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@matsookawa
𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐲, 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠
𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐢𝐦 𝟐𝟕 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐤. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮) 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭.
𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠. 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 (^:
❆ 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
❆ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
❆ 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟
𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞.
Title: Poor Timing
Pairing: Crocodile x fem!reader
Word Count: 611
Summary: Two people faced with a heartbreaking situation.
Note: Fun fact, this was originally a Haldir fic I posted on my LotR blog three-ish years ago. Adapting it for Crocodile was a lot of fun.
Your home was silent, absolutely no sound except the breeze slipping between the tubes of the wind chime on the porch. The chimes’ refrain served as the sole reminder that time is still passing no matter how little you both speak. A feeble attempt to detain the inevitable.
You and he had been sitting at the dining table for what felt like hours. The lump in your throat remained unmoving and the tears brimming your eyes were just waiting for their chance. You eventually found the strength to speak first.
“Is that it then?”
A whisper. The softest of questions that managed to be more painful than the countless weapons he had been bloodied with in battles of time long past. He wondered if this was as difficult for you as it was for him. His eyes, once staring at the papers in the center of the table, rose to meet your own.
“It is.”
Never had Crocodile, a man feared for his ruthless disposition, felt such sorrow in his heart. His answer was detached and the look on your face made your disappointment apparent.
“So it’s just a matter of delivering these to the island's ruler then?”
He almost smiled. You always asked questions you knew the answer to when you were nervous.
“Yes. I will take them as soon as we are finished here.”
You wrung your hands in your lap and your leg bounced slightly beneath the table.
“And then what happens from there?”
He paused and looked at the papers. The words were almost mocking, reminding him all you both were throwing away.
“Our marriage will be annulled.”
His experienced true heartbreak when tears fell over your cheeks. He couldn't bring himself to wipe them away like he used to. He didn't have a right to anymore, he supposed.
"How did we get here, Crocodile?"
Your whimper cut him deeply.
“Some people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes.”
A cry echoed through the home and Crocodile had to force himself to watch your eyes squeeze shut, sobs causing your body to shake. Your dropped shoulders conveyed just how defeated you were.
“Please know this, [Y/N].”
He reached his hands across the table and your eyes opened to peer at him. He beckoned you to place your hands in his. He grasped them tightly, for he knew this may be the last time he would ever get to.
“There will always be a large part of my heart and soul dedicated to you. Nothing can ever change that.”
Crocodile felt a sting behind his lashes. The same eyelashes you would lie awake and stroke before telling him how beautiful he truly was. You pressed your lips together and found the courage to finally look at the papers before you. Who knew such an ordinary item could cause two people’s lives to fall apart?
After a long while, you nodded and gave him a tight smile.
“Just as there will always be a part of mine dedicated to you.”
She squeezed his hands as tears rolled down the pirate's cheeks.
“Thank you for giving me the best years of my life, Crocodile.”
He gave his own sad smile.
“Thank you for giving me the same thing, along with the greatest love I have ever known.”
They spoke no more.
The wind chime outside, once a performer that sang to visitors a romantic melody of an epic love story which rivaled Gol D. Roger and Portgas D. Rouge's, now crooned a despairing ballad as if to tell all four seas the tale of two lovers having to do the hardest thing in one’s life.
Letting each other go.
If you’re still taking requests I have thoughts in my head that I’m not cool enough to put to paper! This would be set during Zoro’s time training with Mihawk. Someone (y/n) Zoro knew from his past (can be from his childhood, or a bounty Hunter idc) shows up and requests to be trained by Mihawk, who reluctantly agrees as she can help him train Zoro. Cut to Mihawk assuming she has a thing for Zoro, when she actually has a thing for Mihawk (y/n is old enough that Mihawk having a thing for her isn’t creepy) and then Zoro gets stuck having to help them figure their shit out. Thank you! ❤️❤️❤️
Okay,
So fun fact.
I remember receiving this ask when I posted for requests around the time I got my wisdom teeth out last year. I really struggled with this request for some reason even though I genuinely love the idea of it. Nothing would come to me. However, after a year of reading this ask over and over, I finally did it.
After four entirely different drafts, I just posted the finished product, which you can find here.
Anon, if you're still around: Your patience is invaluable to me.
Title: A Man's Crisis
Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader
Word Count: 1,826
Summary: It's a humbling experience when a usually confident man finds himself emotionally threatened by a nineteen year old boy who happens to have a close relationship with the woman he loves.
Note: This was a request I unintentionally neglected for a year.
“What are the five S’s?”
Your brows furrowed and you stopped kneading your dough. You stared at the ball, concentrating on your search for the answer. Mihawk always did this. Gave you random test questions all because you once offhandedly mentioned you’d like to know more about wine.
He waited patiently, his body turned to you and his hip against the counter. It wasn’t often time allowed him to really take you in, so when you invited him to be your sous chef, he jumped at the opportunity.
Head shooting up when the answer finally came, Mihawk wished the beaming grin you gave him would stay forever. It was one of the most beautiful sights to behold.
“See, swirl, sniff, sip, savor!”
The corner of his lip twitched upwards. “Very good.”
Your smile turned teasing. “Dracule Mihawk, did you just give out praise? What if word gets out to the whole house?”
The swordsman noticed how you moved a little closer. The smell of your perfume invaded his senses and he tried committing it to memory. It was everywhere you were and over time, it became you. Your previous presence in a room was able to be traced and he was always led to where you actually were, your soft smile inviting him to make up something to converse about.
“I wouldn’t worry about it. No one would believe you anyway.”
Your giggle rung through the kitchen and it was as if the entirety of Kuraigana suddenly became exposed to sunlight.
Notoriously nonchalant, Dracule Mihawk was now faced with a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud. And certainly not to you.
He was absolutely in love with you. And you constantly seeking his praise and asking him to be the first person to try whatever new thing you cooked, was not helping his situation whatsoever.
