#OPLA MIHAWK X READER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sordidmusings · 6 months

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Let Go and Grip Me Tighter

Moot request! Mihawk struggles with guilt from the nature of his fantasies about you and begins pulling away. You won't let that happen.

A/N: Omfg this one was cooking for awhile but it's finally ready. It starts with some angst (living without sex ed or resources on that causes Problems) but then there's like a lot of smut then a quick wind down with some aftercare! Has some “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails vibes 💀

Word Count: 9.3 k

Warnings: afab!reader, fem!reader, NSFW all over the place, dom!Mihawk, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, spanking, praise, degradation, biting, marking, rough treatment, claiming, prone bone, missionary, creampie, manhandling, established relationship, Mihawk is very deeply in love with you and struggles with wanting to be a strict dom, he gets condescending 👌🏻, Mihawk orders you around, miscommunication angst up front

@fanaticsnail thank you for your patient encouragement 🙏🏻🖤 so much love for you

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

More than anything else, Mihawk was certain that the depths of his guilt were vast enough to have the breadth of the seas shrink to a mere droplet in their stead. He loves you so, so much, but his mind has been tormenting with thoughts he feels unforgivable. It started small; his fantasies of you started to latch onto that whiny, pathetic moan you’d let out when he grabbed you a bit too hard. He began to imagine himself purposefully digging his hands into you to leave bruises there, which then turned to smacking handprints into your skin. The thought of your ass red and bouncing with each hit had him cumming faster than he’d like to admit the first time it played behind his eyelids.

He began to get used to those ideas and started to get a little more… creative. What would your neck and shoulders look like littered in bruises and bite marks? Would your moans be as whiny and pathetic if he tied your hands and feet to the corners of the bed, leaving you with no option but to struggle and beg? Maybe he could just tie your hands behind your back and use his grip on the rope to pull you back to him harder on each thrust. Maybe he’d grab you and move you around as he liked, overpowering any attempts to move on your own and eating up the high-pitched whines from the force. He’d hold you down and fuck you until any unease became begging, and begging became “too much!”.

Mihawk felt a feral place in his heart burn every time he spit filthy words at you in his dreams. Tucked away in his nightly unconscious entanglements, he claimed you as his whore, his cocksleeve, his slutty little love. Many claims came and went but they were always possessive and you were always perfect, just as you were in his waking life. The heart that held such devoted and worshiping love for you ached at the idea of calling you such insults, but they set his cock aching just as greatly and he felt as if he was splitting in two.

How could he want to treat you in such a way? Mihawk loves you. He loves you and you love him and you always treat him with ceaseless care and support and he repays you by cumming to the thought of hurting you? Would you run from him if you found out? You knew the power he held; you’d helped him wash off the stains of those foolish enough to challenge him many times. Surely you would flee if you knew that the wielder of such power held ill intent towards you.

No - ill intent wasn’t right. He couldn’t hold ill intent towards you if he tried. So what was this then? He didn’t want to hurt you but he wanted you to enjoy being hurt by him. He wanted you at his whims as far as he could press before any real damage could happen. He wanted to come at you, teeth bared against your throat, and have you respond by offering your jugular. He wanted you to take pleasure in being moved and taken by his charge. That was it then - he wanted to own and control. To dominate. But how could he ask that of you if it required such beastly treatment?

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk’s hands on you have felt different. Normally, you could feel their comforting weight resting on your body or their firm press, born of the need to keep you held tight. You are still held but more by the will of gravity than Mihawk himself. Laying half draped over his body, as you are now, is one of your favorite ways to end the day. The unfamiliarity of his hands, though, will not let you find rest. Where is the sweet indulgence of fingers threading through your hair and scratching gently at your scalp? Where is the healing service of kneading fingertips releasing you from the aches of the day? Where is the steadfast protection of the grounding hold anchored to your hip?

In place of these daily devotions are the hesitant, whispering touches of a man you’ve never known. Your Mihawk has always been sure in his movements. That was certain from the very first touch - a tender grip on your fingers and lips at your knuckles, then a quick flip of his wrist so that lips could move to warm the inside of your wrist. Your Mihawk doesn’t know how to falter. He can wait and assess and test but none of that encompasses the way he shifts to shy away from your seeking touch. It happens incredibly slowly to hide from your notice, but you need his touch too much to overlook its retreat. Your body and heart take to it like roots to water, always reached out and ready to soak in the vitality it brings.

You lay and continue to wonder fruitlessly at the nature of the trailing fingertips moving from your shoulder to your elbow. The endless circling thoughts are wearing at you, and you snuggle your cheek further into his chest for comfort. At the feeling of his meager caress stuttering in response, you resolve to find and fix the problem immediately.

Lifting your head up, you seek Mihawk’s gaze. His head remains tilted away and his eyes remain shut despite the fact that he can definitely feel you staring at him. After giving him a few moments to do it on his own, you bring a hand to his chin and guide him to face you. You delicately trace the lines of his facial hair, which look extra sharp in the shadows cast by the warm lamplight. He opens his honey yellow eyes and circles them all around your face. He meets your gaze last.

“You’re hiding from me.” You state it as what you know it is; a fact.

“I do not hide-”

“Yes, you do,” you interrupt. “Every time you’re afraid to talk about something, you live in that head of yours.” You shift your hand to cradle his jaw, brushing your thumb lovingly across his cheek. “But, you’ve never pulled your presence from me too. You know we always figure it out, love. What has you like this?”

Mihawk closes his eyes again. Your answer is kept somewhere behind those lids. You wait for it to appear, but it seems less likely to happen with each passing second.

“I miss you,” you whisper. The little warble that snuck into your voice twisted the pit in Mihawk’s chest. His eyes open to mirror the concern roiling in your own.

“I’m right here,” he says, finally using his hold to press your body into him. The gesture pleases you but not enough to distract you from the way his words weren’t reassuring; they were begging to be believed. You let him have some time to try and let his eyes speak to you when he could not. Deliberately deep and measured breaths set rhythm for the way his chest floats you like calm waves beneath a ship. Taking in his unspoken cues, you could only understand that he was putting in great effort to hold something back. The conflict you felt in him between the need to shield you and the need to comfort you set you on edge. What could he hold in himself that he thinks so catastrophic? What does he know that could cause you such harm?

“Mihawk, please,” you beg. Your plea works against you; his eyes and grip harden.

“No.” Mihawk maneuvers you off of himself and moves to get up. You chase right after him, trailing rumpled sheets behind you. He makes it two steps from your shared bed before you catch him, locking your arms around his waist. You burrow your face into the warm skin between his shoulder blades and press your body as close to him as you can, clinging desperately. He remains silent but his hands move to your wrists in warning.

“Don’t run from me,” you plead, throat tight to hold back the whimpers starting to build in your lungs. He’s never left you during an argument - he had said it’s because he couldn’t stand to leave you upset. This sudden change leaves you shaken, holding tight to him in the hope that he is still your greatest stability and comfort. He begins pulling your arms away. The distress you feel lets him.

Mihawk at least turns around to see the damage he has caused. You see his regret in wet eyes, bowed head, and caving shoulders. Contrition compels him to rub circles on the wrist he still holds and the affectionate gesture pulls the first tear from your eyes. He begins reaching to brush it away but instead pulls back, his hand curling into a fist at his side. In a quick burst of anger, you snatch that hand and push it to your face. You hold it there even after it opens to embrace your cheek, scared it’ll leave you again. Mihawk hates the tears wetting his thumb and the shakiness of your breath, feeling the weight of his guilt become unbearable in their stead. He shrinks into himself even further from the way your eyes have narrowed in accusation.

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me with your problems?” You bite out at him. He can no longer look at you, choosing to gaze unseeing at the floor instead.

“No,” he mumbles like a child facing the rage from authority.

“Then what is wrong?” You press, voice turning from vicious to exasperated. “Whatever it is, I’m here for you. I love you, Mihawk, that won’t change! And I can help-”

“No you can’t!” He roars, snapping his head back up to bare his teeth at you. “You can’t help me! Not with this.”

Wide wet eyes stare back at him, shaken of their fight. Your lips tremble around stuttering breaths and his own angry breath puffs out into the small space between you. They’re all you can hear while you try to process his anger and the way his fingers begin to sink onto your wrist and jaw like claws.

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, trying to get things back under control. “I shouldn’t have pressed so hard when you weren’t ready.” Mihawk scrunches his eyes shut and bears his teeth again.

“No. You don’t understand,” he starts. A deep breath flushes his whole body and rattles him on the way out. He’s staring right into you again. “I want to hurt you.”

Confusion strikes you before fear has a chance. “What?”

Both of Mihawk's hands are now cradling your face, and the pressure of his fingertips betrays the controlling nature of his hold. He steps in close so your bodies just barely brush and he looms his head and shoulders into your space. His golden eyes burn molten, looking down on you.

“I want to hurt you,” MIhawk repeats, beginning to stalk forward to force you backwards. “I want to grip you ‘til you bruise, bite and leave marks.” You simply listen and follow as he speaks and the relief of releasing his fantasies has the confessions rushing out of him. “I want to force you down and fuck you so hard you scream.” Your calves hit the bed and you sit down on it when his hands continue leading you back. Your easy compliance has his mind blurry and spinning, now beyond his own will.

“I want to control your breath.” One hand clamps down next to your neck, shoving you quickly onto your back. Mihawk’s thumb presses threateningly into the base of your throat, not enough to halt your breath but enough for your veins to pound back against it. “I want to bend you over and watch your flesh tremble and burn red while I strike you.” His knees spread your legs wide, before he lifts one knee onto the bed, forcing your leg up with him. “I want to tie you like a captive and fuck you while you’re bound and have to take it.” His other knee is on the bed, making your other leg open up for him too. He’s hovering over you, letting some of his weight bleed into the grip beside your neck before releasing it. The hand moves to dig into your upper arm. Mihawk crawls forward into the middle of the bed, using that grip and his shoving thighs to drag you with him. “I want to own and command you.”

You have never felt so small and exposed and it’s sending an addictive thrill through you. Your heart is pumping bubbling adrenaline through your veins, most of it moving to boil between your hips. Looking up at the fierceness of Mihawk is bringing back temptations you had locked away long ago. Your hands move to fist into your own shirt, too unsure to touch him but needing to hold onto something.

Despite his rough grip, the way Mihawk bends down to brush his forehead against yours is reverent. “I want you to let me touch you however I want, fuck you until I’ve had my fill, until neither of us can move.” His eyes close and his hold softens and his nose nudges yours. His breath is soft against your lips, smelling sweetly of the wine you shared over dessert. His voice loses its power and creaks with defeat. “I want to do so many awful things to you, but you’re my love - my life.”

You tilt your chin up to press a soft kiss against his lips. Mihawk stays still, simply letting you mold your lips to his, until his resolve breaks and he’s lunging forward to kiss you ravenously. He’s in immediate control of the kiss, needing to take everything he can from you while you’re still willing to love him. His hand moves to the side of your head, helping guide you to follow his frantic movements. You’re immediately lost in the heat of his touch and tongue, relieved to receive his affections again. Needing to feel more of him, you brush your thighs against his, your skin sliding easily against his silk sleep pants. When your thighs make it over his hips and you feel the muscles of his sides tickling the insides of your knees, you hook your legs around him. He fights you when you try to pull him down.

“Dear heart,” Mihawk manages to say between tasting you, “I should not.”

“You should,” you gasp back against his lips. Your kissing has grown to match his in hunger, filling him with joy and guilt. Another light squeeze of your legs fails to bring him down to you. This time he pulls away to look at you, eyes shining with conflict.

“I do not deserve-” You cut him off by using the strength of your legs to pull your hips up to meet his. The thin silk he wears does nothing to hide the shape and warmth of his hard cock. You earn a low moan from him when you grind against it. Trying not to fold to your temptations, Mihawk keeps on his hands and knees while you hang off of him.

“I want you,” you assert, “And you want me.” You grind along his whole length to emphasize your point. Your thighs burn with the effort, but the way his eyes flutter at the bliss makes it worth it. “And I-” you pause and swallow, stealing yourself. “I want all that too.”

“What?” Mihawk asks urgently. He grabs your chin, keeping you centered on him.

“I want all of that stuff too,” you say, letting yourself fall from him and back to the comfort of the mattress. He’s still staring at you with the unreadable, analytical face he usually saves for opponents, so you elaborate. “Your control. You own my heart, why not the rest of me?”

“And the harm?” he prompts bitterly. Not wanting him to pull away, you smooth your hands into his hair and massage at his scalp, trapping him to you in the gentlest way possible.

“That too,” you admit quietly. Your body flushes hot again, but this time with shame. “There were times when I would see your fierceness in battle and find myself more attracted than I should be. The first year we were together it was unbearable and I would fantasize about what it would be like to feel the force of your strength and will on me.” Mihawk’s breath halts and his face slackens. His hand releases your chin to brush fingertips across your cheek in awe. “I’d dream of you throwing me around, commanding me, punishing me. I got myself to stop over time because wanting something like that? I mean, there must be something wrong with me.”

“Never,” Mihawk growls. “You’re perfect.”

He descends on you and all you know of the world shrinks down to only Mihawk. Grasping hands rove over the both of you, pulling at hair and clothes and flesh. This time his hips are chasing yours, lighting your nerves on fire at the pressure of his grinds sinking your hips into the mattress. Your canting moans are muffled by his lips and tongue, but he hears them all the same and feasts on them greedily. One of his hands finds its home at the back of your head, fisted into your hair. You let out a high whine when he pulls back and holds you still.

“You will tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Mihawk commands. Unable to speak with the way the head of his dick is teasing your clit, you nod your head. “Words,” he growls, tightening his grip on your hair.

“Yes, my lord!” you answer, half gasping, half moaning. The pull on your hair relents and his fingers massage your scalp, soothing it.

“And you will tell me to stop if it becomes too much,” he continues, watching your face intently to make sure you’re truly hearing him and understanding what you’re agreeing to. He also needs to soak you in to make sure this is real, that you really want this. You focus in on the violent yellow of his eyes, taking in the seriousness and desperation you see in them.

“Yes, my lord,” you breathe out.

His lips cheat you of your next breath, but you don’t have the will to care. Everything of yours is his anyway. You’re just relaxing into the kiss when he’s pulling away to sit up.

“Get off the bed,” he orders. You only hesitate a moment before crawling your way to the foot of the bed and standing up from it. You turn to look at him for more direction, hands fiddling with the hem of your shirt while you wait. The way his eyes roam over you, assessing you, does little for your nerves; you feel like an unprepared student.

Mihawk turns and gets up from the side of the bed. He prowls over to you, taking his time to unsettle you further. The way his tall form slinks over to you treats you to a show of the shapes of his sloped muscles cutting lines across his body. His Adonis belt in particular catches your attention, on full display by the low rise of his pants. You shudder in anticipation when you follow those lines to the large bulge between them. It keeps your attention until he is stopped in front of you and you trail your gaze up to meet his neutral face. You know him well enough to notice the desire darkening his eyes. He leans his upper body forward, forcing you to crane your head back to maintain eye contact.

“Undress me.”

You fall to your knees, looking up at him while you sneak your fingers into his waistband. Slowly, you lower his pants down his thighs. You miss the way his cock bobs in front of your face when it’s freed, unable to look away from his eyes staring into your own. You let the pants fall when you reach his knees and place your hands on his warm thighs. Still looking to him, you begin smoothing your hands up his legs. Feeling emboldened by touching him, you look down to take in his length. While Mihawk may look unaffected, the truth shows in the flushed and leaking cock in front of you. A thick vein on the underside tempts you to lick it, but when you lean forward a punishing hand holds you by the hair.

“I didn’t give you permission,” Mihawk warns. The way you look up at him with big contrite eyes has his cock twitching but does nothing to change his resolve.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” You get no response except his hand petting down your head and gently cupping your cheek. He leaves you waiting a few breaths while his palm warms your cheek and your eyes soften his.

“Undress yourself.”

Your hands drift slowly from his hips to the hem of your shirt. In a smooth motion you lift it over your head, only losing eye contact when there’s fabric between the two of you, and lay it on the floor next to you. Your thumbs hook into your underwear, holding their position while you stand up to rid yourself of them. Despite your nudity, his eyes stick to your own.

“Back on the bed.”

Mihawk watches you while you crawl onto the mattress, enraptured by the way your ass sways back and forth as you move. The teasing peaks he gets of your pussy as you move test his resolve to take his time commanding you before he sinks into you. When you get to the head of the bed he notices you hesitate, staying still on hands and knees before peeking over your shoulder for direction. The way you look to him, pleading for guidance, has his heart pounding and his mind running feral. He reels it in with a slow breath.

“On your back. You need to be able to look at me for now.” You follow his command, ending up propped on your elbows with your bent legs acting as a barrier between you two. Mihawk has seen you naked almost daily for a handful of years, but you find yourself feeling shy and exposed. This is a deep fantasy finally coming to fruition for the both of you, and what if the real you doesn’t measure up?

“Spread yourself.” You shiver at the command, absolutely dripping from the hunger rumbling in his voice. You look down to your knees and falter, worrying at being completely exposed to his voracious gaze.

“Precious,” he calls, bringing your eyes back up to him. His face is still stern but there is a touch of gentleness in his voice when he softly prompts, “Go on.”

Choosing to focus on your most beloved yellow to ground yourself, you slowly spread your legs apart. They end up in a wide v, still propped bent with your feet planted in the soft sheets.

“Good girl,” he purrs. Mihawk takes his time admiring the curves of your spread legs before he can no longer keep his gaze from your exposed cunt. He admires those curves and lines too and is flooded with delicious memories of having his face stuffed there. Fresh heat washes from his chest to his cock, and he has to swallow from the way his mouth waters.

Your previous worries leave you when you see how Mihawk looks at you. He’s a man possessed, taken and corrupted in the face of immeasurable riches. You see the men of myth, who scheme and steal under the noses of angry gods, in his face. That look of his snaps up to your face and you turn into prey. You love the way it has you feeling so alive.

Mihawk finally makes his way over to you. He takes his time, letting you feel each shift in the mattress from the weight of his limbs. It gives you time to feel smaller and smaller as he overtakes you, overwhelming you as his broad shoulders get higher and higher over your body, enclosing you between him and the bed. Strong arms plant themselves on each side of your head, caging you into his dark gaze. His handsome face, haloed by dark curls, looks striking in the dim lamplight, his sharp features casting shadows across pale skin. You can’t resist the call to reach up and caress him.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” Mihawk growls, snatching each of your hands from his face. The threat in his tone and the forceful grip squeezing your wrists has bright adrenalin bursting in your chest and tingling in your limbs. He presses your hands down in the sheets next to your hips and releases them as he tells you, “Lay on them.”

Hesitantly, you arch your back and clasp your hands together in the new gap. When you lower onto them, you scrunch your nose at the uncomfortable feeling of your knuckles rubbing into your spine. Mihawk notices and gives you a disapproving look. He places a spread hand on your stomach and presses down, making your knuckles and spine roll over each other. He keeps some pressure there; a reminder of your disobedience.

Your hands grip hard into each other when Mihawk finally lowers his hips flush to yours. The feeling of hot skin is such a relief to your frazzled nerves and pleading pussy. His dick fits perfectly within your folds, rubbing deliciously through them as he ruts against you. There’s no distracting pinch or catch; you’re wet enough to cover him and spread over any skin he touches. A shiver shakes up Mihawk’s spine at the feeling of you clenching around nothing against the base of his cock. He’s treated to the sweet sounds of your whimpers and moans, pulling especially delightful ones from you each time he angles to circle more firmly around your clit.

“Please, sir,” you whine, “I need you inside me.”

“Such a greedy whore,” Mihawk chides, tone so condescending it almost sounds bored. You whimper back to him, but he catches the way your hips twitch and press more firmly to him. He takes pity on you and gives in to his own needs to feel you around him.

Mihawk is big but it was never a problem because he enjoyed taking his time when pleasing you, so the prepping happened naturally by the time he was ready to make his way inside you. Today though, Mihawk finds himself overcome with the need to force you open when he shoves two fingers in and feels you clenching tight around them. He spreads those long fingers to press against your plush wet flesh and keeps pressing as he slides them back out. His fingers move to hold his cock, which is soaked from grinding into you and the precum he’d been uncontrollably leaking, and line him up with your entrance. He starts pushing into you immediately, groaning at how you clamp down tight in surprise.

