Dracule Mihawk - Tumblr Posts

also doodled this for buggy's birthday, i think its clear why i never properly finished it

this was their marriage proposal

(hi pls reblog this instead of liking because likes kinda do nothing thank you)

Seraphim Mihawk anybody?

Just recently got caught up on the One Piece anime- and by recently I mean last night at like 10pm- and when I saw Seraphim Boa and Mihawk I had to draw Mihawk, he's always been a fav of mine and honestly his Seraphim version is adorable.

Had to sketch him from this opening... I'm totally normal about him. 100%

Decided to add the other two, it's messy, but ngl I love it

My faves

Also fun fact despite these three being my favorites from their respective shows, the only one I've drawn before is Mihawk, Shikamaru and Toji I've never attempted and ngl- I love how they turned out

Ooooh here we go again

With that dumb parrot story

I did a art and made a banner

I'm too tired to do more words, so have a chapter

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x AFAB!Marine!Reader

Ch. 6 of something there's gonna be at least two more chapters

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. You have managed to gain the trust of the swordsman in a shorter period of time than you expected, but at what cost...?

Previous Chapter, First Chapter

No Trigger Warnings in this chapter. Possible future Trigger Warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count: 4,408

Taglist: @i-am-vita, @browneyedhufflepuff, @h0n3y-l3m0n05, @littleleelee, @nerium-lil, @schanwow, @dragon-bubs , @animefreak818 holySHIT guys I didn't realize there were so many of you I'm not used to this thank you so much??

The longer that no word came of your status, the more Bogard found himself growing increasingly concerned for your well-being. Little as he enjoyed it the fact, he had grown somewhat fond of your during your brief stint of training at Marineford, having been the one forced to oversee the vast majority of it.

“You know a group of parrots is referred to as a pandemonium?”

You had certainly made an impression on Garp, if nothing else. Bogard rolled his eyes toward the vice admiral, who took no notice of his wry expression—he was too busy flipping through a book you had left behind on exotic birds, leaned back behind his desk with a cigar clutched between his thumb and index finger.

“I can hardly begin to imagine why,” said Bogard dryly, leaning his shoulder into the wall next to the desk and crossing his arms. “Considering a change in career, vice admiral?”

Garp gave a snort of laughter, taking a couple puffs from the cigar. “Gotta retire eventually, don’t I?”

Bogard let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. For the last week he had been stuck with the man in a small office with no purpose except to process new reports on Dracule “Hawk-Eye” Mihawk. World’s Strongest Swordsman. Marine Slayer. The elusive pirate’s epithets were growing nearly as innumerable as reports on his activity weren’t, and it grew more tiresome with every passing day. It almost felt as if they were being punished for suggesting this absurd operation in the first place.

“Huh. Lifespan of over a hundred years in captivity. Maybe not the best retirement option, then…”

“Are you capable of taking anything seriously?” said Bogard wearily as Garp shut the book and dropped it heavily on his desk. Garp shrugged a shoulder, clamping the cigar between his teeth and reclining further back in his chair.

“Just enjoying the downtime while we still have it,” he said, tucking his hands behind his neck and propping his boots up on the desk. “Reports should start coming in any day now.”

“So you’ve been saying for the past seven days,” said Bogard, shoving away from the wall. Garp just shrugged a shoulder again, watching Bogard pace across the office in front of the desk. “Not the least bit worried that we’ve sent somewhat promising cadet off to die for no reason.”

“Nope.” Bogard stopped at the corner of the desk, looking back at him and raising an eyebrow. Garp shifted in his chair, settling back more comfortably, his untroubled sigh sending another stab of irritation straight through Bogard’s skull. “She’ll be fine.”

Same as always—Garp rarely took anything seriously, and his faith in the abilities of anyone he took on as a protege remained ever unshakable. He had spent the past week with an air as if he were practically on vacation, and right now was no different. Bogard finally took a seat in the chair across from his, falling into it heavily and strumming his fingers on the armrest, watching in increasing frustration as Garp began snoring. He rolled his eyes and picked up the discarded book from the desk, flipping through it idly.

The vice admiral’s snoring grew steadily louder in the confines of the tiny office, and as Bogard was considering chucking the book directly at his head, the unthinkable happened.

The den den mushi that had been sitting silently on the desk for the past week began to tone dully.

Garp cracked an eye open in an instant, and both men simply stared at it for a long moment—then Garp gave an amused snort, stretching and rubbing at his eyes.

“You do the honors,” he said, nodding at it. “Since you’re so concerned about the kid.”

Bogard shot a glare in his direction, but didn’t waste any more time in picking up the receiver, reclining slowly back into the chair as he pulled it to his ear.

“Rear Admiral Bogard, speaking.”

“Sir. This—this is the office taking reports on—”

“Dracule Mihawk, yes,” he said in a clipped tone. “Your report.”

“He was sighted recently in the port city of Acacia.” Bogard gave brief hum in acknowledgment. “In Dressrosa—”

“I’m quite aware of where Acacia is located,” he said. “Are there any further details worth mentioning?”

“It appears he made port to gather supplies. No casualties, he was gone by the time the reports reached us. And, uh...well…” Bogard gave an impatient sigh at the hesitation of the Marine at the other end of the line. “It’s...well, he wasn’t exactly alone? Our reports say he had a gray bird sitting on his hat.”

He slowly lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Garp. “A gray bird on his hat,” said Bogard, and rolled his eyes at Garp’s bark of laughter. “Is that all?”

“Well, he didn’t really cause any problems. Gave a pet store owner a pretty good fright, but she insists he paid for everything.”

A—pet store—” He shoved his hand over the receiver to shush Garp as the vice admiral burst into hearty laughter, to absolutely no avail. He lowered his hand again, shaking his head. “Keep her on your radar. Myself and Vice Admiral Garp will be en route soon to take her statement.”

“Yes, sir—”

He dropped the receiver back onto the snail on the desk, hanging up the call, strumming his fingers against his knee as he waited for Garp to get a hold of himself.

“Straight to a pet store,” he chuckled, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “I’d say the girl’s already outdone herself.”

“So it would seem,” said Bogard stiffly. He leaned into the arm of his chair, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as Garp stood, picking up his coat from the back of his own chair.

“On your feet, man. Looks like we’re bound for Dressrosa.”

“Indeed it does,” agreed Bogard, pulling himself to his feet. It was a marked relief to know that the operation seemed to be going according to plan, of course—even if it meant he would have to endure Garp’s gloating for the foreseeable future.

