#mihawk x governess

[fanaticsnail]

Sapsorrow Chapter 9

Masterlist Here, Sapsorrow Masterlist Here

Word Count: 9,000+

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it"

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Warning: MDNI, 18+, smut, making love, husband and wife, bondage, blindfolds, marriage, gendered terms, love, romance, supernatural themes.

Notes: Here it is, the beloved sun-dress chapter that I have been carving out over the past month while practicing in between. You can see how I had to take a short break as my favoritism for Benn Beckman shone through. I wrote him his chaptered fic just after I finished the first section of this one - completely unrelated to this plot and story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, one more to go before the story is completed and the spinoffs begin! Love you all.

Song Suggestion: 'Til the light goes out - Lindsay Stirling

Rough and calloused fingertips brushed against your upper arms, causing you to unconsciously flinch away from their touch. Your breath hitched, your vulnerability heightened by the addition of a blindfold securing your eyelids tightly shut. The coarse digits were warm against your rapidly cooling skin, the dynamic of the silken ropes only adding to your intrigue and anticipation as the woven fibers began clutching to your body. 

“Easy now, my Lady,” the rumbled voice of Shanks’ first mate reassured you, tapping your forearms as an attempt to sooth you, “I’ve got you, alright? No harm, nor an unwarranted touch will come to you by my hands.”

Benn Beckman, the first-mate to the ‘red haired rat’, you affectionately associated him with, was ever the gentleman towards you. As you undressed moments prior, the larger man turned his back and began laying out the materials over Mihawk’s bare desk that he was about to weave around your body and assembled them with practice and precision. 

Wordlessly, you thanked the clown for burning off the heavier materials of your starlit gown. The remaining fabric managed to fall away from your body with ease, the garment pooling in a soft pile at your feet. As you stood in naught but the body you were born into, you shrouded yourself with your arms to grant yourself further privacy from your old friend. 

“My lady?” the gruff call of Beckman behind you called to you, “Are you ready for us to begin?” The hum in his tone did little to comfort you as your skin pricked under the cool air of the night. A soft ruffling sound had you beer over his shoulder at the older gentleman.

His hand circled the back of his silvery hair, tying it behind his head by the elastic of a small piece of leather. Layers of his hair managed to escape the tie and fall into his eyes, prompting him to huff a curt growl at himself. As you continued to remain unresponsive verbally to him, he sighed out a deep breath before drawing up the torn cotton fabric to conceal his eyes. 

“Lady Dracule, my eyes are now covered,” he commented in a soft and even tone, “I assure you, you have my word, your honor will remain intact with me at the helm here.” His hands softly began searching for the variety of materials that lay before him over the desk, fingers first meeting with a sheer piece of transparent gold, “I would never betray your trust, especially after all our time together.”

Walking towards the older gentleman, he held up his left hand in a manner to halt your descent towards him. You stuttered in your step and froze in place, heeding to his direction. 

“Eye covering on now, my lady,” he warned you, a small smile was almost depicted in his tone, “Don’t wanna risk anything, alright? Let’s not give the witch any leeway.”

And now, as his hands drew themselves up over your body, you could only deduce what he was placing over your skin. The material felt almost warm, you likened the fact by how firmly your old friend was clutching it in his hands before he placed it over your body. 

Silks drew themselves over your shoulders beneath his hands, his digits not lingering for a moment past its required need to be present. The cologne and nicotine smoke fragrance washing over you from the man behind you did nothing to calm your nerves, especially considering his hands were now hovering over your breasts.

“This next step is going to be rather intimate, my lady,” he informed you, his tone steady and informative. You nodded, the brush of your hair indicating your readiness by its brush against Beckman’s cheek behind you. A small huff of air exhaled through Beckman’s nose, something almost akin to a laugh following. 

“You know, you can talk to me,” he chuckled, his hands maneuvering woven bars of metallic thread between the chasms of your breasts, “Might make it less awkward for the both of us?” Your eyes fluttered wide beneath the mask as you realized you were yet to speak a single word to the man so intimately placed behind you. 

“I’m sorry, Beckman,” you apologized to the gray-haired first mate as his hands clasped around your midsection, “It almost escaped my mind that this experience would be more awkward for you than it is for me.” 

A gruff chuckle rumbled behind your back, his right hand circling your right wrist as he wove himself around your body to collect more materials from the desk. A shift in fabric scraping against the writing desk had your ears prick up.

“We’ll keep it light, alright? Let’s think about the old days,” his body moved in front of yours, left hand reaching for your collarbone while more chains of metal found its way atop your sternum, “Remember the first time all of us met?” 

You giggled out a small laugh at the memory, a laugh reflected in the deep chuckle of Benn Beckman. His fingers grazed over your stomach, the soft shift in fabric over your hips and fastened itself at your midsection by the wrapping of ropes across your naval. 

“I think that was when Shanks just dropped his trousers in front of one of my blushing debutantes: belt pooling at his ankles,” your giggle rose alongside your smile, “Had to chase him out with a broom, from memory. I can still see the panic in his eyes and the stumble in his step.” 

“Thankfully he managed to get the pants over his hips and fastened before he got to the Red-Force,” he chuckled with you, weaving ropes once more between your breasts and down your back, “Otherwise he would not have heard the end of it from me, that I can assure you.”

“Oh, and where were you, Beckman?” you quipped back at him, your smile now toothy and warm, “If my memory serves correct, you were attempting to woo the handmaiden to the lady of the house!”

“Attempting, my lady?” Beckman taunted back, his warm hands clapping over your hips to steady you, “Succeeding, I think you mean.” 

“Rascal,” you teased him, hissing over the ‘S’ with a chittering laugh. 

“Reformed rascal,” he confessed to you, his hands moving over your thighs, “I am a changed man these days,” his hands dipped between your legs and began tying several complex knots between the parting of your bare legs. “Keeping Shanks out of trouble is all I have time for, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh?” you prompted him with a quirk of your shrouded brow, “He never seems to stop, does he? Something needs to tame him, settle him down so you can get some semblance of peace.”

“Oh, I’ve been awaiting the day, my lady,” he confessed with a small chuckle, “I do need a holiday.” His hands began slowing their movement to focus on more intentional knot-work over your hips.

“I hear the new lady of Kuraigana is kind,” you comment with a smirk in your tone, “She may offer you a holiday, should you desire it, Mister Benn.” 

“Will she be providing ‘captain-sittin’ duty too?” he huffed with a snicker in his tone, “And it’s ‘Mister Benn,’ now is it? What happened to ‘Beckman,’ hm?”

“I’m sure she could be persuaded to watch over the rodent for a day or two,” you continued your teasing rapport with him, “And of course it’s ‘Mister Benn’,” you blindly seek out his right hand with your left, offering a gentle squeeze once you found it, “You’re doing so much for me, you deserve more of a title than a simple ‘Mister’. I’d knight you, if I had the ability to do so.”

His right hand gave you a soft squeeze in return before releasing your digits from his grasp. He cleared his throat with a soft cough, his fingertips fastening a soft knot by your knee. 

