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abbythewritor · 2 months ago

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ER. (Haikyuu x Reader.) Prologue.

Description: Thrown into the heart of Tokyo's most competitive teaching hospital, foreign intern Y/N L/N is already fighting the odds—late on day one, underestimated for their size, and surrounded by prodigies who treat medicine like a battlefield. At Karasuno General, the rules are simple: survive the shift, save the patient, and don’t let the pressure break you.

With Chief Resident Daichi Sawamura breathing fire, Coach Ukai running the floor like a warzone, and rival doctors watching for any crack, Y/N must prove they’re more than a misfit in scrubs. This isn’t high school. This is life and death. And here, every heartbeat counts.

Warnings/Before we begin:

-I do not own Haikyuu or ER, both shows belong to the owners.

-This story is very mature, and filled with adult like content like blood, sex, surgery, mentions of sensitive topics like suicide, self harm, and many things that people see in a hospital, so please if your triggered, nauseas, anxious, or disgusted by any of the warnings and content listed above then please do not read. IF YOU ARE A KID PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FANFIC.

-This is my first story in a long time I will be continuing and writing on my own. As I really worked hard on this story, so please out of the kindness of your heart, share this story with others as it will really mean so much to me. :-)

- Each week, I'll post a chapter on my days off from work, as my work schedule changed every so often so chapter posting dates will be different.

-A big thank you to people who are now just reading this or have been reading this story, your support means a lot and writing helps me coap with my depression and axiety, as I haven't written about Haikyuu in over 6 years, so I'm excited to see where this story will go!

-Anyways, I'll stop talking and ranting and enjoy the prologue of ER haikyuu edition!

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Tokyo doesn’t sleep.

It thrums—loud and alive, pulsing with a tempo that never slows, never falters. Neon signs flicker like arrhythmias in the dark, train stations beat with a thousand footsteps a minute, and somewhere beneath it all, hearts are breaking and healing in equal measure.

And towering in the center of it all is Karasuno General Hospital—sixteen floors of steel, glass, and impossible expectations.

Inside, the air is cold, clinical. The lights are too bright, the walls too white. Every hallway echoes with the staccato rhythm of urgency—heels against linoleum, stretchers wheeling past, codes being called out like battle cries.

This is not a hospital. It’s a pressure cooker.

And tonight, the lid comes off.

The lecture theater on the fourth floor isn’t much different. Unforgiving lights. Metal chairs lined in rigid rows. A podium scarred by years of sharp words and worn hands. It smells like antiseptic and tension.

Dozens of new interns sit straight-backed and wide-eyed, still soft around the edges. Some have been up since the night before. Some haven’t eaten in sixteen hours. All of them are trying not to look like they’re seconds from throwing up.

Karasuno’s cohort sits front and center.

Hinata Shouyou fidgets with the pen in his coat pocket like it’s a live wire. Kageyama Tobio stares down the projector screen like it personally insulted him. Tsukishima pretends he’s above it all, chewing gum with his eyes half-lidded, and Yamaguchi’s got that faint tremor in his hands that betrays just how hard he’s trying not to show fear. Nishinoya and Tanaka whisper across their notebooks, their bravado barely masking the anxiety beneath.

But it’s the three figures standing at the front that command all attention.

Daichi Sawamura, Chief Resident of Emergency Medicine, cuts a towering figure in crisp scrubs and steeled resolve. His presence is less about volume and more about gravity—like everything centers around him whether you want it to or not.

Koushi Sugawara, second-year attending, stands just behind him with a clipboard in one hand and a ghost of a smile on his face. He looks soft, gentle even—until you see his eyes. That’s where the fire lives.

And pacing in front of the screen like a lion in a cage, sipping black coffee from a mug that says "I perform miracles on caffeine and rage"—is Dr. Ukai Keishin, Resident Advisor, the youngest attending in Karasuno’s history.

He stops suddenly, turns on a heel, and addresses the room.

“You all think you know what’s coming.”

The silence in the room is absolute.

“You’ve watched your dramas. Read your textbooks. Maybe even convinced yourself this’ll be like a prolonged episode of Grey’s Anatomy where everyone’s sexy, overqualified, and emotionally constipated.”

A few people chuckle nervously.

Ukai’s eyes narrow.

“You’re wrong.”

Dead silence.

“You’re going to fail. You're going to freeze. You’re going to stand over someone bleeding out and realize you have no idea what the hell you’re doing—and no one to save you but yourself. This hospital doesn't give out participation trophies. It gives you two choices: learn fast, or get the hell out of the way.”

He takes another long sip of his coffee.

“This is not the time to cry or get your head stuck up your ass.”

That’s when the doors burst open.

Every head snaps toward the sound.

And there—framed by the harsh light of the corridor and the judgmental silence of fifty interns—is you.

Y/N L/N.

You’re late. You know it. Everyone else knows it. The world feels it.

Hair frizzed from humidity and nerves, coat slightly wrinkled from the sprint up the stairs. The standard-issue scrubs pull tighter over your body than they’re meant to—no one thought to order sizes past a certain point, of course—but you walk in anyway. Shoulders square. Chin up. Breathing like you just ran a marathon, but eyes clear.

You don’t apologize.

You never apologize for showing up.

Ukai doesn’t miss a beat.

“Miss L/N,” he growls. “You’re late.”

You nod once, steady. “Yes, sir. Traffic jam. A funeral procession. And a truck full of… fish, I think.”

A couple snorts break through the silence, but Ukai’s stare doesn’t waver.

“I assume the fish survived. You might not, if you pull that again.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gestures. “Sit.”

You make your way down the aisle, feeling every eye on you. You’re used to that. You’ve always taken up more space than the world thought you should—but never once less than you deserve.

You slide into the only open seat—next to Yamaguchi, who offers a small, nervous smile and nudges a spare pen toward you.

Ukai continues like you hadn’t just flipped the room upside down.

“You are the least experienced, most vulnerable people in this hospital. But the moment you put on that coat, you became part of this machine. And when the machine breaks, someone dies.”

He steps aside, and Daichi takes his place.

Daichi’s voice is quieter. Deeper. More weighted.

“You will see blood. You will see bodies. You will lose patients. And it will hurt. But if you're here to be praised or protected, you're in the wrong damn profession.”

His gaze sweeps over the room, then lands—just for a second—on you.

“There are people who will question if you belong. Because of your background. Because of how you look. Because you don’t match their idea of what a ‘real’ doctor should be.”

He lets that hang in the air.

“But you're here. You earned this.”

He straightens.

“And Karasuno doesn’t throw people away.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It’s electric.

Outside, a siren wails. Distant, but growing louder.

Ukai turns toward the sound like a soldier hearing the drums of war.

“Shift starts now.”

And with that, the room empties in a controlled panic of coats, clipboards, and adrenaline.

You stand with them, your heart hammering against your ribs.

You’re in a new country. In a hospital that wasn’t built for you. Surrounded by brilliance and pressure and people who already seem to be sprinting while you’re still tying your shoes.

But this is what you came for.

To heal. To fight. To prove something—not just to them, but to yourself.

You square your shoulders, adjust your coat, and walk toward the ER floor.

Where the lights are harsh. The blood is real. And the story’s just beginning.

The elevator ride down to the Emergency Wing was silent—until it wasn’t.

“Okay but what if I accidentally stab someone with the IV needle?” Hinata whispered, his voice high and panicked. “Like not on purpose—but my hands are gonna be shaking and—”

“You’re not stabbing anyone,” Kageyama muttered, glaring at the floor numbers like he could make them move faster.

“You don’t know that!” Hinata hissed.

Y/N stood quietly near the back of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest, pulse still hammering in your ears. You weren’t the only one radiating anxious energy, but being new to the entire country added a particular kind of dissonance. The signs above the emergency doors were in both Japanese and English, but the vibe? That was pure battlefield.

A shuffle beside you.

“Y/N, right?” Yamaguchi asked, offering you that gentle half-smile again. “I—I’m Tadashi. It’s cool you made it even with the… uh, fish truck?”

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Not my ideal first impression, but hey—at least I’m memorable?”

“Honestly,” Tanaka cut in from the front of the group, “late or not, that entrance had main character energy.”

“Agreed,” Nishinoya said with a grin. “Bet you’re gonna save someone’s life tonight and get a standing ovation.”

“Or pass out,” Tsukishima muttered. “Ten bucks on that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re betting on me passing out?”

“I’m not hoping for it. I’m just playing the odds.”

“Don’t mind him,” Yamaguchi murmured. “That’s just his way of being… helpful. Ish.”

The elevator doors finally opened with a ding that sounded way too cheerful for what lay beyond.

They spilled out onto the ER floor like students onto a battlefield.

It was chaos. Controlled chaos—but chaos all the same.

Gurneys flew past. A trauma team ran down the corridor in scrubs stained with something dark. Monitors beeped, machines hissed, and someone was screaming—maybe in pain, maybe in grief, maybe in frustration. Nurses moved with terrifying speed. Doctors barked orders with clipped precision. It smelled like bleach, blood, and burned coffee.

The Karasuno interns huddled tighter without even realizing it.

A clipboard smacked into Tanaka’s chest.

“Interns!” A nurse snapped, not even looking up. “Get the hell out of the walkway unless you wanna become a trauma case.”

They scattered like startled pigeons, pressing up against the wall as stretchers flew past.

“Jesus,” Hinata whispered.

“So…” Nishinoya rubbed the back of his neck. “Who do you think we’re gonna train under first?”

You caught your breath and tried to scan the floor for anyone you recognized. The seniors had told stories—legends, even—about the doctors who ruled Karasuno like gods.

“Maybe Dr. Sugawara?” Yamaguchi guessed. “I heard he does bedside training rotations.”

“Pray for that,” Tsukishima said dryly. “At least he’s calm. If we get Kuroo, we’re dead. He teaches like a drill sergeant.”

“Or Bokuto,” Tanaka added with a groan. “Apparently he makes you run through trauma simulations blindfolded.”

“I wouldn’t mind Oikawa,” Nishinoya said with a grin. “They say he’s a jerk, but he’s hot. Could be worse.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A hot jerk is still a jerk.”

“Fair.” He winked.

A voice called out down the hall.

“Karasuno Interns!”

It was Daichi, standing beside Ukai, both holding stacks of assignment folders. The look on their faces was unreadable. Deadpan. Dangerous.

Oh no.

“This is your assignment split,” Daichi said. “Pairs. One attending each. They’ve been told not to go easy on you.”

He handed out folders without ceremony.

Kageyama and Hinata – Trauma Team Alpha. Yamaguchi and Tsukishima – Infectious Disease. Tanaka and Nishinoya – Ortho Rotation. You…?

Your folder was heavier than the others.

Daichi handed out the last folder with a slower motion, his expression unreadable.

When you reached for it, his fingers didn’t let go right away.

“Y/N L/N,” he said, voice steady but low. “You’re assigned solo.”

Your heart paused in your chest. “Solo?”

Ukai stepped beside him, arms crossed. “Odd numbers this year. Someone had to be the unlucky one.”

You opened the folder.

ER / Musculoskeletal Trauma Rotation – Attending: Dr. Iwaizumi Hajime.

The name hit like a sucker punch.

There was a beat of silence—then a slow ripple of reaction from the others. Even Tsukishima’s face flickered with something like discomfort.

“Holy crap,” Tanaka murmured.

“Rest in peace,” Nishinoya whispered.

“I heard he made an intern cry before orientation,” Hinata said in awe.

“Wasn’t there that rumor he made someone quit med entirely?” Yamaguchi asked.

“Three people,” Kageyama corrected, flatly.

You glanced between them, trying to read between fact and fear. But the looks said enough.

Even Daichi seemed unsure how to soften the blow. “Dr. Iwaizumi’s… demanding.”

“That’s polite,” Ukai muttered. “He doesn’t tolerate mistakes. He doesn’t hold hands. He doesn’t explain things twice. You’re either sharp, or you’re gone.”

Your stomach coiled tight, but you forced a breath through it.

You’d survived med school in a system that never made room for bodies like yours. You’d studied under professors who forgot your name but remembered your weight. You’d worked twice as hard to get half as far. And you were still here.

You looked up, jaw tight but voice calm.

“I’ll manage.”

Daichi studied you a moment longer. Then he gave a small nod.

“I hope so. He’s in OR 2. Go.”

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abbythewritor · 4 months ago

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Cyber blood. Prologue.

*An Anime twist on Detroit become human, and the crime show Blue Bloods.*

Description: In a world where CyberLife dominates the tech industry with its revolutionary anime android lineup, reality and fiction blur like never before. Y/n, a plus-size, mentally ill, and struggling drug addict, spends her days at a dead-end job, feeling the ever-present weight of being watched. But one night, upon returning to her crumbling apartment, she finds an enormous 6’7 package from CyberLife waiting at her doorstep. Inside stands Dracule Mihawk, the legendary swordsman, now reborn as an artificial intelligence with piercing golden eyes and an unwavering presence. At first, Mihawk is merely another product, an expensive collector’s item brought to life. But as he observes Y/n’s fractured world—her poverty, her addiction, and the shadows clawing at her sanity—he makes a choice no android was programmed to make: he will carve his own path. Determined to protect the woman fate has bound him to, Mihawk takes an unlikely job in the real world—as a detective. Teaming up with the cynical yet brilliant Vincent Corneals and the resourceful investigator Ming Rodrigo, Mihawk throws himself into the dark underbelly of human crime. Their mission? To uncover the truth behind a chilling case that shakes the foundations of both the organic and artificial world: "Does Cyber Blood Live?" As androids begin exhibiting unexplained emotions, free will, and perhaps even something akin to a soul, Mihawk and his team are thrust into a conspiracy that threatens to rewrite existence itself. But as he battles criminals, corruption, and his own growing sense of self, Mihawk faces the most dangerous mystery of all: What does it mean to be truly alive?

WARNINGS: Violence, Blood, mentions of Alcohol, Drugs, and crime stuff. There will be cursing, some sexual content included.

Before the story begins:

-I DO NOT OWN ONE PIECE, DETROIT BECOME HUMAN, OR BLUE BLOODS. THEY BELONG TO THE CREATORS.

-THE ONE PIECE CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY ARE THE ANDROIDS BEING FOCUSED ON INTO THE STORY. NONE OF THE ORIGINAL DETROIT BECOME HUMAN CHARACTERS WILL BE IN THIS BOOK. THE ONLY CHARACTER REALLY IN THIS STORY WILL BE THE FOUNDER OF CYBER LIFE. ELIJA.

-Anyways. Enjoy the prologue of my newest book!

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The city never really slept anymore. Not since CyberLife changed the world.

Detective Vincent Corneals sat at the far end of the dimly lit precinct, his broad shoulders hunched over a stack of case files that all blurred together in a haze of bad coffee and worse decisions. The overhead fluorescents flickered with an uneasy hum, as if the building itself was as exhausted as he was.

“Android-related crime rates are up another thirty percent this month,” Ming Rodrigo muttered beside him, flipping through her own stack of reports. She was younger, sharper in the way rookies still had hope left in their bones, but even she was starting to sound tired. “Ever since they were given full freedom rights, it’s been one case after another—murders, thefts, disappearances. Shit, even the mafia’s getting in on the action. Using androids as hired muscle now. Bulletproof, no DNA to trace, no family to rat them out.”

Vincent grunted, rubbing his temple. “You’d think giving them ‘human rights’ would’ve made things better, not worse.”

Ming scoffed. “Yeah, well, you give a machine a conscience, and it’s gonna start making human mistakes. And human mistakes, Vincent, are usually violent.”

She tossed a report onto his desk. A mugshot stared back at him—an android, its synthetic skin still gleaming under the harsh police lighting, but its eyes were unsettlingly human. Too much emotion. Fear, maybe. Or something close enough.

“This one hacked his own behavioral inhibitors and shot his owner,” Ming continued. “Said he was tired of ‘being property.’”

Vincent exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Christ.”

The precinct’s ancient TV crackled to life, filling the room with an artificial cheerfulness that didn’t belong here.

“CyberLife presents its latest breakthrough in anime AI technology!”

Both detectives turned their heads toward the screen.

A shiny commercial played, full of bright neon, flashing kanji, and artificial enthusiasm. A corporate model, all plastic smiles and perfect teeth, presented a sleek new lineup of anime androids—impossibly beautiful, designed to bring fiction into reality. The camera panned across a lineup of perfectly sculpted, impossibly proportioned figures, ranging from wide-eyed schoolgirls to brooding warriors.

And then, the final reveal.

A towering, 6’7 figure, dressed in a long black coat, with piercing golden eyes and a massive blade strapped to his back. The name scrolled across the screen in bold letters:

"CYBERLIFE MODEL: DRACULE MIHAWK. THE GREATEST SWORDSMAN."

The advertisement cut to a demonstration—a swift, effortless display of swordsmanship. The Mihawk model split a metal pole clean in half, his eyes never wavering. The voice-over boomed with corporate pride:

"For the first time ever, experience the legends of anime, not just on screen, but in your own home! Cutting-edge AI meets masterful design—this is more than just a companion, it’s a warrior, a protector, a dream brought to life!"

Vincent let out a slow, tired breath. “Jesus. They really made Mihawk, huh?”

Ming folded her arms. “Y’know, sometimes I think CyberLife does this shit on purpose. One day, they say ‘androids have rights.’ The next, they’re making six-foot-seven anime war machines and selling them to civilians. And then we’re the ones left dealing with the mess.”

Vincent leaned back in his chair, watching as the screen showed the sleek CyberLife logo before cutting to another round of news about an android-led armed robbery uptown.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “And something tells me the real mess hasn’t even started yet.”

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

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Winter is coming: Master List.

Author: here is the master list guys!! :) Enjoy my book!

Description: Y/N Targaryen, the last true daughter of House Targaryen, bears the weight of her lineage on her broad shoulders. Young, fiercely determined, and often underestimated for her plus-size figure, she is forced into an unyielding marriage alliance with one of the most dangerous men across the seas: Crocodile, the ruthless warlord and cunning leader of Baroque Works. Torn from Westeros and thrust into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, Y/N must navigate the treacherous alliances, schemes, and monstrous forces that haunt her every step. As Crocodile’s bride, her life becomes a game of survival—earning his respect while enduring his cold indifference and manipulative tendencies. However, the fire in her blood will not be dimmed. With whispers of ancient dragons and visions of the Iron Throne calling her home, Y/N begins to embrace her Targaryen birthright, proving that dragons do not cower—they conquer.As war brews across the seas and in Westeros alike, Y/N’s journey will test her body, spirit, and mind. With Crocodile as both her captor and potential ally, she will rise through betrayal, blood, and fire to claim her destiny. Winter is coming, but fire and blood will follow.

Just to be clear: I do not own Game of Thrones or One Piece, they belong to the creators. I wrote this story on Chat GTP as to help with story structure and Spelling. Y/n in this story is overweight and plus size, as I rarely see Y/n's that are bigger in fanfiction at all, so I'd thought it will be different. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR CHILDREN!!! As like Game of Thrones, it will have a lot of explicit, and graphic scenes!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!!

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Prologue:

Chapter one:

Chapter two:

Chapter three:

Chapter four:

Chapter five:

Chapter six:

Chapter seven:

https://www.tumblr.com/abbythewritor/770837721917833216/winter-is-coming-chapter-seven

Chapter eight:

Chapter nine:

Chapter ten:

Chapter eleven:

Chapter twelve:

Chapter thirteen:

Chapter fourteen:

Chapter fifteen:

Chapter sixteen:

Chapter seventeen:

Chapter eighteen:

Chapter nineteen:

Chapter twenty:

#anime x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece #fanfiction #anime #luffy #one piece x reader #one piece fandom #monkey d luffy #crocodile #straw hat pirates #game of thrones x you #game of thrones x y/n

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

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Winter is Coming. Chapter Nine.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

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The days at Crocodile’s fortress began to blur together, a monotonous routine punctuated by moments of unease. Y/N had grown used to the imposing walls of Rainbase, the endless desert stretching beyond its borders, and the chill of the nights that seemed at odds with the blazing heat of the sun.

Crocodile, for his part, kept his distance most days. He watched her closely but rarely spoke to her unless it was to issue a command or question her care for the dragon eggs. His moods were difficult to read—sharp and calculated one moment, distant and contemplative the next.

But today, there was something different about him.

As Y/N stepped into the grand dining hall to begin her morning, she found Crocodile already there, leaning against the head of the table with a cigar between his teeth. His hook tapped idly against the wood, a rhythmic clink that echoed faintly in the expansive room.

His expression was dark, his brows drawn together in a deep scowl. His usual air of composed authority was marred by something else—something closer to irritation, or perhaps even dread.

Y/N hesitated at the threshold, her fingers brushing against the fur-lined cloak he had insisted she wear in the mornings to ward off the chill. She wasn’t sure if she should speak, but the weight of his gaze made it impossible to ignore him.

“Good morning,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Crocodile grunted in response, his eye flicking toward her briefly before returning to the table.

Y/N stepped closer, her hands clutching the edges of the cloak. “Is something wrong?”

He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the cigar between his fingers glowing faintly in the dim light. “You could say that,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

She tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to elaborate.

After a moment, he sighed heavily, straightening to his full height. “We’re expecting a visitor,” he said, his tone clipped. “Someone I’d rather not deal with.”

Y/N frowned faintly, her curiosity piqued. “Who?”

Crocodile’s lips curled into a sneer, his irritation evident. “Donquixote Doflamingo.”

The name sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She had heard of Doflamingo in passing—a man of infamy and cruelty, a fellow Warlord whose reputation rivaled even Crocodile’s.

“Why is he coming here?” she asked cautiously.

Crocodile’s eye narrowed as he extinguished his cigar in a nearby ashtray. “He wants to ‘discuss’ something,” he said, his tone laced with disdain. “But I know what this is about.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her mind turning over the possibilities. She didn’t need him to say it to know what Doflamingo’s visit likely involved. The arranged marriage between her and Crocodile had become a topic of rumor and speculation.

And Doflamingo, like any good spider, couldn’t resist a web of intrigue.

By midday, the atmosphere in the fortress had grown heavier, the anticipation of Doflamingo’s arrival settling over the halls like a storm cloud. Crocodile paced the main hall, his expression dark as he barked orders to his guards, ensuring that everything was in place.

When Doflamingo finally arrived, it was with his usual flair.

The sound of boots echoed through the hall as the towering figure strode in, his pink feathered coat swaying dramatically with every step. His ever-present smirk curled across his face, his sunglasses glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Crocodile!” Doflamingo called, his voice loud and mocking as he spread his arms wide in greeting. “It’s been too long!”

Crocodile’s jaw tightened, though his expression remained composed as he stepped forward to meet the other Warlord. “Doflamingo,” he said, his voice low and measured. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, come now,” Doflamingo replied, his smirk widening. “You know why I’m here.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Y/N, who stood near the edge of the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The faintest gleam of amusement flickered in his eyes as he added, “I had to see for myself if the rumors were true.”

Crocodile’s eye narrowed, his hook tapping against his side. “Get to the point.”

Doflamingo chuckled, taking a leisurely step closer. “Relax, Crocodile. I’m here as a friend.” The word dripped with sarcasm, his smirk never faltering. “I’m just curious about your… bride.”

Y/N stiffened at the word, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to keep her expression neutral.

Crocodile’s posture shifted subtly, his broad shoulders squaring as he stepped between Doflamingo and Y/N, his presence a deliberate barrier. “She’s none of your concern,” he said flatly.

Doflamingo’s grin widened, his sunglasses hiding whatever thoughts swirled behind his eyes. “Oh, but she is,” he said, his tone light but pointed. “A Targaryen princess married to a Warlord? That’s quite the alliance. People are talking, Crocodile. They’re wondering what you’re planning.”

Crocodile’s lips curled into a snarl, his patience wearing thin. “Let them wonder. It’s none of their business.”

“Or mine?” Doflamingo pressed, his voice lilting with mock innocence.

“Exactly,” Crocodile snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The two men stared at each other, the tension between them crackling like lightning. For a moment, it seemed as though the room itself held its breath.

Then, unexpectedly, Doflamingo laughed—a low, throaty sound that filled the space and grated against Y/N’s nerves. “You’re so serious, Crocodile,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve always been like this. No sense of humor.”

Crocodile didn’t respond, his golden hook gleaming faintly in the firelight as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Doflamingo’s gaze shifted to Y/N once more, his smirk softening into something almost predatory. “And what about you, princess?” he asked, his voice honeyed. “Do you feel the same? Do you believe your new husband’s plans are none of my business?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced at Crocodile, whose expression darkened further at Doflamingo’s question.

“Don’t talk to her,” Crocodile growled, stepping forward. The protectiveness in his tone surprised even him, though he masked it well with his usual command.

Doflamingo raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Alright, alright,” he said, though the gleam in his eyes suggested he was anything but sorry. “I’ll behave. For now.”

The rest of the conversation was tense, with Crocodile deflecting Doflamingo’s thinly veiled jabs and attempts to pry into his affairs. Y/N watched in silence, her hands gripping the edge of the fur cloak as she tried to make herself small and unnoticeable.

When Doflamingo finally left, it was with the same dramatic flair he had arrived with, his laughter echoing through the halls long after he was gone.

Crocodile stood in the center of the room, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. He didn’t look at Y/N immediately, his mind clearly preoccupied with the lingering tension of the encounter.

Finally, he turned to her, his expression softening slightly as he took in her tense posture. “You’re alright,” he said, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Y/N nodded slowly, her hands still clutching the cloak. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, though the unease in her voice betrayed her.

Crocodile’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he exhaled heavily, running a gloved hand over his face. “Doflamingo is a pest,” he muttered. “But he’s not your concern. Let me deal with him.”

Y/N nodded again, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched her, his frustration shifting into something more protective. “You don’t have to be afraid of him,” he added, his tone softer now.

