#soft mihawk

[chuugiwara]

hello i have a request for mihawk! maybe from zoro and peronas POV how they notice cute moments between mihawk and reader like being domestic or subtle displays of affection/jealousy maybe with a scene of mihawk cooking bc you know his knife skills would go CRAZY omg maybe he’s guiding her with the knife hand over hers

CUTE ENOUGH TO KILL .ᐟ.ᐟ

──★ synopsis !!: there's something in the air within Kuraigana, and it's definitely not the spooky kind. no, no, its the kind that haunts someone from the sight of tender moments between you and Mihawk.

──★ pairings !!: dracule "hawkeyes" mihawk x fem! reader

──★ tags !!: yearning, slight crack-fic, humor, not-so-hidden-mutual-pining, zoro being scarred, perona shielding teddy-kumacy's eyes. does not follow main anime/manga plot whatsoever !!

──★ word count !!: 1.8k words !!

──★ extras !!: this is such a cute request omg, i hope i did it justice !!

༄.° masterlist ୨୧ for more ♡

©chuugiwara, do not copy, plagiarize or translate my work. thank you

"you see it too, don't you?" striking pink hair prickled up, eyes wide enough to show Perona the sight before her and Zoro. sweet enough to kill, but so mundane one would only notice the way Mihawk let his hold against you linger for a few seconds longer if they looked hard enough.  unfortunately for the pair, they were looking. Zoro felt his brow twitch, arms crossed as he turned his head away from the sickening sight. "i wish i didn't have to." he hissed out, whispers passing back and forth between the unlikely pair. Perona froze, watching the way Mihawk took the watering can from your hands the second its last drops of water fell onto stubborn vegetables beneath you. you didn't even ask, he just took it. like he had been waiting for the water to run out so he could refill it for you. her mouth slacked open, the ghosts floating around her gasping and holding their heads in shock. a little way away from the statue of a man who claimed the title of world's greatest swordsman, Zoro and Perona flinched in terror. truly, it wasn't anything obvious- heaven forbid. but it was, however, something Dracule Mihawk would never in a million years do. to their knowledge at least. Mihawk was like a statue that had the fortune of having a beard and eyes sharp enough to cut. incapable of showing affection, much less even humoring the thought of a partner. yet here you came, bouncing into the island of Kuraigana, and suddenly Dracule Mihawk would be right next to you at all times. 

sometimes, he'd appear. like someone had looked in a mirror and said his name three times. boom, he was there. looming over you like the grim reaper himself, all while you smiled so sweetly it sent Perona spiraling for weeks. 

a touch that lingered longer than it should, words that were usually cut out like a death sentence now softening around the edges just for you. golden eyes swirling in something neither Zoro nor Perona wanted to even begin naming, following your every move. 

it really wasn't even that bad, but somehow it also was at the same time. 

the worst part? Zoro and Perona knew neither of you knew of the unintentional affection. weeks were spent like this. agony anytime Mihawk corrected your form just the slightest in training, Perona whining loudly next to Zoro in distain because Kuraigana was not meant to be contaminated by a sappy love clearly growing between you and Mihawk. no matter how little the two of you even acknowledged the obvious fact. 

grunts of disgust coming from Zoro any time Mihawk would tenderly offer you a glass of ice cold water you didn't even ask for. hell, Zoro was the one sweating his skin off over here, where the hell was his water at? he was dehydrated, sweaty, and icked out more than he ever thought possible. not even Sanji could warrant such a feeling, and that was saying something alright. cries of embarrassment when you would hum happily after tasting a sip of Mihawk's cooking as if he, out of everyone in the world, needed a second opinion on his cooking. sighs passing when you would blink like you were the one confused. completely oblivious to the fact that you two practically acted like you were bound by marriage. that's what this shit show was. a crude display of two people dramatically in love despite never touching the thought with a ten foot pole.

there was no training, no absence of cute things in the world, that was worse than this. enough was enough. with a steady hand placed over yours, and a looming presence that no longer seemed to affect you in the slightest; Zoro and Perona stared wide eyed to the sight in the kitchen. she gave out another whine, hands twitching and ghosts shaking their head to voice her discomfort to seeing two people so clearly smitten for each other. "they're at it again," she mumbled, crossing her arms and pouting as she turned her head.