“I appreciate the gesture of knighthood, my lady,” he confessed, reaching for your adjacent knee and began fastening several intricate strands over your legs, “You have always been so kind to me. To all of us, really.” His hands cup your knee, reaching behind your thigh to grasp at a strand of gold that slipped his fingers, “Your husband is lucky to find a wife in a woman like you.” 

“Thank you for saying so, Sir Beckman,” you chuckled in response, “Loyal guardian and fierce protector of the Red-Force crew, a knight and friend to the new Lady Dracule of Kuraigana.” His chuckle huffed through his nose at your declaration. 

“Alright, my lady. I’ll play the role of knight for you,” his hands tugged at two ends of the golden fabric firmly, “This next part may feel a little unusual coming from my hands. Only two more knots to go before I’m done: these two are probably the most involved of the lot of them.” 

“Beckman, all of this is feeling rather involved- oh!” You shrieked a strangled gasp as he tugged firmly on the golden strands between your legs, the material hoisting over your thighs to firmly secure at your pelvis. A blush rose to litter your cheeks with a warmth you were not anticipating, Beckman’s hands hastily pulling away from touching your body in reaction to your surprise. 

“Nearly done, my lady,” he reassured you with an even tone, “Then you’ll be in the safety of the hands of your husband, and I’ll be out of your personal space. Cross my heart, alright?” Your breath hitched as his hands began hastily concluding a flourish of gestures. 

As your body began to experience a new sensation between your legs, Beckman tightened several strands over your chest which caused your breath to hitch further. Your eyes tightly scrunched shut as the material began grinding over your erogenous zones, prompting you to bite your lip to halt further sounds exiting your body. 

“One more knot, then Mihawk will be here,” Beckman reassured you with a small, tightlipped smile you would not see, “I’ll be out of your way and drinking with the rest of them in no time, my lady. It’ll be all a distant memory soon enough.” You nodded, a notion that Beckman would not see but only guess due to the shift in fabric. 

“I trust you, Sir Beckman,” you whisper, feeling the intentional and hasty way his fingers coil the fabric around your body in a finite weave. 

“Thank you, Lady Dracule,” he whispers in return, his hands securing the final strands of fabric behind your back from his position standing in front of you, “Your dress, as radiant as the sun that ignites the day in the flood of its warm light, is now completed.”

You both released a sigh of relief before joining together in a fit of huffed laughter. Beckman’s right hand found your left as he began brushing his left hand alongside the furniture to lead you throughout the room. 

“It’s almost a shame I cannot see how hard you worked, Beckman,” your comment eased its way out of your throat as your knees knocked against the mattress of the bed.

“Aye, that it is, my lady,” he admitted, ushering you to recline against the backboard of the large bed, “But Mihawk can.” 

Your cheeks flooded with a darkened heat of blush, your body aware of every sensation it was experiencing beneath the depravity of your eye sight. You felt Beckman’s hands beside your head, tugging and rearranging several plush pillows to cradle your body securely atop them. Heart swelling at the further gesture of friendship, your smile floated once again over your lips.

“You’re always so caring and compassionate, Beckman,” you compliment him with a softened smile in your tone, “We both owe you more than a single favor.” 

A single hum of confirmation was all the sound that escaped him before bidding you a curt: “This is where I leave you. Good luck, my lady.”

Hearing the thud of heavy boots descend away from your side, and the small open and shut of the door. No sounds indicated anything aside from your solitude. Your breathing was heavy and fuelled by anxiety and anticipation of what is to come. 

-

As the door clicked behind Beckman, he rolled his head back on his shoulders and shook his body to rid itself of the prior strenuous art he tied onto your body. He reached up, his fingers brushing with the blindfold and began untying the material under the new safety of the door. As the woven fabric dropped down his face, a small cough appeared reclined against the door beside him.

Lord Dracule Mihawk was glaring his amber eyes beneath the shroud of his broad hat, arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed in a soft snarl. Beckman sighed, rolling the material of the blindfold over in a soft circle in the palm of his hand. 

“You been here the whole time, Hawk?” Beckman asked him with a soft smirk curling at the left hand corner of his lip, “Would’ve thought you’d enjoy a few more drinks by the fire with your company.”

“And leave my wife naked in a room on our wedding night with another man? Hardly a likely scenario,” he confessed with a dark laugh. 

“I would never do anything to place a mark to her name, Mihawk,” Beckman immediately retorted, glaring his silvery eyes at the broody lord of Kuraigana. Mihawk elevated his hands defensively, pushing himself away from the wall and extending a bottle of hard liquor from behind his back to Benn Beckman.

“I know you would do no such thing,” Mihawk smirked, narrowing his eyes briefly before offering the bottle to Beckman, “And, for what it’s worth to you,” he leant in closer, passing the bottle into the taller man’s hands with a nod of his head, “I agree with the lady of Kuraigana.”

“In what regard?” Beckman elevated his eyebrow alongside his question. Mihawk’s smirk morphed into a rare smile, a smile that was becoming less rare in the days as long as he had you by his side. 

“You deserve more than a simple holiday,” he nodded in confirmation, “And you deserve far more than any mere knighthood, if you’ve managed to complete this task to its entirety.” Mihawk turned his back, making his way to the door and halting as his fingertips brushed with the brass door handle.

“I appreciate the whiskey,” Beckman smiled, reaching into his breast pocket of his patterned shirt and elevated his cigarette to his lips, “And your compliments, Mihawk. You’re a lucky man to land one hell of a woman.”

“That we can also agree on,” Mihawk smirked, halting his opening of the door and waiting for Beckman to begin his walk away from the room before clicking his thumb over the door handle. ‘

-

A soft click, several intentional footsteps and a gasp of breath being sucked in through quivering lips were all the sounds that caused your ears to prick at the corners. Swatting at the mattress beside you, you began rising from your comfortable recline against the bed. 

“Mihawk?” you whispered your call for him, “Mihawk, is that you?” 

The lord of Kuraigana, the current title holder of the worlds greatest swordsman, and the man who had only hours prior been dancing in merriment with his new bride in her two dresses that captured his attention now found himself rendered speechless. A man who always had a quip and retort, a man who purred with the energy of a poised panther waiting to pounce on a meek prey, a man who always had the last word in every conversation was completely, and totally, speechless. 

“Mihawk?” you whispered once again, your panic becoming adamant in your tone, “My love, are you there? Please, if it’s you, let me know you’re-.”

“-I’m here, my beloved,” he whispered, his body immediately drawing itself closer to you. He sunk his body down atop the mattress beside you and his fingertips immediately began hovering over the intricate knots, divots and sheer fabric cascading down your body in its recline against the bed. 

He was a man lost, an adventurer found within uncharted territory with no map to guide him. A sailor with no north star to point him towards home. The more he dwelled on the thought of being lost to his emotions, the more he felt like you were the home awaiting his arrival. As his fingers began their hasty descent over your body, the scandalous material covering barely an inch of your revealed flesh, he halted their descent. 

