"Rocks will ultimately fail."
"Huh?!"
Kaido stopped punching. The sheer audacity of the statement stunned him.
York continued, his voice low and steady over the sound of the wind.
"The Rocks Pirates look like a family of monsters from the outside. But inside? We're a pack of rabid dogs kept in line by one man."
"Betrayal is in our nature. Maybe not you, or me, or Newgate. But look at the others. Shiki, Captain John, Silver Axe, Wang Zhi..."
York scoffed.
"They are loyal only to gold and fear. The moment Rocks stumbles... the moment he faces an enemy he can't crush instantly... do you think they will fight to the death for him?"
"No. They will run. Or worse... they will stab him in the back."
"Even small squabbles on a critical battlefield can lead to total collapse. You know this."
Kaido fell silent. He clenched his fists, striking the steel hull with renewed, angry force.
CRUNCH.
He knew York was right. He had seen the infighting. He had seen John hoarding treasure while others bled.
Kaido stopped punching. He turned his massive, horned head to look at the human beside him.
"You've said all this... because you want to recruit me, right?"
"That's right!"
York admitted frankly, wiping sweat from his brow.
"My goal is the same as Rocks': To overturn the world. To drag the Celestial Dragons from their thrones."
"But I believe in Unity."
"A crew that fights as one will always crush a crew that fights for themselves. Rocks has power, but he lacks loyalty."
York extended a hand.
"So, Kaido... when the time comes... will you team up with me?"
Kaido stared at the hand. He replied coldly.
"I will not betray Rocks."
"Of course! I don't need you to betray him! I won't betray him either!"
York grinned, his eyes burning with conviction.
"I will stay by his side until the very end. I will fight for him until the ship burns."
"And when he falls... I will inherit his will. I will build a new, united crew from the ashes."
"My goal isn't just to kill Celestial Dragons. I want to destroy the old order completely and build something new."
Bang!
Kaido punched the ship one last time.
He looked at York for a long moment. He saw the ambition, the intellect, and the strength hiding beneath the handsome face.
He didn't say yes. He didn't say no.
He just turned back to the ship and resumed his training.
York smiled.
Silence was acceptance.
There were still two years until the end. He had plenty of time to prove himself to the future "Strongest Creature."
The sun set, painting the sky a bloody red.
York and Kaido headed to the mess hall. It was empty, save for Charlotte Linlin eating a mountain of sweets and Stussy sipping tea.
"Where are the others?" York asked.
"At the bar," Linlin mumbled through a mouthful of cake. "Simping for Shakky. They won't be back tonight."
York rolled his eyes.
He couldn't be bothered with those degenerates. In his eyes, the only people of value on this crew were Whitebeard, Kaido, Linlin, and himself.
Even Shiki was useless—a powerful pirate, sure, but too chaotic, too obsessed with Roger, too unstable to build an empire with.
After dinner, York returned to his quarters.
Gloriosa was waiting.
They went to the bathroom together.
The steam in the bathroom was thick, almost suffocating, clinging to every surface like a second skin. The showerhead still dripped lazily from their earlier rinse, the water long since cooled but the heat of their bodies keeping the air heavy and wet.
Gloriosa stood in the doorway between the bathing area and the small adjoining changing nook, the white apron tied snugly around her waist and neck, the thin cotton barely containing the generous swell of her breasts.
The fabric was short—deliberately so—ending just below the flare of her hips, leaving the long, toned legs of an Amazon bare and glistening from the humidity.
Her reddish-pink hair hung in damp waves down her back, a few strands plastered to the curve of her neck and the tops of her breasts where they threatened to spill over the apron's low neckline.
"Turn around."
York had barely finished toweling his hair when she gave the command. He turned slowly, deliberately, letting his eyes drink her in.
The apron was identical to the one Shakky favored—simple, practical, teasing—and yet on Gloriosa it looked obscene.
