imkorais

[imkorais]

[imkorais]

How much I love stuff like this one

Hii again! I was the one who asked about commissions so, like you said, I'll just send it to you in an ask as a request! I was wondering if you could write a little something with Mihawk where reader (if it's okay, she/her pronouns or gn!) pretends that Mihawk is her boyfriend to get rid of a creep? She doesn't know who Mihawk is, etc! Could be in headcannon format or whatever you want!

he's my boyfriend! *.

dracule mihawk x fem!reader. *.

mentions of a creepy guy, one curse word. i kinda got carried away lol. *. js mihawk being hot n mysterious + flirty banter. kinda wanna do a pt two mayhaps

“Need another, honey?”

You nod bashfully, sliding your empty glass across the counter to Makino, and she laughs over the loud singing in the pub. “Must’ve been a rough day then.”

Partys Bar is a little slow today, except for the incoming group of Shanks and the rest of his ragtag crew. You, however, find pleasure rather than discomfort in their off-key singing for tonight. Your friends, not that you’d ever call them that to their face, had a way with setting the ambience in this little old town.

“Oh, you have no idea.” You shake your head at Makino who stalks off to get you another pint of beer from the special barrel in the back. ‘Don’t tell Shanks n’ em.’ she’d always say. Afterall, you were her favorite customer, visiting occasionally during your lunch break or after a perilous night shift like this one.

When Makino returns with your beer, Yasopp is the first to steal the drink from your hands before you take a swig. “Hey— c’mon!”

“That’s not how you treat a lady.” Shanks, bellowing a fit of laughter, swipes the drink from Yasopp just as he tightens his fist around the handle. And just as you’re about to thank your hopeless red haired friend for returning your drink from your other hopeless fiend of a friend, he turns the glass to his head, gulping down at least half of your pint of beer.

“Shanks!” You, Makino and Yasopp scream in unison.

He hiccups and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Wanna dance, or?”

Half a pint later, you’re excusing yourself from a mini crowd of bar goers and the world’s dumbest pirates, throat a little hoarse from singing along to some song Shanks made up a few minutes ago, rocking to the beat and laughing with tears wetting the corner of your eyes.

With a harsh inhale, you wipe a trickle of sweat from your brow as you make your way to a vacant corner to get some air, having exhausted all your energy.

“Shanks, get off my table!” Makino screams over the singing and you chuckle, taking a seat as you watch the antics from afar, a hand propped against your jaw with a dopey little smile.

“You one of the Red Haired’s girls?”

You turn your head to the source of the question, eyebrow raised. A man, who you assume is just a bar patron, hair soiled and grinning, leans against the window a few feet away from you.

One of the Red Haired’s girls?

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles, and shakes his head, which you assume is his washed up version of an apology for being so crass. “Just sayin’, don’t want no pirate tryna kick my ass over ya.”

“I’m not anyone’s property.” You quip, bored. He’s got some nerve, you think.

Despite this, he pushes himself off the wall and walks over to where you’re seated.

“You’ve got a smart mouth on ya.” He says, and you glance to the side for a moment, immediately perturbed.

“I like that. Think I could put it to use?” He grins at you, and you think you’ll just stand up and punch him yourself. You roll your eyes and push your seat back to stand up—

“I have a boyfriend, sorry for the inconvenience.”

You look at the man up and down and inwardly gag. He doesn’t seem to get the memo though as he remains planted in front of you, practically refusing to move out of your way.

“Boyfriend? I don’t see him anywhere.”

He almost wants to laugh at you. A pretty girl like you with no boyfriend?

You panic. Immediately you take a look around. Shanks and the Red Haired’s are still partying up a storm. You don’t see Makino behind the counter.

“My boyfriend’s over there.” You blurt out, outstretching an arm, index finger pointing accusingly into the mini crowd to your left, out of your field of vision. “Oh really?” The man scoffs, turning his head in the direction of your finger.

You don’t know why, but the man’s mouth falls agape.

