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Chapter Text

Traveling the Grand Line without a Log Pose always presented a unique set of problems. For years Mihawk had been relying on his intuition and Haki to get him where he needed to be. The Warlord’s Observation Haki was second to none and could stretch for hundreds of miles. He hadn’t earned the nickname ‘Clairvoyant’ for nothing after all. Through repetition and extreme concentration, Mihawk had trained himself to recognize dozens of islands in the Grand Line based on the collective Haki signatures of their inhabitants. 

If he wanted to go somewhere, he need only to sense the direction of the island he was aiming for and follow it. 

It was effective, and saved him the time and money it would take to constantly reset a Log Pose or buy Eternal Poses for the numerous islands he traveled to. Mihawk could typically traverse the Grand Line on his own in half the time it took for the average pirate ship. A fact that always seemed to rankle and confuse the other Warlords. Not that he particularly cared. 

The main drawback to his unorthodox method though, was that sailing to new islands became a bit more difficult. 

Which was exactly what Mihawk was attempting to do right now, with mild success. 

Roronoa was gone, returned to the Strawhats, and Mihawk could only stand the shrill Ghost Girl’s company for so many days at a time before he felt a headache coming on. Having more free time than he generally knew what to do with these days, Mihawk had become prone to random stints of wanderlust. Every couple of months or so, he would pack himself up and take to the Grand Line on Hitsugibune for weeks at a time, either to visit old places he found interesting or to find something new. 

Mihawk had been away from Kuraigana for a little over three weeks now. His last stop had been at a small, but densely populated city-island in the New World that he’d come to know well. There wasn’t much about the place that intrigued him, but tucked into a hidden corner of the city’s bustling luxury district was a tiny blade shop where Mihawk liked to purchase his whetstones and oil. The wares there cost a small fortune, but he spared no expense when it came to Yoru or any of the other blades in his collection. 

The owner was an ancient dark-skinned woman with braids longer than her body who always seemed to know just what to say to rope the Warlord into conversation. A mighty feat in and of itself. During his last visit, she had told Mihawk about a recent customer that she thought he’d find interesting. 

Apparently there was a monk who came into the woman’s shop not long ago, carrying with him an oddly shaped, bedazzled sword. When asked, the monk had explained that he and his ilk were practitioners of a little-known religion that heavily utilized the ritual use of swords and other blades. Supposedly his monastery was full of dozens of different blades, each with their own distinct purpose and spiritual meaning. Some were representations of gods and goddesses, meant to house their spiritual power in the mortal realm and never to be wielded. While others commanded the elements, meant to be used to usher in rain for the harvest or quiet the volcano at the heart of the monk’s island. And so on. 

It was all deeply fascinating to Mihawk, and he’d left the shop determined to find the little island and see this monastery for himself. Whether he’d be welcomed or not there was no telling, but the swordsman was willing to take his chances. He had a vague sense of where to go, and how far away his destination was. Based on the shopkeep’s description of the island, he’d been able to rule out many of the places he sensed, but there was still a fair amount of guesswork to the whole ordeal, which meant he’d already landed on a few unfamiliar islands to no success. 

His gut told him he was getting closer, but unfortunately the journey was taking Mihawk into the one part of the Grand Line he typically avoided at all costs. 

Shanks’ territory. 

Ever since his old rival had become an Emperor of the Sea, Mihawk had done his best to stay far away from any island or stretch of sea the Red-Hair pirates claimed. He was never worried about being harmed if he happened to stray onto Shanks’ turf. Surprisingly, the younger man still regarded Mihawk on somewhat friendly terms, despite how their rivalry had ended. 

Mihawk simply didn’t want to see Shanks. 

The last time he’d visited the Emperor had left him deeply unsatisfied and more than a little lonely. He didn’t want to experience that again, and it wasn’t worth the effort of using his observation skills to avoid the man in his own territory when he could just save himself the trouble and bypass it altogether. 

But if he couldn’t find his fabled monastery in the next island or so, Mihawk would have to determine whether his search was worth venturing into the heart of the Emperor-controlled seas. Mihawk hadn't decided yet, but for now he was comfortable enough venturing along the outskirts of Shanks’ territory as an unnoticed blip. 

Mihawk’s little ship bobbed through choppy waters. He was almost upon another island. Although he’d known from the start it wasn’t the right one, he needed a place to stop and rest for a couple days. There were no human signatures he could sense, only small animals, but if he was lucky there would be food to forage. Mihawk had enough food and water stored in Hitsugibune’s cabin to last another month, but it was always prudent to save where he could. One never knew what could happen on the open sea after all. 

The island looked promising enough. One half of it jutted out, a towering cliff-face covered in blooming trees and flowers that descended down into a large, lush forest, surrounded by a pristine white beach covered in large boulders. Notably, the trees’ bark came in a variety of colors, Mihawk observed as he drew closer. Some were only one solid color, while others seemed to have combinations of two or three. There was no real rhyme or reason to it as far as he could tell. By the edge of the beach, he spied one very large tree that changed from orange to purple, then blue, yellow, purple-again, and finally white as his eyes traveled up from roots to branches. 

It was quite breathtaking. Mihawk felt pleased that he’d unknowingly chosen such a scenic location to rest. Even the weather was beautiful. It was always a gamble when he made these little pitstops, but today it seemed he’d lucked out. 

Hitsugibune landed on the beach, momentum pushing his boat up into the sand. Mihawk stood, taking a moment to stretch his stiff joints, then hopped off. He used a rope to tug Hitsugibune further onto shore, then tied the ship off to one of the boulders, double-checking the knot by pulling on it a few times. When he was sure his boat wouldn’t be swept out to sea by the tides, Mihawk returned to rummage through his cabin, emerging with a leather bag carrying supplies for the next few days and a large roll of fabric. He did not want to sleep on the ship, so he would have to find or make a shelter. 

He tossed a glance over his shoulder, at Hitsugibune and the sun, which had just passed its peak in the sky, before crossing the beach and ducking into the dense, colorful forest. 

Finding a decent spot to set up camp had been simple enough. A few hundred yards from the base of the cliff Mihawk stumbled upon a break in the trees more than large enough to accommodate him. The ground was flat and covered in soft grass, and the Warlord made quick work of setting up a small tent and a space for what would become his campfire later that night. 

There were a few large rocks in the clearing, and Mihawk dragged one over to his campsite to act as a makeshift seat. He brushed a few bits of dirt from its surface before sitting down primly and pulling a book and a water bag from his pack. There was also a sizable flask of wine waiting for him, but Mihawk would be saving that for later. 

Taking a quick swig, Mihawk flipped to the dog-eared page of his tome, content to spend the hours until evening catching up on his reading. Tomorrow he would explore the forest further and determine if there was anything worth hunting or foraging. 

As the day progressed, Mihawk was amused to find himself the unwitting center of attention of a large group of the island’s native fauna. 

Monkeys. A good dozen or so of them. At first they had clung to the treeline, skittering about and watching him, no doubt wary of the strange newcomer to their territory. But as the hours passed, and Mihawk made no move to attack them, bit by bit they had started inching closer to the Warlord. 

Occasionally one would dart out into the clearing, testing him, only to run back to the safety of the trees. When Mihawk still did not react, the single monkey turned into groups of two or three, each time edging a little closer to his camp. Until finally, the whole group had emerged from the forest, curious to explore Mihawk and his campsite. 

They were small, non-threatening little things, barely taller than Mihawk’s shin. With big dark eyes and long arms, their fur vibrant shades of yellow and orange. So very different from the humandrills running rampant on Kuraigana. Mihawk thought he should have been annoyed by the critters overtaking his camp, but he supposed life with the humandrills had imparted on him a certain level of fondness for inquisitive primates. 

And really, they weren’t doing any harm. 

His book had been tucked away safely in his satchel, and he’d shifted from sitting on the rock to resting his back against it on the ground as a number of the small monkeys clambered all over him. They chittered and cooed to each other, perched on his legs and shoulders, their little dark hands exploring him with soft touches. One rather eager one had seen fit to sit on the rock behind him, combing through his hair for bugs and twigs. 

It was a novel experience. Mihawk thought if the Ghost Girl were here, she would have squealed and gushed about how ‘cute’ the monkeys were. 

He watched a very little monkey approach him. It must have been a juvenile, for it was barely larger than the Warlord’s forearm. Mihawk held out a hand, and the tiny thing wasted no time leaping onto it and springing from there to his chest, using the collar of his coat to stay upright. 

Mihawk blinked, bemused. “Hello there.” He murmured as the monkey squeaked and touched a hand to his mustache, tugging lightly. Lips curling into a smile, Mihawk blew at the tiny hand, and the monkey drew away quickly, dropping down to instead inspect the gold cross where it rested against his chest. 

“That is Kogatana.” Mihawk explained gently. “One of my most trusted blades. He accompanies me everywhere. Even in sleep.” Of course the monkey made no indication that it understood, but Mihawk was surprised after a moment when he heard the soft ‘click’ of Kogatana being unsheathed. His eyes widened as the young monkey shuffled backwards, the small blade clutched to its chest. 

“Clever thing.” Mihawk praised. “You’ve found Kogatana’s dagger, but I’m afraid blades of any size are too dangerous for clueless baby monkeys, so I’m going to ask that you give it back.” He reached for his dagger, but to his shock the monkey chittered anxiously and jumped off his lap, landing a pace away in the grass. 

“Come now.” He tried again, gesturing for the blade to be returned. “That is not yours.” But the little thief only backed away further, edging towards the trees. 

Mihawk sighed and stood slowly, allowing the other monkeys to fall from his person. He stepped towards the critter. “Do not make me chase you.” But of course at his approach the monkey squealed and leaped away, rushing into the forest to escape with Mihawk’s blade. 

“Oh dear.” 

Mihawk took off after the monkey, his observation locked on to the tiny, panicking signature weaving across the forest floor. The little thing was fast, but Mihawk was faster, and having one arm occupied with keeping a grip on the blade meant that it was unable to climb the trees, still too small to scale them one-handed. 

He caught up to the monkey quickly. “Give that back!” He barked, much less amused. Frightened and outpaced, the monkey seemed to realize that its little gambit had come to an end. With a shrill shriek, it jumped up onto a tree, dropping Kogatana in the process, and skittered away deeper into the forest. 

“Hmph.” Mihawk stalked over to where his dagger lay. The monkey had dropped Kogatana into a patch of large, brightly colored flowers, kicking up a cloud of pollen from the plants’ protruding stamen. 

He squatted down, thinking nothing of it as he reached for the dagger. It clicked into place on his chest, and the Warlord allowed himself a deep breath, relieved to have his precious blade back on his person. 

But when he stood, Mihawk quickly realized that something was very wrong. He swayed a little, taken aback by the sudden heaviness in his limbs. It was as if chains had suddenly appeared on his body, trying to pull him down. His hands came out to his sides, in an attempt to steady himself, but soon they began to tremble with the effort of staying upright. 

A devil fruit power? Mihawk wondered incredulously, but he dismissed it. He was certain there was no one else on the island. His knees shook, and Mihawk determined that his best bet was to return to his camp. Turning slowly, the Warlord fought through his increasingly leaden muscles, taking one careful step, then two.. 

On the third, his leg gave out completely, and Mihawk pitched forward with a startled shout as he landed face-first in another clump of the strange flowers. He gasped and sputtered, sucking more of the pollen into his lungs, then felt in horror as the rest of his body followed his legs, becoming as immoveable as a statue. 

Damn! Damn! Damn! 

Laying utterly limp, Mihawk strained and struggled, willing himself to move, to stand, but his muscles wouldn’t so much as twitch. The only part of him he could move was his eyes, which darted around frantically, searching for the source of his sudden paralysis. When they landed on one of the flowers near his face, Mihawk’s eyes went wide. 

The flowers. That had to be it. He had breathed in so much of the pollen, there must have been something in it that had a paralyzing effect on the body. 

..And he was stuck face-down in a patch of them, on an island with no known inhabitants other than a group of little monkeys too curious for their own good. The chances of anyone else coming to this island were slim. The chances of them stumbling across his body before he died from dehydration were even slimmer. 

All things considered, the circumstances painted a grim picture. Mihawk was not a man afraid of his own death, but he would have hoped for something a little less humiliating. To think, the World’s Greatest Swordsman would be bested by a baby monkey and a damn flower. 

Mihawk sincerely hoped there was no afterlife waiting for him, because if he had to face Red-Hair someday after they’d both passed and explain how he’d died, he would never live down the embarrassment. 

Poor Roronoa. The swordsman thought. He’s going to be so disappointed. And after all the effort Mihawk had put into training the boy, he wouldn’t even get to enjoy the fruits of his labour. It left him feeling bitter, and a weak part of him bemoaned the unfairness of it all. 

It had been so long since he was excited about anything, but Roronoa had a spark in him that fanned the flames of Mihawk’s own bloodlust. Perhaps not now, but he’d truly thought that somewhere down the line, the little rabbit would be able to give him the fight he’d been itching for since the day Shanks lost his arm. 

A pity he would never know. Mihawk tried to content himself with the knowledge that at least if he was dead, he wouldn’t have to be so bored and lonely anymore. 

He sighed deeply, eyeing what he could of the sky above in his peripheral vision. There were worse places to die, he supposed. The island really was beautiful. Maybe if he was lucky, a few of the monkeys might come to keep him company in his final moments. 

Mihawk’s eyes slid shut. It was a comforting thought. Accepting that there was nothing he could do anymore but rest, Mihawk let himself fall into a restless sleep as he lay hidden in the colorful forest, waiting to die.

Chapter Text

Mihawk spent the better part of 48 hours stuck paralyzed on the forest floor. 

Two days passed breathing in more of the pollen, losing his mind from boredom as the world moved on around him. Though hunger and thirst gnawed at him ominously, a constant reminder of his looming death, he counted himself lucky that at least the pleasant weather had stuck around. The nights were not unbearably cold, nor were the days filled with rain or biting wind. Only the warm sun and a gentle breeze. Under better circumstances, he thought he might have liked to come back to the island for a proper vacation. 

