#child mihawk

[naraeragon]

The deeper the bond with him

Bond 1: Strangers, close interactions unavailable

Bond 5: Let Yidhra hug him all the time

Bond 10: Hugs Yidhra on his own will and refuses to let go

[naraeragon]

[Mihawk x Reader/OC] The strongest swordsman who was raised by a witch

Reader is my witch OC - Yidhra. I have been making arts about them and this is my fanfic for them. This mostly based on 'The witch and the kid' trend

Tags: mentor Reader, pupil Mihawk, witch Reader, old English pronoun, horticulture, BB x shota, slight horror

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Mihawk was 10 when he ran away from his home without much grief and frustration. He was abnormally calm for a young child and was able to live on his own as long as he could until he stumbled into the witch's wood. He was taken shelter inside a cave from the heavy rain, then the witch found him.

She could have penalised him for intruding her forest, Mihawk knew she would by the look on her face, and people rumored that witches always kidnapped and feasted on children. Mihawk would be lying if he said he wasn’t afraid of her but he knew well not to show it. After all, he had been surviving until now with some tricks under his sleeves.

To his surprise, the witch just asked if he wanted to stay at her place. It came with a price of course.

“ I shall be thy mentor and caretaker. Thou may learn as much as thee want until thou reach thy adulthood and leave. ” The witch offered.

There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch, was the first lesson Mihawk's learnt so instead of accepting the witch’s offer immediately, he asked.

“What do I have to pay?”

The witch seemed pleased with his sharp mind, not many children of his age are well aware of danger around them. Or perhaps any child who had suffered illed fate would develop that level of caution.

“Thou shall know until the time comes. Agree or not, the choice is thine.”

Even though Mihawk seemed to be more mature than other children of his age, there was no possible way he could survive alone without getting his hands dirty. He wouldn’t mind, yes, but if he had a choice to live a better life, he would definitely take it. In the end, he was just a mere child.

“I’ll follow you, mentor. My name is Dracule Mihawk.”

He thought maybe living with a witch couldn’t be worse than being a slave.

“I am Yidhra. I am a witch. Remember, thou art forbidden to speak of mi name to other individuals.”

Mihawk was adopted by a witch when he was 10 years old.

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[acim-ed-ortsac]

Time on the Oro Jackson: 3

You deadpanned when, at the age of 13, you held the terrible duo by the back of their shirts after killing a large praying mantis that attempted to maul the younger ones. The two nine-year-olds had sheepish smiles, Shanks less sincere while Buggy was sweating, as you held them up. “Haha,” Shanks laughed awkwardly. “Great weather we’re having.”

Your lips tugged to a frown while your eyes narrowed at the ginger, “What were you thinking!?”

“Shanks made me! I even told him it was a bad idea!” Buggy defended himself while he waved his hands around.

“You could’ve stopped him, being the other one with a brain cell.” You hissed before turning around and walking back to the crew with the two youngest in tow. “You’re not five, you at least have the common sense to not go in there WITHOUT an adult!”

“But that’s boring!” Shanks whined. “We’re pirates! We’re not scared of anything!”

“You screams of terror said otherwise, Red.”

When you dragged them back, the crew laughed at your disgruntled expression while you hauled them two back on the beach shore. Rayleigh watched amused from his chair while Roger laughed.

“What trouble did they get into now?” The first mate asked, taking a sip of alcohol.

You threw the two kids at Scope, who caught them with ease, before glaring at your mentor. “They had the bright idea to fight a mantis that was thrice their size.”

The bespectacled blonde chuckled before he nudged his captain’s arm, who was on a chair. “See, they get it from you, captain.”

“And is that a bad thing?” Roger asked with his iconic jolly smile on his lips behind his bushy mustache.

“Would be if they keep trying to get themselves killed.” You grumbled while you walked past them.

*_*

Rayleigh knew that Mihawk was different than the typical teen boy, and he meant this in a non-discriminatory way.

It was evident from not only his bounty at a young age, (a damn 70,000,000 belli bounty with the epithet of ‘Hawkeye Demon’), which made the man rage and almost burn down a marine base if he didn’t hold his common sense, but also the way the kid held himself. Mature, too mature for his age. He didn’t have that naive light in his unique eyes but rather a guarded tensity in them. Mihawk’s posture was straight and confident as if he knew that he would win against that bounty hunter from before. And his skill…

Rayleigh knew that the kid would surpass him in the future, with just enough training, he’d have people fearing him and his sword. It was akin to destiny that the young hawk was sure to achieve greatness, as if the heavens had favored the child and decided a path—a course that would bring the child to majesty.

