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ᛝSir Crocodile ♱ クロコダイル ♱ mlw ♱ one piece ♱ Crocodile x wifey femuserᛝ

As a good wife you are you're worried about your husband cigars addiction.

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✦ by @ PrettyLittleVampire. ̊⊹. ࣪🦇🍷. .♱. ࣪

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The moment you stepped into your husband’s study, you immediately regretted not opening the windows beforehand. The entire room smelled thickly of cigar smoke again, a cloying, heavy scent that clung to the velvet curtains, the expensive leather furniture, and even the scattered documents across the enormous desk where Crocodile sat. He looked entirely unbothered by the haze curling lazily around his head, one long leg crossed over the other while a thick cigar rested between his fingers. The ember glowed faintly with every slow drag he took, and somehow he still managed to look unfairly elegant despite the fact he was actively ruining the air quality. You stopped in the doorway, your arms crossing over your cheast as a deeply unimpressed expression settled across your face. This had become a recurring war, one that Crocodile treated like a passing breeze while you treated it like a personal crusade.

“You are smoking in here again,” you said flatly, though it carried the unmistakable weight of exhaustion. Without even glancing up from the paperwork, Crocodile answered in that deep, rough timbre of his, “That tends to happen when one lights a cigar.”

You narrowed your glossy eyes at the dry response, feeling the familiar spark of irritation. “That was not meant to be funny.”

“It wasn't,” he replied smoothly, finally lifting his gaze toward you while smoke drifted from the corner of his mouth. His dark eyes traced your small frame before settling on your face. “Though your expression is becoming entertaining.”

You marched further into the room, the scuffed soles of your shoes silent against the floor as you approached the desk. “You know those things are terrible for you, right?” you asked, pointing an accusing finger tipped with your nails toward the cigar. “They smell bad, they stain everything, and every single coat you own smells like you personally rolled around inside a burning fireplace. I can smell it on you before you even enter the room.”

Crocodile looked down briefly at the cigar before looking back at you without a trace of concern crossing his face. “And yet I remain alive.”

“That is not the point.”

“It seems relevant.”

“You are impossible to argue with.”

“And yet you continue trying.”

You huffed sharply, the movement causing your clothing ride up slightly, revealing a sliver of sun warmed skin above your clothing. If there was one thing Crocodile had learned after marrying you, it was that you absolutely refused to surrender once you had decided something mattered. “You smoke constantly,” you continued, moving around the front of his desk to invade his space. “And don't think I haven't noticed you reaching for them first thing in the morning now too. Who wakes up and immediately decides they want to taste smoke instead of breakfast?”

“A great many people.”

“Well, they’re all wrong.” The words left your lips with quiet certainty, and though your voice remained soft, there was an unshakeable conviction behind it. You watched as the corner of his mouth twitched that almost imperceptible ghost of a smile that he reserved only for you. Despite the terrifying reputation that made grown men tremble, he seemed to find a strange comfort in your stubbornness, listening to your gentle admonishments as if they were the only honest things in his world.

Without warning, you reached out, your nails gleaming under the office lights as you plucked the cigar straight from between his fingers. You held the offending object away from him, your nose wrinkling in genuine distaste at the acrid scent. “You are not getting this back until you listen to me properly,” you insisted, your eyes fixed on his with earnest intensity.

Crocodile leaned back into the leather of his chair, one massive hand resting lazily against the armrest while his dark gaze swept over you. There was no anger in his expression, only a simmering amusement that made your cheeks flush. The faint aroma of purfume clinging to your skin seemed to war with the tobacco smoke hanging in the air between you. “You confiscated my cigar,” he noted, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes.”

“You’re being very bold for someone standing so close to me.”

You didn't flinch, shifting your weight on your shoes as your clothing hugged your hips. You met his challenge with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly where she stood. “You married me knowing I was bold.”

“That may have been my first mistake.”

“That definitely wasn't your first mistake,” you muttered, turning to set the cigar aside in the ashtray with a dramatic flick of your wrist. You felt the heat of his stare as you turned back to face him, your expression softening into something more vulnerable, more serious.

A quiet chuckle escaped him a rough, smoky sound that vibrated through the space between you. You took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. “I’m being genuine, Crocodile. I don't like these things. I hate how the smell clings to everything, and honestly...” You hesitated, your lower lip pressing against your teeth before you pushed through. “Sometimes when you kiss me afterward, you just taste like an ashtray.”