“My darling?” his voice quivered, his hands stuttering over your chest as his eyes hovered over the mounds of your breasts, “My love, may I touch you?” His eyes were yet to draw themselves up to meet with your face, too enchanted in a trance by the scandalous ties and ribbons Beckman had tied over your body moments prior. Too busy with the artistry Beckman had woven into your skin to notice the broad smile that rose over your cheeks.

As you rose to sit up, hands extended and reaching for your husband, you suddenly realized the intricate knotwork being woven against your sensitive flesh. As you elevated your body to reach for Mihawk, you gasped as an intentional knot of rope ground itself against your lower abdomen, causing sensations to heighten at the crude grind against your bare flesh. 

Hands finally meeting with your husband’s cool digits, you felt the subtle tremor in his motions: anticipation at the next stage of the night commencing. A loud cheer from the crowd gathered outside broke you away from your thoughts as a smile drew up over your cheeks. His fingers interlaced with both of yours, his clothed body pressing itself against your own as you felt his breath tickle your lips. 

“It seems they have taken their role in this very seriously, husband,” you allowed a soft laugh to rise in your voice. You felt Mihawk’s breath shift, a sharp exhale through his nose indicating his smile had risen to his cheeks. You unlaced your hand from within his, reaching blindly to his face to press against his whiskered cheek. 

“I would expect nothing less of the crews of the Red-Force, Big-Top, and our wards, wife,” he leaned into your hand, pressing his lips against your palm. Although your eyes were shrouded, you could feel the expression atop Mihawk’s face. His smile, the soft flutter of his lengthy, black eyelashes, and the soft scrunch of his nose had your lips fall back to reveal your teeth in your own smile. 

He sighed, pressing his hand against the one clutching his cheek and closing his eyes as he took a deep inhale of your perfume. Lingering in the moment, he reopened his eyes to view the shroud covering yours from being able to see him. His annoyance wrote itself on his face, his expression change being tangibly felt beneath your hand.

“My love, is something the matter?” you asked him, unlacing your other hand from within his fingers and cradling his face to seek out more of his expression. He scoffed, raising his hand to cover yours and press your right hand against his neck, while your left remained cradling his cheek. 

“Is it so wrong of me to want to enjoy my wife’s eyes when I intend on making love to her?” he whispered, looking down at your body for a moment before focussing on your face once more, “You are so beautiful,” he complimented you, inching his body closer, “I wish you could bare witness to your radiance.” 

“You flatter me, my lord,” you smiled at him, elevating your body to draw closer to him, “I am glad this composition pleases you-.”

“-Why did you ask for such a piece?” Mihawk growled at you, pressing a chaste kiss against your hand before lifting it off his cheek to join the other on his neck, “You knew you would never see it, why ask for it?” You took a moment to think on it, cocking your head to the side and angling your face away from his. 

“I suppose,” you began, pursing your lips a little with your brows furrowed, “Not only did I want the task to be unachievable,” you inched yourself ever closer, “But, should this task be truly met, I wanted something for only you to enjoy, my husband.” His breath was taken from him, the revelation causing his heart to swell with pride. He tugged at your body, pulling you from your position sitting and coaxing you away from the bed.

“Would you indulge me further?” he asked, stepping up from the bed with you to have you rise to your feet, “If this was intended for me to see, I desire to see it in its entirety, my lady.” You shook your head, biting back your smile as you allowed him to usher you to your feet. Before you had an opportunity to chastise him for using that soft title, he spoke over you.

“I know what you would say,” he held your right hand to allow you a semblance of an inkling as to where he was in the room, “For me not to refer to you as ‘my lady’.” He dropped your hand, his hand caressing your forearm and raising it to your shoulder.

“You assume correct,” you scoffed, turning your head beneath your shroud to point your face towards him.

“Ah, but here is where you remain misguided,” he traced his fingertips over your shoulder towards your spine. “You are my lady,” he whispered, the tingle of his breath on your neck caused your body to ignite with gooseflesh, “And you will forever be my lady,” he pressed a small kiss against the tip of your spine, below your hair. “My lady,” he withdrew his lips from your body, admiring your form beneath the strands of gold fabric, “You are mine, as much as I am yours.”

“I am yours,” you whispered, giving in to the desire for him that began pooling at the pit of your stomach in anticipation, “And you are mine.” He circled your body, his hands finding yours in front of you and intertwining them within his. Stepping in closer, his body heat radiated from his open shirt and buzzed against your own exposed flesh. 

“May I kiss you, Lady Dracule?” he whispered, your body immediately responding to your new title by melting away your inhibitions and anchoring your chin up to search for him. Your body flooded with emotion, truly feeling this new title that he gave to you at this very moment. You were his wife, the lady of the high keep of Kuraigana, the bride of the Worlds Greatest Swordsman, and former warlord of the seas. You were truly his, beneath the shroud of his familial name and within this new role as woman of the house. 

“Lord Dracule,” you sighed, feeling his aura closing in on your face, “I want nothing more than to share this moment with you.” Mihawk was forever grateful that your eyes were shrouded from his expression. He was not one to ever experience weakness, always remaining hard in the eyes of his enemies. Although you were not an enemy to him, he took the shroud against your eyes to allow himself to express pure, unbridled, and unrefined emotions for the first time since childhood.

He was so, desperately, in love with you. This moment, seeing the willingness in your body and the love in your smile was more than enough to cause his own resolve to weaken with his knees. The love you gave, the expression so freely given to him, was something unlike anything he had experienced prior. He had had women in his past, surely, but this was something else.

The love he felt ignited in his chest, the passion he felt flooded within his veins, and the emotion he felt swell within his eyes was enough to cause him to step forward and slowly draw his face down to meet with yours. Your breath was stolen from you as you felt his whiskered lips brush with your own. The soft scratch of his silken beard tingled against your chin, the broad hat brushing with your hair now completely loosened and untamed. 

Mihawk’s hands unwove from yours, his lips unbreaking their contact from massaging and layering intentional motions against your flesh. A shudder against your skin, and a rustle of fabrics descending from his chest, had your smile draw itself further up your face. Your hands sought out Mihawk’s shoulders, your fingers meeting with bare skin where once his pale shirt was covering. 

A strong left hand met with your right cheek, tugging and caressing your skin as he deepened the kiss. A sigh escaped your lips as his tongue drew patterns of longing against your bottom lip, grinding against yours as you opened your lips to meet him. His left hand ventured over your shoulders, mapping the skin carefully wrapped in intricate loops of gold fabrics and fibers. 

“Mihawk,” you gasped as soon as his lips left yours, his face nuzzling against your cheek and neck. His lips grazed, kissed and lightly bit at your skin as his fingers dipped into the golden fibers. He murmured your name, his familial name before uttering it prompted your heart to swell and soar in your chest. 

“I missed you so much, my lady,” he confessed into your neck, his lips withdrawing from your neck and finding your cheek once again, “I know it has only been a few minutes since Benn stole you from me, but it has felt like an eternity since I held my beautiful governess like this.” His hands pluck and prod at the knots over your body, his growing frustration evident on the rough huffs of his breath for each moment you remain confined in the ropes. 

