the bedroom.

mihawk nodded as his stoic expression became a gentle one; a more vulnerable one. you leaned toward him, but he turned around and started heading down the hallway next to the stairs.

“bring the wine,” he said, leaving you standing at the stairs flustered again. you were annoyed at this point. you were deprived of sex and touch for so long it started to upset you more than you thought it would. you huffed and sighed, then begrudgingly headed to the wine cellar to grab some of the red wine he loved so much.

when you arrived, you looked at the racks of different types of wine. you didn’t bother looking for his favorite. you only grabbed a random one, as well as two glasses and a corkscrew, before leaving the cellar to join him in the lounge. you never enjoyed red wine. you only drank it with mihawk since you wanted to enjoy his interests too. but it now felt like a chore that you wouldn’t stop doing. not couldn’t, wouldn’t.

you opened the door to the lounge with your elbow and saw mihawk sitting in his favorite chair reading a newspaper. you started to shut the door with your back but closed it by raising your foot a little. now you two were alone, finally. you set the wine glasses on the table, along with the wine, and went to go open it up. mihawk set the newspaper down and looked at you trying to unscrew the bottle with the corkscrew.

“do you want me to do it?” he asked. you glanced at him, then quickly returned your focus to unscrewing the bottle. it came loose fast, and you set the screw down to pick up the wine and a glass.

“no need,” you said, smiling a little to yourself. you poured the wine into his cup and handed it to him before pouring one for yourself. you placed the wine on the side table by mihawk’s chair since he liked to have more than one cup, while you sat on the couch. the bottle’s label faced you, so as he sipped on his wine and read his newspaper, you took pleasure in reading the label. and the more you read, the more you realized how dumb you were in choosing the wine.

you had only taken a small sip, but you immediately set it down on the table so you wouldn’t drink it anymore. you looked at mihawk worriedly to tell him that the wine is not what it seems but then stopped yourself. your expression relaxed, and you leaned back into the couch. no, you weren’t going to tell him. you were going to wait until he finds out. you wanted to see how long the wine would take until he could start to feel its effects.

the wine you blindly chose was on the bottom rack by the door. it was put there for obvious reasons because it wasn’t your regular wine, but one for the bedroom. one to get the mood going, one to get horny on. to get in the mood, to feel good. to have a good time—a great time. one for sex. you looked back at your wine glass and decided to finish it. you didn’t want it to go to waste, even if you didn’t like it. as you drank it, mihawk set his newspaper down on the table, having finished reading the important news and not caring for anything else. he didn’t pay any mind to you as he went to go pour himself some more wine, even though he still had some wine left in his glass.

when he started to drink, he casually glanced at you to see that you had already finished yours. he set his glass down and looked at you with a raised brow. “i thought you didn’t like wine,” he said.

you leaned against the arm of the couch and rested your head on your hand. “i don’t,” you said, smiling. “but this one is nice. i like it.”

“it’s alright.”

you propped your elbow up on the arm and raised both brows. “really? doesn’t it taste different though?”

“is it supposed to taste different?”

you moved your arm away and shrugged your shoulders. “you’re the wine expert, you tell me.”

he stared at you for a moment longer before going back to his glass. you watched him drink it; watching as his throat gulped down the aphrodisiac-laced wine. you looked the other way and crossed your leg over the other. you sat silently, staring at a big painting as you waited for the drug to take its effect on you. you waited for around five minutes, and that is when you felt it. it was subtle at first, but when you squeezed your thighs together, it kicked in. you forced yourself to sit in a better position so you don’t yourself off by accident. you inhaled sharply when you thought about how good that felt. it felt better than usual.

you looked at mihawk, who was already looking at you, and you smiled at him again. “do you feel it?” you asked, standing up from the couch.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. you glanced at his wine glass, which was now empty, then back at him. you didn’t know if he was messing around or not. then you remembered: mihawk doesn’t play games. he’s brutally honest about anything. he didn’t know what you were talking about.

you walked up to him and placed your hands on either arm, trapping him in his chair. “ever since that swordsman arrived, you have not touched me,” you said. “every night, i prayed that you would come into my room and take me. that you’ll fuck me so hard that i would beg for you to stop...”

“y/n—“

you cut him off. “the wine answered my prayers,” you said, almost in a whisper. “look at it. look at what you’ve drunk.” you grabbed the wine and shoved it in his face. he read the label and then looked at you. you threw the bottle somewhere, letting it shatter against the wall and allowing its contents to spill on the tile floor.

mihawk pushed you away from him and stood up, but you moved back up to him and pressed your body up against his. you gripped his shirt and looked up at his mixed expression. you could tell he was feeling so many different emotions at the same time. “if you wanted me to have sex with you so badly, you didn’t have to do all this,” he said grabbing your shoulders.

“are you listening to yourself?” you asked. “you gave me no attention for months. i have tried so many times to get into bed with you, but you are so fucking blind by my advances.” you moved your hand down to his crotch and squeezed it gently, watching as his expression changed and he held back a moan.

“now do you feel it?” you whispered. “it makes everything so much better.”

mihawk grabbed your chin and forced you to look all the way up at him. he moved his head down, with his lips just hovering centimeters above yours. “and you wasted the whole bottle.”

“who cares?” you turned him around and shoved him onto the couch. you got on top of him and kissed him roughly. mihawk grabbed your waist and shoved you up against his body even further. the grind against his crotch was slow but good. it felt better than it should have, so you grabbed his shoulders and did it again. you moaned into the kiss and then pulled away.

“don’t do shit like this again,” mihawk said, guiding your hips. he was out of breath just by the dry humping. and the harder he got, the faster you went. you didn’t say anything since you were too busy moaning. he suddenly stopped you and pushed you off of him, getting on top of you instead.

“do you hear me?” he asked in a stern voice. you smirked up at him and gave him a long moment of silence before finally replying.

“yes, captain.”