She met his gaze briefly, her heart skipping a beat at the unexpected gentleness in his voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Crocodile nodded once, his expression hardening again as he turned back toward the center of the room. His thoughts churned, but one thing was certain:

He would not let Doflamingo—or anyone else—interfere with what was his.

But.

The fortress felt like a coiled snake waiting to strike.

Ever since Donquixote Doflamingo arrived, tension gripped Rainbase like an iron vice. The maids moved hurriedly, their heads down as they avoided the Warlord’s gaze, whispering nervously when he was out of earshot. The guards stationed throughout the halls were equally on edge. They had faced dangers before, but Doflamingo was something else entirely—a man whose reputation alone was enough to make even the bravest soldiers uneasy.

His devil fruit, the Ito Ito no Mi, was infamous. Whispers of strings sharp enough to sever flesh and bind souls followed him wherever he went, and the stories weren’t exaggerations. Doflamingo’s power was terrifying, not just for its raw strength but for the cruelty with which he wielded it.

And yet, Doflamingo wasn’t acting out of malice—not today.

Crocodile remained distant after their tense lunch, retreating to his quarters with a scowl that could curdle wine. Y/N had returned to her own chambers, doing her best to stay out of sight and out of mind. But Doflamingo…

Doflamingo had other plans.

As the day dragged on, Doflamingo found himself intrigued.

The rumors of the Targaryen princess had reached him weeks ago, long before Crocodile’s marriage. But to see her in person—to observe her closely—was something else entirely.

She was polished, he thought. Quiet. Well-behaved, like a bird in a gilded cage. A creature shaped by survival rather than strength.

It amused him, at first. The way she carried herself, always with a rigid composure, as if expecting the world to collapse around her at any moment. But as the hours passed, he began to see the cracks—the faint hesitation in her steps, the way her fingers clutched at the edge of her cloak when she thought no one was looking.

Pity, he thought, the word curling through his mind like smoke.

But pity was not the only thing that lingered.

That evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and bathed the desert in hues of gold and red, Doflamingo followed Y/N. It was not a conscious decision, not at first. He had been wandering the halls, his sharp mind turning over the events of the day, when he caught sight of her moving down one of the fortress’s quieter corridors.

She carried something in her arms, cradling it carefully like a mother with her child.

Curiosity flickered in his chest, and before he realized it, his feet were carrying him forward, his long strides closing the distance between them with ease.

Y/N didn’t notice him at first. Her attention was focused on the objects in her arms—three smooth, scaled eggs that glinted faintly in the fading light. Their surfaces were textured and warm, their colors rich and vibrant—red, green, and black, like jewels from some forgotten age.

Doflamingo stopped abruptly.

For the first time in years, something twisted in his chest, sharp and unrelenting. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. No, this was something else—something primal and ancient.

Dragons.

The word echoed through his mind like the tolling of a bell, loud and impossible to ignore.

He had dismissed the stories, of course. Everyone had. Dragons were a relic of a forgotten age, creatures that had burned themselves out centuries ago. Yet here, in the arms of this quiet, frightened girl, were three dragon eggs—alive.

He could see it now, the faint shimmer in the air around them, the pulsing warmth that radiated from their cores. The eggs were not mere relics. They were waiting.

Waiting to hatch.

Y/N froze when she finally noticed him. She turned slowly, her breath hitching as her gaze met his. Her arms tightened instinctively around the eggs, shielding them as though she could protect them from the Warlord’s piercing gaze.

“Fascinating,” Doflamingo murmured, his smirk curling wider.

Y/N didn’t respond, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been told to avoid him, to stay far away from the man in the pink coat with the predatory grin. Yet here he was, standing before her, his presence as oppressive as the desert heat.

“What are those?” he asked, though his tone carried more curiosity than threat.

“They’re mine,” Y/N said quietly, her voice steadier than she expected.

Doflamingo chuckled softly, the sound low and unsettling. “Yours?” he echoed, tilting his head. “Do you even know what you’re holding, little princess?”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “Yes. I do.”

His grin faltered ever so slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “Dragons,” he said, the word rolling off his tongue like poison.

Y/N nodded, her arms tightening further around the eggs.

For a moment, Doflamingo said nothing. He simply stared at her, his mind racing. The implications of what he was seeing were staggering. Dragons. Real dragons. If these eggs hatched, the balance of power in the world would shift in ways no one could predict.

And yet… as he looked at her, standing there with defiance in her eyes and vulnerability etched across her face, something else stirred within him.

She was no threat. Not yet.

But the eggs? The eggs were a promise.

A promise of fire and blood, of power that could not be controlled.

He took a step closer, his smirk returning. “Does Crocodile know what you’re holding?” he asked, his voice soft but pointed.

Y/N hesitated, her silence betraying her answer.

Doflamingo chuckled again, shaking his head. “Of course he does,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “He wouldn’t let you keep them otherwise. He must think he can use them—use you.”

Y/N flinched, the words cutting deeper than she cared to admit.

Doflamingo’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned, his coat sweeping dramatically behind him as he strode away.

“You should be careful, little princess,” he called over his shoulder. “Not all power can be tamed.”

Y/N stood frozen in the corridor, her arms still cradling the eggs as her heart raced.

Doflamingo’s words echoed in her mind long after he disappeared, their meaning as heavy as the warmth pulsing from the eggs in her arms.

For the first time, she felt not just fear… but something else.

Something that felt like fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of fire.

The streets of Rainbase buzzed with life, the city pulsing with its usual energy as the desert sun poured down like molten gold. Vendors called out from stalls brimming with spices, fabrics, and trinkets, their voices blending with the chatter of townsfolk and the clinking of coins exchanging hands.

Children darted between the crowds, laughing as they chased one another through the marketplace, their bare feet kicking up small clouds of sand. Guards patrolled the streets, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight, keeping a watchful eye on the bustling activity.

Rainbase, the heart of Crocodile’s territory, was thriving.

Among the crowds, a man walked with a carefree swagger, his bare chest exposed beneath an open shirt, a hat tipped low over his face to shield him from the sun. A confident grin tugged at his lips as he took in the sights and sounds of the city, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Portgas D. Ace, the second division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, had arrived.

But not as a pirate.

For once, Ace wasn’t here on business—or trouble. Dressed simply, with none of the fanfare or chaos that usually accompanied his name, he blended seamlessly with the crowd. No one recognized him, nor did they give him a second glance as he wandered the marketplace, taking in the vibrant energy of Rainbase.

Ace loved exploring new places. Every island, every town held something unique, something worth discovering. Rainbase, with its sprawling streets and lively crowds, was no exception.

He stopped at a vendor’s stall, examining a display of fruit with mild interest. The vendor, a stout man with a broad smile, began rattling off prices, but Ace’s attention drifted elsewhere.

It wasn’t the fruit. It wasn’t even the vendor.

It was the whispers.

“Queen Y/N… Have you heard?”

“They say she’s beautiful. A Targaryen princess married to Crocodile, can you imagine?”

“Did you hear about the dragon eggs? They say she carries them with her like treasures from the gods.”

“And Doflamingo’s still here, isn’t he? Makes you wonder what he’s up to.”

Ace’s head tilted slightly, his grin fading as the words reached his ears. He turned away from the stall, his dark eyes scanning the crowd as he listened carefully.

The whispers were everywhere. Citizens of Rainbase spoke in hushed tones about their new queen, their words tinged with awe, curiosity, and speculation. Y/N, the Targaryen princess—now Queen of Alabasta. Married to Crocodile.

Ace’s brow furrowed faintly. He hadn’t expected to hear about royalty during his visit, let alone royalty tied to Crocodile, one of the Warlords. The name Targaryen tugged at something in the back of his mind, a faint memory of stories he’d heard during his travels—tales of dragons and a bloodline steeped in fire and power.

But it was the mention of the dragon eggs that truly caught his attention.

Dragon eggs?

The idea sounded ridiculous, almost laughable. Dragons didn’t exist—they were creatures of legend, nothing more. Yet the way the townsfolk spoke of them, their voices hushed but excited, made it clear that they believed the rumors.

Ace’s lips curved into a faint smile, his curiosity piqued.

“Queen Y/N, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

He continued walking, his steps slow and deliberate as he allowed the buzz of the city to guide him. The marketplace was alive with color and sound, but Ace’s thoughts were focused elsewhere.

Crocodile wasn’t the type to marry for love. If he had taken a wife—a queen, no less—there was more to the story than met the eye. And the mention of Doflamingo lingering in Rainbase only added another layer of intrigue.

Ace wasn’t here to stir up trouble, but the whispers of dragon eggs and a queen who carried them… He couldn’t ignore it.

His wandering eventually brought him to a shaded corner of the market, where a small group of townsfolk had gathered near a fountain. They were talking animatedly, their voices low but audible enough for Ace to catch snippets of the conversation.

“…the eggs are real, I tell you. My cousin saw them himself when he delivered supplies to the fortress.”

“Dragons? Impossible.”

“Impossible or not, the Queen has them. You’d think Crocodile would be the one carrying them, but no—she holds them like they’re her children.”

“That’s why Doflamingo’s here, isn’t it? He’s after the eggs.”

Ace leaned casually against a nearby wall, his arms crossed as he listened. The more he heard, the more curious he became.

He had never met Crocodile, but the man’s reputation was enough to paint a vivid picture. Ruthless, cunning, calculating—those were the words most often associated with the Warlord of the Sea. A man like that didn’t do anything without a reason.

And yet, the rumors of his new queen… Ace couldn’t help but wonder what kind of woman Y/N was to stand beside someone like Crocodile.

“Dragon eggs, huh?” Ace muttered to himself, his grin returning as he pushed off the wall. “Guess I’ll have to see this queen for myself.”

As he made his way deeper into the city, his steps light and purposeful, Ace couldn’t shake the feeling that Rainbase held more secrets than it was letting on.

And he intended to uncover every single one of them.

But.

As he walked.

He wasn’t walking with the leisurely pace he’d had earlier. The rumors swirling in the air had taken root in his mind, weaving together into a tapestry of intrigue that he couldn’t resist unraveling.

The Queen of Alabasta. A Targaryen princess. A forced marriage to Crocodile. Dragon eggs. And now, whispers of seven nations beyond the Grand Line, of an iron throne, and even a possible war.

Ace was no stranger to the weight of power or the games people played to seize it, but the scope of these rumors was something else entirely. His curiosity had shifted into something more—a need to know what was true.

And for that, he needed to meet her.

Not as a pirate. Not as a threat. Just as himself.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as Ace slipped through the bustling streets, moving with a predator’s ease. He kept his hat low, his movements unassuming, blending into the crowd with the practiced grace of someone who had spent his life evading attention.

Rainbase’s sprawling marketplace gave way to narrower streets, quieter corners where the fortress loomed larger with each step. The closer he got, the heavier the air seemed to grow.

By the time he reached the outer perimeter of the fortress, the crowds had thinned to almost nothing. Guards patrolled the area, their weapons gleaming under the fading sunlight. Ace crouched behind a stack of crates, his grin widening as he watched them from the shadows.

“Too easy,” he muttered under his breath, his confidence unwavering.

Getting past the guards was laughably simple. Ace had slipped through tighter security in far more hostile places. These men, though alert, weren’t expecting someone like him—someone who moved like a ghost, leaving nothing but whispers in his wake.

Inside the fortress, the atmosphere was even heavier. The grand halls were dimly lit, the air cool and thick with the faint scent of smoke and incense. Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, but the corridors near Ace were eerily quiet.

He moved with purpose, his instincts guiding him as he navigated the labyrinthine halls. The rumors he’d overheard played over in his mind, piecing together an image of the woman he was about to meet.

A princess. A queen. A woman who carried dragon eggs.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he couldn’t deny the excitement thrumming in his chest. There was something thrilling about sneaking into a fortress ruled by one of the most dangerous men in the world to meet the woman who shared his throne.

The room he found was smaller than he expected, tucked away in a quieter wing of the fortress. The faint glow of a fire flickered from beneath the door, casting dancing shadows along the stone floor.

Ace hesitated for the first time. He hadn’t planned this far ahead, and now, standing outside what he assumed was the Queen’s chamber, he realized he had no idea what he was going to say.

“Hi, I’m Ace. Just wanted to see if you really have dragon eggs.”

The thought made him grin, but he knew he’d have to tread carefully.

Pushing the door open just enough to slip inside, Ace stepped into the room as quietly as possible.

It was warm, the air heavy with the faint smell of burning wood and something faintly sweet. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a golden glow across the room.

And there she was.

Y/N sat near the fire, her back turned to him. She wore a simple robe, the fabric pooling around her as she leaned forward, her hands carefully cradling one of the dragon eggs. The other two rested on a padded surface nearby, their scaled shells glinting faintly in the firelight.

Ace’s breath hitched, his grin fading into something softer as he took in the sight.

She was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Her figure was fuller, her form soft where most others he knew were hardened by battle and survival. Yet there was a quiet strength in the way she moved, a tenderness in her hands as she stroked the surface of the egg, her fingers tracing its ridges as if memorizing every detail.

Ace stepped forward, his boots silent against the stone floor. He didn’t want to startle her, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Those are real, aren’t they?” he asked softly, his voice breaking the silence like a ripple across still water.

Y/N froze.

Her shoulders tensed, her fingers stilling against the egg as her head turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, her breath catching as she took in the sight of the man standing in her chamber—a stranger, yet somehow not a threat.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice steady despite the faint tremor in her hands.

Ace held up his hands in a gesture of peace, his grin returning as he stepped closer. “Just a traveler,” he said lightly. “Name’s Ace.”

Y/N turned fully now, her grip tightening slightly around the egg. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her tone firm.

Ace shrugged, his grin unfaltering. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t resist. I’ve been hearing all kinds of rumors about you—and those.” He nodded toward the eggs.

Y/N’s gaze flicked between him and the eggs, her expression cautious. “What do you want?”

“To meet you,” Ace said simply. “And maybe find out if the stories are true.”

Y/N frowned, her brow furrowing. “What stories?”

Ace tilted his head, his grin softening. “That you’re a queen. A Targaryen. And that you’re carrying the last dragon eggs in the world.”

Her silence was answer enough.

Ace stepped closer, his movements slow and unthreatening as he crouched beside her. He kept his eyes on the egg in her hands, the firelight dancing across its surface.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and genuine.

Y/N watched him carefully, unsure of what to make of this man who had appeared so suddenly, yet seemed so at ease. “They’re not just beautiful,” she said softly. “They’re alive.”

Ace’s gaze snapped to hers, his eyes widening slightly. “Alive?”

She nodded, her fingers brushing against the egg’s warm surface. “I can feel their hearts beating,” she said. “They’re waiting.”

Ace exhaled slowly, his grin fading into something more serious. “That’s incredible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the room fell silent again, the weight of her words settling over them both.

Finally, Y/N spoke. “Why are you really here, Ace?”

He met her gaze, his dark eyes steady. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think… maybe I just wanted to see something real. And you—” He gestured toward her and the eggs. “You’re about as real as it gets.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, her expression softening. She didn’t know what to say, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel alone.

Ace grinned again, his boyish charm returning as he leaned back slightly. “So, think we can be friends?”

Y/N blinked, startled by the question.

“I mean, I know you’re a queen and all,” Ace continued, his tone light. “But I’m pretty good company. And I make a mean campfire stew.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“We’ll see,” she said quietly, her voice carrying the faintest hint of warmth.

Ace’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The fire crackled softly between them, the tension in the room easing as they sat together, the weight of their worlds momentarily forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15 notes · View notes

abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is Coming. Chapter eight.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The heavy doors of the throne room closed with a faint thud, leaving Y/N and Crocodile alone in the cavernous space. The torches burned low now, their flames casting long, flickering shadows that danced along the dark stone walls. The air, though stifling in its quiet tension, felt colder somehow, the warmth of the firelight failing to reach her skin.

Y/N sat stiffly in the throne beside Crocodile’s, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, though she didn’t realize it, her posture betraying the unease simmering within her. The weight of Mihawk’s parting words lingered in the air, as though the man himself had left behind an unseen specter.

Crocodile said nothing for a long while, his golden hook resting against the arm of his jagged throne, his visible eye focused on the smoldering embers in the braziers. The silence between them grew heavier with each passing second, stretching taut like the string of a bow pulled too tight.

Y/N could feel his presence beside her—a dark and brooding weight that seemed to fill the room. She kept her gaze forward, refusing to meet his eye, though the tension in her neck made it impossible to relax.

Finally, Crocodile’s voice broke the silence, low and sharp. “Back straight.”

The command snapped through the air like a whip.

Y/N startled slightly, her breath hitching as her head turned toward him in confusion. His tone carried an edge of irritation that made her chest tighten, but his gaze wasn’t on her face—it was on her posture.

“Sit properly,” he continued, this time in the Alabastan tongue—a sharp, guttural language steeped in command and tradition. His words rolled off his tongue like the growl of a predator. “Do you think this is how a ruler carries themselves?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers tightening against the fabric of her robe. She straightened her back as best she could, though the motion felt forced and unnatural. Her body was already heavy with exhaustion, her muscles stiff from the lingering cold that clung to her skin.

Crocodile’s single visible eye narrowed slightly as he studied her, his expression hard and unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as though he might snap again, but then he paused.

He saw it.

The faint tremble in her hands. The way her shoulders, though stiff, shivered ever so slightly. Her lips, pale and pressed tightly together, barely concealing the signs of discomfort. She was cold.

His brow furrowed faintly, though his expression didn’t soften. He leaned back in his throne, his golden hook tapping idly against the armrest as his gaze flicked toward the firelight.

The silence stretched again, though it carried a different weight now—less oppressive, more contemplative.

Then, without a word, Crocodile shifted in his seat, the fur-lined cloak that draped his shoulders rustling faintly as he moved.

Y/N’s head turned slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion as she saw him shrug off the iconic garment, its heavy fabric pooling in his hand like liquid shadow. The inside of the cloak gleamed faintly, lined with dark, luxurious fur that radiated warmth even from where she sat.

Crocodile didn’t speak as he leaned forward, his movements deliberate but unhurried. With a rough motion, he draped the cloak over her shoulders, the weight of it settling heavily across her back.

The warmth was immediate, the fur brushing against her skin like a living thing, chasing away the lingering cold that had settled into her bones. Y/N blinked in surprise, her lips parting as she turned her head slightly to glance at him.

Crocodile’s expression was unreadable, his golden hook resting against his knee as he leaned back once more. His visible eye didn’t meet hers—instead, it lingered on the dragon eggs resting on the table beside her.

The cloak draped over her shoulders spilled partially over the eggs, its heavy folds shielding them from the chill of the room.

“Can’t have you freezing to death,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as though annoyed with himself for the gesture. “You’re no use to me like that.”

Y/N said nothing, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the cloak as she adjusted it across her lap. The warmth seeped into her, soothing the ache in her limbs and the tightness in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Crocodile’s lips curled faintly into a smirk, though he still didn’t look at her. “Don’t mistake this for kindness,” he said, his tone sharp but lacking venom. “You’re mine to protect. Nothing more.”

Y/N nodded faintly, lowering her gaze as her fingers tightened around the edges of the cloak. She didn’t know what to make of the gesture—whether it was genuine concern or simply another way to assert his control.

But the warmth was real. And for now, that was enough.

Crocodile’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his thoughts turning unbidden to Mihawk’s parting question: “Is she your queen?”

The question had been meant to provoke, to plant doubt, and perhaps even to mock. Yet it had stirred something in him—a question he hadn’t thought to ask himself.

His eye traced the curve of her shoulders, the way the fur of his cloak framed her face, softening the sharp angles of her sorrow. She was a contradiction—a woman of fire and quiet resilience, scarred by the world yet unbroken.

Was she his queen?

The thought lingered in his mind like smoke, refusing to dissipate.

Crocodile leaned back further in his throne, his golden hook catching the firelight as it moved idly against the armrest. His expression hardened once more, though his thoughts remained distant.

“Get some rest,” he muttered, his voice curt. “You’ll need your strength.”

Y/N glanced at him briefly, unsure of what he meant, but she nodded. The weight of the cloak and the warmth it brought made it easier to relax, though the tension in her chest never fully left.

As the fire crackled low, the silence returned to the throne room, though it no longer felt quite so cold.

The tension that had hung in the air earlier now softened by an unspoken truce. Crocodile leaned back in his jagged sandstone throne, the faint smirk on his lips fading as he turned his gaze toward Y/N.

She sat beside him, her smaller throne dwarfed by his imposing seat of power. The fur-lined cloak he had draped over her shoulders pooled around her, its weight a barrier against the lingering chill in the room. She hadn’t said much after thanking him, her posture slowly relaxing as the warmth began to lull her into a rare moment of peace.

Crocodile’s visible eye remained fixed on her as the minutes stretched on. He noted the way her hands had loosened their grip on the edges of the cloak, her shoulders no longer hunched. Her breathing slowed, soft and even, as her body gave in to the pull of exhaustion.

Then, almost imperceptibly, her head tilted to the side, her chin dipping as her eyes closed.

She had fallen asleep.

Crocodile’s heart swelled unexpectedly, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years—if ever. His brow furrowed slightly, but his gaze softened as he observed her. She looked… vulnerable, her usually guarded expression now relaxed in slumber. The faint tear stains on her cheeks caught the firelight, a reminder of the weight she carried even in moments of rest.

Foolish girl, he thought, though the thought lacked its usual bite.

His eye drifted downward, landing on the dragon eggs cradled in her lap beneath the cloak. She had insisted on keeping them close, her hands occasionally brushing against their smooth, scaled surfaces as though she were drawn to them instinctively.

Crocodile sighed softly, a sound that might have been mistaken for annoyance, though it carried something deeper. He leaned forward, careful not to disturb her as he reached out with his gloved hand.

One by one, he lifted the eggs, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he moved them from her lap. Their weight was solid, familiar now after watching her handle them with such care. He placed them carefully on a low table near the fire, arranging them so that the warmth of the flames would reach them evenly.

Crocodile had observed her closely in the days since the eggs arrived, noting the way she treated them as if they were already alive. He had scoffed at first, dismissing it as sentimental nonsense, but the longer he watched, the more intrigued he became.

The faint pulse he felt when he touched the eggs… It wasn’t his imagination.

Behind him, a faint snort broke the silence, accompanied by the muffled sound of poorly concealed laughter.

Crocodile’s head snapped around, his gaze zeroing in on the two guards stationed near the far end of the room. They straightened immediately under the weight of his glare, their faces paling as they exchanged nervous glances.

One of them coughed awkwardly, forcing his companion to mimic the action as they hastily returned to their rigid postures.

Satisfied, Crocodile turned back to the eggs, his lips curling faintly into a smirk. His men knew better than to comment on his actions—or at least they should by now.

The fire crackled softly as the eggs rested by its warmth, their textured surfaces glinting faintly in the flickering light. Crocodile’s gaze lingered on them for a moment longer before shifting back to Y/N.

Her head had lolled to the side slightly, her cheek pressing against the fur of the cloak. Her breathing remained soft and even, her hands now resting loosely against her lap.

The sight stirred something deep within him—a quiet, unspoken tenderness he couldn’t quite place. It was… unfamiliar, uncomfortable even, but not unwelcome.

The peace of the moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. Crocodile’s expression darkened slightly as he turned his gaze toward the source. A guard entered the room, his face tense as he carried a folded note in his gloved hand.

“My lord,” the guard said, bowing his head as he stopped a few paces away. “A message for you.”

Crocodile held out his hand, his golden hook gleaming in the firelight as he motioned for the note. The guard approached cautiously, placing the folded parchment into his hand before stepping back quickly.

Unfolding the note, Crocodile’s visible eye scanned the neat, bold handwriting that marked the page. His jaw tightened slightly as he read, his grip on the paper growing firm enough to crinkle the edges.

The message was brief, but it carried enough weight to set his teeth on edge:

"Crocodile— A unique opportunity has come to my attention. Let’s discuss it over lunch. You know where to find me. D. Doflamingo."

Crocodile’s lips curled into a snarl, the faintest growl escaping his throat.

Doflamingo.

The name alone made his blood boil. The man was an arrogant, manipulative bastard—a spider weaving his webs of deceit across the seas. Crocodile had dealt with him before, but never willingly. Doflamingo’s presence in anything always signaled chaos.

The mention of Y/N and the rumors surrounding their marriage made the note all the more grating. What game is he playing now? Crocodile thought bitterly.

He folded the note sharply, his mind already churning as he considered his next move.

The faint sound of Y/N’s breathing brought his attention back to her, her peaceful slumber starkly contrasted with the growing storm brewing in his mind.

Crocodile exhaled slowly, his irritation subsiding just enough for him to refocus. Whatever Doflamingo wanted, he would deal with it. But for now, he let the note rest on the arm of his throne, leaning back as his gaze drifted between Y/N and the dragon eggs by the fire.

The storm could wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Red Force rocked gently on the waves, the bright sun gleaming off its crimson sails as the infamous Red-Haired Pirates reveled in yet another impromptu party. Laughter, cheers, and the clink of mugs filled the air as the crew sprawled across the deck, their boisterous energy as wild as the sea itself.

Shanks sat in his usual spot, leaning back against a barrel near the ship’s helm. A wide grin split his face as he raised his mug of ale high, the sunlight catching the faint scars that crisscrossed his rugged features. His red hair gleamed like fire, tousled and untamed, matching the carefree energy that seemed to radiate from him.

“Another toast!” Shanks bellowed, his voice carrying over the noise of the crew. “To the sea, to freedom, and to the poor bastards who think they can catch us!”

The crew roared with laughter, mugs clinking together as they downed their drinks. Benn Beckman leaned against the railing nearby, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips as he smirked at the scene. Lucky Roux let out a loud guffaw, already reaching for another hunk of meat to stuff into his mouth.