“Your wife, Mihawk,” you remind him, hands blindly reaching for his face. Once you found his cheeks, you hastily drew his face to meet with yours, “I am your wife.” Your desperation to welcome him into your affectionate embrace has you move from your place beneath his stooped body to climb over to him. He ushered you towards him, your mind choosing to let him play guide for you to move about willingly. 

“My wife,” he whispered back to you, his hand ghosting intimate caresses over your body to guide you closer onto him. Shin brushing with the bare flesh of his leg, your anticipation only grew as you straddled his lap; him now sitting against the plush bed of his quarters. Hands exploring his shoulders, down his torso, and over his arms and stomach: you blindly began studying him. Your fingertips read him like elevated embroidery over a broad canvas, committing the poetry he was born with, and was painted against him within the art of war. 

His hands cupped your thighs, head angled up to press kisses of longing against your lips. A gentle tug of your thighs prompted you to sit atop him, anchoring your full weight over his lap. As you began to sit on him, the ropes began to constrict and tighten around your abdomen. The tied knots brushed against your groin, a strangled whimper falling from your lips as you felt Mihawk’s erect and quivering cock brush against your naval. 

“I need to get this off of you,” Mihawk groaned against your lips, “Beckman did too good of a job. I can’t find any slip knots to release you.” He continued to trail your knots, ties and bonds trapping you within the fabric. Your mind momentarily ceased its recollection of such a plight, but now that Mihawk had begun initiating the next installment of your evening together, you had never wanted to witness something before your eyes more. You wanted to see your husband, and he wanted to see your eyes gazing at him.

“It is rather constricting,” you admit, your lips seeking out his neck as his hands wrap around your back. His hands begin tugging at the knots harshly, you whimper into his neck as this tug had the ropes grind over your lower body. He halted his tugging, his breath hitching and his staggered movements. 

The passion between you ignited further, his desperate kisses pressing lengthy and staggered motions against you. He ceased his attempts at withdrawing the material away from you, choosing to focus on the feeling of finally having his wife within his arms. You were perfect; everything about you was perfect to him. Where once was a uniform made for servitude, now lay a design so provocative and sensual that a goddess would even blush viewing it. Yet, here you were: wearing it as if it was made for you and only you. 

Mihawk was in love, some foreign emotion he never thought he would ever experience. As he looked up at your form, he took a moment to gawk at you. He had never seen a beauty of such radiance, a woman that so perfectly held his heart within their hands. 

His excitement was depicted by the rush of blood to swell his cock, and he wanted nothing more than to see your body in return. He didn’t only want to see your bare flesh unshrouded, but he wanted to see your eyes. The eyes he fell in love with. The stern eyes that held him hostage from the moment you first reprimanded Zoro at the doorway of his manor. 

“I am-...” Mihawk’s voice lost itself in his voice, his fingertips returning to you and tugging on the strands once more. The material ground itself higher in your abdomen, the material causing pleasure to seep against your clit. Your gasp was the greatest serenade he had ever graced his ears, his mind finally realizing how truly at his mercy you were in the knots, “...-I am going to cut the damn thing off you.” His confession had you swoon, sensing his desperation for you in his confession. 

A small shriek of shock flung from your parted lips as Mihawk all but threw you against the mattress beneath him. As he watched you writhe beneath him, he began to feel frustrated at not being able to see all of you at once. Teeth bit at your neck, lips sucked your pulse and his firm, covered cock ground against your body: a moan fleeing from his lips at this subtle touch. Caging you beneath him, he examined your body: focussing his gaze on each band of gold woven over your form. The sheer fabric did nothing to disguise each curve, the ties and knots accentuating your femininity in a manner so sinful: the moment his eyes met with your body, he was consumed with the flames of lust he had never encountered prior.

Although he had lain with other individuals in his lengthy crusade of piracy and swordsmanship, his mind was never as challenged as it was with you. His soul never felt the need to join with another in this way. He was perfectly content to remain in solitude, continuing to hold the title of ‘World's Greatest Swordsman’ and live alone until it was time for the next generation to claim that title from him. 

Then he met you. 

His confidant turned governess, his governess turned betrothed, his betrothed turned wife: his wife, lying beneath him enwrapped in bands of gold so scandalous and erotic - he was entranced by the lustful emotions plaguing him. 

“My darling, I want to gaze into your eyes when I make love to you,” he confessed in a breathy whisper, “You deserve far better than to be kept beneath the shroud of darkness for our first time joining our bodies together.” You smiled up at him, your chin angling to collect his lips within yours. The same desperation flooded your veins, the pleasure you anticipated to give and receive to and from your husband finally catching up to you. 

The carnal desire to have one another finally caused your mind and body to catch up at once. The confinements within the gold fabric had begun to illuminate, the metal feeling warm and pleasurable against your body. In one final attempt at reinforcing the fact that you wanted this, you collected his face beneath your hands and refocused his attention. 

“There will be other times,” you whisper, your hands traveling to his back as he continues to grind his hips against your thighs, “For now, I just need to feel you here with me.” At that confession, a primal urge swept through Mihawk’s body. His hands moved with a mind of his own. He fled from your embrace, your momentary confused sorrow at his departure was eclipsed by shock at Mihawk’s arms hooking beneath your thighs and prying apart your legs. 

“If you are certain this is what you want,” Mihawk’s panting breath managed to utter. His lips hovered over your skin, tracing the curvature of your cheeks and down your neck. “I want this to be good for you. I want you to experience this the way you truly deserve it,” he kissed your cheek to press in his desires, “I want this to be something you want.”

“I want you, my love,” you confessed in a breathy voice, dripping with desire, “I only want you.” He allowed a melancholy smile to rise to his cheeks, feeling his own desire truly catch up with him at this very moment. His eyes traveled down to your body: your breasts hugged beneath the fabric of the gold, the sinful knots and ties over your stomach - he took in every element before he truly gave in to his own desires. 

“So be it, my love,” were all the utterances he whispered at you before he dove his face between your legs. The knots, ties and woven fibers added an additional layer of friction to Mihawk’s needy tongue lapping at your aroused core. His hands held you firmly, completely exposed to his abrasive and hungry momentum. 

Tongue, lips and teeth greedily consumed your arousal like a beast awoken too early from hibernating slumber. Choking on your voice, your senses were working in overdrive to compensate for the shroud tied over your eyes. His tongue dipped into your entrance before licking a broad stripe up to your sensitive clit. 

Your arousal dripped past the fibers of gold and down against the sheets beneath you. His teeth bit at the knot hovering above your sensitive pearl, attempting to pry it away from you to no avail. He growled against your heat, the vibrations tingling your body as his frustration became more ferocious. “I want to see you,” he barked, his tongue lapping at your sensitive and exposed heat, “I want to see all of you.” His hands desperately clawed at your thighs to attempt to loosen the strands of gold. 

“Mihawk,” you mewled his name as his head began bobbing at your flesh. The intricate knots prompted the ministrations to become more intense at each passing swipe, “Mihawk, please.” The pit of your belly began to tingle with the simmering warmth of an impending eruption of curated bliss beneath Mihawk’s tongue. He continued swirling his tongue over your heat, your body becoming more ignited and propelled towards an awaiting explosion.

