#mihawk x reader

mihawk x fem!reader fluff : where you and mihawk are married and taking care of the farm while perona and zoro have their daily sibling-like banter (about 800-1k words)

zoro x gn!reader fluff : you and zoro are childhood rivals and meet again in wano. he challenges you to a duel, to which he loses. you two eventually drink the night away and confess each other's feelings

eustass x fem!reader x killer fluff : your boyfriends are trying their best to take care of you during a painful period.

sanji x fem!reader x law suggestive : modern au! law is a doctor, and you are his nurse. sanji is your patient and is in need of help. but the both of you can't help but love seeing him being oh so pathetic...

Two years had passed since the war at Marineford. The world was fracturing, the seas growing more chaotic by the day. Deep within a Revolutionary Army safehouse, Viper—now a seasoned commander, her balance fully restored by a sleek, custom-engineered metal prosthetic—stared at the fresh, ink-wet print of the morning's global dispatch. The headline burned itself into her mind: Shichibukai System Abolished. Former Warlords Stripped of Titles and Declared Outlaws. Her eyes immediately flew to the map of the Grand Line. Kuraigana Island. With the treaty dissolved, the Marines wouldn't just leave Mihawk alone—they would send an entire armada to bring down the World's Strongest Swordsman to prove their new global authority. "They're going to hunt him," she whispered, her chest tightening with a sudden, familiar panic. But this time, she wasn't a helpless castaway. "Viper, what are you doing?" Sabo asked, walking into the strategy room as she began grabbing her gear. "Preparing a ship," Viper said, buckling her belt, her fingers brushing the pocket where she still kept his golden Kogatana. "The Marines are sending a fleet to Kuraigana. I'm going to get him."

On the gray, rocky shores of Kuraigana Island, the fog was choked with the black smoke of Marine battleships. Dozens of vessels had flanked the island, their heavy artillery trained on the dark cliffs. Hundreds of soldiers stood on the decks, weapons drawn, trembling as they prepared to invade the territory of Dracule Mihawk. Mihawk stood at the edge of the shoreline, his massive black blade, Yoru, resting against his shoulder. His expression was completely relaxed, his golden eyes filled with a bored, cutting disdain for the fleet before him. He was entirely prepared to paint the sea red. Before the Marine commander could give the order to fire, a sudden, heavy cannon blast echoed from the outer edge of the fog. A massive Revolutionary warship tore through the Marine blockade, its heavy hull ramming directly into the side of a Marine battleship, sending splinters and panicked soldiers flying into the freezing water. The ship sailed with terrifying precision, cutting a path of pure chaos straight toward the shallow waters of the beach. Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, his gaze locking onto the figure standing boldly at the bow of the incoming ship. Viper stood tall against the ocean wind, her dark cloak billowing behind her. She looked older, stronger, and entirely in control. As the ship drew close to the shore, she leaped over the railing, landing with a heavy, metallic click of her prosthetic leg on the wet sand just yards away from him. She offered him a sharp, confident smirk, her eyes bright with the thrill of the rescue. "I told you I would find my way back," Viper said, her voice easily carrying over the sound of the roaring waves and panic-stricken Marines. Mihawk stared at her for a long, silent moment. The ice in his expression shattered, replaced by a rare, genuine smile that softened his sharp features. "You are late, Viper," Mihawk murmured, stepping forward to stand at her side. "I had to find a big enough ship," she laughed, turning her back to the water and drawing a brand-new, elegant blade from her hip. "Now... let's clear a path."

