#Baroque works

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

[opjourney]

[bunnigoops]

Baroque Works My Belovedd

[eriochromatic]

1920s Baroque Works 🥂

Always wanted to do a movie poster redraw of the Great Gatsby so here they are!!

[lazarus171]

[potatopassenger]

Crocodile is low-key obsessed with manners like he tells Vivi he didn't expect a princess to be so foulmouthed (he's caused a civil war) and he gets mad at Sanji for being rude over the phone (while he's threatening him) All his employees' codenames start with Mr. or Miss. He's even trained his deadly attack crocodiles to queue nicely for their food!

[haerenven]

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.

[st4rpiece]

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

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

father figure

SFW

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

thank you so much for the request!!

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

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

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

[k4pp4-8]

I miss you everyday Marianne😞

[alwayssassydreamer]

Please Sir

A/N: this is my first entry for @quinloki roped in collab and to be honest i ended up writing two fics for Crocodile, because I wasn't quite sure what I wanted 😅 but I decided to gonwith this one for now 😁 (and probably the other one some time later).

Sorry for the shitty ending 🙈

Plot: you wanted a rough and tense session with Crocodile and he was more than eager to comply

Warnings: nsfw, "mean" Crocodile, humiliation, bondage, orgasm denial, some tickling, blindfolding, reader is called pet, some praising, fingering, begging, foot worship?, use of a toy, MDNI 🔞⚠️

Characters: Crocodile x FReader

The silk gag muffled your soft whimpers as Crocodile’s sharp gaze pinned you in place. Your wrists and ankles burnt slightly from the tight knots, but it was the weight of his presence that made your heart race. The undeniable authority he wielded over you.

Crocodile watched you, bound, blindfolded, trembling under his power with something close to amusement in his cold eyes. The silk ropes had left angry red marks along your skin, your chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

“You break so beautifully,” he murmured, crouching again by your feet. “But we’re not finished.”

You felt his hand wrap around your ankle, thumb stroking your heel almost affectionately before he grabbed your foot with enough force to hold it still. His warm breath ghosted over your arch, and you stiffened instinctively.

“So sensitive” he mocked.

His tongue flicked out, tracing an agonizingly slow path along your sole. The sensation was maddening, humiliating and your body jolted against the restraints. Then his teeth scraped your arch, not hard, but enough to send a wave of helpless laughter bubbling past the gag. You tried to shake your foot free, but he only gripped it tighter.

“You’ll remain still and take what I give you,” he growled. “Even if it drives you insane.”

You squirmed, whimpered, tears slipped from beneath the blindfold, and Crocodile - he just chuckled.

“You can’t escape me, pet. Not these ropes. Not my touch. Not even yourself.”

You jerked again when his lips trailed over your ankle up your shin to your knee, slow and mocking before he bit your kneecap, followed by a kiss and a lick along your inner thigh that had your back arching as good as you could.

“And after everything,” he continued, voice now low and silken, “you’re still wet for me, aren’t you?”

His tone was thick with venomous pride as he switched to your other leg, repeating the torment. You sobbed into the gag, more from overwhelming sensation than pain. His hands were cruel, but his mouth was reverent, kissing, licking, praising every inch like your submission was something sacred.

“This is what obedience looks like,” he whispered, placing a kiss to your knee and licking your inner thigh again. “Raw. Helpless. Beautiful.”

And you, shaking, aching, humiliated, could do nothing but endure. Nothing but burn because this was Crocodile’s game.

“Pretty little pet.”

Crocodile’s voice was calm, dangerously so, as he looked down on you. You were on the edge now, chest heaving, face flushed beneath the blindfold. His hand hadn’t stopped, his fingers were dancing from your arch to your knee and up your thighs stopping right at the crease of your thighs but never giving you more, never going where you wanted him. You were begging, moaning and gasping but it was all silenced through the gag.

“Can’t take it anymore?” he mocked, tone sharp and smug. “Too much for you? But you’re mine. You don’t get to decide when it ends.”