“Is it too much, my bride?” he asked you, his voice knit with concern for a moment while he halted his motions. You shook your head, reaching for him with your right hand. His left hand met with yours, giving your digits a gentle squeeze.

“You are perfect, my groom,” you praised him, squeezing his hand in response. The cloth over your eyes prompted you to begin to become agitated beneath its confining shroud. As his right hand pawed at your thigh, you pressed your head back against the mattress. Mihawk was transfixed, hypnotized at the rise and fall of your chest. 

“May I continue to please you this way?” he pressed a soft kiss against your thigh, his beard tickling your skin beneath your heightened senses. You give him a soft nod with your lips parting, letting out a soft cry when he doubled his efforts to bring you ever closer to reaching the point of ecstasy.

He was mesmerized at each soft tug on his hair, your hands lacing in his soft curls and rubbing soothing circles of encouragement against his skull. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he groaned against you, smiling as you reciprocated the soft squeeze. He softly groaned in frustration, desperately craving to see your eyes and feel your skin bare before him. 

“If I can not see you released from these bonds,” Mihawk groaned against your quivering heat, your walls beckoning him to chase your release by coating your entrance with glistening arousal, “I am going to lose what semblance that remains of my sanity.” 

“Mihawk-,” you attempt to cry your warning of your climax, your toes beginning to tingle and shake, as your belly fills with the overwhelming tightness of release as he dove back in against you. His tongue lapped eagerly, the grind the metal fibers brushing against your heat and causing your whole body to tingle. 

“-I know, my love,” he raised his hand, pressing down on your writhing stomach and holding you in place, “I can feel how close you are. I want you to lose yourself against my lips and tongue,” he focused his ministrations over your sensitive bud and skillfully chased your high with lips, “I want to feel your bliss, knowing it's crafted by my hands. I need to see this first, before I attempt to pry you from the bonds that contain you once more.” 

The woven coil snapped within you, your senses overwhelmed as you gushed over Mihawk’s tongue. His relentless attack never ceased, forcing you to experience the full ignition of your release. Your breath was stolen from you as you desperately called his name. Writhing beneath him, he continued to hold you firmly as you were chaperoned through your high. 

He withdrew from you once the world was once again within reach of your four senses, your eyes remaining shrouded with the lights of ecstasy beginning to dim behind the cloth. You felt Mihawk shift above you, his arms drawing over your body as he kissed his way up to your clavicle and neck. 

Your breath once again found you in a natural progression, your whimpers and moans becoming regulated by your steady breathing. Mihawk could not get enough of watching your lips parted and panting for him, your back arching and breathing returning to its regular syncopation. He so desperately desired to see your eyes, to see you lost in the bliss he crafted for you.

“Lady Dracule?” he apprehensively whispered to you, your face turning towards the source of his beckoning tone. “My love, are you quite alright? Was that okay? Did I-.”

“-Please rid me of these blasted knots, Mihawk,” you order him in return, your smile written in the warmth of your voice, “I need to see you. I miss you now more than ever before.” He called your name, a small waiver in his voice caused concern to knit over your brows, your hands meeting with his shoulders as you usher his face above yours.

You softly coax him up to your face, ushering him to position his body above your own. His lips descended on yours, his touch feeling less ravenous and more intentional than it was moments prior. His lips were soft, his actions truly depicting nothing but truth, love, and absolute honesty within his passionate kiss. His tongue traced the outline of your bottom lip, your own lips parting to shepherd him in to deepen the kiss. 

“I love you, my lady,” he whispered suddenly, his face pulling away from yours to look down at your face. Your soft smile rose to your face, your lips parting and chasing his withdrawal with them. He looked down at you, truly mesmerized by the beauty he had managed to claim beneath him. He meant every word uttered, down to the last syllable. You were his, and he was yours. 

“Show me,” you whispered to him, his breath hitching in his throat in response. Your final utterance had every part of him swelling with pride. “Make love to me.”

Mihawk immediately feels the twitch of his cock against his stomach, wanting nothing more than to claim his wife in this way by caging her beneath him. But as he met his eyes with the shroud that covered yours, he was met with a new challenge. 

“I want to see you, my darling,” he confessed in a breathy whisper, reaching up to your face and beginning to tug at the cloth covering your eyes. “I need to see you look at me as I make love to you for the first time.” He desperately begins to pry the material from your body.

At the pull and loosen of one strand, another would tighten in its place. He clawed at your stomach, intending to rid you of the coarse fibers only for it to constrict around your core that caused you to cry out at the overstimulation. He attempted to pry further, his arms clenching and shaking at how hard he gripped the material, but yet it still remained unbudging in its firm grip.

“M-Mihawk,” you whined, feeling him hoist up the material and grind your slit; your arousal pooling atop the bedsheets below you, He growled, attempting one final time to rid you of your confines before he gave in to his urge to finally claim you as his bride. 

“My love, I-...” he trailed off, feeling your hand reach down and cup his cheek. He was silent, still, allowing himself this small glimpse at the soft luxury he had not experienced before. He leant into your touch, placing his chin on your palm as you softly whispered to him.

“There will be other times,” you repeated your earlier sentiment, coaxing him towards your lips, “While I would love to see you as you are, I feel our other needs are of far greater importance.” Your teeth were revealed in your wolfy grin, hungry for your husband to finally claim you and brand you as his and his alone. As soon as Mihawk’s pointed gaze met with that smile, he was held captive beneath its majesty. He wanted nothing more than to please you, to dote on you, to claim you as his. 

“My beloved,” he whispered your name on his tongue, gently rolling it over with your formal title to him, “I want this to be special for you. This is a moment we cannot take back, a moment that joins us together officially as husband and wife. I will be yours, and you will be mine.” His confession had your heart soar, feeling tangibly how much this moment meant to him. 

“I am yours,” you whisper, drawing his chin up to your face, “Only yours.” Your confirmation rang in his ears, his heart beating in his chest, and his desire for you growing ever stronger. “If you are here, now, and in this moment,” you whisper to him, raising yourself up to sit before him, “I could want for nothing more.” 

Mihawk felt his desire overcome him, finally wanting to claim you as his. He needed you, to feel the way you felt wrapped around him. He wanted to bring you the greatest pleasure you had ever experienced, and was feeling the pressure to pursue such a performance. As your touch lingered on against his cheek, ushering him closer and reassuring him, all he wanted at that moment was you.

You.

His governess, his confidant, his friend, his wife.

His lost lady.

All of you. 

As you usher him closer, he leans over your body and cages you beneath his forearms. You smile, attempting to use your four other senses to get a read on how he is feeling above you right now. You listen to the pants in his breath, feel the heat in his skin, smell the wine on his tongue, and finally taste the arousal on his lips as they press themselves against yours. His kiss is intoxicating, filled with lust and consuming your very soul with the intensity of the oscillation. 

Moving your hands down to his shoulders, you draw him in closer; lying down on your back as you slot him in between your thighs. His lips grew bold, parting yours beneath his as his tongue darted out to brush with your own in a sultry tango. You reach down to his stomach, feeling all of the bare flesh beneath your fingertips and diving lower to his waistline. 