###

Amid your brief outing to gather supplies, you had learned three things about Dracule Mihawk—none of which, unfortunately, would help further your mission.

The first was that he did his best to avoid direct confrontation with Marines in most circumstances, as they did him. The moment he had been sighted by a pair of cadets on patrol near the docks of Acacia, they had gone white and fled immediately in the direction of their base. He had done little more than roll his eyes at the sight, and assure you as you perched on the brim of his hat that there should be no concern of a fight. You had already learned during your training that most of his hostility toward Marines had been a result of him being attacked, so it was no surprise. The information might be important—it would, if nothing else, mean he might be more likely to accept the offer of Warlord status, should that come to pass.

Secondly, you had learned that he was quite the charmer. The owner of the small pet store he had entered with you had almost immediately gone into a panic at the mere sight of him, but the swordsman had easily assuaged her worries that was merely there as a customer in need of advice on how to handle caring for a bird. Within less than ten minutes, she had been happy to recommend him a couple books on the subject, and even close the shop long enough to walk to the docks as a willing hostage to ensure the Marines wouldn’t interfere with his departure.

Third, you had discovered he had all but completely trained the strange race of intelligent primates that resided on Kuraigana Island to do his bidding—well enough that they actually listened when he commanded them to carry the supplies he had returned with back to the castle. You couldn’t be sure whether he had trained them to handle weapons himself; but you were certain from the way they listened to his commands, and from the very manner in which they looked at him, tat they viewed him with equal parts fear and respect.

That, perhaps, was the best information you had gained. The beasts, which he referred to as humandrills, would attack anyone but him on sight, and they were formidable enough in strength and intelligence that their presence alone made the island an impenetrable fortress. That explained well enough why almost no one that had entered Kuraigana Island had lived to tell their tale.

You shifted your post to his shoulder in one of the larger studies in the sprawling castle, when he removed his hat and reclined back onto a daybed built into the window, flipping through a book he had bought from the shop in Acacia.

“‘Over one hundred years in captivity,’” he read aloud, sighing to himself. “Our friend at the shop said you didn’t seem much older than twenty. I suppose I’ll be stuck with you a while, won’t I?” You tilted your head when he glanced over at you, and he gave a small scoff, rolling his eyes back over to the book propped open against his knee. “Talking to a damned bird…” he mumbled to himself as he flipped a page. “Perhaps I am as mad as the rumors claim.”

There were a few other bits of information you had gleaned about Mihawk in the week you had spent posing as his feathery companion. You knew he spent the vast majority of his days either training, maintaining his sword, reading, or sleeping.

You knew that he enjoyed his solitude—and despite that, he didn’t seem to consider your presence as any imposition upon it.

You knew, whether he realized it or not, that he had a soft spot for animals. His attitude toward the humandrills was evidence enough of that, given he could have easily wiped them off of Kuraigana Island had he wanted to. He had instead chosen to live in peace with them. While it was clear they feared him, that he had definitely established his dominance among them at some point, he still spoke to them with a sort of respect that they seemed to emulate. In the same way, he had a tendency to talk to you as if you were able to understand him, despite his belief that you were just a parrot.

And you knew, having grown up on a reservation for exotic birds, that people who were kind to animals tended to be inherently good.

You had learned, little as you wanted to admit it, that he was kind.

He could be impatient, he could be downright terrifying and deadly if he wanted or needed to be—but the vast majority of the time, he desired nothing more than the peace and quiet to do as he pleased. It made perfect sense why he had decided to set up base on this gloomy little island. It was a place where no one could bother him, where he could spend his time sipping wine and deciding his next course of action without any interruption.

You found yourself growing just as comfortable with the silence and solitude as the days dragged on. As your two month period of observation drew closer and closer to its end, you honestly found yourself dreading it. While you had managed to successfully embed yourself into Mihawk’s daily routine, you had failed to find anything at all that the Marines might consider an actual weakness on his part.

Sure, he seemed to respect the humandrills, but you doubted he would be too concerned at anyone attempting taking them hostage—they could handle themselves

Yes, he valued his solitude, but there wasn’t much that could impede upon that.

There was only one thing you could honestly think of that he might consider a weakness, and you were loathe to admit to it yourself.

As you perched at the footboard of his bed, tucking your beak down into your feathers and pretending to drift off to sleep, you knew that you might be his only weakness.

You knew that every night for nearly two months, he had gone to sleep with you perching mere inches away from him, nonethewiser that he had an enemy in his midst, that you were tracking and noting his every move, that his only loyal companion was spying on him.

You lifted your head from your wing, watching him sleep soundly with a hand tucked behind his neck, knowing that within a few days you would have to leave.

Knowing yourself how much it hurt to lose a beloved pet.

How much it might hurt him—

No. No, you couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t consider it. You were a marine, you had a mission to follow through on, one that you were nearly finished with.

You had to figure out what to do. If you kept overthinking it you were bound to jeopardize everything. The thought of lying to Garp and Bogard made your stomach twist, but...so did the alternative. To tell them that you may have inadvertently become the only potential weakness of the pirate you were supposed to be gathering intelligence on sounded laughable even in your own head, even if it was the truth. The stress had made it nearly impossible to sleep for days, almost impossible to eat.

You knew you were only supposed to make outside contact if your life was in immediate danger, but if you continued on your current path you were bound to lose focus and slip up, and then your life would be in danger. The only den den mushi that you knew to be in the expansive castle was situated in the large study one floor down in the tower from the bedroom, far enough away that you wouldn’t disturb the sleeping swordsman as long as you kept your voice down….

You had to. You had to make the call now. Keeping your eyes glued to Mihawk, stretched across the bed with a hand tucked behind his neck, the covers twisted and only half draped across his midsection and legs, breathing deeply, you fluttered your wings a few times.

Gave a small whistle.

He didn’t so much as twitch in his sleep.

Drawing up your resolve, you hopped down from the ornate footboard of the bed, spreading your wings out to glide across to the open door of the bedroom, landing softly on the stone floor just outside. You crept slowly, silently along the edge of the wall, your heart racing as you made your way down the spiraling stairs.

As you edged the cracked door a bit further open with your beak, just enough that you could slip through but not enough to make the old hinges creak.

Shifting out of your devil fruit form after so long felt strange. The study was still enormous, practically a small library, but it seemed a great deal smaller to you as you glanced around at it now. The effect was almost dizzying as you lifted the receiver from the den den mushi and quickly turned the dial on the device before you could change your mind and return to the safety of the bedroom.

You nearly jumped when your call was answered in less than a single ring.