Your muscles ached from struggling against the ropes, your mind slipped between humiliation and overstimulation. Then he striked harder, his teeth grazed your inner thighs while his fingers scraped along your waist and hips - ticklish, tormenting, invasive, causing muffled groans and laughter to fill the room.

“You thought I was going to worship you?” he chuckled darkly. “No, pet. This isn’t for you. This is for me because I enjoy watching you fall apart.”

You pulled at the ropes trying to buck your hips to get you closer to him but he pinned you down with brutal precision, and his voice turned to a growl.

“You’ll give me what I want.” He said firmly before lifting his gaze up to you while one of his fingers traced over your core.

“Beg.”

You froze at his words.

“I want to hear it,” he hissed, pulling the gag roughly from your lips. The silk dropped to the floor with a soft whisper that contrasted the steel in his command. “Say it.”

Your throat was dry and your voice shaking.

“Please… Sir…” you rasped quietly.

He growled with satisfaction.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” you gasped, tears streaking your cheeks, the shame blistering, “Please, Si, don’t stop… I—I'll do anything, just—”

“Oh, I know you will.” His voice wass molten, thick with sadistic pleasure. “Because you belong to me. And I haven’t even begun to ruin you.”

His fingers moved between your legs finding you already slick and warm. He growled softly at how your body shivered when he pressed two thick fingers into your core, tormenting and yet igniting a fire between your legs before pulling them back out making you whimper only to feel his face lean closer and him lick over your core, just enough to drive you insane, to make you moan, to make you arch your back as his tongue moved slowly ever so slowly over your folds before his hand spread you open and his tongue tormented your sensitive clit.

You cried out in raw shock, hips jerking, body no longer your own. His laugh was deep and cruel as he continued biting, stroking, sucking, kissing with a horrible precision but never giving you enough to get you to that sweet release you were craving.

“You’ll remember this every time you walk,” he murmured biting you, “every step a reminder that you were owned.”

His hand moved between your thighs again one finger teasing over your lips before he slowly pushed one thick finger deep inside while his tongue was pressing against your clit. You moaned, heart rate picking up it felt so good just a little more, just a little deeper, a little caster, so close you were so close......but then……..everything stopped.

"Not yet," he whispered. "Not until you really learn to beg."

You were shaking, mind hazy, body soaked in sweat, nerves on fire. The licking, the biting, the torment, it was all built into a single pulsing, unbearable ache between your legs.

You were right there, right on the edge, gasping and begging.

“Please, Sir Crocodile,” you whispered, voice cracked and ruined. “Please… I need it…”

You suddenly felt him smirk against your neck. That cruel, infuriating smirk that meant you’ve already lost.

“Oh, I know exactly what you need,” he murmured nipping at your neck in a rough way surely leaving marks. His hook traced a careful path from your throat down to your nipple the tip of it slowly pressing against it while his hand slid between your thighs again, fingers teasing the soaked heat of your core, almost touching, almost.

“Look at you,” he sneered breath hot against your skin. “Tied up, broken, soaked like a bitch. What would the others say if they saw you now? The strong little girl… reduced to a desperate toy.”

You sobbed, hips twitching forward, silently pleading for more contact. His fingers teased your folds slowly like he was drawing something before he pushed between them teasing you, driving you insane. You moaned, you cursed wanting him to push in deeper, harder. Just one touch and you’d have shattered.

And that’s when he stopped entirely.

His hook left your nipple, his fingers disappeared from your core. The pressure between your legs vanished and you froze. A breathless, horrified silence filled the space between your bodies as a deep whine escaped your lips accompanied by a cruel chuckle from him.

And then you heard him step back.

“No,” he said flatly. “You haven’t earned it.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“But—” your voice cracked. “Sir...I… I begged—”

He grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing your head up even as the blindfold covered your eyes.

“You begged like a common whore,” he growled. “Not like my obedient little pet.”

Tears stung your eyes. You were burning from the inside out. Denied, aching, humiliated. You were so close. So damn close.

He released your jaw, and you heard the sound of his coat swirling as he turned away.

“You’ll sleep like this,” he said coldly. “Tied. Wet. Needy.”