The soft clanking of swords forced him to stop staring and instead turn to the doorway. Zoro stood, speaking only to you.
“When are you two going to be finished? It’s been two hours and even I know pizza shouldn’t take this long.”
Your gaze remained on Mihawk, but your smile turned softer at Zoro’s voice.
“Some patience would be appreciated, Zo. We’re cooking for four and pizza is not the only thing there is.”
The boy grumbled under his breath, prompting you to gesture towards the refrigerator. “There is a newly bought six pack in there to get you through this difficult time.”
Zoro grabbed the beers. As he passed you to leave, he landed a heavy hand on your shoulder, shaking it as a silent thank you. You pat his hand and he leaves shortly after.
It’s times like these Mihawk is reminded he never stood a chance. Not when you and his protégé had such a close relationship. How is he, too full of fear to even return the brush of your hand when walking side by side, supposed to compete with someone who just yesterday fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie night (which you did not invite Mihawk to, not that he cares)?
Sure, you and he playfully flirted here and there during sparring, but maybe that was just something you did when the adrenaline was rushing. Maybe the late-night conversations over a bottle of wine were friendly. Maybe when he surprised you with wine trivia, your grin was because you were reminiscing on a conversation with Zoro.
He was broken from his stewing by your hand on his bicep.
“Everything okay in that busy head of yours?”
His skin burned where your hand lay and he spared a moment to savor it.
“Perfectly fine. We should finish before Perona decides she’s had enough waiting.”
The Gods blessed him with another one of your laughs as you squeezed his arm once, returning to your task.
Later at the dinner table, you’re seated between Mihawk and Zoro. Perona sits across from you, telling a story about her day to anyone who bothered to tune in.
The owner of the house turned just in time to see you playfully shove Zoro who was smiling down at his plate as he leaned back into place.
The grip on Mihawk’s fork grew tighter and you only took notice when you saw the top beginning to bend.
You lightly kick his shin under the table. “What’s going on with you?”
He stabbed his fork into his pizza and grumbled, “Nothing.”
You shook your head and returned to your conversation with Zoro.
After dinner, you found Mihawk in his study. You didn’t bother knocking, as he never complained when you entered without permission.
He was facing the window, looking out over the small training yard. His eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular. He was unmoving and his breathing steady. This was clearly a man in deep contemplation.
“Any crises swimming in that brain of yours I can help with?”
You did not receive a response. How was he meant to tell you the only crisis in his life is the fact that he’s in love with a woman he can’t have?
“I fear you don’t have knowledge in the kind of situation I’m in.”
The familiar scent of you intensified when you stood beside him. You watched him while his own gaze stayed through the glass. He couldn’t bear to look at you in such a low moment.
“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” you said softly.
“I’m in love with someone. Someone who does not see me the same.”
In his peripheral, your smile faltered. He wondered why. Maybe you just lost some respect for him. He was a mighty warlord, a legendary swordsman, known for his ability to remain calm under the utmost pressure. And now, he’s just a boy complaining about his crush not liking him back.
He was about to retract everything when,
“I know we’ve never gotten into the nitty gritty of our lives, but,” you began.
A moment passed where the only noise was the faint sound of Perona and Zoro arguing in the foyer.
“I’ve definitely been in that situation a time or two.”
Mihawk was both surprised and wanting to die at the same time. You? The most beautiful woman on the seas had experience with unrequited love? And also, you’re making the conscious choice to have this conversation with him?
“What was your strategy?”
You snorted. “It’s not sword fighting, Mihawk. There is no strategy. You say your feelings and… just hope they reciprocate. If they don’t, you learn to live with it.”
Mihawk couldn’t keep the tone out of his voice. “Is that how you approached Zoro then? With hope?”
You had furrowed brows and a confused smile when he turned to finally look at you.
“Approached Zoro? What are you talking about?”
“When you began dating.”
His ears tinged red when you guffawed.
“Dating? Are you insane? Do I look like a cradle robber?”
As much as he would like to believe he kept his composure, something in his expression must have given away his confusion because yours morphed into one of amused surprise.
He quickly tried to defend himself. “You’re both the same age.”
“Mihawk, Zoro is nineteen. I’m twenty-seven.”
The great warlord and legendary swordsman, known far and wide for his intelligence and skill, never bothered to ask your age.
“You’re twenty-seven.”
You confirm, “I’m twenty-seven.”
“I met Zoro when he was seventeen and escaping some bounty hunters on my island. He needed a place to hide, so he stayed with me for a couple of weeks. I taught him some tips with his swords and we started writing to each other.”
“You dote on him a lot.” The jealousy was so loud, you were sure Perona and Zoro could hear it from the other side of the house.
“I dote on him because he’s lonely. He doesn’t have his crew, you’re understandably hard on him, Perona annoys him, so he wrote me asking me to come visit.”
The pieces were beginning to finally form the picture.
“And he was too embarrassed to admit that, so he made it seem like you showed up on your own wanting pointers,” Mihawk concluded.
“Yeah. I’ve, uh, been handling swords since childhood.”
He hummed. “So you and Zoro are not together.”
“Correct. However, he did tease me in his letters, saying I would end up an old maid and that his mentor whose home I would be staying at was very handsome.”
You were able to maintain eye contact, but your nerves were given away when you began picking at the hem of your sleeves.
“Really? Zoro called me that?”
Where on Earth he pulled the confidence to tease you, no one could tell.
“Okay, I might have taken some creative liberties in that story.”
He huffed a small laugh and you lit up.
“Then,” he swallowed thickly, suddenly hesitant. Should he take your advice? Speak everything aloud with nothing on his person except hope? What if one of the situations you mentioned in being earlier is one you’re in right now with someone else? What if he’s misread the entire thing?
“You know,” you cut through his thoughts. “If you want to go on a date, all you have to do is ask.”