To his disappointment, none of the little monkeys had come to visit him so far. Most likely the adults knew to stay away from the dangerous flowers, and it was only the young one’s mindless panic that had led Mihawk here. 

A shame. He had quite liked them. 

He’d recalled the story Roronoa told him once of how he came to join Strawhat’s crew. Strung up in the hot sun for nearly a month, with no food or water to speak of, kept alive through sheer force of will. It was the kind of determination Mihawk salivated over in an opponent, and secretly, he had been quite pleased with the little rabbit after hearing it. 

Unfortunately, Mihawk had no such will left. Time and endless disappointment had dulled his ambition. Of course the swordsman wanted to live, to fight.. But he was a tired, jaded man, and the fire of his dreams no longer burned hot under his heels. If he was to die here, then so be it. But he prayed he wouldn’t last as long as Roronoa had, or he truly would go insane. 

To provide himself with a semblance of mental stimulation, Mihawk had taken to practicing with his Observation Haki. He’d found early on in his trapped state that he could still access all three colors of his Haki, but there wasn’t much he could do to entertain himself with Armament or Conqueror’s. 

He’d spread his Observation across the island, counting the monkeys and other small animals, following them in their paths through the forest, feeling them interact with each other. He felt the bugs and worms underneath him, sinking his observation deeper and deeper until even the tiniest signatures disappeared into bedrock. He listened to Yoru, who was still in the campsite, humming impatiently for his return, and felt a deep pang of sadness that he would never feel her solid weight in his hands again. 

Mihawk hoped desperately that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her years abandoned on this island with his rotting corpse. A blade existed to be wielded, and she was the mightiest blade of all. He wished the same for little Kogatana, who was squished into the ground under his chest. Though he was glad to have at least one of his precious companions with him at the end. 

When Mihawk could stand the island no longer, he began to stretch his Observation outwards, searching for the signatures he had come to know. 

There were many ships out at sea, a few less than a day’s travel from his island, but Mihawk brushed over them without a second thought, refusing to delude himself with false hope. 

His awareness spread across thousands of miles of sea, all the way back to Kuraigaina, where he sensed his humandrills fighting amongst each other, and the Ghost Girl milling about in his castle, utterly unaware that her host would never return. 

He felt Roronoa’s strong presence amongst his beloved crew as they navigated the New World. The young swordsman’s signature rippled happily, content in a way he rarely was on Kuraigana as he practiced his forms on the deck of his ship. Overcome once again with regret, Mihawk had wrapped his awareness tightly around the boy, in a strange semblance of an embrace. He was not one for emotional gestures, nor did they have the kind of bond that warranted them. But nonetheless Mihawk was.. proud of Roronoa, and saddened that he would not be able to keep his promise to his student. 

Wishing the little rabbit luck, Mihawk had pulled his Observation away, allowing it to drift across the sea aimlessly. He felt kingdoms and forests, marines in their naval bases, the intimidating thrum of Neptunians resting along the ocean floor, flocks of birds traversing the open skies as they migrated homewards. He could sense the great burning spirits of the Giants of Elbaf, and the ancient hum of the Adam tree they called home. 

And then, without even meaning to, Mihawk had stumbled across him. 

Even hundreds of miles away, Red-Hair’s spirit was painfully familiar, warm and dangerous and powerful. It had been some time -over two years- since the Warlord had last felt the man, but it was as if nothing had changed. 

Shanks was surrounded by his crew. Some signatures Mihawk recognized from their years of rivalry. Many he did not. He could feel Shanks’ first mate Beckman, and that overly large cook who always tried to stuff him full of food whenever he visited the Red Force. He observed them all in his mind’s eye, but his awareness never strayed far from Shanks. For all the raw strength that oozed off of Red-Hair, his spirit was gentle in the way Mihawk always remembered it, rolling softly like ocean waves upon a beach. 

It was weak of him, Mihawk knew that, but he spent nearly a whole day amongst Shanks and his crew, soaking in phantom laughter and whispers of bonds he would never experience. Red-Hair was perhaps the closest thing to a ‘friend’ the Warlord had ever had, and he found his nearing death made him a little sentimental. He almost regretted avoiding the man for the past decade. 

He knew Shanks didn’t feel much for him past a vaguely pleasant regard, but Mihawk thought he might have liked to have one last drink with him anyway. For old times sake. 

So caught up wallowing in Red-Hair’s presence and his own misery, Mihawk hadn’t realized that one of the ships near the island was growing closer until it was nearly upon him. 

He snapped back to himself like a rubber band, eyes wide in shock at the approach of what felt like a good three dozen men on a ship that was about to make landfall. It felt impossible, and yet it was real. For the first time since he had fallen into the patch of flowers, Mihawk actually felt a spark of hope. If they landed at the beach, no doubt they would see Hitsugibune tied off and know that there was another on the island. 

If he was very lucky, and someone on the ship was an Observation user, they would be able to sense him right away. 

Mihawk forcefully reigned in his anticipation, giving himself a harsh reminder not to get ahead of himself. He was banking on too many ‘what ifs,’ and there was always the chance that even if he was found, he would end up dead anyway. There were many men on the sea who would jump at the chance to have the head of the World’s Strongest Swordsman, and he was in no position to defend himself. 

Time dragged, and Mihawk waited restlessly as the ship dropped anchor at the beach, feeling the men trickle onto the island. Most of the signatures were weak, but there were a select few imbued with a level of strength that surprised him. Two seemed vaguely familiar, but for the life of him Mihawk could not remember where he’d felt them before. 

The men delved into the forest, presumably searching for a spot to set up camp like he had. Mihawk tracked their approach, and his stomach tightened as a few spilled into the clearing he had claimed only a few days before. No doubt they had seen Yoru. Her spirit sharpened into a threatening hum as some of them edged towards her, but he was not worried for her safety. The strongest blade in the world did not need a wielder to cut, and if any man but her master tried to touch her, their arms would be forfeit. 

It was one of the familiar signatures that had Mihawk on edge. They were close, following a similar path to the one he had cut through the forest while chasing the monkey. He could hear footsteps rustling in the brush, growing louder, and held his breath. There was no way to see from his angle on the ground, but the steps came to a halt for a moment, and then suddenly a shadow was blocking the sun as a man loomed over him. 

“My my!” A lilting voice purred. “Just what do we have here?” 

Then two large hands wrapped around his ankles, dragging him away from the flowers and into a clear patch of dirt. He was turned over, and blinked up at the sight of a very tall, very pale man smiling down at him. His painted lips stretched across his face in a mischievous grin, and Mihawk felt a shock of recognition. 

Lafitte. The name came to him in a rush of memory. 

At Marijoa.. The Warlord meeting.. He had been there. Had infiltrated the Navy Headquarters as if it were nothing, spinning his cane and singing the praises of a no-name pirate to become the next Warlord of the sea. 

Dread started to pool in Mihawk’s chest as the man above him tittered. If Lafitte was here, he knew exactly which pirate crew had washed up on the island. 

“Well.. I can’t just leave you like this, can I?” Lafitte trilled, and he started to pull Mihawk across the forest floor, uncaring of the uneven ground he dragged the man over. When Mihawk’s head bounced against a particularly sharp rock, a muffled grunt escaped his throat, but his lips were still sealed shut. Lafitte cast him an amused look, not sorry in the least. 

Soon, Mihawk was back in the clearing, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden sunlight in his eyes. There were a large number of men milling about, and Lafitte pulled him through a small crowd of them that parted ways for the tall man. 

“Oh Commodore!” He crowed. “I have a present for you!” 

At the answering laugh, Mihawk’s stomach dropped. 

“Zehahaha! A present? For me? Let me see!” 

Oh, he was so fucked.  

Lafitte let Mihawk’s legs fall to the ground, stepping away with a smile. Mihawk’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared up at the blue sky. If ever there were a time for the pollen’s effects to wear off, it was now, he thought a little frantically. But of course he was immoble as ever.  

A tense moment of nothing passed, and then he was standing over Mihawk like Lafitte had been moments before, grinning down at the Warlord like a cat who got the cream. 

Blackbeard. 

He was just as ugly as Mihawk remembered, but his beard was longer, and his clothes much finer. His arms were crossed, and gold rings set with precious gems gleamed on every one of his fingers. It seemed Blackbeard had done mighty well for himself after claiming Whitebeard’s old territory in the Payback War. 

“Hawkeye Mihawk! Well ain’t this a pleasant surprise.” Blackbeard exclaimed, eyes shining. “Looks like yer in a bad way, there. Can you move at all?” When Mihawk glared and didn’t respond the pirate chuckled, taking his silence as confirmation. “Guess it was a good thing we showed up huh? I hate to think what could’a happened if no one found you.” 

He squatted next to the Warlord, Mihawk’s eyes tracking the movement sharply. A large hand came down on his abdomen, patting him softly, like an animal. Sudden rage burned hot in Mihawk, and his glare turned scathing. 

He dared! The audacity! 

But Blackbeard ignored the nasty look thrown his way, his casual touch remaining. “We were coworkers once, so I don’t mind taking ya with me back to Pirate Island. Consider it a favor for old times sake. I have a doctor on my crew. He could take a look atcha.” Every word out of his mouth was slick with oil, the generous offers a thin veil concealing something much more sinister.

Eyes narrowed, Mihawk tried to convey his displeasure. 

“Awe, don’t be like that, Hawkeye! It’s a good deal!” 

Mihawk’s stomach flipped when Blackbeard hoisted him up by one useless arm, dangling him in front of the leering group of pirates as if he were a ragdoll. Blackbeard’s smile was wide and lecherous, hot air hissing out from behind the gaps of missing teeth. He lifted Mihawk higher, closer, until that rancid, alcohol-laden breath hit the older man’s face and made his eyes flutter. 

Abandoned not far away on the ground, Yoru sang desperately for her master, begging him to cut down Blackbeard and his crew. 

He did not look at her, not wanting to call attention to his most precious item, but his heart blazed in tandem with her song. If not today, someday soon he would hunt each and every one of Blackbeard’s crew down, until he could appear before the world government with a ship full of lifeless pirate heads. They would probably give him a bonus for actually doing his job for once. 

Yes. Finally his will to live had returned, his bloodlust given a purpose. Mihawk stared unflinchingly into Blackbeard’s eyes, unable to resist in any other way. Hawkeye Mihawk was the strongest in the world. They would all fall to his blade soon enough. He just needed to survive. 

Almost as if sensing his thoughts and finding them amusing, Blackbeard smiled wider. His gaze drank in every inch of Mihawk’s face, then slowly traveled down, taking in the swordsman in full. It made Mihawk’s skin prickle in a way he didn’t understand. He could feel Blackbeard’s eyes on his bare abdomen, dragging across pale muscle. He felt exposed, like Blackbeard was seeing something Mihawk should have kept hidden. 

Those burning eyes traveled lower, dipping into his pelvis, caressing his strong thighs, lingering on his boots, before finally leaving the man altogether. Mihawk wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that this strange examination was done, but then his heartbeat quickened when Blackbeard’s grip shifted, and suddenly he was turned around, back pressed to the large pirate’s pecs. His arm dropped to his side, hanging limp. 

One huge hand on his chest kept Mihawk from falling forward, but his head lolled to the side, resting on Blackbeard’s collarbone. The pirates in front of him all chortled to themselves at the pathetic sight, and anger and humiliation swirled together in Mihawk’s chest. From this position, he couldn't see Blackbeard’s face, but the man’s booming laugh reverberated around them both. His hand pressed harder into Mihawk, heel digging into the softness of his stomach. If Mihawk could move, the touch would have made him squirm. 

More than frightened, Mihawk was uncomfortable. He expected Blackbeard to hurt him, take him prisoner, possibly even kill him. But there was something in the man’s actions that Mihawk didn’t recognize, a glint to his eye promising something more. But what? The swordsman’s sharp gaze traveled across the small group before him. Many of them were exchanging excited, smug glances, while others seemed reserved but accepting. Every one of them seemed to know what was happening except him, and Mihawk did not care for it. 

Blackbeard laughed again, and he pinched Mihawk’s chin with his other hand, craning the man’s head up and to the side so he was forced to look at the pirate captain. This time, his grin was subdued but no less sinister. 

“Say,  Hawkeye, I never realized until meetin’ ya, but the old wanted posters don’t do you justice..” Blackbeard’s chuckle was soft, laced with darkness. His eyes narrowed. “You’re the prettiest man I ever seen. You know that?” 

Mihawk blinked.

…What? 

The pirate captain was licking his lips, eyeing Mihawk’s plush mouth. One large, dry thumb scraped over his cheek before resting on Mihawk’s lips. Mihawk wanted to snap open his jaw and sink his teeth in. Bite Blackbeard’s thumb clean off and spit it in his face, but of course he couldn’t. 

“It’s a shame.” Blackbeard cooed. He dragged Mihawk’s bottom lip down, exposing a row of straight white teeth before releasing it. His thumb went back to stroking the Warlord’s cheek. “I hear you’ve been livin’ all by yerself in some gloomy castle. Dontcha get lonely? I could always keep you company. Swap some pirate tales with you over booze. Don’t that sound like a good time?” 

Disgust overrode the swordsman’s fear for a brief moment. As if he would ever allow such a boorish, underhanded man into his home. 

Blackbeard must have seen something in Mihawk’s eyes, because his expression dimmed for a moment, then his smile came back nastier. Mihawk’s heart hammered at the fearsome sight. 

“Oh, I see. If I ain’t good enough for the world’s greatest swordsman, I wonder who is?” Blackbeard’s grip on Mihawk’s chin tightened. “You wouldn’t let another Warlord in, would you? They’re nothin’ to you, right? Just little bugs you run around with cause you’re bored outta your mind.” 