Your wrists were still raw, ankles still trembling in their binds. Every nerve in your body was screaming for release. And he was just… leaving.

There was a pause at the door. Then his voice came again, low, sharp and final.

“Maybe next time, you’ll learn how to beg,” was all he said before you heard the door shut behind him and you were left alone in the dark.

The room was silent except for your deep heavy breathing.

Your arms were numb, skin sticky with sweat. Your legs were still spread, ropes tight at your ankles, holding you open, aching, vulnerable. The slick heat between your thighs had gone from desperate to unbearable. And he was gone.

Left you like this.

You tried not to cry. Not again. But tears leaked out from under the blindfold anyway, silent, shameful streaks fell down on your cheeks. Every inch of your skin remembered his touch, his bites, his lips, his voice. Your body didn’t know the difference between torment and pleasure anymore.

And still… you wanted him, no you needed him.

The ropes dug in as you shifted, trying to find relief but it was no use. There was nothing. No friction. No touch. Just need.

Just… silence.

Every second felt like an hour. Your thoughts spiraled, wild and raw.

You sniffled. “Please,” you whispered to no one. “Please… I’ll be good…”

No answer came - of course not.

You began to shake, cold, helpless, desperate for anything. And still – nothing.

He had left you with your thoughts, your soaked thighs, your ruined pride and your need for him.

But just as you thought you might lose it you heard footsteps.

The door creaked open and you tensed, your breath caught in your throat, hope flared like a blade.

But Crocodile said nothing.

He walked around you slowly. You heard the brush of his coat, the click of his shoes, the soft clink of his golden hook as he stopped next to you.

“…Still wet?” he asked his voice low.

You nodded frantically.

“Still desperate?”

“Y-y-yes,” you breathed, the word cracked and raw.

He touched your shoulder with his hand, trailing it slowly down your collarbone.

“But not broken yet,” he muttered. “Not truly.”

Then, like punishment, his hand slid down between your thighs again and without warning pushed a thick finger inside you. You were still so fucking wet that you could hear it when his finger moved. Another finger followed curling and stroking in a rhythm that built a delicious pressure low in your belly. Every time you bucked your hips, his hook pressed you down firmly a silent command to you were going to take what he gave you.

Your breathing was becoming erratic by now, needy moans leaving your lips. He kept pushing, pressing, stroking, his thumb circling your clit, knowing exactly how to drive you insane.

You gasped and could feel it, you were close so damn close, finally, finally he would give you release, finally he would let you cum until.....he pulled away before you could reach it - again.

You screamed not in pain, but in frustration.

“Please, Sir—I’ll say anything—do anything—please, please, I need to—”

His fingers, wet from you, snapped tight around your chin.

“That’s better,” he snarled. “But you’ll stay tied. You’ll stay wet. And you’ll suffer for me.”

You whimpered not even trying to hide yourdesperation anymore and Crocodile smirked you couldn’t see it through the blindfold but you knew it, hell you could feel it.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

You were shaking, desperate by now, ready to do and say whatever he wanted.

Time had no meaning anymore. There was only the dull ache of your muscles, the throbbing between your legs, and the sound of his measured, deliberate steps circling you.

Crocodile hadn’t spoken in what felt like hours but in reality were only a few minutes. He was just watching. Observed your whimpers, your breathing, your desperate need, measured how far you’ve been unraveling from silence alone.

Your wrists still bound, your ankles too. You were still blindfolded. You were still soaked, ruined and your body was exposed to the cold, to him.

Then, finally, he spoke. Quiet, precise.

“Your instincts are filth,” he said. “Your body craves like an animal. But you want to be more, don’t you?”

You nodded, frantically. “Y-Yes, Sir…”

He tilted your chin up again, rough fingers dragging your face forward.

“Then prove it.”

Your breath hitched before you heard him pull something from his coat, a remote, and pressed a button.

You heard it before you felt it - a low buzz. Vibration. Small. Constant. It pressed against your core, his sand power made sure it stayed there, snug and cruel.

Your back arched. Your mouth opened in a strangled moan.

“Not a word,” he warned, voice like ice.