A time of death would have been pronounced if a medical examiner saw him in that moment. The way his body froze could have easily been mistaken for rigor mortis.
Your lips pressed together to suppress a grin. “Want to know how I know?”
You weren’t generous enough to allow the shock time to pass and part of him was grateful you chose not to let him suffer. His body relaxed as you explained,
“Mihawk, I’m the only person you speak to aside from Perona, Zoro, and Shanks. You refuse to spend any more time than you have to with them, but always drop whatever you’re doing to accommodate my requests.”
After searching your face for any trace of insincerity, he came up empty-handed.
“I was under the impression I was discreet.”
You shook your head. “A man in love never is.”
Silence was shared as the new information settled over you both. Mihawk didn’t notice when he took a step forward, chests almost touching.
“In that case,” he swallowed thickly. “Would you-“
“I would love to go on a date with you, Dracule Mihawk.”
You stepped forward and his hands instinctively found your hips. Your arms decided to station themselves on his biceps. It was at that moment he realized, this must be your favorite part of his body, so he thanked whatever deity is out there that he chose a physically demanding career.
He leaned down slightly until your lips were just barely brushing.
You rubbed his arms softly and teased, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
Mihawk smirked. “That depends,”
“When do you need to aerate a white wine?” The resulting slap to his arm stung, but was definitely worth it.
Note: My headcanon is that Mihawk does not eat pizza with his hands and instead uses a fork and knife.
I don't believe in putting my personal life on the internet, but on the off-chance someone sees this, please do not fold for a job that would replace you in two seconds flat. I'm not saying anyone should job hop, but I am currently sick as a dog with a doctor's note and they called me trying to guilt-trip me into coming in anyway ("It's difficult running ____ when staff are out", "X amount of people called out and it's busy").
The world kept turning when I said no, but I remember what it was like when I felt it would stop. It's been made apparent they need me more than I need them (that's not arrogance, that's confidence in my abilities and skillset of five years) and if they intend to keep me, they will let me stay home from work.
I work with toddlers, so I take my illnesses very seriously especially when they're contagious. I am not coming in until there is no danger of it spreading!
Title: Adding Insult to Injury
Pairing: Crocodile x fem!reader
Word Count 1,143
Summary: Crocodile's wife tends to his wound while they wait for an actual doctor. The pair have an unusual dynamic.
Note: Finished the new season of live action one piece and was thrilled with how Crocodile turned out. I love this man.
“You are so unbelievably stupid, it makes me physically ill.”
Crocodile hissed as the towel pressed down on the bullet wound in his chest. His irritated gaze found you, his wife, and barked out a response,
“I suggest you watch yourself. I don’t exactly take kindly to criticism. Now, grab me a cigar from my desk.”
You scoffed in disbelief. He wanted a cigar at a time like this? He stumbled into his office where you were napping, a hole in his chest and ragged breaths barely able to tell the events of what happened. Now you had to stand beside his slumped form, bloody rags surrounding you both as you tried your best to stop the bleeding. The doctor said it would take him ten minutes to arrive so all you had to focus on was keeping him alive.
“Absolutely not. I’m pissed at you so part of your punishment is having to do this without a vice.”
He rolled his eyes and halfheartedly tried to turn his torso away, groaning when you yanked it back immediately. He could have easily escaped your grip if he really wanted to, but his love for you overshadowed his pride. In moments like these, you were grateful for that. “Have you lost all compassion, wife, or was that just a show you put on before our wedding to entrap me?”
You chuckled and replaced the soaked towel with a new one. You decided to show him some mercy and the pressure you applied turned gentle.
“I hardly have any compassion to spare, what with the way you come home with injury after injury. Aren’t you supposed to be a terrifying war lord?”
Crocodile’s jaw clenched and you briefly relished getting under his skin. No one else could, after all so why not enjoy it? “Things still happen, even when you’re a war lord. Not that you would know anything about going out to fight.”
It was said sarcastically, but when you met your husband’s gaze, you found nothing but adoration. That was the thing about being married to Crocodile. He would insult you day and night, but the key was knowing that all of it translated into “I love you more than life itself.”
“And whose fault is that exactly, Mr. Zero?”
A smile found itself on his face as he chuckled. “Beautiful women are better kept safe indoors where they can be praised by their husbands after a long day.”
A tongue click. “Or are they better kept indoors so they’re available to patch up the aforementioned fool of a husband?”
Crocodile swore he couldn’t be more in love with you, but every retort, every affectionate insult filled him with an abundance of love and pride. It made him want to shout from every rooftop how he was the luckiest man in Alabasta. The only reason he didn’t was because he knew you’d be right there to tell him, “That’s really embarrassing for you.”
“Hey, you didn’t even respond to my insult. Are you actually about to pass out?”
He laid his head back over the head of his office chair. A lazy smile, eyes closed.
“No. Just thinking.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
You watched him for a moment. The jawline you begged him to shave so people could appreciate it with you, the scar across his nose that you just applied soothing ointment to the previous night, the strand of non-gelled hair that hung in his face because you told him having it all slicked back made him look older. It was all him, but it was also you.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in a floor mirror against the wall across from where you sat. The same can be said for you, as well. Your haircut was one Crocodile said he didn’t care about having an opinion on yet still came to the appointment unprompted. Your chapstick was one he gifted to you after making him suffer through one too many questionably flavored kisses. And there was your jewelry.
You used to swear silver suited you best, but then you showed up to a meeting in gold and Crocodile just about took you on the table right then and there. You never wore silver again.
It’s funny how marriage melds two people in a lot of different ways.
“The doctor should be here in just a minute. You need anything from me before they take you?”
Your voice was soft, just in case he had fallen asleep. He was indeed nodding off when he felt your hand on his cheek, your thumb dragging lightly up and down the ridge of his nose.
He hummed. His head turned toward you, but his eyes remained closed. “No. You’ve done enough and you’ve done it perfectly, my love.”