The way your breath hiccups as he keeps inching his way into you has his mind spinning. He bites into his cheek to keep himself from bottoming out in one brutal thrust; he wants to feel every flutter and twitch of your cunt and body as they try to accommodate him. He needs you to feel every second of him taking ownership of your body, needs you to feel how much more powerful he is. Wet fingers dig into the meat of your hip as he tries to hold himself back. You feel the sweet mix of the smooth slide of every ridge on his cock playing at your nerves and the burn of your muscles stretching almost too far. You surrender fully to your trust in him, releasing all tension from your muscles and all thoughts from your head.

“Much better,” Mihawk breathes against your lips. He stares deep into your eyes and watches them become fully dilated and hazy. You stare right back and give him a lethargic smile for the praise. The rush of giving up control while he takes your body leaves your brain and body feeling like liquid. You almost move to touch him again, but his words are the only things still held in your mind.

Mihawk pulls back slowly, treasuring the way your body tries to suck him back in. You get halfway through an inhale before a quick thrust knocks all the air from your lungs. The satisfying clap of his hips on your ass ricochets through you. You get a chance to breathe when he stays deep in you and circles his hips to feel every inch and detail of your pulsing cunt. Overwhelmed, you whimper, “Mihawk-”

“Not my name,” he snaps. His hand flies up to your mouth and shoves two fingers in, pressing the taste of yourself into your tongue. You suck on them, looking up with apologetic eyes, hoping to placate him. It doesn’t work. “And to think I was giving you time to adjust.”

That’s all the warning you get before he sets a rough pace, each impact bouncing through your body, shaking your thighs, hips, and breasts. You shut your eyes against the onslaught, each nerve screaming its pleasure at you loudly. You feel unbearably full of Mihawk but also unable to feel enough of him. You need him in your hands, on your tongue, ringing in your ears, pulling you apart. The closest you can do now is tilt your hips up to feel him even deeper and offer more room for his hips to rub your skin at the end of each thrust.

When he feels your thighs squeeze tight to his waist, Mihawk falls to his elbows under the instinct to curl into you. With frenzied motions, he readjusts his forearms to be beside your chest, pressing your upper arms into your ribs. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, keeping you trapped against each pound of his thick cock into you. His claim on you flushes through your veins and seeps into your bones. Your mouth, now free, hangs open to pant and moan for him. His forehead presses to your temple so he can feel your breath deliver each sound directly to his ear, persuading him further and further from sanity. His lips hovering so close to you lets you hear his own harsh breath and hushed groans.

“My lord, sir, please,” you beg, needing more from him but too lost to say how. You know he’ll figure out what you need, he’ll take care of you, push you as far as you can go before you snap and become pure pleasure.

“Fuck, treasure,” Mihawk moans, hot breath tingling on your neck, “just be my good cocksleeve - lay there and take it.”

He switches his rhythm, starting to pull out slower to draw out his time in the grip of your cunt. Each push into you is still punishing, taking advantage of his curve to shove the head of his dick across your g spot. The steady hammering has pressure building between your hips quickly. “Sir -hah- I’m so -nngaaaah- ‘s so good I’m -hahnn- my lord -aah-” you continue babbling pleading nonsense to him, trying to let him know how close you are.

Mihawk can tell even without you senseless moaning; your thighs have begun to tremble and jump and you get impossibly tighter with each thrust and he’s sure he’s found heaven in your cunt. His face buries in your neck, sucking harshly at your delicate skin and savoring the light flavor of salt on his tongue. His teeth begin to come into play, worrying against little sections of your neck, mixing a sweet sting into the flurry of pleasure surging to your head. He feels you tip your hips away from him and wiggle in his grip, trying to hold off your orgasm so you can cum when he does and he hates it.

“Don’t run from me,” he snarls, snapping his right hand to grip the back of your neck. You obey immediately, but sob out at the overwhelming pressure pulsing behind your clit. The sound has Mihawk’s balls pulling tight and his cock pulsing but he’s chasing your orgasm, not his. He wants to feel the violence of it being forced out of you. His left hand moves down your back, fingers dug deep into muscle the whole way, and covers your clasped hands with his own. Mihawk licks up the side of your neck to nibble your earlobe. His tone is biting when he taunts, “Cumming already little whore?” and you’re gone.

He manages to keep his pace through your orgasm, each press of his cock making another wave of bliss crash through you. High moans knock from you in time with his hips, but you're deaf to them from the buzzing between your ears. His cock twitches hard in the threat of release, and he bites down meanly into the meat of your shoulder to muscle his way through it. The feeling of you trapped beneath him, legs clinging to him in desperation while you cum is better than any of his fantasies have granted. Through your settling fog, you feel deep moans vibrating into your shoulder through Mihawk’s teeth.

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp, “feels so good.” Teeth release from your shoulder and thrusts become circling grinds.

“Ah but you were supposed to be making me feel good, weren’t you?” Mihawk chides. He licks his burning hot tongue over his bite mark, pleased with how deep the indents are.

“Sorry, my lord,” you whine pathetically, “I couldn’t -hahn- couldn’t help myself.”

Mihawk turns to nip at your jaw before hovering his face above yours. His piercing eyes narrow down at you as he mocks, “Oh, poor you.”

He’s detaching from you, getting up onto hands and knees, leaving you empty. Your eyes widen in panic and you almost reach for him. Instead, all you can do is whimper at him while he pulls your legs from around his waist and hope your sad eyes will entice him back. Mihawk takes them in with a twinge of remorse, but mostly they send arousal shooting through him. At first, he thought of rewarding you for keeping your hands still and letting your legs go limp while he maneuvered them, but he wanted to push you more first.

“Flip over. Chest down, ass up.”

You blink twice to process his words then get to work. Your movements are sluggish and sloppy, your muscles still recovering from your orgasm. Seeing how weak you’ve become from his touch has Mihawk resisting the urge to surge at you again. The sway of your movements causes your ass to wag in front of him and he’s glad you can’t see the way his jaw slackens at the sight. You look divine - no, more like sin incarnate. Your lax muscles cause your upper body to sag fully into the bed, making your ass arch obscenely high in the air. Your tired face is buried in your arms and the sheets. The display has his mouth watering and he can hardly tear his eyes away from your glistening pussy peeking out between your thighs.

“So perfect,” Mihawk purrs, reaching a hand out to touch you. You jump slightly at the first touch then relax into it, humming appreciatively. He massages his thumbs into the curve where your ass meets your thighs. When you ease into that touch, gently swaying with the oscillating pressure, he slides his large palms onto your skin. For a short while, he simply takes greedy handfuls of you, switching and shifting his grip so that every bit of your ass and hips have been squeezed. Your lax body continues to follow his hands as his lovely marionette.

“Since you’ve forgotten the one reason you’re in my bed, I’ll have to take my pleasure from your punishment instead,” Mihawk drawls. He wastes no time delivering the first smack onto the thickest part of your ass. You jolt with it even though it was barely a fraction of his strength, just barely enough to sting. The warmth of his palm settling over the sparking skin soothes any hurt into pleasant tingles. You’re beginning to mourn the fading of the feeling when his opposite hand strikes your other cheek just as hard. This time you gasp and arch your ass higher, forcing Mihawk to take a deep breath to keep his steady pace.

“Careful now or I might think you’re enjoying this,” Mihawk chastises. Beneath his flat tone, he’s positively bursting with excitement. He had worried that you only thought you would be okay with this, but you’re leaning your hips towards him just as eagerly as you do the days he spends hours unraveling you on his face, fingers, and cock. There’s a buzz settling under his skin that’s making every touch feel so sharply in focus. You let out a slightly embarrassed wine, but continue to display yourself to him shamelessly, begging for more.

A harsher smack stings your right cheek, sending ripples down your leg and up your side. You shiver at the burst of brilliant sensation. In anticipation for the next one, you shorten your breath, feeling on edge that you have no clue when it’s coming. The air of the room is electric as it brushes against the goosebumps on your body, vibrating with threat and promise. A breath too long passes with the hand gone and you tense up, immediately receiving a strike to the left in response. It rattles through your bones more with the tensed muscle, knocking the air from you in a loud moan. Your already burning flesh is struck over again, tripling the number of pin pricks you can feel dancing under his hand. You moan, “Sir!”

“Is that all you can take, precious?” Mihawk’s tone is just a touch gentler. He’s smoothing his palms over your marked skin, unable to stop his need to keep touching you. Staring down dark eyed at the first budding handprint, he desperately hopes you’ll let him make more. He’s barely got himself held back as it is now that he knows that sting on his palm, the sight of your ass shaking, the sharp clapping sound, your gasps and moans, the rush of absolute control. His breath is shaking with the need to overwhelm you and fill himself with as much of you as he can shove in his nerves.

“No,” you promise. You shuffle your knees just an inch closer to your chest and give an enticing wiggle of your hips. “More, please, my lord.”

“Good whore,” Mihawk groans. His hand digs into the flesh of your left hip and his right delivers two sharp slaps, each punctuated by a moan from you. You feel the hits fizzle in your skin and echo in a wanting burn rolling through your cunt. Your used pussy already felt swollen but now that’s amplified by bright pounding, feeling like your heart has fled your chest to beat between your legs. A thumb digs and swirls into the center of the bubbling handprint on your skin before disappearing again. You expect another hit, but instead you feel two thick fingers slipping through your entrance, causing you to moan long in relief. You greet them by eagerly pressing your hips backwards, trying to get his fingers to sink in deeper. Mihawk stops at the last knuckle and offers you two indulgent grinds of his hand before it rests still.

“Pleeeease,” you whine. Mihawk responds by adding another handprint to your ass, this time on the left side. His mind is swirling with the sound of your eager squeal, but he’s truly lost at the feeling wrapped around his fingers. He can feel the power of his own hit through you but it is the strong pulsing of your cunt that really makes his hips jerk with want. Mihawk presses his fingers down towards your belly button, seeking the way your pussy trembles with each successive spank. His punishing hand and your body’s spasms have his fingers hooked and twitching over your g-spot and you can feel another climax start to build with each throb of your clit.

“You were made for me weren’t you, treasure?” Mihawk asks, voice tight with desire. Time and time again, his mind has played out the dream of you under him like this but it never could have prepared him for the rush of you getting off to it just as badly. Seeing you become a needy wreck for his strength and will has his heart pounding and cock aching near painfully. He wets his lips and swallows, barely holding back from replacing his fingers with his tongue to taste just how sweetly you’re dripping for him.

You cry out when his fingers leave you, earning a lighter smack to your hip in warning. You claw into the sheets in frustration but aren’t left wanting for long; fingers reenter you and your neglected right side gets groped. His hand massages deep, helping you loosen up again and enjoy the feeling of his fingers on both hands digging into you. Mihawk marvels at the sheen on your flesh where his fingers smeared the wetness from your leaking cunt. He can’t help but leave a harsh strike right on top of the wet patch. With the encouragement of your panting and moaning and writhing, he continues on, making you feel boiling hot and boneless.

At this point you’ve begun grinding back on his fingers, fucking yourself back onto them shallowly, afraid that anything more obvious would have him pull them out for good this time. That fear is more instinct at this point than an actual thought; your mind feels like soup and you only know how to feel and react. It’s becoming clear to Mihawk from the way your voice strains higher and your body squeezes down on him that you’ve got a strong climax building in your core. All you can recognize is more and more pressure gripping through your hips and more and more delicious friction earned with each curl back on his fingers.

Suddenly, that friction is gone.

“Nooooooo, no si-hah-irrrr,” you sob. You’re set adrift with the coil tightening in you beginning to unwind. There’s a hand holding each hip but it’s not stabilizing you at all.

“Be good for me, precious,” Mihawk warns, removing his left hand to tap his finger above your clit. It sends unhelpful jolts through your skin, teasing the nerves you need him to smother.

“I’ll be good, sir, promise, promise,” you cry. The way you move and arch your ass in an attempt to earn his touch back is obscene and has Mihawk's hand planting bruises into your hip. You twist your neck to show him one teary eye over your shoulder. “I’m yours, my lord, pleeeeeease. I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” he presses. His voice is just above a whisper, unwilling to interrupt any of the gasps and whines coming from you. You nod fervently. “Then don’t cum.”

Three fingers shove into you, slightly curled and thrusting with the force you’ve been begging for. The wet sounds from each dive of his fingers fill the air between your pants and moans. Mihawk’s arm hooks around your right thigh so he can start steady swirls of his fingers over your clit, timing them perfectly with the thrusts from his other hand. He tries to resist the urge to bend even closer to you, but he’s helpless to the pull. You feel the thick hair on his jaw brush over your right hip. The loving caress is soon replaced by warm lips and nipping teeth, adding even more sparks to the fire he’s tending in you.

It’s feeling more impossible by the second to obey Mihawk. The muscles in your legs want to curl and lock up and your hips are shaking against Mihawk’s hold. You’re open mouthed and pleading, not quite sure what words are actually coming out, just sure that you have no ability to keep any of them in. Your hands are clawing into the mattress, hoping to find some purchase to center yourself. The rhythmic bursts of pleasure that Mihawk is diligently working from you are so strong you’re not quite sure if you’ve tipped into cumming yet except there’s been no promised snap.

Mihawk is unmeasured in the way he bites and sucks at your flesh, but his hands are another story. He knows your body - has studied your reactions for years - and uses that to slow and lighten just enough each time a wave of pressure around his fingers gets a little too strong or your writhing stills to a tremble half a second too long. Instead of pulling you back or pushing you forward, he keeps you exactly at the edge of climax where he can actually test your will. He’s hard set on knowing how hard you’re going to try to obey him, the thought and sight of your struggle for him filling him with addicting arousal.

Your will over your body is just about to give out so you snap your teeth into the meat of your thumb to pull some attention away from the bliss of Mihawk’s touch. His attention goes up to see the bite when he hears the pitiful moan sneaking past your clenched teeth. He moans deeply at the site. “You’re being so good for me, fuck.” He presses his cheek hard into the burning handprints on your ass and unconsciously mimics the grinding of your hips with his own, finding no relief for himself. One more uptick in force and speed into your plush swollen pussy has you jerking. With digging teeth and a yelling moan into your hand, you manage to hold back against the raging tide of your orgasm.

Mihawk pulls from you and you collapse against the bed, taking in gasping breaths. You’re jostled as Mihawk shifts around quickly, moving to cover you. His breath is loud behind you as he settles there, legs stretched out between your and upper body help up only on his left elbow. That hand has shoved under you to flip around and grip your shoulder tight. His right hand anchors on your hip, guiding you back against his starved grinding.

“You did so well for me, my little whore,” Mihawk breathes into your ear. He nibbles at it before moving down to suck more red marks into your neck and shoulder. The slick way his cock glides through your folds has him burn with satisfaction. He made this pathetic mess of you. Having you soaking for him was no rarity, but the whiny mindlessness, the complete take over by your needy instincts, that was new and only had his need to tear into you grow stronger. He rumbles into your shoulder, “My perfect precious cunt, cum as much as you want.”

Mihawk is guiding himself into you and you shoot right back to being so close after only a few thrusts. You manage to slide your legs a little wider apart across the bed despite his heavy body, packed with muscle, pinning you under him.. It lets his balls tap at your clit with each thrust and just a handful more have a violent orgasm tearing through you. You cry out your bliss every moment you aren’t simply gasping and feel the muscles all the way up your core join the squeeze of your cunt, making the bright ball of pleasure feel like it’s reaching just as high. Your whole body is ringing with the echoes of it, everything feeling so overwhelmingly good.

Mihawk’s hips stutter for only a second before he’s continuing his ruthless pace. His body and mind are flooded with you and he folds to the torrent. A ravenous “more” is mumbled against your skin, barely reaching you through the whiteout in your head. His left hand shoots down to help keep your hips tilted and steady, leaving the weight of his chest to push you deeper into the bed. You’re completely smothered in him, his sweat damp skin pressing and sliding over yours. Unable to fully inhale under his resting bulk, your world gets a little fuzzier. There’s not a single part of you that cares; you feel trapped and controlled and protected and desired. You feel truly wanted and owned, being fucked into the matress under Mihawk while he holds you like a lifeline, sinks teeth into your shoulder, and speaks dark praises to you. When you come back to yourself more fully, having long been suspended somewhere between the crest of your orgasm and settled pleasure, you make little attempts to please Mihawk more. He notices the little turns and grinds of your hips and rewards you by slithering a hand under you to begin petting circles over your clit.

“You feel delicious, precious, you’re so fucking good, held out for me so long.” Mihawk’s voice is a moan and growl and sigh, sounding more untethered than you’d ever heard him. “Need to feel you forever -nnnnnghh- give me more.” The last word is all snarl and he’s shoving his face harder into the crook of your neck, sinking teeth back into your skin.

You aren’t sure if you have more to give him but still try, unquestioningly following his will. You don’t think you’ll need to try for long; both of you are wound precariously tight. Mihawk has lost his will to pull from you, so he moves against you in strong deep grinds. You’ve never felt closer; every sense is filled with Mihawk, every breath, every thought, every piece of you. It feels like he’s fucking you deeper than he’s ever reached, teasing your cervix with his thick tip, pulling you apart as if he’s somehow gotten bigger from the way your muscles have tightened around him. Mihawk feels the telltale buzz of his end flash through his nerves. Desperate, he bites out one more order, “You’re mine. Say it.”

You find the breath to chant, “I’m yours, I’m yours, yours-”

One arm shoves upwards, trapped tight between your breasts and crushing you back into him. He groans out, “Fuck, precious,” before his hips jerk and his cock is pulsing in you. His forehead presses to the side of your head and he’s moaning right into your ear. Fingers twitch against your clit and you feel his hot cum pumping into you and his arms cage you right to him and the friction of it all sends you right into another climax. This one is just as overwhelming as the last but sits in your body more smoothly. It’s a satisfied heat radiating through your muscles, rolling through you instead of jerking. You fall limp under the force of it, left to lay prone and take in every second of your body clutching and reshaping to Mihawk. He guides you both through it with the slow grind of his hips and the points of clarity where his hands grasp you.

“There you go, love, you are divine,” Mihawk praises quietly, as the aftershocks begin to settle out of you both. He gets his arms under him to lift some of his weight off of you and allow you to breathe deeply. He noses at your cheek, peppering you with kisses. You come back to your body slowly as he moves his kisses over the tender skin of your neck and shoulder. Testing the feeling, you open and close your hands, releasing the scrunched sheets. They feel inflated and clumsy, but it will do. Your right hand searches behind your head and quickly finds its way into Mihawk’s soft hair. You scratch lightly at his scalp while your other hand slides across the sheet to find his. Before you manage it, he puts his hand over your own, entwining your fingers in a comfortable hold. Mihawk rests his head behind yours, taking some time to breathe and bask in your touch. He decorates the passing moments with gentle praises, content sighs, and brushing thumbs.

Eventually, he gains the will to pull away from you to prep you both for bed. The moan you give him when he starts to pull away is endearingly grumpy like a spoiled pet roused from a nap. He’s just standing up when he notices your weak and begrudging attempts to get up and follow him.

“Stay down - you’re shaking like a newborn fawn.” The light insult is softened by a loving kiss to your temple. You’re more than used to his dry tone and direct comments anyway, knowing something like that had no cruel intent and that’s simply how he talked. That didn’t stop you from pretending to be a bit upset from time to time for apology affection. You’re pretty certain he was onto you. You were also pretty sure he enjoyed playing along.

You float thoughtlessly in your body, feeling like you’re napping pleasantly without going under. You startle when a hand lands on your shoulder. It’s hot and damp and you understand why when a soft cloth begins washing over your skin. Continuing your heavy-bodied haze, you lay there and let Mihawk wipe over your whole body, only moving to the patient prompts of his hands nudging and turning you. You wince when he works over your ass and pelvis, earning extra affectionate words and touches. You’re on your back, peeking up blearily at him through heavy eyelids, when he finishes up.

