🍃 𝗕𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀

Crocodile // POWER EXCHANGE

You know he’s in a foul mood as soon as you step into the room. It’s not a difficult thing to spot the irritation etched across his face, the grinding clench of his jaw as he bitterly chews at the butt of his cigar and puffs out heavy clouds of curling white-gray smoke like some sort of incensed dragon. The richly furnished study is hazy with it, distorting your perception of reality and giving it a dream like, ominous quality but even that is not enough to turn you away.

Slinking closer, you round the desk and step right up beside him. This is not a luxury afforded to many. Such an invasion of his personal space would result in painful, tortuously prolonged death for most anyone else but for you he makes an exception. For you he allows the press of your body against the side of his plush, high backed chair and he accepts your hand sliding into place across the back of his neck without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. You alone had this privilege to freely come and go, able to move about however you pleased within his presence. It was an altogether easy, amicable relationship between master and pet.

But, still, he had not spared you so much as a glance since you’d entered. It was curious indeed and you lean close to his shoulder, interestedly glancing over the parchment clasped in his broad hand, but the World Government seal stamped in the bottom right hand corner gives you immediate pause.

“What is that?” You ask slowly, softening the interruption with a placating caress along his nape and gently displacing the dark hair there.

As if the sound of your voice had roused him from his trance, Crocodile finally turns his attention up at you. He studies your face for a long beat before dropping the paper on top of the desk. Bringing his hand up, he plucks the burning cigar from his mouth and a fresh, billowing cloud of smoke pours out of him as he exhales. Instinctively, you breathe deep the pungent, seasoned aroma of his favorite tobacco and a pleasant wave of goosebumps erupt across your skin, tingling warmly in response to the familiar scent.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He says dismissively, snuffing out the cigar in a crowded ashtray at his elbow. “This is men’s business.”

Smiling, because that’s what he expects of you, your fingers slide higher to thread through his hair. “Yes, daddy.”

Crocodile hums his approval when he reaches out to palm your waist and tug you right up against him. You understand what he wants without needing to be told, obediently moving to throw your leg across his lap and climb up on top of him as he swivels the chair around to make room for you. Settling your weight on his thighs, you loop your arms around his neck and lean in to peck at his lips with an accompanying, impishly inviting sigh.

This, too, is something he wouldn’t permit from just about anyone else. You were presumptuous and strong willed, eager to take whatever it was you wanted as much as you were eager to please him. Hardly the gold standard of submission one would expect a man in his position to prefer when it came to feminine companions.

But he seems to like that about you, and he indulgently opens his mouth to kiss you back. It’s a possessive, demanding gesture - equal parts teeth and lips and tongue - and you can taste the lingering cigar smoke cloying deep in the back of your throat. Your head spins with it as he slides the rough palm of his hand over your thigh and under your flirty little dress while the other curls around your back to pin you against the front of him. The cool, unforgiving steel of his hook digs into your spine, just this side of uncomfortable, but you make no move to protest when he reaches back to grab a greedy, pinching handful of your ass.

Growling faintly at the lack of cotton and lace under his palm, Crocodile squeezes so tight, so vigorous that you’re sure to find bruises in the shapes of his rings come morning. “Such a good little girl,” he practically hisses, grinding up against the bare heat between your legs with a rolling thrust of his hips. “You always know just what I need, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, daddy. That’s why I’m your favorite.”

He chuckles, very softly, against the side of your neck. Reaching lower, his hand dips into the space between your thighs so he can drag the tips of his fingers along the seam of your cunt with a harsh, domineering swipe. You can’t stop from shuddering at the sensation, so indelicate and forceful, but undeniably arousing at the same time. Your pussy drools for him, leaking slick all along the front of his pants as you circle your hips over the hard weight underneath until you can’t even think straight anymore.

By the time you finally sink down on his cock a small eternity later, you’re delirious with need. Crocodile always fucked you so good. He knew exactly how hard, how fast, how rough you wanted it and he gave it to you in spades. His hand fisted in the back of your hair was unforgiving and worked as an effective leverage point to guide you through the motions at exactly the tempo he wanted, at exactly the angle he knew would drive you wild. You clawed at his broad shoulders, wailing out your pleasure even as he tauntingly, threateningly drug the sharp point of his hook across your flushed skin to leave scratches where his nails otherwise would have.

You burned from the inside out for him. Yearned for his rough, punishing attention the way some women yearned for flowers and sweet sonnets. He was not a kind man but he was your man, and you his perfect doll.