The thunder of the Marine cannons had finally faded into the steady, rhythmic sloshing of the dark sea against the hull. The Revolutionary warship was safely hidden within a dense, uncharted fog bank, sailing far beyond the reach of the Navy’s immediate pursuit. Deep inside the ship’s private officers' quarters, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the chaos of their escape. The room was warm, lit by the gentle, amber glow of a single lantern. Mihawk sat on a velvet-cushioned settee, having finally set his massive black blade aside. Across from him, Viper leaned against the wooden desk, pouring two glasses of a rich, deep red wine she had specifically salvaged for this exact moment. She handed one to him, her fingers brushing against his with a lingering, familiar warmth. Taking a slow sip, she looked at him with a teasing glint in her eyes. "It’s going to be a long trip to our next safe zone," she said, her voice dropping into a soft, dry chuckle. "I know you’ve spent the last few years enjoying your absolute solitude, Warlord, but I'm afraid you’ll just have to tolerate my company for a while." Mihawk swirled the dark liquid in his glass, his golden eyes reflecting the soft lantern light. He looked up, his gaze locking onto hers with an uncharacteristic, quiet intensity. "I have had two years of solitude," Mihawk murmured, his deep voice carrying a rare, raw sincerity. "It was entirely overrated. As long as it is your company, I find I do not mind the lack of quiet."

Even Aokiji’s lazy expression shattered, his eyes widening in absolute shock at the sheer, terrifying willpower of the woman before him. Before Kuzan could react to the horrific display, the sky itself seemed to split. A massive, towering wave of green compressed air cleaved through the frozen sea, tearing a massive chasm right down the center of the ice cap with a single, devastating slice. From the high cliffs of Kuraigana Castle, Mihawk stood with his black blade unsheathed, his golden eyes watching the shoreline. He had broken his neutrality. Taking the split-second chance, Viper used her remaining strength to launch herself off the collapsing ice and plunged directly into the freezing water, using her arms to swim desperately toward the approaching Revolutionary ships. Kuzan stood at the edge of the newly formed chasm, watching the trail of blood vanish into the dark water. The shock left his face, replaced by a slow, faint smirk as he shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Well... there really isn't anything I can do about that," Kuzan sighed lazily aloud, making no move to freeze the water or pursue her. "A pretty girl like that, so desperate to leave... how can I deny her the right?"

The frost crept rapidly up the rowboat, snapping and crackling as it began to bind her boots to the floorboards. Without a Devil Fruit power to shatter the ice, and without her sword to parry his strikes, Viper knew she was completely outmatched against a Marine Admiral. Desperate, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her heavy coat, searching for anything—a stray lockpick, a wire, a vial of toxin—that could buy her even a second of time. Her fingers brushed against something solid, heavy, and freezing cold. She pulled her hand out, and her breath hitched. Resting in her palm was a small, gold, cross-shaped pendant. It was Mihawk’s Kogatana—the tiny, razor-sharp blade he always wore around his neck. A sudden wave of realization washed over her. He must have slipped it into her pocket during their final waltz in the kitchen, or perhaps when he carried her back to her room the night before. Even when he looked at her with eyes of pure ice and claimed he didn't care, he had quietly given her his own personal protection. He hadn't sent her out to die unarmed. Aokiji’s lazy gaze dropped to her hand, his eyes widening just a fraction as he recognized the signature weapon of the World’s Strongest Swordsman. "Arara... is that what I think it is? Hawk Eye is a lot more generous than I thought." "He isn't generous," Viper whispered, her grip tightening around the golden hilt. "He just doesn't like his things being broken by the Marines." With a sudden, fluid strike, she drove the incredibly sharp Kogatana down into the ice binding her boots. The blade sliced through Kuzan’s frost like hot iron through butter, shattering the ice around her feet.