“Shanks, you’re going to drink the whole barrel dry!” Yassop teased, striding over with his own mug in hand.

“Maybe I will!” Shanks shot back with a laugh, his grin widening.

But as the festivities continued, something caught Yassop’s attention—a shadow that swept across the deck, followed by the soft flutter of wings. He turned his head just in time to see a seagull descending, a newspaper clutched in its talons.

The bird dropped the paper unceremoniously at Shanks’s feet before flapping away, leaving the captain to glance down at it with mild curiosity.

“Well, what’s this?” Shanks muttered, leaning forward to snatch up the paper.

Yassop’s expression shifted, his carefree grin faltering as his gaze lingered on the rolled-up newspaper. Something about it made his stomach twist—an unshakable sense of unease.

Shanks, oblivious to Yassop’s sudden silence, unrolled the paper with one hand, his grin still in place. But as his eyes scanned the bold headline on the front page, the smile faded.

“WARLORD CROCODILE FORGES MARRIAGE ALLIANCE WITH TARGARYEN PRINCESS.”

Shanks’s brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening as he read further. Details of the arrangement, vague as they were, painted a clear enough picture. Crocodile had struck a deal with Y/N’s brother, Viserys Targaryen, to marry her—a union meant to strengthen his position in Alabasta.

The paper crumpled in Shanks’s hand before he even realized it.

“Captain?” Yassop’s voice was careful, his concern evident as he stepped closer.

Shanks didn’t look up immediately. His mind churned, memories surfacing unbidden—memories of the Targaryen family.

He remembered Viserys well enough: a spoiled, conniving little shit with a mouth too big for his own good. The boy had always strutted about like a king, using his family’s legacy as a shield to hide his own weakness. A whore in all but title, selling anything—anyone—if it suited his ambitions.

And then there was Y/N.

The contrast between the siblings couldn’t have been starker. Y/N had been kind, soft-spoken, and graceful in ways Viserys would never understand. Despite the weight of her family’s reputation, she had carried herself with quiet dignity, her kindness shining even in the darkest moments.

Shanks had met her years ago, during one of his many escapades. She had been young then, though already burdened by the shadow of her brother. She had been unlike anyone he’d ever met—gentle, empathetic, but with a quiet strength that lingered beneath her soft exterior.

And she was beautiful.

Even now, Shanks could recall the way her smile had lit up a room, her laughter a balm to the soul. Her weight, her fuller frame, had never diminished her beauty in his eyes. If anything, it had made her more radiant—a stark defiance against the cruel standards of nobility.

But now, to see her name in this paper, tied to Crocodile of all people…

“Shanks,” Yassop said again, his voice firmer now.

Shanks finally looked up, his scarlet hair falling across his face as he met Yassop’s gaze. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable, though it was tempered by something deeper—disgust.

“He sold her,” Shanks muttered, his voice low and venomous.

Yassop frowned, his brow furrowing. “Viserys?”

“Who else?” Shanks growled, tossing the crumpled paper to the deck. “That bastard sold his own sister to Crocodile—a fucking warlord. He didn’t even think twice.”

The crew had gone quiet now, their laughter and chatter fading as they picked up on the tension radiating from their captain. Benn Beckman stepped closer, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

“Do you know her?” Benn asked quietly, his sharp eyes studying Shanks carefully.

Shanks nodded, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled heavily. “Yeah. I knew her.” He paused, his jaw clenching. “She didn’t deserve this. Not her. She’s nothing like that snake she calls a brother.”

Benn said nothing, his gaze drifting to the crumpled paper on the deck.

“She was kind,” Shanks continued, his voice softer now, though the anger still lingered beneath the surface. “She didn’t belong in that family—didn’t belong in his world. And now he’s thrown her to Crocodile like she’s nothing.”

Lucky Roux, who had been quietly listening, frowned deeply. “What are you gonna do about it, Captain?”

Shanks’s lips curled into a grim smile, his grip tightening around the handle of his mug. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I can’t let this sit. Not with her involved.”

Benn stepped closer, his voice calm but firm. “If you go after Crocodile, it’ll draw attention. You know that.”

“Let it,” Shanks snapped, though his tone softened almost immediately. He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. “I just need to figure out what’s really happening here. Why Crocodile? Why her? This doesn’t add up.”

Yassop stepped forward, resting a hand on Shanks’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said simply. “You’ve got all of us, Captain. Whatever you decide, we’re with you.”

Shanks glanced around at his crew, their faces serious, their loyalty unwavering. His heart swelled with gratitude, though the anger in his chest burned brighter still.

“Good,” Shanks said quietly, his voice steady now. “Because I’m not letting him win. Not this time.”

He turned his gaze toward the horizon, the sun casting the sea in shades of crimson and gold. Somewhere out there, Y/N was trapped in a world of power and ambition, her fate tied to a man who saw her as nothing more than a piece on his board.

And Shanks would be damned if he let that stand.

“Set a course for Alabasta,” Shanks ordered, his voice firm and resolute. “It’s time we paid Crocodile a visit.”

The Red Force roared to life, the crew springing into action as they prepared to set sail.

But.

As Shanks leaned down to pick up the crumpled newspaper yet again, the bold headline about Y/N and Crocodile still stared back at him, the ink smudged from his grip. He smoothed the page absentmindedly, his thoughts churning as he turned to the next section of the paper.

And then he froze.

His eyes scanned the smaller headline, and a sharp, bark-like laugh escaped his throat before he could stop it.

“PRINCE VISERYS TARGARYEN FOUND DEAD IN ALABASTA.”

Shanks read further, his grin widening as he took in the details. Viserys, the so-called "last dragon" of his line, had been found naked in a noble’s estate in northern Alabasta. The scene was described with gruesome simplicity: a single sword strike to the chest, precise and unmistakable, had ended his life.

But it wasn’t the death itself that caught Shanks’s attention—it was the description of the wound. The clean, singular strike. The exacting precision of it. The kind of strike that only one man in the world could have delivered.

“Mihawk,” Shanks muttered, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Captain?” Yassop’s voice broke through the moment, drawing Shanks’s attention. The sharpshooter’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his concern etched across his face. “What’s so funny? You’re laughing like a damn madman.”

Shanks held up the paper, tapping the section about Viserys with his finger. “He’s dead,” Shanks said simply, his grin widening. “The little shit’s finally dead.”

Yassop blinked, caught off guard. “Viserys? What the hell happened to him?”

“Mihawk happened,” Shanks replied, tossing the paper onto the barrel beside him. “The mark on his chest—one clean stroke. That’s Hawk Eyes, no doubt about it.”

Lucky Roux let out a laugh, his mouth half-full of meat. “Mihawk killed the bastard? Guess someone finally got sick of him.”

“Good riddance,” Benn Beckman muttered, picking up the paper and scanning the article himself. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his expression thoughtful. “The question is, why was Mihawk even there? Alabasta’s a long way from his usual haunts.”

Shanks’s grin faltered slightly, his expression turning more serious. “That’s what I’d like to know,” he said quietly.

He leaned back against the railing, his hand brushing absently through his red hair as he thought it over. Mihawk wasn’t the type to kill without reason. If he’d been in Alabasta, striking down someone like Viserys, it wasn’t by coincidence.

“Think he was there for Crocodile?” Yassop asked, his voice low.

“Maybe,” Shanks replied, though his tone carried uncertainty. “Or maybe he was there because of Y/N.”

The thought hung heavy in the air, a weight that neither Shanks nor his crew could ignore.

Despite the satisfaction of knowing Viserys was dead—naked, humiliated, and stripped of whatever power he thought he’d had—it didn’t change the reality of Y/N’s situation. She was still in Alabasta, still bound by the chains of a forced marriage to one of the most dangerous men in the world.

The fire in Shanks’s chest reignited, his earlier laughter fading into a grim determination. “Mihawk might’ve done her a favor by taking out her brother,” he said, his voice steady. “But it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still in Crocodile’s grasp.”

Benn folded the paper neatly, tucking it under his arm as he met Shanks’s gaze. “So what’s the plan, Captain?”

Shanks straightened, his grin returning, though it carried a sharper edge now. “We sail to Alabasta. Find out what Crocodile’s really up to. And if Mihawk’s still there…”

He trailed off, his grin widening into something almost feral.

“...well, it’ll be nice to catch up with an old friend.”

The crew roared in agreement, the energy on the ship shifting into high gear as they adjusted their course.

As the Red Force cut through the waves, Shanks turned his gaze toward the horizon, the light in his eyes as fierce as the sun.

Viserys was dead. Y/N was alive. And the game was far from over.

“Hold on, princess,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but resolute. “We’re coming for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11 notes · View notes

abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is Coming. Chapter Seven.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Just to be clear: I do not own Game of Thrones or One Piece, they belong to the creators. I wrote this story on Chat GTP to help with story structure and Spelling. Y/n in this story is overweight and plus size, as I rarely see Y/n's that are bigger in fanfiction at all, so I'd thought it will be different. THIS STORY IS NOT FOR CHILDREN!!! As like Game of Thrones, it will have a lot of explicit, and graphic scenes!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!!!!!!

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The chamber had grown quiet, the earlier drumbeats now little more than echoes in the air. Deep within the stone walls of Rainbase’s fortress, Crocodile sat alone in his private quarters. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows that flickered against the walls. The room was sparse and utilitarian, devoid of unnecessary luxury. Heavy curtains hung over the windows, muting the desert moonlight, leaving the fire’s glow to dominate the room.

Crocodile sat in a wide leather chair near the fire, his legs stretched out before him. In one hand, he held a glass of whiskey—its deep amber liquid catching the firelight, swirling faintly with each slow turn of his wrist. His golden hook rested heavily against the armrest of the chair, its polished edge glinting with an almost predatory light.

The silence in the room was his only companion, and for once, he didn’t find it as comforting as he usually did.

Her voice lingered in his mind—soft, trembling, laced with defiance and pain. “Is this… what you wanted?”

The words had been spoken in Valyrian, but the tone—gods, the tone—had been universal. Her voice shook not just with fear, but with something deeper. And those tears… Crocodile could still hear the faint sound of them hitting the marble floor.

A soft plink, like drops of rain.

The image of her standing there, shoulders bared, vulnerable and trembling, returned unbidden. The way the guards had stared at her, their low laughter barely concealed as they took in the shape of her body. Their disrespect had irritated him more than he cared to admit. Not because of her, he told himself. Because they forgot their place.

Crocodile scowled faintly, bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips and taking a slow, deliberate sip. The burn of it slid down his throat, bitter and sharp, but it did nothing to silence the noise in his mind.

He could still hear her words. He could still feel the weight of that moment—how her fire, even dimmed by humiliation, still refused to go out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of the door opening. Crocodile didn’t look up, didn’t turn his head as the sharp click of heels echoed faintly against the stone floor. He knew who it was before she spoke.

“Miss All Sunday,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

Robin stepped into the room, her figure silhouetted briefly by the firelight before she moved further in, her cloak trailing behind her. She paused near the edge of the hearth, her sharp eyes fixed on Crocodile as he stared into the flames.

“You didn’t follow through with the ceremony,” she said softly, though there was no accusation in her tone. “The men noticed. They’re talking.”

Crocodile exhaled a slow breath, tilting the glass of whiskey in his hand, watching as the liquid swirled. “Let them talk,” he said coolly.

Robin’s lips quirked faintly, though her eyes remained unreadable. “It’s not like you to deviate from tradition.”

Crocodile’s gaze flicked toward her then, sharp and assessing, though he said nothing for a moment. The firelight danced across the deep lines of his face, casting harsh shadows beneath the scar that ran from his brow to his cheek.

“She’s not worth the effort?” Robin asked, though there was a glimmer of curiosity in her tone—curiosity that Crocodile noticed.

He chuckled softly, though the sound lacked humor. “That’s what they’ll think,” he said, leaning back into the chair. His golden hook tapped against the armrest, the faint metallic clink punctuating the silence. “They’ll tell themselves I spared her because she’s weak, or useless.”

Robin tilted her head faintly, stepping closer to the fire. “And is that what you think?”

Crocodile’s eye narrowed slightly, his fingers tightening around the glass. He turned back toward the fire, the flames reflecting in his gaze like molten gold. “She’s not weak,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “Not yet.”

Robin studied him carefully, the faintest hint of intrigue flickering across her features. “Then why didn’t you break her? It’s what the ceremony was meant for—to ensure loyalty, to solidify power.”

Crocodile scowled, his lips curling faintly as he stared deeper into the fire. “Because broken things are only useful for so long.”

Robin didn’t respond immediately. She knew better than most how Crocodile’s mind worked—how he viewed the world like a chessboard, every person a piece to be played. And yet, there was something different here, something unspoken in the way his expression hardened as he spoke.

“You’re thinking about what she said,” Robin said softly, her tone more knowing than questioning.

Crocodile didn’t look at her. He didn’t have to.

The words echoed again: “Is this… what you wanted?”

He had been called many things in his life—tyrant, pirate, monster. He didn’t care. He had built his empire through blood, ambition, and sheer will, and he owed nothing to anyone.

But those words… they had struck something he hadn’t expected.

Because in that moment, as he had stood behind her—her body trembling, her voice breaking—he had felt a flicker of disgust. Not toward her, but toward the scene unfolding before him. The guards, the spectators, the ceremony itself—it all seemed small, like a pathetic imitation of power.

And she, with her trembling voice and silent tears, had stood stronger than any of them.

“She’ll fight back,” Robin continued, breaking the silence. “Even if she doesn’t know how yet.”

Crocodile chuckled again, the sound low and gravelly. “Good.”

Robin regarded him carefully. “You plan to use her, then?”

Crocodile’s smirk returned faintly, though his gaze remained fixed on the fire. “Everyone’s useful, Robin. You know that.”

“And if she’s more than you bargained for?” Robin pressed, though there was no mockery in her tone—only curiosity.

Crocodile finally turned to look at her, his golden hook gleaming as he shifted slightly in his seat. “Then I’ll find out soon enough, won’t I?”

Robin said nothing more. She tilted her head in acknowledgment before stepping back into the shadows, her figure disappearing into the dark as silently as it had come.

Crocodile turned back to the fire, his fingers brushing absently against the edge of his glass as he stared into the flames.

Her voice whispered in his mind again—shaky, trembling, yet filled with fire all the same.

“Is this… what you wanted?”

For the first time in years, Crocodile found himself without an answer.

And that, he thought with a flicker of irritation, made her far more dangerous than she looked.

But.

Eventually.

Rainbase was alive in the dimming light of evening, its streets teeming with life. The desert city never truly slept—too much money flowed through its veins for silence to linger long. Merchants hawked their wares beneath colorful awnings, gamblers crowded around makeshift tables in open alleys, and mercenaries loitered in dark corners, their hands never straying far from their blades. Laughter, curses, and the clink of coin carried through the air like a constant hum, weaving together a city that thrived on shadows and secrets.

And tonight, Dracule Mihawk moved silently among them.

The greatest swordsman in the world, the man feared as Hawk Eyes, walked with quiet ease through Rainbase’s crowded streets. His heavy black coat, wide-brimmed hat, and massive cross-shaped sword strapped to his back should have made him stand out, yet no one seemed to truly see him. Mihawk had a way of blending in when he wished—his presence deliberate and calculated, like a predator camouflaging itself in the brush.

His golden eyes, sharp and unrelenting, scanned the crowd as he moved. Merchants, beggars, mercenaries—each face was cataloged and dismissed in an instant. Mihawk wasn’t here for them. He was here to gather information. To watch. To listen.

The rumors were easy to find. People in Rainbase talked, though rarely with trust or care. There were whispers about Crocodile—Sir Crocodile, as they called him—and his rule over Alabasta. His influence stretched far beyond Rainbase, but it was here, in his city, that his power pulsed strongest.

Mihawk’s steps carried him toward a crowded bazaar at the city’s center, where voices shouted over one another in competition. Torchlight burned bright, illuminating stalls draped in fine silks, glittering jewelry, and exotic trinkets. Mihawk moved through the throng like a ghost, his presence unnoticed as he wove between groups of people.

He stopped near a gathering of men huddled beside a shaded stall, their voices low but animated. They were rough-looking—mercenaries, by the look of their worn armor and the weapons strapped haphazardly to their backs. Mihawk paused at the edge of their circle, pretending to examine a table of knives and trinkets, his ears trained on their conversation.

“You hear about the girl?” one of the men murmured, his voice gravelly.

“The Targaryen princess?” another replied, snorting softly. “Yeah. Crocodile brought her here—some marriage deal, they say.”

“Marriage? Hah!” the first man laughed bitterly. “If that’s true, then the poor thing’s got no idea what she’s in for. Crocodile doesn’t wed. He uses. She’ll be just another tool for his schemes.”

“Maybe,” the second man said, leaning closer. “But have you heard what she came with?”

The others shifted, their interest piqued. Mihawk’s sharp gaze flicked to the side, though he kept his head bowed, his expression hidden by the brim of his hat.

“What?” the first man asked.

The second man lowered his voice further, his tone conspiratorial. “Dragon eggs. Three of them. That’s what they say. Last ones in the world, smuggled in just for her.”

The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of the claim settling over them.

“Bullshit,” one of them muttered finally, though his voice lacked conviction. “Dragons are gone. Long gone.”

“That’s what everyone says,” the second man shot back. “But people who’ve been inside the fortress saw them—large as a man’s head, gleaming like they’re alive. Crocodile’s keeping them close.”

“What for?”

“Who knows?” The man shrugged. “Leverage? Power? You think he cares about the girl? He cares about those eggs.”

Mihawk’s fingers brushed over the edge of a blade on the table, his mind sharpening like the steel beneath his touch. Dragon eggs.

He had heard many legends in his life—tales of ancient creatures and forgotten kings. The dragons of the Targaryens had always been myth to him, distant as fairy tales told to children. Yet now, here in Alabasta, whispers of eggs came like echoes of something ancient. And Crocodile, ever the opportunist, had tied himself to it.

Mihawk didn’t believe in coincidences.

He moved away from the stall quietly, his boots soft against the stone streets as he let the crowd swallow him once more. The guards who patrolled Rainbase paid him no mind, their focus trained on the city’s more obvious troublemakers.

Mihawk’s gaze, however, remained sharp as he made his way toward the fortress that loomed in the distance. From here, he could see its jagged spires silhouetted against the desert sky, a dark wound in the golden horizon.

The girl is there, Mihawk thought, his steps measured and deliberate.

Crocodile had plans—of that, Mihawk had no doubt. But the girl—this Targaryen princess—was more than a pawn in this game. Mihawk could sense it, like the faintest tremor in the earth before a quake. The whispers of her fire, her tears, her silence—all of it intrigued him in a way he couldn’t yet explain.

And if dragon eggs were involved, the stakes were far greater than anyone realized.

As Mihawk approached the gates of the fortress, the guards on either side tensed slightly, their hands twitching toward their weapons. Mihawk’s presence, though quiet, carried a weight that unsettled lesser men.

“State your business,” one of the guards demanded, his voice rough and firm.

Mihawk tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting faintly beneath the shadow of his hat. “I’ve come to see Crocodile,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The guard exchanged an uneasy glance with his partner, clearly uncertain. “Sir Crocodile doesn’t see uninvited guests.”

“Then tell him Dracule Mihawk wishes to speak,” Mihawk replied evenly, his tone carrying the kind of finality that left no room for argument.

The guards froze, the name sinking into them like a stone. One of them swallowed visibly before nodding, motioning for Mihawk to follow. “Wait here. I’ll inform him.”

Mihawk said nothing, stepping back slightly to lean against the stone wall of the gate. His hand rested casually on the hilt of Yoru—the massive black sword strapped across his back—as he let his gaze drift toward the fortress once more.

Inside those walls lay answers—about Crocodile, about the Targaryen girl, and about the game that had only just begun.

For now, Mihawk would wait.

And when the time came, he would find the truth, no matter what shadows it lay hidden in.

...................................................................................

Y/n.

Poor Y/n.

The silence in her chambers was deafening, broken only by the soft whisper of the wind outside and the faint crackle of the low-burning lamps. The room was dim, bathed in shadows that crawled along the stone walls, the faint light unable to chase them away. The fire in the hearth had long since died to embers, and the air held a coolness that did little to ease the tightness in Y/N's chest.

She sat on the edge of the ornate bed, her body curled into itself, knees drawn up as though she could make herself smaller—less noticeable. Her cheeks were stained with tears that had dried sometime in the night, leaving thin, salty trails that burned faintly against her skin. Her eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, but dry now, staring at the nothingness before her.

Humiliation lingered over her like a shroud, suffocating and cruel. The memory of the ceremony haunted her—every touch, every sound, every pair of unseen eyes watching her. Crocodile’s hands loosening the silk ties of her robe, the mocking laughter of the guards as they took in her form, the shame that had gripped her tighter than a vice.

Her brother’s words echoed in her mind, venomous and sharp as daggers. “You are nothing but a pawn, Y/N. Silent, obedient, as a wife should be.”

Silent, she thought bitterly, staring at the hands curled tightly in her lap. And broken.

And yet…

Her gaze lifted, falling on the three dragon eggs that sat on a small table before the window. The faint light of the rising sun filtered through the glass, illuminating them softly, casting their colors in shades of gold and crimson.

The eggs called to her.

She didn’t know how else to describe it. Even now, as she sat in her grief and shame, they felt alive—as though they pulsed with something ancient and fierce.

Slowly, Y/N pushed herself off the bed, her movements stiff and clumsy as she walked toward the table. Her bare feet were silent against the cold stone floor, her robe hanging loosely around her shoulders. She stopped before the eggs, her breath catching as she looked down at them.

The red egg.

Her eyes were drawn to it—deep crimson, like blood and fire. Its surface shimmered faintly in the light, textured with fine scales that seemed to shift when she moved. She could feel it, even from here—a warmth, faint but steady, like a heartbeat waiting to be awakened.

Y/N reached out with trembling hands, her fingertips grazing the surface of the egg.

It was warm.

Warm, and… alive.

Her pulse quickened as she cupped the egg gently, lifting it into her hands. Its weight was solid but not overwhelming, as though it were meant to be held. She held it close to her chest, her thumbs brushing along the smooth ridges of its scales.

The pulsing heartbeat grew stronger. She could feel it through her fingertips, steady and certain, as though the egg itself recognized her.

“Your Grace!”

The sudden voice startled her, breaking the moment. One of Crocodile’s maids—a woman with sharp features and dark eyes—stood in the doorway, her face contorted in shock and concern.

The maid rushed toward her, her slippers barely making a sound against the floor. “Your Grace! Be careful!” she said hurriedly, her voice rising slightly as she reached for the egg.

“It’s fine,” Y/N said quietly, though the words came out uncertain and dazed.

The maid didn’t listen. She reached out to take the egg from Y/N’s hands, her expression a mix of fear and desperation. “You’ll burn yourself! Let me—”

Her hands closed around the egg, and a sharp hiss escaped her lips as her fingers made contact.

The maid dropped the egg immediately, her hands jerking back as though she’d touched a live coal. The egg landed softly in Y/N’s arms again, perfectly cradled, as though it had never left.

The maid stumbled back, cradling her burned fingers, her face pale with shock. “It burns!” she gasped, her voice trembling. “It’s hot as fire!”

Y/N stared at her, uncomprehending at first. Slowly, she looked down at the egg still nestled in her arms. She turned her hands over, palms up, studying them carefully.

Her skin was unmarked.

Not even red.

The maid gawked at her, her expression flickering between awe and fear. She stepped forward hesitantly, her burned fingers still trembling. “Your hands…,” she whispered. “Your Grace, your hands are untouched.”

Y/N looked up at her then, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came.

The maid’s dark eyes darted between Y/N and the egg, the shock in her gaze now mingling with something that resembled reverence—or perhaps fear. “What are you?” she whispered, though the words were not meant to be cruel.

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the egg, her mind whirling. She could still feel its pulse, its warmth. It didn’t burn her. It didn’t hurt her. Somehow, the egg accepted her.

And she accepted it.

“I’m fine,” Y/N said softly, her voice steadying now. She stepped back, cradling the egg as though it were a living thing. “You don’t need to worry.”

The maid hesitated, her expression flickering with uncertainty before she bowed her head. “As you say, Your Grace.” She turned and hurried from the room, leaving Y/N alone once again.

Y/N moved toward the window, holding the egg close as she stared out at the horizon. The city of Rainbase sprawled before her, its dark towers and twisting streets a reminder of the power that kept her trapped here.

And yet, in her arms, she held something greater.

The last dragons in the world.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the faint, steady heartbeat of the egg thrumming in her hands. For the first time in a long time, the fire she had buried deep within herself seemed to stir, like coals being fanned back to life.

Her brother had called her weak. The guards had laughed at her, mocked her body, her silence. Crocodile thought he could use her, mold her into a pawn to serve his ambitions.

But they were wrong.

The egg’s warmth spread through her, filling her veins with something fierce and ancient.

Y/N opened her eyes, the faint glow of the rising sun reflecting in their depths as she stared out over the desert.

They thought they could break her. They thought they could use her.

But the fire was awake now.

And soon, the world would burn.

But.

With Mihawk's boots we then see, trotting in the halls of the fortress, the air within was thick and heavy, carrying a faint scent of smoke, incense, and desert stone baked under the relentless Alabastan sun. The guards at the gate had finally relented, though not without visible hesitation. Mihawk’s reputation carried far beyond the seas of the Grand Line, and his presence here had unsettled even the most seasoned among Crocodile’s men.

The hallways of the fortress were long and shadowed, lit dimly by flickering wall sconces. Mihawk’s boots echoed softly against the smooth stone floor as he followed the guard who had been sent to escort him. The man was silent, his posture stiff and his movements brisk, though he couldn’t stop himself from glancing nervously over his shoulder now and then.