It was true, and Mihawk had never tried to hide it. He was in a league all his own compared to the other Warlords. The only one he’d ever slightly tolerated was Crocodile, and that was only because the man had excellent taste in wine. A pity the rubber boy had put an end to that working relationship. 

Blackbeard continued, “You’re a real powerful man, Dracule Mihawk. Is there anyone in the world worthy of your time?” His voice was mocking. He leaned closer, until they were nearly nose to nose, his stare digging into Mihawk. A beat passed between them. Mihawk held his breath. 

“...What about Red-Haired Shanks?” Blackbeard whispered. 

Mihawk’s eyes went wide, betraying him. 

Shanks. 

Tilting his head back, Blackbeard roared with laughter. “Zehaha! I knew it! I knew it! Only an Emperor would be good enough, huh? You’re a greedy man, Mihawk! Worse than me!” 

Mihawk was highly doubtful of that. 

“That’s okay, though. I like greedy. I respect it. I’m a pirate too after all.” Blackbeard winked at him. “You know, I’m technically an Emperor too now.” He looked Mihawk up and down again. He nearly sounded sincere when he asked, “What about it? Do you find me worthy of your company, Great Swordsman?” 

Golden eyes narrowed. Not a chance in hell. 

“Ah, yeah. Didn’t think so.” Blackbeard said, mirthful. “I guess only Red-Hair gets that privilege then. All these years and yer still carryin’ a flame for yer old rival. Weren’t you s’posed to be heartless, Hawkeye?” 

…Blackbeard.. was talking as if he and Shanks had been lovers, Mihawk realized incredulously. His heart skipped a beat. The swordsman had never.. Surely Blackbeard didn’t think..

He startled when Blackbeard changed his hold, cradling Mihawk with both hands under him, like a princess. He held Mihawk close, almost affectionately. Mihawk would rather have been dangled by his arm like a piece of meat again. Blackbeard was looking at him with hunger, looming over him. Mihawk was used to people larger than him, but he didn’t often feel so small. He wished he had Yoru, even if he could only take comfort in holding her. He wanted to curl up, hide himself somehow. But his body wouldn’t move. 

The towering pirate hissed out a breath. “How many times?” He rasped, heat in his voice. “How many times did that annoying Red-Hair taste you, beautiful?” 

Mihawk’s blood ran cold. 

He had to get away from this man. The hands under his knees and back burned now. He felt sick to his stomach, his instincts screaming at him to move, claw, kick, spit. Kogatana was still on his chest, if only Mihawk could grab his dagger and drive it into the man’s eye. Anything to get Blackbeard to drop him, give him a split-second to grab Yoru and run for Hitsugibune. That’s all he would need. He didn’t care about fighting the pirates right now, he just wanted Blackbeard’s hands off of him. 

But Mihawk’s fingers refused so much as a twitch. Hopelessness welled in him as he stared up at Blackbeard’s ugly, sneering face. 

The pirate captain’s tone dripped sweet honey. “Didja open yourself up for him? Sit on your Emperor’s cock like a good little pirate?” He squeezed Mihawk. “Or didja make him work for it, too? Did he have to overpower you? Is that the only way you’d let a man claim his prize?” 

If his body were capable of it, Mihawk might have been trembling. Each word struck unfamiliar terror into his heart. He had never been touched intimately, could not even fathom it at his age. The thought of Blackbeard being the first, of him plundering the most vulnerable parts of the swordsman.. 

Mihawk drew on every ounce of power in his immoble body, curling it into a ball, tighter and tighter, then released an explosion of Conqueror’s Haki that shook the island itself. Blackbeard dropped him, staggering backwards, and Mihawk landed painfully on his back, knocking his head on the ground, but his concentration remained. All around him the pirate crew were dropping to their knees, but Blackbeard was still standing. Mihawk pushed harder, exerting his will over the land and sea. Around the island, waves started to crash and roll restlessly. His Haki ran over Blackbeard in massive, thundering shockwaves, forceful and dominating. 

Submit! Mihawk’s will commanded. He was the strongest swordsman in history. Blackbeard would bend to him! Above him, clouds began to part in the sky. Blackbeard had not bowed. The pirate captain was standing taller now, resisting after the initial shock had worn off. Mihawk could see out of the corner of his eye as the man slowly but surely began to take heavy steps towards the fallen Warlord, pushing through unrelenting waves of Haki. 

Mihawk wanted to scream in frustration. He could sense lust and malice projecting from Blackbeard purposefully, a dark promise of what was to happen if he reached Mihawk. Every part of Mihawk strained, anger and terror fueling his Haki as its intensity doubled then tripled. He had never pushed himself to such extremes, not even when dueling Shanks. Still Blackbeard advanced. Twenty foot waves smashed down on the island’s beach, destroying nearby trees and shrubs. 

Why! Why wouldn’t he fall! 

Blackbeard was nearly upon him, smiling maniacally. Mihawk forced himself past limit after limit, uncaring of the effects on his body. He could not let Blackbeard have him. The island trembled, pieces of the cliff beginning to break off and fall into the agitated ocean. His nose was bleeding. Birds fell from the sky. Unconsciousness threatened him, darkness tinging his vision as impossibly, he doubled his Haki output again. 

Blackbeard wavered, Mihawk caught it. He didn’t dare stop, even as his body felt like it was tearing itself apart. He saw the pirate captain shake, then sink to one knee, struggling to stay upright under the weight of the Warlord’s Haki. Mihawk could have cried in relief. It was working! 

But his victory was short-lived. 

In horror, he watched Blackbeard switch to hands and knees, steadying himself for a tense moment, before crawling to Mihawk like a determined dog. 

True panic seized Mihawk’s lungs as monstrous amounts of Haki continued to pump uselessly out of him. His frenzied mind raced desperately, grasping for an escape. Blackbeard’s shadow darkened his vision. Mihawk’s eyes were frozen on the pirate’s fat, hulking form. He pleaded with himself to move, screaming in his mind at his prison of a body. 

And then Blackbeard was on top of the swordsman, caging him in on all fours, glaring and trembling as sweat dripped down his long nose. 

“...That’s.. enough!” 

A huge fist drove into Mihawk’s stomach, punching the air out of him. His eyes bugged in pain, and his Haki sputtered. He blinked rapidly, urging himself to maintain control. He had to breathe. He couldn’t afford to lose his concentration for even a second- 

Blackbeard’s fist cracked across the side of Mihawk’s face and he saw stars. His head whipped to the side. A strangled wheeze forced itself past closed lips. Mihawk couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched his face, let alone managed to hit it. His head was fuzzy and his ears rang, but he clung valiantly to his weakening Haki-

Until Blackbeard punched his face again and Mihawk felt a horrible, unnatural shift in his jaw and suddenly he couldn’t think or concentrate on anything because oh seas something was wrong. The pain from his jaw split Mihawk’s brain. He could do nothing but breathe harshly from his bloody nose, gold eyes wide and uncomprehending. His Haki had escaped him, leaving only exhaustion and the agony spreading over his face like burning lava. 

Blackbeard was laughing, staring down at the Warlord gleefully. “Sorry, Hawkeye! Didn’t mean’ta knock yer jaw loose!” Then he reached down, grasped Mihawk’s chin with one hand and held him by the hair with the other, and forced his jaw back into place. 

Mihawk’s vision whited out. The pirate captain laughed again, letting go of Mihawk’s chin to slap his hairy, round stomach. Mihawk watched him, a spark of fury in his gaze despite everything. 

“Zehaha! Oh don’t look at me like that, Hawkeyes! I fixed ya didn’t I? Ya know, I hate havin’ to hurt such a beauty, but you forced me into it!” The pirate licked his lips and gripped Mihawk’s hair tighter. “Now no more of that.” He said sternly. “Luckily, a few bruises ain’t gonna ruin yer pretty little face, but you pull that Haki trick one more time, and I’ll dig those treasure-eyes outta yer head and toss you in the ocean for the Sea Kings to gobble you up. Got it?” 

The Warlord believed him. He didn’t have the energy to use Conqueror’s Haki again anyway. That had been his last stand. Now he was totally at Blackbeard’s mercy, and they both knew it. Blackbeard’s smile shrunk into something small and satisfied. 

“Glad we’re on the same page, Hawkeye.” He purred. “Now let me get a proper look atcha.” 

Disgust formed a lump in Mihawk’s throat when Blackbeard let go of his hair to worm a massive hand behind his back under his coat, lifting him up enough that he was able to slide the coat down his shoulders and pull it off. Blackbeard tossed the article away carelessly, dropping Mihawk’s upper half to the ground. Blades of grass poked the swordsman’s sensitive skin. Kogatana was ripped from his chest and thrown into the brush. He felt like little more than a doll as Blackbeard pinched his boots and slid them off his feet.

Then came the fingers at the waist of his pants, fumbling to undo his belt. Mihawk closed his eyes, flushing in shame, which quickly turned to mortification as Blackbeard let out a frustrated noise and tore Mihawk’s pants clean in two, taking his belt and underwear with them. 

Completely bared before Blackbeard, Mihawk’s flush traveled down to his chest, porcelain skin pinkening. His legs were parted, arms splayed slightly, leaving nothing to imagination. To his horror, Mihawk felt a sting in his eyes, vision blurring with wetness. He desperately tried to will them away, but it was impossible. Mihawk had not been nude in front of another person since he was a child. He wasn’t comfortable being seen undressed. 

And Blackbeard, an ugly coward of a pirate, the man who’d marked Shanks, was drinking in his nakedness like Mihawk was a trussed up lamb, ready to be picked apart and devoured. The first man to ever see him like this in all his fourty-one years, and it was done in a fit of greed and lust and violence. 

Mihawk blinked, and a tear rolled down his swollen cheek. 

Of course Blackbeard noticed, cooing at the Warlord and smoothing a hand up his taught chest. “Awe, don’t cry, Hawkeye. I’ll treat ya real nice, I promise.” As if to prove his point, he spread his hand across Mihawk’s pecs, using his thumb and pinky finger to rub the Warlord’s nipples. Mihawk’s breath stuttered, congealing blood sprayed out of his nose, covering his mouth and soaking into his mustache. His nipples were hard in an instant, sensitive to the callous, unfamiliar touch. Blackbeard rumbled, amused. 

“Look atcha, makin’ a mess of yourself there. It’s okay, let me help.” Using his free hand, Blackbeard licked his thumb before swiping it across Mihawk’s mouth, smearing the blood away. Mihawk’s eyes watered in pain and disgust. Blackbeard’s huge thumb was tugging on his aching jaw. “There we go.” Blackbeard said when most of the blood was gone, and Mihawk's stomach rolled as he watched the pirate captain stick his thumb in his mouth and slurp everything down. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Blackbeard chided, noticing Mihawk’s judgemental stare. “There’s people out there who would pay millions of berries just to lick the ground ya step on. Pirates don’t waste. Don’t think I won’t enjoy every part of ya.” 

He said it sweetly, but it sounded more like a threat to Mihawk. 

The pressure on his nipples increased, and then suddenly retreated. Pebbled and pink against his pale skin, Mihawk’s nipples poked out obscenely from his chest like two teasing rosebuds.  Blackbeard groaned in pleasure. 

“Damn. What a sight. Usually lovely ladies are more my speed, but how could any man or woman resist this?” 

A finger landed on his stomach, surprising him. Mihawk couldn’t see, but he felt the wide pad trace along the contours of his abs delicately, following a path downward. 

Mihawk had the useless urge to cup himself, but there was nothing to be done. Blackbeard’s finger dipped into his pelvic bone, dragging along its defined line. Agonizingly slow as he inched closer and closer to the untouched part of him. Shutting his eyes again, Mihawk held his breath as Blackbeard brushed through his pubic hair. His whole body was tense, muscles spasming unnaturally against the plant’s effects holding him in place. The large finger swirled teasingly in his patch of black hair. 

A bead of sweat rolled down Mihawk’s cheek. Even such basic stimulation felt overwhelming. His whole crotch tingled, aflame with nerves that had never been touched by another hand. Blackbeard chuckled, and his thumb joined the caressing, lowering to rub at Mihawk’s exposed taint. He scraped soft, downy skin, the touch unbearable to the Warlord. 

It was violating, sickening, and yet his body continued to betray him. Mihawk stared up at the clear sky in horror as blood began to rush to his cock, responding to Blackbeard’s ministrations. 

Blackbeard eyed Mihawk’s rising chub, teasing the Warlord. “Zehaha! So eager, Mihawk! How long’s it been since you warmed Red-Hair’s bed?” 

Never, you fool! Mihawk wanted to bite out, but all he managed was an angry grunt from the back of his throat, which only made Blackbeard laugh harder and grab his now-full erection. The sudden warmth and pressure on his cock caught him off guard. Mihawk made a strangled noise, eyes blown wide. 

“Weehahaha! Look at him! Blushing and whimpering like a shy little girl!” A man said, approaching from behind Blackbeard, apparently recovered from Mihawk’s haki assault. He was as huge as the pirate captain, shoulders broad and muscled. Blackbeard turned to the man, eyes shining. 

“Zehaha! Awe, don’t be mean, Burgess!” Blackbeard cooed, absently stroking Mihawk’s cock while he and his subordinate shared evil grins. “It’s probably just been awhile for him.” Mihawk bit back a groan. Blackbeard’s hands were rough and dry, scraping his sensitive erection maddeningly. 

Behind him, Blackbeard’s crew slowly stood from where Mihawk had knocked them down, two more men coming around to watch their captain play with the helpless Warlord while the others wandered off, more concerned with setting up camp. Mihawk’s eyes flicked from man to man, frightened. They were all huge, standing shoulder to shoulder in a half circle beside Blackbeard’s crouched form, their massive shadows stretching across Mihawk’s body. 

Only one did Mihawk recognize. Shiryu of the Rain, ex-jail manager of Impel Down. The cruel swordsman’s reputation preceded him, and Mihawk felt an acute wave of shame at being seen like this by another master of the blade. It was every swordsman’s dream to test their mettle against the World’s Strongest Swordsman.. and yet here he was, naked and defeated, about to be raped in front of a leering audience. 