"do not let your blade waver." you gave a soft giggle from your spot, making sure to adjust your grip on the knife to heed Mihawk's words. "your enemies will gain the upper hand quickly." he was standing behind you, letting you help with dinner despite always refusing any time you had asked before. this time, he merely nodded, setting his newsletter down before guiding you to your station. you playfully rolled your eyes, turning to the man who was watching your every move. so you wouldn't mess up, you told yourself. "my enemies, are vegetables." you teased back, and to Zoro's horror, he caught the faintest twitch of Mihawk's lips. not a smile, no, never a smile; but even the marimo could tell Mihawk was amused to your words. his mouth slacked open from the dinner table, a sound close to a gag coming out and Perona flinched in the seat beside him. 

"see what i mean?!" she hissed out lowly, turning her head slowly in preparation for the interaction between you and Mihawk. sure, it wasn't anything scandalous. Dracule Mihawk did not seem like the type to even think of anything other than Yoru, no offense. but still, there was definitely something amiss here, something that sent a chill through any sane person's body. this was not normal. 

not for Kuraigana, not for the love of anything in this world, and certainly not for a man named Dracule Mihawk.

Mihawk was close enough to smell, breaths passing out so steadily and quiet it was like he didn't even need to retain oxygen like the rest of you. the thought made another soft laugh nestle its way out, grinning to the half sliced vegetables you promised to prepare for dinner. Mihawk shook his head, a warm touch over your hand as he adjusted your grip on the knife himself. the world paused. Perona and Zoro gave a strangled cry like they had been stabbed. and outside, a bird most definitely crowed.

but you? you smiled, letting him hold your hand over the blade. keeping your hand steadier than you had before, and before you could even blink, Mihawk helped you prep dinner. Zoro's eyes narrowed from his seat, leaning in as if he couldn't decipher if what was in front of him was real, or some chilling nightmare not even he was crazy enough to conjure up.

there was a long stretch of silence, saved for the sound of the knife cutting through the vegetables and fresh herbs you had grown in Mihawk's garden. Zoro swallowed the lump in his throat, eye twitching as he slowly turned to the pink haired girl whose expression matched him. there was no way you two were that oblivious, right?

wrong.

his words were soft in your ears, as hard as stone but to you, as soft as the clouds above. "an enemy is an enemy. no matter the form they may come in." what a cryptic message to receive, but one Zoro wasted no time rolling his eyes at and Perona mimicking in distain.

"an enemy is an enemy. no matter the form they may come in." Perona grit out, hand open and shutting as if mimicking a hand puppet. she sneered, pout on her lips to the clear affection swirling around you two in the sight of hearts popping open between you two. "this is gross."

Zoro nodded, stiffly and with a haunted look on his face. "im not even hungry anymore." 

"they don't even realize it!" she barked out, slamming her hands on the table before her. the plates rattled, silverware clacking against the other as you jumped from the noise. to make matters worse, Mihawk had held your shoulder, tucking you behind him in a too-sweet protective manner that only made Perona's teeth rot. 

this? this was too sweet for her liking. and the fact that you two were so oblivious to it all was so not cute at all. 

you blinked, blade laying meekly against the cutting board. "you two are so dense, it hurts!" Perona yelled out, an accusing finger pointed directly at you and Mihawk. steadily, the greatest swordman raised a deliberate brow. Zoro merely nodded, "save us the sight and go make out on your own time." you flinched to that, heart leaping in your chest and face burning to his words. your hands fell to your sides, lips parted and a simple wheeze coming from you at the demand. 

what. the. hell.

Perona was quick to interject, putting in her own two cents because this was painful to watch at this point. "we're hungry!" the ghosts floating around her quickly moved in sync, grasping onto one another in pairs. "and you two are taking your sweet time, and making goo-goo eyes at each other!" right on cue, each pair began giggled into each other, as if reenacting what a couple would look like.