You heard the shuffling of feet outside the door and smiled at your husband. “I love when you get sappy. Reminds me why I married you.”
His chest bounced as he laughed. You pressed the towel a little harder to accommodate.
“Oh, was that all?”
“That, and your endless riches and power.”
Crocodile’s eyes opened and he gently took your hand off his face. He tucked it against the unwounded side of his chest and squeezed.
A knock sounded at the door just as Crocodile spoke his next words,
“I’ll have them put me in our bedroom when they’re done.”
You called for the doctor to enter and turned back to your husband when you felt his thumb trace over your knuckles. A sign you knew meant he had something else to say, but was hesitant to voice it. You knew better than to push him, however.
“Will you wait for me?”
The door creaked and you knew there was only a small window of privacy left for you and him.
You leaned over, placed both hands on the sides of his face, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His eyes didn’t leave yours as you pulled away and smiled.
“Of course I will.”
You greeted the doctor quietly and the man immediately hoisted Crocodile up to his feet, preparing to help walk him to the infirmary. It was only then Crocodile stopped watching you, only when he was forced. If he had it his way, he would spend the full twenty-four hours attached at your hip.
Alas, the world does not cater to his wishes.
They had just made it to the door when he heard you call out, “Don’t give the doctor a hard time.”
Crocodile chuckled. He knew what you really meant was, ‘Don’t let there be cause for any more time spent apart.’
“I’ll take it into consideration.”
You grinned as the door shut behind them. You too had grown accustomed to your husband’s underlying messages.
‘I will not allow even an extra second away from you.’
I just finished the new season of the live action One Piece and I was not at all prepared for how good looking Crocodile was going to be. Also, seeing Mihawk again was just [chef's kiss]
Someone reblogged and added tags for my crocodile fic saying "acts of services at its best" and now i want to do all the love languages, one for each character.
Title: My Love, My Life
Pairing: Crocodile x fem!reader
Word Count: 914
Summary: Crocodile is awoken by his daughter when her nightlight stops working
Note: While you are not a primary character in this piece, you are mentioned, you are alive, and you are the child's mother.
You had always complained to your husband that the bed was much too large for the two of you. Yet here you lay, limbs sprawled out and hitting him with varying intensity each time you adjust. He hoped that by opting for a larger bed, you would sprawl out on your own side.
How ignorant of him.
Despite this, he had managed to finally fall asleep after one final shove of your arm off of his forehead.
His slumber was short-lived, however, because soon your bedroom door opened with a creak you had told Crocodile to take care of a hundred times. He stirred and the small pitter-patter of familiar footsteps prompted him to turn his body so he faced the edge of the bed.
He exhaled one, long breath and let his body practically deflate once more into the mattress. A moment passed and then a small whisper,
“Daddy.”
He didn’t bother opening his eyes and instead, simply slurred out, “Yes, dear.”
Another whisper, “Can I sleep in here?”
Small hands began grabbing at the edge of the blankets before he could even answer.
“Why? What’s wrong with your room?”
The child, a girl no older than three, huffs an angry breath. Why is she being interrogated? Just let her in the bed!
“My nightlight stopped working and I don’t like how dark it is.”
Crocodile opened his eyes and grunted irritably, but still leaned over to take her under the arms. He barely had her off the floor before she squirmed out of his hold.
“No! You’re going to put me next to mommy!”
The great warlord of the sea shushed her. “Lower your voice!”
She begrudgingly followed instructions.
“You always put me next to her. She hits me!”
Crocodile rolled his eyes. “You’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart.”
The girl crossed her arms defiantly. “I’m not going until you promise I go on the edge with you.”
If there was ever a time in Crocodile’s life that he wanted to kick and scream like a child, it would be right now. His exhaustion was definitely getting to him.
“Fine. Come on. She doesn’t mean to, you know.”
He moved a little ways toward the middle of the bed and pulled down the blanket, allowing his daughter to crawl in beside him. She took a moment to adjust while her father lifted the blankets and made sure they were covering her well enough.
She pressed her tiny body against his chest and buried her face in his neck.
A long breath and sleep almost took her when suddenly, slap!
She felt the reverberation of her father’s pained grunt and lifted her head to peer over his side.
In your readjustment, you had accidentally hit the back of your husband’s neck.
Your daughter settled back into her previous position and whispered, “You were going to let that be me!”
Crocodile huffed, “It’s still being debated, don’t worry.”
A tiny hand beats his bicep once in a feeble attempt to assert dominance. “You’re mean! I’m not talking to you anymore.”
She was jostled when a quiet chuckle sounded from him. “I wish that were true.”
The girl was absolutely astounded at the disrespect. She refused to respond and told herself he would not be hearing a word from her for at least ten years.
“Hey,”
She did not answer him.
“What do you want for breakfast in the morning?”
Silence.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll tell your mother you asked for her soup.”
The girl lifted her head in a panic.
“No, gross! I want pancakes and fruit!”
Crocodile slyly grinned.
“I thought you weren’t talking to me.”
Defeated, the child did one final burrow into her father’s neck and sighed.
“I don’t want to not talk to you. I love you too much.” she mumbled, sleep creeping up on her.
Crocodile, warmed by the sentiments of his daughter, pressed a firm kiss against her crown and squeezed her once.
“I love you too, sweetheart. Rest well, okay?”
The smallest murmur of “You too” sounded and he felt her breaths even out and her small body relax in his hold.
He looked down at her and came to a realization. One day his daughter would be much too big to crawl into her parents’ bed for comfort. A day would come when she moved across the ocean from him and his wife and he would struggle to walk past her empty bedroom. He will be forced to attend her wedding and hand her off to someone he baselessly deems unfit for her. He will call her with no answer because she’s busy taking care of his grandchildren. His daughter will have to navigate this world and he cannot protect her from all its hardships.
It’s best he got some sleep, he decided. He closed his eyes, tears brimming the edges, and attempted to memorize the feeling of his daughter pressed against him.