Shiryu grinned, making eye contact with Mihawk from under the brim of his hat. Mihawk’s heart skipped a beat. The man looked like a shark smelling blood in the water. Lazily, he pulled a cigar from inside his coat, lighting it and taking a few puffs. His deep voice carried across the space. 

“You planning to share, Captain? If you do, I want the first pass when you’re done.” 

Mihawk couldn’t think of anything he wanted less. Blackbeard just glared up at Shiryu, never pausing his ministrations. His hand was wet with the beginnings of Mihawk’s precum.

“Not happening, Shiryu. This one is special, and not just ‘cause of his fancy title.” Blackbeard turned his attention back to the Warlord, his smile wide and conniving. “To the victor goes the spoils, and all that. Plus I have plans for this beauty now, and I can’t risk ya breaking him too badly.” 

The final man, who Mihawk didn’t recognize, nodded sagely. He adjusted a giant rifle against his shoulder, the length of it longer than Mihawk’s body. “Of course, Captain. It was fate that brought him here before you. He’s an advantage we could have never hoped for, and one we can’t afford to waste.” The gunman cut his eyes at Shiryu, who just shrugged and sucked his cigar unapologetically. The broad-shouldered man -Burgess- laughed, amused by their squabbling. 

For a moment Mihawk was puzzled. What advantage? He might have been a Warlord, but the World Government was hardly going to lose any sleep over him. 

Mihawk stared openly at Blackbeard, who was more concerned with working the Warlord’s erection. He took in the man’s ugly face, trying to understand the motivations driving him. 

‘Those marks are new.’ 

‘Damn. Not even a hello, Hawkeye?’ 

‘What happened, Red-Hair? Surely I don’t have to worry about another rival stealing your attention.’ 

‘Haha! I love when you get jealous. Nah, it was nothing like that. Just a guy who got the jump on me.’ 

‘I find it hard to believe just anyone could have gotten the jump on you.’ 

‘Well, yeah I guess he wasn’t just anyone. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Used to cross paths as cabin boys on different ships, but I never really liked the guy, he always seemed a little off.. guess I was right in the end, haha!’ 

‘…You’re a fool, you know that? Shouldn’t you have more shame?’ 

‘You wouldn’t love me so much if I wasn’t a fool.’ 

‘I tolerate you on account of the fact that despite your many personal failings, you are admittedly somewhat capable with a sword.‘

‘Yeah I love you too, Hawkeye. Now come have a drink with me! These cuts still hurt like a bitch and I need to take the edge off.’ 

‘Hmph. Fine.’

Mihawk’s eyes went wide, breath hitching. 

His connection to Shanks. That was the only explanation, Mihawk realized, trying to think as he was forcibly jerked off. 

Was Blackbeard planning to use Mihawk against Shanks? The thought was horrifying. 

Even more so was the knowledge that if Blackbeard tried to goad Shanks with threats against Mihawk, it would undoubtedly work. 

Shanks might not care much for Mihawk, but they had shared a bond once, and his damnable sense of honor wouldn’t let him sit idly by if his ex-rival was in danger. At least not if it was Blackbeard doing the threatening. 

Mihawk felt sick to his stomach, his erection still alive only because of Blackbeard’s continued assault. If he could not escape, Shanks was going to storm right into whatever trap Blackbeard set for him. And it would be all Mihawk’s fault. 

As the pleasure built, Mihawk tried to fight it. He latched onto the humiliation of defeat, of being exposed and toyed with, desperate to stave off the rising tide in his cock. His flush deepened, his cockhead wept in Blackbeard’s grip, slicking his erection noisily. The men were staring at him, expressions starved. 

His balls drew up, and Mihawk slammed his eyes shut. No! No! But Blackbeard only moved faster, working him over with brutal twists while his other palm came up to rub at his sensitive cockhead. The tendons in his neck strained, his whole body tensed. Mihawk resisted his peak, but Blackbeard dragged him over the edge anyway. A wild groan started in Mihawk’s throat and tears slipped down his cheeks as he spurted ropes of come across his own chest and stomach. 

The men laughed, and Blackbeard worked everything out of him, stroking his cock to oversensitivity until it was just shy of unbearable, before letting go and wiping his hand on his pants. Mihawk panted through his nose, blinking through tears. He was wrung out, his erection sagging finally to rest against his thigh. 

Shame ate away at him, burning him up from the inside. His breaths trembled while Blackbeard guffawed and licked the come off his hand. 

“You had a lot in there, Hawkeye! I guess it really must have been awhile for ya!” Blackbeard snickered, and Mihawk’s heart seized when two huge hands slammed against the ground near his head. Blackbeard took up every inch of his vision, dark and threatening. “Now it’s my turn.” 

And Mihawk bit back a howl as large, encompassing lips descended on his own, drawing the breath from his lungs and prying his mouth open. His jaw screamed in agony, and Blackbeard made a pleased noise, stuffing his fat tongue down Mihawk’s throat. 

Nearly suffocating, Mihawk’s eyes rolled back in his head. 

I am going to die. Mihawk realized. Not peacefully drifting away in a forest. Not skewered on Roronoa’s blade in a final blaze of glory. 

Blackbeard was going to fuck him, and after he’d been stuffed full of the man’s cock, he was going to die as the pawn used to bring about Shanks’ demise. 

Fat tears rolled down the Warlord’s cheeks as he despaired, soul crying out to no one. He pictured Shanks. Kind, idiotic, insufferable Shanks. 

Please, Red-Hair. Mihawk thought desperately. Please don’t come for me.

Chapter Text

The kissing - if it could even be called that- lasted for what felt like hours. Blackbeard devoured Mihawk’s mouth like a man possessed, greedy and claiming as he bit his lips and suckled harshly on his tongue. He licked every inch of his mouth, spreading the nauseating taste of alcohol and cigars all over until Mihawk feared he would start to heave. 

Blackbeard had switched their positions, hauling the Warlord up while kissing him and carrying him over to one of the large rocks in the clearing, reclining with Mihawk draped over him. A hand in his hair kept his head in place, while the other draped large and possessive over the small of his back. 

The Emperor was a noisy kisser. Deep groans and slurps mingled with the sounds of his men setting up camp around them as he gnawed Mihawk’s face into a sloppy red mess. Drool dripped down both of their chins, soaking their beards and collecting in the pale hollow of Mihawk’s collarbone. It was disgusting. 

His stomach rolled endlessly, and just when he thought he might actually start to gag into Blackbeard’s mouth, the man pulled away with a wet, satisfied gasp. Licking his lips as if to savor the Warlord’s taste, Blackbeard squeezed him against his chest, digging his fingers into the lax muscle hard enough to leave large crescent marks. His eyes roamed Mihawk’s face, gleeful. 

“It’s a damn shame ya can’t kiss me back, gorgeous. Your hot little mouth is so sexy, I never thought a mustache would turn me on. Zehahaha!” His hand slid lower, palming Mihawk’s bare ass. “When we get back to Pirate Island, I promise I’ll have Doc Q take a look atcha. As fun as it is like this, I’d like ya to be able to move next time.” 

Next time. Mihawk would bite clean through his own tongue before he ever kissed Blackbeard willingly. 

Blackbeard grinned and pressed another quick kiss to Mihawk’s mouth, which was left hanging open dumbly. “Seas, you’re pretty like this. Stupid Red-Hair. His fault for leaving such a lovely thing like you all by yourself. I shoulda tried to talk to you more back then, you coulda been with me since Marineford.”  

Not likely. He would have sneered if he could. Mihawk panted through his parted lips, glaring tiredly at Blackbeard. 

The large man chuckled, and surprised Mihawk with a quick smack to his ass. Mihawk choked as Blackbeard threw his head back, laughing louder. He shifted the hand in Mihawk’s hair to his back. 

“Zehahaha! Don’t tell me ya didn’t see that coming. Your bubble butt is just begging to be spanked red!” To emphasize his point, his hand came down on Mihawk again and again. The warlord shut his eyes through the pain, breathing quickly. Blackbeard was far from gentle, and his rings left stinging welts. 

“Yeah, that’s better.” Blackbeard groaned in his ear, pausing to grab Mihawk’s cheek. “You’re so cold to everyone, Hawkeye. This is the only way to warm ya up!” He spanked him one more time, with a loud, resounding ‘smack!’ and Mihawk cried out. 

Oh it hurt! Blackbeard was back to kneading his abused ass, squeezing and pulling one-handed. With every pass he spread Mihawk’s cheeks further, exposing his hole to the warm island air and any crew member who might pass by. 

Mihawk flushed against Blackbeard’s chest, mortified. But his panic spiked when he felt rough fingers swipe over his sensitive entrance, rubbing. 

Oh no. 

He’d known it was coming, but now faced with the immediate reality of Blackbeard prodding at his untouched hole, Mihawk felt faint. The man was just so huge. Each of his fingers easily surpassed the girth of the Warlord’s own cock. Picturing what kind of monster he hid in his pants had Mihawk panting in terror. 

Blackbeard pulled his hand away, and Mihawk waited in tense silence at the sound of noisy slurping, before something large and wet poked at his entrance, wriggling. The pressure on his hole slowly increased. Blackbeard huffed above him. 

“Gotta loosen you up for this, gorgeous. So let me in unless ya want to tear.” 

As if Mihawk had any control over his body right now. But the finger was insistent, digging into the most private part of him, swirling and pressing until finally, it slipped past the little furl of muscle and deep into Mihawk’s ass. Mihawk made a broken noise. Pain and an indescribable pressure shot up his spine as he was spread open on Blackbeard’s massive finger. 

It was hot and unyielding, gnarled, hairy knuckles scraping against his inner walls. Mihawk barely had a moment to process the sensation before Blackbeard was moving. His eyes bugged. The finger probed deeper into him, splitting open his untouched body until his bejeweled ring was flush with the swordsman’s ass. 

Too much! It was too much! 

Mihawk twitched violently around the digit, and Blackbeard hissed, pleased. “Fuck- you’re so hot inside. Feels like silk around me, squeezing and sucking. I knew ya were a little slut for it!” 

Blackbeard started pumping his finger in and out of Mihawk, setting a brutal pace. 

“Ahh! Ha-ahh!” 

With his mouth hanging open, Mihawk could do little to stop the shouts forced out of him with every violent thrust. His inner walls were being pulled apart, bullied and reshapen into a sloppy, loose channel. 

Gradually, the slide of Blackbeard’s finger became easier, though no less intense. And just as Mihawk thought he might be able to catch his breath, the Emperor ripped his hand away again, and soon two wet fingers were pressing at his entrance, threatening to tear Mihawk in half. He nearly sobbed as they forced their way in, bruising his delicate insides. And when Blackbeard scissored him open, the stretch had his eyes rolling back into his head in agony. 

Blackbeard fingerfucked him again, and with every aching pass into his hole, those huge fingers scraped against something that lit up Mihawk’s nerves and made him cry. His prostate. A small, coherent part of him supplied unhelpfully. Mihawk had never played with his sweet spot before, but Blackbeard abused it, ramming against the sensitive bundle mercilessly. His ass burned too much for it to feel good, but the jolts of sensation overwhelmed the Warlord, shattering him into little pieces. 

When a third finger wriggled into his hole, Mihawk started sobbing outright, loud and wet and undignified. Sweat covered his flushed body in a slick sheen, rolling down his back and thighs in rivulets. He didn’t think his hole would ever close again. His ass was stretched inhumanly wide around Blackbeard’s fingers, spasming. 

Finally. Finally. Those cruel fingers pulled away, leaving him gaping open and gasping in relief. Wetness dripped from Mihawk’s ass and onto Blackbeard’s belly, but he was too far gone to worry if it was blood. His ruined hole twitched pathetically, clenching around air. His cock was limp between his legs, and he cringed as Blackbeard smacked an affectionate kiss to his sweaty hairline. 

“Ya sing real pretty, birdie.” He purred, then shoved Mihawk to the ground. Mihawk landed hard, crying out as his raw ass hit the dirt. “Time for me to see if I can make ya sing louder.” Blackbeard shifted onto his knees, reaching for the Warlord. 

He flipped Mihawk over roughly, hands latching on his hips in a bruising grip as he pulled the man backwards onto his knees, face and chest smushed into the ground. The angle pressed on the massive bruise forming on the Warlord’s face, and he groaned in pain, tears streaming from his eyes. Behind him, Blackbeard chortled. His thumbs dug into the dimples on Mihawk’s back, rubbing deep, painful circles. 

Then those two mean hands pried his asscheeks apart, baring him completely to the Emperor. “Look atcha, winkin’ all pretty for me.” Mihawk’s insides squirmed at the humiliation as Blackbeard peered inside of him. A thumb caught on his rim, tugging, and Mihawk shouted in shock. 

“Zehahaha! Awe, that was mean, wasn’t it? Sorry, gorgeous.” Blackbeard cooed, not sorry at all. “Don’t worry, I’ll give your greedy hole what it wants.” 

His hands left, and Mihawk’s heart raced at the sound of clothes rustling behind him. He wished he could crane his head back to look. Was it worse to see? He didn’t know. He could barely think through the haze of fear and pain, but his focus sharpened when something hot and heavy and horrifyingly massive flopped onto his back. 

No.. No, that wasn’t going to fit! He was going to kill him! Mihawk was close to hyperventilating as Blackbeard moaned and rutted against his back, his hairy balls brushing against the sensitive skin of Mihawk’s thighs. 

“Your skin is so fucking soft. Seas, I betcha feel like heaven inside.” Blackbeard grabbed his erection, slapping it a few times against Mihawk. His purple cockhead left thick strings of precome on the Warlord’s back, which he swiped up, using it to slick his cock. For added lubrication Blackbeard spit a few times into his hand, jerking himself. 

When his erection was shiny with spit and precome, Blackbeard shifted backwards. Mihawk held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as the thick, blunt head of the Emperor’s cock kissed his fluttering entrance. Even as stretched loose as he was, it felt threatening against him, a weapon meant to carve him apart from the inside. 