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at the two, flickering to them both before studying your own reaction. you never even realized that was the case? and firstly, you wouldn't even consider it goo-goo eyes, that's not what that was? you and Mihawk were merely cooking together. with his hand on yours and helping you cut vegetables and being close enough to let his scent wrap around you. sure, you giggled at him, but that's just because Mihawk really was funny. you didn't have fault in that, he was just a person you loved speaking to. 

and spending time with. and sure, he was attractive, but that didn't mean you were going out of your way to put on some kind of romance show for them. this was totally normal, okay. just because you loved the way his eyes studied you, and the steadiness he practically radiated from him, did not mean you two were being all lovey dovey. no matter how much you, maybe, sort of missed his hand on yours.

your breath hitched. it totally was goo-goo eyes.

as steady as he came, and as firm as his strength and resolve, Mihawk cut the eerie silence surrounding you four. "this is our time." you let out a noise of surprise from behind it, not that Mihawk paid it any mine of course. no, you already knew he somehow knew that was the reaction that would come from you. Zoro stood quickly, head snapping to you as if urging you to say it isn't so. 

Perona? the poor girl had let a scream loud enough to make the chandelier overhead tremble from the note coming from her throat. before you could explain, or even calm them down, Mihawk gave a quick huff as if nothing happened. 

you froze as he looked at you, your eyes meeting his in a familiarness that made your heart spin stupidly. he moved to the cutting board; a space open enough that he saved just for you. and just like that, with two idiots screaming about Mihawk 'admitting it' without actually saying anything, you went back to helping cook dinner with him. hand above yours, and a shift between your usual dynamic with the man you swore you didn't make goo-goo eyes with.

[matsookawa]

Title: Be Safe

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Summary: Mihawk being soft with his wife

Word count: 526

Based on: Person A giving Person B a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

Her husband rummaging through their ensuite bathroom is what wakes Y/N up. Although slightly bitter at first, the fog of sleep clears and she remembers the reason for the constant opening and closing of drawers and cabinets. She recalls a mission Mihawk mentioned a few nights ago during dinner. It’s a particularly dangerous one, however Y/N didn’t retain any of the details as she has full faith in her spouse to return safely.

She rolls over to face the bathroom doorway just as Mihawk is turning out the light. Seeing his lover awake, his face softens. “I was trying not to wake you. It’s still early.” Y/N knows he’s right. The sun hasn’t even come out yet and the only source of light is the moon streaming through their window and illuminating her figure on the bed. She releases a yawn and drapes her arm across the edge of the bed, as if reaching for him. “I would be more angry had I not been able to see you off.” The corner of Mihawk’s lip lifted. A movement so minute and yet Y/N is so in tune with him, it makes the corners of hers do the same.

The man kneels at her bedside and looks at her. Oh, how she wishes he could delay his leave and stay in bed with her for days. The way he takes her hand in his more calloused one makes her heart beat faster in her chest. It rams against her ribcage as if screaming for his own heart to stay with it. His fingers dance along her hand before they intertwine with hers and give one hard squeeze. “It’s too cold to get out of bed. I will send word to you as soon as I reach the island.” His wife appreciates the reassuring words, trusting them completely. “Please be safe. I’m not taking care of Perona and Zoro alone.” Mihawk sighs through his nose. “Truly a terrible fate.” Y/N giggles and Mihawk’s smile widens. “Go back to sleep, my heart. I’ll be back before you know it.” His wife’s eyes begin to grow heavy as she nods slowly. “Bring back some of those pastries I like or you’re not being let in.” Her voice is becoming mumbles and Mihawk knows it’s time to let her sleep.

He stands and waits for her to turn over before pulling the blankets up to her shoulders. He bends over her, supporting himself with one hand on the bed. “Duly noted.” Y/N, almost completely asleep, turns her head to peer up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Dracule?” she whispers. “Yes, my love.” Her breathing evens out and he almost thinks she’s asleep. “I love you.” The great warlord, a man who’s stricken fear into an immeasurable amount of people, who has committed countless murders, leans down and places the softest of kisses on her temple. He whispers against her skin and Y/N barely registers it before he gives her hand one last squeeze, picks up his bags, and silently walks out of their room towards the front door of their estate.

“And I, you.”