He fell asleep a grateful man that night. Grateful for a life he believed men like him were never meant to have. A wife he loved more than life itself, who bore him the most spectacular little girl and best friend he’d ever known.
And while he knew there would come a time when he was no longer the first person she runs to, he also knew that right now was a three-year-old, scared of the dark, whose first thought was him.
And for Crocodile, that was more than enough.
Title: To Know Her Is to Love Her
Word Count: 1,242
Summary: Dracule Mihawk knows his situationship like the back of his hand
Arms crossed over his bare chest and legs crossed at the ankle is how Mihawk lays atop the covers on the inn’s queen-size bed. The mattress beneath him is wildly uncomfortable, no doubt having been unchanged for a decade, the sheets are far from his comfortable satin he’s grown accustomed to at home, and the irritating ticks of a bedside clock rip away the silence needed for sleep. Not to mention, the lamp is entirely too bright. Despite all of these things, none of them are why he’s still awake.
He murmurs ascending numbers, using the clock to mark how many minutes pass. When he finally sees the numbers 10:50, he lifts his torso from the bed and pivots to the edge. He stands and makes his way toward the ensuite bathroom. He rifles through one of his bags and pulls out his floss dispenser, hairbrush, toothpaste, and an unopened toothbrush. He lays all of them out beside each other on the counter beside the sink. Every movement is precise and with intention, as he needs to be ready when 10:55 comes. Mihawk glances at the clock and mentally notes he now has four minutes left.
He moves back to the bedroom, going to another bag and pulling out a lightweight, long sleeve sweater he hasn’t worn in years. He hangs it on a coat hook beside the door. He side-steps to the thermostat beside the coat hook and turns it up several degrees.
In his peripheral he finds a sturdy wooden floor mirror, facing the wall the bed rests on. His brow furrows and with a soft grunt, he carefully rotates it so its back is to him. Satisfied with the small bout of manual labor, he returns to his bag and retrieves two items: a pillow covered in dark grey satin from his home and a well-worn book. The pillow ends up opposite the essentially flat one he was previously using and the book’s place is the nightstand beside the infuriating clock. Three minutes, he notes.
Mihawk scans the room to see if he’s forgotten anything. He double-checks the things he’s already arranged and once satisfied, decides to spend the final two minutes resting. He returns to his spot on the bed, always the side closest to the window and this time under the covers, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply.
A knock sounds at the door. It prompts Mihawk to open his eyes and they fall on the clock. ‘Right on schedule.’ he thinks. He sits up, awaiting the always mild voice.
A soft murmur of “Dracule, are you still awake?” floats under the door.
“I am. Are you alright, [Y/N]?”
There’s a pause and he knows she’s debating whether or not to ask for entry. Mihawk allows her time to contemplate and, when she finally asks, verbally grants her entry.
The door opens and there stands a woman, hair slightly messy as if she’s spent hours tossing and turning. She’s clad in only a thin tank top and shorts, no socks or shoes to be found. A thin gold chain hangs from her neck, a smaller version of Mihawk’s cross pendant attached to it. A gift from the swordsman many years ago. She hugs herself and her eyes show the weight of her exhaustion.
“I know it must seem like I do this every night and I’m sorry. My room’s thermostat is broken, I only brought the one set of pajamas, and I think I left my toiletry bag on the coffee table back at home.” She shifts her weight nervously. “Would it be okay if I stay here tonight?”
Mihawk pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed and waits.
[Y/N] smiles softly and steps into the room. Her shoulders instantly relax when the warm air hits her. She stops at the foot of the bed and Mihawk lets out an annoyed grunt at her lack of urgency. She rolls her eyes with an affectionate “Oh, hush.”, followed by “I hate to impose a second time, but would it be possible for me to borrow-” “You’ll need to grab it from the coat hook.” [Y/N] tilts her head with a bemused smile. She does as instructed, gazing thoughtfully at the sweater in her hands. Her favorite of his.
“What are the odds?”
Mihawk doesn’t answer because there were indeed no odds at all.
[Y/N] pulls the sweater on and rolls up the sleeves until they’re at her wrists. With a wry laugh she says, “I don’t suppose you packed any extra toiletries.”
He nods toward the attached bathroom. “I may have some spares.”
[Y/N] grins and goes to see for herself. She snorts at the sight of the unopened toothbrush.
“You knew I was going to forget, didn’t you?”
Mihawk lays back on the bed and turns his head to meet her gaze.
She’s a vision, he decides. And how favored by the gods he must be to have the most beautiful woman in his bathroom, in his sweater, by his side.
The two decided long ago they would not put a label on whatever is going on between them, but times like this make Mihawk long for something more official.
“Lucky guess, I suppose.”
They take each other in for a moment before [Y/N] bashfully returns to the sink to finish her routine. She helps herself to the floss and hairbrush before flicking the light off and reentering the bedroom. She slips under the covers and pulls them to her waist.
“I also don’t care for the selection in their lobby’s library. If you can even call it that.”
[Y/N] doesn’t even register the much softer pillow her head hits when she lays back.
Wordlessly, Mihawk reaches for the book on the nightstand and drops it softly on her stomach. She lifts it to read the cover.
Her eyes practically sparkle as her head whips to him.
“I thought I left this at the port on the last island. How on Earth-”
“A fisherman found it on the docks and returned it to me.”
[Y/N] can only stare at him. She’s absolutely speechless.
Finally, a disbelieving huff of a laugh as she drops the book onto her own nightstand for tomorrow. “Dracule Mihawk, you brilliant, incredible man.”
She props herself up on her elbow, her body now turned toward his. She leans over and brushes her lips against his, her free hand resting on his jaw as their mouths move. He responds in kind until she pulls back. Far too soon, in his opinion.
He extends his arm and [Y/N] curls into his side. Her hand is suddenly captured by Mihawk’s and brought to settle on his chest. Mihawk reaches beside him and turns off the lamp, darkness swallowing the room.
