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hey Dawn!! Hope you’re doing good! I was wondering if you’d be down to maybe write a little something about Mihawk? I was thinking it’d be interesting the dynamics of a reader that constantly tries to get reactions out of him. Take it anywhere you want whether it be spicy or fluffy lol, i’m happy to see what you can cook up!

Red (Mihawk x Reader)

One Piece | Mihawk | 3.6k | Masterlist

The sails of the Red Force snapped violently against the storm, straining hard enough that the masts groaned in protest.

Rain lashed against your umbrella in sharp, relentless sheets, the wind twisting it uselessly every other second despite your grip. You lifted the lantern higher anyway, its weak glow catching over soaked coats, dripping hair and heavy boots as the Red Hair pirates trudged through the mud toward the castle.

“I don’t remember you sending notice that you’d arrive today,” you said, voice raised over the storm. “I’m afraid we don’t have space for visitors right now.”

Shanks laughed, grinning broadly at you. “You’d turn me away in this weather?”

He looked like a drowned rat; hair plastered across his face and mud flicked over his clothing. Still, you couldn’t help but return the familiar expression.

“I’m considering it. It’s quite late.”

“I’d have let you know but the storm forced my hand,” he chuckled. “Was pretty good luck to wind up at a friend’s home.”

You laughed, pleased. “He’s not going to be happy to wake up the smell of wet dog on our doorstep.”

“He’ll live. He’s probably starved for some good conversation.”

“Oh, he’s very social. Can’t you see how much company we keep?”

The wind howled loudly around you, whipping your clothing fiercely. The clouds stirred angrily overhead and you decided you’d had rather enough of it all. You hadn’t been bothered to light too many lanterns when you left – stomach stirring to let you know somebody had arrived – and so the castle loomed like a threat before you.

You shoved against the heavy front doors until they groaned inward. Warmth did not greet you, only still air and dark stone, though it was preferable to the freezing rain clawing at your back. Mud and water dragged across the tiled floors as the crew piled in behind you, lanternlight flickering gold against the castle walls.

No sooner had Shanks stepped in and he shook his head, splashing water over you. You swatted at him with your umbrella, fast enough that it actually managed to clip him.

“Hey!” he protested. “Some host you are.”

“Try not to make too much mess,” you huffed. “Otherwise, I really will kick you out into the storm. You remember where the spare rooms are, don’t you Red-Hair?”

He beamed in a lop-sided way that promised he definitely did not but Beckman nodded and you could trust him at least to not get lost. Or break anything irreplaceable.

As you started walking back up the stairs, Shanks called after you. “Has anybody dealt with the spider problem from last time?”

“Nope! Enjoy!”

You stripped out of your damp clothes with growing irritation before slipping back beneath the heavy blankets. Cold clung stubbornly to your skin and you immediately pressed yourself against Mihawk’s back in search of warmth, burying your face between his shoulder blades. He grumbled lowly at the contact, muscles shifting beneath you as the chill seeped into him too, but he made no real effort to move away.

“You should have just locked the doors,” he muttered, voice thick from sleep. “Now you’re wet.”

“He would have broken the door down.”

“Did he say how long he planned to stay?”

“Probably until the storm’s passed.”

He made a half-asleep sound that you took to mean he would handle the situation in the morning. You sank deeper into the bed and hoped, for his sanity, that you wouldn’t be entertaining a large crew of pirates for much longer.

And the rain had stopped mostly the next morning. You ventured out into the courtyard after you’d made yourself coffee, walking slowly through the rose garden.

The rose bushes had weathered the storm surprisingly well. Rainwater still clung heavily to the dark leaves and the pathways had softened into damp earth beneath your boots, but most of the blooms remained intact. A broken branch had collapsed over one side of the garden and you nudged it aside with your foot, already noting which bent stems and drowned blossoms would need trimming once the skies cleared properly.

But then there were footsteps behind you, far too loud to be your husband but far too energetic for a man who had absolutely been tipsy the night before.

Shanks stretched, turning his head to the sky. “A nice reprieve, hm?”

“Not for long,” you noted, attention flicking to the clouds on the horizon, still swirling with the slight wind. “If you want to try chase the patch of calm, you might be able to do it.”

“Or we’ll get pushed back onto the rocks,” he said. “It isn’t worth the chance.”

You nodded, not too bothered by the Red Hair pirates sticking around and more worried about how much rain this would bring. Your poor plants would struggle if it went too long and you already knew how much mud would end up caking the floor even without the help of an entire crew.

Shanks strolled up next to you, leaned down and plucked a rose free with a rough tug. The bush trembled and you huffed in annoyance.