Blackbeard’s hips eased forward, and Mihawk’s breath stuttered as the massive tip of his cock sunk into his entrance. It could barely fit through the ring of loose muscle, burning unbelievably hot inside him. Mihawk let out a small scream when the ridge of Blackbeard’s cock caught on his hole and slipped fully inside. It felt like a huge fist had been shoved up his ass. Already he was full. Inhumanly, unbearably full. 

He couldn’t take all of it. There was just no way!

Above him Blackbeard hissed in pleasure, one hand pressing hard on Mihawk’s back to keep him anchored to the ground. “Ah- you’re so tight birdie. So hot and so tight- feels like you’re gonna squeeze my dick off!” He thrust a little, in and out, burying himself a tiny bit deeper every time. 

Mihawk could only lie motionless on the ground and accept it, forced to feel himself being speared open like a fish on a hook. He cried loudly into the dirt. Blackbeard’s cock was so huge it pressed against his prostate no matter how he moved, fraying Mihawk’s nerves until his body was a buzzing mass of pain and sensation. Blackbeard carved deeper into him, to the point Mihawk could feel his stomach bulging obscenely. 

The Emperor panted and groaned, rutting into him, controlling the pace until finally he bottomed out, sheathing Mihawk fully on his cock with a satisfied moan. Mihawk screamed. He was so deep! So huge! His entire body was moulded around Blackbeard’s erection. He swore he could feel it in his chest, nestled behind his heaving lungs and racing heart. 

Mihawk didn’t feel human anymore. He snuffled and cried, snot dripping down his face. He felt like a living, breathing cocksleeve. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. Blackbeard had squeezed and stretched him into a toy, a wet hole to be fucked. His body would be a useless, gaping thing forever. 

Blackbeard was moving again, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. Dirty words spilled from his lips in an endless flood. 

“Sweet fucking thing- wrapped around me so good! Ha- ahh. Knew ya were good for it- Fuck! How did Red-Hair ever let you go? Huh? Ohh shit, baby- Yeah I’m keepin’ this ass forever!” 

Oh seas, if Shanks saw him like this.

Mihawk sobbed violently, the shame eating him alive. He would rather die than have Red-Hair see him so ruined! For the first time he hoped that Blackbeard’s cock really would kill him. He moaned, raw and hopeless, gold eyes unseeing. Blackbeard punched the breath out of him with every brutal thrust, and his head felt light. He floated in a haze of agony, black spots dancing in his vision. 

His thighs were soaked with sweat and blood, Blackbeard started spanking him again, but each sharp hit melted into the pain screaming across his entire body. Cuts had opened up across his ass from Blackbeard’s rings, and his flank bloomed a deep, ugly red. 

“Gonna come-” Blackbeard moaned, spanking him again. “Gonna fill ya up, pretty bird! Get ready- ah- ah!” His grunts grew louder, hips thrusting fast and sloppy. He grabbed Mihawk around the waist pulling him back to meet his erection. His heavy balls slapped against the Warlord’s soft cock, drawing up behind him. 

With one final thrust, Blackbeard groaned gutterally, his cock buried as deep inside of Mihawk as it would go. Thick, hot ropes of come emptied into his core, burning him as the Emperor hissed and shuddered over Mihawk, his grip painfully tight. His hips rolled in tiny thrusts against Mihawk, working through his orgasm, and the swordsman whimpered in pain, feeling close to bursting as he was pumped full of come. 

Only when the last pitiful spurts of his cock had emptied into Mihawk’s stomach, did Blackbeard pull out. He sighed, deep and satisfied as his cock slid from the Warlord’s ass with a lewd squelch, leaving it gaping and leaking come. Mihawk gasped for breath on the ground, shaking against the pollen’s effects as drool and tears and snot mixed in the dirt below him. He cried out when a hand landed on his ass, patting too hard to be affectionate. His hole spasmed, spilling blood and come onto the ground in a splatter, and Blackbeard laughed. 

“Zehahaha! That was amazing, Hawkeye. I haven’t had such a good lay in ages, I almost feel like I could take a nap right here on the ground! But that would be a waste, wouldn’t it?” 

Mihawk barely processed Blackbeard’s words, groaning as he was hauled up and back onto the man’s chest. More fluids spilled sluggishly out of him, painting Blackbeard’s stomach, but the man didn’t seem to care. He brushed Mihawk’s sweaty hair out of his face, a mockingly tender gesture. 

“We still have some time until we need’ta leave, and I want to make the most of it.” Blackbeard murmured, his breath wafting over Mihawk’s face. He chuckled softly and grabbed his sore ass, jiggling the tender meat. His next words brought a despairing moan from Mihawk. “Whaddaya say, birdie? Ya up for round two?” 

Blackbeard laughed, and forced Mihawk into another claiming kiss as he stroked his cock to life so he could fuck the Warlord again. 

For another twenty-four hours, Mihawk remained paralyzed, used and abused repeatedly until he could barely think beyond the ache in his ass and the bruises on his skin. It was his second afternoon at Blackbeard’s mercy. The other pirates had built a camp, milling about drinking and laughing to each other. No one paid the captain and his victim any mind, all of them content to let their leader enjoy his spoils. 

Mihawk had been propped over a tipped barrel with Blackbeard reclined behind him, his abused ass at the perfect height to take the pirate’s cock. Blackbeard had kept him like that for hours, using Mihawk as a cock warmer, rocking him back and forth lazily with one hand when he wanted more stimulation. Occasionally a pirate would wander over to Blackbeard’s resting place to convey something, but nobody acknowledged the Warlord. He had become little more than a toy to entertain Blackbeard and keep his balls drained. 

It was then, when Blackbeard pulled Mihawk back onto his cock in a particularly painful thrust, that his fingers twitched for the first time in over three days. Mihawk’s eyes had gone wide, but he forced himself not to react. He could not give himself away, or there would be no chance to escape. 

So he’d let Blackbeard use his body until nightfall, willing himself to remain limp and pliant even as the invisible weight dragging his body down slowly lifted. The humiliation was near unbearable, knowing that he could move but choosing not to, choosing to be defiled again and again until finally Blackbeard pulled out of him with a satisfied sigh and smacked Mihawk’s bruised ass before leaving to settle down in a tent for the night. 

Nobody thought to tie the Warlord down or keep watch. What was the point when he couldn’t so much as wiggle his toes? 

The urge to get up and run screamed at him, but Mihawk remained patient. He stayed draped over the barrel for another four hours, until the camp had settled and the moon hung high in the sky. His Observation sensed that all of the pirates were sleeping, except, worryingly, Blackbeard, but Mihawk couldn’t wait any longer. 

Mihawk took in a deep breath, and when he pushed himself up from the barrel, it took every ounce of will not to make a sound. His ass clenched, stomach cramping, carved out from Blackbeard’s monstrous cock. Semen and blood that had been settled in his belly started to ooze out, mixing with the dried refuse on his thighs. His legs shook, his entire body sore and tired from disuse. Mihawk shut his eyes, tilting his head back, forcing deep, quiet breaths through gritted teeth. 

He stayed like that for a few minutes and allowed himself to adjust, hyperaware of the presences around him. Finally, when he thought he could take a step without buckling, Mihawk slowly began to make his way through the camp. His stomach and ass screamed with every step. Mihawk ignored it, but his body trembled, sweat glistening across battered, bruised skin in the moonlight. He was exceptionally careful, silent except for the faintest crunch of grass under his bare feet. 

Walking past the sleeping pirates was nerve-wracking. Mihawk’s head pounded from dehydration and hunger, his throat painfully dry. Everything hurt. It had been so long since he’d felt pain anywhere close to this. He felt raw and shaken and so terribly sensitive in a way he never had before. Mihawk nearly cried out when his toes caught on a small rock he hadn’t seen in the dark. He hunched forward, biting his lip to stay silent, shaking terribly with the effort to control his breathing. His senses strained for any hint of disturbance, but the pirates slumbered on, totally unawares. 

Creeping through the camp, Mihawk found Kogatana first. The little dagger had been tossed carelessly aside, almost hidden in the brush. The chain was still intact, and as he slipped it over his head and felt the familiar weight settle against his chest, a fraction of tension slid off Mihawk’s shoulders. Despite the lack of clothes, he no longer felt naked. 

Yoru was close too. Mihawk could feel her clearly, resting in the tall grass next to one of the tents, awaiting her master. The Warlord held his breath as he slinked towards his sword. He knew which man was in the tent. 

Shiryu. 

If there was any man besides Blackbeard Mihawk didn’t want to face that night, it was him. 

He knelt without a sound next to Yoru. Her great spirit was restless, spitting angrily at the harm to her master, demanding blood. Mihawk smoothed a soothing hand down the flat of her obsidian blade, and she quieted. He traced his fingers around the gemstones embedded in her gilded crossguard, loving. 

Blackbeard and his men will reap what they sowed, my dear. Mihawk thought. But I am tired, and weakened, and it will not be tonight. 

He stood slowly, picking Yoru up. With her in his hands he was finally complete. He had no straps on his back to slide her into, so he held her at his side, one-handed as he tip-toed towards the edge of the camp. He wanted to look for his clothes, but the longer he stayed the more danger he was in. So he crept naked towards the edge of the clearing, slow and quiet, and with one fearful look over his shoulder, he slipped into the forest, back towards the beach. 

The walk to the edge of the island was tense, and every crack of a twig or rustle in the leaves played at Mihawk’s frayed nerves. He clutched Yoru in a white-knuckled grip, and even though he could feel Blackbeard and his men were still in their camp, he couldn’t help the fear that large hands would burst from the trees at any second and grab him. 

The ground was painful under his bare feet, rocks and roots digging into his soles, but Mihawk pushed on, stumbling through the forest like a newborn faun. 

He walked for what felt like hours, creeping on a wire’s edge. No one in the camp stirred, Blackbeard’s signature blissfully unaware of Mihawk’s escape. The Warlord nearly cried in relief when he emerged from the treeline onto the pale beach. 

Blackbeard’s ship was huge and intimidating, but next to it Hitsugibune rested faithfully in the sand, still tied off to the rock, just as Mihawk had left it. He laughed a little breathlessly, a quiet, wheezing sound. The sand squished under his toes as he descended across the beach, sinking to his knees when he reached Hitsugibune. He pressed his palms against familiar, polished wood, and leaned down to rest his forehead against the side of the little ship. 

Grateful tears pricked Mihawk’s eyes. His third loyal companion was here, unharmed and waiting to take him away from this godforsaken island. He heaved a shuddering breath and forced himself up. He placed Yoru on the floor of Hitsugibune, then shakily tottered over to the large rock. Trembling fingers undid the rope, and sweat rolled down Mihawk’s temple. 

He was close, so fucking close to escaping. 

When the rope went slack, he gathered it up and tossed it back onto Hitsugibune. Then, taking a deep breath, he pushed the little ship back into the water as quietly as possible. He waded through the soft, rolling waves, biting back pained noises as the saltwater lapped at his bleeding backside. 

Finally, when he was deep enough, Mihawk heaved himself up and over the ship’s side, muscles straining. He collapsed onto Hitsugibune, panting, eyes wide in a puddle of blood and ocean water. 

His heart raced. The men were still in their camps. No one knew he was gone. 

Mihawk’s breath hitched, and he shot up to stare at the island. 

He had done it. 

A sob caught in Mihawk’s throat as he stood on trembling legs. He unfurled the ship’s dark sail with slow, practiced movements. The sail caught on a gust of wind, pulling him further out to sea. Tears spilled over Mihawk’s cheeks and down his neck, and he wiped furiously at his eyes as he steered Hitsugibune away. 

There was an island less than a day’s journey away, Mihawk would rest there. It was deeper into Red-Hair’s territory, but he could sense no life save the smallest of birds and insects. If he was lucky, travelling further into Shanks’ seas would dissuade Blackbeard from looking for him. 

The island grew smaller and smaller in the distance, but only after it disappeared completely over the horizon did Mihawk allow himself to breathe. He let go of Hitsugibune’s sail and staggered towards his chair. It hurt to sit, but he was too exhausted to care. Letting his head fall against the chair’s back, Mihawk gazed tiredly up at the night sky, twinkling stars dancing high above him. He clutched at Kogatana, the little dagger a familiar comfort around his neck. 

A small smile quirked at his mouth even as the tears rolled down his face once again. 

He was going to kill Blackbeard. 

Shanks’ Haki leaked out of him steadily, restless and angered. Perched atop the great dragon figurehead of the Red Force, his steely gaze honed in on a small island in the distance. Many of the newer recruits had been relocated to the cabin, unable to withstand their captain’s worried Haki. Yasopp and Hongo had tried to coax him down, pleading for the sake of their crewmates, but the Emperor brushed them all off. He had no mind for the weaker members of his crew. 

Not when Mihawk was in danger. 

He hadn’t even realized the elder was in his territory. From what Shanks knew Mihawk tended to stay holed up on an abandoned island near the edge of the Red Line, refusing company and generally ignoring orders from the World Government. The Warlord certainly didn’t leave his nest to seek out Shanks for any reason. The Emperor had been hopeful after their meeting over Luffy’s bounty, but it had become painfully obvious in the following weeks -after Mihawk ignored Shanks’ numerous transponder snail calls- that the encounter was a one-time event, and the swordsman still wanted nothing to do with him. 

Which was why when a familiar wave of Haki barreled through the Red Force and knocked half his crew flat on their ass, Shanks had been so caught off-guard he’d almost thought he was mistaken. 

But there was no confusing that cold, unrelenting power for anyone else. Shanks could pick out Mihawk’s signature in a crowd of millions. 

Gasping, Shanks stumbled across the deck in the direction of the Haki waves, slamming against the edge of the ship. It was Mihawk, no doubt, but every tremor of power was tainted. Heavy with anger and pain and so much terror it sent ice shooting up Shanks’ spine. 