Her legs intertwine with his. Seeking more warmth, no doubt. She’s always run cold and he’s essentially a space heater. He squeezes her body to him once and presses a firm kiss to her forehead.
He closes his eyes and sleep almost finds him when-
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, my room had this really creepy mirror that faced the bed and I would’ve ended up sleeping on the floor because-”
“-because mirrors can become portals for ghosts, yes love, I know. Goodnight.”
She grumbles under her breath and Mihawk knows he’ll be hearing more about her theory over breakfast.
Title: A Lion's Consternation
Word Count: 991
Summary: A rough patch in Captain Buggy and [Y/N]'s relationship as told from the perspective of the crew's own Richie the lion.
Note: More challenging than I thought, but I'm fond of this lil' number.
Contrary to popular belief, Richie has always been very averse to change.
So when the day came that Captain Buggy and Y/N’s yelling woke him up from a midday nap, it caused him to pace his room for hours. He refused to leave even when Mohji tried luring him out with his favorite foods. The arguing across the ship only got worse over the next month and Richie had just about worn a hole in the floor. This behavior worried Mohji so badly, he considered veterinary intervention.
Then there was when he was being led down the hallway by his owner and saw Y/N slamming the door to the captain’s quarters behind her. She had tears all over her red cheeks and a bag, clearly haphazardly thrown together, in her hand. Richie didn’t understand what was happening and Mohji felt terrible that he couldn’t explain what was going on. All Richie knew was one of his favorite people was distraught and it made his hackles go up as she let out a sob and ran past him.
Richie didn’t see [Y/N] after that.
He did, however, see Buggy. But not in a state he ever wished to.
At night, Richie typically gets some free reign on the ship as long as he’s back in his room before sunrise. Ever since [Y/N] left, Richie made sure his rounds included passing the ship's kitchen.
It’s there he often found the captain sitting with his back against the wall and a bottle of rum in his hand, others that are empty strewn at his feet.
His head is always in his hands while he quietly weeps in between swallows of liquor.
Richie can tell whatever Buggy is feeling is far stronger than any comfort he can provide, but it didn’t stop him from trying.
He remembers silently approaching his captain and laying on his side a foot away. Close enough to know he’s there, but not too close that he’s invasive.
Buggy’s watery eyes found his own and Richie lifted a paw and stretched, his claws extending for a moment before retracting and letting it drop on Buggy’s leg.
Buggy’s body lurched forward from a big sob and Richie stayed with him until dawn broke.
It goes on like this for what feels like years.
Richie refusing to leave his room except to perform, Buggy drinking his feelings when no one can see, and Mohji desperately trying to hold the broken crew together.
But finally came July 23rd. His own birthday.
He didn’t know it, of course. All he knew was every person on the crew had come to his room that morning, gave him a pat, and said a few words to him. Most importantly, Mohji had held a den den mushi up to Richie’s ear and his ears twitched when he heard [Y/N]’s voice. The only part he could make out is “...Coming”.
After ignoring Mohji’s commands all day and six people dragging him across the floors, Richie arrived in the dining room with his tail swishing along the floor to show his agitation.
There were blue and yellow decorations on the wall and a table full of raw meat. And why was the entire crew here? Why was-
His eyes scanned the room and stopped on a woman standing next to his friend, Cabaji.
Richie’s eyes dilated and, as if on instinct, he ran to her. He pushed his head into her stomach and it caused her to fall backward. He laid down and army-crawled on top of her, nudging his nose into her neck. He no longer cared where [Y/N] had gone because she was back.
Happy noises emitted from her and Mohji had to physically pull his pet off of her.
There was still unresolved tension when [Y/N] and Captain Buggy were near each other, but Richie made sure to station himself between them during dinner. If this was the only time he’d get with them both then he would savor it.
It was when everyone had gone to bed that Richie began his nightly rounds.
He stopped by the kitchen door when he heard sniffling. Ready to comfort his captain once more, he peered around the doorframe.
[Y/N] and Captain Buggy were standing at the kitchen island across from each other. They were both teary-eyed and gesticulating wildly. They hadn’t even noticed Richie yet.
Richie’s ears lay flat against his head and he tries to make himself smaller at the sound of their voices rising.
After a few minutes, their voices grow quiet and they become softer to each other.
[Y/N] says something with a small cry that makes Buggy’s shoulders drop in concern and Richie watches as the captain goes to her and embraces her tightly. She cries into his shoulder while he kisses her temple.
Richie worries [Y/N] is saying goodbye again. There’s yelling, there’s crying, and now she’s going to leave. That’s how it went the first time, isn’t it? The thought causes his back to hunch and his tail to swish again. The thumping of his tail against the floor is what makes [Y/N] finally notice him.
She turns and gives a watery smile to her beloved feline friend. Richie hears “Come” and doesn’t hesitate. He plops himself on the floor next to his friends while they continue talking and holding each other. This time it is much lighter and the tension is slowly dissipating.
Richie’s ears slowly return to their normal position when Buggy’s hands rub up and down [Y/N]’s back and she leans forward to kiss him. When they part, [Y/N] lays her head on Buggy’s shoulder once more, this time with a warm smile.
Buggy mumbles words into [Y/N]’s hair and while Richie doesn’t recognize all of them, he does recognize a sentence Mohji always told him before going to bed:
“I love you.”
Note: Again, very challenging, but fun. Trying to convey everything through a character who doesn't speak and doesn't understand every spoken word was tricky. Big Richie fan though, lol.
Also, sorry I type everything as if I'm writing a legal document. I'm a stickler for grammar and spelling, and cannot bring myself to type too casually, even in light conversations or outside of my writings. The farthest I get is "lol", but even that gives me a small, visceral reaction.
I'm fun, I promise. 😮💨
Hiii, I'm honestly curious about your headcanons about crocodile, he's such an interesting character to read!
