Sir Crocodile X Reader - Blog Posts

Pasodoble

Word Count: 2K+

Contents: Your boss, Sir Crocodile requests that you attend a gala as his plus one so he can look less suspicious while spying. Feelings bubble to the surface in a night filled with extravagance. (Sir Crocodile x reader, pining, confessions, possessive Crocodile)

Notes: I love this man I really do. I'd do anything he asked me to.

//

“You want me to what?”

Crocodile looked up from his papers, “I want you to accompany me to a gala so I can gather some intel.”

You paused for a moment and then pursed your lips.

“You want me to be your plus one to a party so you can spy on people.”

“Problem, darling?” Crocodile smirked.

“Not with the spying part,” you waved your hand. You’d been Crocodile’s personal assistant for several years now. You knew what to expect from your boss, and a completely honest man he was not. 

“Then what’s the issue?”

“It’s a party for people like you,” you gestured to him. “Extravagant rich people who live luxury lives with fine jewelry and fine clothing…Not a party for normal people like me.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, “Normal people hm? Well this isn’t a request. It’s an order.”

“Why can’t you go alone?”

“Too suspicious.”

“Well can’t you just hire someone?” You protested. “I’m sure there are loads of women who’d love to hang off your arm at a fancy party for a night.”

“I don’t trust some cheap escort. I trust you,” your boss levelled you with an even gaze as he lit up a cigar.

You sighed heavily.

“This is really non-negotiable, huh?”

“Afraid so, darling.”

“Fine,” you furrowed your brow, “but I’m taking the rest of the day off to go shop for something suitable to wear.”

Crocodile huffed, a cloud of smoke floating out from his mouth.

“There’s no need for that. I’ll have something sent to your apartment this afternoon, but if you want to take the rest of the day to work up the nerve to attend the party with me then go ahead.”

You rolled your eyes at the teasing tone of his voice and simply waved as you left his office.

//

You stood by the front door, anxiously fussing over your appearance in the mirror. 

Crocodile would be arriving soon to pick you up, and even if you’d spent a few hours getting ready, you still didn’t feel prepared.

You looked in the mirror, sliding your hands over non-existent wrinkles in your dress. Someone else from Crocodile’s office had dropped it off that afternoon, and you knew from the brand label on the garment bag that it was expensive. It was breathtaking. Soft, emerald coloured velvet reaching down to the floor, hugging your curves in all the right places. A long slit ran up the side, exposing your leg and the gold heels that had been delivered to you with the dress.

With your hair done up, and a bit of subtle work with your makeup, you’d never felt more extravagant. Or more unfamiliar from your own reflection.

The colour scheme of your outfit was also not lost on you, and you were certain that Crocodile had grinned smugly when picking it out.

You sighed as you examined your appearance again. Just as you were wondering if you could pretend to be ill, you heard a knock at the door.

After another deep breath, you opened it. Crocodile was standing on your doorstep, filling the entire space with his presence.

He didn’t comment on your appearance as you stepped out to meet him and closed the door, merely giving you a quick once-over and huffing his approval. He offered his arm to you, and no sooner had you taken it that you both dissolved into sand, scattering away and reforming on the grand steps of a large estate.

You brushed stray grains of sand off of you as Crocodile smirked slightly.

“I hate when you do that.”

He chuckled lowly and started walking up the stairs, “Come, we wouldn’t want to be late.”

“Sir-”

“Lose the sir.”

You looked up at your boss, who was paused on the steps ahead, looking over his shoulder at you with an expression you couldn’t place.

“You’re not my assistant tonight,” he said softly, before continuing toward the entrance. 

You stood frozen on the steps for a moment as your heart clenched before hurrying to catch up with him.

As you walked through the grand doors, Crocodile tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. 

“Wouldn’t want you getting lost now would we?” He said lowly, guiding you through the main foyer.

“How in the world would I get…lost…” you trailed off as the two of you stepped into a magnificent ballroom filled with an extravagantly dressed crowd. 

Men in finely cut suits and women wearing exquisite gowns and covered in jewels mingled and laughed. Several waiters weaved through the party, handing out flutes of champagne and hor d'oeuvres. Large granite pillars lined the marble-floored ballroom, and works of art hung from the walls. Across the ceiling, masterfully painted frescoes were illuminated by large chandeliers dripping in crystals.

Crocodile gave you a pointed look and began to lead you through the crowd as you looked around in awe. Somewhere along the way he managed to snag some champagne for both of you, handing you a glass as he whisked you through the crowd.

“So, is this the kind of extravagant luxury you were expecting?” He asked, sipping his champagne.

