ONE PIECE one shots,,

SANDS AND SILKS

The markets of Alubarna were bustling with life. The golden sun of Alabasta beat down on the stone streets, casting long shadows over the colorful stalls. Merchants called out to customers, trying to sell their wares, and the scent of spices and desert flowers lingered in the air. Amidst this lively chaos, Crocodile—Warlord of the Sea and leader of Baroque Works—found himself in an unusual situation.

He was shopping.

More accurately, he was being dragged from stall to stall by his lover, a woman he had never imagined finding herself in his world of schemes and betrayal, and yet here she was. Once a part of his organization, she had quickly and quietly slipped into his personal life, breaking through the walls he had carefully constructed over the years.

Now, as she darted between vendors, looking at clothes she'd probably never wear, Crocodile was left trailing behind her, his usual composed demeanor intact, but with a faint trace of amusement in his eyes. His cigar burned slowly between his fingers, and he let out a cloud of smoke as she tugged him toward yet another shop.

"Croc, look at this!" she chirped, holding up a bright orange scarf. Her long, dark blue hair fell in waves around her face, but her bangs still obscured her eyes, adding to her odd, yet strangely alluring appearance. She was wearing something casual today—practical, considering the heat—yet every piece of clothing she picked up was either too flashy, too delicate, or completely impractical for someone like her.

Crocodile exhaled slowly. "You'll never wear that."

She laughed, unfazed by his bluntness. "But it's fun to look, isn't it? Come on, you can at least pretend to be interested."

Crocodile raised an eyebrow. "I didn't come here to play dress-up."

"Oh, please, you're always so serious." She leaned in, standing on her toes as she gently pushed the scarf toward his chest, as if teasing him. "Besides, I don't remember forcing you to come along."

Crocodile smirked, glancing down at the scarf before his sharp gaze returned to her face. "You didn't need to force me. It's either this or dealing with idiots back at the casino."

She laughed again, clearly not taking his words to heart. That was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place—her ability to see through his cold demeanor, to navigate the sharp edges of his personality without flinching. She was bright where he was dark, playful where he was calculating, and somehow, despite it all, she had become the only person he tolerated outside of his plans for domination.

"Tsk. Fine," Crocodile muttered, tossing the scarf back on the pile with a flick of his golden hook. "But don't expect me to parade around this circus all day."

Her grin widened. "Oh, I know you're enjoying this way more than you're letting on."

Crocodile's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, letting her drag him further into the shop. It was full of brightly colored dresses, flowing silks, and soft fabrics—a sharp contrast to the cold, pragmatic world of Baroque Works and the battlefield of Alabasta. Yet, she flitted between the racks with ease, as if she belonged in both worlds.

She picked out a long, flowing gown—a deep shade of green that would have looked stunning on her—and held it up. "What do you think?" she asked, tilting her head, her bangs shifting slightly as she tried to gauge his reaction.

Crocodile took a drag from his cigar, his eyes lazily scanning the dress before meeting hers. "It's too flashy."

She pouted. "You say that about everything."

"That's because you have a habit of picking things you'll never wear," Crocodile shot back, his smirk returning. "You're wasting your time."

"Maybe." She twirled around with the gown, holding it against her. "But it's nice to pretend sometimes."

Crocodile watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, though something stirred in his chest. Despite how odd it all seemed—the Warlord of the Sea, Baroque Works leader, standing in a clothing shop, watching his lover try on dresses—it felt strangely... peaceful. She brought a lightness to his life, one that he had never sought but couldn't deny.

"Come on, try something on for me!" she said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts.

Crocodile's eyes darkened. "Don't push your luck."

She giggled, undeterred. "Fine, fine. I'll spare you—for now."

She moved to another rack, humming softly to herself, and Crocodile's gaze followed her, as it always did. He took another drag from his cigar, leaning against the wall as the soft desert breeze blew through the open doors of the shop. He didn't belong here, among the silks and laughter, yet here he was—because of her.

After some time, she approached him again, empty-handed but still smiling. "Okay, I'm done dragging you around."

"Good." He flicked his cigar away, the ember snuffing out as it hit the sand.

As they left the shop, she wrapped her arm around his, leaning against him with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks for coming with me today."

Crocodile glanced down at her, his eyes softening just slightly. "You're welcome," he muttered, though he knew she'd see right through his gruff tone.

The two of them walked through the streets of Alubarna, their unusual companionship as stark as night and day. Yet, beneath the surface, Crocodile knew he would follow her anywhere—not because he had to, but because, despite his hardened heart, she had become the one thing he truly cared about.

Even if she did drag him through endless shops full of clothes she'd never wear.