Mihawk paid him little mind, his golden eyes sweeping over his surroundings with the quiet precision of a predator surveying its prey. The fortress was as he expected—imposing, cold, designed more for intimidation than comfort. Every corner spoke of power, not hospitality.

As they approached the central chamber, the faint murmur of voices reached Mihawk’s ears, low and distant at first, then growing more distinct as they neared a set of heavy double doors. The guard hesitated for a brief moment before pushing them open, the iron hinges groaning faintly in protest.

“Sir Crocodile,” the guard announced stiffly, bowing his head. “Dracule Mihawk is here to see you.”

The room beyond the doors was as grand as it was foreboding. The throne room of Rainbase was a cavernous space, its high ceilings lost in shadow. Tall braziers burned at intervals along the walls, their flames casting flickering light over the dark, polished stone floor.

At the far end of the room, seated upon his jagged sandstone throne, was Crocodile.

He lounged in his seat, his posture relaxed but radiating power, one leg crossed over the other as he swirled a glass of dark liquor in his gloved hand. The ever-present cigar hung lazily from his lips, a thin curl of smoke rising above him and disappearing into the shadows above. His golden hook rested against the armrest of his throne, gleaming faintly in the firelight.

Crocodile’s single visible eye turned toward the doors as Mihawk entered, his expression unreadable, though the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Dracule Mihawk,” Crocodile said smoothly, his deep voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Mihawk stepped forward with deliberate ease, his movements unhurried but purposeful. His coat swept behind him like a shadow, and the massive black blade strapped to his back caught the firelight as he came to a stop several paces from the throne.

“You should know why I’m here, Crocodile,” Mihawk replied, his voice low and calm, yet carrying the unmistakable weight of authority.

Crocodile’s smirk deepened slightly as he leaned forward, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin against his gloved hand. “I can think of several reasons, Mihawk. Enlighten me.”

Mihawk’s golden eyes narrowed faintly, though his expression remained composed. “The Targaryen girl,” he said simply. “And the dragon eggs.”

The room seemed to grow quieter, the crackle of the braziers the only sound. Crocodile’s smirk didn’t falter, though his eye glinted with something sharp and dangerous.

“Ah,” he said softly, drawing out the word as though savoring it. “So you’ve heard the whispers already. News travels fast, it seems.”

Mihawk didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed unflinchingly on Crocodile. “Whispers have a way of finding me,” he said finally, his tone unbothered. “And when I hear something worth my attention, I act.”

Crocodile chuckled lowly, leaning back in his throne. “And I take it you’re here to see if the rumors are true.”

Mihawk’s lips twitched faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Something like that.”

Crocodile exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the thin curl rising between them like a barrier. “You’ve come a long way for answers, Mihawk. I wonder… what do you plan to do if you don’t like what you find?”

Mihawk tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight. “That depends on what I find.”

The tension between the two men was palpable, the air between them charged with unspoken challenge. Crocodile’s smirk didn’t falter, though his gaze sharpened as he regarded Mihawk carefully.

“You’re not the type to meddle in other people’s affairs without reason,” Crocodile said finally, his tone thoughtful. “So tell me, Mihawk—what’s your stake in this?”

Mihawk was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering. “Let’s just say I dislike uncertainty,” he replied evenly. “And you’ve created quite a stir.”

Crocodile’s chuckle was low and rumbling, though there was no true humor in it. “Fair enough,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down on the armrest. “If it’s answers you want, then ask your questions. I have nothing to hide.”

Mihawk’s gaze flicked briefly around the room, taking in the shadows, the flickering flames, the faint movement of the guards stationed along the walls. Then his eyes returned to Crocodile, sharp and unrelenting.

“The girl,” Mihawk said, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “Why her?”

Crocodile’s smirk returned, faint and calculating. “Ah, the princess,” he said softly, the word dripping with mockery. “She’s useful. Her bloodline, her name—it carries weight. That’s what men like her brother believe, anyway.”

“And you?” Mihawk pressed. “What do you believe?”

Crocodile leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded Mihawk with a faintly amused expression. “I believe she’s more than what she seems,” he said simply. “And that’s all you need to know.”

Mihawk’s gaze narrowed slightly, though he said nothing.

“As for the dragon eggs,” Crocodile continued, his tone turning cooler, “I assume you’ve heard the stories. Ancient relics, last of their kind, powerful symbols of a forgotten age.” He shrugged faintly, the motion almost casual. “Whether they’re real or not… doesn’t matter. They serve a purpose.”

Mihawk’s lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts churning behind his sharp eyes. Crocodile’s words, while vague, carried enough truth to set his mind further on edge. This wasn’t just about power or prestige. There was something deeper at play, and Crocodile, ever the opportunist, had his sights set on it.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Crocodile,” Mihawk said quietly, his voice edged with warning.

Crocodile chuckled again, leaning back in his throne with a dismissive wave of his golden hook. “Life is a dangerous game, Mihawk. But I think you, of all people, already know that.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, the tension between them crackling like the flames that burned around them.

Finally, Mihawk turned, his coat sweeping behind him as he began to walk toward the door. “This isn’t over,” he said without looking back.

Crocodile’s smirk widened faintly as he watched Mihawk began leave, his voice low and amused. “It never is.”

BUT.

Mihawk’s boots clicked softly against the stone floor as he strode toward the exit, his mind already turning over the conversation with Crocodile. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, though the picture remained incomplete. His sharp instincts told him there was more—something Crocodile wasn’t saying, something he had yet to see.

Then he heard it.

Soft steps—bare feet pattering faintly against the cold marble floor. The sound was a whisper in the grand silence of the chamber, out of place and entirely unexpected. Mihawk’s steps slowed. He paused just before the heavy double doors, his golden eyes narrowing faintly as the quiet footsteps drew closer.

He turned his head, ever so slightly, and saw her.

Y/N entered the chamber like a shadowed figure from a dream, her presence soft but undeniable as she moved toward Crocodile’s throne. She wore a flowing robe—fine fabric that still managed to cling awkwardly at her sides, its fit imperfect as though chosen for formality rather than her comfort. The hem swept along the floor as she walked, her bare feet silent, her shoulders straight despite the obvious weight pressing upon her.

Mihawk's golden gaze swept over her once, measured and deliberate. She was not what he had expected—not at all.

Her frame was fuller, her form soft where others might be carved of stone, yet there was something undeniably regal about the way she moved, as though she were stubbornly carrying a burden far heavier than her own weight. Her beauty was not conventional by the standards of a cruel, judgmental world, but it was there nonetheless—deep and unapologetic, rooted in the way her face remained composed even when shadowed by exhaustion.

Tear stains marked faint trails down her cheeks, though her face was carefully blank, her expression as unreadable as the desert sands. There was no fire in her eyes, not now—not like Mihawk had imagined. Instead, there was a kind of quiet determination, the embers of something yet to awaken.

She passed him without sparing him a glance, completely unaware of who he was, of what name he carried. Mihawk, for his part, said nothing—he simply watched.

Y/N approached the throne where Crocodile sat, his form a shadow of power and leisure. She walked directly to the smaller seat that had been placed just beside his—her throne, though it felt more like a mark of submission than of sovereignty.

Without hesitation, she sat.

Crocodile’s gaze flicked toward her as she settled into her chair, though his expression remained one of faint amusement, as if seeing her enter had only deepened his curiosity. The cigar burned faintly between his fingers, its smoke curling lazily through the air.

“You’re late,” he muttered, though his tone lacked bite.

Y/N said nothing, keeping her gaze forward, her back straight despite the exhaustion weighing her down. She did not look at him, nor did she look at the powerful stranger she had unknowingly passed.

Crocodile’s smirk deepened faintly, the gleam of his golden hook catching the firelight as he tilted his head. “Silent again? You make me wonder what’s happening in that head of yours.”

Still, Y/N didn’t respond. She only folded her hands in her lap, her fingers curling against the fabric of her robe.

Mihawk, still standing at the edge of the room, watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. He had seen countless queens, princesses, and pawns in his lifetime—women who were given seats of power but rarely the freedom to wield it. This one, however, intrigued him.

The silence surrounding her was deliberate, not weak. It was a wall, built brick by brick, though Mihawk doubted it was one of her own making. Silent. Submissive. He recognized the signs of someone who had been shaped, molded by others’ expectations, yet who had not yet been broken.

Not yet, he thought, his golden eyes narrowing faintly.

He turned his gaze back to Crocodile, who seemed almost amused by Y/N’s presence. For a moment, Mihawk considered speaking, but he decided against it. Whatever this woman was to Crocodile, she was important enough to share his space—to sit beside him in this throne room where few dared to stand.

And that alone told Mihawk all he needed to know:

She was at the center of this storm.

And storms had a way of revealing the truth.

“Is this your queen, Crocodile?” Mihawk finally said, his voice low, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Y/N froze.

The words startled her, dragging her attention toward the source of the voice she hadn’t noticed before. She turned her head slightly, her gaze falling on Mihawk for the first time.

Her breath caught faintly.

He stood like a living shadow, his tall figure framed by the torchlight. The wide brim of his hat cast his face in partial shadow, but she could see the glint of his golden eyes—sharp and piercing, like a predator’s gaze locking onto prey. His coat swept down to his boots, dark and elegant, while the massive black sword strapped to his back gave him a weight of undeniable authority.

There was no mistaking it: this man was dangerous.

Crocodile chuckled softly at Mihawk’s words, exhaling a thin curl of smoke as he regarded the swordsman. “A queen?” he echoed, amusement threading through his voice. He tilted his head slightly, glancing at Y/N, who sat frozen beside him. “She’ll have to earn that title, don’t you think?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened faintly, though she said nothing. Her hands curled tighter in her lap, her gaze flicking between Crocodile and Mihawk, unsure of what game was being played before her.

Mihawk watched her for a moment longer, his sharp eyes studying her with unnerving focus, though he said nothing else. Instead, he turned back toward Crocodile, his voice calm once more.

“You’re collecting interesting pieces for your board, Crocodile,” Mihawk said. “Be careful they don’t move on their own.”

Crocodile’s smirk widened, the scar along his face twisting faintly as he regarded Mihawk. “If they do, I’ll remind them whose board it is.”

The unspoken challenge hung in the air between them like a blade suspended by a thread.

Y/N sat perfectly still, her mind reeling, though her face remained carefully blank. Whoever this man was, he was no mere visitor. The tension in the room was palpable, a silent clash of wills between two forces she could barely begin to comprehend.

The stranger—Mihawk, she realized as the name finally struck her—turned slightly, giving her one last look before he moved toward the door. His golden eyes lingered on her for a beat too long, as though seeing something in her that she couldn’t yet understand herself.

Then he was gone, his boots clicking softly against the stone as the heavy doors closed behind him.

Y/N let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her gaze drifting forward once more.

Crocodile leaned back into his throne, swirling his glass of whiskey idly as he regarded her. “He’s not someone you want to cross,” he said casually, though his tone carried an edge.

“Who is he?” Y/N asked quietly, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest.

Crocodile’s smirk returned faintly as he glanced toward the door where Mihawk had disappeared. “Dracule Mihawk,” he said simply. “The greatest swordsman in the world.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

The world around her seemed to shrink as the realization sank in. She had just walked past one of the most dangerous men in existence, completely unaware.

And yet, when he had looked at her, there had been no cruelty—no laughter. Only curiosity.

The storm swirling around her was growing darker, deeper, and she knew then that whatever path lay ahead would be carved by fire, steel, and blood.

And there would be no turning back.

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MERRY X-MAS EVERYTHONE!!!! Here is some chapters today that I've worked on!!!!! :-) I hope you enjoy and have a great holiday! A master list will be added by the end of the week!

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is coming. Chapter Six.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

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The noble estate stood quiet under the waning Alabastan sun. Its once-majestic sandstone walls now seemed tainted, sullied by the decadence within. Behind closed doors, laughter and moans bled out faintly into the halls, carried by the thick, musky air of indulgence. Inside the sprawling chambers of the noble house, Viserys Targaryen sat as though he were already a king—untouchable, triumphant, and cruel.

The grand hall had been transformed into something obscene. The vast room, which had once hosted dignitaries and formal banquets, now reeked of sweat, spiced wine, and sin. Fine tapestries hung over tall windows, stifling any light or breath of fresh air, leaving only flickering firelight to dance along the tangled forms of bodies strewn across the silk-covered floors.

Viserys reclined in the center of it all, sprawled across a massive divan of deep red velvet. The thin silk sheets around him barely clung to his pale, sweat-slick skin, his lithe body half-propped up on one elbow. Golden goblets and overturned trays of fruit littered the marble floor around him.

The room writhed with movement. Naked bodies tangled together—women and men alike—gripping and gasping, oblivious to anything beyond their own pleasure. The heat of it all made the air feel heavy, suffocating.

Viserys was grinning broadly, his teeth bared in a self-satisfied sneer as a woman knelt before him, her head bobbing rhythmically between his legs. His golden hair hung damp and wild across his forehead, and the sharp lines of his face seemed almost grotesque in the dim, flickering firelight.

“Yes…” he hissed softly, tilting his head back as though basking in his imagined glory. “This is what I deserve. This is what I have earned.”

The others in the room moved around him, either ignoring or worshipping him, but Viserys barely noticed. In his mind, he had already won. The alliance with Crocodile was as good as sealed. Soon, the Warlord would lend him an army—an unstoppable force that would sail across the seas to reclaim what was his.

“Dragons rule the world,” Viserys muttered to himself, a sharp grin tugging at his lips as he gripped the hair of the woman in front of him. “And I will—”

A sharp, hesitant knock at the chamber doors shattered the oppressive atmosphere.

The sounds of moans faltered slightly. Someone hissed in irritation, but no one moved to answer. Viserys’s grin faltered, his pale brows pulling together in annoyance. He glanced toward the heavy double doors, his lips curling into a snarl.

“What is it?” he barked, his voice sharp and biting.

The doors creaked open slightly, and the nobleman who owned the estate stumbled inside. He looked haggard and pale, as though he had just received news of his own funeral. His hands fidgeted nervously with the edges of his robe, his face slick with sweat.

“My lord…,” the nobleman began, his voice trembling. “Y-You have… a visitor.”

Viserys’s expression darkened. He released the woman’s hair with a shove, causing her to stumble back slightly, though she said nothing. The grin that had stretched his face only moments ago was gone, replaced with something cold and angry.

“A visitor?” Viserys repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “Do you see me entertaining visitors right now, you fool?”

The nobleman swallowed thickly, stepping further into the room. “My lord, please forgive the intrusion, but this is… not someone to ignore. He… he insists on speaking with you.”

“Tell them to leave,” Viserys snapped, waving a hand dismissively as though swatting at a fly. “I don’t care who it is. I’ve no time for peasants or debtors. Go!”

The nobleman hesitated, wringing his hands more frantically now. “My lord… it is Dracule Mihawk.”

The room fell eerily silent. The sounds of pleasure and laughter died instantly, as if someone had cut the air itself. Viserys froze mid-motion, his sneer faltering, his lips parting slightly in disbelief.

“Mihawk?” he repeated, his voice weaker now.

“Yes, my lord,” the nobleman whispered. His gaze darted nervously toward the doorway, as though he expected the man in question to step through it at any moment. “He… is waiting.”

Viserys swallowed, his throat bobbing as the name settled over him like a storm cloud. Dracule Mihawk. The name alone carried weight—enough to make even kings and admirals wary. The greatest swordsman in the world. A man whose very presence struck fear into anyone foolish enough to cross him.

And he was here. Now.

Viserys sat up sharply, the silken sheets sliding off his body as he glared at the nobleman. “Why is he here? I didn’t summon him.”

“I-I don’t know, my lord,” the nobleman stammered. “But he says it’s urgent. He… will not leave without speaking to you.”

Viserys hesitated, his mind whirring. The others in the room shifted uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to move, not with that name hanging heavy in the air.

“Fine,” Viserys snapped, his voice brittle. “Send him in.”

The nobleman blanched. “Here, my lord? In…” He glanced meaningfully at the disheveled, naked bodies still sprawled across the chamber floor.

Viserys scowled, shoving himself to his feet. He grabbed a discarded robe—deep violet silk embroidered with faint golden dragons—and threw it haphazardly over his shoulders, tying it loosely around his waist. “In the sitting room. I will receive him there. Now go!”

The nobleman didn’t need to be told twice. He bowed deeply before turning and all but fleeing from the chamber.

Viserys exhaled sharply, smoothing his damp hair back from his face as he turned on the others, his eyes wild with irritation. “Get out. All of you. I want this room cleared!”

The tangled bodies scrambled into motion, hurriedly gathering clothing and slipping out through side doors as quickly as they could. The woman Viserys had been so gleefully using earlier disappeared without a word, her face blank and unreadable. Within moments, the room was empty, leaving Viserys alone in the heavy silence.

He paced for a moment, breathing deeply to calm himself before straightening his back and schooling his expression into something that might pass for dignity. Dracule Mihawk was not someone he could dismiss, no matter how much he wanted to. But Viserys was a Targaryen—a name that carried weight, even in these lands.

He will see me as a prince, Viserys thought, his lips curling faintly into a forced smile. He will respect me.

Still, as he moved toward the adjoining sitting room, his heart hammered traitorously in his chest.

Dracule Mihawk stood in the center of the sitting room like a living shadow, his figure tall and unshakable against the grand decor of the estate. His dark coat hung heavily at his shoulders, the wide brim of his hat casting a faint shadow over his sharp, piercing golden eyes. The massive, ornate black blade strapped across his back gleamed faintly, even in the dim firelight.

Viserys entered with feigned confidence, his violet robe sweeping behind him as he forced a smile onto his face. “Lord Mihawk,” he greeted, his voice carrying an edge of bravado. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

Mihawk turned his head slightly, fixing Viserys with a gaze so cold and direct that the prince felt his mouth go dry. The swordsman said nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.

Finally, Mihawk spoke, his voice low and smooth. “Viserys Targaryen.”

The name alone felt like a judgment.

Viserys’s forced smile faltered slightly, but he held his ground. “Yes. I am he.”

Mihawk took a step closer, his movements unhurried, though his presence seemed to fill the room. “You’ve made dangerous allies, little prince.”

Viserys’s brow twitched, the insult grating against his pride. “Allies?” he scoffed. “Crocodile is no danger to me. He is—”

“Enough,” Mihawk interrupted, his voice cutting like a blade.

Viserys stiffened, the words dying on his lips. Mihawk tilted his head faintly, his golden eyes narrowing. “I came here for information. If you value your life, you will give it to me.”

Viserys swallowed hard. This was not going to be the victory he imagined.

The silence in the sitting room was stifling, thick with an oppressive weight that smothered the air. Viserys Targaryen, draped in his loose violet robe and drenched in false confidence, stared across the room at the figure standing before him. Dracule Mihawk—Hawk Eyes—was not a man to be trifled with, and for all of Viserys's bravado, he could feel his stomach churn at the sight of him.

Mihawk didn’t move. He stood with the stillness of a predator—motionless, yet every muscle seemed taut, coiled, ready to strike. His golden eyes, like those of a hunting falcon, pinned Viserys in place, stripping him of whatever dignity he thought he still possessed. The room, no matter how opulent, felt too small now.

Viserys swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I… I don’t know what you think you’ve come here for, Lord Mihawk,” he began, forcing his voice into something resembling authority. “But whatever it is, you’ll find no trouble here. I am a prince—”

“Spare me,” Mihawk interrupted, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, and Viserys instinctively stepped back, the air crackling with unspoken menace.

“Your bloodline means nothing to me,” Mihawk continued, his tone calm, almost bored. “I’ve seen kingdoms rise and crumble. The weight of your name is hollow if you cannot bear it.”

Viserys’s face twisted, his pride flaring despite the instinctive fear that coiled in his chest. “How dare you speak to me that way?” he hissed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I am Viserys Targaryen! Son of dragons! I am—”

Mihawk’s gaze sharpened, and the room seemed to grow colder. “Enough,” he said again, this time with more force. The word cut through Viserys’s rant like a sword cleaving flesh, leaving him trembling in silence.

“You speak like a boy who has seen nothing of the world,” Mihawk said softly, his voice now quiet and dangerous. “A boy who mistakes his birthright for power.”

Viserys swallowed again, his lips parting as if to respond, but Mihawk did not give him the chance. The swordsman stepped forward again, his dark coat sweeping behind him like a shadow. The massive black blade strapped to his back gleamed in the firelight, a silent reminder of who this man was—what he could do.

“You’ve made a deal with Crocodile,” Mihawk continued, his golden eyes narrowing. “And yet you parade yourself here like a fool, drinking and whoring, believing yourself victorious. Tell me—what, exactly, do you think Crocodile intends to do with you?”

Viserys flinched at the words, his confidence visibly cracking as Mihawk’s question hit home. The truth was, he didn’t know. He had been so blinded by his own imagined triumph—so drunk on the thought of an army, of reclaiming what he believed was his—that he hadn’t stopped to question Crocodile’s intentions.

“I…” Viserys started, but his voice faltered.

Mihawk tilted his head faintly, his expression as sharp and unreadable as ever. “You think he will give you an army,” Mihawk said, the faintest note of mockery threading through his voice. “You think he sees you as an equal. But you are nothing to him. A pawn. A means to an end.”

Viserys’s face paled, though he tried to hide it. “You’re lying,” he spat, though his voice lacked the strength he intended. “Why would Crocodile waste his time on me if he didn’t intend to honor the agreement?”

Mihawk’s lips quirked into a faint smirk—a cruel, knowing thing that only made Viserys’s stomach churn harder. “Crocodile wastes nothing. That is precisely why you should be afraid.”

Viserys shook his head, his golden hair sticking damply to his face as he stumbled back another step. “He needs me! My bloodline—my name—will give him legitimacy! You don’t understand!”

Mihawk sighed faintly, as though he found the entire display tiresome. “Crocodile doesn’t need anything, little prince. Least of all you.”

The words struck like a hammer. Viserys stared at Mihawk, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came.

The silence stretched unbearably until Mihawk took another step forward. This time, he tilted his head just slightly, the faint smirk on his lips disappearing into something colder. “Where is she?”

Viserys blinked, confusion mingling with his fear. “What?”

“The girl,” Mihawk said simply. “The one you sold to Crocodile. Your sister.”

Viserys’s expression darkened, his lip curling. “She is of no concern to you.”

Mihawk’s gaze hardened, the air in the room growing even colder. “I decide what concerns me.”

Viserys bristled, his pride flaring again in the face of Mihawk’s utter dismissal of his authority. “Y/N is where she belongs,” he sneered, though his voice wavered at the edges. “She serves a purpose—my purpose. Crocodile sees her value, just as I do.”

“Value?” Mihawk echoed softly, his tone dripping with disdain. “You mean you offered her up as a bargaining chip.”

“She is mine to do with as I please!” Viserys snapped, his voice rising. “She—”

He froze mid-sentence as Mihawk moved.

It was just a step—a single, measured stride—but it carried the weight of an unspoken threat that made the blood drain from Viserys’s face. Mihawk didn’t even need to unsheath his blade. The promise of violence radiated from him like heat off steel, tangible and absolute.

“You’re fortunate I do not kill you where you stand,” Mihawk said softly, his voice a low murmur that held far more menace than a shout ever could. “But your life is of no interest to me. Yet.”

Viserys’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his earlier bravado now completely shattered.

“I’ll find her myself,” Mihawk said, turning abruptly as if Viserys no longer existed. He strode toward the door, his heavy boots ringing sharply against the marble floor.

Viserys could only stare after him, his body frozen, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Mihawk didn’t look back. He didn’t need to.

As he reached the threshold, Mihawk paused, his head turning slightly to glance back over his shoulder. “You play at being a king, Viserys Targaryen,” he said, his voice carrying an edge as sharp as the blade on his back. “But men like Crocodile eat kings for breakfast. Pray you don’t choke on your own ambition before he decides you’re no longer useful.”

With that, Mihawk stepped through the doorway and disappeared into the hall, leaving only silence in his wake.

Viserys staggered back, collapsing onto the nearest divan as his legs finally gave out beneath him. His hands trembled as he wiped at the sweat beading his forehead, his breath ragged and uneven.

He gripped the edge of the goblet still sitting on the table, his knuckles white. Mihawk’s words rang in his ears, circling like vultures, stripping away what was left of his fragile pride.

Crocodile doesn’t need me…

For the first time, the truth began to sink in, and with it came the faintest shadow of terror.

Out in the hall, Mihawk’s boots clicked softly against the marble as he walked, his expression as calm and unreadable as ever.

The girl, he thought to himself. She’s the key to this mess.

Crocodile’s plans had already begun to unfold. And Mihawk intended to see just how far the pieces had been set on this board—and how the Targaryen girl fit into it all.

The greatest swordsman in the world had been set on a path, and the sands of Alabasta would bear witness to what came next.

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Rainbase at night was alive with heat and flame. Fires burned high in braziers, casting wild, flickering shadows across the sandstone walls of Crocodile’s fortress. The city outside was a restless beast, filled with drunken laughter and the thrum of music carried through the streets like a pulse.

Inside the throne room, however, the world was more… intimate.

The chamber had been transformed for the occasion, though Y/N couldn’t decide if it was a celebration or a performance. The air was heavy with incense, the cloying sweetness mixed with the tang of wine and the sharp scent of fire. Oil lamps hung low from the ceiling, their light diffused through colored glass, casting red and gold hues across the room.

It was hot—not just in temperature, but in atmosphere.

The center of the chamber was cleared, save for a small troupe of dancers—maidens draped in thin silks, their forms moving sensually, languidly, as though they were part of the flames that surrounded them. The pounding of drums set a rhythm that was primal and raw. Their bare feet slapped softly against the marble floor as they spun and swayed, their bodies grinding against the air and sometimes against the guards who stood stoically, though their gazes burned with something far less composed.

