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.
YOU ARE READING
A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile
Fanfiction"Marry me," she commanded, almost. Crocodile narrowed his eyes at the impertinence of the woman who stood in front of him. "Ara," he heard Ms All Sunday mutter amusedly. "Who are you?" "Sineka Duskblade," she replied.