“Rear Admiral Bogard. This had best be important.”

You swallowed, glancing toward the grandfather clock in the corner of the darkened room, illuminated only by the silvery light of the half-moon that drifted through the window behind the desk. It was nearly four in the morning, and he sounded equal parts tired and irate.

“I—I...ah…”

Silence met you as you struggled to form a sentence, to articulate even in your own addled mind exactly why you were doing this.

Bogard saved you the trouble of finishing your thought.

“Are you compromised?” His voice became curt in an instant, far more awake and aware than his initial greeting.

“N...not exactly. Not yet. I…” You swallowed, closing your eyes, and forced yourself to speak quickly, quietly. “He has no weaknesses. The only chance of reducing the threat he poses to the Marines is by offering him Warlord status.”

Several seconds of silence again, followed by a heavy sigh as you clutched the receiver in a death grip, your eyes glued to the door of the study.

“Garp’s going to be thrilled to hear that,” he grumbled, and you gave a quiet hum of agreement to his sarcasm. “You have four days left, are you certain—”

“There’s no point continuing,” you said. “There aren’t any—”

“None,” he said. “None at all?”

“No, there aren’t,” you insisted. “I either have to make the offer or I leave empty-handed. That’s all there is to it.”

“You have your orders, cadet. Four more days, then you make your way to the nearest evacuation point. After—”

“I have to make the offer first. He’ll be suspicious if I disappear and return,” you said. You swallowed as he grew silent again. “He doesn’t let me out of his sight. I made sure he was sleeping before I left to make this call. If any ships show up here he’ll just cut them in half. If anyone makes it onto the island they’ll have to get through the humandrills—”

“Humandrills?”

“The—apes, they sort of act as a natural security system, it’s…” You sighed yourself, running a hand back through your hair. “This was always going to be one potential outcome. I was well aware my life could be danger when I accepted the mission. At the very least I can get the offer across before being killed and potentially avoid the need for anyone else to die.”

Silence.

The silence was worse than being told no, than being scolded for going against orders.

The silence made the pounding of your heart even more deafening in your ears than it already was.

“I’ll inform Garp immediately,” he said finally. “Find some way to make the offer that will allow you to escape quickly should the need arise, and do so within the next four days. If you don’t make contact again before then, or if you aren’t at the evacuation point by the end of the designated day, we are prepared to employ a Buster Call—”

“That—won’t be necessary,” you said immediately, your stomach clenching harder than ever. The thought of an entire armada of Marine ships surrounding the island, blasting everything upon it into oblivion, wasn’t a welcome thought at all. The grizzly scar on your right arm served as a reminder of how dangerous the humandrills could be, how violent the beasts were by nature, but you couldn’t stand the thought of being the reason for an entire species being wiped out. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“I suppose we’ll have to trust your judgment on the matter for now,” Bogard said wearily. “You’ve had more contact with Dracule Mihawk over the two months than anyone in our ranks has had over the last decade.” You swallowed, your throat gone dry as you waited for him to continue. “Four days. Make the offer.” Another labored sigh. “And stay safe, cadet.”

“Yes, sir.”

You swallowed again as you quietly hung up the receiver, not willing to clear your throat for the potential of the sound echoing down the hall and rousing Mihawk from his sleep.

You hadn’t necessarily lied. The idea that you could be a weakness was only an idea, not a concrete fact. It was honestly laughable. He had been seen with you in public, after all. He was more than intelligent enough to know that the Marines were likely well aware of his new feathery companion. If he considered you a liability he wouldn’t have kept you around to begin with.

You kept telling yourself this as you shifted back into your devil fruit form and crept silently back into the bedroom on the next floor up, as you climbed the woodwork at the foot of the bed and perched there again.

He had rolled onto his side in his sleep, but otherwise showed no signs of having stirred in your brief absence. You did the only thing you could—you tucked your head back beneath your wing and shut your eyes, trying to slow your heart and still your mind enough to sink into an uneasy sleep.

You had evidently fallen asleep at some point, for when you lifted your head again and fluttered your wings, you found yourself squinting against the sunlight pouring in through the windows in the bedroom, the bed empty and neatly made. The source of the rustling that had stirred you awake became evident when you turned your head to see Mihawk adjusting a loose, ruffled white shirt over his shoulders and pushing the wardrobe shut.

He jolted a bit when you mimed a loud yawn, looking back over his shoulder as you stretched your wings out and ruffled your feathers.

“Wind in your sails,” you squawked out in greeting. He huffed out a sigh, already holding out his arm as you flew the short distance between him and the foot of the bed, your talons wrapping around his forearm.

“Yes, good morning,” he said dryly. He had been up for at least a bit longer than you, you noted as he lifted a mug of coffee from the end table next to the bedroom door and took a sip from it. He shook his arm a bit, a silent indication for you to move to his shoulder, and you quickly obliged the silent request. “You slept in,” he commented. “It’s nearly noon. Lazy creature.”

And yet he was the one who yawned. He gave a small scoff when you imitated the sound as he headed out of the bedroom and down the spiraling stairs of the tower at the eastern side of the castle.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to talk to you over the course of the day as if you understood him, for him to roll his eyes or chuckle at your repetitive responses. You had frankly grown accustomed to the mindless banter, so used to playing your role that it came naturally. It was for this exact reason that when he left the castle and headed in the direction of the forest without saying a single word to you that you piped out a curious, “Whatcha doooin?”

“I thought we’d go for a little stroll this morning.”

That was unusual.

He usually spent his morning flipping through the newspaper, sipping coffee and making dry comments about the state of current affairs.

He glanced at you when you tilted your head.

“There’s a bit of business at the shore I need to see to,” he went on in explanation, reaching over to scratch at the feathers between your neck and the edge of your wing. “Nothing to get your feathers ruffled over, pretty bird.”

“Pretty bird,” you repeated, leaning your head into the light touch—though your stomach did a somersault at his words. Business at the shore. You doubted Bogard would have gone against his word, but there was every possibility that Garp might have made a different decision. You still kept your composure, kept up your act, crooning out as you nuzzled toward his hand, “Pretty, pretty girl.”

“Yes, yes, pretty girl,” he agreed, rolling his eyes, and the small hint of a smile curving his lips as he patted your head set you a bit more at ease.

You were being paranoid, that was all. There was bound to be a morning here or there that didn’t adhere perfectly to his normal routine. It had nothing to do with you, with your business there.

You spent the brief stroll down the path carved through the dense forest whistling to yourself, occasionally mimicking the sounds of other birds throughout the woods, watching for signs of the humandrills moving through the edge of the trees to track Mihawk’s movements as they so often did when he passed through.