The material stretched taut across her chest, nipples already stiff and visible through the damp cotton, the tie at her waist accentuating the dramatic hourglass of her figure. She shifted her weight, one hip cocked, the motion making her breasts sway gently.
"York~" Her voice was soft, almost a purr, but the jealousy beneath it was unmistakable. "Between me and Shakky... who looks better in an apron?"
He didn't even pretend to think."
Of course you do."
The words were out before she finished asking. His voice was rough, hungry. He crossed the small space in two strides, hands already reaching for her.
Gloriosa gasped as his palms slid up her thighs, rough calluses scraping over smooth skin. She didn't resist when he lifted her effortlessly onto the edge of the wide stone sink counter, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from both of them.
The apron rode up immediately, exposing the soft, bare folds between her legs—already slick, already swollen. She hadn't worn anything underneath.
"York..." She breathed his name like a prayer, fingers threading into his damp hair as he dropped to his knees between her spread thighs.
He didn't waste time on teasing. His mouth found her first—hot, open, tongue flattening against her clit in one long, slow drag. Gloriosa's back arched, a sharp, needy whimper escaping her lips. The sound echoed off the tiled walls.
"Ah—! Y-Yes—"
He growled against her, the vibration making her hips jerk. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her open as he devoured her. Wet, obscene sucking noises filled the room—slurping, lapping, the lewd smack of lips and tongue against soaked flesh. Gloriosa's thighs trembled around his head, heels digging into his shoulders.
"Nnngh... York... deeper—please—"
He obliged, tongue plunging inside her, curling, thrusting in time with the shallow rocking of her hips. One hand left her thigh to slide up under the apron, cupping one heavy breast, thumb flicking over the stiff peak. She cried out, louder now, the sound raw and desperate.
When he finally pulled back, his chin glistened, lips swollen and red. Gloriosa was panting, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed a deep rose.
"Turn around," he rasped. "On your knees."
She obeyed instantly, sliding off the counter and dropping to the tiled floor. The apron shifted as she moved, the straps slipping slightly so that one breast nearly spilled free. She looked up at him through damp lashes, lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them.
York stood, towel already discarded. His cock jutted thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip, a bead of pre-cum already welling at the slit. Gloriosa's eyes locked onto it, pupils blown wide with want.
She leaned forward without being told, hands wrapping around the base—her fingers didn't quite meet—and dragged her tongue from root to tip in one slow, deliberate stroke. York hissed through his teeth, hand fisting in her hair.
Gloriosa moaned at the taste—salty, musky, all him—and took him into her mouth.
The first inch disappeared between her lips with a soft, wet pop. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard, tongue swirling around the head. York groaned, hips twitching forward involuntarily.
"Fuck—Gloriosa—"
She hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight up his shaft. Then she sank deeper, lips stretching wide around his girth, throat relaxing as she took him to the back of her mouth. A wet, gagging sound escaped her—gluck—followed by a thick string of saliva that dripped down her chin when she pulled back to breathe.
She didn't stop. She dove again, faster this time, head bobbing in a steady rhythm. Slurping, sucking, choking noises filled the steamy room—sloppy, shameless, obscene. Her tongue pressed flat along the underside, dragging with every pull back, lips sealed tight. One hand stroked what her mouth couldn't reach, twisting gently, while the other cupped his balls, rolling them lightly.
York's breathing grew ragged. His grip in her hair tightened, guiding her pace—not forcing, but urging.
"Like that—fuck—just like that—"
Gloriosa moaned around him, the sound muffled and wet. Her free hand slipped between her own thighs, fingers circling her clit in time with the bobbing of her head. Her hips rocked, chasing her own pleasure while she worshipped his cock.
After several long minutes of her relentless sucking—wet gluck-gluck-gluck echoing off the walls—York pulled her off with a gentle tug. His length slipped free with a lewd pop, glistening with her spit, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to the tip.
"Up," he growled.
Gloriosa rose on shaky legs, lips red and slick. York spun her around so she faced the mirror above the sink. He pressed against her back, cock sliding between the cheeks of her ass, hot and insistent.
