Birthday Request Event - 2024

Gift 40 - Mihawk x afab!Reader

Gift Details ♥
Reader Style: afab
Character: Dracule Mihawk
Vibe: NSFW yandere-ish dubcon-ish
AU: Canon
Prompt: Forced Proximity 

Summary: You loved Mihawk, and it was requited, but the details about how things would be going forward caused some... tension

Content Notes: teasing, fingering, no gender pet names or terms, reader is wearing a dress, consent is on thin ice, yandere vibes in Mihawk, but nothing explicit, no dark content, kind of fluffy, mdni

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

Mihawk's small skiff had almost nothing to it, and for two days you'd been stuck on it.

The swordsman had given you water, and food, but until you gave him what he wanted, he wasn't letting you off the tiny boat. You'd jump into the water so many times over the last two days that you were currently in his lap.

Your wrists were tied to his forearms, each individual finger held in place with a delicate web of thin rope. You couldn't flex your fingers enough to dig your nails into his skin, and you weren't strong enough to force his arms to move against his will. In this way he could feed and water you both as needed.

What he wanted was your consent. Your acceptance.

The swordsman had declared himself to be in love, and had spent days courting you. It had been perfect at first, and, while concerned about having caught the eye of a warlord, you were put at ease by everything he did. After a couple weeks you even accepted his love, but then a harsh truth settled in between you and had caused an issue.

You believed you would stay on your island.

You weren't a pirate, or a fighter. You were a simple islander and you enjoyed that life. Living on an island protected by the World Government, and not that far from a marine base, it was as peaceful a life as anyone in this world could hope for.

You would be safe, and Mihawk could come calling as his job allowed. Many of the island women had marine husbands, everyone knew what it was like.

Mihawk, however, saw things very differently. There was no safe place, but his home and his island were as close as one could get. There is where he wanted you to be. There was where he preferred to be, and with rare exception spent much of his time.

The argument had gone on for some days. With you, often honestly, walking away from the fight, citing a need to do chores or go to work, or some other "more pressing matter".

Now that you were out in the middle of the ocean, there was no other pressing matters to be had.

Not that it had made the argument any better. Stubbornness was apparently a shared trait, and you didn't want to give in simply because he'd kidnapped you and dragged you out to sea. He didn't understand why it was so difficult for you to simply acquiesce when it was obvious how much you both cared for one another. Why burden yourself with work, and risk the drudgery and dangers of people when you could be truly safe?

It wasn't the endless sea that was getting to you. It wasn't the stern face that had fished you out of the water half a dozen times before tying you in place. It was the proximity.

The warm, muscled - chiseled - chest you had your back pressed against was nearly unmoving. Solid. Firm. Warm.

A soothing kind of warm. Not so hot as to be uncomfortable, even beneath the sun, and certainly not cold. His scent carried over the sea breeze, mulled wine and the spices of feisty cuisine. The soft thump of his heart, steady and calming, just strong enough to be felt against your back.

Even the ropes were soft, and his pulse fluttered against your finger tips.

You sink into him with a sigh, relaxing more than you had the last two days. His arms, and yours by virtue of the binds, wrap around your waist carefully. He leans down and kisses the back of your head and it almost irritates you. How he knows, how he's so sure.

How he is going to get what he wants.

But fighting against it now would be foolhardy and useless.

"Thank you." He says, the words mumbled into your hair as he carefully starts to undo the knots.

You hum softly in return, watching the elegant fingers untangle the intricate knots so easily. It was okay to be a little salty about it for now, but your mind couldn't help but wander - just how skilled where those fingers?

You didn't have to wait long to find out. Once Mihawk had undone all the rope work, he began to soothe you. One part care and concern, and perhaps even one part apology, you were sure.

Soft kisses against your knuckles and tender kisses against the slight rope marks on your skin. He kissed and soothed your fingers and arms, his hands holding you as though you were made of the most fragile of glass, moving you with practiced ease.

Soft kisses on your hands turned into soft kisses against your shoulder. Up the line of your neck until he was nipping at your skin, his hands moving up your sides.

The quiet moan that stays in your mouth is enough for him, and he tugs your dress up, letting his hands press against your skin under the cloth. You can't keep the moan in your mouth, gasping soft pleasure into the air as he leaves heavy kisses on your neck, cupping your breasts in his hands.

"We're... outside," you moan, pleasure overtaking your words as you squirm against him.

"No one else is here." He assures you softly, pulling your dress up and off, tucking it down into the boat. "I would kill anyone who dared to look."

"Don't - ahhh ♥ - kill people because you strip-stripped me!" you cry the words as Mihawk's hands are groping you even more now, pulling and teasing your nipples. Fevered kisses against your shoulder trail down your back with ease as you curl in pleasure in his hands.

His hand flattens against your chest, pushing you back and against his body as his other hand slips between your folds. There was no teasing anticipation, just swift need. Leave it to the strongest swordsman to get straight to the point.

The pad of his middle finger rubs circles against your clit as he moves you enough to tilt your head back and press his hungry kisses against your mouth. The flush of pleasure heats your face, and your eyes are unfocused when he breaks the kiss. The sun, his warmth, the days before. You hadn't been starved or dehydrated, but there hadn't been any pleasure until now.

And now you were drowning in it.

No ropes held you, but there was no escaping his grasp. The pleasure from that single finger was bringing tears to your eyes with how quickly the rush was coiling inside you. You couldn't say anything, his tongue was consuming every moan and need that came into your mouth. There was no room for protest, no place for your will right now.

He'd indulged your will for two days, now he was taking his due.

And he wouldn't tell you, now, or ever, that if you had held out one more day, he would've given in to your demands in this. He would've traveled to your island enough to endanger himself and everyone else there, if such was your true desire.

The relief he felt when you caved was indescribable, and he would show you his appreciation, again and again.