Y/N sat beside Crocodile on a raised platform overlooking the ceremony, her seat slightly lower than his. A throne for him—dark, carved, sharp—and a cushioned seat for her, more ornate but no less subservient in its placement.

Her hands rested stiffly in her lap, fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her robe as she watched the scene unfold below. Her face was blank, her expression carefully composed, but inside, her stomach churned with unease.

The music, the dancing, the moans that sometimes escaped from the edges of the crowd—it all felt obscene, like something she wasn’t meant to witness. Bodies moved together in ways that were far too intimate for the public eye, maidens pressing themselves against soldiers with a sensual confidence that turned her stomach.

What kind of ceremony is this? she wondered, though she didn’t dare ask. She could feel Crocodile’s presence beside her, the heat of him despite the cool, shadowed authority he radiated. He watched the dancers below with an expression of boredom, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Y/N sat still, her spine straight, her face blank. She had learned long ago to wear such masks, to endure moments like these without faltering. But gods, she wanted to leave this place—to tear herself away from this performance of debauchery and greed.

She glanced at Crocodile from the corner of her eye, studying him carefully. He leaned back in his throne, one arm draped casually over the armrest, the golden hook on his left hand gleaming faintly in the firelight. A cigar rested between his fingers, a thin trail of smoke curling lazily into the air. His visible eye was sharp and calculating, though there was no hunger in his gaze as he observed the scene below.

“Uncomfortable?”

The word was spoken so softly that Y/N almost thought she’d imagined it. Her heart jumped as Crocodile turned his head slightly toward her, his smirk more pronounced now.

She stared straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. “No, my lord.”

His chuckle was low, rumbling. “You’re a poor liar.”

Y/N said nothing, forcing her hands to unclench slightly in her lap. She couldn’t risk speaking further. A wife stays quiet. The words had been drilled into her by her brother, his threats sharp as knives against her skin.

Crocodile exhaled a slow cloud of smoke before turning his attention back to the dancers. “You’ll learn to stomach it,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “There are worse things in the world.”

Y/N wanted to argue, to tell him that this was already too much. But she stayed silent.

The music built to a crescendo then, the drums pounding louder, the dancers spinning faster. A cry of triumph rose from somewhere in the room, and the crowd—guards and servants alike—responded with cheers and clapping.

Y/N gritted her teeth, refusing to react.

Then, as if to signal the ceremony’s shift, a figure stepped forward—one of Crocodile’s guards, his dark armor glinting in the light. He carried a large wooden crate in his arms, the weight of it clearly a burden as he walked toward the raised platform where Crocodile and Y/N sat.

The crowd stilled. The music faded into an eerie silence.

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly as she watched the guard ascend the steps, his breathing heavy from the effort of carrying whatever lay within the crate. He paused at the foot of Crocodile’s throne, kneeling down as he placed the crate carefully onto the floor.

“My lord,” the guard said, his voice low and reverent. “A gift. For the lady.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained composed. He flicked the ash from his cigar, his gaze shifting lazily to the crate. “A gift?”

The guard nodded, his head still bowed. “Yes, sir. From a benefactor whose name we do not know. They arrived this morning.”

Y/N blinked, her unease only deepening as she stared at the crate. It was large, wooden, with faint carvings etched into its sides. She couldn’t place the symbols, but something about them felt old. Ancient.

Crocodile waved a hand, and the guard quickly moved to open the crate. The lid creaked as it was lifted away, revealing what lay inside.

The room seemed to grow quieter still.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart thundered painfully against her ribs.

Inside the crate, nestled in a bed of dark velvet, were three eggs.

Not ordinary eggs. They were large, nearly the size of a man’s head, their surfaces smooth yet textured—scales of red, black, and deep green shimmered faintly in the firelight. They looked alive somehow, as though something slumbered just beneath the shell.

The guard’s voice broke the silence. “Dragon eggs, your grace. The last three to exist.”

Y/N stared, frozen, her mind unable to process what she was seeing. Dragon eggs? She had heard the stories, of course. Every Targaryen child grew up on tales of dragons—creatures of fire and blood, beasts that had shaped the world and crowned kings. But those tales were just that—tales. Dragons were gone. Extinct.

And yet…

Her hands moved before she realized it, reaching forward as if compelled. She ignored Crocodile’s gaze on her as her fingers brushed against the surface of the middle egg—the one that glowed with faint shades of red and gold. It was warm beneath her touch.

And then she felt it.

A heartbeat.

Faint, steady, but there.

Y/N inhaled sharply, her eyes wide as her other hand reached out to touch the other two eggs. She felt it again—three heartbeats, pulsing softly, as though the eggs themselves were alive.

How?

She couldn’t speak. The words lodged in her throat, her breath quick and shallow as her mind reeled. She was connected to them somehow, as though they reached back toward her in recognition.

Crocodile watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. He leaned forward slightly, his golden hook glinting in the firelight as he regarded the eggs.

“Well,” he said softly, his voice low and measured. “It seems our little princess has found something of interest.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her hands trembled as she held the red egg in her lap, the faint pulse of its heartbeat echoing in her palms. For the first time in years, she felt something stir inside her—something fierce, something ancient.

Fire.

She could feel it in her blood, in the warmth spreading from the eggs to her very core.

Crocodile smirked, leaning back again as he took a long drag of his cigar. “Let’s see what you do with them, girl.”

The music began again, the drums pounding softly, but Y/N heard nothing.

The last dragons of the world lay in her hands. And the fire inside her burned brighter than ever.

The air in the chamber had turned suffocating, thick with heat and expectation. The pounding of drums continued—a steady rhythm, deep and primal—that seemed to reverberate through Y/N’s bones. The flames in the braziers burned low now, casting the room in long, flickering shadows that moved like creatures of their own making.

She stood at the center of it all, on a raised platform of black stone draped with silk. The dancers were gone now. The guards, however, remained. Rows of them stood silent and watchful around the chamber, their faces hidden beneath dark veils, their gleaming weapons strapped to their sides. Their eyes—dozens of them—were fixed on her.

Watching. Always watching.

Crocodile moved like a shadow just outside her periphery, circling her with slow, deliberate steps. She could hear his boots scuff faintly against the stone, the sharp click of his golden hook punctuating the sound, each step echoing in time with the relentless drumbeats. He was in no hurry. This moment, it seemed, belonged to him.

Y/N’s body trembled beneath the weight of it all. The silks she wore—those same pieces of fabric that had been tugged and adjusted to “present” her—felt as though they might dissolve under the heat of so many eyes. Her robe had already loosened slightly, the ties at her sides barely holding the thin layers in place.

The room’s tension settled over her skin like a layer of dust, clinging to her, pressing into her, making every breath feel heavier than the last. This is tradition, they had said. This is royal Alabasta.

But tradition felt like violence.

And the horrors were just beginning.

The guards said nothing. The servants said nothing. No one in the room seemed willing to acknowledge what was about to happen, though they knew. Y/N knew.

A wedding in Alabasta—a traditional union of ruler and bride—required consummation. And the consummation, as dictated by ancient rites, was not private. It was a spectacle. A display of power, of submission, of ownership. The bride was expected to be humbled before the kingdom, her body offered openly, witnessed by the court and guards who pledged their loyalty.

Y/N had learned this only moments before, whispered to her in clipped tones by one of the attendants. The realization had left her frozen—trapped—as the final ties of her fate seemed to tighten around her neck.

Crocodile stopped behind her.

She felt his presence before she heard him speak, the weight of his gaze burning into her back like the searing heat of the desert sun. He said nothing at first, but she could feel him there—studying her, considering her. The silence dragged on, and for a moment, she dared to hope that perhaps he would change his mind.

Then his hand touched her.

The large, gloved hand settled at the base of her back, where the silk ties of her robe held the fabric together. Crocodile’s touch wasn’t rough or hurried. It was calm. Methodical. As though this were nothing more than a matter of routine.

Y/N stiffened, her throat tightening as she stared straight ahead, refusing to turn, refusing to let him see the tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t show weakness. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Crocodile said nothing as his fingers began to tug at the ties, one by one, loosening them with agonizing slowness. The silk at her shoulders began to shift, slipping away to expose her skin. The air of the chamber, though warm, felt ice cold against her pudgy back and arms.

Her breathing grew shallow as she felt the fabric give way, the delicate robe hanging more loosely now. She imagined the guards watching—staring—their eyes fixed on every inch of her exposed flesh. Humiliation burned through her chest like a hot coal.

She felt disgusting. Exposed. Worthless.

The whispers of the servants earlier—their cruel words about her weight, her size—returned to her in an endless loop. “Too big.” “Like a cow.” “Unpresentable.” She hated herself for remembering. She hated herself for caring.

Crocodile’s gloved hand returned to her, this time tracing up her back—slowly, deliberately—until his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. The leather felt cool against her flushed skin. She shivered beneath his touch, though not from pleasure—only disgust, only fear.

He stepped closer then, so close that she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint tang of cigar smoke that clung to his coat. Her tears spilled silently, leaving thin, hot tracks down her cheeks. She wanted to scream. To run. To fight. But she knew she couldn’t—not here, not now.

“Is this…” she whispered shakily, her voice barely audible as it slipped from trembling lips. “…what you wanted?”

She spoke the words in Valyrian, the ancient tongue of her bloodline—a language her brother had forbidden her to speak. It felt like the smallest rebellion, a refusal to let Crocodile understand the depths of her pain.

Crocodile’s hand paused.

For a moment, the chamber seemed to hold its breath.

He understood the tone of her words, even if he didn’t know the language. His fingers traced back down her spine, stopping at the small of her back. Then, to her surprise, he spoke.

“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, though not cruel. “Even now, you have fire in you.”

Y/N’s tears continued to fall, though her face remained forward, her expression blank. She didn’t know what he meant, and she didn’t care.

Crocodile chuckled softly—a dark, low sound that sent a chill through her bones. “You think I’m here to humiliate you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “To tear you apart in front of my men. To break you.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

He stepped back then, the weight of his presence retreating, though it didn’t ease the tension in her chest.

“I don’t need to humiliate you,” he said, his tone sharper now, edged with something unreadable. “You’ll either break on your own… or you won’t.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Crocodile turned, stepping away from her as he walked back to his throne. The guards watched, their faces unreadable beneath their veils. The air in the chamber shifted—confusion rippling through the silent audience, though none dared to question their ruler.

Y/N stood frozen on the platform, her robe still loose, the silk slipping awkwardly across her shoulders. Her tears dripped silently onto the marble floor, though she refused to make a sound.

Crocodile sat down heavily in his throne, his golden hook catching the firelight once more as he regarded her with an expression she couldn’t place—curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe disappointment.

“Cover her,” he said finally, waving a hand.

A pair of servants approached hurriedly, pulling the silks back over Y/N’s shoulders, their touch quick but careful.

“You may think you hate me,” Crocodile continued, his voice carrying through the hall like the final strike of a drum. “But hatred burns brighter than fear. Hold onto it, girl. It’ll keep you alive.”

The servants guided Y/N off the platform, leading her toward the exit of the chamber. Her legs trembled as she walked, but she forced herself to keep her head high, to ignore the stares, the whispers, the weight of her shame.

As she stepped through the doors, the sound of the drums began again, slow and steady.

And behind her, Crocodile’s smirk remained, though his gaze lingered on the platform where she had stood.

She will not break, he thought to himself.

And something about that… pleased him.

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#fanfiction #one piece #anime #one piece x reader #Game of thrones x Reader #anime fandom #one piece fandom #game of thrones fanfiction #Game of Thrones fandom #Iron throne #Dragons #Pirates #Marines #Warlords #The Iron throne #Mashup #Crossover #crossover au #luffy

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is coming. Chapter 5.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

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The interior of Crocodile’s fortress was as cold and unwelcoming as its exterior promised. The air was still, the temperature markedly cooler within the stone walls, though it lacked the comfort of relief. The chill wasn’t soothing—it was oppressive, like stepping into a crypt. Echoes of their footsteps bounced off high, vaulted ceilings that loomed in shadow, the torchlight casting flickering shapes that danced along walls carved with faint, swirling patterns of sandstorms and serpents.

Robin led the way, her strides calm and deliberate, the sound of her heels steady against the marble floor. Y/N followed just behind her, her hands clasped tightly to keep from trembling. The grand hall stretched on endlessly, every inch of it carved to intimidate. It was not beautiful—there was no warmth, no lavishness. It was a space meant to remind anyone who entered it who owned it.

Crocodile.

They rounded a final corner, and the path opened into a massive chamber, the throne room. Y/N’s breath hitched ever so slightly as her gaze lifted.

The chamber was cavernous, lit only by tall braziers that lined the walls, their fire crackling softly. The ceiling rose high into darkness, and shadows played tricks on the eyes, making the space seem infinite. At the far end of the room, elevated on a dais of smooth dark stone, stood Crocodile’s throne—though “throne” was hardly the right word. It was carved from sandstone, stark and jagged, its design resembling the shifting patterns of a desert dune frozen in place. Behind it, large tapestries hung, each one bearing an emblem of a crocodile coiled in the heart of a swirling sandstorm.

And seated there, like a phantom risen from the sands, was him.

Crocodile leaned back lazily in his chair, the thick fur collar of his coat framing his sharp features like a mane. His legs were crossed at the knee, a cigar balanced between his gloved fingers, its ember glowing faintly. The golden hook on his left arm glinted cruelly in the torchlight, resting casually against the arm of the chair, as though it, too, were waiting.

He exhaled a slow cloud of smoke, the faint curl of his lips twisting into a smirk as his single visible eye fixed on Y/N.

This is him, Y/N thought as she stood frozen at the threshold of the room. She had seen him before—briefly, from a distance—but seeing Crocodile here, in his own domain, was something else entirely. He radiated power, the kind of power that was quiet and lethal, the kind that made the air heavier and the room feel colder.

“Welcome to Rainbase,” Crocodile said, his deep voice breaking the silence. His tone was smooth, mocking, like a man who already knew the answers to the questions you hadn’t yet asked.

Robin stepped aside, her role as escort complete, and turned her gaze toward Y/N, wordlessly prompting her to step forward.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to move, her steps slow and deliberate as she walked across the vast chamber. The hem of her robe dragged against the cold marble, the sound faint but echoing in the oppressive stillness. She could feel Crocodile’s gaze on her, measuring her with each step.

She stopped at the base of the dais, her head tilting up slightly to meet his eye. She would not bow. She would not kneel. Not to him.

Crocodile’s smirk deepened, the scar across his face twisting faintly. He tapped the ash of his cigar onto the floor carelessly, the embers falling like dying sparks. “You’re quieter than I expected,” he said. “Most people talk too much when they’re nervous.”

Y/N swallowed the sharp retort that rose to her lips and forced herself to remain steady. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Crocodile raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her defiance. “Is that so?” He leaned forward slightly, his golden hook catching the firelight as it shifted. “A bold answer. You’re not afraid of me, then?”

“Should I be?” Y/N countered, the words escaping her mouth before she could stop them. Her voice sounded stronger than she felt, but she would not let him see her falter.

For a long moment, Crocodile simply stared at her, his smirk fading into something quieter, sharper. The air in the room seemed to still, the crackle of the flames growing fainter. Then he chuckled softly, the sound low and rumbling, though there was no warmth in it.

Robin, standing quietly to the side, tilted her head slightly as though intrigued by the exchange, but she said nothing.

Crocodile leaned back again, flicking his cigar dismissively as smoke curled around his face. “You’re not what I expected.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly. “And what exactly did you expect?”

“A pawn,” he replied smoothly. “Your brother offered you like one, after all. A piece on his board—something to bargain away for a chance at my favor.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the mention of her brother, but she said nothing, waiting.

“But you’re no pawn,” Crocodile continued, his voice lowering slightly. “At least, not yet. You’ve got fire in you, girl. I can see it.”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. “What do you want from me?”

Crocodile tilted his head slightly, as though considering her question. “Want?” he repeated, his voice softening into a mockery of curiosity. “That depends on you. You’re here now, in my city, in my palace. Whether you’re worth keeping depends on what you can offer me.”

“I’m not a prize,” Y/N said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension.

Crocodile’s smirk returned, slow and predatory. “Good.” He tapped his hook against the stone arm of his chair, the sound metallic and deliberate. “If you were, this would be over already.”

Robin spoke then, breaking her silence as she turned toward Crocodile. “Shall I show her to her chambers?”

Crocodile didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply watching her, as though daring her to speak further. Finally, he gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. “Do what you want. I’ll decide what to do with her soon enough.”

Robin nodded once before gesturing for Y/N to follow. Y/N hesitated, her gaze lingering on Crocodile for a moment longer, though he seemed already disinterested, leaning back into his chair and taking another slow drag of his cigar.

He’s testing me, Y/N thought as she turned to follow Robin. The sound of her footsteps echoed in the hall, mingling with the faint hiss of fire and the soft click of Robin’s heels. He wants to see if I’ll break.

But she wouldn’t.

As they left the throne room, the heavy doors closing behind them with a resounding thud, Y/N exhaled slowly. Her mind raced, replaying every word Crocodile had said.

Robin glanced at her as they walked. “You did well.”

Y/N frowned slightly, her voice low. “What do you mean?”

Robin smiled faintly, though it wasn’t unkind. “You didn’t crumble. Most do.”

Y/N said nothing, her gaze fixed ahead as they walked deeper into the fortress. The halls were dimly lit, the air cool and silent, but her mind burned with a single, unshakable thought.

I won’t crumble. I won’t break.

Whatever Crocodile wanted, whatever game he intended to play, Y/N would face it. And if she was to be a piece on this board, then she would be the one to decide how to move.

For now, the lion had seen the girl. But the fire he thought he could tame still burned.

And Y/N would make sure he never forgot that.

The chambers Robin led her to were unlike anything Y/N had ever seen. They were vast and cold—much like the rest of Crocodile’s fortress—designed more for intimidation than comfort. The walls were stone, carved with swirling patterns of sandstorms, though they offered no warmth or beauty. A massive arched window framed the desert outside, the dunes stretching on endlessly beneath the dying light. It wasn’t a prison, not yet, but it felt like one.

Robin paused just inside the door, turning slightly toward Y/N. “These are your quarters for now,” she said simply, her voice calm and measured. “You’ll be expected to prepare yourself. Sir Crocodile will summon you again when he sees fit.”

Y/N’s throat felt dry, but she managed a nod, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling back on Robin. “And what does that mean?” she asked quietly.

Robin’s lips curled faintly, though there was no humor in her smile. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the stone. The door shut behind her with a finality that made Y/N’s stomach sink. She exhaled slowly, scanning the chambers once more. A wide bed, covered in fine silks and dark fabrics, sat near the center of the room. An ornate wardrobe, a standing mirror, and a bathing basin had all been set along the far walls. A low table was laden with water and dates—enough to sustain, but not to comfort.

Y/N moved toward the window, her fingertips brushing against the cold stone as she looked out at the desert. The sun was sinking lower now, staining the dunes red and orange as if the earth itself bled. She wrapped her arms around herself, the wind outside howling faintly like a ghost calling her name.

What am I doing here?

She didn’t have long to dwell on the thought. The door creaked open again, and a group of women entered—Crocodile’s servants, judging by their identical pale linen robes and headscarves. They carried bundles of cloth, basins of water, and small boxes that jingled softly with whatever was inside.

The maids moved with silent precision, their eyes barely flicking toward Y/N as they set down their burdens. It wasn’t until one of them gestured toward her that Y/N realized their intent.

They were here to dress her.

“No,” she said firmly, stepping back instinctively. “I can manage on my own.”

Her refusal didn’t seem to matter. The women advanced with practiced efficiency, reaching for the ties of her robe without asking. Y/N flinched at their hands—small, quick, and impersonal—as they began pulling at her clothing as though she were a doll in need of repair.

“Stop it!” she hissed, trying to twist away. “I said I can do it myself!”

But they didn’t stop. The women spoke to each other in hushed tones, their words flowing smoothly in the Alabastan tongue—words that Y/N recognized, though they clearly assumed she couldn’t understand.

“Too big.”

“This won’t fit.”

“Why did he want her? She’s like a cow.”

The words hit her harder than she expected, each one a sharp blade that sliced through whatever shred of dignity she still held. Y/N froze, her face heating as they tugged and prodded at her, the Alabastan words swirling around her like gnats, stinging her over and over.

“The fabric won’t tie at the waist. It’s useless.”

“She’s so round—how do we make this look presentable?”

The sharp sound of laughter escaped one of them, though it was quickly hushed by the others. Y/N clenched her jaw tightly, her fists curling at her sides as she forced herself to stay silent. She wanted to scream at them, to tell them she understood every cruel word, but what would it accomplish? Nothing would make them stop. Nothing would make this moment hurt less.

She felt raw—exposed in ways she had never been before—as they struggled to wrap the fabrics around her body. The fine silk tugged awkwardly against her form, refusing to sit the way they wanted it to. The women muttered their frustration, occasionally pausing to pull tighter or tug harder, as though she were an object they could reshape with enough force.

I’m not an object, Y/N thought bitterly, tears pricking her eyes. I’m not—

“Enough!” a voice cut through the room sharply, startling everyone.

The maids froze, their hands hovering mid-air as they turned toward the door. Robin stood there, her dark eyes narrowed behind her red-tinted glasses. Her tone was quiet but edged with an authority that demanded obedience. “Leave us.”

The women exchanged hesitant glances before stepping back. They gathered their fabrics and boxes in hurried silence, retreating toward the door like shadows fleeing from the light. The door closed behind them with a dull thud, and for a long moment, the room was silent again.

Y/N stood there, her shoulders trembling slightly, her body still half-wrapped in fabric that hung awkwardly from her frame. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet Robin’s eyes.

Robin stepped forward, her movements softer now, though she didn’t speak immediately. She regarded Y/N carefully, her gaze lingering on the faint red marks left on her arms where the maids had pulled too tightly.

“Did you understand what they said?” Robin asked finally, her voice low.

Y/N swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. “Yes.”

Robin tilted her head slightly, something unreadable flickering across her expression. “And yet you didn’t stop them.”

“What good would it have done?” Y/N shot back, her voice quieter than she intended. She finally lifted her gaze to meet Robin’s, her eyes glassy but determined. “They’re not the first people to look at me that way. To talk about me that way.”

Robin regarded her for a long moment, her expression softening slightly. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said finally.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the words. “What?”

Robin stepped closer, her voice calm but certain. “They wanted to break you, even if they didn’t know it. But you didn’t let them. You’re still standing.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fists uncurling as she forced herself to relax. “What does it matter?” she muttered. “They still think I’m useless. That I’m…” She hesitated, her voice cracking faintly. “…ugly.”

Robin tilted her head, her gaze sharp but not unkind. “They’re wrong.”

Y/N looked up sharply, meeting her gaze again. Robin’s expression held no mockery, no lies—only quiet honesty.

“They’re wrong,” Robin repeated. “Sir Crocodile didn’t summon you here because of what they see. He doesn’t care about appearances. He cares about what’s inside—a will that refuses to bend, fire that refuses to burn out. You think you’re weak, but you’re here. You survived your brother. You survived this day. And you’ll survive what comes next.”

Y/N stared at her, the words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wasn’t sure whether Robin’s intent was to comfort her or simply to prepare her for what lay ahead. Either way, it worked.

She straightened her back slightly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand as she steadied herself. “Why do you care?”

Robin smiled faintly, though it was small and fleeting. “I don’t,” she replied softly. “But I admire people who survive.”

With that, she turned toward the door, pausing briefly to glance back. “Dress yourself however you see fit. You don’t need their approval.”

She left the room then, the door clicking shut behind her.

Y/N stood there alone, the silence settling once more, though it no longer felt as suffocating as before. She looked down at the discarded fabrics on the bed, her fingers brushing against the soft silk.

Robin’s words echoed in her mind. “You survived your brother. You survived this day.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her gaze hardening as she picked up the fabrics and began wrapping them herself, letting the material fall however it would.

If Crocodile wanted fire, then she would show him fire.

Only fire.

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The Marine base bustled with its usual sounds of shouting voices, clashing steel, and the thuds of boots against the packed dirt. Morning drills were in full swing, recruits sprinting across the field as they carried weighted packs, their breath sharp and labored in the crisp morning air.

Vice Admiral Garp stood atop a raised platform overlooking the training yard, arms crossed over his broad chest as his sharp eyes surveyed the scene below. His coat hung loosely over his shoulders, the billowing Marine insignia catching the wind as he grinned at the sight before him.

“Look at ‘em go!” he barked with a laugh, his voice carrying over the clamor of the courtyard. “Good! That’s how you build strength! You hear me, Koby? I don’t want to see you slow down!”

Koby, panting heavily, stumbled slightly under the weight of the pack strapped to his back. His face was red, his glasses fogged from exertion, but he pushed himself forward, his small frame a blur of determination as he struggled to keep up with the others. “Yes, sir! I won’t slow down!”

Garp’s grin widened, the deep lines of his face crinkling with satisfaction as he watched the young recruit. “Good kid,” he muttered to himself, though loud enough for Bogard—his ever-silent companion—to hear. “The brat’s got fire. I like that.”

Bogard nodded faintly, as he always did, though his gaze remained distant and watchful.

For a moment, Garp allowed himself the luxury of feeling pride. He’d seen too many men lose their edge—lose their fire—over the years, but Koby? Koby had something that reminded Garp of an earlier, hungrier time. Maybe the kid wasn’t strong yet, but he was honest and willing to fight through the pain.

Garp exhaled contentedly, though the moment of peace didn’t last. A sudden voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Vice Admiral Garp, sir!”

A Marine jogged up the stairs to the platform, breathing heavily as he stopped in front of the Vice Admiral and snapped to attention with a sharp salute. He held a tightly folded newspaper in one hand, its edges smudged faintly with ink.

“What is it?” Garp asked, his tone gruff but curious.

“Urgent news, sir,” the Marine replied, holding the newspaper out to him. “It’s about Alabasta—and the Warlord Crocodile.”