“Bathroom?” he prompts and you hum a lazy affirmative. You’re carried like a princess to and from the short stop and are thankful there’s no longer anything to keep you from or possibly interrupt your coming slumber. When you’re placed back onto the bed, Mihawk follows you with the sheets and comforter in tow. With practiced ease, you cocoon together in the bedding. On nights like this, where Mihawk has extra need to feel like he’s surrounding you, he pulls your back flush to his front and curls around you. His skin feels soft on the many places you’re molded together, but you notice it most while you both shift your legs to intertwine.

“Dove?” Mihawk calls, wanting to know you can still hear him. You hum and snuggle your cheek further into his bicep. “I love you,” he whispers into your hair, punctuating the declaration with a lingering kiss.

“Love you, too,” you promise, adding one last gentle squeeze to your hold on his arm.

Tomorrow he would wake you with gentle kisses and caressing hands. Your favorite morning drink would be ready for you to sip on while leaned back against his chest, enjoying the way he massages the soreness from your thighs. A bath with your favorite salts would await your tired body. Mihawk would sit with you and feed you both fruits and sweet bread. Once the candles saturate the air, he would set about cleaning you head to toe. He would gently tend each bruise and bite mark, murmuring his gratitude and devotion. Each act of loving worship would be a balm to you both, affirming that connecting to and caring for each other is both your greatest want and deepest need. For now, you settle into each other for some much needed rest.

#mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #opla mihawk #one piece smut #thirst hours #my writing #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #x reader smut #one piece #opla #afab reader #mihawk smut #fem reader #x reader

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nicksolemnlyswears · 6 months

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WELCOME HOME

MASTERLIST

pairing: opla!mihawk x reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+, swearing, smut, slight knife play, oral (female receiving), p in v, slight breeding kink

a/n: i got carried away with the fluff at the end. as much as i love smut i also love some domestic ass fluff which is very clear here lol.

i started this a while ago but got busy and only managed to finish it today! next up i’ve got buggy. i actually have two ideas for him. both have smut but the premise is so different lol. let’s just say one has a prominent daddy kink.

this might be very ooc! mihawk, again i’ve only watched the live action. i would like to start the anime but those 1,000 episodes are intimidating to say the least.

Working for the Marines proved to be useful for Mihawk. His bounty was canceled, and he got to travel and get up to shenanigans that would otherwise bring him trouble.

Mihawk gets to strike pirate after pirate, which benefits him greatly. It gives him the opportunity to search for the one meant to surpass him while getting paid. No one has come close to beating him yet.

After another tedious mission, Mihawk returns home. He opens the grand doors of his castle and leaves his hat and coat by the door. He silently goes deep into the castle and into his bedroom, unhooking Yoru from his back and placing it by the bed.

He removes his boots and pants while keeping his eyes on the figure sprawled on the bed. His dear wife sleeps peacefully on her stomach, her hair casting a halo on the white pillows.

He tries his hardest not to wake you, but you groggily open your eyes as he lays on the bed. He stares back at you apologetically, kissing the back of your head.

"You're back," you sigh, closing your eyes again. Your muscles relax when you see it's your husband who has returned from his latest mission.

Normally, you'd greet him much more enthusiastically. However, the sky outside is still a deep shade of blue, the stars twinkling brightly to shine some light on the otherwise dark room. And you have had a long, exhausting day that is pulling you back to sleep.

"Just got back," he responds softly. His eyes trace over your exposed figure. It's a warm summer night if the sheets crumpled by the end of the bed are any indication.

He was away longer than he expected. It's times like these that he resents his agreement with the Marines. He will resent anything that keeps you away from him. He would take you with him if your circumstances were different, but it's too dangerous.

You suddenly feel his touch on your back, but pay him no mind as sleep threatens to take you away once more. Mihawk traces your exposed skin with his small blade Kogatana. He likes seeing two of his priced possessions in his grasp.

He'd never dare cut you with it. That's reserved for his enemies. Enemies who would be scared by the mere sight of Mihawk, but you simply melt under his gaze without a worry in the world. The touch of the cold blade familiar and comforting.

"Don't you dare cut through my clothes again, Mihawk," you suddenly threaten when he glides the blade over your night dress. You might be safe from the sharpness of his blades, but your clothes never are.

"Or what?" he asks, lifting your silky nightgown with the blade. Just a bit more tension, and it will cut through the fabric. There's an unmistakable smile on his handsome face.

"Fuck around and find out," you groan, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. Deep down, you know you're not getting any rest anytime soon. Mihawk is clearly in a particular mood.

"Is this how you receive me? With empty threats?" Mihawk teases you. He follows it with a "Tsk, I expected more from you."

"My love, it's four in the morning. My brain isn't working properly, but rest assured it'll come up with something by morning," you huff, burying your face on the pillow.

"I'm dying to find out what you come up with. In the meantime, I'll fuck around." Mihawk says with a tone that warns you he's up to no good.

In an instant, you hear the blade ripping through the material of your nightgown. The cut is clean and precise, exposing your skin to the room's humid air.

"Mihawk!" You groan, annoyed but far from surprised. Another piece of clothing ruined by Kogatana. Add it to the tally.

"Screaming my name already? I've barely touched you," Mihawk chuckles, amused at his joke. He traces his lips down your spine, pressing kisses along the curve of your back.

"Idiot…" you mumble with a small grin. You prop yourself up on your elbows, still on your stomach, looking at your husband over your shoulder.

"All yours, darling," he responds cheekily, biting down on your exposed ass cheek.

"Hey!" You giggle, wiggling under his hold. Mihawk pins you down with his body as he comes back up.

Mihawk brushes your hair over one of your shoulders to dig his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse point. You smile at this, having missed his touch like the familiar scrape of his beard on your skin.

Mihawk gives you enough space to turn around in his grasp. You cup his face and say, "I missed you. A few more days and I would've gone out in search of you." Your thumbs mindlessly rub over his jaw. No matter how much he cuts through your clothes, you love him.

Your actions bring him comfort as he leans into your touch, "My apologies. Will you allow me to make it up to you?"

You pretend to think as he stares you down. His gaze is soft and loving and filled with playfulness. Playfulness that is reserved only for you. "It's the least you can do," you finally respond, touching his lips.

Mihawk closes the gap in an instant, kissing you senseless. He groans into the kiss as he deepens it, his tongue swiping your lips to gain entrance. He grabs your thigh, wrapping it around his waist to have you closer.

Your arms wrap around his back, scratching his skin with your nails as you pull yourself closer. Mihawk's hand comes up to your chest, pulling on the tattered fabric of your nightgown, successfully throwing it somewhere in the room.

"Don't forget you owe me another nightgown," you breathe as Mihawk kisses down your body.

"And a blouse, a skirt, a dress, and many the undergarments. But who is keeping track?" Mihawk says. He's settled between your thighs, placing open-mouthed kisses down your soft stomach.

You prop yourself up to watch him delve lower and lower down your body. He searches for your gaze when he reaches your mound, where he places a small kiss. "I'd much prefer you sleep naked. We can sleep skin to skin."

You smile and shake your head at him, biting your lip in anticipation. "What of the nights you're gone?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mihawk's strong hands grasp your thighs, pulling them open. Maintaining eye contact, he traces his lips over the inside of your thighs, not quite kissing them. His facial hair tickles you and leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Not one to lose an argument, he responds, "More of a reason to stay naked. Makes it easier to touch yourself while you think of me," he purrs. You feel his breath where you need him most.

As you open your mouth to reply with a snarky comment, Mihawk takes his chance. His tongue licks up your slit, tasting you for the first time in weeks.

"Ohh."

Mihawk eats you out like a starved man lost at sea for months. His tongue licks and flicks over your clit repeatedly as his lips wrap around it to suck. You fall back on the bed with your fingers digging into his curls, pulling on them. It only spurs him on as his hips involuntarily thrust into the mattress. Pleasing you turns him on.

"I missed this cunt," he lewdly moans as he kisses the inside of your thigh, lightly biting the area.

"Mihawk," you whine, turning red-faced by his crude words.

He mimics your tone, saying your name. Your ankle digs into his back in response. He's far from hurt as he laughs into your thigh. Having had a taste, he slows it down, taking his time. Enjoying everything about you.

He spreads your lips apart, exposing your pink center to him. Strings of arousal cover you, giving your cunt a pretty sheen. You're easily embarrassed by Mihawk's actions, but your whines do nothing to stop him.

"Fucking beautiful," he purrs, thumb circling over your exposed clit.

Your fingers card through his curls, pulling them back to watch his lustful expression. No one has ever made you feel as desired as Mihawk has.

Soft breaths fall from you as you feel Mihawk's warm tongue gather the slick from your entrance. He gets lost in his pleasure as his fingers dig into your thighs. Obscene wet noises coming from his mouth, mixing with the staccato of your moans.

Each flick of his tongue gets you higher and higher, your tummy tensing under the weight of the pleasure. You whine as you get closer to your peak, small warnings Mihawk doesn't need as he's learned what each of your tells are. He's adamant about making you cum on his tongue.

It's a matter of time until he feels your legs squeezing his head and your hips bucking into him. Your back arching follows soon after as a loud cry escapes your lips.

Mihawk licks his lips, satisfied, as he pulls slightly away from you. The twitching of your cunt is not missed by his hawk eyes. He presses his palm against your center, easing you down from your high.

He crawls back up your body, kissing your nipples on his way up. You swat him away gently, feeling sensitive.

"My beautiful wife," he says once he's face to face. In his eyes, you're the most beautiful woman in the world. Your skin shines prettily with the afterglow of an orgasm.

"What's gotten into you?" You giggle, giving him exactly what he was looking for. Your smile.

"Can't a man miss his wife?" He asks, nudging your cheek with his nose as he sporadically leaves kisses on your face.

He did miss you, but he's also extremely pussydrunk. Going down on you does as much to him as it does to you, judging by the hard on pressing against your lower stomach.

"He can..." You smile, wrapping your arms around him to caress his back. "Just how much did you miss me?"

You feel his laugh in your ear as he catches your suggestive tone. Nonetheless, he whispers, "I missed you like the sun and moon miss each other."

"You're cheesy," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him flush against you. His cock is between the two of you, a bead of pre dripping onto your skin.

"Don't tell anyone. Or else my reputation be ruined." Mihawk says, pressing his forehead against yours.

"It's our secret," you whisper in response with a kiss on his waiting lips.

Hiking your leg further up his body Mihawk lines himself up and pushes his cock into you. You gasp into the kiss as he fills you up until he bottoms out.

He always starts slow. The drag of your walls against his cock is a memory he never wishes to forget. He swears your cunt feels better each time he has the pleasure of being buried inside you.

His thrusts are slow but deep. He keeps a hand on your leg that's hiked up around his waist while he holds himself up with the other. The way you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes is his favorite sight in the whole wide world. Your soft gasps and cries are a symphony of their own, especially mixed with his own.

His slower pace only lasts so long as he gets lost in the way your cunt chokes his cock. He wants more. He needs more.

His resolve quickly disappears as he picks himself up to kneel on the bed. He easily pulls you closer as you slide down the bed with a yelp. His cock always inside of you.

Mihawk presses your legs up to your chest, grabbing a discarded pillow to place under your ass.

"Much better," he mutters as his hips buck against you tentatively.

"Yeah, 'cause you're not the one folded in half," you begin saying as he snaps his hips, which turns into a moan. The new angle brings tears to your eyes. The tip of his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

"Don't deny it. You like when I manhandle you," he gruffs, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He further presses against the back of your thighs as he looks down when you both meet. His cock wet with both of your juices.

"I'm. Not." You pant between each one of his jerks. You leave it at that, closing your eyes to focus on the sparks of pleasure.

This is Mihawk's favorite position just because of the visual standpoint. He's in total control and gets to gauge your body's reactions.

Your scrunched up eyes as you concentrate on following your release. The biting of your lips to try and remain quiet, yet whimpers betray you. Your chest bouncing pulls him into another trance as he watches your skin blushing and your nipples hardening.

Your eyes squint open as you bring your hand down to your lower abdomen, where you say, "Feel you right here, Mihawk."

Mihawk mutters a curse under his breath. He places his hand on top of yours and asks, "Want me to cum right here too, darling?"

His moves become sharper and more precise as he bullies that spot inside you. "yes. yes. yes. Fill me up, my love," you cry out.

It's all becoming too much for you. You bring your arm up to bite on it and muffle your moans, but he still manages to coax out your voice. Your moans remain a secret in the night, heard only by Mihawk.

It's fucking glorious the way your cunt squeezes his cock when you reach your climax. The rhythmic pulses of your high urging him to continue pushing into you. You try to push him away to get him to go slower, your hands only managing to caress his abdomen before he pins them down.

He is in total control. He just needs a bit more from you. You can take it. You've done it before. Your legs shake both in exhaustion and rapture. His pace is steady as he feeds into that feeling that tightens his balls.

His hands turn to lace his fingers through yours. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room. With hooded eyes, you watch your husband in all his glory. Trickles of sweat fall down his strong chest, and his curls are a mess atop his head. It all makes him look like a work of art.

Once more, the familiar sensation of pure euphoria washes over you, and it's enough to push Mihawk to reach that place as well. He stills inside you, his hands squeezing yours as he empties himself inside you, just like he promised.

With your hands on his hold, he brings them to his lips to kiss your palms. He follows the path down your arm until he buries his head on your shoulder. He lies there, almost crushing you under his weight, breathing you in. You wrap your arms around him, enjoying the closeness and rubbing your hands up and down his muscular back, rubbing the spots with the most tension from carrying Yoru around.

You talk in hushed whispers as you gain back your energy. It's a hard task, considering you were woken up in the middle of the night, and Mihawk probably hasn't slept in more than 24 hours.

Hours later, you feel the hard patter of footsteps nearing your bedroom. You sit up, preparing yourself despite Mihawk's heavy arm threatening to pull you back down into his embrace.

The door to your bedroom is slammed open with a bang barely second after you manage to slip on your robe.

"Wake up, wake up, it's morning!" Your loud, curly-haired boys scream as they run around the room with wooden swords.

"What's all this ruckus about?" Mihawk groans. Both boys freeze, noticing the other figure sitting up on the bed, "Papa!"

"There are my brats," Mihawk huffs as they let the swords clatter to the ground to climb the bed and throw themselves at him, "I missed the two of you," he says, hugging them and kissing their heads.

You stare lovingly at the scene in front of you. The twins were a result of your honeymoon with Mihawk. Fruits of your love, if you will.

The five-year-olds are the spitting image of their father. Kind reminders of him whenever Mihawk has to go out on a mission.

"Missed you too, Papa."

"I want some snuggles, too!" You exclaim, grabbing the twin closest to you and placing him on your lap to kiss and snuggle. He squirms and laughs as you tickle his belly.

The twins celebrate their dad's back as they cling and climb over him. You let them do as they please, considering it has been you who they've clung to for the past couple of weeks.

"Mama is sick," one of them blurts out to Mihawk, causing you to freeze.

"Mhm, Mama called the doctor to make her better!" The other echoes as you pull him to your lap to shush him.

Mihawk narrows his eyes at you as he listens to the twins ramble. You throw him a sheepish smile and quickly look down at your son, brushing his unruly curls to avoid his gaze.

"Well, Papa is home now. I'll take good care of Mama," Mihawk reassures them. "Why don't the two of you go to the kitchen and gather the ingredients for your favorite?'

"Really?" They ask in unison with excited smiles.

"Absolutely," Mihawk says just as excited, ushering the boys out of the room. As soon as they run out, he turns to you with a raised eyebrow, "Not that I'm a doctor, but you didn't seem sick a while ago."

"I didn't?" You ask incredulously, standing from the bed to sit on the vanity.

Mihawk follows you, knowing you're trying to avoid the conversation. He calls your name, kneeling down on the floor by your seat. "Why did you call the doctor?"

You sigh, mustering the courage to tell him the news. You face him as he settles between your legs. He grabs your hand and places a kiss on the back of it, giving you the courage to tell him.

"We're having another baby," you smile at him, squeezing his hand.

"You're happy?" Mihawk is ecstatic, to say the least, but he recognizes how hard your pregnancy with the twins had been. So, he toned it down for the moment.

"I'm happy," you nod, allowing him the joy of having another kid. It's been six years, and you're ready for another baby. Besides, the boys are growing up so fast that they aren't babies anymore.

Mihawk hugs you from his kneeling position, digging his head into your stomach, "You think we'll have a girl?"

"I have my fingers crossed. There's too much testosterone in this castle. One thing is for sure though, it's the last one," you tell him, kissing his head.

"Come on, darling. We have more space for two or three more..."

You roll your eyes at him and gently push him away, reminding him he has two hyperactive boys downstairs waiting for him.

#netflix one piece #fanfiction #opla mihawk #opla smut #opla x reader #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #opla dracule mihawk #pole dracule mihawk x reader #smut #opla fanfiction #one piece fanfiction

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fanaticsnail · 5 months

Note

I always am in awe and in love with your writing and wanted your thoughts on this. What do you think of the aloof Mihawk with an apprentice that he isn’t that close too. He still is protective, but doesn’t think much until he notices that the apprentice is getting weaker and assumes they are slacking. He tears into them about being lazy and goes to leave only to hear them collapse with the Hanahaki disease. 🫣

Hanahaki: The Hawk and the Fledgling

Hanahaki: a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

Masterlist here. Part 2 here.

Word Count: 1,466

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you, Anon. I hope I fulfilled your request well. I am very new to the concept, so I have drawn this up as a drabble rather than a fully-fledged fic.

Song Accompaniment: Luminary

“Pick up the pace, Fledgling,” Mihawk directed you, his drawl laced in boredom and indifference, “try to at least be better than you were yesterday. You’re growing slack or, dare I say, lazy.”

It had been this way for the past three years. You had initially sought out the mighty Dracule Mihawk, warlord and world’s greatest swordsman, to train you to become an expert in skilled swordcraft. Initially, he refused your request; shutting the door in your face as soon as you uttered a simple: “Lord Mihawk, I have come to humbly request-.”

His eyes bore an intensity, an aloofness and disinterest about them. The honey-colour irises within the darker rings indicated he was exactly the strength you needed to train under to become an expert in your field. As soon as your gaze was halted by the large wooden door, the large brass handle swinging to nearly hit you; you became resolved in not moving from your place atop his staircase until he was willing to take you in.

He made you wait seven days. Your body was overcome with exhaustion, dehydration and malnourishment when he finally stepped aside to welcome you within his darkened and gloomy halls to await further instruction.

Your training began by vigorous routine: waking, eating, training, sleeping – all with the broody swordsman lording over you; criticising every aspect of your routine. Your apprenticeship was joined alongside the demon and bounty hunter: Roronoa Zoro. He was an amazing peer; his strength and agility was akin to your own, alongside his mantra to become stronger than the person he was yesterday. Mihawk paid you and Zoro the same amount of attention, his ward: Perona, also offering you guidance and comradery with her unwavering support.

“You slept in, Fledgling,” the warlord would utter, flicking the back of his newspaper to straighten the pages. He did not look up to acknowledge your presence in the slightest, opting to raise a glass of red wine to his lips instead.

“No protein with your breakfast? You’ll never achieve your goals by living on simply bread – I don’t care if Perona informs you otherwise,” he would utter, brushing past you to reach high up on the kitchen shelf and thrusting the jar into your hands, “at least balance it out with almonds or pumpkin seeds, Fledgling.”

“Sloppy,” he would comment, gesturing to a particular maneuver you were working with against your peer, Roronoa Zoro, “pick your feet up, Fledgling. Rabbit, aim for their calves to make them move.”

Each jab, taunt and criticism had your resolve to train harder and stronger more cemented within your chest: a chest that became weighed down with a feeling of suffocating tightness. The brush of a correcting hand, the whisper of his shoulder on his way past you, the feeling of his guidance on your lower back throughout the halls had your heart bound within vines.

Fighting the feeling with furrowed brows and clenched jaws, you pinned it as anxiety under the hard traineeship you sought with this undertaking with the swordsman. You thought you had trained yourself too hard: coughing uncontrollably, clutching your chest to relieve you of the tight feeling that followed with a spatter of blood falling from your parted lips into your palm. A trickle of saliva connected your lips to the pool within the creases of your hand: a small petal white and pure going unnoticed within your outstretched palm.

