The sun burned high over Serapha, its golden light slicing across the desert city in sharp lines of heat and shadow. But inside Crocodile's villa, the air remained cool—controlled.
As always.
Crocodile lounged in a high-backed chair at the heart of the main hall, cigar balanced between his fingers, the faint curl of smoke trailing toward the gilded ceiling. His eyes, half-lidded and sharp with calculation, were fixed on the arched doorway at the far end of the room. A clock ticked faintly somewhere in the distance, each second carving thin lines into his patience.
Across the room, Sineka sat by the tall windows that framed the golden sprawl of Serapha beyond. She looked like a queen carved from fire and dusk—dangerous, untouchable.
Her gown clung like obsidian silk against her curves, threads of gold embroidery tracing patterns that seemed to shimmer when she moved. The plunging neckline revealed the barest tease of skin, and sheer black sleeves glittered with thousands of delicate, hand-sewn beads. A slit ran high along her thigh, revealing golden, sand-kissed skin adorned with intricate henna designs—markings that spoke of old Seraphan legends and whispered promises of fire and ruin.
Her hair, woven in loose waves, cascaded down her back, and at her throat rested a single, delicate chain of Seraphan gold—a collar of possession that gleamed softly against her bronze skin.
Crocodile's possession.
And she knew it.
The air shifted.
Sineka's fingers paused against the rim of her wine glass as she felt it—the slow, deliberate arrival of a presence heavy with arrogance.
A snake.
Her smirk was slow, amused. So, he had arrived.
The moment before the doors swung open, Crocodile's fingers tightened slightly around his cigar.
Then—
BAM.
The grand doors burst open, slamming against the marble walls with a crack that echoed through the vast hall.
A shadow stretched long across the polished floor, and then—stepping into the golden light—came a figure wrapped in rose pink and arrogance.
Donquixote Doflamingo.
The unmistakable mass of his flamingo-feathered coat swept across the floor as he strode forward, every movement slow and deliberate, the air bending beneath his presence. His golden shades caught the light, hiding eyes that needed no introduction. Beneath his grin, all teeth and malice, lurked something far more dangerous.
"Fuffuffuffuffu," Doflamingo chuckled, rolling his shoulders like a lion stepping into another's territory—just to see what would happen. "What a lavish little empire you've built here, Croco-boy."
Crocodile didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't acknowledge the theatrics.
Instead, he exhaled a slow curl of smoke, voice low and unimpressed.
"You're trespassing, Flamingo Yarou."
Doflamingo grinned wider. "Aww, what happened to the warm welcome?" He shoved his hands into his pockets, swaggering forward like he owned the place.
He didn't.
But Crocodile let him pretend—for now.
Sineka, from her seat near the window, simply observed. Measured. Calculated.
Her gaze flicked over Doflamingo's sharp grin and the tension humming beneath his easy facade. He was baiting Crocodile—testing the waters to see how deep they ran.
Interesting.
She lifted her glass and took a slow sip, then set it down with a deliberate clink against the polished table.
Doflamingo's eyes flicked toward her.
And that was the moment Crocodile moved.
Without hesitation, he reached out, caught Sineka's wrist, and pulled her onto his lap in one fluid motion.
Like she was his crown.
Like he was her throne.
The air stilled.
The message was clear.
Crocodile leaned back against the chair, one hand resting lazily on her thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheer fabric of her dress. His presence wrapped around her like a sandstorm—unyielding, possessive, and unapologetic.
Sineka, for her part, didn't startle.
She merely settled into him, draping one arm across his shoulder as her nails trailed lazily along the edge of his coat. Her smile was slow, knowing.
Checkmate.
Doflamingo's grin twitched, amusement flickering behind his golden shades.
Oh.
So that's how it was.
"Well, well, well," he mused, tilting his head. "You've changed since Marineford, Crocodile."
Crocodile exhaled another stream of smoke, the air between them thick with unsaid threats. "And you're still the same loud-mouthed insect I should've killed years ago."
Doflamingo threw back his head and laughed—loud, wild, a sound meant to rattle the bones of anyone who heard it.
But the air was colder now.
And then, just as suddenly, his amusement vanished.
The shift was instant.
Gone was the carefree showman wrapped in feathers and bravado.
In his place stood a former Warlord of the Sea—a predator carved from danger and ambition, sharp as the threads he controlled.
"I came here to see where you stand, Desert King." His hands left his pockets, fingers flexing as if itching to snap the air into wire-thin death. "And now? Now I know."
Crocodile's gaze was cold steel. "Then get the fuck out."
Silence.
A breath.
Then Doflamingo grinned again, teeth flashing white and dangerous.
"Fuffuffuffuffu! Fine, fine." He stepped back toward the doorway, the heels of his boots clicking against the marble as he moved. "But Crocodile..." He paused just before the threshold, tilting his head slightly.
"You've just painted a target on both your backs."
Then, with a final, lazy wave, he was gone—disappearing into the golden light of Serapha's streets.
Silence settled back into the villa like a held breath moment the doors clicked shut and the lingering echo of Doflamingo's laughter faded into the night, Crocodile let out a slow, measured breath, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair.
Crocodile took one last drag from his cigar, then crushed the smoldering end into the ashtray beside him.