He held it out to you with a small wink. “Accept this as an apology for waking you up in the middle of the night.”

You took your poor flower back from him. The delicate petals caught in the light as you twirled them, dew drops still settled there. “You’re so lucky I owe you a few favours.”

“You do? Well, consider all debts between us forgotten.”

You held up the rose and twirled it between your fingers. “You’re damaging quite the prized bush for your apology. Are you already so bored to be looking for reactions?”

“He’s been staring this whole time,” Shanks acknowledged.

“He’s probably wondering why you feel the need to destroy his garden.”

Shanks chuckled and tipped his head toward the balcony above. Mihawk stood there beneath the shadow of the overhang, dark coat stirring faintly in the wind while his gaze remained fixed upon the mangled rose stem. You pulled off the bottom petals slowly, plucking them and letting them fall to the ground.

“Hm… I don’t think that’s the ‘don’t ruin my roses’ look,” he said firmly. “That’s the ‘stop giving my wife flowers’ look.”

“Maybe it’s both.”

“It’s definitely not. Watch.”

Without warning, Shanks stepped in a little too close to you. He brushed something imaginary from your shoulder, hand lingering there for a second too long. You backed up instantly, giving him a sharp warning look but he just grinned easily.

“See. He got angrier from that.”

You didn’t look. You didn’t need to. You could feel the heat of Mihawk’s gaze burning through your back and straight into the captain.

“Keep some distance,” you reprimanded. “I’m not too fond of the smell of stale booze.”

“Hey,” he protested good-naturedly. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know he was the jealous type.”

You gave him a blank look. “Shanks, darling. You really ought to know him better by now.”

Shanks hummed curiously, looking at you rather like a cat presented with a new toy.

“Don’t.”

He tossed his arm around your shoulder, jostling you into him without warning. “Oh, come on. If we’re going to be stuck here for a few days, I may as well see what makes him tick a little more. We’re old friends after all.”

“I wasn’t aware you were looking to lose your other arm,” you remarked but you didn’t shove him off.

Admittedly, a small part of you was curious too.

Beckman gave you both a look when Shanks dragged you back inside, his expression exhausted. You shrugged the captain off and stepped away, straightening your clothes and giving him a look.

“How does it feel to sail with a madman?” you asked, ignoring the mildly affronted look Shanks gave you. “He seems to be mildly suicidal.”

Beckman inclined his head. “Only mildly? That’s quite an improvement.”

By evening, the storm had worsened enough that the castle itself seemed to creak beneath it. Rain hammered relentlessly against the tall windows and wind moaned through unseen cracks somewhere deep within the stone walls. Conversation rose and fell against the noise, sometimes swallowed entirely whenever thunder rolled overhead hard enough to rattle the glass.

Most of the crew had settled themselves around the large dining hall though Beckman had at least managed to keep them from attempting to explore too far. Like a man corralling cats.

You settled beside the fire with a book half-open in your lap, listening more than reading as Lucky Roo argued loudly with Yasopp over cards. Mihawk occupied the armchair nearest yours, long legs stretched out before him, and wine glass balanced loosely in one hand.

Shanks, unfortunately, seemed incapable of remaining still for long enough for you to get through the first few sentences.

He sidled up next to you and perched himself on the arm of your seat with a lazy grin. “You can’t tell me life here is this dull all the time. You two must have something fun to occupy yourselves with.”

“Nothing of particular interest to you,” you said, not quite closing your book but drawing your eyes up from it. “Why?”

He looked between you and Mihawk with languid ease. “Am I intruding on something here?”

“Always,” Mihawk said.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” you asked.

“You’re giving me that same look you used to when I cheated in cards. Makes me worried you’re going to run me through if I don’t choose my words carefully.”

You snorted softly. “It’s amazing you’ve survived long enough to become an emperor without facing a mutiny from your crew. Might have been different if I stuck around much longer.”

“I think I could have won you over with my charm,” he said.

The book was moved from your lap and you glanced toward Mihawk. He carefully closed it with a quiet thump, settling it down beside him and offering you his glass instead. You smacked Shanks’ hand way before he fully reached for it in your stead.

“Thank you, love.”

“I don’t imagine you’ll get much reading done when there’s such noise around,” the swordsman remarked, his gaze sharp where it hovered over Shanks’ position on your chair.

Shanks though, undeterred, simply grinned. “Something bothering you, Hawkeye?”

“You are far too close.”

He chuckled but seemed proud enough of that reaction to give up for now. He strolled toward the rest of his crew and you rolled your eyes, shuffling the chair closer to Mihawk whose hand came to settle over your own.