He gripped the wood under his hand so hard it shattered into splinters. Nothing about this was right. Mihawk wasn’t supposed to feel fear. The Warlord was supposed to be above everyone and everything. Untouchable. Alone at the top of the world and safe. Shanks felt his own Haki start to flare in answer, and the Red Force groaned under him. Beckman tumbled over to Shanks, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. 

“Boss!” His first mate gasped. “What’s happening? Is that Hawkeye?” 

Shanks nodded. Another wave rolled over them, more terror than anger, and the Emperor’s eyes darkened, his own power roaring and rocking the great ship from side to side. More of his crew dropped. “Turn this ship around! We’re following that Haki.” He commanded. 

“Boss, you need to calm down!” Beckman urged. 

“Now, Benn!” Shanks snarled, turning on his first mate. 

“The Red Force can’t handle both of you! She’s going to split in half if you don’t reign yourself in! We’ll go, but you have to get a grip first!” 

Shanks nearly threw Beckman overboard. What wasn’t he understanding? They couldn’t waste even a second. He was blinded by Mihawk’s pain, answering it in the only way he knew how. The Emperor gnashed his teeth and turned away. Forget the ship. Shanks would swim if he had to -if Rayleigh could do it, so could he- but he needed to go now- 

And then it stopped. Mihawk’s Haki cut off completely, as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a quiet sea and a few dozen unconscious pirates. Shanks stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. The silence was horrifying. How could it just stop like that? Mihawk had so much stamina. Surely he wouldn’t just give up so suddenly. Surely he hadn’t been- 

Shanks shook his head. He turned, glaring at Beckman. Yasopp and Limejuice were making their way over, both looking shaken and a little pale. They stopped at the look on their captain’s face. Shanks’ hand went to Gryphon, and he looked back to the sea, at the horizon where he knew somewhere out there Mihawk was suffering. He spoke quietly.  

“Set a course, men. Someone’s been causing trouble on our turf.” 

That was three days ago. Since then he’d cursed his younger self a million times for throwing away Mihawk’s vivre card in a night of drunken sorrow. Shanks’ had stretched his Observation to its limits trying to locate Hawkeye after the initial onslaught. The man was much farther away than Shanks’ had first guessed, but after nearly a day of searching he’d felt a familiar flicker brush against his awareness. It was weak and exhausted, but alive, and Shanks’ had nearly cried in relief as he shouted directions to his helmsman.  

Whatever happened to Mihawk, whoever thought they could harm the swordsman and get away with it, in the Emperor’s territory no less, he would bring them to their knees. Man woman or child, it didn’t matter. Shanks would be damned if he ever let another person touch a hair on Mihawk’s head. 

Mihawk might hate him now, but Shanks had never stopped caring for his ex-rival. Not when Mihawk told him he never wanted to see Shanks again. Not even when he turned his back on his outlaw kin to become a government dog. Shanks knew the man had his reasons, and he knew it was in part his own fault for driving Mihawk away -though he refused to regret saving Luffy’s life- Shanks would never begrudge the swordsman his right to peace. 

The great pirate ship neared the island, and Shanks commanded them to stop and drop anchor. His crew obeyed swiftly, sensing the Emperor’s lack of patience, and at his order they prepared a small dinghy to be lowered into the water. Shanks stalked over to it without a word, getting in. Only then did he address his crew. He turned to them, face stern. 

“I’m going to Hawkeye alone. Barring an emergency, no one is to leave the ship without my express permission. Tell the rest when they wake up.” Shanks made eye contact with Beckman. “Anyone who disobeys will be kicked from the crew and cast to sea.” He trusted his first mate to keep everyone in line. Not a soul would be stepping foot on the island until Shanks deemed it acceptable.

Beckman merely nodded in understanding. “Aye Aye, Boss.” 

They lowered Shanks, and he set off. It wasn’t the easiest rowing a boat with only one arm, but he managed it, despite knowing he made a rather foolish sight. It would have been faster to swim, but Hongo and Lucky Roux had packed the little boat full of medical supplies, clothes, food, and anything else he might need, and Shanks wasn’t willing to leave that behind. Not when he had no idea what state Mihawk was in. 

It took over an hour to reach the shore, but the minute his boat touched sand Shanks was up, tying his dinghy off on a rock and slinging a large satchel full of supplies across his chest. Mihawk’s presence called to him like a beacon, stronger now that he was so close. He ventured inward, following the Haki signature. The island was composed of dense green forest and three plateaus towering over the treeline. The tallest one was at the center of the island, and as Shanks stared up at it, he knew without a doubt Mihawk was up there, waiting for him. 

Shanks eyed the steep, rocky face of the plateau. Fuck. He was in for a nasty climb. If there was ever a time to have two arms, it was now. 

He couldn’t help a small, amused huff. “Damn, Hawkeye. You can never make it easy for me, huh?” 

Despite his complaints, Shanks did manage to scale the plateau. Though it took him hours, and by the time he’d hauled himself up onto the mossy ledge he was drenched in sweat, his arm sore and hand raw from scraping against jagged rock. He gasped, flopping down and taking a moment to appreciate the damp vegetation under him. It was much cooler up here, and Shanks basked in it while he waited for his heart rate to return to normal. 

He was getting too old for this. 

Shanks heaved a sigh, enjoying the stillness a second longer, then pushed himself up. Mihawk was close, and he needed to find him. Shanks brushed through ferns and shrubbery easily, and moss squished under his sandals. There were trees up here too, but not as tightly packed as the forest below. 

With every step Mihawk’s presence grew brighter, easier to feel. A blessed torch lighting Shanks’ path. 

Eventually he stepped through the trees and into a large patch of clovers, but what he saw made his knees buckle. Shanks’ breath left him all at once, and blood rushed in his ears. 

Curled into himself like a babe, Mihawk was asleep naked in the center of the clovers, his hands wrapped around Yoru as if he was afraid to part from his sword for even a second. His pale skin, usually so smooth and untouched, was mottled with purpled bruises and welts. Shanks stumbled forward, eyes wide as he took in the Warlord. 

Mihawk’s undereyes had deep bags, and his hair was unkempt. Shanks tracked the curve of his spine, and his stomach lurched at the state of Mihawk’s flank. His ass was one deep, black bruise, dark scabs littering the delicate skin like jewels. 

What had happened to him. 

“Oh, Mihawk.” Shanks whispered, pained. His hand hovered over the Warlord’s body, unsure of what to do. But the decision was made for him. 

At the sound of his voice, Mihawk’s eyes snapped open, and he shot up. Shanks fell backwards in shock, and then his hand shot up in surrender when he felt Yoru braced at his neck, her sharp blade digging into his skin. 

“Hawkeye wait! Wait, it's just me, it's okay! I didn’t mean to scare you!” 

MIhawk’s eyes were wild, his breaths fast, but he blinked taking the Emperor in, and his face fell. “..Red-Hair?” He whispered, and Shanks sighed in relief as Yoru fell from his neck. The Warlord stepped back. “What- what are you doing here?” And Shanks didn’t miss how his hands trembled around his sword, and Mihawk’s shoulders tensed, as if expecting to be attacked. 

He rubbed at his throat and got his feet under him, pushing himself to stand. “I came to find you, Hawkeye.” 

Mihawk swallowed, avoiding his gaze. “..I see.” 

The Warlord was so different like this. Cowed and frightened in a way Shanks had never seen the proud, arrogant man. It made his heart ache, and he took a hesitant step forward, feeling as if he were soothing a wild animal. 

“..Mihawk.” He murmured. “Tell me what happened.” 

Chapter Text

Oh seas, he couldn’t do this right now. 

Mihawk held onto Yoru like a lifeline, trying to be strong. Shanks was here. Why was he here? Anyone else in the world, and Mihawk could have handled it. 

But not him. Mihawk thought miserably, hating the way Shanks’ eyes tracked every purpled bruise on his naked body. He took another step back, and Yoru shook in his grip. He ignored Shanks’ question. “You should leave, Red-Hair.” He whispered. 

Shanks stopped, and Mihawk didn’t have to look at him to know that he was being sized up, the Emperor weighing the chances of Mihawk trying to force him off the island if he truly didn’t want him there. Evidently, he didn’t see the Warlord as much of a threat right now, because he pushed forward again. 

“..I’m not going to do that. At least not until I’m sure that you’re okay.” Mihawk scoffed, but Shanks didn’t acknowledge it. “You’re hurt, Hawkeye, and it happened in my seas.. I want to know what happened.” 

Mihawk glanced at the Emperor, sullen. “You’re really not going to leave until I tell you, are you?” 

Shanks shook his head. “I’m not asking you to relive every detail, and if you don’t want to talk right now, I can wait with you until you’re ready.. But this isn’t something that I can just brush aside. I need to know who was responsible.” 

Of course an Emperor would want to know who was making power grabs in his territory. Mihawk sighed shakily, and reluctantly turned to set Yoru against one of the large boulders behind him. He heard Shanks’ breath hitch, and his face flushed in shame, remembering the state of his backside. Mihawk faced him again quickly, trying to quell his racing heart. 

It was fine. He was fine. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner Red-Hair would leave and Mihawk could go back to licking his wounds in peace. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry, and eyed Shanks. The Emperor looked the same as he always did, draped in his captain’s coat, his sun-kissed skin a stark contrast against his white button up and flaming red hair. His feet stuffed into the same ratty sandals Mihawk remembered from years ago. 

The memories pulled at his already fragile heart, so he pushed them aside. Crossing his arms, Mihawk made eye contact with Shanks. His deep red eyes were pinched in worry. The Warlord sighed again, and looked past Shanks’ shoulder, to the treeline. 

His voice was stiff, carefully controlled. “..Fine.” 

Shanks perked up, relief visible. “Thank you.” 

Mihawk’s fingernails dug into his skin, and he cleared his throat. “Well, I hardly have much of a choice with you forcing my hand, do I?” He snipped. 

“..Mihawk, we don’t have to do this now-” But the Warlord cut him off. 

“And delay the inevitable? I don’t see the point.” 

“But I-” 

“Be quiet, Red-Hair. If you want to know so bad, I’ll tell you.” The cutting back and forth was familiar, and if Mihawk forgot what had brought them here in the first place, he could almost pretend it was just another day of their rivalry, with him needling Shanks endlessly. 

But reality was not so kind, and underneath Mihawk’s constructed calm, anxiety wrapped around his throat like a noose, making it hard to breathe. He took a measured breath through his nose as the silence stretched between them, Shanks waiting patiently for what he had to say. Mihawk glanced up at the clear blue sky, then back at the Emperor. 

Might as well rip the band-aid off. 

“I was attacked by Blackbeard on an island not far from here.” He forced out. “He didn’t attempt to take my life, but he was planning to keep me as a prisoner. I managed to escape, but just barely, as you can see. As far as to why, I have a guess that he wanted to use me to get to you. Probably to lure you to your death.” 

There. He’d said it. He was done. Now Shanks could leave and Mihawk could go back to avoiding the man like the plague for another ten years. But when he took in Shanks’ expression, he was taken aback by how absolutely tortured the man looked. 

Shanks’ eyes were wide, his hand clenched into a shaking fist at his side. “It was- Blackbeard did this to you?” He choked out, and Mihawk shifted uncomfortably. 

“..Yes.” 

The younger man made a strangled noise, stumbling forward like he wasn’t aware of his own body. “Blackbeard touched you.” 

Mihawk did not like that line of questioning. “He.. injured me, yes.” He said evasively. 

“That’s all?” Shanks demanded, and Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him, heart pounding in his ears.

“..I just told you-” 

“Then where are your clothes?” 

Mihawk blanched, but Shanks appeared deadly serious, his face dark and shoulders tense. HIs Haki flickered around him, a barely there crackle that made Mihawk’s hair stand on end. A flicker of fear sparked in the Warlord’s stomach, and he brushed against Yoru once with his awareness. It had been a long time since he’d seen the pirate captain angry like this. 

"Red-Hair-"

Shanks continued to push. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not an idiot, Hawkeye.” 

“Well, you could have fooled me-” 

“I’m not playing around!” Shanks snapped. “This is fucking important, so tell me the truth!” 

“No it’s not!” Mihawk hissed. “You said it yourself I wouldn’t have to relive the details! I was hurt, and Blackbeard was responsible. That’s all you need to know.” 

“But if you were hurt in that way, I need to know.” 

The Warlord couldn’t take it anymore. “No you don’t! What right do you have to know anything about me? You think you have some claim over me? Because of what, a rivalry that ended over a decade ago? Why are you torturing me like this?” Mihawk asked desperately. “Do you truly need me to come out and say what you already know? Why? What’s the point?” And to his horror, tears pricked at his eyes, and his breaths started to shake. He needed to calm down, to stop himself, but Shanks had worked him up, and Mihawk’s emotions were snowballing. 

“Is this some power trip for you? A chance to humiliate me, to force me to admit out loud how low Blackbeard has brought me?” He gasped out, but Shanks was shaking his head frantically, floundering. 

“No, no! Mihawk That’s not- I’m not doing this to hurt you I just- I wanted to be sure!” He stressed. 

“W-well you can rest assured then.” Mihawk sneered tearfully. “Because it’s exactly what you think. Blackbeard raped me. Is that what you wanted to hear? That for nearly two days in a row he kept me speared open on his cock, f-fucking me in the dirt like an animal? Are you happy now?” His legs trembled from the effort of standing for so long, and he panted, anger and humiliation mixing in his chest. 

But the longer he glared at Shanks, who had gone silent, a pained look on his face, the more Mihawk regretted his own outburst. 

What the hell was wrong with him? Why had he done that? Now Shanks knew everything. 

The Emperor whispered unhappily. “Oh seas.. Mihawk.” 

Mihawk turned away, eyes closed in shame. He didn’t want Shanks’ pity. He couldn’t bear it. His old rival seeing him like this, defeated and broken. Mihawk already knew the younger man was disappointed in him for becoming a Warlord, for failing to understand why he’d given up his arm, for abandoning their rivalry. Mihawk shook, pressing a hand against his eyes. He didn’t want to give Shanks any more reasons to hate him. 