You strengthened your resolve, opting to train harder to break yourself from the weakness you were experiencing. You chose not to inform neither Perona, Zoro nor your boss Dracule Mihawk of the overexertion you were sure you were suffering.

Battling with Zoro became harder and more difficult with the amount of exhaustion you found yourself overcome with. The feeling never ceased, and appeared to be becoming worse the more your eyes met with the disapproving gaze of your mentor. Mihawk would shake his head and look away from your stance in disappointment, opting to praise Zoro for his ability to take down someone akin to you.

It was not until you felt the feeling overcome your chest completely that you collapsed under the pressure of your heart. The feeling of overexertion was too much. The passion was too much. The love?

Love.

You were in love.

You were in love with Dracule Mihawk.

A man you knew you could never have.

His gentle touches: firm enough to guide you, soft enough for it to be a suggestion rather than an order. The way his eyes would linger, unblinking and harsh. There was no softness, only correction and disinterest. He was not interested in you, not in the slightest - that was a fact you were certain of. A man of his stature had no awareness, desire, or need for something as simple as romance or love.

Collapsing within the vineyard, drawing your hand up to your mouth and coughing under the uncomfortable weight within your heart; your eyes rose to the feathered hat atop the warlord in front of you, wide and frantic.

“Lazy again, Fledgling?” he uttered, turning to face you along the clay row of the cascading vines, “and here I thought-.”

His words were cut short, his eyes widening at your form and brows immediately rising. Hunching your back over, you hung your head as a fit of uncontrollable coughs overcame your body in a fit of wheezed breaths. The vocal chords within your throat stung within the chasms of your oesophagus, a trail of white petals once again falling to your palm under your coughs. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the pain you were experiencing, looking in horror towards your mentor.

“What is-,” he began, turning in his sprint to join you at your side, “-what is wrong with you?”

Drawing his right arm to collect your shoulders, he embraced you against his chest as you continued to struggle to gulp down breaths of air to fill your lungs. Utilizing his left hand, he withdrew your hand from your lips and stared his amber eyes down to your palm.

“Hanahaki,” he whispered in a low growl. His teeth clenched tight against each other at the thought of the disease overtaking your form. His honey-coloured gaze scanned over your body, staring at the risen veins like vines rising in a trail from your heart to your clavicle as his breath hitched in a light hiss.

Releasing your hand from his left, he laced his left arm beneath your body and thrust himself upwards to cradle you against himself. His embrace was strong, his support of your respiratory system within his arms relieved some of the tension falling from your heart in waves of caged interwoven vines.

Blurred sentences falling from his lips, your ears nor eyes are able to focus on a single word uttered.

“-How long-.”

“-When did-.”

"-Fledgling-."

“-You didn’t say-.”

“Let’s-... -a doctor.”

You felt your body be placed onto a firm, wooden surface. Your chest felt weighed down by the amount of earthy and binding roots you felt entrapped by. Your jaw ached with how hard you had clasped your teeth shut to halt the release of more petals. Pure, white and teasing was the nature of the flowers falling from between your parted mouth. The ache never ceased within your chest the longer your mentor remained with you.

Your dizzying mind only regained focus at the next utterances falling from the lips of your mentor.

“I will send for the green-haired rabbit. Perhaps I can persuade him of the charm you hold and convince him to fall for you,” he took a long breath inwards and uttered in a tone just above a whisper, “if you can convince someone as hardened as I am wordlessly to harbor affection for you, the brat should have no such trouble.”

He exited the room, the wooden door to the kitchen swinging behind him in a slow, creaked ‘click’ as it met its handle against the brass latch. Immediately, you felt your heart began to release the tension folded around the organ. Although your mouth was dry, the flavour of metallic blood lingering in a cocktail against the floral texture of something akin to jasmine flowers, your body was relieved of the tension for the first time in three years.

No longer hardened by what you assumed to be mild anxiety, you knew you would be able to train harder still to achieve both yours and Dracule Mihawk’s impossibly high standards of yourself. Discovering what harbouring the affections of a warlord of the seas truly meant while training was something that filled your once constricted heart with a soaring freedom you yearned for.

You would have much to discuss upon his return, especially with a green-haired apprentice in tow.

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #hawkeye mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader

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sinning-23 · 1 month

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Parenthood

OPLA Dilfs with their s/o and their moody teen! Uhhh idk what possessed me to write this but here we go!

D/N= Daughters Name

S/N = Sons Name

Shanks

-Your daughter is literally a witty bundle of joy! She's may not be moody but she definitely had a sarcastic air about her. (Shanks think she gets it from you a little bit)

-She's fast on her feet but also has her pouty moments, most of which occur when she’s told to complete her chores and she'd much rather pretend to steer the ship and watch the water for sea life.

-The most she'll do is roll her eyes and anger her eyebrows but will clear her throat when you use your mom stare on her to get her to 'fix her face'

-"Roll them again and they'll get stuck like that! Now go do what your father asked!" you snap, seeing her scurry away.

-She rarely gives Shanks attitude but when she does she tries to have it come across as joking.

-"(D/N), take these to-" "Sure dad I'll give you a hand.”

“……”

“I’m telling your mother” he chuckles, the color draining from her face.

“NO WAIT!”

Buggy

-Your son is literally a menace and just as moody as his father, if not worse. You have to deal with constant attitude, eye rolling, and the frequent mumble under the breath.

-Buggy usually catches it and is quick to flick the boys forehead and that also results in a scuffle between the two.

-"Tell your husband to get off my DICK!" S/N shouts as Buggy chases him around the arena.

"WATCH YOU MOUTH YOU LITTLE SHIT! And quite trying to turn your mother on me!" Buggy shouts back, various body parts launching at the blue haired teen.

-Sometims it feels like youre dealing with two children because in the end each of them has and ear being pinched between your delicate fingers.

-"S/N, watch your mouth. Just because you’re a sailor doesn't mean yo need to swear like one. Buggy, darling." You begin sweetly before pinching harder,

"STOP PROVOKING OUR SON TO ANGER!"

Mihawk

-The twins have...rather manageable attitudes when they’re reminded to calm down.

-Hell, when they were born they’d practically sneer at you if their feeding or nap time was off by a milisecond.

-Your son and daughter look closer to you accept the obvious yellow eyes. (You didn't really stand a chance when it came to the eyes,)

-Your son is more subtle with his attitude, giving jabbs to his father while your daughter just flat out doesn't give a shit.

-One day, durring an outting to stock your home with more goods, the twins noticed how everyone that lived on the village you currently reside don sort of....stared and judged them. of course they could care less but tey couldn't help but shoot insults in quiet whispers.

"She's not nearly as alluring to be this witless." S/N states, following behind you but keeping pace with his twin sister.

"If only her mother had swallowed." D/N adds.

You choke at that last one.

-Both you and Mihawk ge your fair share of attitude but all it tasks if the threat of an intense and bone breaking training sessions and all attitudes simply cease.

#x reader #one piece #reader is black #one piece live action #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #one piece x reader #opla #smut #hes so hot #shanks is a daddy #opla shanks x reader #one piece shanks x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy #buggy the clown x reader #opla mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #opla mihawk x reader

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ijwrsmff · 8 months

Note

hiiii, I was wondering if you could write live action mihawk and reader dining at the baratie?(it doesnt have to be meeting the crew, it could just be a date?) have a wonderful day! <333

I most certainly can!!! He was cast so well, my god. I don't think there's been any casting in the Live Action that wasn't just. Perfectttttttt. Sanji shows up briefly, but it's before he joined the strawhats. I've also only seen Mihawk's intro, so all my knowledge of this fic was based off that and what I know about him in the anime. So if things are a little bit off I'm sorry :,3 I plan to watch more tonight after writing for a while.

He's very soft in this one.

Word Count: 1,270

Today was special! It would be your six month anniversary with your boyfriend. It was odd at first, even considering dating the greatest swordsman in the world. He was cold and calculating, but he did have a soft side. You were glad you gave him the chance, and got to see it.

He was never embarrassed to be with you, and in fact…showed you off with pride. He would sit and feed you if you asked, doted on you, whatever you wanted. A dominant soul, but he was aware of that and embraced it. He would always be at your beck and call. Protecting you, even just with his status in the world. No one dared mess with you.

Mihawk had suggested the place that you met as your anniversary date. The Baratie, world renowned. Often people would sit on the waitlist around holidays, or even just weekends. But he never needed a reservation, he was a loyal customer at this point. It was a special place to you both, and it would be the perfect location for any anniversary.

“Would you like me to order for you?” He knew you could get anxious about ordering, so he always offered. You didn’t always even need him to, but it was a nice gesture. “What would you like? I could order it. Never worry about price, darling.” He smiled momentarily, not showing his smile often. Unless he was with you. It was heartwarming, to say the least.

Mihawk wasn’t the most wealthy man in the world…but he was pretty damn close. Not everyone can afford their own island and castle. But he certainly could, and with ease, too. He still managed to be humble, in some ways despite that fact. He would continue to buy you anything you could ever want. He’d make sure you got it, as soon as you did so much as to look at something for a few seconds.

“I’m okay! I can order this time.” You smiled at him, and he nodded in confirmation, smiling back momentarily. “What are you gonna get?” You looked through the menu for a little bit, trying to decide on some of your favorites. They always have such good food. It was hard to pick most of the time, and they probably knew it too.

“I’ll go with my usual, do you need help picking something?” He offered, always willing to help you. He could be so considerate, and kind. Not to everyone, but especially to you. “I can recommend something based on your likes and dislikes.” He smiled, this time for longer. He could always relax more when you were around. It may not look like it to others, but he was pretty relaxed right now, enjoying your anniversary with him as much as you were.

“Hm…I was thinking about these two, but I can’t decide which one I want more!” You looked at the menu for so long that you didn’t notice the waiter coming to your table until he spoke. It startled you a bit, and you jumped, making both the waiter and Mihawk chuckle.

The waiter’s name was Sanji, and he looked at you with what could have been hearts for eyes. But he knew better than to say anything after last time. Wouldn’t stop him from looking though. When you were here before, he had flirted with you. Mihawk…being him was confident you wouldn’t leave him for the waiter. But he did warn him with a “If you’d like to keep your hands, I suggest you keep them away from my partner.” He was protective, but you knew he wouldn’t actually fight the waiter.

Mihawk didn’t result to violence, so you knew it was an empty threat. His amused look he directed at you proved that fact. Sanji didn’t know that though, and raised his hands in defeat, saying you’d be protected well by the greatest swordsman in the world. “Allowed” Mihawk to be with you. Because apparently according to him you needed that affirmation. It was amusing to the both of you, at least.

Dinner went by smoothly, and you talked the majority of the time. Mihawk was an amazing listener, but not too much of a talker. He was more content to listen to everything you said, and his memory was so good he had no problem remembering all the stories you told. Sometimes he would pitch in, or ask active listening questions to show you had his undivided attention.

Out of nowhere though, he tilted his head and looked at you as if you were the brightest star in the sky, uttering an “I love you.” As you were about to finish your food. He did like to throw that out there often, and only became more frequent as your relationship progressed. “Would you like to order a dessert?” It was another way he said he loved you. By offering you what he could effortlessly provide.

“Mhm! And I love you too.” You giggled and finished your food, as he flagged down the waiter and ordered your favorite dessert they had. You didn’t even have to tell him what it was, he remembered. He always did. “Would you like to share it?” Was your offer, though you already knew his answer.

“One bite will suffice. The dessert is for you, afterall.” He smiled, and allowed you to talk until the dessert arrived. Once it did, he opened his mouth expectantly, waiting for you to feed it to him.

You did so, without being prompted to. It was always so cute to you when you fed each other. He could care less if the people in the restaurant saw the display of affection. He swirled the spoon with his tongue, making eye contact with you the whole time.

“You’re such a tease!” You giggled and he smiled softly. It was a funny and domestic moment, and it made you say, “I do love you though. No matter how much of a tease you can be.” As you winked at him. He winked back, but relaxed in his seat while you ate.

Reclining a bit, you finished the dessert. He talked for a bit through it, mostly how his island was doing since you hadn’t been to it in a couple weeks. As much as you loved him listening, he had such a soothing voice. It was cool, and deliberate. He never said something that wasn’t important. Or a compliment to you, which was just as important to him as it could be.

He packaged up your remaining entre for you, and stood up to leave. “That was a wonderful date, darling.” He said as he left the money on the table. It had a generous tip, since he always makes sure to do so. “Would you like me to drop you off at your island?” His arm was around your waist, to make sure you didn’t fall off when getting onto his small “boat”.

“I wouldn’t mind spending time on your island! I know we won't get back anytime soon…but it’s your home.” You smiled, and sat on his lap when he made his place on the boat. “I’d like to spend more time with you!” He wrapped his arms around your middle, and the boat began to move.

“One day it will be OUR home. I never mind spending more time with you, either.” He sighed, and rested his head on your shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, it can be yours.” He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, making you giggle.

“We’ll have time. As long as you’ll have me.”

“Now and always.”

#mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #established relationship #x reader #gn reader #opla mihawk x reader #one piece x reader #fluff #request

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secretwritingspot · 3 months

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Blurb #1: Doe-Eyes

Pairing: Mihawk X Reader (could be OPLA or anime, your choice really)

Hi! I'm back, though in shorter form! A/N here to say that I am working on the longer form fics promised, but in the meantime I wanted y'all to at least have some crumbs while I work so I decided to do a few little blurbs. And yes, as promised, introducing a whole new character I simp for!!! We're expanding our horizons!!!

Rating/Content Warnings: PG/E for Everyone, this is really nothing but fluff

Summary: Kinda a character study??? Maybe??? Essentially, Mihawk finds yet another stray at his doorstep thanks to the devil fruit powers of Bartholomew Kuma. Mostly written from his POV.

Disclaimer(s): Definitely pre-slash because this is pre-EVERYTHING, basically a first meeting. Personalities based on LA but story elements from the anime are mentioned. EXTREMELY liberal use of italicization. You have been warned.

It was morning when he first found you.

Or, rather, you found your way to him.

He couldn't do much else but sigh at the unfortunate habit he was starting to develop. It was below his stature, taking in strays.

First the ghost. Then the rabbit. Now...

Well.

Take a few steps back. A nickname would imply he had already decided to keep you. And he had hardly decided much, especially since he couldn't even gauge your skill level, given you were out like a light on his porch. If you had been conscious, it would've been easier.

Your brows start to furrow and your eyelids twitch after a few moments, like even in your sleep his presence had been noticed.

That was interesting. Promising. That, he thought, he could work with.

Then those eyes of yours opened, and he decided maybe it would've been easier if you stayed asleep after all.

They cracked open, slow and squinting against the light of day, accustomed to the darkness of your own eyelids. It only took a moment of judgement for them to lock onto him, before any other move had been made.

You sat up gingerly. Inelegant, supplies one part of his mind. Injured, hypothesized the other.

There wasn't confusion in your gaze, so clearly it had been at least a few hours since you were dropped here. Bartholomew Kuma, he thinks, owes him a concerning amount of favors at this point.

And wine. A concerning amount of that, too.

Instead, your eyes held something calculating, yet incalculable. Knowing yet hiding, push and yet pull. That, too, was promising. Being unreadable was a hard earned skill. He knew that intimately.

Sitting up afforded you at least some dignity, but still you did not speak. Nor did you stand up - maybe you couldn't, or maybe you didn't want to need his help to do so. Both options pointed to injury, one prompted in him a begrudging respect.

"Fine, then. On your own terms."

The look you shot him at the comment wasn't quite a glare, but it wasn't far off either. You stumbled getting to your feet but reached out only to the iron railing of the stairs for assistance. Not once to him.

Respect it was, then. How unfortunate.

It took you longer than it should've to catch your breath after the simple act of standing up, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was not, contrary to popular belief, a goddamned medic. Some day, his colleagues would have to learn that.

You didn't break eye contact. That was what caught him the most.

You stared him down in silence for far longer than anyone should be comfortable with. He knew his gaze was a weapon, he had learned to use it as such, but not once did it seem to phase you.

No, you just stared - all big eyes that anyone else might describe as doe-like, maybe even himself if he was feeling sentimental. The eyes one would expect to find on an innocent, a child, an animal. He imagined he could see your mind working behind them, debating whether to continue the impromptu staring contest or try to speak. Which would be more likely to help your case.

What he didn't like was that he found himself looking too long.

Noticing details. The long, dark lashes around your eyes. The vivid color, pupils still blown and drowsy from sleep. The glint of something more.

With a sigh, he turned on his heel and started the short walk back to the door. He didn't need to look to know you continued your staring, planted exactly where he'd left you.

The nicknames, he had learned early on, were a necessary evil. Meant mainly to irritate at first, he soon discovered that without them, looking at his unintentional wards as anything other than ghost, rabbit, it led to an unfortunate amount of attachment.

Not that the names curbed them much. There's no getting rid of a dog once you've named it.

He thinks, when he stops at the door, that this will be a mistake. That something, this time, is different. You would need a name, wouldn't you?

And he thinks back to your eyes. Pauses. Sighs.

"...come along then, little fawn. Unless you'd rather stay out and freeze."

#dracule Mihawk #Mihawk x reader #opla Mihawk #opla Mihawk x reader #opla #opla x reader #Mihawk x you #opla Mihawk x you #opla x you #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #opla x y/n #opla Mihawk x y/n #mihawk x y/n

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short-honey-badger · 4 months

Text

Peppermint Tea Masterlist

So, this had gotten a little out of hand to have it all on my main list. So I've made this one for the main story and anything else I might do in this universe. Thank you for enjoying!

Peppermint Tea Peppermint Tea 2 Peppermint Tea 3

Peppermint Tea 4 Peppermint Tea 5 Peppermint Tea 6

Peppermint Tea 7 Peppermint Tea 8 Peppermint Tea 9

Peppermint Tea 10 Peppermint Tea 11 Peppermint Tea 12

Peppermint Tea 13 Peppermint Tea 14 Peppermint Tea 15

Peppermint Tea 16 - Lavender 1 Peppermint Tea 17 - Lavender 2

Peppermint Tea 18 Peppermint Tea 19

Peppermint Tea 20 - Lavender 3 Peppermint Tea 21 - Lavender 4

Peppermint Tea 22 - Lavender 5 Peppermint Tea 23 - Lavender 6

Peppermint Tea 24 Peppermint Tea 25

Peppermint Tea 26 - Lavender 7 Peppermint Tea 27 - Lavender 8

Peppermint Tea 28 - Lavender 9 Peppermint Tea 29 - Chamomile

Peppermint Tea 30 - All Blends Peppermint Tea 31 - All Blends 2

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thirstydemisexual · 5 months

Text

TEASER FOR MY MIHAWK X DEVILFRUITUSER!READER

(INSPIRED BY THAT ONE JOHNNY CAGE AND KITANA)

“How is a dream about my death funny?” he says in a very unamused tone. You let out a laugh recalling the events of your dream.

“I dreamt you suffocated under a pile of women'' at which he let out a slight chuckle, which was rare from someone like Dracule Mihawk. He then leans forward. Your breath caught in your lungs as your noses almost touched before he ducks sideways bringing his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“Wouldn't mind that being my end if upon me there was you, princess” I took all your self control to keep your blood from rising to your cheeks as you let out a really shaky giggle, trying to act as if that little stunt of his hadn't turned your insides into mush.

As if he hadn’t just suggested what you were thinking he took his glass of wine and moved to go towards the bar station

“I need to work now, but maybe later” he threw that invitation at you before getting away in the most nonchalant way possible.

#mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #op mihawk #opla mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk smut #dracule mihawk x reader #opla x reader

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 2 months

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A Bounty As Boundless As The Sea | Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: One Piece (Liveaction 2023) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dracule Mihawk x F!Reader Characters: Dracule Mihawk, Original Characters, Akagami no Shanks, Roronoa Zoro , Perona. Warnings: Mention of blood and physical torture, violence, 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching. Summary: Constantly evading capture due to a bounty on your head, you were forced to embrace the life of a pirate, despite your initial desire for a thrilling adventure and a simple exploration of the world. One fateful day, the Marines dispatched Dracule Mihawk to hunt you down, plunging you into a game of hide and seek with the formidable Warlord of the sea throughout the East Blue. However, to your surprise, the man proved to be less bloodthirsty and hostile than you had anticipated. His piercing, hawk-like eyes, shimmering with a deep golden hue, left an indelible impression on your mind, while his apathetic yet self-assured demeanor ignited a newfound sense of intrigue within you.