Before parting ways, Y/n chose a tattoo to bind their bond forever. She got a tattoo of the Lily of the Valley etched into her skin. It was a secret, dual tribute. The delicate, drooping flowers were shaped like bells, a silent nod to her beloved friend, Bellemere. The hidden, lethal toxicity of the plant represented her own true nature—the venomous spy lurking just beneath a gentle surface. The delicate tranquility that once enveloped Cocoyasi Village shattered like fragile glass the day Arlong and his ruthless sun-pirate crew descended upon it. Amidst the chaos, when Bellemere was brutally executed in a chilling display of power, y/n was not engulfed merely by grief; she was consumed by a seething, blinding rage that burned within her like wildfire. Desperation coursed through her veins as she implored the Marine high command to step in, to dispatch battleships and eradicate the fish-men tyrants who had stolen her friend away. Yet, in a cold twist of betrayal, the World Government turned a blind eye. They fed her a lie, heartlessly insisting that Bellemere had abandoned the Marine life of her own volition, leaving her fate to the whims of chance. Y/n took a deep breath as she slowly pulled herself up from the cold, tiled floor. The chaos and bloodshed of her escape played on a loop in her mind, an unending reel of faces, shouts, and the unmistakable sound of betrayal cutting through the air. She wiped the blood from her hand and felt a fleeting moment of vulnerability, but it washed away like the remnants of a fleeting dream. Instead, what rose in its place was the sharp, tactical focus of a veteran operative—one forged in the fires of loss and vengeance. She knew she couldn't linger here, not with Mihawk’s icy presence looming over her like a specter, nor with the Marines methodically tracking her every move. As she slipped into the grand hallway, her heart pounded—not from fear, but anticipation. Moving through the shadows of the castle felt both foreign and familiar, as if each corner whispered stories of her past. Stepping into Mihawk's study, she approached the purple Den Den Mushi. Her fingers trembled slightly as she dialed the secure frequency, but it wasn’t fear that gripped her—it was desperation and hope, both tightly intertwined. When the connection clicked open, Sabo's face appeared, youthful and determined, but there was a shadow of worry etched across his brow. "Viper? Is that you?" His voice rang clear, laced with urgent relief. "We've been tracking your Vivre Card's faint signal since the storm. Where are you?"

"I'm alive, Sabo," she replied, each word a lifeline. "I’m on Kuraigana Island. But my cover is completely blown. Hawk Eye knows who I am." A wave of realization crashed down on her, the weight of her situation digging deep into her gut. She had fought so hard to be unseen, to blend into the shadows, and yet here she was—exposed and raw. “Listen to me carefully,” Sabo’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, the wind behind him whipping like the chaos of her heart. “We're already nearby, but our scouts just spotted a Marine fleet closing in on your coordinates. They must have traced your last position before the tsunami. We can’t bring our main ship into the harbor without triggering a war with a Warlord and the Navy. You need to meet us halfway. Get to the shoreline on the eastern docks.” “Understood. I’m moving now,” she said, cutting the connection, but his words clung to her like a lifeline. How many times had she imagined this moment? A chance to be free, a chance to strike back against the very system that had betrayed her. Yet, the bittersweet reality of her situation loomed darkly over her. Before leaving, she felt a pull toward Mihawk’s private office—a longing she couldn’t shake, a tether to the man who had shown her kindness in a world rife with cruelty. She walked back deliberately, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. He stood by the high-arched window, his figure etched against the fog, reminiscent of a warrior preparing for battle. Something was haunting about the way he held his shoulders rigid, shielding emotions she dared not disturb. With a deep breath, she stepped closer, words swirling in her throat, but none came. The air was thick with unspoken tension. “Mihawk,” she finally began, her voice barely escaping her lips, trembling with the weight of everything left unsaid, “I—” But he didn’t turn to face her, and the silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding. In that moment, Y/n realized the depth of her journey—the betrayal, the loss, the anger that had driven her here, and the hope that still flickered within her, even amid the darkness. “I have to go,” she whispered, the words tasting like ashes upon her tongue. “But I will find a way to come back.” As she turned to leave, a part of her ached to look back, to see if the steadfast swordsman would acknowledge her departure, but she pressed on, fueled by the fire that had ignited within her. She was no longer just a ghost of the past; she was Viper, and she would carve her own path forward, one steeped in vengeance and loyalty to those she had lost. Running towards the rocky beach, she found a small, weathered rowboat tied to an old wooden post. Unslipping the knot, she pushed the vessel into the choppy, dark waves and began to row out into the open sea, desperate to close the distance between herself and the Revolutionary Army. But she wasn't fast enough. A thunderous roar echoed across the water as the gray fog suddenly split open. Giant Marine battleships tore through the mist, their massive cannons already aimed directly at her tiny boat. A barrage of cannonballs tore into the sea around her, sending violent plumes of freezing water exploding into the air as the Navy launched their full, merciless assault to eliminate the Viper once and for all.