“Uh huh.” You reaffirm, standing tall. Whatever it was, it was working. “And he’s got a temper on him too, so I suggest you—”

“That’s not your boyfriend.” He grabs at your wrist, calling your bluff and your index folds into your fist. You’re going to kick his ass yourself then. “Now be a doll and—”

“Are you stupid?” A voice echoes behind you.

The man in front of you looks over your shoulder at the intrusion, and his eyes squint to slits to make out whoever just spoke in the dark. “The fuck did you just say to me?”

“I asked if you were stupid.” The man who interrupted steps between you and the other man. His height obstructs your view of anything in front of him. “But clearly you’re deaf too.”

A white East Blue dress shirt, long sleeved, unbuttoned. You can see his shoulder blades flex in the dim light if you squint just right. From here, you think he’s impossibly structured.

Who even is this guy?

“She your girl or somethin’?” The scum steps up, yanking away his grip on your wrist. The force of it almost sends you flying into him.

“So you are deaf.” Moonlight streams through the window, and you catch a glimpse of yellow, almost tinged vermillion eyes narrowing. “Choose your next words—” He speaks, head tilted to the side almost mockingly, and though it’s your assailant on the receiving end, you feel your knees almost buckle. "—very carefully."

“Y-You're—” The man’s eyes go wide and he’s already scrambling back on shaky legs, sputtering unintelligible apologies. “My bad, I didn’t— ain’t know she was your girl, man.”

“Leave.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

A breath of silence sits once the creep is gone, and the man who came to your rescue stalks forward to walk away, his job complete. But you stop him.

“Thankyou—” you blurt out, and he stops mid-walk, as if he knows you have more you want to say. “Sorry about roping you into that silly little lie…” your words trail off, hesitant.

Why are you so nervous?

“You shouldn’t apologize for scum like him.” He says, back still turned to you.

God, you wish he’d turn around.

“Your wrist—” he begins, turning his head to look over his shoulder at you, and you freeze. “How is it?” His gaze feels like it’s cutting you in half.

You take a small step forward, considerable space between you both. “I’ll live.” You say, rotating your wrist a few times for him to see, a shy smile reaching your lips. “Who–”

“Does it matter—" He finishes, answering your question before you even get the chance to ask. If even possible, your curiosity grows. "—who I am?"

“You kind of helped me out of a rough spot there.” You reason, and he shakes his head.

"You didn’t need me.” He replies.

In the dim lighting of the bar you can make out the angle of his jaw, the apex of his throat, and most noticeably, the wide brimmed fedora sitting atop his head, almost elegantly.

“It was a courtesy.” He turns to face you, and despite yourself, you persist.

He gazes down at you, posture straight, gold plated belt held by crimson thread, beard angled in a perfect line, mustache the same. He seems bored, like he’s lived a thousand lives before. You want him to tell you about each one.

“Tell me your name.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat that you can’t hear too well from here. “Don’t people ask for things they want?” You assume he found you funny. The thought of a man like him laughing makes your stomach do a flip.

“Can’t I want to know your name?” You hum, eyes meeting his. It’s a struggle to meet his gaze. “Don’t do that.” He urges, eyes narrowing, as if he’s considering you.

“Do what?”

“Act unassuming. You could’ve easily gotten rid of him yourself.” He says, and you gape at him for a moment, then smile even wider. “And what makes you say that?”

You eye the golden crucifix hung around his neck, the cross rising then hitting his chest softly as he takes a step towards you. “You thought about it. I saw it in your eyes.”

You laugh, just a little bit, and he’s not in any way offended, rather, he’s intrigued by you.

“So you’ll tell me that but not your name?”

“You’re inquisitive.”

“You’re enabling.”

Across the room, Shanks leaps from a table, causing a ruckus, both of you avert your eyes for a moment at the noise. When he looks back, you’re already staring at him. That alone makes him raise an eyebrow at you.

“Why did you help me then?” You ask.

“I told you, it was a courtesy.” He replies, almost as if he’s holding something back. With a grunt beneath his breath, which you assume is a curt farewell, he prepares himself to leave.

But for some reason, he waits.

You look up at him with a childish grin. “What?”

He turns away, almost bashfully, “Mihawk,” he murmurs. “Dracule Mihawk.”