“Not quite to this scale,” you said, still taking everything in. You took a sip of your drink. “It’s…a lot.”

Crocodile chuckled, “Don’t worry, darling. Just stick with me and everything will be alright.”

As he tucked you into his side and ushered you off into the crowd, you had the feeling things would be much less simple than that.

//

You were bored.

Even with all the sights and the glamour around you, you’d lost interest in the party after the third conversation that Crocodile had toted you along for, and that was an hour ago. Needless to say, you were done mingling for the moment.

You tapped Crocodile’s bicep as you left, and he nodded without breaking his conversation. Then you drifted over to a less crowded part of the room, grabbing another flute of champagne as you went. With your back pressed against the cool, smooth marble of one of the pillars, you let out a soft sigh of relief. 

Despite your outfit and date for the evening, as you gazed out at the crowd, you still felt like a stranger in a new world. A thought briefly ran through your head, of Crocodile with a date much more suited to this extravagance than you. The idea made your stomach churn. Your boss was a busy man, often with little time left for the frivolities of finding a lover, but there had been a few times when he’d ushered some finely dressed woman away to private rooms at the casino. Each time it had not failed to make some twisted jealousy curl through you, immediately followed by guilt for wanting possession over a man you had no romantic claim on.

As you sat there stewing, a space was cleared in the centre of the ballroom and a band settled on a balcony overlooking the floor. Soon after, a dark waltz was floating through the air.

You sipped your drink as you watched couples take to the floor, a presence coming up behind you your only indication that your boss had left his conversation to join you. Crocodile’s hand settled on your back as he took your empty glass, passing it off to a waiter.

“Your mother used to dance, didn't she?” his voice rumbled.

You nodded, your eyes still on the dancers spinning around the floor, “She did.”

“Did she teach you?” Crocodile asked.

“Yes, but that was a long time ago…” 

Crocodile leaned in closer, his voice dropping to near a whisper. “Try to remember…for me.”

A strange feeling came over you. Perhaps it was a combination of the sultry music and the low pitch of his voice as he loomed behind you like a cloak of darkness. All you could do was nod, and let him take your hand as he pulled you out of the crowd.

The feeling of his hook settling around your waist made you look down, and you realized that it wasn’t the one he usually wore. This hook pointed outward slightly at the end, as opposed to his normal hook which followed one continuous curve.

“See something interesting?”

You glanced up, and the neutral expression on his face almost fooled you into thinking the switch was a coincidence. But Crocodile was far too cunning to not have everything worked out beforehand if he could help it, and the calculating look in his eyes told you this was no accident. 

He had planned on dancing with you, so he’d chosen a different hook to ensure he wouldn’t hurt you with the sharp curved tip.

And he knew that you’d figured it out.

Not for the first time that night, words eluded you. You shook your head, and Crocodile merely hummed in response, pulling you a bit closer as he began to lead the two of you around the room.

“Are you enjoying your evening, darling?”

“I am.”

“Good. I know you were concerned about fitting in, but I knew you’d do just fine. You’re with me after all.” 

You could hear the sly smile in his voice, but it didn’t stop you from briefly imagining what it would be like to be Crocodile’s lover. 

It wasn’t the first time that such a thought had crossed your mind. There had been moments in the past when a brush of hands exchanging papers lasted a bit too long, or a shared look had felt a bit too intimate. Crocodile often doted on you, citing your hard work and loyalty as his reasons to send you gifts. 

You’d be lying if you said you harboured no feelings for him. You kept all that tucked carefully away, though, knowing you’d surely be cast off from his side if he ever found out. And yet, in private moments, when you knew you were able to safely think about your desires, his face would cross your mind.

You could feel your cheeks burning a bit, so you focused your gaze on Crocodile’s chest, trying to keep your face from heating under his gaze.

“Mm, took you long enough to reveal yourself.”

Your head shot up, thinking you’d been found out, only to find Crocodile staring out at the crowd. You followed his gaze, seeing two men in sharp suits exchange whispers and begin to head away from the group and down a hallway.

You sighed and shook your head, your boss’ shifted attention allowing you to refocus on what your role was in his life. The song ended, and Crocodile pulled away, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a light kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll find you when I’ve gotten what I needed, darling.”

“Yes, yes, go do something illicit,” you waved him off, deciding to go get another drink. Whether to clear your head or distract yourself, you weren’t sure.

You slid onto a stool at the bar counter, ordering a drink and taking a long sip once it was served to you.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you muttered quietly, rubbing your temple and squeezing your eyes shut. Regardless of who you were posing as tonight, you were Crocodile’s assistant, not his partner. 

With a heavy sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and ordered another.

//

It had been a decent amount of time since Crocodile had gone off. 

You’d remained at the bar, observing the crowd and watching for the return of your boss, but had yet to see him. You were beginning to wonder if you should go look for him when a man slid up next to you, far too close for comfort.

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone at the bar,” the man cooed, and you cringed.

“Just having a drink and waiting for my date.” You turned away, hoping it would dissuade the stranger.

“Your date left you alone? Damn he must be stupid. I’d never leave such a beautiful woman to sit by herself. You never know who could come along and steal her away,” the man said, leaning in closer.

You leaned away, calling over the bartender to settle your tab before you were pursued further.

“Bet I could treat you better than your date.”

“Sorry, I’m not interested,” you said, trying to be polite in the face of the stranger’s inability to read your cues.

You slid off your stool, making to walk away when a hand grabbed your wrist, tugging you back toward the bar.

“C’mon, doll. Give a guy a chance won’t you?” He whispered into your ear.

His hand grazed up your arm, stopping cold when a gold hook yanked him by his tie away from you and toward the snarling expression of Sir Crocodile.

“That’s not yours,” he growled, the stranger’s eyes widening in fear and recognition.

The man struggled as he was held aloft, your boss being a good two and a half feet taller. “I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t know she was yours! I’ll leave her alone I promise! Let me go, please!”

Crocodile merely sneered, “You think begging will save you?”

You could only stand there frozen and watch. The wrath on Crocodile’s face was something you usually only saw directed at his enemies, but now it was being used in your defence.

No, not just in your defence, out of possessiveness. 

The sound of the stranger continuing to plead for his life took you out of your stupor.

“Crocodile,” you hissed at your boss, watching your surroundings as people started to notice the commotion. “You’re making a scene.”

Your boss finally tore his eyes away from the vicious glare he had been sending the other man and looked down at you. He held your gaze for a few moments before exhaling and dropping the man unceremoniously. Then he stalked over to the balcony off to the side of the ballroom.

You followed hurriedly, nearly jogging to catch up to Crocodile’s long strides. When you emerged, he had already shoved a cigar between his teeth, though he was still frowning as you set your hands on the railing next to him.

The night air was cool, and you tried to take a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart, but all you could focus on was your boss fumbling with his lighter next to you and mumbling curses under his breath. He was angry, and anger made him unfocused. 

You sighed and turned to him, grabbing a hold of his collar and yanking him down a bit so you could reach his face. You took the lighter from his hand, feeling him watch your every move as you easily struck it up and held it to his cigar.

Crocodile’s eyes met yours as the cigar lit, and he held your gaze as he took the first long inhale before straightening up and tilting his head slightly to exhale a cloud of smoke.

He grunted out a thank you, and you nodded. You let him smoke in silence for a while, allowing the nicotine to settle into his lungs and ease his tension. Once you’d decided he’d calmed down enough, you looked up at him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” 

“Well too bad,” You said, frowning at him a bit. “What was that back there?”

“He had no right touching you,” Crocodile muttered around his cigar.

“And that gives you warrant to end his life?” You asked, frustration and confusion tinting your voice.

“It does because you’re mine, and nobody touches my things,” he growled, turning his gaze to you.

The fire in his eyes should have been frightening, instead it only made a flicker of heat go through you. 

Crocodile reached out, grabbing your cheeks with his hand. “Sometimes I wonder whether you are truly human, or whether the gods sent you to me as punishment for the deeds I’ve done.” He tilted your face back and forth, examining you. “You bring out a weakness in me I am unable to control. A primal desire to claim you and let no one else have you.”

At this point, you were sure your cheeks were red, and eyes wide from the confession.

“Such a pretty thing, so loyal,” Crocodile murmured, “Forgive me for wanting to keep you all to myself, darling…I’m only a man, and a selfish one at that.”

“Sir,” you whimpered softly, “What does all this mean?”

Crocodile released your face with a sigh and took another puff from his cigar. “It means that I need to face the feelings I’ve been so desperate to quell and ask politely if you’d allow me to court you.”

You stood there in shock, your mind unable to comprehend that your deepest desires were being offered to you freely.

“You…you want to court me?”

“Yes. I want to spoil you in any way that I can and give you everything you want,” Crocodile said earnestly. “I understand this is out of the blue, you can have some time to consider my offer if-”

“Yes.”

Crocodile’s hand paused midway to his mouth, the cigar nearly slipping from his fingers.

“Yes. I want that…I want you,” you said softly, reaching out and gently tracing your fingers across his jaw.

The man let out a pleased hum, stubbing his cigar out and tucking you into his side. “Good. Then let’s leave this stuffy party and go somewhere private. I need a drink, and to properly explain my intentions to you.”

As he whisked you through the ballroom and out of the building, you bit back a smile, content at how he held you closer than he had before, and excited for what was to come.

blowin buggy and afterwards your tongue is stained like blue raspberry

gotta spit out the bits of sand after giving croccy a nice succ

mihawk-tuah

Just... wow.

If you write for him, could I ask for Sir Crocodile who is absolutely WHIPPED for reader? I loveee when he’s portrayed as a hopeless romantic for his partner and it’s even better when reader is the same way towards him ♡ sort of like Mortica and Gomez ^^ (I’m not normal about him I’m sorry LMAOWJDB)

           苦⠀⠀⠀℘𝗈𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗌⠀𝐞⠀⸺⠀𝒮ilenci̲o̲s⠀⠀٫

Pairings. Sir crocodile x fem!reader

summary. Whipped

— (a/n): i am so so super excited for that request, in fact I was waiting for crocodile for so long but got no idea.

⠀⠀   ⠀             ︵‿⭒                     ⠻ ‎❀ ‎⠟  

— He is devoted, not desperate.

Crocodile does not chase love—he does not stumble over himself to prove his worth, nor does he fall into the reckless behaviors of men who do not understand the meaning of control. He is not a man ruled by whims, yet when it comes to you, something inside him changes. He does not worship as poets or fools do; rather, he loves you as a man who fully understands what he owns. His love is deliberate, a silent force that weaves itself into your life without request, without question. He is not a beggar at the altar of your love—he is the altar itself, the ground upon which your love is built. His devotion is not a weakness; it is a law—unspoken, absolute, and completely unbreakable.

— Actions over words.

Crocodile is not a man who speaks in vain, nor does he waste his time on great declarations. Words are cheap. He has been a man of power for a very long time to believe in beautiful phrases and fleeting emotions. What he truly believes in is consistency. A gloved hand touching yours—not by accident, but because he wants to feel your presence. The way he ensures you walk on the safe side of the street, a silent habit that has become part of his nature. He watches over you not because he doubts your strength, but because the idea of something happening to you is not a possibility he can accept. Loyalty is not something he gives easily. But you? You hold his loyalty in a way no one else does, and even if he never says it out loud, you will know. You will always know.

— He indulges you—but only you.

Crocodile has no patience for fools. His subordinates know well not to waste his time, and he rarely engages in unnecessary conversations. But with you? His attention is yours alone. It does not matter if you are talking about something important or simply enjoying the sound of your own voice—he listens. He listens in a way that seems indifferent, reclining with a cigar in hand, occasionally letting out a hum or a low chuckle, but he does not miss a thing. He notices every change in your tone, every glance, every small smile that tugs at your lips. And when you turn to him expecting a reaction, he meets your gaze with that same knowing look—because of course he was listening. He remembers details no one else notices and indulges your whims in ways that are so subtle yet so profound that you do not realize how much he spoils you until you think about it.

— The little things he does to take care of you.

If you fight, your weapons are always in perfect condition—not because you asked, but because he made sure of it. There is no spectacle in the way he takes care of you, no unnecessary words or dramatic displays. He simply does. If you forget to eat, he will not scold or argue with you—he will place a plate in front of you, and he will not take no for an answer. If you are hurt, the entire world stops until it is taken care of. His hands—so accustomed to violence—become incredibly gentle when they touch you, his gloved fingers lifting your chin to examine even the smallest wounds. He does not make a fuss, does not overreact, but the tight set of his jaw says everything. His concern is silent but suffocating, woven into the very fabric of your life.

And if someone was the cause of your pain? That is an entirely different matter.

— His temper is controlled, but his rage is not.

Crocodile is not a man who acts on reckless emotion. He does not explode, does not waste his energy on unnecessary outbursts. His anger is quiet, cold, and patient. One glance from him can freeze a man where he stands, and a slow drag of his cigar is the only sign that he is deciding how to handle the situation. If someone hurts you—physically or emotionally—they will not know the moment they sealed their fate. There will be no warning. No second chances.

— He does not threaten. He does not need to.

Instead, things simply happen. Business partners disappear. “Accidents” occur. A man who dared to speak ill of you suddenly finds himself without allies, his empire crumbling beneath him. Revenge for him is easy, simple, effortless. He does not just remove problems—he erases them from existence as if they were never worth acknowledging in the first place.

And you? You do not even need to ask. By the time you mention the offense, it has already been dealt with.

— When he expresses his affection, it is with purpose.

Crocodile is not a man who wastes words. He does not say things he does not mean, and he certainly does not indulge in flowery phrases. But when he speaks to you, when his words are slow and measured, laced with something meant only for you—they carry weight.

“You are the only one who matters.”

Said in the dead of night, when the world is silent and his walls are at their lowest. His voice is rough, weary, but certain.

“I do not trust easily. You know that.”

A simple sentence, but the meaning behind it is undeniable.

And when he says “I love you”—on the rare occasions he does—it is never empty. Never casual. It is a statement, a fact, as unshakable as the empire he has built.

— He lets you in—truly in.

No one sees him as you do. No one sees past the Warlord, the businessman, the criminal. No one else knows what his silence truly means, what lingers behind those sharp amber eyes when no one else is looking. He is a man who does not trust, a man who has built his entire life on control, on keeping people at a distance.

— But you? You are different.

You see the rare moments when he is unguarded, when his head tilts back, eyes closed, exhaling a long breath as the tension drains from his body. When his hand—always gloved, always composed—finds its way to your waist, gripping just enough to remind himself that you are real. When he allows himself to sleep beside you, something he never does unless he is completely at ease.

To the world, he is untouchable. But to you? He is simply yours.

Smoke Break

A collection of fiery, smoky encounters where passion burns as hot as the cigars and blunts exchanged between you and some of the world’s most dangerous daddies i mean men — every kiss laced with smoke, heat, and unspoken desire.

Benn beckman x reader x sanji x smoker x crocodile | ONE SHOT

Tags: fluff, flirty, smok!ng, w3ed mentions, blvnt smok!ng, cigarette smok!n, mouth-to-mouth sm0ke sharing, minor spit description, light nsfw tension

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

word count: 3.3k

MINORS DNI!!

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Is it hot in here or is it just me?

I'm so high in here, been smokin' on this weed

Only drug a bitch is on is the tree

But I lasted ten rounds like a freak

Like a G

Benn Beckman

The deck still stank of gunpowder and sea salt by the time you slumped onto the steps leading up to the helm, boots heavy with exhaustion. Your knuckles throbbed from the earlier brawl with some no-name pirate crew dumb enough to pick a fight with the Red Hair Pirates. You won, obviously—but victory didn’t erase the tight coil of stress still buzzing under your skin.

You dragged your hood up over your head, shielding your face from the low sun. Hands steady, you pulled out a battered little tin from your pocket, the familiar ritual already soothing your frayed nerves. You broke down the nug slowly, fingers working with careful, practiced motions. You barely even registered the distant sound of boots approaching.

Benn Beckman stopped a few feet away, cigarette halfway to his lips, brows lifting slightly at the sight of you hunched over the tray.

He leaned against the rail, arms crossed.

"Rough day?" he drawled.

You didn’t look up right away, just finished rolling your blunt with a lazy flick of your thumb. When you finally glanced his way, your gaze was cool, detached—like you were sizing him up and decided he wasn’t worth worrying about.

"Nothing a smoke can't fix," you muttered, voice low and even.

Benn whistled low under his breath, impressed.

"Didn't think you were the type to roll your own medicine."

You snorted, lighting the blunt with a snap of your lighter.

"Cigs are for rookies," you said, plucking the cigarette from his fingers without asking. You tucked the blunt between his lips instead, your touch casual, intimate.

Benn played along, inhaling deep. His eyes hooded slightly as the taste hit him—stronger, sweeter than he expected.

"Holy shit," he coughed out, laughing.

You took the blunt back from him with two fingers, tapping it lightly against the railing.

"Too much for you, old man?" you teased, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of your mouth.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated in his chest.

"Old enough to know better. Dumb enough not to care."

You offered the blunt again—not by hand this time, but by leaning in, smoke trailing from your lips in a lazy, tantalizing swirl. Benn caught on quick, closing the small distance between you. His mouth brushed yours just enough to catch the exhale directly, smoke passing from your tongue to his.

The heat flared instantly.

Before you could pull back, he tilted his head slightly, deepening it into a kiss—slow, languid, tasting of smoke and adrenaline. His hand found your jaw, rough thumb grazing your cheekbone with a kind of reverence that didn’t match how fucking cocky he was about it.

When you finally parted, a thin, silver thread of spit clung stubbornly between your tongues until it snapped, leaving a hot smear of want in its wake.

You sat back, lazily dragging the blunt between your lips again. Your expression barely shifted—still that same unreadable cool—but your hooded eyes glittered with something dangerous, something alive.

Benn wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grinning like he just won the biggest prize in the world.

"You always this generous after a fight?" he asked, voice low and rough.

You exhaled slow, letting the smoke roll between you both like a secret.

"Depends who's asking."

Benn’s grin widened, cigarette long forgotten at his side.

"Good," he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell the faint whiskey on his breath.

"'Cause I’m not planning on being just a one-time habit."

Sanji

The galley was quiet at night, all the chaos of the day gone still. It was your favorite time—when the ship seemed to breathe slow and easy, and nobody was around to bother you.

You sat perched on the counter, blunt half-rolled between your fingers, working fast but precise. You glanced around — no way in hell you could borrow a lighter from anyone without exposing your little habit.

Of course you didn’t bring yours. Of course.

You sighed through your nose and hopped down from the counter, moving toward the stovetop. You twisted the burner’s dial, letting a tall flame lick up from the gas, the soft click click whoosh breaking the silence.

You leaned into the flame, lighting the tip of your blunt directly against it, shielding it with one hand like an old habit.

That’s when you heard a low whistle behind you.

"You know," Sanji’s voice drawled from the doorway, lazy and amused, "most people come to the kitchen for food. Not... that."

You turned slightly, the blunt between your lips, glowing softly as you took your first pull. You held his gaze through the smoke, your expression unreadable, unbothered.

"Guess I’m not most people," you said coolly, exhaling a slow, thick ribbon of smoke into the low light.

Sanji didn’t flinch. Didn't fawn.

Instead, he grinned, a slow, dangerous curve of his mouth as he stepped into the kitchen, cigarette tucked behind his ear, hands sliding easily into his pockets.

"You could've just asked for a light," he teased, voice like silk and heat. "I would've given it to you. Anything you want."

You shrugged one shoulder, casual.

"Not exactly advertising my hobbies."

Sanji stopped a few feet away, head tilting just slightly, studying you. You could feel the weight of his gaze — not heavy, not invasive — just... there, like a hand trailing just over your skin without touching.

"You're full of surprises," he murmured, voice dipping lower.

You took another hit, slow and deliberate, letting the thick taste settle on your tongue. As you exhaled, Sanji moved closer, crossing into your space so naturally it felt like gravity.

"Mind if I...?" he asked, eyes dropping to the blunt between your fingers.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, parting your lips just enough to offer the smoke right to him.

Sanji caught the game instantly.

He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and set it on the counter. Then he leaned in, mouth brushing dangerously close to yours—not kissing, not yet—and drew the smoke straight from your mouth with a slow, deep inhale.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing the warm skin behind your ear.

When he exhaled, it was right against your lips, warm and intoxicating.

The space between you crackled.

You barely had time to process before he closed the gap completely, his mouth pressing to yours in a kiss that was all slow burn, all slow claiming. His grip tightened just a little, guiding you against the counter behind you without force—just the kind of confident pressure that made your stomach flip.

You kissed him back, matching his heat with your own, the taste of smoke and fire mixing between your tongues. When you finally parted, a thin, sticky thread of spit clung between you, snapping when you tilted your head back, breathless but still wearing that same cool smirk.

Sanji stayed close, his forehead brushing against yours, his fingers still tangled loosely in your hair.

"You," he said, voice low and warm, "are way too dangerous to be left alone in my kitchen."

You chuckled, flicking ash into the sink.

"Then don’t leave," you said, voice lazy, teasing.

Sanji smiled against your cheek, teeth just grazing your skin as he whispered,

"Wasn't planning to."

And from the way his hand slid down to your hip, you knew he meant it.

Smoker

The port was busy, noisy, and reeking of salt and sweat.

Perfect place to disappear for a while.

You slipped between two battered brick buildings, finding a patch of shade away from the main street. No patrols, no Marines. Just the low hum of the sea and the sharp scratch of your lighter as you tried, once, twice — and cursed under your breath.

Dead. Perfect.

You rolled the unlit blunt between your fingers, considering your options. Borrowing a lighter wasn’t on the table — too many judging eyes. Especially for someone like you, already treading too close to the Navy's leash.

"Problem?"

The deep, rough voice made you freeze. A shadow stretched into the alley. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Vice-Admiral Smoker stepped into view, coat draped over his broad shoulders, two cigars clamped between his teeth, smoke curling around his head like a storm cloud.

You gave him a flat look, the blunt dangling lazily from your lips.

"No lighter," you said simply.

Smoker snorted, amused in that dry, almost imperceptible way of his. He pulled one cigar free and tucked it into his coat, flicking his silver lighter open with a smooth motion.

He lit his remaining cigar, took a deep drag — and then, without saying a word, held the lighter out to you.

You raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, cupping a hand around the flame as you lit the blunt, your face close enough to his chest that you could smell the faint scent of smoke, leather, and something warmer underneath.

You inhaled slow, savoring the first pull, then leaned back against the rough brick wall with a sigh.

"Didn't peg you for the sharing type," you said, smoke curling from your mouth.

Smoker grunted, replacing the cigar between his lips.

"Don't make me regret it," he said, but there was no real bite in his voice.

For a moment, you just stood there, passing slow, lazy pulls between you. The world outside the alley blurred into meaningless noise.

Then, bold from the buzz creeping in your veins, you leaned forward again—holding the blunt between your fingers—and offered the smoke directly to him, a silent challenge.

Smoker’s gaze sharpened slightly, amused. He plucked the cigar from his mouth and stepped into your space, his broad chest almost brushing yours.

Without hesitation, he caught the smoke straight from your lips, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him — and then, instead of pulling back, he kissed you.

It was rough at first, full of the same heat and tension that always seemed to spark between you. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers pressing firmly as he tilted your head back just slightly.

You opened for him without thinking, the kiss deepening into something slower, hotter — tongues brushing, breath hitching between you. His mouth tasted of smoke and salt and something that was just him.

The world outside the alley dissolved entirely.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t messy — just breathless, lingering. His forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the haze of smoke curling between you.

"You," he muttered, voice low and thick, "are nothing but bad news."

You smirked against his lips, your hands still fisted loosely in the fabric of his coat.

"Good thing you’re terrible at saying no," you murmured.

Smoker let out a rough, half-laugh, half-growl, and kissed you again—deeper, slower, like he had no plans to stop this time.

And honestly, neither did you.

You barely had time to settle into the heat of Smoker’s mouth again, the slow grind of his body pressing yours back against the brick wall, when—

"S-smoker-san?!"

The sharp voice cracked through the alley like a gunshot.

Both of you froze.

Smoker broke the kiss with a low, almost feral growl under his breath, his hand still curled possessively around your waist.

You cracked one eye open lazily, barely lifting your head from Smoker’s shoulder to glance toward the entrance of the alley.

Tashigi stood there, sword awkwardly bumping against her hip, her entire face rapidly turning the color of a boiled lobster.

"I— I— I was looking for you to discuss patrol routes— but I can—! I can come back later!" she sputtered, already halfway turning on her heel, practically tripping over herself to get away.

Smoker let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, the kind of breath that usually meant someone was about to get absolutely wrecked—but he didn’t move away from you. His hand stayed right where it was, fingers still flexing slightly against your hip.

"You’d better," he said, loud enough for Tashigi to hear as she fled back into the chaos of the port.

You couldn't help it—you laughed. A low, smoky sound that vibrated against his chest.

"Think we traumatized her," you said, voice rough with amusement.

Smoker shot you a sideways glare, but there was no real fire behind it. If anything, he looked... pleased. Dangerous. Like a man who didn’t give a damn who saw what he wanted.

"Serves her right for barging in without knocking," he muttered, gruff.

You arched a brow, grinning lazily up at him.

"Maybe you should install a door in your alleys."

Smoker huffed a laugh — a real one, low and brief — and bent to kiss you again, less careful this time. Hotter, a little messier. His free hand finally dropped the half-burned cigar, grinding it under his boot as he pressed you back into the wall, fully claiming your mouth again like he had all the time in the world.

And honestly, for once, you hoped he did.

Crocodile

The lounge was dim, soaked in the kind of golden light that made everything seem a little more expensive than it probably was.

Low jazz music played from hidden speakers, and the soft clink of chips and whiskey glasses filled the background.

You slouched lazily in a velvet armchair near the back, rolling the blunt between your fingers, cool and unbothered. No one really noticed you here — not with the heavyweights and high-rollers stealing the spotlight.

But, of course, he noticed.

You felt it before you saw him — a shift in the room’s atmosphere, a change in the way conversations dropped to murmurs.

Crocodile’s presence was like a thundercloud creeping over sunny skies.

You kept your expression blank, indifferent, even as you realized your lighter was nowhere to be found.

Perfect.

Exactly what you needed.

You sighed, the blunt sitting unlit between your lips, considering your next move.

A shadow fell across your table. You didn’t bother looking up.

"Need something?" Crocodile’s voice rumbled, amused.

You tilted your head slightly, fixing him with a bored stare, the blunt still balanced at the corner of your mouth.

"Seems I’m short a flame," you said, voice dry.

Crocodile’s lips curled around his cigar, eyes gleaming with something sharp and entertained.

He didn’t say a word.

Instead, he bent slightly at the waist — slow, deliberate — bringing the burning tip of his cigar close to the end of your blunt.

Too close.

He stopped just shy, forcing you to lean in to meet him.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and steady, and leaned forward, lips brushing barely near his cigar, lighting your own off the glowing ember. The flame caught with a faint crackle, a tiny hiss.

The whole time, Crocodile didn’t move an inch.

The smell of smoke, expensive leather, and something faintly spiced wrapped around you like a second skin.

You leaned back into your chair, taking a long, slow pull from the newly lit blunt. The first hit bloomed warm in your lungs. You exhaled lazily toward the ceiling, your eyes half-lidded.

"You're welcome," Crocodile said, voice dripping with dry amusement, straightening to his full height.

You tapped ash into a crystal ashtray nearby without even glancing at him.

"Didn’t say thank you," you replied coolly.

He chuckled — a low, dangerous sound that vibrated in the base of his chest.

"Didn't expect you to."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension crackled softly between you, thick and slow, like molasses dripping from a knife.

Crocodile shifted, the gold of his rings catching the low light as he pulled a chair up to yours — close enough that his knee brushed yours under the table.

Deliberate.

Territorial.

"You planning to cause trouble tonight?" he asked, cigar smoke curling lazily around his words.

You blew out another cloud of smoke, just as lazy, just as unbothered.

"Depends," you murmured, voice low. "You planning to stop me?"

Crocodile smirked around his cigar, eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry.

"Not tonight."

He sat back, perfectly relaxed, the image of a king amused by the antics of his favorite piece.

You could feel his eyes on you as you smoked, weighing every slow drag, every lazy exhale.

Watching.

Waiting.

The house always won in places like this.

And tonight, it was clear you weren’t going anywhere.

The minutes slipped by in a slow, heavy haze.

The blunt burned low between your fingers, each drag slower than the last. Across the small table, Crocodile watched you like a predator sizing up easy prey — not rushing, not moving, just waiting for the exact right moment.

You met his gaze through the rising smoke, your face blank, but your heart starting to thrum a little harder behind your ribs.

He shifted finally, leaning forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees. The gold of his rings caught the light again, flashing like a warning.

"Come here," he said lowly, almost conversational, like you were a thing he fully expected to obey.

You didn't move immediately. You took another lazy pull from your blunt instead, blowing the smoke off to the side with a small smirk. Testing him. Pushing.

Crocodile huffed a small laugh under his breath, all amusement gone razor sharp.

Without warning, he reached across the table, hand catching you by the wrist — not rough, but firm, dragging you forward until you were pulled out of your chair and into his space.

The blunt dangled forgotten from your fingers as he leaned in — close enough that you could see the faint scar cutting across his face, the glint of amusement and warning in his heavy-lidded eyes.

He reached up with two fingers, plucking the blunt casually from your grip and setting it in the ashtray with a careless flick.

"You’re slow," he murmured, voice like warm gravel. "Let me show you how it's done."

You barely had time to process it before Crocodile’s lips crashed into yours.

It was rough — like he was making a point. His mouth devoured yours with an intensity that was unexpected, yet exactly what you needed. His cigar still burned between his fingers, and before you even had the chance to think about it, he tilted the cigar toward your lips, offering the smoke as you kissed.

The warm, glowing tip of the cigar hovered near your mouth, and you instinctively opened up, taking in the deep, spicy taste as you inhaled. The heat of it filled your lungs, mixing with the taste of Crocodile’s kiss — rich, dangerous, intoxicating.

You pulled back just a bit, lips brushing against his, then exhaled slowly, the smoke curling out from your mouth and into his.

Without breaking eye contact, Crocodile inhaled the smoke you gave him, his gaze darkening as he held it in for a beat, then exhaled it slowly, sending it back toward you.

The air was thick now, saturated with smoke and the lingering taste of him. Every breath felt like it stretched the moment, making it last forever, and yet, you knew it was only a brief exchange.

When he pulled away, his lips were curved into that same smug, dangerous smirk.

"Better," he muttered, voice rough with satisfaction. "Now you’re getting it."

You smirked back, though your chest felt a little tighter than it had before.

"You’re insufferable," you said, the words coming out softer than you intended, but your heart was still racing in your chest.

Crocodile chuckled low, the sound like a dangerous promise.

"Only when it suits me," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking another slow drag from his cigar. He didn’t look at you directly but you could feel the weight of his gaze on your lips. "You’ll learn, eventually. That’s how the game is played."

You stayed there, breathless and still, as the tension simmered between you.

The house always won.

And tonight, you were playing Crocodile's game