At the mention of Crocodile’s name, Garp’s grin faded ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as he snatched the paper from the Marine’s hand. “Crocodile, huh?”

Bogard turned his head slightly, watching as Garp unfolded the paper with a flick of his wrist. The bold headline immediately caught his eye, the black ink stark against the off-white page.

CROCODILE FORGES MARRIAGE ALLIANCE WITH TARGARYEN PRINCESS IN ALABASTA.

The subheading detailed the rumors of the arranged marriage and Crocodile’s intentions, hinting at the power a union with a Targaryen could bring. Garp’s brow furrowed as he read the words, his face darkening with every line.

“Married?” he muttered, the disbelief in his tone almost comical. “That sand bastard’s getting married?”

The Marine standing at attention shifted nervously, unsure whether the Vice Admiral’s reaction was amusement or anger. “Yes, sir. The reports confirm it. Crocodile visited a noble estate in northern Alabasta days ago. A princess of the Targaryen bloodline is involved, and sources say she’s been summoned to Rainbase.”

Garp snorted loudly, his lip curling with distaste as he crumpled the edge of the paper slightly. “Targaryen? That’s one of those ancient noble families, isn’t it? Dragons, thrones, all that nonsense.”

Bogard nodded, stepping closer to glance at the paper. “Yes. Old blood, powerful name. The Targaryens ruled far-off lands in ages past. Their legacy is tied to fire and conquest, or so the stories go.”

Garp scoffed, his fist tightening around the newspaper as he scanned the page again. “So Crocodile’s playing noble now? What’s his angle?” His voice grew darker, the edge of authority returning as his mind worked through the implications. “That bastard doesn’t make moves unless he sees a way to win. If he’s marrying a Targaryen, it’s not for love.”

“No, sir,” Bogard said quietly, his tone grave. “It’s for power.”

Garp lowered the paper, his sharp eyes flicking toward the distant horizon as if he could see all the way to Alabasta from where he stood. “Damn pirates,” he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. “They’re all the same. Give ‘em a drop of power, and they start acting like kings.”

The Marine shifted nervously under Garp’s gaze. “Sir, if this alliance is true, it could mean trouble for Alabasta. Crocodile already controls so much of the region—this could solidify his hold completely.”

Garp was silent for a moment, his jaw tight as he considered the weight of those words. He didn’t care about titles or noble houses, but power—real power—was something that could reshape entire kingdoms. If Crocodile thought he could forge an alliance with ancient royal blood, it wouldn’t stop at marriage. It wouldn’t stop with Alabasta.

“What do we know about the girl?” Garp asked abruptly, his tone clipped.

The Marine shook his head. “Very little, sir. Her name isn’t listed in the report—only that she is connected to the Targaryen bloodline and that her brother arranged the meeting.”

“Her brother, huh?” Garp snorted again, though there was no humor in it. “Selling his sister off to a pirate. What a fine family.”

Bogard’s expression remained unchanged, though he spoke quietly. “If Crocodile succeeds in this alliance, it could put him beyond our reach. Alabasta’s people would rally under his banner, believing him to be legitimate.”

Garp’s scowl deepened, the edges of the paper crumpling further in his hands. He hated politics. He hated the games men like Crocodile played—games where innocent people were pawns, traded and discarded to satisfy the ambitions of powerful men.

But most of all, he hated the way pirates slithered into power, masquerading as something greater than they were.

“Keep your ears open,” Garp ordered suddenly, his voice firm. “I want updates on Crocodile’s movements—everything. Where he’s been, where he’s going, who he’s dealing with. If this girl is important enough to tie herself to him, I want to know why.”

“Yes, sir!” the Marine replied quickly, saluting before turning and hurrying off the platform.

Garp watched him go, his gaze lingering on the recruits below as they continued their drills, their movements sharp and coordinated. Koby was still pushing himself, his face a mask of determination as he ran alongside the others.

Garp sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to Bogard. “Damn fools are going to tear the world apart chasing power.”

Bogard inclined his head faintly. “It’s already happening, sir.”

Garp grunted in response, turning his gaze back toward the distant horizon. Somewhere out there, Crocodile was playing king in his desert fortress, and some poor girl—a Targaryen princess, no less—was being dragged into his plans.

The bastard won’t get away with it, Garp thought, his jaw tightening.

Whatever Crocodile was planning, Garp would be watching.

And if the Warlord thought he could solidify his grip on Alabasta without the Marines noticing… he was sorely mistaken.

“Crocodile,” Garp muttered under his breath, the name like a curse. “You’re gonna choke on that ambition of yours one day.”

The wind carried his words out over the courtyard, lost amidst the shouts of Marines training below—unheard by all but Bogard, who stood silent at his side, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt as if waiting for the storm to come.

The quiet clatter of boots on the polished floors echoed softly through the Marine base's corridors as Garp and Bogard walked side by side. The usual din of the base—recruits training, commanders barking orders, and weapons being hauled—faded to a dull murmur as they moved into the quieter, administrative wing. Despite his usual boisterous demeanor, Garp was silent, his heavy brows furrowed in thought.

Bogard remained at his side, ever silent, a shadow who needed no words. He could tell Garp was thinking—thinking hard. That alone was enough to set an ominous undertone to the day.

Garp’s fingers drummed against his arm absentmindedly as he walked, his sharp eyes narrowing toward nothing in particular. The newspaper still sat crumpled under his arm, the words about Crocodile’s rumored alliance and arranged marriage clinging to his mind like oil.

Crocodile, a Targaryen princess, Alabasta, he thought grimly. None of this sat well with him. A man like Crocodile didn’t marry for romance—he didn’t need a marriage. Which meant this wasn’t about the girl. It was about power. An alliance that could tighten his hold on Alabasta and solidify his influence on the Grand Line.

It was dangerous. Dangerous for the Marines. Dangerous for the world.

And yet Garp didn’t have the information he needed—not yet. If there was a scheme, Crocodile had hidden its roots well, and Garp had no interest in wasting time untangling a web of whispers. If he wanted answers, he would need an inside source. Someone who walked the thin line between the law and the lawless.

Someone who already knew the world of the Warlords.

Garp stopped suddenly, his shoulders straightening as a thought struck him like a hammer. He turned sharply toward Bogard, his eyes gleaming with a clarity that hadn’t been there moments before.

“I know just the bastard for this job,” Garp said.

Bogard raised a brow faintly, a silent question.

Garp’s grin returned—not his usual, jovial one, but something sharper and darker. “Dracule Mihawk.”

Bogard’s brow furrowed further. “The Warlord?”

“Who else?” Garp muttered, resuming his pace and striding quickly toward his office. “The greatest swordsman in the world. One of Crocodile’s ‘equals,’ at least in title. If anyone can sniff out what’s happening in Alabasta and get close to the princess’s brother, it’s him.”

“Do you think he’ll agree?” Bogard asked, his tone calm but cautious.

Garp chuckled darkly. “We’re not gonna ask him nicely.”

They reached Garp’s office—a cluttered space that barely reflected the rank of the man who owned it. Maps were strewn across the desk, half-empty bowls of rice crackers sat amid piles of papers, and the walls were plastered with faded Marine notices and bounty posters.

Garp stomped toward the desk and dropped heavily into his chair, grabbing the transponder snail on the corner of the desk. The snail, shaped like a miniature black mollusk, blinked lazily as Garp adjusted the receiver and began to dial.

Bogard folded his arms, stepping to the side as Garp leaned forward, the edges of his mouth curling into a faint smirk.

The snail rang once. Twice. Three times.

Then, with a faint click, the transponder snail’s features shifted—its small eyes narrowing, its mouth curling into a smooth, indifferent line. A voice followed, low and faintly amused, as though it couldn’t be bothered with the world’s affairs.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Dracule Mihawk’s voice drawled through the line. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Vice Admiral Garp?”

The snail perfectly mimicked Mihawk’s expression—detached and calm.

Garp leaned back in his chair, his grin widening slightly. “Mihawk! You’re a hard man to track down, you know that?”

“I don’t make it easy,” Mihawk replied smoothly. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t exchange pleasantries. What do you want?”

Garp’s smile thinned, his tone turning serious. “I need information, Mihawk. About Alabasta. About Crocodile.”

There was a pause on the line, though Mihawk’s expression didn’t change. “Crocodile?” he repeated, a faint edge of interest in his voice.

“You heard me,” Garp said, his grin disappearing entirely now. “Rumors say he’s forging an alliance—marrying a Targaryen princess.” He glanced at the crumpled newspaper on his desk and tapped it pointedly. “You’ve got the freedom to move where you want. And I need you to move to Alabasta.”

Another pause, though this one felt longer. Mihawk was thinking.

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do there?” Mihawk asked finally, his tone carrying faint boredom. “I’m not a dog you can command, Garp.”

“Don’t need you to be,” Garp shot back. “I need you to look into her brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen,” Bogard interjected softly from where he stood.

“Yeah, him,” Garp grunted, nodding. “Find out what he’s scheming. He’s the one who arranged this whole damn mess. I want to know what Crocodile’s really after. And if there’s something bigger coming, I want to know before the powder keg goes off.”

The snail’s eyes narrowed faintly, Mihawk’s silence stretching as though he were weighing his options. When he finally spoke, his tone carried that faint smirk of amusement again. “Why would I involve myself in your affairs? Crocodile’s ambitions are of no concern to me.”

“Because you’re curious,” Garp said, leaning forward, his voice edged with challenge. “You’re not the kind of man to ignore a storm on the horizon, Mihawk. And you know as well as I do—if Crocodile’s pulling strings, it won’t stop with Alabasta. Whatever he’s after, it’s gonna shake the seas. And you don’t strike me as someone who likes being caught off guard.”

The snail’s expression twitched ever so slightly, the faintest sign that Mihawk was, indeed, listening.

Garp pressed on. “You head to Alabasta. Keep an eye on Viserys, on Crocodile—hell, even on the girl. Find out what they’re planning. I don’t care how you do it. You get me the information I need, and you can go back to drinking wine in whatever castle you’re haunting these days.”

A beat of silence. Then Mihawk’s voice returned, cool and unbothered as ever. “And what do I get in return for playing your errand boy?”

Garp’s grin returned, sharp and wolfish. “You’ll have my word to stay out of your hair for a while.”

The snail blinked slowly, Mihawk’s faint hum of amusement echoing through the receiver. “A tempting offer.”

“Take it or leave it,” Garp said simply.

Another pause. Then, finally, Mihawk replied. “Very well, Vice Admiral. I’ll look into your little conspiracy. I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs anyway.”

“Good,” Garp said, satisfied. “I knew you were smarter than you looked.”

Mihawk ignored the jab entirely. “I’ll contact you if I learn anything worth sharing. Don’t waste my time.”

With that, the transponder snail let out a final click, its features returning to a neutral, blank stare as the call ended.

Garp leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath as he folded his hands behind his head. “Mihawk won’t disappoint,” he muttered, though whether it was to Bogard or himself wasn’t clear.

Bogard nodded once, his expression unreadable. “He’ll find what we need.”

Garp stared at the crumpled newspaper again, his jaw tightening as his thoughts turned back to Crocodile, to Alabasta, and to the Targaryen name that carried far too much weight for comfort.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice low and dangerous. “And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

The sound of training exercises outside echoed faintly through the walls, but in Garp’s office, the tension sat thick and heavy, as though the first gusts of an oncoming storm had already begun to blow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is coming. Chapter four.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

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The sun broke over the horizon with a cruel, indifferent glare. The Alabastan desert came alive as it always did at dawn—an ocean of golden dunes that stretched to infinity, each ripple and crest carved by the unforgiving wind. The noble estate in the north was a silent island amidst this vast emptiness, its sandstone walls already glowing faintly under the first fingers of daylight.

The courtyard had been prepared for departure. Horses, draped in dark cloth to shield them from the coming heat, stamped their hooves impatiently, and the guards loitered with a kind of quiet restlessness, their weapons glinting faintly as they checked buckles and saddles.

Y/N stood at the top of the sandstone steps, staring down at the preparations below. Her crimson gown had been exchanged for something more practical—a long, flowing robe of pale fabric, loose enough to move easily but embroidered with enough detail to remind others of her station. A sheer scarf had been wrapped loosely around her neck, ready to pull up over her face when the desert winds inevitably turned fierce.

Behind her, the doors creaked faintly as Robin entered the courtyard, moving with the unhurried grace of someone entirely at ease. She was dressed in black again, a high-collared cloak fluttering softly at her heels, her sharp eyes hidden behind her scarlet-tinted glasses.

Robin glanced up, pausing at the foot of the stairs. “You’re ready,” she noted, her tone carrying neither approval nor disapproval—simply fact.

Y/N looked down at her, squaring her shoulders. “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?”

Robin’s faint smile returned, a shadow of amusement passing over her face. “You’ll learn soon enough, Y/N. There’s always a choice. The trick is knowing which ones matter.”

Y/N said nothing. She had spent much of the night sleepless, staring at the stars beyond her window, her mind filled with endless possibilities of what awaited her in Rainbase. None of those thoughts had brought comfort. Her brother had not come to see her before her departure—perhaps out of frustration, or perhaps because he thought her presence unworthy of his time now that Crocodile’s attention had shifted elsewhere.

And yet, she felt his absence like a thorn in her side.

Robin turned her attention to the horses, raising her voice slightly. “We leave immediately. Bring her belongings.”

The servants moved quickly, loading up the supplies that had been prepared for Y/N’s journey—saddlebags filled with water, food, and fabric to protect against the desert sun. The house host lingered nearby, his rotund figure hunched with visible discomfort. His face was pale, his hands wringing together, as though he were afraid to say anything to Robin directly.

When he finally spoke, his voice was small and trembling. “W-Will there be news, my lady? Will Sir Crocodile… send word?”

Robin turned her head slightly, though her expression was unreadable behind her glasses. “When Sir Crocodile decides there is news, you’ll hear it. Until then, I suggest you stay out of his affairs.”

The nobleman’s face flushed red, and he quickly nodded, bowing deeply. “O-Of course. Of course.”

Robin ignored him, her attention returning to Y/N. “Come. The desert waits for no one.”

Y/N descended the steps slowly, her feet feeling heavier with each step, as though the ground itself were trying to pull her back. When she reached the bottom, Robin gestured to one of the horses—a tall, dark mare draped in protective cloth.

“Can you ride?” Robin asked, her tone polite but pointed.

“Yes.” Y/N lifted her chin, though in truth, it had been years since she had last ridden. But pride would not allow her to show hesitation now.

Robin gave a small nod and turned, mounting her own horse with practiced ease. She watched as Y/N accepted help from one of the guards to settle into the saddle. The mare shifted under her weight but did not protest, and Y/N tightened her grip on the reins, forcing her body to relax into the animal’s rhythm.

Robin gestured to the guards, who climbed atop their own horses, forming a loose perimeter around the two women. “Move out.”

The party set off, the sound of hooves thudding softly against the sand as they passed through the estate gates and into the wide-open desert beyond. The wind picked up almost immediately, carrying the sharp sting of sand and heat that would only grow more merciless as the day dragged on.

Y/N kept her gaze fixed forward, refusing to look back. The estate shrank behind them until it was nothing more than a distant smudge on the horizon.

She was alone now. Alone with Robin, with Crocodile’s guards, and with the reality of what waited for her in Rainbase.

Hours passed in relative silence. The desert was a relentless beast, the sun blazing overhead as if determined to burn through skin and bone alike. The wind hissed through the dunes, and the horses trudged forward with quiet determination, their hooves sinking into the soft sand.

Y/N pulled her scarf higher over her mouth and nose, shielding herself from the worst of the heat. She stole a glance at Robin, who rode ahead of her as though immune to the discomfort. Her cloak barely shifted with the wind, and her posture remained elegant and upright, as though the desert was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Robin must have sensed her gaze, because she turned her head slightly, speaking without looking back. “You’re holding up better than I expected.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “I’m not as fragile as you seem to think.”

Robin’s lips curved faintly into a smile. “Good.”

Y/N frowned, adjusting her grip on the reins. “Tell me something, Miss All Sunday. Why does Crocodile want me? I’m not blind—I know this isn’t about me. It’s about my bloodline, my family name.”

Robin didn’t answer immediately, as though weighing her response. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but edged with something Y/N couldn’t quite place. “Sir Crocodile sees opportunities where others see nothing.”

Y/N scoffed faintly. “And I’m an opportunity?”

Robin shrugged one shoulder, the movement almost casual. “That remains to be seen. Perhaps he sees potential. Perhaps he sees something useful. But make no mistake—if he didn’t think you were worth the trouble, I wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N stared at her, frustration and confusion swirling in her chest. “I’m not a weapon. Or a piece on his board.”

Robin turned her head fully this time, her dark gaze pinning Y/N in place. “Then don’t be.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and sharp. Y/N stared at her, caught off guard by the simplicity of the answer.

Robin turned forward again, her attention back on the path ahead as the desert stretched endlessly before them. “You have fire in you, Y/N. You just haven’t decided how to use it yet.”

Y/N said nothing, her mind churning with the weight of the words.

Fire.

She had always felt it—burning somewhere deep inside, waiting to be called upon. But for so long, others had tried to snuff it out, to smother her with expectations, cruelty, and chains disguised as silk.

Now, though… now she would have to decide.

The dunes ahead rippled like waves frozen in time, and far on the horizon, Rainbase awaited.

And Crocodile—whatever his true intentions—was waiting, too.

Y/N tightened her grip on the reins, her gaze hardening as the sun burned high above them.

Let him see me.

Let them all see.

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The Going Merry sailed peacefully across the open sea, her white sails billowing in the gentle breeze and her wooden hull creaking softly as waves lapped against her sides. The waters were calm today, a stark contrast to the chaos that had marked the crew's last adventure.

Only days prior, Luffy had faced the infamous Arlong Pirates—defeating the cruel fishman Arlong and freeing Nami’s village from years of torment and suffering. The victory was still fresh, a triumph that the Straw Hat Pirates carried in their hearts as they sailed onward. Yet the sea was vast, and the Grand Line loomed somewhere ahead, calling to them with promises of adventure and danger.

The ship was alive with its usual noise and activity.

“LUFFY! You’re going to fall off if you keep doing that!” Nami shouted from the deck as she glared up at their captain.

Luffy hung precariously from the Merry’s mast by one arm, his straw hat miraculously still clinging to his head as he stretched his rubber limbs like a child testing his limits. “What? I’m fine!” he yelled back, laughing. “Look, Nami! I can swing around!”

“You’re not fine!” Nami huffed, throwing her hands on her hips. “If you break the mast, you’ll be swimming to the Grand Line!”

Usopp, sitting cross-legged at the ship’s railing, peered through a long-handled telescope at the empty horizon. “Nah, Nami, I’ll save him!” he declared, puffing out his chest dramatically. “With my incredible marksman skills, I’ll shoot a rope and pull him back to safety! Captain Usopp never lets his crew down!”

“You’re all insane,” Sanji muttered, emerging from the galley with a tray of drinks balanced effortlessly in one hand. He carried a lit cigarette between his lips, his usual calm demeanor intact. “At least let the idiot fall first before you start shouting about saving him.”

Nami groaned, clearly fed up, but before she could shout at anyone else, the sound of flapping wings overhead pulled their attention skyward.

“MORGAN!” Luffy exclaimed, his grin widening.

A large news-carrying seagull—complete with its little mailbag and hat—circled above the ship before swooping down. It cawed loudly as it passed, dropping a rolled newspaper tied with twine straight onto the deck.

“Hey, we got a paper!” Luffy cheered as he let go of the mast and landed on the deck with a thud. He sprinted for the bundle, but Zoro got there first, stepping out from where he’d been napping near the stairs.

The swordsman caught the paper mid-air and snorted at Luffy’s pouting face. “Calm down, Captain. It’s just a newspaper.”

Zoro tore the twine loose and unrolled the paper, his sharp green eyes scanning the front page. As he read, his brow furrowed slightly. “Huh.”

“What? What is it?” Nami asked, suddenly interested as she moved closer.

“Something about the Grand Line,” Zoro muttered, holding the paper up so the others could see. “There’s news about one of the Warlords of the Sea.”

“The Warlords?” Usopp squeaked, his voice high with nerves. “Aren’t they like... super strong pirates that work with the World Government?!”

Zoro ignored him, his gaze fixed on the bold black headline that spread across the page.

CROCODILE OF THE SEVEN WARLORDS ACCEPTS MARRIAGE ALLIANCE WITH TARGARYEN PRINCESS.

The crew stared at the headline for a moment in silence before Luffy tilted his head and scratched it. “Targa-who?”

Nami grabbed the paper from Zoro’s hands, her eyes darting over the details beneath the headline. “The Targaryens… they’re a noble family. Very old and very powerful. There’s been talk about them for years in some circles—something about dragons and royal bloodlines.”

“Dragons?” Luffy’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching into an excited grin. “Cool! Are they real?”

“No, Luffy, they’re not real,” Nami said with an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. “But the name carries weight. And Crocodile… he’s no ordinary pirate. If he’s making an alliance with them, that means something.”

Sanji leaned against the railing, his cigarette smoldering as he exhaled a thin trail of smoke. “An arranged marriage, huh?” He frowned. “Sounds like political nonsense to me.”

“Who cares about that?” Luffy asked, already losing interest. “Crocodile’s a Warlord, right? So that means he’s strong. Maybe we’ll fight him someday!”

“You don’t want to fight him, Luffy,” Nami said quickly, narrowing her eyes. “Not yet, anyway. Crocodile controls a huge part of Alabasta—he’s basically its ruler. They say he’s ruthless and dangerous, a man who plays with power like it’s a toy.”

Usopp shivered. “A Warlord getting married to a princess? What kind of princess would agree to something like that? She must be terrified!”

Nami frowned, her mind turning over the implications. “Maybe she didn’t have a choice.”

Zoro grunted. “Or maybe she’s not as helpless as you think.”

The crew glanced at him in surprise, but Zoro didn’t elaborate. He leaned back against the mast, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes drifted closed once again. “Doesn’t matter. If it’s about the Grand Line, we’ll hear more about it soon enough.”

Luffy laughed loudly, already distracted by something else entirely. “I don’t care about marriages or politics! I just want to find the One Piece!”

“Of course you do,” Nami muttered, though there was a small smile on her lips as she watched him.

Sanji pushed off the railing, carrying the tray of drinks toward the galley. “I’ll make sure lunch is ready before you idiots start fighting over the paper. Try not to tear it in half.”

Usopp hovered beside Nami, peering at the newspaper as she scanned the smaller paragraphs for additional details. “It says Crocodile left some northern estate after a meeting, but now he’s summoned the girl to Rainbase,” Nami read aloud. “The Targaryen princess. Doesn’t say much about her other than rumors about her family name.”

“What’s she like?” Usopp wondered aloud, biting his lip nervously. “Do you think she’s pretty? Or maybe she’s dangerous too? What if she has powers?”

“Enough guessing,” Zoro muttered from his spot by the mast. “If she’s tied to Crocodile, it doesn’t matter who she is. She’s either a pawn or a player in his game.”

Nami nodded, her expression growing serious as she folded the paper. “If Crocodile’s making moves like this, then we need to be careful. The Grand Line is going to be a lot more dangerous than anything we’ve faced so far.”

Luffy grinned wide, his confidence unshaken. “Then we’ll just get stronger! Crocodile, dragons, Warlords—I don’t care. We’ll take them all on!”

The crew groaned, but the spark of excitement in Luffy’s voice was infectious. For all the unknowns ahead—Crocodile, Alabasta, this mysterious Targaryen princess—one thing was certain: their adventure was only just beginning.

And the Grand Line, with all its chaos, danger, and legends, was waiting for them.

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They were almost there...

The sun hung like a merciless god over the dunes of the desert, glaring down with unrelenting heat. The lands stretched endlessly in every direction, a sea of gold with no sign of mercy. The small caravan of riders moved steadily through the shifting sands, their silhouettes black against the glare. It had been hours since the last stop, and the distant spires of Rainbase, Crocodile's fortress city, were finally beginning to emerge through the haze of heat waves.

Y/N rode in silence, her face partially hidden beneath the sheer scarf she had pulled up to shield herself from the biting wind and dust. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck beneath the light fabric of her robe, but she ignored it, her thoughts a thousand miles away. Ahead of her, Robin rode with the same unshaken calm she had maintained since the beginning of their journey, her cloak rippling softly with the horse’s steady gait.

The closer they drew to Rainbase, the heavier the air seemed to grow. The fortress city sat like a blight on the desert’s horizon, its spires sharp and predatory, carved to intimidate. Y/N could see faint shadows of buildings beyond the walls, structures built high and crowded, casting long scars of darkness over the city’s heart. Even at this distance, Rainbase looked unwelcoming—no golden palace of legend, but a den carved for someone who preferred shadows over light.

Robin slowed her horse slightly, drawing alongside Y/N. Her dark glasses glinted faintly in the afternoon sun as she turned her head to study her traveling companion. “You’re quiet,” she remarked softly, though her tone was not mocking or unkind.

Y/N kept her gaze forward, her gloved fingers curling around the reins. “What do you expect me to say?”

Robin tilted her head faintly. “Most people would ask questions. Worry about what lies ahead. You haven’t.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened beneath the scarf. “Would it change anything if I did?”

Robin smiled faintly, as though pleased by the answer. “No. It wouldn’t.”

“Then why waste my breath?” Y/N muttered, though there was no true heat in her words.

Robin’s expression softened slightly. “You’re not a fool. I think that’s why Crocodile finds you interesting.”

Y/N glanced at her sharply. “Interesting?”

Robin nodded, her hands resting loosely on the reins as she spoke. “He doesn’t waste his time on people he finds useless. He sees potential in you—something that can serve his ambitions.”