The amusement vanished from his face instantly, replaced by a look of genuine offense that made you want to giggle despite your resolve.

“You have compared me to an ashtray twice now,” he growled, though there was no real venom behind it.

“Because it’s accurate,” you insisted, crossing your arms over your cheast while your long nails dug slightly into your elbows.

“That is a deeply insulting thing to say to your husband.”

“Then stop tasting like burnt tobacco.”

The room fell quiet for a moment after that, though the silence wasn't heavy or hostile; instead, it felt warm and intimate, wrapped in the faint, sweet scent of purfume that always clung to your skin. Despite the constant bickering, there was always something softer beneath the surface a private tenderness that Crocodile never permitted anyone else to witness.

He watched you carefully while smoke from the abandoned cigar continued curling upward between you both like ghostly ribbons. After a long moment, his golden eyes locked onto yours as he finally asked, “So what exactly are you proposing here?” You hesitated, feeling a flush creep up your tanned neck as you realized how silly your idea sounded aloud. But then again, Crocodile had married you despite every warning sign imaginable, so perhaps dignity had already stopped mattering.

“If you stop smoking,” you began quietly, your voice carrying that softness like quality that usually disarmed him, “I’ll reward you.”

One dark eyebrow lifted instantly, his interest piqued by the transactional tone. “Reward me.”

“With kisses.”

Silence filled the room so completely that you could practically hear the clock ticking somewhere in the distance. Crocodile stared at you for several long seconds, his unreadable expression making you wonder if he genuinely thought you were joking.

“You’re attempting to bribe me into quitting cigars with affection.”

“Yes.”

“You believe that will work.”

“I think you like kissing me more than cigars,” you countered, tilting your head slightly so your hair shifted behind you.

“That is an outrageous accusation.”

“But not an incorrect one.”

Another long pause followed while he continued staring at you, though you could practically see the calculations happening behind his eyes. Crocodile approached everything like a negotiation, weighing risks against potential gains.

“And these kisses,” he said slowly, his voice dropping to a rougher register, “would occur every time I refrained from smoking?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

“That ‘hm’ means you’re considering it,” you murmured, tilting your head as your hair brushed against your lashes.

“That ‘hm’ means I am questioning how my life arrived at this particular moment of negotiation,” he countered, though his gaze didn't waver from yours.

You smiled despite yourself, the expression soft and genuine as you stepped closer into his space. You noticed with a quiet satisfaction that despite your earlier scolding, he hadn't made so much as a glance toward the abandoned cigar. The faint, sweet scent of vanilla clinging to your skin seemed to fill the small gap between you as you softened your stance.

“I just want you healthy,” you admitted, your voice dropping to that softness like register that always seemed to disarm him. “And alive for a very long time preferably long enough to keep spoiling me for the rest of my life.”

Something subtle shifted in his expression, a flicker so faint most would miss it, but you saw it. Beneath the layers of arrogance and the terrifying reputation of a man who commanded fear, Crocodile had become strangely vulnerable to you. His large hand rose slowly, settling against the curve of your waist where your top clothing met the denim of your bottom clothing. With one effortless, possessive tug, he pulled you directly onto his lap, making you feel impossibly small against his broad frame.

“You are troublesome,” he rumbled, looking up at you through heavy lashes.

“And yet you married me anyway,” you reminded him, your fingers tracing idle patterns along his shoulder.

“Yes,” he sighed, the sound theatrical yet laced with something fond. “Clearly, I was not in my right mind.”

You let out a soft laugh, your arms looping loosely around his neck as you settled against him. For a moment, the oppressive atmosphere of his office dissolved, replaced by the rare comfort of his presence.

“So?” you asked quietly, your glossy eyes searching his. “Do we have a deal?”

Crocodile glanced toward the forgotten cigar in the ashtray before meeting your gaze again. After a beat of silence, he reached out, picked up the smoldering stick, and crushed it out completely.

Your eyes widened, a surprised laugh bubbling up. “Wait was that you agreeing?”

“That,” he answered smoothly, his arm tightening around your hips to hold you flush against him, “was me making a strategic investment.”

A bright smile broke across your face, one that made something unexpectedly gentle flicker through his dark eyes. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, but before you could even think of pulling away, his hand slid to the nape of your neck, guiding you back down to deepen the contact.

“Hm,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice rough with amusement. “Perhaps quitting will not be as difficult as I anticipated after all."

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