"Fucking bastard."
Sineka chuckled softly, trailing her nails down his chest in slow, teasing patterns. "Well, that was fun," she murmured, her breath warm against his neck.
Crocodile exhaled a slow breath, his fingers tightening slightly against her thigh.
"Don't tempt me, woman."
Her smirk turned wicked.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The air in Crocodile's villa settled into a taut, uneasy stillness after Doflamingo's departure. The faint echoes of his laughter seemed to linger in the marble hall, like a distant threat refusing to fade. Smoke curled from Crocodile's cigar as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped possessively around Sineka's waist. His fingers traced slow, idle circles against the silk of her gown, though his gaze remained distant—calculating.
Sineka, still perched gracefully in his lap, tilted her head as she studied his profile. The tension in his jaw, the faint crease between his brows—subtle signs that Doflamingo's presence had left more than a minor irritation.
"Tch. You really hate him, don't you?" she mused, trailing a finger along the edge of his coat.
Crocodile exhaled a plume of smoke, his patience as thin as the curling haze. "Hate's a waste of energy. But that bastard's been a thorn in my side for years."
"Mm. And yet he still knows how to get under your skin." She smirked, her nails grazing the fabric just over his chest. "You're hotter when you're angry."
Crocodile shot her a sidelong glance—equal parts unimpressed and unamused. "Woman."
Sineka only laughed softly, her fingers continuing their slow, teasing movements against his coat.
Then—
BZZZT. BZZZT.
The sharp buzz of the Den Den Mushi shattered the moment. The sound crackled from the nearby mahogany desk, its timing as unwelcome as the last guest who'd crossed the threshold.
Sineka arched a brow. "Expecting another uninvited guest?"
Crocodile didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward and flicked the receiver with a deliberate motion, already bracing for another headache.
The moment the call connected, the snail's features morphed with a cartoonishly exaggerated expression—wide eyes framed by dramatic eyelashes that fluttered with excessive flair.
And then—
"OHHH HO HO HO HO! WELL, WELL, WELL! IF IT ISN'T CROCO-BOY~!"
Crocodile's fingers stilled against Sineka's waist.
His eye twitched.
Sineka bit her lip to suppress a laugh, though the corners of her mouth curved upward in undeniable amusement.
"Tell me, darling, did you miss me?~"
Crocodile exhaled slowly, the embers of his cigar flaring as he took another drag. "...What do you want,Okama Yarou?"
The snail gasped dramatically, its expression twisting into one of mock offense. "Oh, Croco-boy, you wound me! And here I was, thinking we were such good friends!"
"I'll hang up," Crocodile warned flatly.
Sineka, clearly enjoying this far too much, crossed her arms with a smirk. "Don't be so cold, Crocodile~. He sounds thrilled to hear from you."
"OHOHOHOHO!And who isthislovely creature?" Ivankov's voice practically purred through the receiver.
Sineka leaned toward the Den Den Mushi, her tone rich with dark amusement. "Sineka Duskblade."
"Well, well, Croco-boy! You've been holding out on me!" Ivankov crowed. "Suchexquisitetaste! I'm impressed!"
Crocodile exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp, his patience rapidly unraveling. "If you don't start talking, I'm ending this call."
Ivankov let out a theatrical sigh, as though utterly wounded by Crocodile's lack of enthusiasm. "So impatient, Croco-boy~! I simply had to call when I saw the latest news!Ooooh,honey—the whole world's talking! And naturally, I thought ofyou~!"
"Of course you did," Crocodile muttered, taking another drag from his cigar as though the nicotine might grant him the strength to survive this conversation.
"Andwhata surprise I found!" Ivankov's voice practically dripped with glee. "Rumors swirling left and right! Whispers of Serapha's Desert King and the mysterious beauty at his side~!"
Sineka tilted her head, eyes gleaming with amusement as she glanced toward Crocodile. He met her gaze briefly—wordless, unreadable.
"Andooooh~, I see the rumors are true!" Ivankov gasped. "Tell me, Croco-boy—has the cold-blooded Desert King finally beentamed~?"
Sineka bit her lip, laughter glinting in her hazel eyes. "Tamed, huh? I like the sound of that."
Crocodile pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply.
"OHOHOHOHO!"The Den Den Mushi's laughter echoed obnoxiously through the room. "This isfarmore interesting than I expected! I must know—how did she manage it? How did she slip past all those thorny defenses and keep you from biting her hand off?"
Sineka smirked, her voice soft and sultry as she murmured, "Oh, he bites."
Crocodile tensed beneath her, his hand tightening subtly against her waist.
The Den Den Mushi gasped audibly. "OHOHOHO~!"
Crocodile slammed the receiver down.
The abrupt silence that followed was broken only by the faint crackle of burning tobacco and the distant hum of the villa's cooling systems.
Sineka leaned back slightly, laughter dancing in her eyes as she swirled the last of her wine in its glass. "He's fun," she remarked, far too pleased by the entire encounter.
Crocodile exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath, "You'll regret saying that when he shows up in person."
Sineka tilted her head, smirk still in place. "Oh? And why would that be a problem?"
Crocodile's gaze flicked toward her, a slow drag of his cigar preceding his inevitable response.
"...You'll see."