Credits: The divider was made by firefly-graphics.

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

Read on AO3.

Dracule Mihawk, a man shrouded in mystery, had an allure that was almost impossible to ignore, even with scant knowledge about him. As fate would have it, this powerful attraction was reciprocated.

Warning: This chapter includes detailed smut!

When you offered that invitation to Dracule Mihawk, your intentions were unclear even to yourself. His heroic deed of saving you from a nearly unavoidable fatality seemed to instinctively provoke this response, and the prospect of an early departure was far from desirable, given the considerable time it took you to expunge his presence from your thoughts.

But now, as he stepped onto your ship and entered your private quarters—a place where no other man had previously been allowed—your heart refused to stay silent. The confined space of your vessel, where the bar area was placed in close proximity to your bed with only a modest couch acting as a divider, certainly did not help the situation.

Fortunately, you had a separate room dedicated to personal hygiene, discreetly placed on the opposite side and hidden behind a modest door. Thus, you allowed him to make himself comfortable, promptly excusing yourself to retreat into the washroom.

You hastily freshened up to restore your appearance after the strenuous battle, fixing your makeup and swiftly changing into a new attire. You didn't want to come across as overly provocative, but as a woman, you felt compelled to look decent in his commanding presence. You opted for a pair of velvety shorts, fastened with a broad belt that featured a striking golden buckle. You also picked a soft, high-quality leather top, adorned with a tasteful set of front laces that ensured it clung flatteringly to your torso. You chose, however, to completely abandon any form of footwear, allowing your legs and feet to be entirely unencumbered.

While looking good was of utter importance, you also needed to feel comfortable in your own space. Perhaps it was a bit too much considering you had a special guest, but you always valued presenting your authentic self, regardless of the occasion.

Or maybe, unbeknownst to you, Mihawk's calming aura instilled such a sense of ease that any need for formality was discarded. This notion struck you as profoundly ironic, especially considering that his initial task was to pursue and capture you.

Or worse.

As you exited the room, your bare feet meeting the cool wooden planks, your eyes locked with his golden stare. He was seated on the couch, legs crossed elegantly with his hands resting on his knees. His sword, tall enough to be mistaken for a menacing figure, was strategically placed beside the couch. Despite the indoor setting, his hat remained firmly on his head.

He was silent, scrutinizing you with an intense gaze. Attempting to maintain your composure, you sauntered over to the counter and fetched a pair of glasses.

With an air of nonchalance, you remarked, "You strike me as the wine type. Do you like it?”

"Wine is fine," he responded, his voice carrying a subtle undertone of indifference.

You acknowledged his response, turning to uncork one of the most exquisite wines procured in the East Blue. As you proceeded to pour the liquid, his expression immediatly altered, his eyes catching a glimpse of the scars on your back, stretching across your right shoulder from under your sleeveless top.

"What is that?"

He shattered the silence with a question that momentarily eluded your understanding. You swiveled your head around to face him, registering how his focus had drifted to your back. It didn't take long for you to discern what had suddenly ensnared his interest.

You answered with a casual shrug, filling both your glasses. "A souvenir from the Admiral I took down.”

Would he even have the inclination to learn about it? Did you harbor the bravery to revisit a nightmarish past you had strenuously endeavored to expunge from your memory?

Mihawk maintained his silence, which eventually led you to decide to lay it all out. "He took pleasure in using my back as his personal canvas to inflict and inscribe his marks.”

The echo of the man's laugh still rang in your ears, his sadistic, malevolent grin imprinted in your mind.

"Everything started with a mere piece of bread. I was starving and my timing was off. They assumed I was a pirate, never bothering to reason with me or listen to my side of the story.”

You made your way back to the couch, extending his glass for him to accept. His hawk-like eyes were transfixed on your form, not blinking once. Gradually, Mihawk accepted the offered wine, his fingers lightly grazing yours in the process.

You resumed your narration, settling down on the plush cushions next to him. "They always label pirates as the scum of the earth, the vilest breed of men alive. I've encountered my fair share of despicable ones, that's a fact, but the Marines can surpass them all in their depravity.”

Mihawk sipped his drink, his focus drifting away as he seemed to be engrossed in deep thought.

"It's not your identity that defines you. It's your actions, your choices. Deeds can resonate more powerfully than words.”

He swallowed the ruby-red, invigorating liquid, and you couldn't help but be captivated by the movement of his Adam's Apple.

"I apologize if I'm boring you," you confessed, smiling. "But tell me something; is your presence here really just a mere coincidence?”

Finally, as he set his glass down, holding it just above his lap, he hummed in response. "I have no interest in chasing after you.”

"Ouch," you answered playfully. "That's unfortunate. I was under the impression I was starting to grow on you.”

The way his eyes shifted back to you from the side, stern yet somehow comical, elicited a gentle chuckle from you.

"Regardless of what brought you here, it turned out to be beneficial for me, so... thank you.”

You changed your position, leaning your back against the couch and bringing the rim of the cold glass to your lips. As you moved, your thigh brushed against his, sparking a fleeting touch that sent a flutter of butterflies to your stomach.

Your hand softly traced your belly, where a few twinges of pain from the kick you received were still lingering. Mihawk appeared to notice this, his eyes falling on your fingers as they curled around the soft fabric of your top.

"I wonder, who is Dracule Mihawk, truly?" You pondered aloud. "You are not the subservient figure everyone portrays when they talk about you Warlords, are you?”

"I am certainly not,” he said with a grimace.

You appreciated the concise and earnest responses he offered when he was perfectly capable of delivering more elaborate speeches out of the blue. He was one-of-a-kind, enigmatic, and undoubtedly a man of many talents.

Once, you were filled with fear at the mere thought of him. Now, all you felt was a pulsing curiosity and a magnetic attraction.

"No, of course. I can see that.”

If only you could probe deeper, uncover more about this formidable man who had the power to erase your existence with the slightest touch.

"What held you back when you first saw me?" You questioned him. "I wasn't even aware of you then. You could have easily trapped me, vanquished me as you were expected to do.”

"Like I mentioned, I wanted to verify for myself if the reputation that preceded you was warranted.”

"Yes, and you also told me that you can become particularly laidback when you don't have anything interesting to keep yourself occupied with.”

He gave an almost imperceptible shrug, raising the glass back to his lips for another sip.

"Was that all there was to it? Boredom? Did you spare my life simply because there would be nothing to gain from my death?”

Was there something more underlying his benevolence?

"Why are you interested in knowing?”

"Because I don't get it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, Mihawk. I do.”

He didn't react, merely looking at you while keeping a calm and elegant posture on the couch. He had the aura of a refined Lord from affluent lands, akin to a king who carried his throne with him wherever he went.

"I left my hometown with the aspiration of finding a better life, oblivious to what I could find. All I was met with was prejudice, cruelty, violence, and greed.”

He listened in silence, gently swirling the half-empty glass in his hand.

"I genuinely thought you were no different, that you would kill me. But not only did you spare my life once, you literally saved my neck today.”

You leaned in, tilting your head to lock gazes with him more intensely. “I wasn't your responsibility, you could have left me there.”

His eyes dropped momentarily, only to return to your face with renewed determination.

"I simply chose not to," he responded.

No explanation or reasoning. His statement just stood as an unquestionable fact.

At that, you smiled. "Like I said, actions can define us better than words will ever do. You might be a Warlord of the sea, and the most formidable swordsman in the world. But more than anything, you're a good man.”

"A good man, you say?”

“Yes.”

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

Clearly, his aim was to sound intimidating and threatening. Yet, for some reason, his efforts didn't seem to impact you as he intended.

"Obviously," you retorted, as if his words were the most normal thing to hear. "But here's the thing; I held my knife to your throat, and yet, here I stand.”

His eyebrows arched as he regarded you with a mix of playfulness and mockery. "Did you believe that would frighten me away?”

"Certainly not. My point is that you didn't even make an attempt to disarm me.”

"So?”

You sighed. "So, we're back to the beginning. You could have overpowered me in a multitude of ways, left me to my fate, but for some inexplicable reason, you decided to help me.”

He hardly even blinked.

"You claimed I was intriguing, yet I mean nothing to you. I don't even pose a substantial challenge in battle.”

"That is your perspective.”

"No, it's an undeniable truth.”

"You were battling against a whole crew of men eager to claim your head.”

"And they would have succeeded if it weren't for your intervention. What do you think would happen if, for some reason, I found myself in a fight against you?”

He rolled his eyes. "All I'm hearing is pointless prattle.”

He definitely had a knack for being unnerving as well.

"What enjoyment could you possibly derive from keeping me alive?”

For the first time, you saw him genuinely struggle, as he parted his lips to speak, but halted himself mid-sentence. He pondered over it, searching for the appropriate explanation to provide.

When he finally did, you felt your breath hitch in your throat due to the spark you saw in his golden irises.

"I'm intrigued to see where your resilience might take you.”

You blinked a few times, feeling the glass almost slip from your grasp. "Are you implying that it would be a waste if I were to die?”

"This world could use a bit of a shake-up.”

The Warlord was artfully sidestepping your questions, not providing the answers you seeked but instead offering new perspectives on his intentions. As the strongest swordsman with no real competitor capable of giving him a worthy challenge, he had no other ambition left to chase after. Was he longing for a new type of world, reformed with more deserving and honorable people like yourself?

Your lips stretched into an even wider smile as you quietly brought the remaining drops of your wine to them.

He mirrored your action, draining his glass without breaking the eye contact, before setting it on the coffee table in front of him and rising to his feet.

From your seated position, he appeared incredibly towering and commanding.

"You ought to leave this town," he suggested, reaching for his sword. "Before someone else decides to come after you again.”

The color almost washed out from your face as you realized that he was about to depart. You knew it was irrational, preposterous, and somewhat immature, but you weren't ready for him to leave just yet.

Perhaps it was the wine, coupled with the earlier Daiquiri, clouding your judgment and bringing forth your most illogical thoughts. But for a fleeting moment, you were tempted to grasp his coat, draw him back down, and ask him to stay for a little while longer.

But you didn't.

"Oh... uh, yes. I should indeed.”

You also rose from the couch, moving towards the counter, intent on procuring more wine to drink. Without even a second thought, you poured some into your glass, watching as the crimson liquid flowed out, reminiscent of the blood that once seeped from your now healed wounds.

"It's ironic, you know," you voiced out, unable to suppress your churning thoughts.

"What is?" He asked indifferently.

You weren't supposed to reveal it, you shouldn't have let the alcohol amplify your instincts.

You didn't bother to turn around, as your mind became chaotic the moment you let it all spill out for him to hear. "There was a time when I wanted to just rid myself of you. But now, I almost wish you didn't have to go.”

As much as you tried to find a reasonable explanation, you couldn't decipher what it was about Mihawk that had you so enthralled. You had only shared a few words with the man; he was a solitary figure with an apparent disinterest in anything or anyone around him, unless it involved a good fight. He was sent by the Marines to hunt you down, only to observe you and then let you be. He saved your life of his own volition, stating that he wanted to see where your path would lead.

He was a stranger, someone you might not encounter again anytime soon.

And somehow, irrespective of the influence of alcohol, you found yourself needing him.

Given that Mihawk had noticeably halted in his tracks, you anticipated him either distancing himself with a harsh retort or simply walking away, disregarding your partially inebriated state completely.

However, he didn't even budge, boring holes into your back with his hawk-like, fiery scrutiny.

You spun around, leaning against the counter and bringing the glass to your lips once more. "Stay safe out there, Warlord.”

How foolish did that sound? If there was anyone who didn't need to worry about a single thing, it was Mihawk. You had heard tales of how he could even slice a bullet in half when someone attempted to shoot him unawares.

And yet, a part of you still felt compelled to worry about him, to wish him safe travels, free from any potential hazards.

Silly, that's what you were. So utterly, ridiculously silly.

However, events took such an unforeseen twist that you didn't even know how to process it. Silently, he returned the sword to its original position next to the couch, before taking a few strides in your direction. He halted right in front of you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. He simply inspected your puzzled face, quiet and thoughtful, while you could only return the stare with a questioning expression.

The moment he reached for his hat, your heart rate quickened, pounding so heavily that you could hear it in your ears. For the first time, he removed the accessory, liberating his head from its covering, and placed it on the counter right beside you. You observed his forehead, no longer in shadow, and his eyes seemed even brighter and more golden. The dark roots of his hair were impeccably combed and aligned, with his soft locks following the curve of his head and ending at his nape.

Unable to hold back, you let your eyes fall directly onto his lips. They were perfectly sculpted, the upper lip creating a sinuous curve, looking absolutely enticing and positively delectable.

He continued, slowly taking hold of your glass and removing it from your hands, only to gently place it on the other side of the bar counter. You were left speechless, bewildered, and at a loss for words. Your hands lingered in the air, now empty.

You wanted to ask him why he was standing so close and suddenly looking as if he wanted to devour you. You wanted to understand what was going through his mind, but you couldn't even construct a coherent sentence because he didn't give you the chance to. His fingers brushed along the back of your neck, sliding upward, and gathering a handful of your hair in his fist. He wasn't gripping you particularly hard, but his hold was firm enough that your head was gently tilted backward. Your pupils dilated, and his followed suit. He wasn't causing you any pain, not even the slightest bit... but you could sense the roughness in his actions.

“You do enjoy playing with fire, don’t you?”

His voice was low and alluring, his hot breath on your skin exhilarating.

You smirked, swallowing your nervousness. "What can I say? Water is for the weak.”

He hummed in his typical manner, seemingly approving of your comeback.

"I should warn you, I'm not the gentle type.”

You laughed, your breath slightly shaky. "Is that supposed to scare me off?”

Instinctively, your hands found solace around the edges of his coat, drawing him closer against you.

His grip on your hair slackened, but he kept you securely in place. "If it did, I would be disappointed. As long as you understand what to brace yourself for.”

"Why are you still talking?”

The corners of his lips tilted upward, so subtly that it could easily go unnoticed. It was a faint grin that made your knees feel weak.

“Not a worthy challenge, hey?”

In that moment, you understood he was referencing your earlier statement. You might have been utterly insignificant against him on the battlefield, but he was clearly viewing you as a great adversary throughout your intimate banter.

Somehow, that provided a significant boost to your confidence.

You tightened your grip on his coat, breathing against his lips, your own barely brushing his chin, eagerly anticipating his next move. "Still talking. Come on, you can do better than that.”

It didn't take long for him to finally relinquish his own inhibitions. Without any warning, he crashed his lips against yours, initiating what you could only describe as the most intense, sexiest, and passionate kiss a man had ever bestowed upon you. His mouth was so forceful and quick that you could barely keep pace; his tongue immediately found yours and initiated a sensual dance.

You didn't want to be left behind. Pushing aside the slight haze clouding your mind due to the wine, which you could also taste on his lips, you grasped the lapels of his coat and reciprocated the kiss with equal intensity and a mounting desperation. His fingers completely let go of your hair, only to fan out over your nape, enveloping it in his grip. His mustache and beard were tickling your face, but you found it absolutely enchanting.

Only when you felt the need to breathe again did he detach from you with a wet pop sound, immediately descending to your neck to plant open-mouthed kisses on its sensitive nerves.

You felt his touch on the front of your top, as his middle and forefinger started to tug at the laces, undoing the main knot slowly but with evident eagerness. He wasn't joking when he said you shouldn't expect the gentle type, as he preferred to get straight to the point without much preamble. Given his typically apathetic demeanor, you were taken aback to see him so engrossed in the situation, let alone in you. Never for a moment did you think he could view you in such a manner, and whether he was doing it now in response to your provocation, or because of a deeper interest that began well before that day, you weren't sure.

You surmised that he needed to let go from time to time to release his tension. After all, he was still a man.

And you were completely on board for it.

His lips were impatient, almost hungrily latching onto the skin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your eyes rolled back into your head, and a soft moan escaped from your lips, which only spurred him on to touch you with even more force.

It was different, and it was new. But he wasn't causing you any pain, and this rougher side of him was rather enticing.

He lifted your top, the fabric brushing along your stomach, up to your breasts and over your chest. You silently complied, raising your arms and allowing him to remove the garment, which ended up tossed on the floor. His eyes were mesmerizing, and you couldn't look away.

Now, with only a thin bra as your shield, a surge of self-consciousness began to creep in. Despite this, you stood your ground, refusing to let it hinder you. Tentatively, you slid your hands along his arms, daring to rest your fingertips on his collarbones. He waited, motionless, anticipating more.

Your exploration continued, descending to his pectorals and lightly brushing the cold metal of his golden cross. Then, you moved back upwards, sliding your hands under his coat, gently pushing it off his shoulders to remove it. His skin was silky smooth and warm, it made your mouth water from your caresses alone. The coat dropped next to your shirt, and without it, he suddenly seemed incredibly bare despite still wearing his trousers and boots.

It was quite amusing to see. His coat was like a suit of armor, a cape, protecting him from all that was undesirable. And now, he stood there, a figure of strength yet imbued with vulnerability, prepared to surrender himself to you.

Once more, blinded by your desire for him, you fervently locked your lips with his. Your arms encircled his neck, fingers entwining with the strands of his hair. The discomfort of your back against the counter urged you to move away from it, unintentionally pressing your breasts against his chest in the process.

"Bed," you murmured amidst the flurry of kisses, just before you leapt into his lap, wrapping your legs securely around his waist.

It was a bold move, one that he welcomed with a firm grip and squeeze of your thighs. With careful steps to avoid tripping over the table and couch, Mihawk made his way to the mattress, unceremoniously hurling you onto it. You bounced as he climbed up, encasing you between his legs on either side of your body. His penetrating stare from above served as a vivid reminder of who was truly in command, eliciting a smirk of satisfaction from you.

His right hand gravitated towards the cross pendant on his chest, while his left one deftly located the knot of the black lace that held it around his neck. He loosened it, only to take off the golden cap of the cross, revealing a concealed small knife within it.

Admittedly, you were decidedly perplexed and anxious, observing him gaze down at you with the dagger held delicately between his fingers. However, the moment he guided the blade to your chest, positioned precisely above the center of your bra, his intentions became clear.

The instant he slid the knife under the band connecting the cups of your bra, you stopped him by seizing his wrist.

"Don't you dare," you warned menacingly. "It has a clasp, you know.”

The way he arched an eyebrow at you spoke volumes, subtly hinting that he had no intention of wasting his time with it.

With a frustrated groan, you arched your upper body, managing to reach the clasp yourself and unfastening it within mere seconds. "I swear, men can be so lazy at times.”

As you allowed the straps to slide off your shoulders, maintaining the cups in place, Mihawk reassembled the cross and casually placed it on the nightstand next to your bed. He immediately locked his mouth with yours, quickly removing your bra and haphazardly tossing it into the room, his hands simultaneously finding its place on your waist.

You could feel his palms smoothly traversing your sides and making their way up your spine, but the moment his fingertips grazed over some particularly sensitive scars, you jolted upward, and a muffled gasp slipped past your lips.

He paused, his actions coming to a standstill as he studied you. A sudden rush of embarrassment overtook you, prompting you to cast your eyes downward.

"Sorry about that," you apologized, your voice faint and almost inaudible.

You feared that he might decide to leave, irked or repelled by the unsightly network of scars that was ingrained into your skin, resembling an irregular spiderweb. You instinctively guarded your body, precariously perched on the edge of the mattress, awkwardly biting your tongue.

His tone was firm, authoritative, yet unexpectedly gentle when he spoke to you. "Show me.”

Before you had the opportunity to look at him again, he hastily guided you to rotate, nudging you to sit facing away from him. You found yourself frozen, rendered mute, with your arms protectively crossed over your chest as he inspected your back. He observed every nuance, carefully tracing the outlines of your scars with his index and middle finger.

When your voice finally found its way back, you released your pent-up thoughts. "It's not a pleasant sight, I know.”

"I've seen worse,” he stated.

He sounded unperturbed, casual, as if what he was observing was nothing to fuss over.