By the second day, the storm had transformed the castle into something restless. Rain hammered endlessly against the stone walls and even the humandrills had vanished somewhere deeper into the ruins to escape the weather. You were also retreating though you were certainly not stepping outside to do so.

The castle held more abandoned rooms than either of you had reason to use and you eventually settled into one tucked far enough away from the noise below. Dust lingered thick in the corners and the faded blue chair beneath you creaked ominously every time you shifted your weight, though it held together well enough for the task at hand.

You rested the blade carefully across your lap, working oil into the leather wrapped around the hilt with slow, practiced motions. The steel caught dim strips of grey light from the windows whenever you tilted it, polished enough that your own reflection stared faintly back at you.

But you could hardly expect to be left alone for too long.

You heard Shanks’ approach before he even opened the door and you’d already raised your head, waiting. “Oh, how unfortunate,” you remarked. “I’d hoped Beckman tied you to the mast during the night.”

“He threatened to but I can hold my tongue when asked.”

You snorted softly and he wandered further into the room, his boots heavy against the old wooden floors. There was an aimlessness to him now; just like the storm, he seemed to have nowhere particular to go.

“You’re restless,” you mentioned.

“I hate sitting still.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“No idea how you two do it. I know you spend most of your time on this island but just sitting here with nothing to do and nobody new to speak to? Sounds like torture.”

You smiled at him. “It depends on who the company is. I think for you, a few months reprieve is always welcome.”

“You’re a cruel woman. Always have been.”

There was no way he didn’t sense the presence that lingered behind him. Mihawk watched from the door, yellow eyes fixed on the other man. You didn’t look toward him yet as Shanks’ attention moved onto your source of pride.

“That’s a good weapon,” he said. “A far cry from that old, rusted thing you once clutched at me.”

You nodded affectionately and ran your fingers deftly over the sharpened steel, watching your own reflection shining back at you. “Isn’t it just? I could take this one to hell and back without a single scratch to the surface.”

Shanks held out his hand and for a second, you hesitated.

Handing him your weapon was far from a bad thing but you also could already feel the shift in the room. The way even the question had annoyed your silent observer.

You passed it over and Shanks flicked it up, letting the steel catch the light. “Exceptional balance. No question who found it.”

Mihawk stepped into the room properly. “It’s a solid weapon but not a toy for you.”

Shanks offered only a lax smile in his defence. “I’m only taking a look.” He spun it back to you and you took the hilt, familiar weight pressing against your palm. “You’ve gotten so touchy. She sailed with me once, you know.”

“No more. Something you would do well to remember.”

He held up his hands in a sign of peace and slipped past Mihawk, disappearing down the corridor. You glanced toward Yoru and chuckled quietly.

“Don’t run him through love,” you reminded him softly. “It wouldn’t do much for your reputation.”

“At this point, his survival is entirely up to him.”

It wasn’t until the evening came that the storm relented into a brief drizzle. Flashes of gold betrayed the sunset and with them, clear skies. The crew had made dinner and you gratefully took the opportunity for a night without cooking, joining them at the table in your usual seat.

While Shanks slipped into the one at your right. Mihawk’s seat.

“Are you still playing with death?” you asked.

“I’ve survived more than I thought I might. I think he nearly killed me over that sword,” he chuckled, sounding more sober than you’d heard him in a while.

“He was considering it,” you admitted. “You’re lucky I don’t like blood on my floors.”

“That doesn’t comfort me much.”

You smiled into your drink. “Well, you should know better than to touch a swordsman’s weapon without permission.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t what he was angry about, was it?”

“I suppose not. I’ll relent one point to you but if you’re looking to continue provoking him, I’d be more careful. He tires of these things quickly.”

Shanks sighed dramatically and for a second, he looked a little melancholier than you were used to. “Used to be more fun getting him worked up before I got lighter.” He gestured toward his missing arm and you inclined your head in sympathy. “Suppose that’s some of the fun of this.”

“Don’t know if this is the best way to go about it,” you mentioned.

“Oh, it absolutely isn’t but I had fun with it.”

Mihawk entered with a clear point in mind. He stepped to your side, hand resting at the back of your chair. “The storm has cleared.”

Shanks, still lacking any form of self-preservation, gestured toward the large windows with a broad smile. “I can still see memories of it on the horizon. Should we really take that chance?”

“Yes.”

He sighed and looked up at Mihawk. “You know, you’ve become significantly less hospitable over the years.”

“You have far overstayed your welcome.”

“Well, you haven’t killed us yet.”

“That’s an oversight that can quickly be rectified.”

You rolled your eyes and drank from your glass. “If you’re going to do it, please move away from this island. I’m not handling that level of debris when I barely have the place looking functional as it is.”