Relief flooded through you as you emerged onto the sandy coastline and saw no sign of even a single ship between the shore and the horizon. Yes, paranoid, you were simply being paranoid, there was nothing at all to worry about—

Nothing to worry about, surely, as he stopped at the edge of the water.

As he reached his and across and abruptly wrapped his hand around your neck, pinning your wings down, and pulled you away from his shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive me, pretty girl, for being overcautious.”

His sharp yellow eyes narrowed as he held you out in front of him, and slowly resumed walking out toward the water.

You weren’t just being paranoid.

“If I’m wrong, I will feel awful about this.”

Your eyes flitted between his and the water below, the gentle tide washing around the ankles of his boots as he crouched down in the shallows.

“But if I’m right…”

You were frozen in terror as he lowered you, his hand tight around your wings to ensure you hand no chance of escaping, toward the water.

As his mouth curled into a small, self-assured smirk, and he plunged you into the shallow depths.

Every ounce of strength left you the moment you touched the foamy brine rolling in over the sand, your body shifting out of your devil fruit form as you lay limp and defenseless and drenched, the waves washing around your head and your shoulders as he tilted his head, lifting his eyebrows as you stared up at him in mounting terror.

He shifted, pinning your legs down against the wet sand with one of his knees, giving a small chuckle. His eyes raked over you, your drenched tank top and cargo pants you had worn to ensure there was no sign of your Marine affiliations in case of emergency.

In case of something like this.

“I suppose we have a lot to discuss.”

You flinched as his hand tightened around your neck and he pulled you up harshly, gritting your teeth as he brought his face mere inches away from yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath brush across your lips.

“Don’t we, pretty girl?”

Previous chapter link and First chapter link again, for your convenience

ANOTHER CHAPTER ALREADY?!

I mean

I dunno what happened

It kinda wrote itself, I had no real hand in this

Please consult with my muses on the subject, I didn't know they were this cracked out tonight

Anyway awaaaay we gggoooooooooo

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x AFAB!Marine!Reader

Ch. 7 of something there's gonna be at least two more chapters

First Chapter link Previous Chapter link

Brief summary of The Story So Far: Your mission, as a Marine and Zoan type devil fruit user (gray parrot), is to gather intel on Dracule Mihawk, a pirate on the Grand Line who has become a thorn in the Marines' side over a relatively short period of time. He's discovered your secret, and your life hangs in the balance of his mercy.

Possible !!Trigger Warnings!! in this chapter!! Largely for imprisonment and psychological turmoil, though not necessarily psychological torture yet. I will say, for readers who are used to my writing characters with a relatively gentle depiction, I likely won't be taking quite as gentle of an approach here. There is some Yandere possessiveness prevalent here that I haven't written much before.

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count: 3,095

Taglist: @i-am-vita @browneyedhufflepuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @littleleelee @nerium-lil @schanwow @dragon-bubs @animefreak818

I'm happy to add anyone that asks. Still flabbergasted that the list is this long.

I forgot to do a music thing last time bc I was so sleepy but I'mma do one this time but IT'S NOT FRATELLIS?? WHO IS EVEN RUNNING THIS BLOG?? SHOULD YOU CALL THE AUTHORITIES??

♫♬The Game- Disturbed♬♫

Tell me, exactly what am I supposed to do, now that I've allowed you to beat me?

Do you think that we could play another game? Maybe I could win this time

Dead, you were dead, he was going to kill you, and all he would have to do to get the job done would be to leave your right there in the shallows and let the tide slowly wash in until you were submerged, drained of strength and helpless.

To tighten his powerful grip around your neck until you ceased gasping for air.

To pull the golden cross from around his neck and plunge the small knife hidden within it into your torso, drag the sharp blade across your neck, watch the light leave your eyes.

So many ways he could kill you, in this very moment.

And yet his hand moved up your neck slowly, his grip unwavering as his fingers wrapped around your jaw instead. He tilted his head the slightest bit as he turned your head to one side, taking in your features with an air of both amusement and vague interest.

“And you were doing so well,” he said lightly, letting out a small sigh as he shook his head. You flinched as the rough pad of his thumb brushed across your cheek. “If you could have just refrained from making that silly little call to your boss last night—aw,” he added, an edge of mockery in his quiet words. “Did you think I was sound asleep the whole time? Poor thing.”

It hadn’t appeared as if he had done more than shift from his back to his side in the time you were gone last night—there had been absolutely no sign that he had gotten out of bed, not a single sound outside the cracked door of the study.

You should have known better.

“Though I must say, I do appreciate the vote of confidence.” Mihawk stood in a swift motion, tightening his grip around your jaw to pull you up with him, drawing a sharp gasp of alarm from you as your feet lifted a few inches from the ground. Still drenched in seawater, you didn’t even have the strength to lift your arms, held up only by his grasp, limp as a ragdoll. “‘No weaknesses.’ I’m almost flattered.”

You swallowed as he brought you closer, lifting his eyebrows a bit, the corner of his mouth curving the smallest bit into an almost imperceptible smirk.

“Provided it wasn’t a lie. You have quite the penchant for fooling others, it seems.” He quirked his brow a bit higher, his eyes darting up and down your limp form before settling back on yours. “Well? Was it a lie?”

“Mm—n-no,” you managed to choke out weakly, your eyes wincing and beginning to burn as his fingertips dug harder into your jaw and cheeks. “No…”

“No?” he repeated lightly. “Now, I’m sure you can do better than that, considering how polite you were with your employer last night. And I’m afraid it’s not them you’re answering to anymore. Try again.”

You swallowed dryly, your eyes flickering down toward his hand. “N—no, sir,” you whimpered.

“Ah, much better. Now, then….” The spark of amusement remained present in his yellow eyes as he rubbed his thumb against your cheek once again. “I suppose we should get you back inside and dried off, yes? I’d hate to see you get sick, pet.”

Your stomach felt as if it had dropped out of your body when he lifted you abruptly and flung you over his shoulder, your consciousness wavering between the complete sapping of your strength from the seawater still drenching your clothes and the state of shock you were left in. You drifted in and out during the trek back to the castle, your muscles limp and useless. You didn’t jolt back to a remotely aware state until he heaved you off and dropped you onto the cold stone floor of an unfamiliar part of the castle.

“I do just hate to have to cage you after all this time,” he said as you gazed around, your eyes squinted against the darkness. Judging from the lack of windows, you were below the ground level—and this was confirmed when he lit a torch along the wall opposite the one you were leaning against. “Nearly two months, it’s been, hasn’t it? Hmm. How the time flies.”