You smiled. "And done worse?”

"That might be true as well.”

Somehow, as macabre as the conversation was, it managed to lighten the mood, eliciting a brief chuckle from you.

“Are you scared of me?”

But then, his question took you by surprise. "No. Why?”

“You’re shaking like a leaf.”

And you realized that he was right, as your entire body quivered under his soft touch. Despite his inherent deadly nature, it felt incredibly soothing to have him attentively handle the scars you so deeply despised.

It was nothing he hadn't seen before. As a swordsman, he had undoubtedly came across countless injured and fallen bodies in all sorts of gruesome conditions. Your scars meant nothing to him, and yet, he behaved as someone who genuinely felt a need to reassure you about them.

In a way, you got the impression that he was attempting to make you feel proud of the marks you bore.

"I'm not afraid, Mihawk. Not of you.”

Should you have been, really?

"And right now... this feels nice.”

His fingers decelerated their movement, hovering over the lengthy scar that trailed along the back of your shoulders. He tuned into your breathing, shaky and rapid, using it as an indication for his subsequent moves.

He drew you closer, reaching out to guide your arms away from your chest, granting him a better view. The cool cabin air heightened the growing excitement stirring in you, causing your nipples to stiffen instantly. Releasing your wrists, his roughened palms smoothly traveled along your stomach, eventually encircling your breasts, now fully exposed. Holding their soft flesh and lifting them, his thumbs traced tantalizing circles around the tips, making you involuntarily lean onto his elbows for support.

You let your head find comfort on his shoulder, the slight prickling sensation of his beard grazing your cheek. He was relentless, teasing you with his enticing motions, awaiting the moment when you would unravel under his skilled touch. Already, you were a picture of disarray, moaning and squirming within his hold.

Both of you rose to your knees for better positioning, and as he continued to stimulate your body, you could increasingly feel his undeniable hardness pressing against you through his trousers. You grappled to maintain your balance, his thumbs quickening their pace on your nipples, while his hips executed synchronized grinding circles with yours.

To say he was driving you wild would be an understatement. One of his hands left your chest to venture lower, this time, making a beeline for your belt buckle. He quickly managed to undo it, slipping inside your undergarments, and reaching his intended destination.

The moan that escaped you was quite unabashed, but there was little you could do when his fingers discovered your clitoris, skillfully stroking it up and down. Any other man, upon getting to this point, would stop before you could reach your climax, purely to extend your pleasure and ensure that you wouldn't finish before them. Mihawk, however, was not just any man, and judging by the escalating pace of his fingers, it was clear that he had absolutely no intention of severing the physical connection.

He was typically impatient and easily bored, evidently searching for some entertaining diversion to pass the time. Edging you didn't appear to be his goal, and the moment you could sense your impending gratification, trembling and writhing uncontrollably, he applied even more pressure against you. You could feel your clit throbbing, on the brink of release at any moment. Mihawk remained quiet, not making a single sound, his breaths echoing in your ear through his nose.

It was intensely heated, unbearably seductive.

As your legs parted, he took advantage of the moment to gather some of your wetness and employ it to enhance the friction. Your nails dug into the flesh of his arms, yet he remained unfazed and continued. Eventually, he began to move in sync with you, navigating to your entrance and tenderly caressing your clit with the heel of his hand.

The ease with which he curled those digits inside and promptly found your most sensitive area was astounding. He targeted it directly, moving in and out, making a constant beckoning gesture with his fingers. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your voice growing progressively louder, but you found it beyond your control to rein it in.

Your orgasm crashed onto you, exploding from your core like a lightning strike. You jolted and moaned, gasping for breath, as the bed emitted creaks beneath you. He didn't retreat, instead, he slowed his pace but never fully disengaged. Only when he was certain you had no more to offer, did he carefully remove his fingers, affording you the opportunity to regain your lucidity.

It took you a moment to gather yourself, leaning over the mattress and collapsing onto it.

"Well," you declared. "You certainly know what you're doing.”

"Why, did you believe me to be completely inept?"

"Not at all. It's just... you really don't dawdle, do you?”

As you rolled onto your back, you nearly choked on your own saliva. He was hovering over you again, casting a menacing stare from above while he unbuckled his own trousers. Before you could fully process it, the gleaming, flushed tip of his member emerged from the elegant slit in the front of his trousers, a view that subconsciously incited forbidden imagery by putting his navel on display in a normal setting.

He appeared to pause, awaiting something. He glanced at you with a hint of expectation, subtly lifting an eyebrow as if conveying: "What are you waiting for?”

Thus, with your heart fluttering wildly and your stomach churning, you raised your hands to further uncover him, pushing his trousers down along with the undergarments and letting his arousal spring free. It was proud and formidable, as robust as a sword, as fierce as a beast.

Without waiting for him to speak or make any further action, you encircled the base with your palm and guided your hand along its length to the tip. He didn't overtly react, but you noticed him swallow subtly and press his lips more tightly together.

You replicated the maneuver, but with increased pressure and quicker movements. He kept his hands still at his sides, but his fingers twitched intermittently, indicating to you that you were on the right track. You cherished his calmness as much as you relished witnessing his chest heaving at a faster pace than before.

Regrettably, he didn't allow you to complete what you had started. The moment he decided he'd had enough, Mihawk grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand aside. He grasped the hem of your shorts and panties together, swiftly sliding them off your legs in one fluid motion.

He possessed no patience at all, simply taking whatever he wanted, repositioning himself between your legs and aligning with your entrance. As much as you would have loved to see him come undone under your touch, you couldn't truly protest, for you wanted him as intensely as he yearned to be inside you.

His face was stoic, unaltered, almost as if chiseled into a mask. But the way his golden eyes sparkled before you, and his jaw tightened in response to the palpable need overtaking him, managed to stir you even more than the sound of a man moaning in pleasure.

You shifted on the mattress, clutching the covers and spreading your legs further to grant him optimal access. Once again, he hummed in approval, encircling your thighs with his arms and drawing them to his waist.

But he silently stared at you, the tip of his arousal gently nudging your folds without proceeding.

Bewildered, you inquired. "What?"

"Are you truly certain about this?”

Your mouth fell open as you regarded him in disbelief. “I'm right here with my legs spread wide and your damn dick against me. It's a bit late to question me now, don't you think?”

He drew a breath through his nose. “Do you understand what you're about to get into?”

“Uhh… yes? We’re supposed to have sex here. What else could there be?”

Mihawk subtly thrust his hips forward, his warm length nearly entering.

"I won't be gentle," he responded.

“Yeah, you said that already.”

"Even if you plead with me, I won't stop.”

“Do you think I’d ever do that?”

You inferred he simply wanted to ensure you were granting him clear consent to continue. And while you strived to maintain composure, feeling him so close yet so far away, you held respect for his unconventional gentleness. Or whatever it could be called.

“You’re brave,” he stated with a hint of satisfaction. "But don't shed tears later.”

You rolled your eyes. "Mihawk, seriously. Just do it. If you believe I'll break and weep, then don’t.”

To further emphasize your point, you moved your waist allowing his tip to partially slide in. You bit your lower lip to suppress the emerging moan in your throat, and comfortably adjusted by raising your arm and positioning it just behind the pillow under your head.

You were presenting yourself to him, unconditionally, prepared to accept everything he had to offer.

Unable to resist his impulses any longer, Mihawk finally made his move. With a firm, confident thrust, he fully sheathed himself in you. A hiss escaped your lips as you inhaled sharply, your body pushed upwards, head thrown back in response.

You felt unbelieavably full, and without giving you a moment's respite, he quickened the pace. He moved with a rough, and powerful rhythm, his fingertips digging into your skin so deeply that you could feel his nails on it.

At first, your body stretched to accommodate him, a sensation that was slightly painful and not as pleasurable as you wanted it to be. But as soon as you adjusted to it, your muscles relaxed, leading to a wave of delightful ecstasy that ignited your core and sent electrifying sensations through your nerves.

And it felt unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Your moans were soft and melodic, contrasting with his quiet grunts that echoed in his chest. Mihawk quickened his movements even further, generating a set of scandalous sounds that deepened your blush. He was moving with such intensity that you feared your bed might split in half, given the way it vibrated against the wooden wall.

Then he stopped, albeit briefly, to guide you into a different position. "Turn around.”

There was an undeniable ecstasy in the way he treated you. His actions were primal, far removed from romantic, yet paradoxically, despite the evident force in his behavior, he still seemed to treat you with a degree of tenderness and delicacy.

You complied, bending over the mattress, and without wasting any time, he entered you again from behind.

Isaiah had been a wonderful lover, the best you'd ever had, until Mihawk came into the picture. Though you typically refrained from making comparisons, acknowledging that every man is unique in his own way, you couldn't ignore the irrefutable truth: the Warlord was in a league of his own, making you feel guilty for even entertaining such a thought.

The act was carnal and sensual, stirring within you a desire for more when you believed there was nothing else to ask for. He felt absolutely wonderful both in and out, and his touch, tracing over your scars with a strangely protective tenderness that you didn’t expect, ignited a flame in your chest that cascaded downwards. Your clit throbbed, your inner walls convulsed and gripped him with an impossible tightness. You could sense your climax approaching for the second time, spurred on by his relentless thrusts.

Neither of you spoke, but it was fine. You were engrossed in the moment, disregarding the ache in your limbs from the previous exertion. Letting go of the built-up tension post-battle was exactly what you craved, and Mihawk had his fair share of unsettled nerves too. For all you knew, he could have countless women scattered across the four Blues, but the desperate and hungry way his body melded into yours indicated that he wasn't one to frequently seek out or appreciate the company of others.

People often depicted him as a lone wolf, a man enamored with his sword. And yet, here he was, providing you with the most remarkable sexual experience of your entire life.

You found yourself entirely consumed, yielding to his dominant aura, continuously pushed against the mattress, moaning in delight. He had warned you that he wouldn't stop, not even if you pleaded with him, but the only entreaties that escaped your lips were for him to quicken his pace and to continue for as long as he could go.

When he brought his mouth close to your ear, prompting your knees to spread wider with his own, there was only so much you could do to prevent your core from exploding.

Mh. You're managing this better than I expected you would, I'll give you that.”

A chuckle bubbled up from you. "I thought you held me in higher regard.”

“I certainly do now.”

His left arm slithered around your shoulders, securing itself around your neck to encase you and hold you in place. His other hand glided along your side, sneaking to the front and locating your clitoris, so sensitive that you nearly climaxed the moment he pinched it.

You were panting quite heavily now, teetering on the brink of orgasm as you rested your cheek against his arm. You didn't even realize that you were pressing kisses to it, grazing your warm lips along his skin, which was hot and salty.

"Are you there?”

You nodded your head. "Almost.”

"Would you look at that. Your endurance is impressive.”

You laughed, a surge of pride filling your heart. “You're talking too much again, Warlord.”

“Mhh.”

You absolutely adored the vibrations that resonated through his chest whenever he hummed. You felt him pulsing and twitching inside you, signaling that he was as close to the brink as you were. As the resounding slaps of skin meeting skin filled the air around you, his fingers expertly manipulated your sensitive bud. His fingers stroked it, moving in rapic circles, combined with the consistent stimulation of your tender spot inside.

It was too much, and you buried your face in his arm the moment you finally crossed the point of no return.

Your second orgasm was even more intense than the first, a feat you never truly believed was possible. You twitched and trembled from head to toe, tightening around him with each wave of pleasure that took some time to recede.

Eventually, he joined you, quietly succumbing to his own pleasure, grunting softly and brushing his lips against the scar on your shoulder. You were aware that Mihawk did not harbor any specific feelings for you, but despite that, you found his gesture deeply endearing.

And with that, your heart constricted.

As the enchantment of the moment faded, he extricated himself from you and left the bed, fastening his belt and heading back to where his coat lay. As he slipped into it and reached for his hat still resting on the counter, you watched him. Disappointment washed over you for reasons you couldn't quite articulate.

Gathering your strength, you pushed yourself up from the mattress, hastily collecting your underwear and putting it back on, disregarding the shorts strewn on the floor. It took a moment for you to locate the bra he had tossed, which had ended up in a distant corner.

His golden cross knife was still on your bedside table. It felt significantly lighter than you had anticipated as you held it in your hand, lingering on its weight a moment too long. Mihawk was right behind you, his towering presence looming over your smaller frame, waiting for you to return it.

You turned immediatly, smiling, taking hold of the cord on either side and looping it around his neck. You tried to recall the exact length he preferred, gently positioning it on his chest and tying a knot to keep it in place. The ends of his short hair tickled your hands as you secured it, and he allowed you to do so without a single protest or complaint.

Somehow, that act felt even more intimate than what you had just done. His gaze was once again fixed on you, frozen, expressionless, difficult to interpret. The temptation to kiss him again was strong, but with the sexual tension now gone, you feared he might not reciprocate.

And so, you took a step back. "Thank you for the company," you said evenly, feigning indifference to the entire situation.

Whether he believed you or not, you couldn't ascertain. As he casually strolled towards the couch to get his sword, a surge of disappointment engulfed you, leaving you more downcast than you were prepared to acknowledge.

You knew it didn't mean anything. But for the very first time, a part of you had dared to hope there could be something more. You dragged your feet to the bar counter, picking up his empty glass from the table along the way. You quietly cleaned things up, letting the cold water from the sink cascade over your hands.

And just when you thought he had already left, he spoke words that instantly set off a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, soaring straight to your heart.

“Be careful out there.”

You glanced at him once again. His face was as impassive as ever, but the fact that he had taken a moment to express his concern was more than sufficient for you.

You grinned in delight. "Always.”

With a barely noticeable nod, he slung his sword onto his back and stepped away, opening the cabin door and disappearing up the steps. You stayed there, still, listening to the rhythmic sound of his boots meeting the wooden floor as Mihawk steadily departed, until silence engulfed your vessel.

You didn't know when or if you would see him again. The only thing you could do was hope that, sooner rather than later, you would encounter those mesmerizing golden eyes once more.

And as fate would have it, you did.

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

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

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phntmeii · 6 months

Note

I am going to have to start using a wheelchair soon because of mobility issues. Can I get hcs for the opla! guys (straw hat crew, Shanks, Buggy, and Mihawk) with a partner who has to use a wheelchair?

OPLA Characters x disabled!Reader

[SFW + No Gendered Terms]

Pairings: Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, Sanji, Shanks, Buggy, Mihawk x disabled!reader

A/N: hello anon!! i hope ur doing alright <3 I don't personally use a wheelchair so I made this broad! (Some bullets are the characters pushing the wheelchair, while others are you in control, etc.) I tried to keep this light-hearted and fluffy! Assume characters have accommodated to you already and are close enough to be acting in the ways listed <3 However, please lmk if some things are inaccurate or non-preferable for my own understanding :)

Monkey D. Luffy

Please do not entrust this man to handle a wheelchair. He is literally running full-force while pushing you around.

Absolutely thinks it’s a game, laughing playfully while you’re holding on for dear life. (He literally thinks you’ll be fine no matter what 😭😭).

Has asked once or twice to be the one in the wheelchair because he thinks it’s like being on a ride. (He tried to do a trick and fell on his ass).

He is a sweetheart though <3 He’s trying to keep your spirits up and make you feel involved in all the action.

Roronoa Zoro

Is completely serious in protecting you. His eyes are on complete watch at everyone around you two.

Absolutely death stares anyone coming close even if they have no intention of harm.

NEVER leaving your side, especially in public. Consider this scary dog privileges with Zoro.

Sometimes forgets that you're in a wheelchair and walks too fast. He panics that he's lost you before realizing that you were just around the corner.

Usopp

Usopp tried to keep careful when handling your wheelchair if you need it.

He's definitely the one to keep his positive energy alive while with you. He's cracking jokes and sometimes moves your wheelchair along with his hums of a song.

Is the gentlest when it comes to picking you up and out of the wheelchair to set you down when you request to be. He likes feeling useful to you.

In the presence of danger, this is the equivalent of Shaggy and Scooby-Doo the way he just scurries off full-speed with you.

Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji is usually the one to guide you if you're in the Strawhats. He keeps a steady pace and isn't reckless at all.

Takes any opportunity to be close. When standing still, he puts his head onto yours. While moving, he likes to hold your hand to keep close.

He is the one to formally complaint if public spaces aren't wheelchair-accessible while apologizing profusely for the establishment's insolence. (he's overdramatically crying)

Shanks

Not once will he ever make mention of it (that isn't about accommodations/preferences) nor treat you differently.

Always tries to make you feel involved, especially in group settings where he's always right beside you.

Normally sits down as well to keep eye level with you rather than standing over you. (He'll put his hat on you while keeping conversation going).

In threatening situations, his top priority is to get you safe before he engages.

Buggy

Like Luffy, do not entrust this man with your safety pls 😭 He's spinning the wheelchair way too fast and you have to hold on for dear life.

If ever you feel insecure about using a wheelchair, he's immediately setting you into the audience and creating an elaborate show to cheer you up.

If you insist on going somewhere on your own (which he only allows if he's still close because he worries), he'll still detach his hand so he can place it above yours.

Mihawk

Definitely the most trustworthy and safe. If you want to be moved, he will. If you wish to be independent, then he'll respect it.

When it comes to other people, they aren't important in his eyes since his focus is you and your comfort.

While he is stubborn, he is understanding. Not once has he shamed you at all. Even in his normally judging stares, they seemed to soften with you.

In regards to other people starting fights or trying to take advantage of you, he has no hesitation in defending you. It's basically on sight.

⤷ divider credits: @cafekitsune

#opla x reader #opla x y/n #opla x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #opla luffy x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #usopp x reader #sanji x reader #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #opla mihawk x reader

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sordidmusings · 3 months

Text

Fixing What Ifs (Mihawk x F!Reader)

A/N: For this ancient request (told you they are not forgotten just severely neglected 💀). I really hope I captured the type of scene you were looking for! Debating on writing a follow up smut because sex as the culmination of pining?? That's that good good right there that is. Bless up to @fanaticsnail for cheering me while writing this, would've very much struggled without you love bug 🤍🤍🤍

Listening to: Prove Your Love - Fleetwood Mac, Go Slowly - Radiohead, Love Song - Lesley Duncan

Word Count: ~4.5k

Warnings: Fem!reader, a gratuitous amount of mutual pining, kind of bantering?, Mihawk leans opla in that he has such sass, a few flashback scenes, Mihawk is a Man who does not know how to deal with being in love, but he’s trying like a lot, I mean he even kisses your wrist, probably idiots in love, there's one brief allusion to Buggy cuz I Need Him

Snippet:

“You say that as if we’re too old to have options.” He spoke quite steadily, but you noticed his golden eyes flicking to you, ravenously seeking your reaction. You knew he was trying to cover at least a little; your equal skills in observation were a beauty and a bane to him. It was your favorite source of bickering, giving you many lines to smile at when you were stuck in lonely nights tracking targets.

“You are in your forties,” you teased. Again, you took a sip to think. You meant to find some words to match his characteristic tone (“Joints still working well enough to properly share a bed?”), but instead what came out was “though you’ve aged better than I imagined in our twenties”. You blamed that you had finally looked over and taken in his face, sculpted angles all alive and aglow in the torch-light. There was also that defined chest that he maddeningly always insisted on showing everyone. You probably would too, looking like that.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“There’s still many places I’ve yet to see that proven,” you responded, words coy and teasing but smile easy and affectionate. Mihawk would need much more intimacy before he admitted how that smile stalled his thoughts. You would need much more boldness before you let him know you noticed when you managed to halt his breath.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“I’ve chosen another I want you to try. Push your glass this way,” Mihawk prompted gently. Years of knowing him let you pick up the hints of eagerness hidden under his usual drawl.

You watched Mihawk’s hands and forearms work as he opened another bottle to share. He had foregone his coat tonight, instead draping himself with a well-cut white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and buttons undone to below his sternum, of course. Toned muscle danced under his skin with every twist and turn, leading you to great distraction throughout the process of him serving you. After enjoying the sculpt of his large hand while it gripped the full bottle to pour your glass, you changed your attention to the luxurious material of his shirt, fluttering over his chest and playing against tanned skin and his heavy gold cross. You wished you could find an excuse to pull at that hem, testing the softness of the material and making it reveal more for you.