You’re ready to chide him about giving in so easily, but he's already turned to leave.

“Will I see you again sometime, Mihawk?” you ask, and he slows his steps, the softest twitch of a smirk on his lips.

“Maybe, if you need a pretend boyfriend again.”

Oh, you’ll see him again.

BONUS :

"YOU MET MIHAWK??"

“You know him?”

Shanks is folded over a table after listening to your story, drunk off his ass. He can barely talk without hiccuping.

“They're friends of sort…” Yasopp grumbles, slouched on the floor, sobering up slowly.

“That hiccup bitch wants to hiccup kill me!”

notes ; this was absolutely not proofread 😭

[imkorais]

When I was a child, things were easier.

Now I am an adult. Well, I should be one, but I don't feel like I am.

The real world is different from what I used to fantasize as a child

.

[imkorais]

childhood

[imkorais]

Pillowtalk

_Sanji x reader_

_Reader with a sad past (mom attempted suicide)_

_WARNINGS: mention of suicide_

Sanji was obsessed.

How could he not? There, lying next to you on his bed in the dim light of his room. He was enchanted by that spark in your eyes, which obscured even your wet cheeks, your shiny skin and your chapped lips. What were you just saying to him?

"I never understood what she meant to tell me that day. It's just that.."

First hiccup, another one and tears finally began to flow. And soon his hand is covering your eyes. No need to ruin this pretty face, he thought. With his other hand he took the last shot from his cigarette, then threw it in the ashtray on the bedside table to his right and looked back at you.

"After Dad’s death everything went downhill. She…" Sanji squeezed her almost choking her, pushing her face against his chest. Nevermind, he already knew where the speech was going and how it reminded him in particular of the past that he had kept behind.

Vinsmoke Sanji had always been good at sensing when someone was suffering, whether it was a rat, a woman or a child. Even more he knew what his duty was: to protect his comrades and prevent them from suffering. In fact, when you showed up in his cabin that first night looking for someone to make the lump in your throat that formed every night disappear, he had welcomed you, listened to you and rocked you. Afterwards he promised you that none of them would ever leave you alone, because there was no logical reason why you of all people should ever feel alone. He had been telling you these exact words on that first time, then also on the second time (over that nice hot tea he gently made for you) and again on the third, fourth, fifth time and so on. Even you had lost count of how many nights you had spent in the blond cook’s cabin. However an interesting rhythm had been created: in the evening both of you would retire to your respective rooms, later, in the middle of the night, you would go and look for him knowing you'd have surely found him, often and willingly with something delicious prepared by him in the morning, probably while you were too busy avoiding him out of embarrassment. It was easier at night, it’s always easier at night. This is what you were thinking about as you sank a little more into his embrace as Sanji’s chin leaned on your head and his fingers ran down your back. A thrill filled you and you sighed. "I really thought my mother hated me. She kept ignoring me for months until one day she chose to take her own life." You stopped waiting for his reaction, but when he didn’t say a word, you pulled your forehead away from him to lift yourself from his bed.

Enough for tonight, that’s enough. You can’t go on like this. You had started to think about it a lot in the morning, everytime you noticed the black bags under his eyes or at night when you were turning over in your bed and swearing you wouldn’t move from there. You felt the guilt weigh on your stomach, since, really, he didn’t need your pain. And yet you needed it. The urge to reach him and let you be lulled by him had become an obsession. At this point there was nowhere else you wanted to be.

Perhaps it was because of this thought that your movements blocked or the hand that in the meantime had climbed up your back grabbing your nape, two dark eyes fixed in yours. You started shivering. Suddenly you felt yourself grabbing and pushing on him, one hand on your back preventing you from lifting and the other pushing his head into the curve of his neck. Inevitably, you blush. Oh god.

"Ehm, Sanji-"

"I get it, don’t worry."

Now, you really couldn't process how much times you had spent like this, however you could see light laying on his bed. Was the night already over? The others would wake up in some minutes. It’s a shame you felt so at peace there, between Sanji's arms.

Suddenly he loosened his grip to light a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke over you, expecting you to get away from him or even leave, but you didn’t.