The dim orange light of the flame expanded as he lit another, and you realized he had deposited you in a small, square cell. The stone walls and floor were the same as the rest of the castle, if a great deal dustier, but the heavy iron bars and door made it clear that you were in the dungeon beneath the fortress.

“But, you’ve really left me no choice,” he went on with a soft, disappointed sigh. You could just make out his silhouette against the flickering firelight, the rattle of chains as he dug around in the drawer of a heavy desk just within your line of sight. “At least for now. I can’t have you escaping before we have a proper discussion about…” He lifted a heavy pair of iron shackles, examining them before giving a short nod. “About several things, really.”

He stepped slowly into the cell, his pace one of leisure, and stopped a few feet away from you, looking down at your pitiful form as you leaned back against the stone wall of the cell, struggling to steady your breathing, shivering in your damp clothes. He frowned as he looked you up and down, and gave a nod toward you.

“Off,” he said, his voice low but commanding enough that you jumped slightly, your brow furrowing as you tried to discern his meaning. “Off,” he repeated. “Can’t have you getting sick. We have a great deal to talk about.”

Your clothes. You glanced down at the wet fabric clinging to your skin, your stomach turning—he was telling you to get out of your clothes.

“Oh, modest, are we?” he said dryly, lifting an eyebrow. He took another step forward, crouching in front of you. You flinched back a bit when he reached a hand out and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Two months you’ve spent constantly at my side. I’m certain I’ve changed clothes in your presence more than a handful of times.”

“I...I didn’t...look,” you whimpered out, swallowing, closing your eyes as your face flared with heat.

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “I did find that curious, but you were quite the curious little bird.” You opened your eyes when you heard the chains of the shackles clink lightly, and watched as he stood, rolling his eyes as he turned around, his back to you. “Fine,” he said. “You may keep your undergarments. They’ll dry quickly enough.”

You almost wished that he had just killed you out by the shore. The embarrassment, the utter humiliation of pulling your tank top over your head and letting it fall to the floor with the towering form of the swordsman only a few feet away was enough to make you wish you could drop dead on the spot. You fumbled with your belt buckle, the buttons at the fly of your pants, before kicking them off along with your boots, wrapping your arms around your knees and clenching your eyes shut, trembling from more than just the cold, damp air of the dungeon now.

You heard a rustle of fabric in front of you, and before you could open your eyes you felt the material land in a heap at your feet. You cracked an eye open and frowned at the white heap.

Glanced up at him, your eyes widening as you realized he had removed his flowy, ruffled shirt, his back and shoulders bare as he crossed his arms, still facing the door of the cell.

“Put it on,” he commanded, stepping out of the cell. “And quickly. I pride myself on many things, my dear pet, but patience is not among them.”

You were already picking up the shirt and shrugging it around your shoulders before he finished, fumbling with the buttons with unsteady hands. The shirt was large enough on your much smaller form that it covered you from your shoulders to more than halfway down your thighs, the hem brushing your knees as you tugged it down, staring down at the floor, listening to the chair at the desk scrape across the stone. He set it down in front of you and tossed the shackles down at your feet, taking a seat and crossing an ankle over his knee.

“Those as well,” he said.

The moment your hand touched the shackles, you felt what little strength you had managed to regain begin to drift away from your body all over again. He chuckled when you drew your hand back as if you had been shocked.

“Seastone,” he said. “I salvaged them from the wreckage of a Marine vessel a handful of years ago. Thought they might prove useful one day. Go on.” He nodded down at them as you briefly met his eyes. “Around your ankles. So long as you remain compliant, I will allow you the continued use of your hands. You may need them at some point.”

You didn’t dare ask what that might mean.

You did, however, do as he told you. The seastone shackles felt as if they weighed fifty or more pounds, and it took some effort for you to drag them up even to the height of your ankles and clamp them shut.

“Very good,” he commended, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms, his eyes never leaving you as you slumped back weakly against the walls. “Still such an obedient pet, aren’t you?” Every breath you drew in took a herculean effort, felt as if it might be the last you managed to draw before you passed out from sheer physical exhaustion. “Now, this is a first on my part. I’ve never been one to waste time taking prisoners. You ought to consider yourself privileged. Grateful for my continued hospitality despite your blatant betrayal.”

You swallowed, unable to do anything but give a weak nod.

He gave another small chuckle. “You’ve been trained to handle being the victim of a potential hostage situation,” he commented—it wasn’t a question. He cocked his head slightly to the side. “You’re quite small for a Marine. What rank are you, little bird?”

“Cadet,” you forced out—and, when he lifted an eyebrow, you quickly added, “s—sir.”

“Cadet,” he repeated, leaning back a bit further. “Hm.” He lifted a hand to his chin, his expression thoughtful as he brushed his thumb across his short goatee. “And they saw fit to send you after me.” You nodded again. “Your commanding officers either have a great amount of faith in your potential or they were trying to get rid of you. Which do you think it was?”

“T...they offered me the mission,” you said quietly. “I could have turned it down.”

“Faith in your potential, then,” he said lightly. “What a pity for them Of course, they weren’t wrong,” he went on, lowering his hand down to his knee, strumming his fingers there slowly. “You did play your role well. Well enough to fool that charming pet shop owner in Acacia, even. A veritable expert on the subject. You must have done your homework. Breezed through all your tests with flying colors. I did my own homework, as you know. Amid my reading, I recall mention that wounded or sick pets might show signs of decreased appetite. Interruption of sleep. In extreme cases, potentially isolating themselves from their owners. You see…” He tilted his head once more to meet your eyes, his gaze holding your own with an intensity that made it impossible for you to break the contact. “Had I not woken last night we might not even be having this conversation. Had I not noticed your absence and worried enough to go looking for you.”

Your worry over your mission. Your inability to eat or sleep regularly. Of course he had noticed. You were an idiot to think he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Had I not heard a voice coming from the study below my chambers,” he went on, lowering his voice, “you might have been able to complete your mission without a single hitch. I would have been forced to assume when you left that you had flown off somewhere to die.”

You flinched at that, closing your eyes and lowering your head.

“Oh, now what is this?” He chuckled. “Are we feeling guilty?”

“Yes.” You spoke through gritted teeth—there was no point in lying. You were already compromised, already at his mercy. “I…made the call last night because I…I couldn’t leave with nothing to show for it. Or without…” You swallowed once more, lowering your head to your knees. “I only had four days left. I was expected to slip away unnoticed and rendezvous with my commanding officers at a designated location before returning to Marineford to report on any potential weaknesses of yours I might have discovered.”