“Ambitions,” Y/N repeated quietly. The word made her stomach twist, though she kept her expression neutral. She turned her gaze back to the looming city ahead, its jagged silhouette seeming to grow larger with every step forward. “And what if I don’t want to serve his ambitions?”

Robin regarded her for a long moment, silent but thoughtful. “Then you’ll have to be clever,” she said at last. “And very careful. Crocodile respects strength, but strength comes in many forms.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered toward her, searching Robin’s face for some deeper meaning. The woman’s words were always measured, deliberate, leaving just enough unsaid to make Y/N wonder whether there was sympathy buried beneath the surface.

“Why are you telling me this?” Y/N asked finally.

Robin’s faint smile returned, though her expression was unreadable. “Let’s just say I don’t care much for seeing people lose their freedom.”

The words struck a nerve, though Robin offered nothing more. Before Y/N could question her further, the sound of the lead guards shouting orders broke through the air.

“We’re here,” Robin announced calmly, her attention shifting forward.

Y/N followed her gaze, and her breath caught slightly at the sight that awaited them.

Rainbase.

From up close, the city was both more awe-inspiring and more foreboding. The walls were massive, carved from dark stone, rising high enough to blot out the lower edge of the sky. Sharp towers pierced upward like jagged swords, casting long shadows across the sun-bleached desert floor. At the gates, soldiers dressed in dark desert armor stood rigid and silent, their faces hidden beneath black veils that only revealed their eyes—watchful and impassive.

The gates creaked open as the caravan approached, revealing a city that was alive with movement yet eerily muted. Merchants and traders crowded the dusty streets, their voices carrying faintly on the wind, but the energy felt subdued, as though the people moved under the weight of something unseen. Buildings of sandstone and dark wood rose on either side of the narrow roads, their windows shuttered tightly against the heat and the dust.

Y/N felt the stares as they rode through the gates—men and women pausing to glance up from their stalls and doorways, their eyes curious and wary as they took in the new arrival. She straightened her back instinctively, refusing to let their attention rattle her.

“This city belongs to him,” Robin said quietly, as though reading Y/N’s thoughts. “The people here live under his shadow. If you’re smart, you’ll learn to do the same.”

Y/N didn’t respond, though her fingers tightened slightly on the reins.

The group rode deeper into the city, passing through winding streets that seemed to close in around them. The further they traveled, the grander the structures became—golden domes and wide archways adorned the buildings here, though their beauty was cold and uninviting, like treasure hoarded in a tomb.

And then, the palace came into view.

At the heart of Rainbase, Crocodile’s fortress rose like a monolith of power. It was immense, its outer walls smooth and dark, dotted with narrow windows that seemed more like slits for archers than openings for light. The main entrance was marked by a pair of massive doors, adorned with carvings of twisting sandstorms and the faint outline of a crocodile’s open maw.

The sight of it sent a chill down Y/N’s spine. This was no palace built for comfort. It was a stronghold, a place where power ruled above all else.

The caravan slowed as they reached the fortress gates, the lead guards barking orders as servants rushed to take the horses. Robin dismounted first, her movements fluid as she stepped onto the dusty ground and turned to look at Y/N expectantly.

“Welcome to Rainbase,” she said softly.

Y/N swallowed hard, her mouth dry as she slid from the saddle, landing on unsteady legs. She tilted her head back slightly to take in the full scope of the fortress before her, its shadow stretching long across the courtyard.

This is where he waits.

The thought sent her heart pounding, though she forced herself to appear calm as she followed Robin toward the main entrance. Her boots scuffed softly against the stone as they climbed the wide steps, the sound of the heavy gates creaking shut behind them.

As the doors opened into the dim interior of the fortress, Y/N forced herself to take a steadying breath. Whatever waited for her inside—Crocodile’s plans, his demands, his ambitions—she would face it.

And she would not break.

The dark hall swallowed them whole as they stepped inside, the air growing cooler and heavier with every step. Robin led the way, her silhouette calm and unwavering, while Y/N kept close behind, her gaze darting across the shadowed walls and towering pillars.

Somewhere in the heart of this place, Crocodile was waiting.

And Y/N knew this was only the beginning.

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Author: Hello! Quick update, I worked all night to get chapters out and posted. Everything is spelled checked or re-written on Chat Gtp so the story can actually be good!!!!! Don't worry I will make a master list of everything soon, as I'd like to first get as many chapters out as I can before christmas next week, as I'd love to spend time with my family. Anyways, see you all at the next chapter!! Also don't hesitate to share this with your friends or followers who read fanfiction and is One Piece fans!!!! I want this story to grow and be popular, so please help me out everyone!!

13 notes · View notes

abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is coming. Chapter three.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

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The fortress of Rainbase, Crocodile’s stronghold, stood like a scar on the face of the desert. It rose from the sands with harsh angles and unforgiving edges—a palace carved for power, not beauty. The stars were pale and faint overhead, the moon a sliver of silver light barely touching the rippling dunes that stretched endlessly to the horizon. Rainbase, the so-called City of Dreams, was a place of hunger and desperation, where promises were made with gold but broken with blood. Crocodile ruled it like a god—silent, absolute, and merciless.

The air inside the fortress was cooler but no less heavy. The silence was the kind that weighed down on those who did not belong here. Guards, silent and stoic, stood along the hallways like shadows as Crocodile passed through the grand arches, his heavy coat trailing behind him. Every step of his boots against the marble echoed faintly, the sharp click of his golden hook occasionally punctuating the rhythm.

The palace’s tallest chamber—his sanctuary—was a cavernous space. Its wide balcony overlooked the sprawling city below, where torchlight from the streets flickered like dying stars. The wind swept in through the arches, carrying the faint scent of sand and spice. Crocodile stood at the balcony’s edge, a cigar resting between his fingers, its ember glowing faintly like a predator’s eye.

He exhaled a long, slow trail of smoke, watching it curl into the dark, merging with the night. Four days since he had left the northern Alabastan estate. Four days since he had seen her.

The girl.

Crocodile’s eye narrowed slightly as he leaned his weight against the balcony, the curve of his golden hook catching the starlight. He replayed the moment she had stood at the top of those sandstone steps, her gown of crimson and gold spilling around her like blood against the stone. Unlike the others who had tried to impress him over the years—fools, cowards, sycophants—she had neither flinched nor fawned.

There had been fire in her. Hidden, but unmistakable.

“Thinking about her again?”

The voice was calm, lilting with faint amusement, and it drifted in from the shadowed edge of the chamber. Crocodile turned his head slightly, though he did not seem surprised.

Nico Robin stood at the edge of the room, her silhouette outlined faintly by the torchlight. The glow flickered across her dark hair, her sharp features set into that usual unreadable expression she wore so well. She was calm and poised, her arms crossed loosely over her chest as she studied him. Her eyes, dark and intelligent, seemed to see more than Crocodile was willing to share.

“I didn’t invite you here, Robin,” Crocodile muttered, returning his gaze to the city below.

“You don’t need to.” She stepped closer, her heeled boots clicking softly against the marble as she approached. “It’s not like you to linger on something for so long.”

Crocodile smirked faintly, taking another long drag of his cigar. “You’re reading too much into things.”

Robin arched a brow, the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips. “Am I?”

Crocodile turned slightly, his coat shifting with the wind as he exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling. “If you have something to say, say it.”

Robin stopped a few steps away, her gaze fixed on him, steady and unwavering. “Four days. That’s how long you’ve been brooding since we left the estate,” she said simply. “You left her there, Crocodile. Without a word. And yet… you’re still thinking about her.”

He turned his head fully now, his single visible eye narrowing as he studied her. Robin had a way of peeling back layers, finding answers where others would not dare to look. It was one of the reasons she was invaluable to him—and one of the reasons she irritated him at times like this.

“I think about many things,” Crocodile replied, his voice smooth as silk, though there was a faint edge beneath it. “And the girl is of no consequence. Yet.”

Robin tilted her head slightly, as though measuring his words. “Then why leave so abruptly? You didn’t reject her, and you didn’t accept her.”

“Because I don’t make decisions in haste,” Crocodile said, turning back to the balcony. His tone was final, though he knew she wouldn’t let it drop so easily. “Her brother is a fool—desperate, greedy. He thinks he can control me. That alone makes him dangerous, even if he’s weak.”

“And the girl?” Robin pressed softly.

Crocodile smirked again, though it was faint, almost imperceptible. He rolled the cigar between his fingers as though considering its embers. “The girl is something else entirely. She doesn’t play the same game he does. I saw it in her eyes.”

Robin stepped to his side, her gaze following his toward the dark city below. “You think she’ll be useful?”

Crocodile’s voice was low and deliberate. “If she has fire in her blood, then I’ll decide how to use it. Tools are only valuable if they can be wielded properly.”

Robin was silent for a moment, her expression thoughtful as the wind tugged at the edges of her dark cloak. “And if she’s not a tool?”

Crocodile’s smirk widened slightly, his visible eye glinting with something dark and amused. “Then I’ll burn her to ash like the rest.”

The silence that followed was broken only by the faint crackle of the torches and the howl of the desert wind. Robin’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned, walking back toward the shadowed edge of the chamber.

“Just be careful, Crocodile,” she said softly, her voice carrying an undertone of warning. “Fire can be unpredictable. Even when you think you’ve tamed it.”

He didn’t respond, though the corner of his mouth twitched faintly as the sound of her footsteps faded into the dark. Once she was gone, he turned back to the balcony, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as the wind carried it away.

Robin was right, of course. Fire was dangerous. Unpredictable. But Crocodile was not afraid of fire—he had tamed far worse.

Still, the girl lingered in his thoughts. Her unflinching stare, her presence like something solid and immovable. She was not what he had expected, and that alone made her worthy of notice.

“Fire and blood,” Crocodile muttered to himself, the words rolling off his tongue like an old, half-forgotten chant.

Perhaps she was a flame waiting to be snuffed out. Or perhaps she was something far greater.

Either way, he would find out soon enough.

Crocodile smiled faintly, the scar on his face twisting with the movement.

“Let her burn.”

The wind screamed softly through the open arches, as though carrying his words across the endless sands. Rainbase, the City of Dreams, shone like a false star in the desert below, unaware that its master had begun to sharpen his plans.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, a girl with dragon’s blood waited—her fire still untested, her fate still unwritten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Marine base was alive with the clamor of training soldiers and the sharp bark of orders. The courtyard echoed with the rhythmic clashing of swords, the stomp of boots on sand, and the occasional shout of a superior correcting sloppy stances. Overhead, seagulls circled lazily against the blue sky, indifferent to the business of men below.

Vice Admiral Garp walked with long, purposeful strides through the sunlit courtyard, his coat trailing behind him like a banner. At his side, the ever-silent Bogard followed, his gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if it were second nature. Bogard was a shadow to Garp's light, stoic and watchful. Together, they made an imposing pair, every Marine they passed standing just a little straighter.

"These recruits are getting softer," Garp grumbled, his keen eyes narrowing as he watched a pair of Marines sparring in the far corner of the yard. One swung his wooden sword clumsily, almost losing his balance as the other parried. “Look at that—arms too wide, feet all wrong. Back in my day, that wouldn’t even earn you a second glance.”

Bogard merely nodded in agreement, offering his usual quiet presence.

Garp sighed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as they continued walking. “I tell you, Bogard, we’ve got pirates running amok on the seas, and here I am, watching kids swing sticks like they're playing at some damn festival game. Strength, honesty, intelligence—what happened to those? You tell me!”

Before Bogard could offer his customary hum of agreement, a Marine jogged toward them from across the courtyard. The man stopped a few paces short, his boots skidding slightly on the sand-packed ground, and saluted crisply.

“Vice Admiral Garp, sir!”

Garp raised a brow. “What’s the fuss now?”

“Sir,” the Marine said, his voice strained with the urgency he clearly felt. “We’ve received reports from Alabasta. There’s a matter involving one of the Warlords of the Sea—Sir Crocodile.”

At the mention of Crocodile’s name, Garp stopped walking, his grin faltering slightly. The air around him seemed to shift, the usual light-hearted demeanor hardening into something sharper, something more attentive. Bogard’s fingers twitched against the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t move.

“Crocodile, huh?” Garp said, tilting his head. “What’s the sandman been up to now? Spit it out.”

The Marine hesitated for a moment, glancing between Garp and Bogard before speaking. “There are rumors spreading across Alabasta that Sir Crocodile is… searching for a wife, sir.”

Garp blinked. “A wife?”

The Marine nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Sources from the northern regions of Alabasta claim that Crocodile visited one of the estates there—a powerful noble house. He left without explanation, but whispers say the meeting was arranged to discuss a marriage alliance. It seems Crocodile may be seeking a bride to secure political or territorial gains.”

Garp stared at the man, his expression blank for all of a heartbeat before he threw his head back and barked out a laugh. It was loud and booming, enough to send a few passing Marines stumbling in surprise.

“Crocodile? Married?” Garp said between bursts of laughter. “That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year! The man’s half-crocodile and half-sandstorm—who in their right mind would marry him?”

The Marine looked flustered, unsure how to respond. “S-Sir, I assure you, the reports are credible.”

Garp’s laughter began to taper off, his amusement giving way to thought. He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze narrowing slightly as he considered the implications. “So he’s playing politics now, is he?”

Bogard spoke up for the first time, his voice low and measured. “It would be a calculated move. Alabasta is already under Crocodile’s influence. A noble alliance would solidify his hold.”

Garp snorted, his jaw tightening as he stared toward the horizon as if seeing beyond the walls of the Marine base. “Politics,” he muttered, the word leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “These Warlords are all the same—pirates pretending to play kings. Give them an inch of power, and they’ll take a kingdom.”

The Marine shifted uneasily. “Sir, what should we do about this? If Crocodile is planning something larger—”

Garp cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Calm yourself. Rumors are just that—rumors. I’ll believe Crocodile’s found himself a wife when I see her standing beside him with her own two feet.”

Bogard’s brow furrowed faintly. “Even so, it warrants attention, Vice Admiral.”

Garp sighed heavily, his shoulders rising and falling as if weighed down by years of battles and frustrations. “You’re not wrong. If Crocodile’s got a plan in motion, we can’t ignore it. His kind never act without a purpose.”

He turned back to the Marine, his grin returning, though it was sharper this time—less jovial and more dangerous. “Keep your ears open. I want every whisper about Crocodile brought to me—every whisper. If he’s looking to settle down, I’d wager it’s not for romance.”

“Yes, sir!” the Marine said quickly, saluting once more before turning on his heel and rushing back toward the main barracks.

Garp watched him go, his grin fading as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. For all his bravado, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Crocodile’s actions were part of something bigger—something brewing beneath the surface, unseen but dangerous.

“What do you think, Bogard?” he asked, his voice low. “A Warlord playing house doesn’t sit right with me.”

Bogard’s lips quirked into the faintest of frowns. “It doesn’t sit right with me either, sir.”

Garp grunted. “Thought so. A man like Crocodile doesn’t need a wife—he needs leverage. And if this is about politics, then whoever he’s got his eye on might be a key to something we’re not seeing yet.”

Bogard inclined his head slightly, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword as though preparing for the inevitable storm. “If Crocodile solidifies his hold on Alabasta, it could be trouble. We’ll need to watch him closely.”

Garp nodded, his expression hardening into something grim. The laughter was gone now, replaced by the sharp focus of a man who had spent decades facing down the worst this world had to offer.

“Send word to the higher-ups,” Garp muttered, his gaze distant. “Tell them Crocodile’s up to something. And I don’t like it.”

Bogard nodded silently.

Garp exhaled heavily, the sound rough and tired. “These pirates,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “Always think they can play kings. Crocodile’s smart, I’ll give him that—but even smart men can choke on their own ambition.”

The Vice Admiral turned on his heel, his coat billowing out behind him as he strode across the courtyard. Bogard followed in silence, his shadow stretching long under the sun. Around them, recruits continued their drills, oblivious to the storm that was beginning to form far beyond their walls.

And out in the desert, in the heart of Alabasta, Crocodile sat atop his throne of sand, spinning his webs and sharpening his plans—unaware, perhaps, that the eyes of the Marines were now watching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The northern Alabastan estate sat cloaked in the golden light of late afternoon. Shadows stretched long across the sand, curling around the sandstone walls like ink spilled on paper. The wind whispered softly, tugging at banners that hung limp from the estate's high walls. Within its confines, the air was thick with tension—a holdover from Crocodile’s abrupt departure days prior.

In the great hall, Y/N’s brother lounged across his cushioned seat, much as he had the night before, though the women who had adorned him earlier were now gone. His silk robe hung loosely around his shoulders, wine swirling in his goblet as he glared at the flames crackling in the large hearth. His mind was a storm, caught between anger, confusion, and the gnawing anxiety that Crocodile had simply dismissed him. What did it mean?

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed from the entrance hall.

He glanced up, brow furrowing, as the heavy wooden doors swung open. The guards on either side straightened immediately, their hands instinctively reaching for the hilts of their swords. A tall woman stepped into the room, her stride unhurried and her presence commanding.

Nico Robin.

The woman moved like a shadow given form, her long dark cloak flowing behind her as though untouched by the wind. Beneath it, a fitted black dress hugged her tall frame, the fabric practical yet elegant. Her dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, framing a face that held no warmth, only the faintest glimmer of amusement in her sharp eyes.

The scarlet lenses of her sunglasses reflected the flames of the hearth as she paused just inside the room, taking in the scene with a glance that felt far too knowing.

“Miss All Sunday,” Y/N’s brother said, his voice tinged with irritation despite the fact that his tone remained careful. He pushed himself upright, the goblet of wine forgotten in his hand. “You return so soon. Does this mean Sir Crocodile has made his decision?”

Robin did not answer immediately. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint, unreadable smile. “Good evening,” she said smoothly, her voice calm and rich. “I didn’t come here to speak to you.”

Y/N’s brother blinked, his expression hardening. “Excuse me?”

Robin turned away from him without another word, the sharp click of her heels on the polished marble floor echoing through the grand hall. Her disinterest in him—her complete dismissal—was like a slap to his face. For a moment, he sat frozen, the realization dawning slowly as she approached the nobleman who owned the estate, still lingering nervously near the far wall.

The man—a round, balding figure with sweat dampening the collar of his fine robes—stiffened visibly as Robin stopped in front of him. Her smile widened ever so slightly, though the warmth never reached her eyes.

“Where is she?” Robin asked softly, though her tone carried the weight of an order.

The nobleman stammered, his face pale as he wrung his hands nervously. “W-Who, my lady?”

Robin tilted her head, her smile fading into something colder. “The girl. Y/N Targaryen.”

Y/N’s brother was on his feet in an instant, his silk robe fluttering behind him as he stormed toward her. “This is my house!” he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls. “You will speak to me about matters concerning Crocodile’s decision!”

Robin didn’t even glance at him. Instead, she adjusted the cuff of her glove casually, as though his anger were little more than a passing breeze. “You misunderstand, my lord,” she said calmly. “I’m not here to discuss you. I’m here for the girl.”

Her words hit like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of silence across the room. Y/N’s brother faltered, his face darkening as though he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “What does he want with her?”

Robin turned slightly, finally acknowledging him with a faint look of amusement. “That’s none of your concern.”

The nobleman, still visibly shaken, spoke up with a trembling voice. “S-She’s in her chambers, my lady. I can have a servant—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Robin’s voice cut through his stammering like a blade. She turned on her heel, walking purposefully toward the corridor leading deeper into the house, her dark cloak trailing behind her.

Y/N’s brother stood frozen, his face pale with rage and confusion as he watched her leave. “You can’t just—”

Robin paused mid-step, glancing over her shoulder. The faintest smirk tugged at her lips as her sunglasses glinted in the torchlight. “I already have.”

With that, she disappeared into the shadowed halls, leaving the nobleman trembling and Y/N’s brother seething.

Y/N sat by her window, watching the sands of the desert shift faintly under the dimming light. The sun was beginning to set again, streaking the sky with bruised shades of purple and red. From her vantage point, she could see the distant horizon, where nothing existed but endless dunes and the faintest shimmer of heat.

The past days had been a blur of silence. No word from Crocodile. No explanation. Her brother had fumed and raged, but in the end, he had left her alone—perhaps to stew in the humiliation of being ignored so blatantly.

Why did he look at me like that? she thought for the hundredth time. Crocodile’s smirk haunted her, a cruel expression that revealed nothing and yet promised everything.

A knock at the door broke her thoughts. Before she could answer, it swung open, and a woman stepped inside.

Y/N blinked, surprised. She didn’t recognize her immediately—this tall, graceful stranger with dark hair, red-tinted glasses, and an air of calm authority that made the room feel smaller.

“Miss Y/N Targaryen,” the woman said smoothly.

Y/N frowned, her guard instantly rising. “Who are you?”

The woman smiled faintly, though it was not a comforting expression. “You may call me Miss All Sunday. I’m here on behalf of Sir Crocodile.”

Y/N froze at the mention of his name. Her pulse quickened, though she forced herself to remain still. “And what does he want with me?”

Robin stepped further into the room, her gaze sharp and assessing as she studied Y/N. “He’s made his decision.”

The words sent a chill through Y/N’s chest, though she kept her expression neutral. “And what decision is that?”

Robin tilted her head, the faintest hint of amusement flickering across her face. “That you’re worth his time.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She didn’t know what that meant—what it could possibly entail—but she doubted it would be anything simple or kind.

“And what if I refuse?” she asked, her voice steady despite the storm building inside her.

Robin’s smile widened, though her eyes remained cold. “You don’t strike me as someone who refuses opportunity. You may not realize it yet, but your life is about to change.”

Y/N stared at her, the weight of the words settling over her shoulders like chains. She didn’t know whether to feel fear or anger—or both.

But one thing was certain: Crocodile had decided.

And the game had only just begun.

The room felt smaller now, as though the walls themselves had begun to creep inward, stifling the air. Robin stood by the door, tall and elegant, an imposing silhouette framed by the last rays of the Alabastan sunset that filtered through the balcony windows. Her dark hair moved faintly in the breeze, but her expression was unchanged—calm, impassive, and unreadable.

Y/N sat on the cushioned window ledge, her hands resting tightly in her lap as she stared at the woman before her. The mention of Crocodile’s decision still echoed in her mind, heavy and ominous.

“Worth his time.”

The words had been spoken casually, almost dismissively, yet they carried a weight that unsettled her. Crocodile had seen her once—stood in that courtyard, smirked at her from atop his horse—and now, somehow, he had decided she was worth… something. But what?

Robin broke the silence first, her voice calm and soft, yet layered with an edge of authority. “You don’t seem surprised.”

Y/N lifted her gaze, meeting Robin’s eyes. “Should I be?”

Robin tilted her head faintly, the corner of her lips curling into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “Most women would be flattered. Most women would be terrified. You seem to be neither.”

Y/N exhaled through her nose, resisting the urge to bristle under the scrutiny. “I’m not most women.”

Robin’s smirk deepened, as though the answer pleased her. “Good. Then perhaps this will be easier.”

Y/N shifted slightly, her pulse quickening despite her calm facade. “What is it exactly that Crocodile wants? You’re here on his behalf, yet no one seems interested in explaining what his interest in me really is.”

Robin stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as she approached. The sound was measured and deliberate, like the tick of a clock counting down to something inevitable. She stopped a few paces away, her gaze steady.

“Sir Crocodile has extended an invitation,” Robin said simply. “He wishes for you to accompany me to Rainbase.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the bluntness of it. “Rainbase?”

Robin nodded. “His stronghold. He expects you there within two days. I am to escort you personally.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened in her lap, her nails biting into the skin of her palms as she tried to process the words. An invitation, Robin called it, but it felt more like a demand. There was no suggestion of choice in her voice—no indication that refusal was even an option.

“And if I decline?” Y/N asked, her voice even, though there was a faint tremor beneath the words.

Robin regarded her carefully, her expression softening just slightly, as though recognizing the edge of defiance in Y/N’s tone. “Then you’ll still come,” Robin replied, her voice velvet smooth but unyielding. “This is not a game you can walk away from, Y/N.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened as she stared at the woman before her. Her brother’s voice echoed in her mind, his threats, his cruelty, his reminders that she was nothing more than a pawn to be bartered with. Crocodile’s smirk flashed in her memory, the way he had looked at her—not like a pawn, but like a puzzle.

“You say this isn’t a game,” Y/N said quietly, her voice edged with steel, “but I feel like a piece on someone else’s board.”

Robin regarded her with something that almost resembled pity, though it was faint—more of an acknowledgment than true sympathy. “Pieces can still change the outcome,” she said softly. “It’s all in how you choose to move.”

Y/N stared at her, searching her face for some hidden meaning, but Robin offered no further explanation. Instead, she stepped to the side, her dark cloak shifting like liquid shadow.

“Gather what you need,” Robin said, turning toward the door. “We leave at sunrise.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she forced herself to remain still, to think, to breathe. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, to claw at the suffocating feeling of being trapped in a life she didn’t choose. But she said nothing. Instead, she watched Robin pause at the threshold, one hand resting on the doorframe.

Robin glanced back at her, her voice low. “You’ll want to be ready, Y/N. Crocodile isn’t a man who waits.”

With that, Robin swept from the room, her figure vanishing into the shadows of the corridor, leaving only silence behind her.

Y/N remained where she was, the weight of the moment settling on her shoulders like a shroud. Outside, the sky had deepened to a dusky purple, and the first stars flickered faintly in the heavens.

Rainbase.

She had heard of the city—its wealth, its reputation, its ruler. Crocodile’s name carried weight far beyond the borders of Alabasta, and now, somehow, she was being summoned to his side. For what purpose, she did not know, but it didn’t take much to guess that it was for his own gain.

Y/N closed her eyes, steadying herself. This was not the life she had imagined. Her brother’s cruelty had already taken so much from her, and now Crocodile loomed like another storm on the horizon—another man who thought he could wield her as a tool for his ambitions.