But right now… Rayleigh noticed that the young teen wasn’t beside him, glancing back to see Mihawk staring at a clothing store. Specifically, a black dress for teen girls.

Rayleigh raised a brow before he walked towards his student, “Found something you like?”

Mihawk tilted his head before nodding. An amused smile made its way to the older man’s lips, curious. Usually, the young swordsman would accept anything Rayleigh would buy him, a few months ago it was an almanac of swords and blades that he frequently shared with their other two apprentices and last year was a new sword. But this, this was the very few times that he would ask for something.

Rayleigh looked at the dress his student was eyeing; it was a knee-length dress with the top part more sturdy with flower-designed laces and a belt around it while the skirt poofed out a bit. It seemed to be Mihawk’s style, taking to the more gothic taste.

“Well come on,” Rayleigh pushed the door to the store with the young hawk at his trail. The store owner, a middle-aged woman with incoming wrinkles, greeted the two of them before the kid started picking out the ones he liked. And if Rayleigh didn’t know that Mihawk was an orphan, he would've thought that he was the son of a duke or royalty at least. The kid sure loved his dress shirts and pants. The same goes for his dresses.

By the end of it, Rayleigh was holding two bags of clothing and a very happy Mihawk.

When they got back to the ship, Rayleigh was glad that the crew didn’t question too much Mihawk’s choice of clothing that they brought. They supported him in his comfort and preference. But if the man really thought about it, the kid would’ve been indifferent to their opinions. Another thing that stood out about the boy was that he knew what he wanted.

The first time Mihawk wore the dress, the same dress as the lacy top, Rayleigh couldn’t help but think it fitted the boy. The kid would grow up to be a heartthrob, even if he wasn’t actively seeking said hearts. And Rayleigh wasn’t the only one with that sentiment.

The blush on Shanks's face and the open stare of Buggy were enough to tell, that these two boys' crushes were evident to the crew but Mihawk himself. 

*_*

Shanks, at the age of ten, believes that Mihawk is not human.

Because no human can be this pretty.

When he first gazed upon those eyes of rich color, his first thought as a young six-year-old was ‘Pretty eyes.’ Because those eyes were like the pretty jewels that they would occasionally find on islands.

Another thing was that Mihawk was cool! He knows how to use a sword and he uses it so well! Shanks wants to become at his level, wants to become a swordsman that Mihawk can look at and never turn away. He wants those eyes to shine at him, to see him smile at him, his attention on him and only him!

Sadly, Buggy also wants Mihawk's attention, but not on Shanks’s watch!

Can also be found in AO3 < Masterlist

[acim-ed-ortsac]

Time on the Oro Jackson: 2

You blocked a swing from Rayleigh before parrying a jab of his blade, your feet moving around the swordsman as you blocked and attacked your mentor. The training sessions started when you were practicing your stances on the deck, focused on your form and swings and you didn’t notice anyone watching you until Rayleigh shouted tips on improving. You supposed that was how you found yourself being trained by the Dark King himself. You gritted your teeth when an attack from the man had you skid your feet.

“You’re getting better, kid,” Rayleigh said with a grin as he clashed swords with you.

You didn’t say anything but let a small smile on your lips as you twisted your wrist to push the blade away from you. You dodged a jab and blacked a thrust. Your observation haki lets you know the next few moves in the next few seconds, allowing you prepare and counter these attacks. It’s been a good while since you joined the Roger Pirates and you’ve learned a lot from them.

First of all, they’re very jolly. And loud.

But you should’ve expected that from a captain known to have smiled at his execution and started the new generation of pirates.

At times you found yourself wincing at the volume, but it was easy to get accustomed to them. Shanks likes to cling to you, demanding a spar despite your refusal, yet is not deterred or angry at your dismissal. If anything, he seemed to cling on to you more. When you’re practicing your stances, he’s there, practicing beside you or watching you instead. You take it as childish admiration.

Buggy, on the other hand, is more weary of you. Anytime you’re around him, you would notice a bead of sweat and his nervous glances at you before skedaddling out of your sight. You take no offense to this. Scared children are nothing new to you.