Shanks barked out a laugh and finally pushed himself out of the chair though not without flashing Mihawk a victorious grin for having occupied it at all.

“After all we’ve been through together, you won’t even watch our grand rematch?”

“No,” you said succinctly. “I know the winner.”

“Such faith.”

Mihawk’s stare remained flat. “Leave.”

The grin never left Shanks’ face as he stepped around the table. His crew were already on their feet, cleaning awkwardly while they waited for their captain’s official orders. Though it looked like Beckman had already given them the sign to start clearing out.

“You should visit me sometime,” he said to you.

“I’ll consider it,” you relented. “If only to make certain you haven’t sailed into your own grave.”

“Always appreciate the concern.”

You hummed, raising your eyebrows briefly.

His expression softened for the briefest moment – turning genuine beneath all that teasing. “Good to see you so settled though.”

You smiled. “You too, Red-Hair.”

Then, because he was incapable of leaving well enough alone, Shanks leaned down just enough to whisper near your ear. “Think he’d finally kill me if I kissed you goodbye?”

“Do that,” you said. “And I’ll be the one you have to worry about.”

Shanks snorted quietly before he straightened again. He shot his old friend one final grin before he turned to the door. “Try to stop isolating yourselves so completely!” he called. “Some of us enjoy your company.”

“You are a poor liar,” Mihawk drawled.

Shanks only laughed.

By the time the doors shut behind him and the noise of his crew finally began to fade into the distance, the whole castle seemed to exhale with you. Had it always been so peaceful within these walls.

Mihawk took his seat swiftly. “I don’t enjoy the friends you invite to our home.”

You reached for Yoru when he removed its holster, gently laying the great blade further down the table. “He is your friend as well as mine.”

“Highly debatable.”

“He had it in his mind to provoke you for entertainment,” you said with a slight smile. “But I doubt he received the response he wanted.”

There was silence for a second and then Mihawk spoke as though the words themselves pained him. “He did.”

“Oh?”

“Red-Hair has always enjoyed provoking me,” Mihawk remarked. He reached toward you, ran a single finger along the line of your jaw. “He knew where to push for a reaction.”

You leaned into the touch and he guided you forward until you were leaning across the table, his index pressed to the underside of your chin. “I suppose that was me?”

“Obviously. You knew what you were doing.”

“That flash in your eyes was very attractive,” you admitted slightly. “I hardly wanted to dissuade something that made my husband look at me like that.”

“Jealousy is not something you should encourage.”

You reached up to touch his wrist, playfully tracing a pattern into the softer skin there. “In small doses, I certainly won’t complain. The attention flatters me, love. It reminds me that you like me an awful lot.”

He dropped his hand and you caught yourself before you tipped forward. You stood slowly, making your way around the back of his chair to drape yourself over his shoulders. You kissed just beneath his ear as he took your wine, sipping from the glass.

“This is swill.”

“I wouldn’t bring out anything halfway decent for a group that would down alcohol used for cleaning,” you chuckled. “But forgive me, my darling. I didn’t mean to truly upset you.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“Are you certain?”

There was a silence before he spoke again, one that stretched out for long enough that you became concerned. “Yes. Though I do want to ask if you miss it? The world that exists beyond this island.”

You paused, tapping slightly against his chest. “Not at all. Why would you even think so?”

Golden eyes regarded you coolly for a moment. You felt Mihawk shift beneath you before he rose smoothly from the chair, one hand settling against your forearm to remain connected while he stood.

“Come,” he said simply. “Let’s assess the damage.”

Most of the castle had survived the storm intact, though muddy footprints still stained half the corridors. Outside, the courtyard glistened beneath the fading evening light. Water dripped steadily from the stone arches and the air carried the sharp scent of wet earth and crushed greenery as you wandered slowly through the gardens beside Mihawk.

“I can’t believe that fool plucked one,” you sighed as you passed the bush Shanks had stolen from. “And for a false apology at that.”

You knelt quickly beside the bush, checking to make sure the rough treatment hadn’t done any damage to the main stem. Thankfully, it seemed the bushes were made of far tougher material than you’d given them credit for.

And when you looked up, you found Mihawk watching you in a deeply contemplative manner.

You stood again and reached up to brush damp hair gently back from his face. “Something wrong?”

“You chose this island very easily.”

“No,” you corrected. “I chose you fairly easily.”

Something subtle shifted in his expression then, so slight most people would have missed it entirely. But you always paid attention when it came to him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer with quiet certainty.

“I’d prefer you didn’t indulge in any of his ridiculous schemes again.”

You nodded. “Promise.” His lips brushed briefly against your own, cool and gentle. Behind him, the roses stirred softly in the evening wind.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase

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