"Look at yourself," he murmured against her ear. "Look how fucking perfect you are."
She did. In the fogged mirror, her reflection was debauched—apron askew, breasts heaving, nipples straining against the fabric, lips parted and shining. She whimpered.
York reached around, tugging the apron straps down until both breasts spilled free. They bounced heavily, full and soft, nipples dark and erect. He cupped them from behind, squeezing, thumbs flicking the peaks.
"Now," he said, voice low and rough, "use these."
Gloriosa understood immediately. She turned in his arms, sank back to her knees, and pressed her breasts together around his cock.
The first slide was slow—velvet heat enveloping him, slick with her spit and the pre-cum leaking steadily from his tip. She looked up at him, eyes wide and adoring, as she began to move.
Up. Down. The soft flesh dragged along his length, nipples brushing his abdomen with every stroke. Wet, slippery sounds accompanied the motion—schlick, schlick—mixed with her soft, breathy moans.
"Does it feel good?" she whispered, voice trembling with need. "Better than hers?"
York groaned, hips rocking forward to meet her movements.
"So much better. Fuck—Gloriosa—only you."
She smiled—small, triumphant, and utterly in love—then leaned forward, tongue flicking out to lap at the head every time it emerged from between her breasts. The added sensation made York's knees nearly buckle.
She sped up, breasts bouncing with the rhythm, flesh jiggling enticingly. Sweat and spit made everything slick, obscene, perfect. The sounds were louder now—wet slaps of skin on skin, her needy whimpers, his low, guttural moans.
"Close—" he warned, voice strained.
Gloriosa didn't slow. Instead she pressed harder, squeezing her breasts tighter around him, tongue swirling around the sensitive head on every upward stroke.
"Come for me," she breathed. "Please, York—let me feel it—"
That did it.
York's hips jerked, a choked groan tearing from his throat as he came. Thick ropes of cum spurted across her chest, painting the tops of her breasts, dripping down the valley between them, some catching on her chin and lips. Gloriosa moaned at the heat of it, tongue darting out to catch what she could, eyes never leaving his.
When the last pulse faded, she stayed on her knees, chest heaving, covered in him. The apron was ruined—stained, askew—but she looked utterly satisfied.
York reached down, thumb brushing a streak of cum from her lower lip before leaning in to kiss her—deep, slow, tasting himself on her tongue.
"I love you," she whispered against his mouth, voice small and certain. "Only you."
He pulled her up into his arms, holding her close amid the cooling steam.
"And I love you," he murmured into her hair. "Always."
The bathroom stayed quiet after that, save for the soft drip of the showerhead and the sound of their slowing breaths. Outside, the Rocks Pirates carried on with their chaos. Inside, for just a little while, there was only them.
Two Years Later.
Sea Calendar 1482. (38 Years before Luffy sets sail).
Two years passed in a flash.
Rocks continued his rampage, accumulating massive wealth. He searched frantically for a way to revive the Frozen Giants, but no fruit or technology could be found.
Meanwhile, Hachinosu had become a pilgrimage site.
News of Shakky's Rip-Off Bar spread across the New World. Pirates flocked to the island not just to join Rocks, but to glimpse the retired Empress.
But fame brings trouble. Not everyone wished Shakky well. Jealousy and rivalry brewed in the shadows.
New World. Unknown Sea.
The Oro Jackson cut through the waves.
"Captain! Captain Roger!!"
A crewmate ran up to the deck, waving a newspaper.
"I heard Shakky opened a shop on Hachinosu Island! And the reviews are amazing!"
"Yeah! Remember when she retired? She was sick and depressed. Now she's running a bar! We should go see her!"
"Let's go visit, Captain!"
The crew of the Roger Pirates cheered, eager to see their old acquaintance (and crush).
But Gol D. Roger didn't cheer.
He leaned against the railing, his iconic mustache drooping. He looked sulky, staring at the ocean with a pout.
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