However, Buggy seemed to have gained courage from Shanks.

As you were wiping the sweat off your brow with a towel handed to you by Gaban, now you remember his name, Buggy approached you nervously. He approached you like you were a predator. You were amused and slightly confused as he stopped in front of you. “What is it?”

The clown sweat, eyes averting before mustering to look into your own. “Could…could you teach me how to use a knife?”

You raised a brow, “You want to learn how to wield a dagger?”

Buggy nodded, uncertain.

Hmm, if I remember correctly, the clown primarily uses daggers with his devil fruit. But he doesn’t have it yet, and he’s still too young to be holding weapons…Although, if I were to help him in the near future, perhaps he would make an interesting pirate. And maybe I’ll respect him more when Cross Guild is formed, which won’t be a good while.

After your internal debate, you sheathe your sword. “When you’re older, you can’t hold one without cutting yourself.”

“But Shanks is already learning!”

“I’m not teaching him, he’s learning by watching me. Also, he’s using a stick, not a real blade.”

Buggy pouted in anger, face turning almost as red as his nose. You rolled your eyes before ruffling his head, messing his hat much to his protest. “You have time so don’t rush, there are other ways to fight without full-on confrontation.”

“Con-frantotion?” Buggy scrunched his face at trying to pronounce the word. You forgot he’s six.  You combed your hair with your fingers, “Never mind.” you dismissed before walking away.

“Hey! Tell me what that means!”

“When you know more words.”

“I can read!”

“That’s not what I asked.”

_*_

This would be the third marine base you would enter. The third marine base you would destroy. Perhaps a normal nine year old wouldn’t be able to, but you were armed with knowledge of haki, the swords skills that you learned from your previous masters, and a bloodthirst that rivalled the devil.

The sand under your shoes crunched as yout rugged through the desert, sheathe and sword on your back, and sweat poured down your forehead like a river. Even with your light clothes and shorts, it was unbearably hot under the scorching heat of the sun. The knife in your pocket and the satchel over your shoulder were reminders on why you’re trekking this damned desert.

Up ahead, a desert city where water filled the rivers and canals, people of Alabasta descent milled around as marine soldiers march for patrol. The cloth you used as a blindfold and headwrap covered your hair and eyes while the loose long sleeve shirt hid your skin from the sun. With the observation haki you have, you walked through the city with no interruption, heading straight to the base. You hear the fearful chatter as marine soldiers marched past, you hear the pleading of citizens as a marine taunts and ppose his authority over them, you hear the bugging from a man as he’s dragged away for something he hadn’t done.

Corrupt. It’s a coincidence that you’re about to destroy the marines here when the city needed it. 

Later, you learned that marines here were all talk; all bark and no bite. They fell way to a mere nine year old with a sword, not standing a chance. You wonder if this what it meant to find it boring when other can’t challenge you anymore…

You destroyed crates and raided chests in hopes to find any resources you could use. At one point you found a devil fruit in a chest, it’s texture sandy. You regarded it with half-lidded eyes before putting it in your satchel. You then headed down in the dungeon, where the admiral might be. When you entered the admiral’s office, it was empty sans the guards there.

Your footsteps echoed throughout the dark and dry dungeon, the door creaking as you moved it. And with your knife, you blocked bullet that was shot your way. Its other half grazed your head yet you remained composed. You then moved–in the dark with only torches that almost dimmed, you dodged frantic bullets and with a lunge, you embbededth knife deep into his chest, right where his heart is. You pulled back and heard him fall to the ground with a thud.

Seeing as you have no need for the clothe, you undid the knot at the back and it fell away letting light shine on your eyes. Your hair came free, curls running wild as you ran a hand through your strands. You then scoured the cells, landing on civilians who were either poor or orphaned kids. 

You were then reminded of your island before the buster call…

You rummaged through the man’s clothes before finding the key to the cells. You hummed in satisfaction before going to free the people here, one by one. All shouted joyously at their freedom, kids clinging to your clothes as they say their thanks and cried while the adults expressed their gratitude to you. You say nothing to this.

The last cell held a boy  bit older than you. His hair was shoulder-length and eyes were narrow, a scar that bled across his nose, and ragged clothes not unlike your own. He was the only one who glared at you even as you unlocked his cell. 