To preface this, my headcanons for Crocodile are in the romantic sense w/ a fem!reader. so if you're looking for general headcanons for Croc alone, sorry about that. With that being said, let's talk about my mans!
(Note: mentions of both child and adult death)
Hiii, I love your blog and I just saw your recent post and I had in mind two request, very different but I thought so you could choose which one inspires you more
Gotta say, I love your the way you write Mihawk in an established relationship, it's so just so cute, but I was wondering how about him in his pining era, like with a reader who already befriend him and both of them are just pining after one another, idk I think him trying to make his feelings know would be so interesting
Or I had another idea but it was more angsty (sorry I'm a sucker for angst) maybe Mihawk with his wife, but who is scared because she's his only obvious weakness, so she tries to push him away because deep down she is scared of losing him because of her (and maybe beacuse she think she's not worthy it)
Again, sorry for the rumbling, I had just those two ideas, feel free to choose the one you like the most
Howdy,
I chose the first prompt and the writing has been posted (^:
Title: To Love Another
Word Count: 2,157
Summary: Dracule Mihawk finds himself infatuated with a diligent woman from a nearby island. He does what it takes to obtain his ultimate goal of a home with good food, good wine, and love.
Note: This was a request.
What began as an impromptu trip for supplies on a nearby island turned into Mihawk finding himself in a woman’s wine shop, one she takes great pride in having the best selections on the entire island. She introduced herself as [Y/N] and he truly didn’t pay her much mind until he was reading the label of a bottle and she criticized his choice. “If you’re just visiting the island, you’re going to leave with the good stuff. Not something you can get literally anywhere. So, are you wanting a rarer zinfandel or would you be open to shiraz?”
After the hour discussion about how red wines are better than whites, [Y/N] was pleased with how much knowledge the man shared with her on selections. She told him if he ever comes back, she will show him the vineyard she’s maintained for years in the field behind her home.
It did not take Mihawk any time before he was back on that island three days later. He quickly learned [Y/N] was a woman of routine. She never strayed from her tasks; they had to be done thoroughly and at certain times. Mihawk believes her diligence to routine and straight-thinking to be the reason he found himself visiting her twice a week over the next several months.
Which brings us to now.
The man’s hands barely shake as he carefully rewires the trellis of the grapevine before him. A hundred or so more trees holding different kinds of grapes surround him, each one having been checked the same way he’s doing now. Anyone else would consider the work to be tedious, but it was everything to Mihawk. Despite the sunset making it a bit difficult to see, the edges of his cloak soaked in water from the irrigation, and sweat rolling down his chest and back, he finds this a wonderful way to spend his time. Especially with the woman working on the tree beside him, a couple of feet away. He looks at her now, focusing on the way her brows knit together as she pulls the wire taught with a sudden burst of strength before twisting it with a pair of pliers.
He keeps his hands raised to the vine to look busy, but can’t keep his eyes off of her. This is it for him. She is it for him. Finally, he’s found a woman who’s independent, self-assured without being arrogant, and enjoys all the same things he does. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t marry her someday.
“So we’ve deleafed, fertilized, and we just finished re-propping.” She turns to him and smiles while wiping her hands of soil. “What do you say when we finish, we go get a bottle of my finest and get shit-faced in my living room?”
Mihawk, having grown more comfortable expressing himself when the two are alone, gives her a smile of her own. “Do you mind sparing a meal alongside that wine? I do enjoy traveling all the way here only to watch you get a head injury from toppling over, but I would appreciate some sustenance this time.”
She rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Dracule Mihawk, world’s greatest swordsman by day, world’s most hilarious comedian by night. Such a multi-faceted individual, you are.”
The praise makes his heart swell in his chest and they walk together toward her home. They approach the first step and Mihawk places his hand on her lower back, silently urging her forward. [Y/N] smiles at him and his hand lingers until she’s far enough away from him. His palms were as if fire had seared the skin, the heat of her lingering long after she’d gone. He relishes in the feeling while he follows her inside.
As per their routine, she stops a few feet ahead of him in the foyer and turns around. He bends just enough for her to gently grab the brims of his hat and lift it off. He pivots just as her hands begin pulling at the shoulders of his cloak. She hangs both on a coat rack by the door and they say nothing as they walk to the kitchen. It warms his cheeks to consider she doesn’t do this with anyone else. Oh, how lucky Mihawk is to be the subject of it.
The house is quaint, just big enough for [Y/N] and her plethora of knick-knacks. It’s always warm, cozy, and Mihawk loves how everything in it smells of her. “I really do need to repay you sometime, by the way.” He stops peering around and meets her in the kitchen. “For what reason?”
[Y/N] turns on the stove and grabs a pan hanging over her island counter. She begins throwing things together. “Ever since you started lending a hand with the vineyard and the vegetable garden, the harvest has become way more bountiful. Not to mention, the grapes are growing better and my personal brand of wine is selling ten times more than usual. I was able to finally replace the linoleum flooring with hardwood.”
Admittedly, he hardly listens to any word she says. All he could think about were the list of ways he’d like her to repay him. He cannot find the courage, however, to speak them aloud. Would it scare her off to know how much he longed for her? This whole time, has she only considered him a good friend? What if she doesn’t even take him for that? What if she thinks of him as simply a man who tends to her gardens every week? If that were true, though, why would she have ever let him disrupt her daily routine? Why would someone who has turned down multiple plans with close friends because she always waters the plants at 3pm suddenly clear her entire Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to accommodate Mihawk coming over? He likes to believe she feels a small piece of what he does for her.
“I never took you for a daydreamer, yet you do have a knack for surprising me.”
He’s lifted from his thoughts and takes the potato she has stretched out, joining at her side. “There has been much to think about as of late. Forgive me if I seem a bit out of it.” [Y/N] rests a hand on his upper back, lightly rubbing a comforting circle. She nods her head then begins to peel a carrot. “We can talk while we eat, if you’d like.” He nods back and the next fifteen minutes are spent in a comfortable silence.