[imkorais]

_Reader with a sad past (mom attempted suicide)_

_WARNINGS: mention of suicide_

_Sanji x reader_

_Reader with a sad past (mom attempted suicide)_

_WARNINGS: mention of suicide_

Sanji era ossessionato.

Come non poteva? Lì, steso accanto a te nella penombra della sua stanza. Era incantato da quella scintilla nei tuoi occhi, che oscurava persino le guance bagnate, la pelle lucida e le labbra screpolate. Cos'è che gli stavi dicendo?

"Non ho mai capito cosa intendesse dirmi quel giorno. Solo che.."

Primo singhiozzo, un altro ancora e le lacrime iniziarono a sgorgare. Ed ecco la sua mano a coprirti gli occhi. Non c'era bisogno di rovinare il tuo bel volto, pensò. Con l'altra mano aspirò l'ultimo tiro dalla sua sigaretta, per poi buttarla nel posacenere sul comodino alla sua destra e riabbassò lo sguardo su di te.

"Dopo la morte di papà è andato tutto male. Lei..." Sanji la strinse a sè quasi soffocandola, il volto di lei contro il suo petto. Sapeva già dove stava andando quel discorso e quanto gli ricordava il passato che si era tenuto alle spalle fino a quel momento.

Vinsmoke Sanji era sempre stato bravo a capire quando qualcuno soffriva, che fosse un ratto, una donna o un bambino. Ancor di più sapeva quale fosse il suo compito: proteggere i suoi compagni e impedire che soffrissero. Infatti quando ti eri presentata nella sua cabina quella notte in cerca di qualcuno che ti facesse scomparire il groppo in gola che si formava ogni notte, come poi gli avresti spiegato, lui ti aveva accolta, ascoltata e consolata. Ti aveva promesso che nessuno di loro ti avrebbe mai lasciato sola, perché non c'era alcun motivo logico per cui proprio tu avresti mai dovuto sentirti sola. Te lo disse in quella prima notte, poi anche la seconda volta davanti a quel bel tè caldo che ti aveva preparato e ancora la terza, la quarta e la quinta volta.

Persino tu avevi perso il conto di quante notti avevi passato nella cabina del cuoco biondo. Si era creato un ritmo interessante: la sera vi ritiravate nelle vostre rispettive stanze, nel mezzo della notte lo andavi a cercare e lui si faceva sempre trovare, spesso e volentieri con qualcosa preparato da lui il giorno stesso, magari mentre tu eri troppo impegnata ad evitarlo per l'imbarazzo. Era più facile di notte, è sempre più facile la notte.

Questo è ciò a cui stavi pensando mentre affondavi un po' di più nel suo abbraccio, mentre il mento di Sanji si appoggiava sulla tua testa e le sue dita correvano lungo la tua schiena. Un brivido ti pervase e sospirasti.

"Ho davvero pensato che mia madre mi odiasse. Continuò a ignorarmi per mesi, finché un giorno scelse di togliersi la vita." Ti fermasti in attesa di una sua reazione, ma quando lui non disse nulla allontanasti la fronte da lui per sollevarti dal suo letto.

Basta così per stanotte, può bastare. Non puoi andare avanti così. Lo pensavi spesso, la mattina quando notavi le borse nere sotto i suoi occhi o la sera mentre ti rigiravi nel tuo letto giurando che non ti saresti mossa da lì. Eppure lo necessitavi. La voglia di raggiungerlo e lasciarti cullare da lui era diventata un'ossessione. Non c'era altro posto in cui volessi stare.

Forse è fu a causa di questo pensiero che i tuoi movimenti si bloccarono o fu per la mano che nel frattempo era risalita per la tua schiena afferrandoti la nuca, due occhi scuri fissi nei tuoi. All'improvviso ti sentisti afferrare e spingere su di lui, una mano sulla schiena a impedirti di sollevarti e l'altra che spingeva la sua testa nella curva del suo collo. Inevitabilmente, arrossisti.

"Ehm, Sanji-"

"Ho capito, non preoccuparti."

Allentò la presa per accendersi una sigaretta e soffiò una nuvola di fumo sopra di voi, ma tu non te ne andasti.