A tingle at the back of your skull, a feeling of recognition yet it was vague. You ignored it before turning to leave–

“Wait.”

You paused glancing back at the boy in the cell.

“Have you seen a devil fruit in this shithole?”

Suddenly, it clicked for you.

Wordlessly, you took out the devil fruit in your satchel and threw it in the hands of Crocodile. “Take it, I have no use of it.”

You leave before the soon to be Sand-man could reply.

_*_

You felt a large hand ruffle your hair, making you glare at the old man for the umpteenth time. “Stop that.”

Rayleigh smiles back at you, “Oh, why not?”

“It’s annoying.”

“Well I can’t help it, your curls are so cute!”

You kicked his shins. “Old man.”

“Respect your elders, kid.”

“Old man.”

“Brat.”

< > Masterlist

[acim-ed-ortsac]

Time on the Oro Jackson: 1

This is in Second POV Summary: Being adopted by the Roger pirates was the last thing that came to mind. Note: This is a Mihawk Harem Series

Getting adopted was never part of your plan. Ever.

Or should you say abducted? It doesn’t matter because what happened was that you were stuck on the Oro Jackson with the infamous crew in the world. And you blame Rayleigh for this. No, Roger is the most logical target, the jolly old fool. Perhaps you ate the dinner promised ravenously after starving for a while and fell into a food coma, but you were occupied by the hunger and the excitement of Rayleigh, The Dark King himself, buying you a new sword! That’s a one-in-a-million chance of happening!

However, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave no matter how much you force yourself to. When you first realized that you were still on the ship, you had asked one of the crew members, Gabon you think, to request the captain to leave you off to the next island. But the man just ruffled your hair with a grin, saying “And leave a kid like you alone? Nah, plus I don’t think Rayleigh would let you go. Roger might back him up.”

And really, you couldn’t stand against two grown men who were more powerful than you. You know better than to fight battles you can’t win.

On the ship, there was another child besides Shanks, a blue-haired boy with an orange beanie, ocean-blue eyes, and a comically large red nose. From your memories, you remembered that this young clown will grow up to become the most pathetic captain who managed to fail his way up to the top, Buggy the Genius Jester…Best not to judge.

Still, your adjustment to the jolly crew was in process, but you could not doubt that there was no danger amongst them.

(_(

“Mihawk!”

You glanced at the redhead boy who was, surprisingly, without his blue-haired companion. Your eyes scanned the deck before finding Buggy running to Rayleigh, map in hand. Alright, so the clown is preoccupied.

You look down at the six-year-old, “What is it?” you ask, sheathing your sword.

Shanks beamed up at you with an excited smile, holding out a dagger by the hilt as he pointed it at you. “I challenge you to a duel!”

Any activity that was going on stopped at his declaration. You, on your part, stared at the kid for a minute longer before flicking his forehead. “You’re too weak for me.”

Shanks pouted at him while he held his forehead, “No I’m not!”

“Are too, get stronger first.”

You dodged a thrust of the dagger by Shanks, who let out a war cry as he did so, before hitting his head with the butt of your sword. You raised a brow when the kid dropped the dagger and clutched his head, whimpering sounds leaving his lips. You sighed through your nose in annoyance. You did not want to deal with a crying child and get scolded by the adults.

Kneeling beside Shanks, you look at him with half-lidded eyes. “Don’t cry, I didn’t even hit you that hard.” Shanks still had tears in his eyes and was pouting with a trembling lip. How did you comfort children again in your past life…you rub the place they got hurt, right?

Hesitantly, you rubbed his head in an attempt to soothe him, albeit awkwardly. That is the maximum level of comfort you can offer since, honestly, you suck at comforting children with words less you come off as rude and uncaring to them. The children at the church told you so. Still, it seemed to be working since Shanks stopped crying and looked at you with wide eyes. Deciding you did enough, and preserving your own comfort, you pulled away to stand. “If you want to fight me, get stronger first so that you have a chance.”

With that, you walked away. Mostly to find Rayleigh and ask him to buy you a knife, similar to the kogatana you have in the future. As Rayleigh trained you more, you began to notice how much power you possessed and were still amassing, so it wouldn’t be fair to those weaker than you if you fought with your sword. As the future you had said at the Baratie, ‘Don’t hunt rabbits with a cannon.’

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