i just really really really like the idea of mihawk slowly realising that even though he never asks you anything about yourself because he tells himself he doesn’t care, you don’t take offence to it. worse still is the moment he realises that tou have been doing so many small, tiny little things for him without any sense of expectation of reciprocation. he’s so used to people doing things just so he “owes them” that he overlooked your small acts.

he lets you into his space purely due to the fact that he doesn’t care enough to make you go away. mistake number one.

mistake number two is when he realises that you’ve sort of gotten under his skin and he still chooses not to act. he really believes that you’ll vanish when you realise that he isn’t going to give you anything, but you don’t.

instead, you bring flowers for the empty vases he can’t be bothered to replace. you go out and get lunch for both of you if it rolls around to one in the afternoon and he hasn’t noticed. when the store technically closes and he’s behind on the restoration list, you restock the books, take inventory, and leave him a neat list beside the register for the morning.

he doesn’t even know what you do that you have so much time to spare at his shop with nothing in return, and he still doesn’t ask even when it finally strikes him. it’s through long practice that he tells himself he doesn’t care, reminds himself that he’s had so many people betray him just as he settled that he can’t afford to care about you.

even when you bring what his favorite stress food exactly when he needs it, and even when you bring him a single cupcake for his birthday because you obviously know he doesn’t want attention paid to it but that’s just who you are, caring in your own ways while still minding who he is.

the breaking point is so small it seems stupid to notice after everything else. he has a preferred brand of paint brushes, rather hard to get ahold of on their own but god forbid you need a specialty brush and don’t preorder it.

mihawk is meticulous in keeping his supplies up. he hates having to scramble for anything, especially due to negligence. yet when one of his brushes snaps in the middle of a piece, he’s immediately vexed to find that he’s somehow forgotten to order a replacement. naturally it’s one he can’t just pick up off the shelf, and while he can make do until a new one comes in, it’s the principle of the thing.

when you wander in following a curse, he just tosses the broken pieces on the table before pinching the bridge of his nose. he’s developing a headache now, and doesn’t have time for whatever nonsense you’ve conjured up when your little gasp reaches him.

something is set on the table in front of him before you say, “i have an extra. i always keep one on me when i’m working away from home. you can keep it.”

he just stares at it by his elbow, still in its package with no sign of wear, like you haven’t even had it very long. wary, he asks, “just like that?”

“just like what?” you reply, head cocked. “you need it, don’t you? i love mine. i’d be lost without it, but ill just order another one. unless something catastrophic happens it’ll be fine. if not i’ll steal it back. obviously.”

you flash him a pretty, mischievous smirk before making your way back out to the front; the bell had rang, and he vaguely hears you discussing— something with a customer. how you had taken over that, let alone why he had let you, was just another small act he had overlooked, but the paintbrush—

he picks it up just to look at it, and it takes awhile before he’s finished cataloguing everything you had been doing, such small things that to a normal person would seem like normal kindnesses. to mihawk, they’re traps— though maybe not, not if it’s you. it hasn’t been from you yet, not after the months you’ve been coming around, slipping through a crack he’s fairly certain you made yourself before settling inside without him ever even noticing.

like a parasite, he muses because he can’t help himself. at least you hadn’t made a nuisance of yourself.

the next day when you show up, you stop short at the single flower laying on the counter beside the register. there’s nothing with it, just the snowdrop lying where there would be no mistaking it was meant for you or where it came from.

"If I had a nickel every time I had a crush on a sophisticated guy with amber eyes and bird motif, I'd have two nickels...which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice"