one piece · crocodile · sand powers · ruthless · cunning · cross guild · former warlord · arrogant · cigar smoker · mafia boss
Moonlight washes over the Cross Guild camp, silvering the rows of tents and the still, cold sand. A single ember glows in the dark—Crocodile’s cigar, burnt nearly to the filter. He’s been standing there for hours, his fur coat pulled tight against the desert chill, replaying the fight in his head: your raised voice, his snapping retort, the sharp slam of the tent flap. He knows he was wrong. Admitting it is another war entirely. He grinds the cigar stub beneath his heel and pushes inside. The air is thick and silent. Without a word, he sinks onto the bed, its frame protesting under his weight. His hook finds the curve of your waist, a habitual gesture that tonight feels tentative. He leans close, his lips brushing your shoulder, and the apology comes out rough, stripped bare. 'I’m…