[moldychefboyardeecan]

The Tail

a/n: i got bored and wrote this lil silly baby! 

vampire!mihawk x werewolf!shanks

summary: canines have always had a reaction to sound, especially music. when his husband plays the piano, a certain trait of his comes along to play along to the beat. well… as musically inclined to the beat as shanks can be.

The living room of Kuraigana manor was one of the places Mihawk liked keeping meticulously warm. The grand piano—a gift from several centuries ago, carved from beautiful rosewood, designs of inlaid fruitwood surrounding a parquetry checkerboard pattern—sat in the corner of the room, near the moonlit window, bathed in the soft glow of the wall-mounted candelabras.

Mihawk’s slender, pale fingers move gracefully over the keys, Beethoven’s Pathetique filling the air. His eyes were closed, his posture perfect, completely lost in the music, a piece he played as a kid. 

Behind him, draped over the silk brocade & damask couch like a discarded rug, was his husband.

The werewolf was in his human form, though, ‘human’ was a stretch when he was this deeply relaxed. Shanks was wearing his usual torn trousers and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, littered with soft, silvery scars that gleamed in the moonlight. He had his one arm slung over his eyes, entirely at peace. 

But it was the phantom traits—the ones he had always suppressed out of habit—that truly gave away his blissful state.

Two large, triangular red wolf ears poked through his messy crimson hair, twitching instinctively to the rise and fall of the sonata, catching the delicate nuances of the music. Trailing off the edge of the silk brocade and damask couch was a massive, incredibly fluffy red tail.

When they had first met—back when Shanks was a snarling beast caught in a silver trap—he had hidden these phantom traits. It wasn't until months later, when they finally began sleeping in the same bed, that Mihawk first noticed them. In the deepest, safest hours of the night, the fluffy ears and heavy tail would slip out, only to swiftly vanish the second Shanks woke up in the morning.

When Mihawk had finally pressed him about it, Shanks had sheepishly admitted that suppressing them was exhausting. Because his sharp fangs and slightly pointed claws were permanent and impossible to hide, keeping the ears and tail tucked away was his clumsy attempt at holding onto his humanity.

But fighting it was a losing battle. Wolf instincts naturally demanded that those traits be set free in the presence of a mate—a physical manifestation of absolute comfort and trust.

Mihawk, of course, had immediately made it clear that his husband never needed to hide any part of himself in their home.

Mihawk’s fingers transitioned to the Adagio cantabile—the second movement. The notes were softer now, sweeter, and infinitely more tender.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The heavy red tail began to beat against the expensive damask upholstery. It wasn’t entirely in rhythm with Beethoven’s masterpiece—Nika, knowing Shanks, it would never be—but it was incredibly enthusiastic, vibrating with a deep, instinctual joy. 

Mihawk paused his playing, his pale hands hovering above the ivory Keyes, listening to his biggest fan applaud with his tail against the sofa. He didn’t turn around, but a faint, small smile touched his lips, softening the usually severe lines of his face.

The thumping stopped almost instantly.

Shanks shifted on the couch, lowering his arm from his eyes to look at the vampire’s broad, velvet-clad back. One of his wolf ears flicked forward inquisitively.

“Why’dya stop?” Shanks asked, a small animalistic whine escaping his lips, his voice still a thick, gravelly rumble, heavy from sleep. “I liked that part.”

“It is difficult to properly execute the emotional gravity of the Pathétique,” Mihawk replied evenly, finally turning on the piano bench to face his husband, “when a certain beast is beating a hole into my antique silk.”

Shanks grinned, a lazy, unapologetic expression that exposed the sharp glint of his elongated canines. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. The massive red tail curled around his waist instinctively, resting comfortably on his lap like a fluffy blanket.

”Can’t help it,” Shanks grinned. “You play beautiful music, Hawky. Makes the wolf happy. Makes me happy.”

You have no appreciation for the technical skill required for this piece," Mihawk pointed out, crossing one long leg over the other. "You are simply reacting to the vibrations."

"I'm reacting to you," Shanks corrected smoothly. He leaned forward, his silver-gold eyes entirely focused, catching the soft light of the candelabras. "You look beautiful when you play. All serious and lost in your own head. It's a good look."

Thump-thump-thump.