Both are now seated at the small dining table, occasionally asking the other about their day and swapping stories. Mihawk feels light for the first time in a while. The domesticity of everything fills him with peace, something he hasn’t truly felt in ages. He’s in an actual home, the smell of good food filling his senses, and the most beautiful woman sitting across from him, smiling at him as she raves about her shop sales last week. He wonders, why can’t it be like this all the time?
This must be what prompts him to blurt, “Why did you allow me to start visiting your home?”
[Y/N] stops her story and raises her brows. “A comedian, a daydreamer, and an interrupter all in one day. Incred-” “Why would someone who is so rigid in her routine, one that she has kept for what she says is nearly two decades, suddenly allow a complete stranger to upheave her entire daily schedule?”
His brows are furrowed, but only out of curiosity. [Y/N] stares at him like a child who’s been caught. She pushes some steamed carrots around in her plate and looks down at them. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Maybe I just like this routine better?” His heart thrusts against his ribcage. He needs to be strategic about this, otherwise she’ll never say what he wants to hear. “You hate new routines.” he states. [Y/N]’s fork stops on her plate. She thinks for a moment before looking up at him. “You’re right. I do. However, I find myself enjoying the days when you’re here more than the ones when you’re not.”
Dracule Mihawk could explode with joy. Alas, the world will never get to see him so out of character. Instead a corner of his lips lifts into somewhat of a smirk. “I see.”
“It gets lonely, Dracule.” His smirk falls. “I love my routines, but it’s just been me for as long as I can remember. My friends stopped inviting me to places altogether because I can’t bring myself to break away from my tasks. Then all of a sudden, the most gorgeous stranger who knows just as much as me about wine and gardening and all of these things I love comes along and he actually likes talking to me and respects that there are certain things I have to do and I just…” Mihawk is still, barely breathing as if doing so might blow away the words he hopes she’ll say. “I guess I just didn’t want to lose what I had going with you.”
She sighs through her nose and puts her fork down on her still half-full plate. She clearly feels defeated. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, Dracule. I didn’t want to say anything before out of fear of you not returning to visit, but I really do like spending time with you and getting to know you. While I understand if you don’t, I really hope you feel the same way about me.” The last part is said in nearly a whisper.
He’s silent for a while and he can tell how uncomfortable [Y/N] becomes by the way her hands begin to fidget with whatever is near.
“I do, you know.”
She raises her brows. “You do? Are you sure?”
He can’t help but chuckle. “What kind of person would sail out two times a week just to do manual labor in someone’s backyard if they weren’t the least bit interested in them?” A grin takes over [Y/N]’s face and a smile plants itself on the swordsman’s as well. “Maybe you’re just an extremely thoughtful person, Dracule.”
He releases a disbelieving scoff. “You’ll learn in time, [Y/N], I’m not that kind of man.”
She laughs and begins finishing her meal, the air much lighter in her home. He takes the opportunity to peer out the kitchen window. “It’s getting dark.”
She finishes her last potato and nods. “That it is.”
They both look at each other, neither one wanting to say goodbye. Not with the newfound information they’ve revealed to each other minutes prior. Dracule decides it must be he who bites the bullet and backs his chair up.
“I suppose I must get go-”
“Oh, wouldn’t you know it! It’s laundry night!”
He can’t fathom why that would pertain to him at all, so he waits for her to finish.
“Thursdays have always been laundry nights and what kind of hostess would I be if I let you walk out of here with a saturated cloak? Your favorite one, no less.”
He chuckles. “That would indeed make you a terrible hostess and I refuse to be associated with anyone of that ilk.”
Not a second passes before [Y/N] is up and collecting their plates, rushing them to the sink before returning to him. She takes his hand, pulls him up, and leads him to the living room. He can’t help but notice her not letting go of him the entire time. “Wonderful. Of course I can’t wash everything until the sun’s out tomorrow, so I guess you’re just going to have to leave in the mid-morning?” Dracule agrees readily and she pulls him onto the couch, sitting much closer to him than usual.
“What if we still get shit-faced from the wine, but this time we also discuss where you’re taking me on a date come Tuesday?”
Mihawk is elated at everything that’s occurred on this day. He rubs his thumb across the back of her palms and she leans into him a bit more. After months spent yearning for this woman— this wonderful, witty, kind, radiant, captivating woman— her heart is finally within his grasp and she has finally discovered how long she’s held his. Nothing has ever been and will never be better than today.
“[Y/N], darling, I have known exactly where I’m going to take you since the first time we parted.”
She visibly lights up and throws her arms around his neck. Their bodies are pressed together and he prays her perfume makes a home on his shirt, just long enough to bridge the distance between now and next time. They hold each other in the silence of the home, neither willing to let go now that they know how the other feels.
Because the greatest feeling isn’t just loving, but knowing that person loves you back.
Note: I am truly a wine-enjoyer, however I cannot stand Zinfandels specifically. Unfortunately, I have the headcanon that it's Mihawk's preferred drink of choice.
Hii, I love your blog and your writing
Just out of curiosity, which characters from one piece would you like to write? Like if you have a preference or a some characters from OP you would not write
Howdy,
I focus mostly on Mihawk, but I'd love, love, love to write for Crocodile. I think he's a cool guy and I've had certain headcanons about him for a while.
I'll write for:
Mihawk, Crocodile, Buggy, Shanks, Ace, Sanji, Zoro, and Law.
Who I won't write for (mostly because I'm not confident in portraying them correctly):
Brook, Luffy, Usopp, and Katakuri.
Obviously this isn't an all inclusive list because there's tons of characters, but this is just the list off the top of my head (^:
i just got all four wisdom teeth removed this morning, someone please send in a mihawk request so I can take advantage of the next three days off from work 🙏🏻