He smiles against your lips as you begin ridding himself of his pants. Struggling against the blinding shroud, you tap his skin to locate the buckle to release him of his marriage-clothes. He chuckles into your kiss, releasing himself from your lips and rising up to kneel on his calves. A bell jingles in your ear, his belt buckle ringing, as you hear shuffling material rid his pants from his hips and pool on the floor as he discarded them. 

Hands from the both of you desperately grasped and grabbed at one another, flesh meeting fingertips as your lips bound themselves against each other. You moaned against his lips as you felt his tip press against your slit beneath the bonds of gold imprisoning you against viewing your husband fully within the suite. 

“My heart,” he whispered to you, smoothing your hair over with his fingers, “My body,” he lined himself fully with your glistening core, prodding it with his swollen tip, “My soul,” he coaxed it within you, feeling the stretch of your body around him to compensate for his girth, “Is yours.” 

Pressing more of himself into you, you throw your head back against the pillows beneath you as you feel him finally begin to claim you as his wife physically. You hear his teeth grit as he paws at your thighs, holding them steady as he slowly sheathes himself deep within you. 

“Is this okay, my love?” he asks, his voice faltering at the end corner of it as he halts his movements. You wince a little, your body taking time to adjust to coaxing a lover within your body. You softly nod your head, prompting him to click his tongue in response, “Please answer me, my beloved. I need to know if it-...” he gasps, feeling the way your walls spasm around him to accommodate him, “...if it’s okay to move yet.” 

You gasp, feeling the remnants of arousal against your entrance accommodate Mihawk’s impressive girth deep within you. He had worked at your body so easily earlier, his frustration adamant in his need to claim an eruption from your body with his lips and tongue. He held himself stationary, using every fiber of his being to keep from ravishing you immediately before you had time to adjust to feeling him fill your body. 

“You can move, my love,” you whisper, your head desperately seeking him out beneath the blindfold with a soft smile on your face, “You have waited so patiently, and I am here for you to claim as your own.” You grin up at him, feeling his lips only a breath away from your own. 

Mihawk wastes no further time, immediately thrusting his cock deep within your body and sheathing it to the hilt. You cry out a little in shock, feeling full to the brim with his length buried deep within you, prompting him to pull back a little and test you with a gentle and slow thrust back into you. He softly whispered your name, groaning on the last syllable as his hips pressed against yours. 

Slow, deliberate, and fluid motions had your toes curling behind Mihawk’s hips; his right hand immediately finding your thigh and hooking it over his hip as he thrust into you. He groaned your name, feeling your hands collect his curls at the scruff of his neck as your body relaxed around him. Your back slid against the mattress, a knot in the middle of your shoulder blades beginning to loosen. Mihawk huffed his breath, his movements slotting himself within your walls becoming heavier and intentional.

The friction of the sheets grinding against your back had the slip-knot Benn Beckman placed in the middle of your shoulders finally beginning to unravel. Mihawk was too lost in the way your body felt finally wrapped around him, his eyes closing and finally giving in to the urges that began to claw and consume him. His heart, his body, his soul was yours in this moment, just as yours were his, as his hips staggered against you. 

“My wife,” he whispered, the pleasure building within the pit of his belly, his eyes scrunching shut as his girth and length quivered. He reached up, leaving your leg hooked behind him and hooked his thumbs beneath the blindfold, “I don’t care. I don’t care,” he began to move the shroud, your body beginning to loosen the strands of gold over your breasts and back, “I need to see you.”

“Mihawk,” you gasp, feeling him tug the material over your eyes. You flutter your eyelashes, adjusting to the hazy image of the World’s Greatest Swordsman, your swordsman, on top of you. His brow was furrowed, his lips parted, and his eyes were filled with nothing but absolute devotion and love. He was immediately lost within your eyes, a gasp fleeing his lips as he felt himself nearly come undone just at the soft gaze you gave to him.

He lost all his composure, picking up the pace as he gazed deep into your eyes. Huffing and panting, his pleasure nearly reached the peak. Waves of ecstasy began to wash over you, feeling your husband finally gaze so lovingly into your eyes as he chased your mutual eruptions of ecstasy. 

“Mine,” he chanted, leaning forward and staring at you like a beast consumed with lust, “Only mine.” You felt his motions stagger, becoming more frantic as he channeled you both towards release. You whimpered, taking your bottom lip between your teeth to stifle a soft mewl of bliss. 

“Don’t you dare,” Mihawk reached up, pressing his lips to yours to take your bottom lip away from your teeth, “I want to hear you. Let me hear you.” You listen to your husband, softly crying his name as the rapid approach of your bliss draws closer. Your body began to contract around his cock, his own groans adding to the symphony of ecstasy in the air as the crowd outside began to sing loudly and joyfully. 

“Mihawk,” you whined, gripping onto his shoulders as he felt you tighten around him. He cried your name, his cock twitching as he finally released himself deep within you. Your walls fluttered and contracted around him, wringing his cock of any final spurts of his spend and becoming one heart, one mind, one soul and one spirit at the join of your bodies. 

Thrusting languid rocks of his hips as you rode through your highs had neither of you realize the gold fibers had finally rid themselves of their hold on your flesh. You continued gazing into his face as he looked down, a soft smile drawing over his lips the moment he recognised the absence of the sun-dress. You were fully bare, both finally equal in your vulnerability and nudity. 

“There you are,” He sighed at you, bringing up his hand to caress your cheek, whispering in a voice so soft and intimate you could barely hear it, “My found-lady.” 

Overcome with emotions, your eyes began to prick with tears as your smile grew over your lips. The curse had ended, Mihawk’s tasks had been completed, you had bound yourself to him as his lover, his wife, and his confidant. You were his, and he was yours. 

Your tears began to spill over your lash line, prompting Mihawk to chuckle and draw you closer into his chest; sitting you upright and cradling you into his chest as he rocked back onto his knees. He smoothed over your hair, pressing soft kisses into your hairline and sighed as you circled your arms around him. 

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear, his confession feeling more deep, truthful and intimate than the experience you had falling apart in his arms, “More than you could ever know.” You buried your head in his chest, his chin resting atop your head as you felt the flicker of his heartbeat thud against your ear. 

He rose to his feet, hooking a hand beneath your knees and holding the other firmly behind your back, “I’m going to bathe you now, my love.” He whispered into your cheek, pressing a soft kiss against your skin, “And then I have a gift for you.” Walking over to the ensuite, he balanced you on his muscular thighs and leant over the bath and turned on the taps to fill the extraordinarily large bath full of hot water. He tested the temperature with his wrist before leaning back and kissing your temple. You pry yourself away from his chest, looking down at the water.

“This is going to take a while to fill, my love,” you smile, shaking your head at the slow rise of water flowing in the ceramic basin. Mihawk’s smirked down at you, his teeth bared in an uncharacteristic, wolfy grin.

“Oh no,” he mocked, brushing his nose playfully with your cheek and giving it a quick peck, “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?” You laughed at him, giving his chest a playful push before moving your arm up to his neck and drawing him into a lengthy kiss.