The dark green bottle thumping back down on the bartop brought your attention away from your companion and back to your refreshed drink. You did feel a bit guilty that Mihawk’s description of the new wine was going near completely ignored (you at least caught the words “barrel-aged”, flattered he remembered your offhand comment about that preference from months ago). You just couldn’t get yourself to pay attention; your mind was swimming through multiple years at once any time it wasn’t grounded by his visage. Wistfulness had a stranglehold on you tonight, keeping you locked between painful yearning and bittersweet nostalgia. The comfort of hearing his smooth voice accompanied by the quietly unfolding lives of every stranger in the bar did reach you, however. You took solace in that while you went for your first sip.

“You’re much quieter than usual,” Mihawk prodded with dry displeasure. That displeasure was interrupted when he got to enjoy your usual show of flicking your tongue out to lick your glass and then your lips upon the first taste.

You took another, much longer sip of your drink to delay the need to respond. It was an easy choice of diversion; the wine was exquisite as always. You’d tell him as much if you were more in the mood for the gloating, simpering glow he’d get from earning a stroke to his ego from you.

“I thought you’d like that,” you offered quietly. You swept a fingertip around the slick rim of your glass, mindless in your feeling and seeing and doing. This absent state let Mihawk watch for every detail of the action to better imagine how that trailing fingertip would feel against his skin.

“Clearly you’re not as observant as you think,” he dug back, this time with much more amusement warming his voice, yet not quite enough to completely melt the snideness out.

Despite yourself, you smiled. Years of rivalry softened you to affection. Over those years of pushing yourselves and each other, bitterness became respect, respect became comradery, and comradery became admiration. In you, that admiration had long bloomed into devotion, petals bursting open in a stalwart stand against his consistent frigid air. Some days they withered, but then he would reach to you, hearten you, or defend you in a way that would have new buds growing more and more numerous until you had a field that could withstand winter's chill, turning to ice sculptures in each frost instead of decaying pulp.

“I blame your wines,” you chuckled, still taking yet another sip despite the accusation. “They have me stuck reminiscing.”

“I’d advise against that; it’s a trying endeavor. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Mihawk teased, doing a great job of masking his fondness with wry wit. He did venture to expose his curiosity, however. “Where and when does your mind have you trapped?”

“Our first meeting.”

Mihawk barely managed to keep from choking on his wine. He didn’t want to tip you off on how much that memory affected him. And it would be a shame to waste such an expensive drink.

“Why would you be thinking of that ridiculous affair?” There goes the effort at keeping you in the dark.

“What?” you asked with mock shock. “The only thing that was ridiculous was how little you trusted the top marksman to do her job.”

“You didn’t exactly scream competency,” Mihawk defended, hiding his fluster behind rudeness and the rim of his glass. The dim lighting of the bar would have hid it for him anyway; the few torch chandeliers did wonders for turning him to a living Baroque painting, but they were known for their shadows more than their breadth of hues.

“That is one thing you always did have on me,” you relented easily, more set on imagining the immaculately groomed and glaring warlord who first saw you than needing to keep a score with his modern counterpart at your side.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“They asked for me for a reason, you’re more useful elsewhere.”

“I’m useful everywhere you’ll find,” he dismissed easily, as sure of that fact as in the rising of the sun each day. You were a hard one to shake, but the way his namesake hawk’s eyes cut through you had you feeling exposed and vulnerable. It had you needing to make him just as small as the little pieces his endlessly picking gaze had shredded you into.

“Then go be useful as something other than my shadow. Some of us are actually working.” Even in your exasperation fueled anger, you sounded more like you were asking than telling. The ease with which he commanded was yet another skill you’d spotted on him so quickly in these few days together that had you feeling out of your league. You were beginning to think he took great joy in your mounting discomfort with the way he hovered around, always looking for another soft spot to peck at.

“You’ve been laying at this spot for days, Viper, with nothing to show for it,” Mihawk said, phrasing the truth quite unfairly. Viper was the code-name gifted to you in your work; the snakes could sit still as the dead for weeks, waiting for the one moment that prey finally crossed their path. That same dedication was what he was attempting to disturb now. “I could have rooted the rats out within the hour of mission's start.”

“Then it’s a good thing this task is mine and not yours,” you spat back, finally finding the will to sound truly mean. There was much you were uncertain of but your methods were a strong sense of pride and no one got to question them. “I’m sure the trafficking victims would do really well avoiding harm in the slaughter you’d start. They are known for being battle-ready after all; I’m sure they’re just playing victim right now so they can partake in a song-worthy escape and claim their glory.”

“You think I have no skill to guard and fight at the same time?”

“I think it’s not worth the risk to innocents just to feed one man’s insatiable ego,” you grumbled, spreading yourself out on your familiar and beloved blanket to begin this day’s long watch. You lined one eye with the one-of-a-kind scope of your rifle, taking comfort in settling into your power. “Better to wait until they show themselves and pick them off from miles away, letting them panic at the suddenness of death from a foe they’ll never see.”

Your memory never granted you Mihawk’s perspective on your first job together. You never figured out that he was hovering not from hatred of your perceived incompetence but an uncontrollable need to have you in his sight. He’d never had to contend with such an impulse before and found himself completely at the mercy of its whims. Garp was not happy with the freshly titled Warlord; he was meant to be helping eradicate the rebel legion that had taken this island over to ravage it for resources (humans included), not keep checking out their prized sniper like he’s a fifteen year old with his first female fixation.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“Surely I can be of much more entertainment to you in the present than in whatever foggy memories you have,” Mihawk said, successfully bringing you back to him.

“Yes you can,” you admitted with too much authenticity and affection for your tastes to just leave that flavor in the ari. After a moment of thought, you softly bumped your shoulder with his and added, “You’re practically a whole circus over there, how ever could I look away?”

You didn’t expect the long and tired sigh to deflate the man next to you, leaving his upper body draped on the bar. The sound seemed to have come from so deep in his lungs that it was born from his very soul.

“Please keep all talk of circuses and especially clowns to a minimum,” Mihawk pleaded into his forearms. He lifted head to look at you with one of the grouchiest and most sour faces you’d seen on him in a long time, before plopping it back into his arms. The whole thing was only made more endearing with the way the bar had pushed his hat askew.

“What’s with that look?” you laughed. “You usually save that one for Shanks.”

“I wish it was Shanks,” he grumbled petulantly. Your laughter always brightened him back up and he longed to turn and see the beauty of it on your face, but instead chose to keep to his brooding to prolong the sound just that much more.

If it wouldn’t send him up the wall, you would have told him how much you adored when his brooding turned pouty. It sapped him of his persistent decorum and made him feel closer - more touchable. The slouch it brought out in him always had you valiantly fighting the urge to wrap his curved chest in a firm hug. It was unfair how perfectly suited for one he looked, resting his elbows on the bar and opening him and his luxury shirt and his warm skin up for your reaching hands and arms. You shook your head after a mourning sigh and took another sip of heady wine.

“I wish it was Shanks too. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him.” The soft spot you always showed for the Red Haired Pirates only threatened to drag Mihawk’s mood low again. It was amended slightly by your cute, happy gasp before you said, “We should go visit them soon! I’ve got a bigger chunk of free time after the next two months.”

Mihawk was always amazed by how easily tiny little gestures from you perked him back up and got his heart leaping. All you did was choose to say “we”. He wished and wished that it was always “we”, but he’d take what he could get. Even if it meant dealing with the usual treatment whenever you were both with Shanks and his crew.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk was not fond of the look Shanks was sending his way. It was all too smarmy, built on equal parts smugness and giddiness. Disgusting.

“You dog! When I tried to imagine what could have the unshakable Dracule Mihawk off his game I never would’ve guessed it was our dear Viper,” Shanks teased cheerily, bumping his shoulder into the rigid one of the swordsman next to him. Mihawk was affronted - he nearly spilled his drink from Shanks’ boorish behavior.

“Didn’t know she was yours,” Mihawk grumbled, attempting to sidestep Shanks’ prompts to have him speak his infatuation aloud.

Shanks was fighting poorly to hold in his laughter; Mihawk was absolutely sulking while he watched Yasopp teach you more gun spinning tricks. You and the sharpshooter were always all joy and play, easily finding common ground in marksmanship but with the added fun of showing your separate specializations to each other. Each bout of laughter from your direction brought another brooding line to Mihawk’s furrowed brow. This standoffish air was his habitual defense against the raw ache he’d been tending to since the two of you met.

Every time I try to play, I end up wounding her, he lamented. Why can I not earn your laughter?

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

Mihawk lightly shook himself of the memory. On instinct, he turned to look at you and found you already looking at him but not really seeing him. He quietly huffed through his nose at losing you again to your own mind. He decided to give you a moment before getting to the bottom of whatever it was that had you in your funk. Beyond selfishly wanting your rapt attention, he was worried for you. You were prone to take pause and think long, especially when in quiet company, but you seemed truly lost in your own mind, taken against your will.

Mihawk’s accurate read on you was more proof of the years tentatively building rapport with each other. That intimacy you shared, which lacked the intimacy you so craved, was what had you held hostage in one of the many examples of your entwining lives.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

The quiet in the air was broken only by Mihawk’s calm breathing, his occasional quiet sips of today’s wine, and the gentle rustle of a turning page. Your own breathing was silent, having gone so long and smooth it was imperceptible due to an instinct trained in so no need of your body could get in the way of your shot. Luckily, your targets were always at such a great distance that Mihawk’s casual lounging would never alert them that they were being hunted.

“It’s been twelve hours since you’ve eaten,” Mihawk told you in a bored tone, eyes never leaving the pages of his book. You made to ignore him and continue your work, but he had never been able to stand your attention off of him for long. “Almost three since you’ve taken a sip of water.”

“Sorry, Mom, I’m a bit busy at the moment,” you mumbled back evenly. You had long lost the majority of your bitterness toward his nitpicking, instead just glad he was around and saying anything to you.

“If I was your mother, I would’ve commanded you to just let me take the target out in the first place so we could leave this boring island,” Mihawk complained.

“You really gonna take a swing at them from two miles off?” you asked, smiling as you imagined the chaos wrought from such an action. It would be a catastrophe, but it would also give you quite the show. Over your time knowing him, you’d seen Mihawk’s innate beauty and untouchable prowess countless times, but it was never enough to sate you.

“You’re not the only one who can hit a target from that distance,” Mihawk reminded you and you hoped you weren't imagining the tone of a smirk shaping his voice.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one of us who won’t cause a tsunami in the process,” you giggled at him.

Again, your diligence robbed you of the chance to see the poignant longing overtaking Mihawk’s face when he smiled at you. He relished every step he’d gotten closer to being the source of your joy.

~ ~ ~ ••• ~ ~ ~

“You’ve disappeared again,” Mihawk complained after sending a haughty tut your way.

You offered an apologetic smile and were happy that he accepted it readily. All those memories, years of feeling, and liquid courage built a full storm inside of you until you knew you needed to allow yourself some time in the eye of it. Being surrounded by the roaring weather would be nerve-wracking but you hoped the calm at the center helped protect you from those shredding winds. You blew a heavy sigh over your drink, refusing to look from its dark, blooded tint when you asked, “Have you ever wondered what it would’ve been like if we were together?”

He didn’t answer right away. Usually Mihawk was a man who was quick with his words, as sure in speed and precision with their strike as he was with that of his sword. You respected that sureness and bold weaponizing of his thoughts, but you deeply appreciated that, with you, he would take the time to truly parse his words when he felt the need. It suited your nature better; your patience was as legendary as your ability to shoot the wings from a fly that was miles off from the end of your rifle.

“You should know by now I always exceed expectation,” Mihawk said without a hint of gloating, just simply stating an absolute fact.

“Mihawk, my dearest adversary and cherished… friend,” you hesitated on the word, never having claimed him as such to his face before. He rewarded your bravery with a gentle bump of his knee against yours and with the bare fondness that began softening his stare. “We have been playing this game, dancing this dance, for decades now. Am I really meant to believe that one question changes everything?”

“The right question can,” he asserted immediately. He opened his mouth to continue, but for once you were the one striking quick with your words.

“You are a man who does not hesitate,” you accused, staring cuttingly into his focused gaze, not backing down at the way it became shielded. “If you want something you take it.”

“And?” Mihawk prompted, tone the most biting it's been all night.

“And,” you repeated. “And…”

You sighed in defeat and turned back to your drink, closing yourself away. He was more than smart enough to know where you were going with that, but he insisted on making you be the one to say it. You wouldn’t allow him to make you insult yourself, especially after you had ventured to bring up the tenuous topic in the first place. If he refused to argue or even acknowledge your conclusions, then you’d let your drink be the friend to assuage those old hurts. The echoed sigh to your side did little to move you from your new stake out with your wounds and your wine.

Mihawk pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to call you foolish so his own mind would stop branding him with that word. He had been ever vigilant of you throughout the years, not only in an effort to soak you in every moment he could, but also to latch on the moment he noticed you offering him a true opening. You had finally bared your throat to him and he had managed to fail at your final test to check that he would not stoop to bite - that he would only beg to kiss.

While taking his next sip of wine, Mihawk extended an olive branch in the form of a thigh pressed firmly into yours. He was barely able to keep in the frustrated growl that pressed at his chest when you shifted yourself away. You did turn your eyes to him out of curiosity, however, but he missed the look completely, too busy reassembling himself. It let you watch carefully as the flaming lights turned his hat’s extravagant feather amber in their glow when he lifted it off his head to place on the bartop. It let him run his fingers back through his thick black curls, trying to shake his disappointment off with the teasing of his strands.

He looked over at you and finally caught on to your observing. Mihawk let his regret pour over his face, even letting his lips twitch into a momentary, rueful smile. You replied with a tired smile of your own. In the end, it turned sweet and loving; a bad habit of yours with the swordsman. You pressed your thigh back to his.

In a rare show of humility, propelled by the heat of your thigh warming his and the sweet crinkles your smile brought to your eyes (Just for me, he thought with doting greed), Mihawk took your hand and bowed himself low to touch his forehead to your knuckles. His thumb soothed gentle circles into it while he stayed lowered to you for a few long breaths. He was eager to enjoy the feeling of your skin and the decadent scent of your perfume, strong now with the proximity of your wrist. You had chosen something sultry and heady with its deep notes of orchid and amber and wood, all calling to him until he acted with thought a millisecond behind instinct.

He flipped your hand over, slowly and gently, cradling it palm up in his large hand. Still stooped, he had to move scant inches to brush the tip of his nose across the thin skin on the inside of your wrist, savoring the pull of your perfume going deep into his lungs and leading his mind to a content haze. He sealed the small caress with a feathery brush of his lips over your pulse, wishing he could make himself press harder to feel your heart thump against his lips. He longed to know if it raced with the same jumping cantor as his.

When he sat back up he was met with a vision from his dreams. You had fully turned your face to him and it was lit with a deep flush made more rosy in the fire-cast light of the bar. No ambient chatter nor clinking cutlery could keep his ears from delighting in the hitch of your breath in and the contented sigh out. Another smile indulged him, this one easily crowned his favorite with its happy chuckle, pressing cheeks, and bare affection.

“I am a man who takes what I want,” Mihawk confirmed your words delicately. He continued to hold your hand, now enfolding it in both of his. You felt bright tingling shooting from the contact and the press of your thighs. They made you twenty again, staring down the most handsome and insipidly arrogant man you’d ever met and cursing your heart for its clear choice. “I take what I want, not who I want. People aren’t for the taking, little viper.”

You laughed at the title, never feeling it sat quite right. You felt you wore it well at work only. The imagery it brought up of femme fatales and their hypnotizing looks and lethal wit made you feel like a young girl cloaked ill-fittingly in her mother’s best event wear, barely able to peek your head out of the wool coat dwarfing you. Mihawk noted your discomfort with the title throughout the years but never found the proper words to have you see that all who said it were reverent when they saw how well the word wrapped over you.

“What if-” again you hesitate. You scrunch your face in anger at your nature, but before Mihawk had time to bring a hand to your face and soothe it back into a smile, you force out the words. “What if I am for the taking?”

Mihawk’s thumbs stopped their massaging and you felt his thigh jump to tense against your own. Staring into his widening eyes and how they glowed so beautifully - too beautifully to be within your reach - you immediately wished you could suck the words right back into your lungs. You made it this far though, so you instead worried at your lip and clung your hand onto Mihawk’s stalled hold.

Finally, he unfroze.

“For the night only?” Mihawk probed, wanting answers but worrying about making you close off again.

“Do you only want the night?” You tossed back to him, unwilling to turn this propositioning into a confession of the long years you have built a deep and sturdy love for him, no matter your attempts to welcome others into its halls.

“What I want,” Mihawk said, gentle and deliberate in coloring his tone with humble honestly, “is to be what you want.”

You were taken aback by the confession, but you were even more awed by the look he was giving you. He was still slightly stooped, broad shoulders gently curved and bent towards you, pulled down under the need to lower himself below you but body still gravitating towards you with the magnetism he’s been weak to since you first crossed paths. Framed by those shoulders and his wild curls, Mihawk looked to you with the sadly tinted longing you had felt seize you in his presence all this time. While the furrow of his brow and glimmer of his eyes had your brain buzzing with more hope than you’d dare let it host before, your chest squeezed at the conflict you saw in him; you knew that torment in your very bones.

“You always have been,” you whispered on a trembling breath. Mihawk’s eyes went wild for a moment where his whole body tensed and you felt his urge to pounce on you steal the oxygen from the room. He thanked the gods for a majority of his life spent learning control and restraint, while he got himself in order and pressed the firm kiss he’d longed for to your wrist instead.

“Come with me,” Mihawk commanded through lips still pressed to your skin, though it was the closest you’d heard him to begging in your entire life.

You let yourself partake in a longtime wish by moving your other hand to card your fingers back into his thick hair, happy to find that it was just as soft as you had imagined. Their trailing came back around to have your palm cup his jaw. He leaned into the touch, tickling your hand with the rub of his precise facial hair when he allowed himself one small nuzzle into your loving hold. That hand guided him up to meet your eyes so he could see the love you held for him finally displayed openly in all its abundance.

“Wherever you ask me to, I will go,” you promised.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

#mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #opla mihawk #one piece #request #my writing #fem reader #x reader #one piece x reader #mihawk x you #mihawk x y/n #one piece fanfiction #mihawk fanfiction #opla

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nicksolemnlyswears · 9 months

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Masterlist

Coryolanus Snow

oneshots

WAYS TO DESTRESS

WAYS TO COME UNDONE

THE MENTOR

Han Lue

oneshots

han lue x racer!reader

headcannons

han lue x waitress!reader pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3

han lue x agent! reader

Netflix’s One Piece

oneshots

zoro x reader x sanji

TWO IS COMPANY, THREE IS A CROWD

SWEET TREAT

mihawk x reader

WELCOME HOME

buggy the clown x reader

WASH YOUR WORRIES AWAY

Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto

oneshots

THE BEAR AND THE BEEHIVE

#masterlist #fanfiction #han lue #fast and furious fanfiction #han lue fanfiction #oneshot #headcanon #opla mihawk #opla fanfiction #opla zoro x reader #opla smut #opla sanji #opla zoro #opla sanji x reader #opla mihawk x reader

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hungrhay · 4 months

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We need more steven john ward and peter gadiot fics

#dracule mihawk #opla mihawk x reader #steven john ward #steven ward #peter gadiot #shanks #opla shanks x reader #opla mihawk #opla shanks #one piece #one piece live action

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fanaticsnail · 5 months

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Let Me Take Care of You

Even though I have all of the one-shots planned out and added to the Masterlist, mapped out several other plot points, and attempted to prioritize fics that I've desperately been putting off - I feel like we all needed this. TLC for our broody warlord. He needs to have his burden relieved in a SFW way (for once, regarding my writing!).

Word Count: 4,323

Warnings: semi-sub-Mihawk, switch-behaviour, moaning, kissing, pining, massaging, swearing (once), barely proof-read, fluff.