The toy stayed on low, maddening and persistent, enough to tease, enough to torture but never enough to give relief.

You bit your lip until it bled trying to keep any sound from escaping.

He watched you with razor-sharp eyes, calculating every twitch, every muscle that tightened. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile.

“You don’t get to cum,” he said, slowly. “Not until I say so. If you do, without permission, I leave you tied like this for the rest of the night with the toy on low.”

Tears threatened to fall again at his words.

Your body rocked helplessly against the stimulation. Your mind was fogging, senses reduced to want. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason. Couldn’t disobey.

He leaned closer, whispering into your ear.

“You’ll beg. You’ll cry. You’ll scream my name, and I’ll still say no.”

His voice was silk and cruel, coiling around your neck like a noose.

“This is your obedience test, pet. You’ll last until your voice gives out. Until your mind breaks. Then maybe, I’ll consider mercy.”

He kissed your temple in a mockingly gentle way.

Then pressed the button again.

The vibration increased and you screamed, your back arched as you tried to obey. Forcing yourself not to cum.

And he just smiled.

Your body wasn’t yours anymore.

It trembled with every throb of the vibrator still pressed tight to your swollen, overstimulated core. The ropes bit deeper into your skin. Your jaw ached from how hard you’ve clenched it, holding back sobs, holding back everything.

But your composure, your resistanc, hell even your self was slipping.

And Crocodile knew.

He leaned in, breath hot against your ear, voice nothing but a scalpel of cruelty.

“You thought this would be about pleasure?”

He chuckled low and dark.

“No, pet. This is about owning you.”

You cried out, raw and wrecked, body jerking as another pulse from the toy nearly shattered you. Your hips moved on their own, desperate, obscene. You would have been ashamed - if you had any shame left.

“Beg,” he ordered, as his hand came up up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple before circling and pinching it making you cry out again.

“Please, Sir… please—I need to cum—I’ll do anything—anything—”

His hand slid from your nipple down over your belly and between your thighs, pressing the vibrator harder against your clit - teasing and nothing more.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Please!” you screamed, voice cracking, your body so overstimulated, your core so wet, so ready that it hurt. “Please—I'll crawl, I’ll kneel, I’ll wear your collar—I’ll be your toy—I’ll let you do anything, just please let me cum—Sir, please—”

Silence.

A long, deliberate silence interrupted only by your moans, sobs and the buzz from the toy between your legs.

Then came his voice calm, cruel and final.

“No.”

The word dropped like a blade.

And then - click.

The vibrator turned off.

Gone.

Your body trembled. Your scream was voiceless, silent, collapsing into broken sobs.

“Not until I decide you’ve earned it,” he said, cupping your face. “And you haven’t.”

He tightened the ropes again. A final, deliberate act of control.

“You’ll sleep like this. Soaked. Denied. Owned.”

He put the vibrator on low and placed it against your core and stepped away, the soft hiss of his coat brushing the air. You heard him pause by the door.

“One day,” he said, cold as marble, “you’ll thank me for making you a perfect obedient little pet.”

And then - he was gone.

Again.

And you broke because the moment you moved, the moment youbtried to get relief the vibrator slipped and fell away giving you nothing but a small buzz against the mattress now.

You didn’t remember when you stopped crying. You just remembered going quiet.

Your body ached, tight, raw and wet. The ropes were a constant reminder of his power. Every breath was shallow. Every part of you was exhausted. But deeper than all of that… you still burnt.

At one point you even heard the vibrator die down.

And then you felt it - his presence.

He was back.

His footsteps were calm. Measured. You felt the brush of his coat as he circled you. He said nothing. Not yet. Not until his fingers brushed your jaw and forced your face upward again.

"You lasted longer than I expected," he murmured.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were beyond words.

Crocodile released the knot binding your blindfold. Light pierced your swollen eyes. Your vision was blurred but not enough to miss the way he looked down at you. Calm. Smirking and definitely satisfied.

“You’re quiet now,” he observed. “Good.”

He undid the ropes binding your ankles. Then your wrists. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking his time.

Your limbs trembled, your body relaxed into the sheets but only for a moment.