“And you claimed you found none,” he continued for you.

You nodded. “But...caring for another living creature is always a potential weakness,” you said quietly.

“Aaah.” You swallowed dryly, clenching your eyes shut tighter as you heard him push the chair back. The whisper of his boots on the stone floor as he took a step forward, the quiet rustle as he crouched down in front of you. “And you were unwilling to list your own presence as a potential weakness. Is that it?” You nodded again, and tensed as he caught your chin in his hand. “And here I’ve already admitted to having worried for the well-being of my pet. You certainly did do a stellar job, didn’t you, my little bird?”

His tone, his touch was almost gentle, despite that edge of persisting amusement at your predicament.

“Open your eyes.”

You obeyed his command once again—though your eyelids fluttered in your growing state of exhaustion brought on by the effects of the seastone shackles wrapped around your ankles, you did your best to maintain eye contact, only vaguely aware of his thumb brushing across your bottom lip as you gazed into his yellow irises.

“I may yet have use for you,” he murmured, his voice still light and amused. “I suppose you are a pretty little thing, if nothing else. And your abilities...well, you managed to fool me, now, didn’t you? Don’t,” he added, his tone sharpening as your eyes began to drift shut, and they shot back open. “There’s one more matter. You spoke of some offer while you were making your call last night. What is it?”

“W...warlord,” you forced out. “The World Government wants to offer pirates they consider too dangerous to combat status as ‘Warlords.’ No more than seven. Bounties expunged in exchange for an agreement to cease hostility against Marines and other World Government officials, and potentially being called upon to assist with other threats.”

“Warlords,” he repeated, letting out a quiet chuckle. “And you’ve been granted permission to extend me this offer?” You gave a small nod, blinking slowly, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Since you’ve reported to your commanding officers that I have no weaknesses they can exploit.” Another nod, and a quiet affirmative hum. “Mm-hmm,” he repeated, smirking. “I suppose it’s worth thinking over. At least until you’ve regained the ability to discuss the subject coherently.”

“Four days.” He lifted his eyebrows at your mumbling, waiting for you to continue. “Need to make contact in four days or they could send a Buster Call.”

“Ah.” His thumb brushed across your cheek, and you found yourself leaning unconsciously toward the warmth of his palm. “So they would sink this entire island into the depths of the ocean with you still on it, would they?” The hum you gave this time was neither affirmative nor dissenting—it was simply in acknowledgment that he had spoken at all, as your lessening coherency made it increasingly difficult to follow his words. “That does sound quite like the Marines. Heaven forbid they should have any loose ends to worry about.”

He expelled a slow sigh, one that might have been of resignation or annoyance, or perhaps some melding of both. Either way, the warmth of his breath across your face made your eyes drift shut, made you fall fully limp against the wall behind you.

You barely registered anything beyond that. Not his light shake at your shoulder in attempt to rouse you, his exasperated sigh as he caught you before you could fall sideways and hit your head against the stone floor.

Not his irritated grumble of, “Troublesome woman,” as he drew one of your hands up to cushion your head against the hard stone floor before he pulled himself to his feet to frown down at you.

To wonder why he hadn’t shoved his way through the door of his study the moment he heard your voice last night and throttled you in that moment.

To wonder why the hell he still had any concern at all for your continued safety and well-being.

You had spent two months, two months deceiving him, abusing his good will, masquerading as a loyal companion when you were nothing more than a dirty little spy.

His hands twitched into fists for a moment as he stared down at you, gritting his teeth. He could end your life right now. It would be only too easy. Crush your throat beneath the heel of his boot. Wrap a hand around your delicate neck until the labored rise and fall of your chest ceased entirely. You had already warned him of the Marines’ potential intent to destroy this island. He could dispose of you and leave on his own before that ever came to pass.

You shifted in your sleep on the cold stone floor, shivering slightly and laying a hand over the toe of one of his boots.

Mihawk swore under his breath, reaching behind him to drag the chair back into place and sit down heavily, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed your slight form below him on the floor covered only by his own shirt.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with you?” he grumbled under his breath, shaking his head, not completely aware himself of how his own gaze softened as he looked down at you. “Useless thing….”

His prisoner.

His pet.

His pretty little bird.

He would be damned if anyone but him were allowed to decide your fate.

First chapter and Previous chapter links again for your convenience

Imagine . . . .

Buggy having better relations with the women in his boyfriends lives then actual said boyfriends. Buggy and Perona trying out cute outfits and accessories cause mister gloom and doom Mihawk only has one taste in fashion. Gossiping about how mean Mihawk can be but also how sweet when he tries. Buggy and Robin where Buggy proudly rants about his innovations in bombs and explosives And shares his mountain of research work with an invested Robin while Croc is just awkwardly there. Buggy and Uta where he's her performance coach. Working on dance moves and teaching to gesture to the back seats. Making sure she's stays hydrated and safe from crazy fans while Shanks watches from the floor seats.

still good when you leave it out in the living room overnight. gets kinda soggy after a while. can be microwaved

Alright sluts, I need some opinions.

I am currently writing a CrocMom au that has gone to far wild and completely out of my control. I have most of the plot surrounding Luffy and Crocodile's backstory and connection figured out, that's not the problem. What IS the problem is that Crocodile is to much of a whore. Crocodile has up to at least five potential love interests that I could throw at him (not including Dragon cause that has to happen for, y'know, conception.)

Buggy, Mihawk, Buggy & Mihawk, Dolflamingo, Shanks, Corozon ECT.

Now, I know some of those options might not make sense, but see, a writers mind is an unending fucking mine field of insanity, and I would be able to make those options work pretty well.

Buggy and Mihawk would most definitely make the most sense, as they are pretty canon in their interactions and I have been itching to write cross-guild anyways.

Shanks? Knowing that Crocodile created basically his kid and also could kill him at any time and is also hooking up with his two ex's? That man is already a skank and has probably dated at least half the one piece verse, this is not far fetched.

Dolflamingo? They are the ones with the most cannon interaction and could make for a very good psychological warfare/angsty fic, but also, Dolflomingo. So like, gross.

And the last and most crackship, rarepair shit I could ever think of. Cora and Crocodile. Now, in my fic, I start with Crocodile on Ohara to involve Olvia and Robin into his cannon universe (This is also trans!Crocodile, so he's a woman right now, but he transitions after Luffy's birth) and so I can give him an excuse to adopt Robin later when she's around like, 11.