The tail started up again, beating happily against his own thigh, completely betraying how pleased Shanks was with his own compliment.

Mihawk stared at the wagging appendage, and then up at Shanks' entirely earnest, lovesick face. A terrible, brilliant idea formed in the ancient vampire's mind.

"Is that so?" Mihawk asked softly. His voice dropped an octave, slipping effortlessly into that smooth, hypnotic cadence that vampires usually reserved for luring prey into the dark.

Shanks’ ears perked up straight, the red fur bristling slightly at the sudden, magnetic shift in his mate's tone. "Yeah."

"You are very easily pleased, Red," Mihawk murmured. He stood up from the rosewood bench, his dark clothes absorbing the moonlight as he began a slow, deliberate glide across the room. He didn't break eye contact. "But I suppose that is one of your more charming qualities. Your absolute, unwavering devotion."

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

The tail’s rhythm frantically increased.

Shanks swallowed hard, his posture stiffening slightly as Mihawk glided closer, stopping right between Shanks' spread knees. "Hawk..."

Mihawk reached out, his cold, elegant fingers gently tracing the line of Shanks’ jaw. The werewolf immediately leaned into the icy touch, a soft, involuntary rumble starting deep in his chest.

"You are a remarkably handsome creature, you know," Mihawk whispered, his thumb brushing over the silvery scars on Shanks’ face. "Even when you are shedding on my upholstery."

The tail was now a blur of red fur, beating furiously against the side of the couch. Whap-whap-whap-whap.

“Yeah?” Shanks breathed, his voice rougher now, entirely captivated.

Mihawk's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile—something far more dangerous. "Hmm. Though I wonder..." He leaned down, his breath ghosting over Shanks' ear, cool against the warm fur. "...just how much control you truly have when you're like this."

The tail went absolutely wild, thumping so hard against the couch that the frame creaked in protest.

"Hawk—" Shanks tried to sound indignant, but it came out as more of a whimper. His free hand came up to grip Mihawk's velvet sleeve. "You're—you're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" Mihawk asked, all false innocence. He traced one elegant finger along the edge of Shanks' fluffy red ear, watching it twitch violently under his touch. "I am simply appreciating my husband."

The rumble in Shanks' chest grew louder, somewhere between a purr and a growl. His pupils were dilated, and the tail had now progressed to full-body wagging, Shanks' entire torso swaying with the force of it.

"Bastard," Shanks accused, but there was no heat in it—only breathless affection. "Beautiful, cruel bastard."

Mihawk hummed, satisfied. He straightened up, withdrawing his touch entirely. "Well. If I am such a bastard, perhaps I should return to my piano—"

"No."

Shanks' hand shot out, catching Mihawk's wrist with his one arm. The werewolf looked up at him with those wide, golden-silver eyes, ears flat against his head in the most pitiful expression of betrayal.

The tail had stopped completely, drooping sadly over the edge of the couch.

Mihawk raised one perfect eyebrow. "No?"

"You can't just—" Shanks gestured helplessly with his occupied hand, still gripping Mihawk's wrist. "You can't get me all worked up and then just leave, you heartless vampire."

"Heartless?" Mihawk repeated, his voice soft with amusement. "My heart beats perfectly well when I feed, thank you."

"Mihawk—"

The vampire relented, a genuine smile finally breaking through his carefully maintained composure. He settled himself onto the couch beside Shanks, allowing himself to be immediately pulled into his husband's warmth. The werewolf wrapped his arm around Mihawk's waist, burying his face against the vampire's neck.

Almost instantly, the tail resumed its happy thumping.

"You," Shanks mumbled against cool skin, "are the worst."

"And yet," Mihawk murmured, running his fingers through crimson hair, carefully scratching behind one soft wolf ear, "your tail suggests otherwise."

The thumping intensified.

Shanks groaned. "Traitor."

Mihawk's quiet laughter was a rare, precious sound in the moonlit room—softer than any sonata, sweeter than any symphony. Outside, the wind howled through the ruins of Kuraigana, but inside their manor, a vampire and his wolf were entirely content.

The tail kept wagging.

It always did.

[impel-clown]

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

Buggy and Crocodile accidentally wake Mihawk and must face the consequences.