Song suggestion: Older - Isabel LaRosa

The amber-coloured eyes of the warlord shut tightly as he rose the maroon-coloured liquid to his lips; barely a whisper of a flinch perking up to his crows feet as he sipped at it. He rolled the bitter liquid over his tongue, savouring the flavour of the tart tannins before relinquishing it down his throat. The alcohol trickled down his neck to pool in a heat at the pit of his bare chest and stomach as he listened further to your melodical voice speaking with expert precision his readying schedule.

“Praises of your battle have already been sent in from the World Government’s head office,” you nodded, relinquishing the rolled newspaper from beneath your arm to present to the warlord while expertly holding your clipboard up to your face.

Mihawk rolled his neck, reopening his eyes and grasping the wafer-fine paper roll from your outstretched hand. Fingertips barely whispering a small touch, you retracted your hand from his once he clasped his hand around the material.

“Go on,” he commanded in a lazy tone while unrolling the paper to begin reading it. A glimpse of agitation fell to the warlord’s brow as his eyes narrowed, skimming over the pages while you continued to relay his schedule to him.

“You expressed interest in tending to your vineyard later today: I’ve already sent for your stable-hand to brush down your Clydesdale for a ride,” your eyes narrowed as you examined your boss, “also, the horticulturalist and viticulturalist have scheduled a meeting with you and the cellar hands to ready the next vintage of Tokaji for you to sample.”

Mihawk hummed in response, his nose hissing in a small, sharp inhale afterwards.

You were accustomed to his surliness as his personal assistant; your roles being from administrative roles regarding: scheduling, to managing his liaisons with the world government contacts to running his large homestead and farmlands with his many staff; alongside his sales associate for his Tokaji distribution and growth on Kuraigana. You were on first name terms after several years within his service, but chose to remain formal while you were within working hours.

“Sir?” you asked him, sharply. He snapped his unblinking eyes to bore into your own.

“Yes?” he questioned in a bored, drawn out tone.

“You are less like yourself today,” you noted, pulling the clipboard away from the front of your torso and placing it down on the table to lay it before him, “you normally rise at the opportunity to indulge in your samples. Is there something I should be made aware of? An injury perhaps?”

A small scowl drew itself upon the lips of the warlord; something akin to a pout below his well-maintained moustache.

“If any of them had the skill to land a single blow, I would have made you aware of such an occurrence,” he taunted you, agitation again falling to his brow. He floated his hawk-eyes back to the newspaper, shaking it to stabilise the material with a firm grip.

You cocked your chin sharply at his challenge, quickly raking your eyes over his body to check it for injury or slight dishevelment. Your sights fell to his righthand shoulder; zeroing your eyes with a precise beam against his upper body.

“You’ve pulled something,” you noted through pursed lips, “an overexertion wielding Yoru, no doubt while-.”

“-I have no such ailment,” he spoke over you in a sharp tone, his eyes snapping to yours over the top of the newspaper with a scowl. You held your narrowed gaze against his own with relentless resolve, choosing to step towards him as he withdrew his sights to fall back to the newspaper.

“As you’ve been priorly informed, sir, I have quite the resume,” you began, bringing your fingertips to curl down the top of the paper Mihawk was grasping, “you are aware of my history as a rehabilitative remedial therapist, and I am glad to offer my hands to you should you ever require them.”

It was true. Your vast experience was why Dracule Mihawk hired you. Your resume was unlike anything he had encountered prior, which is why he chose to keep you close. Swordsmanship, dagger mastery, martial combat, administrative duties, expert skills in the realms of viticulture and remedial massage occupied the majority of your time in study – undoubtedly the reason you never acquired the opportunity to settle down and home-make with a partner of your own, and chose to accept the role of assistant from the great swordsman.

Mihawk chose to ignore your hand pulling the paper downwards and continue to skim his eyes on the lower edges of the page to avoid your statement. You quirked your brow at him in question before sighing and retracting your hand from the pages.

“If that will be all, sir,” you began with a curt nod, “I shall retire to my duties managing your staff.”

As you turned to flee from the large dining hall, a voice softly addressed you.

“Fine,” Mihawk uttered in a low tone, prompting you to halt your next step, “I admit it. Wielding Yoru has taken its toll recently and I may have strained myself under the weight.”

You smirked before turning back towards your boss. Tilting your neck to relieve a small ‘click’ of pressure, you dropped your smirk and turned back to face him once more.

“Would you like me to rid that burden from you, sir?” you asked him, approaching the table once more while reaching for the newspaper and wine glass from his hands, “take the weight from your shoulders?”

He sighed, dropping his head and relinquishing his grasp on the two objects and handed them over to you.

“Yes,” he admitted in a exhaled whisper.

A soft smile drew itself to the corners of your lips as you placed down the objects on the table in front of him. You had never before crossed this particular boundary between you and Mihawk; fondness in professional comradery being the only true establishment in your relationship before the years and depth of professional curtesy blossomed into true alliance.

As your tenure drew close, your relationship did begin to deepen over a glass of wine or two after you had completed your duties of the evening. He had begun asking for your opinion after your third year of service. Your fifth year, he trusted your judgements in a variety of tasks; relinquishing them completely to you.

Within the eighth year of employment, he would often seek you out for conversation regarding his staff; often seeking, in his own way, gossip amongst the members he employed. This being your ninth year of employment, you could easily find the word ‘friend’ from falling within your thoughts regarding the dark-haired gentleman before you. You held a fondness for him, often desiring to see him thrive in achieving his combatant goals and maintaining his title of world’s greatest swordsman. You could even go so far as to say you loved him; pining for him through subtlety caring for him in all ways in your duties.

“Say no more,” you responded, reaching your hand towards his own; gaining his full attention in a curt snap of his chin upwards. He gazed up at you, you almost stooping towards his seated form. His eyes held the depth of his ailment.

“Go and ready yourself in the bathing quarters; dress down but remain covered,” you nodded to him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze in affirmation, “I’ll have your itinerary cancelled for the day and rescheduled for the following week. And between us,” you reached your other hand to smooth over his cheek in a gentle caress, “the grapes would do well with maturing on the vine for a little while longer.”

He hummed against your hand, eyes closing and leaning into your caress. You were taken aback at his unwithheld expression of fondness for you. Helping to guide him to his feet, you ushered him throughout the doors, noticing his usually strict and rigid posture had begun to slouch against the burden on his shoulders.

You shook your head with your soft smile remaining, watching him as the final shadow of his body fell away from view. Arrangements made through den-den-mushi calls and vocal commands to your underlings; you widened your fingers to ready themselves to rid the warlord of the burdens he was carrying in the knots littered along his back and shoulders.

Walking along the halls, up the many steps and winding along the corridors; you found your feet falling to the large bathing quarters of the large, darkened castle. You knocked on the wooden door with a tri-fold, curt rap – the inner room welcoming you with a small groan beckoning your arrival from within.

You opened the door, truly not quite prepared for the sight befalling you.

Dracule Mihawk, clad in nothing but a white towel hanging from his hips: his hat, necklace and sword being nowhere in sight. Your eyes met with his curled, dark locks as his head hung lowly; his hands clasping the marble, low-lying table beneath his palms. You could almost visibly see the waves of tension falling from his bare shoulders, prompting a small gasp of empathy to fall from your lips as you shut the door behind you.

“Why did you not say something sooner, my lord?” you asked him, approaching him swiftly. He sighed in response, holding his eyes fixed to the polished tiles beneath his bare feet.

“I do not readily present vulnerability to those I employ,” he uttered through clenched teeth, “why should you be any different?”

Your brows fell to a firm frown, eyes narrowing as you uttered: “I would have thought after nearly ten years of service, we would call each other ‘friend’ by now.”

He sighed again, shoulders slouching further under the weight of his burden.

“Okay, friend,” he mocked, bringing his eyes up to meet with your own, “if you would be so kind as to hold true to your promise. Fix me.”

You folded your arms over your chest and widened your stance in stubbornness.

“Ask me more politely, friend,” you sternly challenged him; “and I just may find it in my heart to do so-.”

“-please,” Mihawk whispered through baited breath in a tone you could only just pick up on your registry.

“Beg, pardon?” you asked him, not truly processing the words falling from his lips.

“Please,” he stated a little more firmly, his eyes almost wide and pleading with you, “please fix me.”

You were shocked. Taken-aback. Flabbergasted. Holding true to your promise, you relinquished your shoes from their presence wrapped around your feet and placed them neatly by the door.

The next item you removed was your socks, placing them within the soles of your shoes. Removing your coat and placing it by the door, you turned back towards your boss and began your approach. You stood in front of him, his head bowed low once more to reveal his broad shoulders towards you.

“If I may assess the damage, sir?” you asked, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder.

“By all means,” he mocked you, a small chuckle almost leaving as you touched your palm to his shoulder while remaining strong in front of him. Feeling the warmth radiating from his body, an audible gasp fled your lips alongside an empathetic wince.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling the muscle below his skin. It was completely solid. There was no ‘knot’ to work out; his entire shoulder was one large intertwining vine of tension and pressure.

Another sigh fled from his lips at your reaction, his voice addressing you; “is it truly that bad?”

You clicked your neck from side to side, retracting your hand from his shoulder and drawing your fingers to intertwine within each other to stretch them in preparation.

“Sir,” you addressed him, his eyes drawing again to yours from their down-focussed position upwards.

“Yes?” He challenged you, his tone once again mocking you with his pained smirk lingering beneath.

“You-,” you collected his chin within your fingers to hold his gae against your own, “-are going to absolutely hate me after this.”

“I doubt that,” his smirk widened.

“Oh,” you shook your head, relinquishing your hold on his chin and returning to your pile of clothes, “you are either going to fire me-,” you said, undoing your belt and untucking your shirt to have it fall below your underwear to keep you shielded, “-or propose to me after this.”

“What are you doing?” he asked you, his shoulders stiffening upright and alert at your movements. A snarl fell to his mouth as you pulled your pants from your hips downwards to pool at your feet.

“Calm down-,” your face was completely serious, your air of command falling freely from your lips in reaffirmation, “-I am going to need my knees for the job to be properly performed. Judging from the knots on your shoulders; I’m assuming the rest of your body has been equally as ill-maintained in care.”

His snarl lessened, his jaw almost falling slack before he tensed it.

“If you insist,” he relinquished his hesitation, “you know what’s best.”

“That I do, sir,” you nodded to him, again approaching him once more with a fresh towel in hand, “use this to prop your head and lie face down on the bench. Let me take care of you.”

He immediately snatched the towel from your hands and in one swift movement, he fell immediately to lie on his stomach with his arms bent outwards to prop below his chin. You couldn’t help the small giggle to fall from your lips at his eagerness, but as you were reminded of your prior experience feeling his marble-like stiffness below his muscular definition; you would be exactly as eager to be rid of your burden as he currently was.

“Get on with it, then-,” he commanded you, halting as your firm hands gripped his shoulders and began to search his muscles for the source of the tension. His spine, shoulder blades, rib cage and biceps were all stiff and rigid; a plate of stone ready to be carved under your expert and precise skill to be restored and moulded into his glory.

You winced as you located the large knot, a place in the crevasse between his shoulder blade and spinal collum close to his upper neck. You tested the pressure with your thumbs, syphoning an unintentional moan to wince through the lips of the warlord. Mihawk tensed at the shock of the sound you managed to pull from him, opening his mouth to speak; only to be cut off with your verbal reprimand.

“There is no shame in sounds here, my lord,” you informed him, pushing down further against the knot and rotating your thumbs expertly in a circular motion, “I can tell how much this pains you, and I can sense the relief you will come to feel once I rid you truly of it. If it causes you more tension to withhold your vocalisations, by all means do not restrain yourself.”

Replacing your thumb with the precise point of your elbow had Mihawk arching back into your touch with his bottom lip clenched between his top teeth; his breath hissing out in an attempt to restrain his audible moan. You continued to utilise your left arm to drive down your right elbow for a firmer pressure; finally withdrawing a completely unrestrained whimper to escape from the lips of the warlord below you as he humbled himself truly under your ministrations.

“Well done, sir,” you praised him, dragging your elbow to the mirrored point on the other shoulder to relinquish the lesser knot on the other side, “you’re doing wonderfully-.”

“-Do not treat me like some incapable- ungh!” his words were stolen from him as you continued to work your remedial magic against his knots; battling with them and overcoming them in combat beneath your skilled hands.

“Stop holding back,” you commanded him firmly, lying your right forearm directly onto his spine and baring down your weight onto it, “the more you withhold your humility, the more tense you become. Let me help you.”

Under those final four worded commands, Dracule Mihawk became a mewling, gasping, sighing mess beneath your talented hands and forearms as you continued to detangle the firm vines of his hardened knots beneath his skin. You remained professional under the sounds you pulled from him, fighting the warmth that began rising upwards from your chest to your cheeks.

You leant down towards his ear, his dark curls brushing against your cheek as you brought your lips towards his ear.

“I am going to stand on you now, my lord,” you informed him as you continued to put pressure against his left shoulder, “if that is alright with you-.”

“-Yes,” he sighed, his eyes met with yours with his pupils completely blown with unbridled satisfaction and anticipation, “please.”

His jaw was slack, his breath fleeing his lips in shallow pants as he was guided within a place somewhere situated with the most pain his body had been within while chasing the biggest release of complete relief and descending his burden onto you.

“As you command it, sir,” you nodded to him with a warm smile, placing your palms flat on his back and jumping to situate your feet beneath his thighs as you crouched lowly. You placed your bare knees against his glutes and bore the brunt of your weight first onto those pressure points.

Another relentless whimper fell from his lips before he allowed an unbridled moan to fully escape from his lips as the pressure became completely withdrawn from his muscles; leaving his body completely exposed and mouldable below your ministrations.

“I’ll be placing my feet on you now, sir,” you informed him, testing his lower back with your left foot as you rose from your kneeling position, “if you could trust my leadership for this next experience; I will guide you on when to inhale and exhale to relieve your body completely of the tension. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” he sighed. His tone caused you apprehension as you began to have the warmth from your chest truly spread itself in reaction to his vocalisation. You mentally scolded yourself, reminding yourself that you were a professional and this was your job; Mihawk was your boss, not some lover or object for you to fixate your desires upon. You shook your head and began to rise your body while baring your weight against his back beneath your feet.

“My lord-,” you began, halted only by his next words.

“-Mihawk,” he corrected you, “call me Mihawk, please.”

You nodded, inhaling and exhaling slowly to not read into his correction further than needed to be.

“Okay, Mihawk,” you spoke, a smile rising against your lips as you savoured the flavour of his name rolling over your tongue, “inhale.”

His torso rose upwards to completely balloon his chest upwards as you placed your left foot steadily against his spine.

“And slowly exhale,” you directed him, chasing after his breath with your weight. You felt the satisfaction of a loud ‘crunch’ below your toes followed by a cry of complete abandon falling from the lips of your boss below your feet.

“Good job, Mihawk,” you praised him again, “you’re listening very well.”

He moaned again against your praise as you trailed your feet upwards to fall against the mid of his back; “let’s do it again. A big inhale for me, please.”

Again breathing in a long inhale, you chased his breath with your weight while commanding him, “exhale now, Mihawk.” ‘Crunch.’

As a baker would roll out and form a crusted pastry; you were spreading out the torso of Mihawk against your weight, pulling moans, groans and cries of bliss from his lips as he listened intently to your every command. Each time he would gift you with a satisfactory ‘click,’ ‘crack,’ or ‘crunch,’ of his back and spine; you would offer him praise to follow. “Well done, Mihawk,” “you’re doing so well,” or comments of “oh, I bet that felt so good,” would fall from your own alongside an empathetic groan of pleasure at the relief he should surely feel beneath your feet.

As you fell to his shoulder blades, you stood on the tips of your toes and began to shuffle your feet to rid the flesh of any tension before you fell your feet back to drop to a kneeling position: your knees falling against his shoulders with your fingertips spread wide to brace your weight fully onto his body.

You rocked your knees against his shoulders, Mihawk’s mouth fully falling slack at this stage and brows furrowing in bliss with his eyes shut tightly. You craned your head to the side to get a full picture of his face; your brows again falling to a frown at his tension.

“Mihawk,” you verbally warned him, his eyes clenching tighter in response, “give yourself permission to be truly vulnerable beneath me.”

He sighed out a sharp exhale, his face contorting again; prompting you to apprehensively reach your hand forward to cup his cheek. His eyes fluttered open with his brows remaining furrowed. His beard felt coarse beneath your hand as your thumb soothed his cheek with small circles.

“I promise,” you moved your hand up to rub your thumb over his forehead, “you will feel much better once you just let go.”

His gaze fell to your lips before reluctantly pulling it back upwards to land on your eyes; his own eyes softening as he nodded subtly.

“Good man,” you praised him with a warm smile, removing your hand and leant backwards onto your feet once more closer to his shoulders, “now inhale once more.”

With a shaken breath, he inhaled again; feeling the tips of your fingers firmly against his neck, your knees against his shoulders and the balls of your feet perched on his lower back.

“Now exhale,” you softly commanded him, rolling your weight to your knees and chasing his relief with your body. ‘Crack.’

A low, rumbly groan of pleasure exited from the lips of the warlord in complete bliss as his tension had been successfully relieved beneath your skilled ministrations.

You smiled, slowly bringing your feet to the cool, tiled floor beneath your feet. Briefly sitting yourself atop his back, your white shirt rising slightly to reveal your underwear against his bare flesh, you hopped yourself down from your perch atop him. Reflexes overtook you as you reached your hand forward to rake through his dark locks, ruffling them beneath your fingers as you drew patterned circles against his scalp.

“Do you feel better?” you asked him, tilting your head downwards to check over his face for any further discomfort. In response, Dracule Mihawk immediately sprung to his feet; his hands falling beneath your shirt to grasp at the flesh above your hips. He dragged your pelvis to lie flush against his own, angling his chin downwards and entangling his lips against yours in a dance of passion.

Your eyes widened, your hand continuing its woven position within his hair as his moustache tickled your upper lip. You squealed out in surprise as his tongue protruded and caressed your lips as he circled his chin upwards to deepen his embrace. Raking his hands further beneath your shirt and circling around your back, he fully caged you against himself as a hawk would carry his prey within his talons.

He retracted his lips from his caress against your own and began trailing affectionate, fluttering kisses against your chin and jawline towards your ear; cradling your body completely against himself with a small, gleeful sway. You felt him smile against your skin, prompting more shock to rise to your face. Your fight, flight and freeze reflexes truly all engaged as this completely unprompted response from Dracule Mihawk continued in a dance of balancing lazy and abandoned sensibilities with a passionate and calculated engagement against your body.

He walked your body backwards towards the wall and fell himself to brace against it with his head fully falling against the arch between your neck and shoulder. He allowed another moan to fall from his lips as he bore his full weight against you; your arms reactionarily falling beneath his arms to catch him.

“Sir,” you addressed him in a warning tone, “I would not have gotten up that quickly. You needed time for your body to readjust to your new alignment before you bore your full weight onto yourself.”

“Patience is not my strongest suit, dear,” he chuckled against your shoulder, pressing his lips against your clothed body, “especially when it comes to expressing gratuity to my beautiful friend.”

You giggled, bracing his body completely against your own and in turn walking him backwards to knock the point behind his knees against the marble benchtop. He fell to a seated position, his forehead remaining connected to your stomach.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his hands falling to the back of your exposed thighs and holding your body against his forehead, “can we draw up more of those into our schedule?”

You furrowed your brows at him, reaching your right hand to retrieve his chin to tilt his head upwards to gaze into your eyes.

“My hands are yours, sir-,” you began, Mihawk bringing his left hand up to cradle your right hand within it; pressing a deep kiss against your palm while correcting you.

“-Mihawk,” he uttered, pressing another chaste kiss against your palm looking down at your hands affectionately, “please. When we’re alone like this, I am Mihawk to you.”

“Need I remind you, Mihawk,” you warned him, chasing his gaze with your own, “I am your employee, not your spouse.”

“Allow me to alter that arrangement,” he smirked against your palm, flittering his gaze upwards to meet your own once more. You shook your head at his statement with a small, half-smile.

“Firing me?” you asked him coyly, your left brow arched upwards in question.

“Courting you,” he corrected you, beckoning for you to arch downwards with his chin to rejoin your lips against his once more. Smiles and sighs in satisfaction of finally giving into your desires for one another falling from you both in unified harmony.

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