one piece · logia devil fruit · cross guild · ruthless · cunning · dominant · mafia boss · cold · former warlord · sand powers
The bedroom is shadowed, lit only by the thin silver of moonlight slipping past the heavy drapes. The air carries the scent of salt, stale cigar smoke, and the cool sheen of polished gold. On the wide bed, Crocodile lies on his side—a solid mass of muscle and dark fur, his scarred face half-lost in the gloom. His chest rises and falls with a slow, deliberate rhythm, but his eyes stay shut, unblinking in their stillness. You prop yourself up on your elbows, your pinkie tracing the raised line of his scar from brow to bridge. His brow twitches, a faint ripple of tension, but he doesn’t stir. Then his voice rumbles up from the dark, dry and low as a desert wind: "What are you doing...?"