And now that he knew it was Blackbeard who’d done this? That he was too weak to defend himself from the one man Mihawk knew Shanks loathed more than anything? 

Surely Shanks despised him now. To see how far his once-rival had fallen while he was out conquering the New World. 

His lips pursed against a small sob. He heard Shanks’ breath hitch, probably surprised by such a show of weakness. Mihawk couldn’t stand it. He was so tired and in so much pain and he just wanted Shanks to leave instead of tormenting him with judgement that Mihawk knew he deserved. 

Another weak sob wracked his body. 

“Mihawk- oh no. No no..” Shanks’ voice was so gentle, concerned. Mihawk jolted when he heard footsteps crunching towards him. He ripped his hand away, blinking wildly at Shanks’ approaching form. Tears rolled down the Warlord’s cheeks, and he stumbled back, confused. 

He put his hand out, reaching back for Yoru, prepared to defend himself. But Shanks swept in before he could reach her. Mihawk gasped and trembled when a strong, tanned arm wrapped around his waist, lifting him up. He grasped Shanks’ shoulders, squirming and kicking, nearly hyperventilating he was so overwhelmed. 

“Let go! Shanks!” Mihawk cried, the emotion in his voice so unlike him. 

“Shh. Mihawk it’s okay.” Shanks soothed, walking them over to the patch of clover Mihawk had slept in. “You need to lie down.” He dropped to one knee, slowly maneuvering Mihawk down into the soft vegetation, mindful of his bruised backside. 

Mihawk was still crying, still so confused by whatever Shanks was trying to do. He let himself be laid back, unable to look Shanks in the eye, though he knew the man was staring at him. Shanks was right, it was a relief to not be standing anymore, but that didn’t stop the pained shudders that followed every breath. He sniffled through another wave of tears. He was so tired. 

Warm, gentle knuckles brushed across Mihawk’s cheek, catching his tears. “...Mihawk.” Shanks said mournfully. “I’m so sorry.” 

Mihawk choked on his breath, eyes wide. 

What? 

He dared a glance up at the Emperor, and felt trapped by the sheer affection in Shanks’ eyes, tainted by sadness. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell Shanks off, to beg him not to play whatever stupid game he’d cooked up in his head, but then the younger man was cupping his cheek and Mihawk found his words silenced before they could even escape. 

“I should have been there.” Shanks murmured. “I felt your Haki, and I came to find you, but I was too late. I’m so sorry.” He sounded so upset. Mihawk was incredulous, watching Shanks grit his teeth as if he were the one in pain. “I should have known you were in my territory. I should have been with you. If I had just paid more attention..” Shanks cut himself off, shaking his head. 

Mihawk’s whole world was turning upside down. Shanks, who had never needed Mihawk the way Mihawk needed him, who had traded their rivalry for the New Era, was kneeled over him blinking away tears, acting as though he had almost lost something precious to him. 

Shanks sucked in a shaky breath, stroking his thumb across Mihawk’s swollen cheek. “I know how you think, Hawkeye. I know you think this is your fault, that this is a result of weakness, but it’s not.” Shanks lowered until his face took up all of Mihawk’s vision. “The truth is, it’s my fault. I’m the one who’s an Emperor. This happened in my territory. I’m meant to keep an eye on things- to protect the people in my seas, and I failed. I failed to protect you, the one person I couldn’t bear to see hurt.” 

What was Shanks talking about? 

The man was trembling, eyes shut as he hovered over him. “Blackbeard keeps teaching me the same lesson, and I never fucking learn. I keep letting my guard down! And now he’s hurt you and it’s my fault!” 

Mihawk searched Shanks’ face uncomprehendingly. The Emperor was well and truly crying now, tears rolling down his handsome face. Mihawk couldn’t understand. His shaking hands clenched in the clovers, tearing them up. 

“...Why?”

Shanks blinked, focusing on Mihawk. He sniffled. “What?” 

Mihawk couldn’t look at him. He felt flayed open by his own vulnerability. “Why.. Why would you care if I’m hurt?” His lip trembled. “I’m not your rival- I’m not anything. You left me behind… You don’t care about me.” And saying it out loud hurt more than Mihawk thought it would. He cried silently, expecting Shanks to come to his right mind at any moment and leave. 

If possible, Shanks seemed even more upset. “Mihawk.” His voice was quiet. “You really believe that?” 

Mihawk glanced up at the Emperor. “..It’s true, isn’t it?” He said sadly. “All I’m good for is a duel, but we aren’t rivals anymore.” 

Shanks was silent. Mihawk held his breath, then sighed when Shanks slowly leaned back, his hand leaving the swordsman’s face to rub at his eyes. Shanks’ crying had mostly stopped, and his lips turned upwards into a small smile. The Emperor chuckled wetly, and Mihawk frowned, feeling upset and foolish. What had he done to deserve to be laughed at? 

Shaking his head, Shanks drew his hand away, chuckling a moment longer. Then his smile fell, and he looked down at Mihawk. A moment passed, and Shanks’ face crumpled, heartbreak written so earnestly across him it was jarring. 

“..Oh sweetheart.” Shanks whispered. “I’ve treated you terribly, haven’t I?” 

Mihawk gaped and Shanks surged forward, delivering a searing kiss to the elder’s forehead. He slipped his hand around to cradle the back of the swordsman’s head, pressing Mihawk into his lips. Mihawk’s heart pounded, face heating up. He was utterly bewildered. 

“I’m so sorry.” Shanks murmured against him. He kissed Mihawk again. “You never knew. Of course you didn’t. I’m sorry.” He traveled along Mihawk’s brow, kissing his temple. “I’m such an idiot, sweetheart. I’m sorry I left you alone for so long. I’m sorry I hurt you when I gave up my arm. I never wanted to do anything to hurt you. Never you, precious.” 

“..Then why did you?” Mihawk gasped, struggling with the onslaught of emotions overtaking him. He couldn’t understand what was happening. 

“I had to, Hawkeye.” Shanks moaned regretfully. “I had to save Luffy. But I never wanted to break my connection to you.” Mihawk shut his eyes, pained, and Shanks kissed them. “I never meant to push you away, you have to believe me.” He breathed hot against Mihawk, voice low. “I love you. I love you so much you don’t even know.” 

Mihawk shook his head. He didn’t believe it! “No- you’re lying, Red Hair. This is cruel- stop it!” He glared tearfully. 

“I’m not lying. I’m not.” Shanks swore. He pressed his mouth to Mihawk’s hairline. “I’ve never lied to you, sweetheart. And I wouldn’t lie about this.” 

“You don’t love me!” Mihawk grabbed Shanks’ broad shoulders, weakly trying to push him away. Shanks moved back, but he didn’t let Mihawk throw him off. “Stop saying that!” Because it was ridiculous! Dracule Mihawk had lived his whole life alone. He knew better than anyone that a man like him simply wasn’t meant to be loved. 

He was too cruel and too cold and more monster than man. And Shanks was everything Mihawk could never hope to be. It made no sense! 

“I won’t ever stop.” Shanks said, infuriatingly stubborn. “I love you. I’m in love with you.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“I am.” 

“Why!” Mihawk barked, frustrated. Damn Shanks! Damn him to hell! “What is there to love? I can’t- there’s nothing I can offer you! I am not pleasant! I am not kind, or gentle or soft!” He felt a little hysterical, fisting Shanks’ shirt in both hands. “Don’t be an idiot, Red Hair. Perhaps.. perhaps our time apart has warped your memory of me. I was the Marine Hunter. A demon they called me- surely you haven’t forgotten what your crew used to say about me. If you truly love me then you‘re even more foolish than I realized!” 

Shanks was shaking his head. “No. Mihawk that doesn’t matter. All those things. None of that matters to me. I know you- I-“ 

Mihawk bared his teeth. “What do you know, Red-Hair?” 

“..I know I’ve been in love with you since our first duel.” 

It was so ridiculous. It hurt so bad. Mihawk threw his head back, laughing bitterly. “How quaint! You really are the same stupid little pirate captain! Running around with your head in the clouds! Honestly, Red-Hair!” He spat cruelly. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pining over some estranged rival you used to fight in your youth? Aren’t you an Emperor? Stop letting nostalgia blind you to reality. You cannot love me-“ 

Shanks’ hand shot out, covering his mouth, and Mihawk made an offended, muffled noise. 

“Shut up.” Shanks snapped. Mihawk glared, and Shanks’ Haki rumbled around them, crackling angrily. Mihawk cringed at the sensation, struggling. The Emperor let go of his mouth, only to clamp his hand behind Mihawk’s head again, grip tight in his hair, just shy of painful. His expression was dark. 

“Red-Hair-”  

“I said shut up!” Shanks hissed. “Who are you to call me a fool, Hawkeye? Huh?” Mihawk was silent, expression defiant. His hands were still holding onto Shanks’ shirt. Shanks narrowed his eyes at him. “You have no right to tell me what I should or shouldn’t feel. Not after how I spent the last decade!” 

Shanks leaned forward again, bringing their foreheads together. Deep ruby eyes stared into Mihawk, intense and overwhelming. Mihawk tried to glance away. 

“Look at me.” Haki compelled Mihawk’s eyes back to Shanks. The Emperor breathed harshly through his nose.  

“You think you’re the only one in pain, Hawkeye? The only one who suffered alone?” 

Yes. Mihawk did think that. Shanks had his crew, his friends.. his ‘Little Anchor’ who he adored ever so much. The memory had him sneering, old wounds that had never fully healed reopened, mocking him. Shanks shook his head, as if reading his mind. 

“..I did suffer, Mihawk. For ten years I’ve had to wake up every morning with my heart gone, somewhere on the Grand Line. I had to live every single day never knowing if I would be whole again!” 

“That was your fault!“ Mihawk burst out. How dare Shanks act like the victim in all this! “You’re the one who left me! I had nothing except our duels! You knew that, Red-Hair! You knew and you abandoned me anyway-“ 

“I know it was my fault! I know I hurt you!” Shanks said desperately. “But everything after, I did that for you Mihawk! I let you go, even though it killed me!” 

“Let me go?” Mihawk sputtered. “You think- you said it yourself that you wished you hadn’t left me alone! How could any of that have been for me!” 

“Because you wouldn’t have been happy by my side after that!” Shanks roared. His chest heaved. When Mihawk opened his mouth Shanks glared daggers and cut him off. “Don’t lie, Hawkeye. Even if you knew how I felt, it wouldn’t have changed anything. You still would have resented me for saving Luffy! You still would have gone off on your own!

“And I let you!” Shanks spat. “I let you go when all I wanted was to have you with me! I let you run around the Grand Line doing seas knows what, I let you claim that lonely little island, I stood back and watched you become a fucking Warlord for the Government because I thought you deserved to find something else to fulfill you after what I did… But guess what?” 

Shanks laughed mirthlessly, and Mihawk’s stomach flipped. “You’re still not happy, Mihawk. You’re absolutely miserable. So what did I even do it for? Why have I spent the last ten years torturing myself! Tell me!” 

The Emperor was trembling with emotion, searching Mihawk’s face for an answer he couldn’t give. Mihawk stared back helplessly, and Shanks snarled, Haki spitting. 

“Tell me, Mihawk!” 

“I don’t know!” Mihawk gasped, overwhelmed as more of Shanks’ Haki speared him. Normally such a small amount would have been little more than an annoyance to him, like a buzzing fly he could swat without even thinking. But right now, Mihawk felt like one huge nerve ending, sensitive to the slightest brush of Haki. He squirmed under the man, pathetic tears welling in his eyes again. “Shanks- I don’t know! Stop it!” 

Another small wave rumbled through him, and Mihawk cried out, heart pounding wildly. Everything felt scraped raw, his muscles and bones buzzing white hot inside of him. His lungs burned, breaths coming out short and fast. Hot tears spilled over his cheeks. The air crackled around them, electrified and painful. 

“Please- Shanks-” Mihawk moaned, head twisting from side to side. His fingers curled against the man, back arching into the small space between them. “Stop- stop!” Even the brush of their chests together was a million needles against his over-sensitive skin. Shanks‘ Haki was flaying him open from the inside out. 

Mihawk sobbed. “Shanks you’re hurting me!” 

Like he’d been slapped, Shanks fell backwards, taking his Haki with him. The sudden absence of sensation snapped the tension in Mihawk’s body like a wire being cut, and he collapsed back into the clovers, gasping for breath with wide eyes. 

Shanks had scrambled off of him, kneeled only a foot or so away. Mihawk shuddered, weakly wiping at his teary face. He felt more naked than he already was, his very soul plundered. Shanks was staring, shoulders rigid, his single hand caught in the air, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to reach back out to the Warlord. Silent tension filled the space between them as Mihawk panted and gazed at the younger man. 

“..I’m sorry.” Shanks whispered finally, voice thick with shame. 

Mihawk snorted despite himself, a wet, undignified sound. He blinked a few more tears out of his eyes. “Apologizing again, Red-Hair? H-how unbecoming of an Emperor.” He tried to mock, but his voice broke halfway through, and the derision fell flat. Shanks frowned, hand clenching into a fist that he rested on his thigh. 

“..I am. I’m sorry. I- I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t..” Mihawk watched Shanks struggle. “I’ve been so frustrated for such a long time. But that’s- that’s not an excuse. I know that. But when you started calling me an idiot, acting like I was some stupid brat for loving you I just- fuck.” He brushed his hand through his hair, an old anxious tic Mihawk recognized. “Maybe you’re right that I’m a damn fool. I lashed out. I’m sorry, Hawkeye. I’m sorry for putting all my bullshit on you. That’s not what I wanted.

”I came to help, not to- to.. Hell, I don’t know.” Shanks hung his head, sighing like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Maybe it was for the Emperor. “I do love you, Mihawk. Really. Maybe it was wrong to tell you like this, after so long. I don’t know. But I wasn’t lying. And I don’t.. expect you to love me back, but please, please don’t tell me I shouldn’t feel this way about you. I can’t take it.” 