So, you have a Crocodile that fits just snuggly enough into the timeline and does not have enough trauma yet (in my universe at the least) and who has already given birth to Luffy and is already slightly regretting leaving him and who has already adopted Robin. I think that there would be a really high possibility that Crocodile would meet Cora and be like "look at this sad, pathetic, wet-cat, clumsy single father. Would be a shame if someone was to just grab it.". Which would then inadvertently save Cora's life, especially if Crocodile helped get the heart fruit and then brought them back to Alabasta.

I also wanna clarify, I don't think Law would see Crocodile as a father figure. It took fuckin forever for him to trust Cora, and that was with sacrifices that spited both hell and high water. I think Crocodile would more be seen as a mentor, especially if Law would still want to get back at Dolflamingo. Cora might try to stop that. Cora would want what's best for his son.

Crocodile? Dramatic-time-to -murder-the second-strongest-pirate-of-all-time bitch? 100% would support.

Also, the possibility of Robin and Law shenanigans kind of gets my goat.

Plus, if you add in Luffy, Ace, and Sabo, it would be chaotic as fuck, and kind of amazing!

As you can tell, I am slightly leaning more to one of these options than the others (totally not just because I want to write a Cora lives au) and I think that Cora is one of the only One Piece men that Crocodile would genuinely consider sticking with because of the way he treats other people and his kids. The possibilities are fucking endless.

Does anyone have any thoughts on this? I would take anything into consideration and I have to decide before I write the Dragon/Revolutionary chapter.

The world problems of a one piece fic writer, man.

X person: And do your ships have patterns?

Me: Obviously n..

This is how I imagine their birthdays going

helping out 🌱

Katana

Zoro x Reader

It's in the same AU of "Thank you" juston a different timeline. Sorry for the

grammatical error. Like said before English is not my first language.

The first time we all met Mihawk I though I heard his name somewhere but couldn’t remember where. I am put out of my though with a big splash in the water. Zoro is swimming to a little board and got in with the help of Ussop and the guys we had found earlier.

He lied on his back as I stare in shock. It wasn’t the blood, the injury or even his tears falling in his green hair. No, what shocked me was, where are his katana ?

I look around, next to Mihawk are some pieces of two of them but no trace of the white one. I turn where Zoro had fell in the water and it was there still going down, his katana.

Without thinking I jump in the water and swim down to grab his katana. I look up and around me. There is almost no light in there. It’s just been 30 seconds so I swim back up to the surface. Nothing has changed up there apart the fact that Mihawk had returned to his own little boat.

I ignore everyone and go to Zoro and the others. The guys had put their hand on his injury to stop the bleeding. Once with them I put the katana next to Zoro and look more closely to his torso.

Ussop, bring us a clothes and some alcohol.

Zozo smiles.

Good idea i'm thirsty.

I knock on his head.

Not to drink you idiot ! The sea is not something clean. Your injury can be infected. So we need to clean it before it get worse.

Luffy screams.

You go first to Nami. While I finish here.

Ussop gave me what I asked before driving the boat in the direction of Nami. leaving our friend here to help the restaurant.

When you finished gave me the bottle, I'll drink what's left.

I stare at zoro dead in the eyes. Open the bottle. And pour it completly on his torso. He screams in pain as the alcohol burn him. While his friend Yosaku make a cartoonesque face.

Once the bottle is empty he take a big breath before screaming again.

Have you lost your mind !? And here I tough that Luffy was the crazy one.

I give him a mischievous smile and start to cleaning the mess.

I told you. This is for cleaning not drinking. I'll start to think you are an alcoholic.

He mumble something and I laugh. He turn his head and stare at his katana.

I could have get it back myself.

If it's how you say thank you then you're welcome. And no, in your state you couldn't have, plus i'm a really good swimmer.

Some time later Yosaku and I have finished our work on Zoro. I sit on the floor more comfortably and look ahead of me.

That's then I remembered. Mihawk. I heard Shanks speak about him when I was a kid, they're friends. I face palm myself in my head.

sleeping separately after an argument pt. 2

SFW

characters: mihawk, crocodile, and buggy x fem! reader summary: how cross guild would react to you sleeping alone after an argument CW: mainly fluff, slight angst others: not proofread, lowercase intended, and pictures found on pinterest

—————

Dracula Mihawk

mihawk is known for his stoic and composed demeanor. however, an argument that leads to you sleeping in the guest bedroom would shake his calm exterior. mihawk values control and precision, not just on the battlefield but also in his personal life. The argument would leave him feeling a sense of imbalance, disrupting the harmony he strives to maintain.

initially, he would analyze the argument with the same meticulousness he applies to his swordsmanship. he would replay the conversation, seeking to understand your perspective and where he might have gone wrong. he would be restless and his castle, usually a sanctuary of peace, would start to feel unusually empty and cold.

his conclusion? being right wasn't worth you being upset and distant with him. especially not when it meant sleeping alone.

"dear?" his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he enters the room.

"I would save this for the morning, but that would not sleeping in your arms tonight," he says, kneeling beside the bed and lifting you up bridal style. his actions catching you by surprise as you subconsciously wrap your arms around his neck for support.

"you can tear me a new one in the morning," he jokes (something he rarely did), before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead as he made his way back to your shared room.

Sir Crocodile

crocodile would initially react to an argument and subsequent separation with a sense of indifference. or at least that's how it looks on the surface. the argument would leave him brooding as he is not one to easily admit fault, and his pride would make it difficult for him to do so immediately.

he would spend the first half of the night in his office, surrounded by the trappings of his power, telling himself that you'd get over it soon.

as the night wore on, your lack of presence would make him realize that you weren't going to get over it soon. and by this point, he has had enough. he would make his way to the guest bedroom. without even bothering to knock, he would burst through the door, staring down your curled-up form. a pang of guilt would run down his spine as he looked at you.

"when are you coming to bed?" his voice rough, a complete contrast to the worry in his eyes and the guilt that he felt. he already knew the answer, so when you don't respond he would just lift you up, throwing you over his shoulder before landing a firm slap on your ass.

"you're mad? fine, be mad, but be mad in our room," he says sternly as he walks back to your shared room.