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @sukilovesyou @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood @jaguarthecat @marsbars09 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

#one piece #x reader #opla #opla fic #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk sapsorrow #sapsorrow fic #mihawk smut #mihawk storyteller au #mihawk sapsorrow au #mihawk x reader #mihawk x governess #hawkeye mihawk

[writingoddess1125]

Fight for Pleasure

Mihawk x FemReader

Now this is some true Kinky shit- 👍🏽 Enjoy 😉

Sorry it's late!

MUST BE 18+ TO READ!

⚠️Warnings:⚠️ Hard Sex, Unprotected sex, Biting, Blood drawn, Fighting.

Day 3. Hate Fuck

"Good Evening Ma'am" the handsome Marine bowed respectfully to you holding a arm out to you which you ignored and stepped off the dock of the ship and passing him. They constantly tried to do this, bringing the prettiest of their Marines in order to woo you into cooperation.

Being one of the Warlords on occasions you were summoned to nice places like this as a 'Show of Good Faith' in this case it being a resort which was emptied for the Warlords and paid in full. The World Goverment finding it cheaper to just let the Warlords indulge in whores, food and drink then letting them roam at times.

That and this was usually what they did in order to ask for some sort of favor which you imagined would be arriving by tommorow morning. Walking into the Resort you could already hear the Chaos- Mainly one source of it being the newest member Buggy the Clown.

Chaos which was the drunk floating clown having a field day with some booze and laughing with someone that was obscured- truthfully not wanting to bother checking.

You made a B-Line right for the bar. Seeing the other Warlords there already having their fill of paid for delights. Even passing by Boa who seemed just as unamused as you and you two gave a brief nod at each other.

Stepping into the bar you saw the lone Bartender, clearly not as heavily used since the bottles of ale, rum, and other strong liquors were out in the main resort area were most of your fellow Lords were gathered.

"A Daiquiri please" You asked, putting some berries in the tip jar. The Bartender smiling at this and quick to start making the order.

"Another bother of Tarapacá" You heard from the voice you loathed the most- Sending a glare up to your left to see non other then Dracule 'Hawkeye' Mihawk. Aka the stuck up asshole you were forced the share air with.

"You know a please to him wouldn't kill you-" You hissed in annoyance, Typically not caring for impolitness from your peers but Mihawk was an exception to this rule.

He sneered down at you, waiting for the bottle as he rolled his eyes not even bothering with you.

"Ah isn't it the tramp- Don't concern yourself with how I speak to others" He growled at you, But your own temper flaring at his insult.

"Tramp!? Oh you're one to talk- Everyone knows you probably have more spawns then Big Mom" You snapped back which made him glare hard at you, His yellow eyes staring hard at you as his face twisted up- The Bartender gently setting down the bottle for Mihawk then the Daiquiri for you.

"Let's not forget that little girl you keep on your island" You chime in a sing song voice, His hand clenching as you stood up with a smirk- You were one of the few who knew of Perona and while you were aware he most likely hadn't been intimate with her didn't mean you wouldn't throw it back in his face.

"How are you aware of that child?- Let alone got the incorrect idea of my relationship with her. Or My Island" He said hissing at you, You turned back with a sarcastic smile sipping your drink.

"I have my ways Hawkeye" You say sweetly, which made him grab the bottle and fling it in your direction which you dodged.

"You spied on me and went to my home?-" He guessed correctly which made you smile. Downing your drink you kicked one of the chairs in his direction which he snatched and tossed away, Marching towards you pissed. His eyes practically glowing at this imformation you toss the glass at his feet and glare at him- This making him stop.

"So tell me...What keeps me from killing you" He hissed out, rage and hatred pouring from his lips like venom.

"Cause you like me too much~" Hou chimed, walking from the bar completely- Warmth blooming in your stomach at how his eyes stared at you the sour taste of remembering it was Mihawk snapped you from those thoughts.

Walking down the hall to were your suite was, you tried to push away the small argument from Mihawk, whistling a mindless tune before the world spun- Feeling yourself slammed against a near by wall you glared hard as you saw it was Mihawk again- The smell of wine on his breath made you sneer.

"What do you think you're doing you drunk asshole" You hissed, reaching forward and roughly grabbing the collar of his shirt. After a moment of silence he crashed his lips into yours, Biting them roughly as he did so- Growling you pull him closer as the taste of blood and wine filled you senses. You pulled back to get air in your aching lungs and bit down on his neck earning a pained hiss from the fellow Warlord. "Perverted Bastard"

"Vile whore" Mihawk hissed at you- your hand shooting up and grabbing a handful of hair and yanked his head back which earned him growling moan. Quickly he yanked you towards the suite pulling at his coat as you practically tore open the hotel room door.

"F- Fuck!!" You screamed out, feeling him slam you into the nearest wall hard. Picking your legs up and wrapping them around his waist he glared hard at you in what could only be described as disgust, before taking his free hand and ripping your top open to see your exposed breast and attacking them with his mouth.

You moaned out as his hands ripped away at your bottoms, his teeth pulling and Biting your nipples as his hands dug into the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ripping away the wide brim hat and tossing it to the side which earned a glare from the Man. Smirking at this you take the opportunity and lean down, Running your tongue up his neck earning a rumbling moan from him, Until you bit down hard, feeling blood touch your tongue and him grab your hair to yank you away glaring hard as blood dribbled down the side of his neck.

"Fucking animal-"

Hawkeye mutter before harshly tossing you onto the large bed, earning a surprised yelp from you as you bounce on the bed- Glaring at his smug face as he followed after you and crawled towards you quickly moving to pin you but you slipped from his grasp. In a flash you grabbed at his pants and ripped them from the side with a smirk on your face and a scowl from him.

"These were expensive-" He growled as he tosses his ruined clothes to the side, his throbbing cock now on full display.

"Aww can't take what you dish out~" You tease gesturing to your shredded clothes on the floor. The two of you glared at each other at a stand still to see who would attach first- Mihawk suddently springing I to action as he dove for you once more, this time grabbing your leg and trying to pull you to him.

You laugh at this and instead scoot yourself close to him throwing him off completely as you pounce on him- knocking him to his back hard enough that the bed snapped and tilted in the directed of the force, You Sitting on his chest with a evil smirk.

"Not fast en- EEP!" You yell as he sits up suddently and grabs your waist keeping your upper body high as you fall against his stomach. He smirked down at you, seeing your face red before dived his mouth inbetween your legs.

Arching your back in pleasure as you felt him aggressively eat you out, trying to pull yourself up from the position but he only tightened his grip- The feeling of his hardened member pressed against your upper back from the upside position, as well as the head rush from the blood rushing from your head.

Moaning loudly as your legs tightened around his head. His fingers digging hard into the flesh of your hips as you came into his awaiting mouth and cut air from him. Feeling how he lapped at every drop you gave as your body shuttered and spasmed from pleasure. He then tried to pull away till you locked your legs keeping him from pulling back, a evil smirk on your face. He struggled for a few seconds, until you felt his mouth open again and his teeth brush far too close to your clit like he was going to-

"YOU BETTER NOT!" You yelped and released him quickly, moving yourself away from the cackling man as he ran his tongue over his teeth and lips like he savored the taste.