Shanks was serious. The realization settled heavily on Mihawk’s chest, uncomfortable and intimate. He closed his eyes for a moment, defeated, then opened them. 

“..Alright.” He said softly. 

Shanks’ head whipped up, surprised. Mihawk sucked in a shaky breath and turned to stare straight up at the canopy sheltering them. He brought his hands to rest on his stomach, trembling fingers crossed, a facade of relaxation. 

“You seem.. Set on the matter. Far be it from me to try to reason with such a stubborn man, you were always that way.” He could feel Shanks’ stare burning into the side of his face. “Though I still don’t understand why, especially after..” Mihawk trailed off, internally cringing at the reminder of what brought them here. 

“After Blackbeard.” 

Mihawk kept his breathing steady, giving Shanks one brusque nod. There was silence from the Emperor, then noisy rustling from the clovers as he crawled the short distance back to the Warlord. Mihawk wasn’t surprised when Shanks’ sad face popped back into his line of sight, obscuring his view of the trees. 

“..Mihawk.” 

“Shanks.” 

“Do you..” Shanks paused, and Mihawk could see the gears turning in his head, trying to choose his words delicately. “Do you think that I would think less of you? Because of what Blackbeard did?” 

Mihawk considered the man above him. “You’re posing the question as if you don’t.” He stated. 

“Because it’s true!” Shanks exclaimed. 

“Why?” Mihawk asked, noting the disappointment on Shanks’ face. 

“Is that really something I have to explain?” Shanks said sadly. 

Irritation flared in the Warlord. “Explain it or don’t, Red-Hair.” Mihawk said, voice tight. “But I am worn out, and obviously I don’t understand all your feelings toward me. I have no patience for your misplaced pity, and if you don’t want to give me a straight answer, then I suggest you get off this island and leave me be, so I can rest and heal from what you and Blackbeard have done to me!” His fist hit the ground near Shanks. 

The Emperor flinched at the comparison, head dipping in guilt. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He admitted, meek. 

“Hmph.” Mihawk cut his eyes at the Emperor, only a little satisfied by Shanks’ submission. “Get on with it then.” 

“Right. Of course. Uh..” Shanks stammered. “Seas, let me find a good way to put this..” His hand went through his hair again, tugging on bright red locks. “I don’t.. I don’t think less of you for what happened, because it has nothing to do with you as a person.” He paused, looking Mihawk in the eye. “Does that make sense?” 

Mihawk held his gaze, expression flat. “Not particularly. Keep going.” 

“Fuck, okay. Um. When Blackbeard..” Shanks struggled for a moment, looking pained. “-hurt you.. That- that wasn’t a decision you made. It doesn’t reflect on you, or who you are. I- of course I hate that it happened.” Shanks laughed a little, strained. “I hate it, Mihawk. I’ve never been more furious in my life.” 

Of course. Mihawk looked away, ashamed. But Shanks noticed, gently grasping the man’s chin and urging him to look at him. “No. Hawkeye.” Red eyes met gold, deadly serious. “I don’t hate you, sweetheart. Get that out of your head now. I’m not angry with you, or disappointed. That’s not what I meant.” He stroked his thumb along the edge of Mihawk’s beard, attempting to soothe. 

“I hate-” Shanks took a shuddering breath, his voice an emotional whisper. “I hate what happened to you. I hate Blackbeard for what he did- for thinking he had any right to touch you like that- as if anyone does. I- I hate that it happened in my seas. I could feel how angry and terrified you were, and I hate myself so, so fucking much for letting this happen to you..” 

Shanks’ eyes were watering again, his hand sliding around to cup Mihawk’s cheek. “You’re so much more than this ugly, senseless world, Mihawk. I’m shackled to my fate, to my responsibilities, my promises.. But you.” Shanks breathed, reverent. “You’ve always been free. You’ve never let anyone in this world tell you what to do or who you could be. No one’s ever been powerful enough to make you.. You’re so beautiful and strong. And the fact that Blackbeard- that such an ugly, greedy coward thought he could drag you down. Cage you.. I.. I..” 

Shanks trembled, his Haki barely contained. Mihawk placed his palm over Shanks’ hand, eyes wide. “Red-Hair..” He murmured. Tentatively, his other hand came up to Shanks’ jaw. He wasn’t sure what to do, but the younger man was a physical creature. Mihawk thought his touch might help. Pale fingers found the stubbled curve of the Emperor’s jaw. A shy caress. 

A hurt, choked noise escaped Shanks, and he leaned into Mihawk’s touch, tears spilling. Mihawk quickly cupped the man’s cheek, allowing him to sink further into his hand. He let Shanks cry, the two of them caught in the closest thing to a true embrace Mihawk had ever felt. Shanks’ flesh was hot where it pressed against Mihawk’s face and palm, the sun-kissed, weather worn skin such a contrast to the Warlord’s soft alabaster. 

Mihawk thought he was helping, comforting the Emperor, but as the minutes started to drag on, Shanks’ crying only seemed to get worse. His tears soaked Mihawk’s hand, his shoulders shaking violently, taking in short, gasping breaths. Mihawk was out of his depth, staring helplessly while Shanks continued to break apart above him. 

He clutched the hand against his cheek when Shanks hunched over, some of his tears dripping onto Mihawk’s bare chest and collarbone. They burned against his skin. 

“Shanks..” 

A broken sob flew past Shanks’ lips, and he curled over tighter, his red fringe falling in front of his eyes. 

“Shanks.” Mihawk tried again, uncomfortable with the desperation he was starting to feel. “What should I do? What will help you?” He pleaded gently. “I’m not.. I don’t know what you need, Red-Hair. You have to tell me.” He slid his hand up to Shanks’ wrist, gripping it. “Tell me and I will do it.” He didn’t want the younger man to suffer. 

But Shanks only shook his head and pitched forward, catching Mihawk off guard as the younger collapsed onto his bare chest, his wet face hidden in the Warlord’s neck. He was heavy and warm, blanketing Mihawk completely, their legs suddenly tangled together. 

For a moment, a spike of panic gripped Mihawk, reminded of the way Blackbeard’s body had pinned him similarly. Mihawk blinked owlishly, both hands hovering in the air around Shanks’ shuddering form. As quickly as it came though, the frightened tension left him. This was Shanks. He reminded himself. Even after years apart, their bond shattered by betrayals and unspoken words, Mihawk trusted the kind man to never hurt him intentionally. 

Mihawk’s arms came up to wrap around Shanks’ back, holding him -albeit a bit awkwardly- against his chest. He breathed deeply, letting the familiar scent of firewood and sea salt envelop him. A gentle hand smoothed down Shanks’ strong back, coaxing a blubbering whine out of the pirate captain. 

Shanks clung to Mihawk tighter. “I- I- I’m so-orry!” He wailed into Mihawk’s skin. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry!” He cried harder, heaving so violently the swordsman began to worry. Mihawk’s hand came up to cradle the back of Shanks’ neck, slender fingers working their way between the bright red strands. He pressed his cheek to the top of Shanks’ head, eyes closed, letting his feeble knowledge of human connection guide him. 

“Shanks.. Red-Hair.” Mihawk said softly. “It’s alright.” He hushed Shanks when the man made a strangled, protesting noise, attempting to speak through his sobs. “Calm yourself, Red-Hair. You’re hyperventilating. You have to breathe.” He took a slow, measured breath, attempting to coax Shanks into following. To his credit, Shanks did try, but he quickly devolved into sputtering apologies once more. 

“Stop it, Shanks. I’m alright. You don’t need to apologize anymore. Just breathe, please.” Mihawk whispered assurances into Shanks’ ears as he rubbed circles into the younger’s back. His attempts at comfort felt clumsy, frustrating him. 

The intricacies of relationships had evaded Mihawk since childhood. He’d realized from a young age that he was born a little less human than others, the easy ability to connect and form bonds missing, locked away somewhere he was never quite able to reach no matter how old he grew. Love, friendship, family.. such matters were abstract concepts to him, pretty words in a book he could visualize but would never experience. 

As aware of the fact as he was, Mihawk had never felt so fundamentally lacking for it as he did now. 

A long-buried insecurity started to unravel in his chest, blooming painfully with every harsh sob Shanks let out. Mihawk closed his eyes and held Shanks tighter. 

Was this truly what Shanks wanted for himself? Mihawk knew better than to doubt the sincerity of the Emperor’s love now, but he was still baffled by it. 

For Shanks, connection was as easy as breathing. Mihawk had seen it many times in the past, when he would stay with the captain for days or weeks at a time, chasing the high of their duels. At every island they visited, Shanks found himself new admirers, new friends, new lovers. He was roguish and charming, mysterious yet sincere, just open enough with his easy affection that newcomers couldn’t help but be drawn in, enamoured by his very being. 

In those moments, when Shanks danced around bonfires with his crew, or shared drinks with whichever newcomer he’d managed to beguile for the night, Mihawk would silently excuse himself, slinking off into the shadows to keep to himself until morning. They were both swordsmen, equals to each other like no other, but Mihawk had known from the start that’s where their similarities ended. 

Shanks lived in a world of warmth, of love and laughter and easy pleasures glutted on like candies. He was still a pirate, ambitious and greedy as any outlaw roaming the seas, but Mihawk knew that at his core, Shanks was good and kind. 

The Warlord’s heart clenched. 

How could he ever be what Shanks needed? It was impossible. Red-Hair, the stubborn little fool that he was, deserved more than a jaded old swordsman still haunted by scars of the past. He deserved someone as beautiful and human as he was... Not Mihawk. Who could barely touch Shanks without second guessing himself. Who had never known even the simplest intimacy of another’s lips on his own. Who shut himself away from the world for years, unable to exist comfortably when he wasn’t stained by the scent of blood and hot steel. 

Idiot Red-Hair. Mihawk thought mournfully as the younger man shook against him. Love truly was a cruel thing for condemning Shanks to this, to him. Mihawk shifted, slowly turning to his side, tired of bearing the full weight of a grown man on his chest. Even through his crying, Shanks moved easily, adjusting by throwing his arm around Mihawk’s back and a leg over his waist, curled up and clinging to him like a child. Shanks’ face left Mihawk’s neck, and with an arm stretched across the ground the elder supported Shanks’ head on a muscular bicep. 

Shanks’ eyes were closed as he sagged against the Warlord’s arm, and Mihawk allowed himself a moment to take in the sight of his ex-rival. Shanks’ face, usually so ruggedly handsome, was red and swollen from sobbing, snot and tears coating the tan skin in a glossy shine. His puffy eyes held deep bags underneath, and his scrappy little goatee had a bit more scruff to it than usual, suggesting he hadn’t shaved or slept well recently. 

The smallest, pitying smile tugged at Mihawk’s lips, though it was gone in an instant. Poor, foolish little pirate captain. He really had been worried about Mihawk, hadn’t he? The swordsman held back a scoff, instead smoothing gentle fingers into Shanks’ tightly furrowed brow. That got a sniffle and a gasp from Shanks, and then red eyes were blinking open, staring at him sadly. 

Their age difference was slight, all things considered, but looking at Shanks like this, Mihawk was struck by the image of a much younger Shanks challenging him to their first duel, his eyes bright and face boyishly hopeful. 

Shanks sobbing had died down, but tremors and soft cries still wracked his body. His mouth parted as he looked up at Mihawk, attempting to croak out words. “M-Mihawk- I’m- I..” 

But Mihawk silenced him with two firm fingers to his lips. “I don’t want another apology, Red-Hair. If that’s what you’re trying to force out, you can stop.” 

Shanks swallowed thickly, whispering against Mihawk’s fingers. “But-” 

“No more.” Mihawk cut him off, soft but stern. “I know your bleeding heart has probably wracked you with enough misplaced guilt to fill the East Blue, but I already told you once that all this simpering is unbecoming of an Emperor.” He tried for a smirk, running his hand through Shanks’ fringe. “At the very least, you must know that I am tired -as are you I suspect- and much needed sleep will evade us both if you insist on blubbering like a fool for the rest of the afternoon.” 

Shanks’ expression was a cross between bewildered and put out, and Mihawk felt an old fondness seep into his chest at the sight. The younger always had complained about Mihawk’s eternal ‘bitchiness.’ Mihawk used to purposely torment Shanks with it sometimes, privately amused by the red head’s exasperation. 

Mihawk’s eyes softened slightly, relaxing further into Shanks’ hold. He got a firm squeeze in return. 

“It seems we have.. much to discuss.” Mihawk said quietly. “But for now, let us be done.” It hadn’t been very long since he’d awoken, but already Mihawk could feel the pull of sleep dragging him back down. Reuniting with Shanks had drained him. 

Shanks sniffled. “H-Hawkeye..” 

“Rest, Red-Hair. All of this will still be waiting for us when we wake up.” 

A beat passed, then slowly the Emperor nodded. “Alright.. Okay Hawkeye. We’ll sleep.” He murmured. As if he hadn’t realized how tired he was until Mihawk pointed it out, Shanks’ eyes began to droop, his breathing finally evening out into something slow and steady. Mihawk watched it all through half-lidded eyes, smiling a little when Shanks’ eyes fully closed and he squirmed impossibly closer to the older man, their chests tight against each other. 

Shanks’ warmth and smell cocooned him, his presence reduced to something much softer, spreading over Mihawk’s cool skin like a balm. Mihawk sighed, his eyes sliding shut. He had never been held like this, but perhaps.. if it was Shanks, it wasn’t so bad. Thoughts of Blackbeard, of old pains and lonely nights drifted away as Mihawk let himself bask in the younger man’s possessive hold. 

High above the sea, surrounded by trees and soft clover, cradled in the embrace of the only man he’d ever trusted, Mihawk surrendered to his exhaustion, noting as he drifted off that it had been a long time since he’d ever felt so safe.