Because then his hook pressed against your throat, firm, cold and unrelenting.

“Don’t think this is over,” he growled. “You haven’t earned mercy but you’ve earned your reward.”

He dropped his coat.

His fingers found your thighs, spreading them wide again. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t resist even if you wanted to – which you clearly didn’t.

“Keep your legs open,” he said. “And your eyes on me.”

You nodded, barely breathing.

Then his fingers finally touched you.

Not with teasing. Not with cruelty. But with a brutal, relentless precision that left no space for thought. His fingers plunged into you, slick and powerful. His thumb circled your clit – fast and devastating.

“You want to cum?” he hissed, breath hot against your skin and you only managed a nod.

The coil inside you snapped as he kept going, kept moving, stroking and curling just right. You cried out his name as your climax crashed over you, muscles clenching tight around his fingers, thighs quaking. He groaned low, kipping at your neck, never stopping his relentless strokes until you’ve ridden every last wave. You were trembling, breathless, vision hazy with bliss. His fingers finally stilled, slipping from your core to rest possessively on your thigh.

You looked at him still in bliss from the orgasm that just rushed over you and he smirked.

“Again" he said firmly. "This be a good pet and time cum around me.” he growled as he unbuckled his pants freeing his hard cock and rubbing it deliciously against your core teasing you, the head of it nudging your entrance before he pushed inside.

The stretch burnt, but the pleasure bloomed hotter with every inch you took him inside. He was big, thick and long, filling you so completely you couldn't help the sharp cry that left your lips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, jaw clenching as your warmth engulfed him. His voice was low and ragged. “So tight around me…”

Your scream ripped from your chest like thunder as he set the pace his thumb continuing it's torment on your clit as his hook teased your nipples.

The rhythm he set was rough and each thrust sent electric jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

“So fucking good,” he growled mouth crashing to yours in a messy, needy kiss.

Your hands clutched his broad shoulders, nails biting into his skin, head lolling back.

“Look at me,” he commanded, eyes blazing.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze.

His expression was raw, desperate, completely unmasked.

“You’re my good little pet,” he snalred, voice breaking with the force of his thrusts. “Say it.”

“Yours—!” you sobbed, pleasure coiling impossibly tight. “I’m yours your good pet—forever!”

He let out a deep, feral groan, slamming into you harder and faster.

Just a few more thrusts and you were already on the edge – you had been waiting too long for this.

"Sir......gonna........gonna cum........Sir am I allowed to...." you stuttered shakily.

"Go on pet cum for me" he grunted increasing the pace one more time.

Your body exploded, jerking and clenching around his cock as your orgasm ripped through you. Too much, too fast, too long denied. You sobbed through it, your thighs shaking violently, tears were pouring down your cheeks. You were undone. Shattered. Broken in the best way.

And he didn’t stop.

Not until you were completely undone, twitching, drenched and silent. Not until you felt him fill you up. Only then did he finally pull away.

He smirked down at your wrecked form and for once the smirk was not filled with cruelty, not about control instead it was softer, for Crocodile's standards soft.

He studied you and then leaned down to kiss you. Possessive and final, leaving no room for doubt that you were his.

“You’ll never cum again,” he said, low and cruel, “without thinking of me.”

And you knew he was right and if you were being honest you didn't mind that at all.

[netsu06]

Sir~

He makes me feel things

[sketchyhydra]

I drew some of the One Piece Live Action cast as their respective characters (plus showrunner Matt Owens) hanging out behind the scenes. Can’t wait to see em all in season 2!

[nonoel-art]

Memories Made of Sand ✨ I am thrilled to finally get to share my contribution to the @sun-of-alabasta-zine 💙I had so much fun working on this project with so many other talented creators ✨

[kuroashims]

that moment when the villains still smile because they clearly underestimate luffy and his crew 🍿

[eriochromatic]

AU in which Zoro joins Baroque Works

[bonclayslawyer]

say what you want about baroque works and sir crocodile but he was a pretty inclusive employer. really happy to see so much representation.

fuck women in stem. it’s time for women in crime.