"Aw can't take what you dish out Darling?~" He growled out smiling at your defensiveness and suspicion. Glaring hard at him your hand shoots out and grabs his cock.

He grunted as your grabbed him roughly, your sharp nails gently running up the side of his shaft like a pleasurable and silent threat. Leaning down you place a long slow lick over the length of his shaft, earning a hissing moan at the sight and feeling.

"Aww you got quiet quick~"

You smile at his reddened face as you made him come undone your fingers squeezing on the swollen head of his cock earning a angry growl from him at your teasing.

"Don't tease me women" He hissed, grabbing your wrist and yanking you so you were on him your bare chest pressed onto his as he went to bite your neck once again pushing forward you headbutt him which knocked him back off the bed but he pulled you with him as you both landed and crushed the nightstand.

Taking advantage of your dazed state he rolled the two of you over on the rubble and pinned your hands next to your head, A dark gleam in his eyes at this.

Tossing your head back as you gave out a forced moan as he entered you quickly and hard. Still sensitive from the brutally forced orgasms of before as Mihawk snapped his hips to fill you body and soul, setting a brutal pace he began to fuck you like an animal. Your body sliding across the carpet as he fucked you as far as possible, your moans of bliss ripping through your throat at the speed. His fingers releasing your hands which fly to wrap around his back.

Mihawk grunted hard as he slammed into your hips again, ignoring your cry in bliss from the multiple orgasms at this point and his own hips losing its rhythm from his own coming undone, his fingers digging into the carpet around your head as he gave a few more powerful thrust- Your nails slicing into his back and drawing blood as you screamed to another hard orgasm drew him in finally. A howl in pleasure ripping through his throat as he stuffed you as deeply as possible, he fell onto you from the force as the two of you laid there a panting mess.

You foggy to the brain feel him run his tongue over the cut on your lips, parting your lips at the request you kiss him deeply in the after glow of it all. You two pulled back only when Mihawk finally gets the strength to pull out of you and roll onto his side with a tired sigh.

"Must we always fight in order to fuck?"

You question still exhausted and laying there on the carpet fairly sure you had some level of carpet burn on your back. You hear a questioning hum from Mihawk, Clearly not wishing to think of that question further as he laid there relaxing.

You sit up from the floor a familiar ache between your legs, seeing the destroyed furniture, the ripped up sheets and clear dent in the wall from were Hawkeye slammed you. In short it looked two beast had destroyed this room in either battle or fucking- in this case both.

"You're paying for the damages for this room" You point out, Mihawk opening one eye from his lounging position on the floor hands behind his head and comforbly dozing.

"Hmph.... fine-"

#x reader #one peice x reader #one piece #one peice live action #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #kinktober #day 3 Kinktober #dracule mihawk #mihawk smut #op mihawk

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Dracule Mihawk's older sister headcanons (part 1)

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

Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #Dracule Mihawk #Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader #Mihawk x sister!reader #Steven John Ward #Bellona's stuff #OPLA

[fanaticsnail]

I binged read the Sapsorrow series

HOLY SHIT IS IT SO GOOD!!!

Soft pining Mihawk will always be my favorite. I'm super excited for the next two parts!

Thank you so much. There are only two more chapters to go before it's all done, which is making me feel so sad I'll be leaving this little 'au' world so soon. I am a sucker for an "I hate everyone but you" trope.

In saying that, I can't wait to carve out the final two before the spinoffs begin.

So far on the list:

Sir Crocodile x princess!reader: "Sands of Time"

Tropes: husband!croc X wife!reader, age-gap, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, forced promimity, he fell first, idiots in love, gift giving

Buggy D Clown x thief!reader: "Don't Touch What's Not Yours"

Tropes: one night stand, break your heart before you break mine, lovers to enemies to lovers, a chase

Red-Hair Shanks x upper-class-doctor!reader: "Where is my bride?"

Tropes: panic, peril, dread, desperation, crave for adventure, love at first sight

Trafalgar D Water-Law x crew!reader: "History Repeating"

Tropes: idiots in love, refusing to love, angst, heartbreak, unconditional love, wrath & vengeance, punishment.

Donquixote Rosinante x reader x Donquixote Doflamingo "Forged in Gold"

Tropes: angst, no happy ending, bittersweet, crying, begging, star-crossed lovers, steal your girl, mentions of death.

Eustass Kid x dutchess!reader "Take my hand"

Tropes: grumpy!kid x sunshine!reader, unworthy, self-esteem issues (kid), loss of limb, reader is extremely beautiful - kid is kid, crave for adventure, she fell first, he fell harder.

There's enough room for 9 spinoffs, each will be a minimum of at least 3 chapters each. Still open for the other 3 rings, but I was toying with the idea of the reader being the one cursed.

So far, the suggested readers are f!readers (plot specific for some), but it might be fun to play with a m!reader or gn!reader also.

These will all be in the same 'Sapsorrow Storyteller Au', which means we will likely be hearing from the Governess and Mihawk in the other spinoffs.

Thank you for reading and leaving your ask. I have thoroughly enjoying weaving this world and it will be a shame to see it end.

#one piece #x reader #mihawk #dracule mihawk #sapsorrow au #storyteller au #mihawk sapsorrow au #mihawk x reader #sapsorrow spinoffs #ask snail #snail answers

[fanaticsnail]

Holy fuck, hOLY FUCK-

I'm losing my mind with how amazingly you write!! I just read chapter seven of Sapsorrow and it is easily one of the most DELICIOUS fics I've ever read, like ma'am?? Who gave you permission to write a fic so yummy? Cause I'd like to shake their hand, oml. Like, the way you wrote the vows with the wine and the honey?? PERFECTIONNN

The way you wrote the kiss?? AMAZING

Anyways, as you can see, I like your Sapsorrow fic a normal amount, and I'm soooo excited to see what happens in the next chapter!!!

Thank you for your beautiful words and compliments!

I've only really been fic writing for under a year -- before then, it was all uni essays and assignments for my horticulture & teaching degrees (instrumental music-major for teaching, viticulture & winemaking for horticulture).

I adore writing kisses, as you could probably tell by now. My first fic was "You Kissed the Clown?" - first time writing a kiss (how they physically feel, the emotional turmoil, the movements, the expressions), and I've been hooked ever since.

I'm so glad you're enjoying my Sapsorrow au for Mihawk x Governess!Reader. I have enjoyed writing it so much! I can't wait for some sneaky spinoffs.

I've got 9 to do, but on the list so far:

Sir Crocodile

Buggy D Clown

Red-Hair Shanks

Trafalgar D Water-Law (& beautiful Donquixote Rosinante "Corazon")

Donquixote Doflamingo

There's another 4 slots for this forced-proximity, arranged-marriage trope -- for a variety of readers for me to make them fall in love.

I'm absolutely open to suggestions for the other 4. I could have Smoker in there, maybe even Garp 💀.

Who knows? Could be Boa or Alvida 👀

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #sapsorrow au #mihawk sapsorrow au #one piece fairytale au #the storyteller au #ask snail #snail answers