Buggy the Clown

buggy with his flamboyant and often comical personality would react to an argument with you more dramatically. the idea of you sleeping separately would initially infuriate him causing his pride and insecurities to flare up.

he would spend the initial moments of the separation grumbling and throwing a minor tantrum to anyone who could listen, convinced that he was right (he wasn't). however, as the night wore on, his anger would give way to the loneliness and regret he felt.

he would pace outside you door, muttering to himself as he debates whether to knock or not. not sure if you even wanted to see him after what he has done.

she's probably waiting, arms wide open, for me

or maybe she's packing her bags finally tired of my antics

oh nika i hope it's not that

in the end, he would knock on the door and try putting on a confident front even though he's low-key expecting you to ignore him. so when the door opens, the first thing you are greeted with is a shocked buggy, making another one of his goofy faces. this subconsciously cracks you up unknowingly breaking the ice for him.

"sugar! oh, how i've missed you," he would immediately pull you into a tight hug. and without much of a warning, he would start word-vomiting his apologies.

"i'm so sorry about my actions from earlier sugar and i’m sorry for being so stubborn about it. I understand now that i went too far and that i should’ve acknowledged that instead of arguing with you. but i promise that it won't ever happen again. so please forgive me this once, sugar?"

you don’t have it in you to send him away after all that so instead you would simply pull him into the room before turning and going back to bed this time with him following suit.

—————

part 1

hi guys! thanks again for reading, this is the second part and honestly the last, for op at least. buggy was surprisingly the easiest to write while mihawk was the hardest TvT. hopefully i did them all justice tho!!

i have a few ideas of what i want to write but if you have any suggestions for plot or character please let me know, i’m open to any ideas :).

Hi, could you do like some fluffy headcanons with Crocodile. Like with a daughter!reader, he found her and raised her. She's been by his side throughout Baroque Works, jails separates them for a while, but then she makes her way back to him as the Cross Guild is former.

Just, fluffy crocodad headcannons with a daughter!reader. She could work alongside him to, like a secretary. Reader is just happy to be by their dad again^^

father figure

SFW

characters: sir crocodile x daughter!reader summary: crocodile taken in an orphaned child not expecting to grow fondly of her CW: just fluff, lowercase intended, not proofread

—————

crocodile had always been known as a figure of unyielding stoicism and calculated ruthlessness. as the leader of Baroque Works, this was the kind of man his associates and his enemies knew him to be. his lack of affection made dealing with his job much easier as it left no weak points. something he never planned on changing but, fate had a peculiar way of challenging those with the coldest hearts.

it all started when he stumbled upon a small, orphaned child during one of his operations. his sharp eyes started down your dirty and frail figure with initial disgust. your wide eyes, frightened with terror as you clutched the bread you had stolen from his crew.

"who are you?" his voice was gruff, but there was a hint of curiosity.

you looked up, the piece of bread tightly held against you. "i'm just trying to survive," you replied, your voice surprisingly steady despite the fear in your eyes.

crocodile studied you for a moment, something in your gaze stirred a long-buried part of him and for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. leading him to make a decision that surprised even himself. "come with me," he said, turning on his heel.

he wasn't sure why he took you in, but when asked, he justified it as "practical"—you needed protection, and he had the means to provide it. and for a while, his interactions with you matched his words. he was distant and formal, more akin to a business transaction than a familial bond. providing you with your basic needs, leaving the rest up to his crew.

you, however, was undeterred by his cold demeanor. you approached him with the fearless curiosity only a child could muster. you followed him around, your small hand often tugging at his coat, asking endless questions about everything you saw. you drew pictures, and even attempted to braid his hair one evening. despite himself, crocodile found his heart softening. he started to look forward to your chatter, you innocent laughter, and the way you clung to him whenever you were scared.

but as days turned into weeks and weeks into months, something began to change. he found himself spending more time with you, teaching you about the world in his own gruff manner. he showed you how to read maps, how to defend herself, and even how to play chess. 

while he was going through his newest findings on the poneglyph's, you approached him with one of your textbooks. "dad, can you help me with this reading?" you asked, your voice filled with anticipation. crocodile's heart skipped a beat at the word "dad." he didn't have it in him to correct you, and though he would never admit it, he cherished the title. he set aside his papers and spent the evening helping you with your book, his rough exterior melting away in your presence.

from then on he became your dad. a change his associates noticed almost immediately. exchanging knowing glances with each other whenever they saw him gently fixing your hair or reading you a bedtime story. Over time, they grew fondly of you, often bringing you small gifts or teaching you tricks of their trade. the once cold and fearsome headquarters of Baroque Works became a place of warmth and laughter whenever you were around.

after his defeat in Alabasta, crocodile was arrested. the charges against him were numerous, and the trial was swift. giving him no time to say goodbye or send you to a proper caretaker. a thought that consumed his thoughts daily as he sat in his cell. despite the harsh conditions of his confinement, crocodile's primary concern was always you. 

countless sleepless nights were spent wondering. wondering if you were being taken care of properly. wondering if you were happy and eating well. wondering if you missed him as much as he missed you. the uncertainty gnawed at him, making his imprisonment even more unbearable. but he held onto the hope of seeing his daughter again, the thought of your smile was his only solace.

once he was released, crocodile wasted no time, moving with the singular purpose of reuniting with you again. his heart pounding with fear and anticipation as he and his associates, who had also been released, searched for you. they scoured the streets of the last island they were on, asking everyone they met if they had seen a little girl with bright eyes and a fearless spirit. after days of searching, they found you. you were staying with one of crocodile's old associates, a retired assassin, who had taken you in and cared for you as best as she could.

when crocodile saw you, his heart swelled with relief and joy. his anxiety and worries vanish after confirming his daughter was safe during his absences. you immediately ran into his arms, your face lighting up as tears streamed down your face. "dad!" you cried, throwing your arms around him.

crocodile hugged you tightly, his usual stoic mask slipping away. "i'm here, princess. i'm here," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. he then lifts you up carrying you in his arms as he turns to look at his associate, gratitude shining in his eyes. "thank you for taking care of my daughter."

the associate nodded, a small smile on her lips. this was the first time her boss thanked her. "she’s a special girl."

crocodile nodded in agreement, his heart full. you had become his world, and he would do anything to keep his world safe. which meant getting locked up like that wasn't an option, but that was for later. making a mental note to call mihawk later, but right now he had some catching up to do.

—————

thank you so much for the request!!

i thought of a few ways to go about it, but this one just felt right, although it isn't really an hc.

and i loved the idea of the reader working with their crocodile, but i see crocodile as the kind of dad who would much rather preserve their innocence, by keeping them away from the dangers of his job as best as he could.

in the end, i hope i did your idea some justice and you (and everyone else) enjoyed !!

😭😭I'm taking that out of context

…in a fight, right?

Love the cross guild, love the dumb ass old goth polyamorous throuple