No.

Her eyes opened, hard and resolute. She would go to Rainbase, yes—because she had no choice. But she would not go meekly. Whatever Crocodile saw in her, whatever game he intended to play, she would find a way to survive it.

And if they thought they could use her…

She would make sure they regretted underestimating her.

In the halls below, Robin walked calmly through the dimly lit corridors of the noble estate, her mind sharp and focused. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, the sound measured and deliberate as always.

She allowed herself a small smile. Y/N was no fool—Robin had seen it in her eyes, in the way she questioned everything. She had fire buried beneath her surface, though the girl perhaps didn’t realize it yet.

Interesting, Robin thought. Crocodile sees it too.

As she reached the estate’s wide entrance hall, the host of the house stood nervously by the doorway, flanked by guards who seemed unsure whether to bow or avoid looking at her altogether. Y/N’s brother loomed in the corner, his expression dark, a scowl etched across his face as he watched her approach.

“You dare ignore me in my own house?” he sneered, his voice dripping with indignation.

Robin didn’t even glance at him as she stepped toward the doors. “Your concerns are irrelevant. Sir Crocodile has made his decision.”

She stepped outside into the cooling night air, leaving him seething behind her. The stars had begun to spread across the sky, their pale light glimmering faintly above the endless expanse of sand.

Tomorrow, they would ride for Rainbase. And there, Robin knew, the pieces of this game would begin to shift.

And Crocodile? He was waiting, always waiting, at the center of it all.

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#one piece #fanfiction #anime #luffy #one piece x reader #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #one piece fandom #one piece x y/n #One Piece x Reader #monkey d luffy #straw hat pirates #roronoa zoro #dragons #war #Alabasta #The Iron throne #mother of dragons.

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is coming. Chapter two.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Anyways, enjoy the second chapter!!!

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The sun had disappeared behind the jagged cliffs of northern Alabasta, leaving the sky streaked with hues of blood-red and bruised violet. The oppressive heat of the day had finally begun to wane, replaced by the sharp bite of the evening desert wind. It swept through the open courtyard of the sandstone estate, carrying dust and unease in equal measure.

Y/N stood in her chambers, her bare feet pressing into the cool marble floor as she gazed out of the wide balcony. The desert stretched endlessly before her, shimmering faintly in the last embers of daylight. Crocodile and his guards had disappeared beyond that horizon hours ago, their departure sudden and inexplicable, leaving nothing but questions in their wake.

Her fingers tightened against the balcony's edge. She replayed that moment in her mind—the way Crocodile had looked at her, the smirk that flickered across his scarred face, sharp and unreadable. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t desire. It was something far worse: calculation.

A knock at the door broke her reverie. Before she could answer, the door creaked open, and her brother strode into the room, uninvited as always. His silk robes rustled softly as he moved, gold embroidery catching the dim light of the room’s lamps.

Y/N turned to face him, her expression carefully blank, though her jaw tightened ever so slightly. “You could knock,” she said evenly.

Her brother ignored the jab, his dark eyes narrowing as he came to stand before her. There was a storm brewing beneath his calm exterior, and Y/N braced herself for its inevitable release.

“What did you do?” he hissed, his voice quiet but venomous.

Y/N blinked, her brows drawing together in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Crocodile,” her brother spat the name like a curse. “He looked at you. And then he left.”

“And that’s somehow my fault?” she replied, her voice cool but edged with defiance.

His hand shot out faster than she expected, his fingers clamping painfully around her arm. The force of it startled her, but she didn’t pull away. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

“You did something,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “You embarrassed me—us—before a Warlord of the Sea. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Y/N met his gaze, her voice steady. “He looked at me and left. I did nothing.”

Her brother stared at her, his face close enough that she could smell the wine on his breath. For a moment, she thought he might strike her, but then his grip loosened, his hand falling away. He turned on his heel, his silk robes trailing behind him as he paced the room like a wolf in a cage.

“The house host assures me that my hospitality was proper. Crocodile should have been pleased,” he muttered, half to himself. “And yet…”

Y/N remained silent, watching him carefully. He had always been like this—unpredictable, cruel, and vain. To him, failure was never his own. It belonged to others, to her.

He stopped pacing suddenly, his sharp gaze snapping back to her. “You will fix this.”

Her stomach twisted, though her expression did not change. “How?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering to that familiar, dangerous edge. “If Crocodile left because of you, then you will ensure he returns. I don’t care what it takes.”

“And what if he doesn’t want me?” she shot back before she could stop herself.

The words hung in the air, daring and reckless. Her brother’s lips curled into something that almost resembled a smile, though there was no humor in it—only malice.

“He will,” he said softly. “Men like Crocodile always want power. And whether you believe it or not, sister, you are power. The last of the dragons, fire still in your blood.” He stepped closer, so close that she could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “He will take you, and through him, I will have the Warlord’s strength. Do you understand me?”

Y/N clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms, but she said nothing.

Her brother smirked, satisfied by her silence. He reached out and patted her cheek lightly, mockingly. “Good girl.”

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Y/N stayed where she was, her breath coming faster now as her brother’s words echoed in her ears. You are power.

“Is that all I am to you?” she muttered under her breath. “A tool to barter with?”

Her gaze drifted back to the horizon, where the last light of day had vanished completely, leaving only the dark expanse of night. Somewhere out there, Crocodile was waiting—his reasons for leaving still unknown, his intentions unreadable.

Y/N didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.

But meanwhile...

Crocodile rode in silence at the head of his column, the desert wind tugging at the edges of his coat. The dark was deep now, the stars scattered across the sky like diamonds left behind by gods too careless to keep them. His horse moved steadily across the sand, the rhythmic sound of hooves a calm counterpoint to the thoughts swirling in his mind.

He thought of her.

The girl on the steps.

Crocodile hadn’t expected much when he came to the estate. In truth, he despised these meetings—alliances forced through marriage, promises built on lies. It was all weak men’s games. Yet, he had indulged the meeting as a courtesy, as one does when one is in a position of power.

But when he’d seen her—standing there at the top of those stairs, unbowed, her form unhidden beneath the red silk—he had paused. It wasn’t beauty that had made him pause. It wasn’t disgust, either. It was her presence. She hadn’t looked afraid. She hadn’t even looked eager. She’d looked alive. Real.

And real things were dangerous.

“Sir?” A guard rode closer, his voice low. “You left without—”

“I don’t owe anyone an explanation,” Crocodile snapped, though his tone lacked venom.

The guard bowed his head, falling back into formation. Crocodile’s smirk returned faintly, though his thoughts were miles away.

Let them wonder why I left. Let that sniveling host and the ambitious brother stew in their confusion. Let the girl herself wonder. It amused him to let others guess his motives, to keep them unsteady and uncertain. That was how a man like him stayed in power.

But as the wind howled softly around him, Crocodile found himself smirking again.

There was fire in her. He could see it. Feel it.

Perhaps this game was worth playing after all.

Back at the sandstone estate, Y/N stood on her balcony as the wind carried the scent of the desert to her nose. Somewhere out there, Crocodile had left with his army, but the look he had given her lingered like a ghost.

The thought chilled her. And yet, deep in her chest, something else stirred.

He looked at me.

Not as her brother did. Not as the housewives did. Crocodile had looked at her as though she were a puzzle, something worth examining.

For better or worse, she knew he would come back.

And when he did, the rules of this game would change.

Forever.

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The air within the estate was heavy with smoke and the cloying scent of incense. It mingled with the aroma of spiced wine and roasted meat, creating a suffocating blanket that filled the halls like an omen. Somewhere deeper in the house, music played softly—a single harp plucking delicate notes, the sound eerie in its fragility.

Y/N sat alone in her chambers, perched on the edge of her bed, her gown rumpled as though it chafed against her skin. Her brother's words still echoed in her mind, cutting deeper than she'd care to admit. She tried to clear her thoughts, but the silence was an enemy in itself.

Beyond her closed door, laughter echoed faintly through the halls. The sharp, lilting voices of women mixed with the deep rumble of her brother’s drunken drawl. A chill skated down her spine. She knew where he was—what he was doing. It was a ritual for him after any perceived slight or failure: drown his anger in excess, surrounded by the finest Alabastan courtesans the host could procure.

And tonight, after Crocodile’s sudden and unexplained departure, his fury was boundless.

In the grand hall, the air was thick and stifling. Golden lamps illuminated the high ceilings, their light catching on tapestries embroidered with scenes of conquest and glory. At the center of the room, sprawled lazily across a wide cushioned divan, Y/N’s brother held court like a king among mortals.

His robes were gone, cast aside in favor of loose silk trousers that hung carelessly at his hips. His chest was bare, his pale skin glowing under the firelight as the soft, delicate hands of Alabasta’s finest women roamed across him. They coiled around him like serpents, their bodies bare and golden, the sheen of sweat and oil giving them the appearance of living statues.

One woman knelt at his side, her face pressed against his shoulder as her hands traced the sharp lines of his torso. Another curled in his lap, her fingers trailing lightly through his hair as her lips brushed against his ear. A third woman lay across the divan, her head resting on his thigh, wine dripping lazily from her lips as she smiled up at him, her eyes half-lidded.

His voice rose, sharp and angry, cutting through their laughter.

“He left.” He hissed the words like a curse, his fingers tightening painfully in the hair of the woman closest to him. She flinched slightly but didn’t dare move.

The housekeeper stood nearby, his plump hands wringing the edge of his robe nervously as sweat rolled down his brow. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes darting between the women and the furious man at the center of the room. “My lord, please. We do not yet know his reasons. Surely Lord Crocodile—”

“Don’t call him that,” Y/N’s brother snapped, his voice low but venomous. He shoved the woman in his lap aside with enough force that she gasped softly, landing on her knees beside the divan. She glanced up at him, but he paid her no mind, his dark eyes fixed solely on the housekeeper. “He’s a pirate. Nothing more. Do you understand me? A pirate with delusions of grandeur.”

“Yes, my lord.” The housekeeper bowed quickly, his round face bobbing like a buoy. “Of course.”

Her brother grabbed the crystal goblet of wine beside him and took a long, deep drink, crimson liquid spilling down his chin and onto his bare chest. He wiped it away carelessly with the back of his hand, his face twisted into a scowl.

“And yet,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, though no less dangerous, “he turned his back on me.”

The women closest to him began to inch closer again, their hands resuming their slow caresses across his chest, his arms, his neck. One ran her lips along his jawline, whispering something soft and placating into his ear. He ignored her, his gaze fixed firmly on the housekeeper.

“Explain it to me,” he continued, his tone mocking, as though he were speaking to a child. “Why would a man like Crocodile ride all this way, look at her—” He spat the word like bile. “—and then leave without a word?”

The housekeeper swallowed hard, his face pale. “I… I cannot say, my lord. Perhaps he found her unpleasing. Perhaps he…”

“Unpleasing?” Y/N’s brother laughed harshly, the sound cruel and hollow. The woman draped across his lap looked up sharply, startled by the sudden burst of noise. “You think a man like that cares about such things?”

The housekeeper hesitated, clearly unsure how to answer.

Her brother’s laughter faded, and his expression darkened. He leaned forward, brushing aside the woman kneeling in front of him as though she were little more than furniture. “There’s something else at play here,” he muttered. “Something I don’t see yet.”

He rose to his feet, the women scattering slightly as he stepped down from the divan, grabbing a silk robe and throwing it over his shoulders. His bare feet slapped against the polished marble floor as he stalked toward the housekeeper. “Send word to my spies in Rainbase,” he ordered. “I want to know everything about him—every move he makes, every whisper of his name. I’ll not be made a fool of.”

“Yes, my lord,” the housekeeper stammered, bowing deeply.

Her brother turned away, his gaze drifting toward the tall windows overlooking the dark desert beyond. The flickering lamps reflected faintly against the glass, throwing shadows of gold and red across his sharp features.

“She will fix this,” he said softly, his voice low and dangerous. “Or she will burn with the rest of them.”

The housekeeper opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp look from the lord silenced him. The man swept his robe tighter around his body, turning back toward the women who waited for him. They smiled faintly, eager to reclaim his attention, but the tension in the room had changed.

He returned to the divan, his body sinking back into its cushions. The women moved toward him again—soft hands tracing the lines of his arms, lips brushing against his neck—but his mind was elsewhere.

The wine tasted bitter now.

Y/N stood at the door of her chambers, her fingers curled around the cool brass handle. She could hear the laughter faintly, the sound of her brother’s voice spilling through the cracks like poison. She turned away sharply, retreating to the window.

The desert was silent now, save for the wind that howled faintly across the dunes. Somewhere out there, Crocodile was riding beneath the stars, his thoughts hidden behind that cruel smirk.

What do you want? she wondered silently, her gaze fixed on the endless dark.

Her brother’s words, his threats, weighed on her, but beneath the fear was something else—something sharper.

A spark of defiance.

He will not break me.

She closed her eyes, letting the wind carry her thoughts beyond the estate walls. If Crocodile did return, she would face him as herself.

As alone, no man would ever command her again.

For she, is strong.

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is Coming. Chapter One.

Warnings: Explicit content, blood, Violence, Sexual content, you know Game of Thrones stuff.

Anyways, enjoy the first chapter!!!

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The sound of cannon fire echoed faintly in the distance as the Marine base buzzed with its usual, chaotic rhythm. Shouts rang from the training grounds below, cadets barking orders to one another, boots slamming against the dirt, and the metallic clang of swords meeting in sparring duels carried on the sea breeze.

Within the tall white walls of the Marine headquarters, the air was less vibrant, heavy with the hum of bureaucracy and the quiet scrawling of pens on parchment. A world apart from the cries of training soldiers and roaring ships outside, Vice Admiral Garp sat slouched in his chair, boots propped lazily atop his broad wooden desk.

“Strength, honesty, and intelligence,” Garp said aloud, the words rumbling like stones in his chest. “Three simple things. Yet, why is it that so many men have two, but not the third?”

Across from him, Koby sat rigid in his chair. He looked as though his spine were cast in iron, hands folded neatly on his knees, his bright eyes fixed on Garp with a mixture of reverence and focus. He had already memorized every word the Vice Admiral said as if each syllable might carry him closer to greatness.

“Sir?” Koby said carefully.

Garp tilted his head back, staring at the high ceiling of his office. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting pale golden light on the room—an airy, almost peaceful space littered with old maps, rolled scrolls, and piles of half-organized documents.

“Strength makes you unstoppable,” Garp began, eyes narrowing as though seeing something far away. “A man with strength can plow through armies, lead men, conquer the seas. But strength without honesty?” He barked out a laugh, short and sharp. “That kind of man has a sword in his hand but no compass. A damn dangerous thing.”

Koby nodded, lips pressed together, clearly absorbing the lesson.

“And intelligence?” Garp waved a hand absently. “That’s the hardest to come by. Strength you can build, and honesty is a choice. But intelligence? You either have it, or you don’t. And without it…” He leaned forward, boots thudding to the floor, and jabbed a finger at Koby. “You’ll end up following someone who has all three—and trust me, that someone won’t be you.”

“Yes, sir!” Koby responded, his voice brimming with determination.

Garp leaned back with a satisfied grunt, pulling a bag of rice crackers from his drawer. “Good lad. I’ll knock it into you eventually. You’ve got the honesty down. Now you just need to toughen up and—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted him.

Garp frowned mid-chew, crumbs scattering over the papers on his desk. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. “What is it?”

The door opened just enough for a young Marine to step inside, his hat too large for his head, face flushed as though he’d sprinted up three flights of stairs. “Vice Admiral Garp, sir,” the Marine said, panting. “There’s—there’s someone here to see you. An… unexpected visitor.”

Garp cocked an eyebrow, one cracker halfway to his mouth. “Unexpected? Who the hell is it?”

The Marine gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “He didn’t give his name, sir. But… you might want to see for yourself.”

Garp exchanged a glance with Koby, who looked equally confused.

“Well?” Garp barked, rising to his full, imposing height. “Send him in!”

The Marine hesitated for a moment, then nodded and hurried back through the door. The silence that followed was thick, pressing down on the room like a weighted blanket. Garp straightened his coat, his eyes narrowing toward the entrance. He’d faced pirates, kings, and beasts who could tear apart mountains—there weren’t many who could unsettle him.

But when the door swung open, Garp’s brow furrowed deeply. He wasn’t unsettled, but he was surprised.

The man who stepped into his office was unlike anyone Garp had seen in years.

He wore no shining Marine coat, no grand cape or feathers, nor the garish clothes pirates often paraded in. His clothes were dark, the thick fur-lined cloak hanging heavy over his shoulders as though made for colder lands. Beneath it, a dark leather tunic clung to his broad frame, plain yet well-made, speaking of functionality rather than wealth. The longsword on his hip was the first thing Garp noticed—an ancient blade with a wolf’s head hilt, its steel shimmering faintly, as though it drank the sunlight.

But it was the man’s eyes that held him—the eyes of a fighter who had seen too much for his years. They were dark, brooding, and seemed to carry the weight of winter itself.

“Who the hell are you?” Garp said, his tone direct but not unkind.

The man took another step forward, his boots heavy against the polished wooden floor. He stood tall, his posture as unyielding as the blade at his side. When he spoke, his voice was low and steady, edged with a Northern accent that sounded foreign against the warm Alabastan air.

“My name is Jon Snow,” the man said simply, though his presence was anything but. “I’ve come a long way to speak with you.”

Garp crossed his arms, his grin replaced by something more serious as he studied the man before him. “Jon Snow, huh? Never heard of you. You’re not a pirate, that’s clear enough. A mercenary?”

Jon’s gaze didn’t waver. “No mercenary. I am a swordsman, Vice Admiral.”

“A swordsman?” Koby blurted out before shrinking under Garp’s sharp glance.

Jon turned his head slightly toward the young recruit, his expression softening. “Aye. One who’s learned to fight in a land where battles are won with steel and honor, not words.”

Something in the way Jon spoke made the room feel colder, the mention of his homeland painting stark images of snow-covered mountains and shadowed castles. Garp’s instincts told him this was no ordinary man.

“And what does a swordsman from far-off lands want with me?” Garp asked, sitting back down and gesturing loosely at the chair across from him. “I don’t have all day, Snow.”

Jon did not sit. He placed a hand lightly on the hilt of his sword, not as a threat but as if it were an extension of himself. “I’ve heard tales of this world—of men who claim the seas as their own, of treasures that could change kingdoms, and of pirates who bring war to lands untouched by their chaos. I’ve seen enough of war to know this: it never stops. If the seas rise, the waves will reach the Seven Nations.”

Garp frowned. “And you think I care about kingdoms I’ve never heard of?”

Jon’s jaw tightened. “No. But you care about justice.”

Garp stared at him for a long moment, the silence between them like a drawn bowstring. Finally, Garp sighed and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“You’re not here for justice, Snow,” Garp said, his tone softer now. “You’re here because you see the storm coming. And you want to be ready for it.”

Jon’s gaze met his, unflinching. “A storm unlike any this world has seen.”

Koby swallowed audibly, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on.

Garp let out a deep chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “A man of steel, honesty, and intelligence. You’re rare, Snow. But tell me this: what do you plan to do when this storm hits?”

Jon’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. “The same thing I’ve always done, Vice Admiral.” His voice was calm, but there was steel in it. “I’ll fight.”

For the first time in years, Garp felt something stir—an old fire in his chest, long buried beneath decades of war and duty. He leaned forward, a grin curling his lips once more.

“Well then, Jon Snow,” Garp said. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you claim.”

...........................................

Northern Alabasta.

The third day.

Time: Midday.

The northern Alabastan sun hung low in the sky, casting deep golden hues across the desert sands and turning the sandstone house into a jewel of pale gold and red. The vast estate was carved into the base of a rocky hill, its edges smooth and elegant, a fortress of luxury in a sea of desolation. The air was heavy with the heat of the day, though it carried a chill that whispered of dusk.

Y/N stood at the top of the stone staircase leading down to the courtyard, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She could see the dust rising far in the distance, growing closer with every second, signaling the arrival of her would-be husband. Behind her, the house’s sprawling walls loomed, their stark grandeur casting long shadows across the courtyard.

She wasn’t alone. Her cruel brother, resplendent in his finest silks and golden jewelry, stood beside her, his expression fixed into a cold, unreadable mask. He always dressed as though he were already king of something, though his kingdom amounted to little more than ruthlessness and ambition. Flanking him was the host of the house, a round-bellied nobleman with graying hair and rings stacked on every pudgy finger. He fidgeted nervously, dabbing at his sweat-slick forehead with a fine kerchief.

“Do not embarrass me,” her brother muttered, his voice low enough for only Y/N to hear.

The words were familiar, repeated to her like a mantra since childhood, yet they still cut deep, sinking into her ribs like hooks. Y/N said nothing in response. She had learned long ago that silence gave him less satisfaction.

The nobleman cleared his throat awkwardly, his gaze darting between the two siblings before returning to the approaching column of riders. The thunder of hooves grew louder now, shaking the earth beneath them as the dust cloud parted to reveal the figures at its center.

Crocodile had arrived.

He led the column of riders, seated atop a massive black horse that snorted and stamped with a power befitting its master. Crocodile’s presence was unmistakable, even at a distance. His broad shoulders were wrapped in a heavy coat that billowed slightly with the wind, the collar high and regal against his sharp jawline. A thick scar curled across his face, cruel and jagged, and in his gloved hand, the ever-present golden hook gleamed like a predator’s claw.

Behind him, an army of guards in dark desert armor rode in formation, their swords sheathed but ready, their eyes sharp beneath their veils. They moved as one—silent, disciplined, and dangerous, their presence turning the courtyard into something small and insignificant.

Crocodile brought his horse to a stop just short of the sandstone steps, the beast beneath him pawing at the ground impatiently. His single visible eye—cold and calculating—swept across the courtyard as though dissecting everything it touched. He did not dismount.

The host of the house descended a few steps, his arms spreading wide as he greeted Crocodile with loud, theatrical enthusiasm. “Ah! My lord, Crocodile!” he boomed, his voice slipping into a rich Middle English cadence. “Welcome to our humble home, mighty Warlord of the Sea!”

Crocodile didn’t respond, his brow twitching in mild irritation as the nobleman prattled on. The man’s words were a torrent of foreign sounds, ornate and archaic, flowing over Crocodile like water off rock. He caught some words—“welcome,” “home,” “lord”—but the rest of the nobleman’s theatrical greeting was lost on him. Crocodile’s eye narrowed.

What nonsense.

Behind him, his guards shifted in their saddles, their silence broken only by the occasional snort or stomp of a restless horse. Crocodile let the man talk, his face a mask of stoic disinterest, but as the nobleman gestured eagerly up the stairs, Crocodile’s attention shifted.

He glanced past the host of the house and saw her.

Y/N stood at the last step of the stone staircase, framed by the shadows of the house. Her form was heavy and solid, her presence undeniable even as her head dipped slightly to avoid his gaze. The crimson fabric of her gown spilled around her like blood, its golden embroidery catching the sunlight as though it were on fire. She was no waif, no porcelain doll sculpted for royal palaces—there was weight to her, warmth to her, something that felt strangely real against the opulent surroundings.

Crocodile’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than intended, his eye narrowing slightly as though assessing her—measuring her. A flicker of something sharp and amused ghosted across his lips.

And then, to her surprise, he smirked.

It was not a kind expression. It was a predator’s smile, sharp and confident, like a man who already knew the outcome of whatever game he had entered. It was fleeting, gone in an instant, but Y/N saw it. She felt it.

Before she could make sense of it, Crocodile turned his horse sharply. The beast reared slightly before pivoting toward the gates, hooves kicking up sand and dust as it moved.

The nobleman’s voice faltered as Crocodile’s back turned to him. “M-My lord?”

Crocodile said nothing. He spurred his horse forward, the column of guards falling into perfect formation behind him as they swept back toward the desert horizon. The thunder of their departure left a ringing silence in its wake.

Y/N remained at the last step, her expression unreadable as her brother’s face darkened with anger.

“What is the meaning of this?” her brother growled, whirling on the host of the house as though he were a hound about to tear out the man’s throat. “Why did he leave?”

The nobleman sputtered, his hands raising defensively as he stumbled over his words. “M-My lord, I do not know! I welcomed him warmly—I—I followed proper form, and yet—”

“Proper form?” her brother hissed, his voice dangerously low. “He doesn’t understand your prattling. He isn’t one of us, you fool.”

The nobleman’s face paled, sweat beading at his temples. “But… but I thought he—”

“I don’t care what you thought,” her brother snapped. His eyes flickered briefly toward Y/N, narrowing before turning away again. “This failure is your doing.”

The nobleman began to stammer something in reply, but Y/N tuned him out, her gaze drifting back to where Crocodile and his army had disappeared beyond the horizon.

Her brother’s anger, the nobleman’s groveling—none of it mattered. What mattered was that momentary look Crocodile had given her. That smirk. That calculating gaze.

What had he seen?

And more importantly—why had he left?

The sun sank lower in the sky, deepening the shadows across the estate as the wind carried away the dust Crocodile’s army had left behind. Y/N remained still at the last step of the stairs, her thoughts racing.

This was not over.

Not by a long shot.

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#one piece #fanfiction #one piece x reader #anime #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #mother of dragons #Pirates #Marines #Gold d roger #straw hat pirates #crossover #mashup #Crocodile #Jon snow #the iron throne #Fantasy

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abbythewritor · 6 months ago

Text

Winter is coming..

Prologue.

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Description:

Y/N Targaryen, the last true daughter of House Targaryen, bears the weight of her lineage on her broad shoulders. Young, fiercely determined, and often underestimated for her plus-size figure, she is forced into an unyielding marriage alliance with one of the most dangerous men across the seas: Crocodile, the ruthless warlord and cunning leader of Baroque Works. Torn from Westeros and thrust into the unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, Y/N must navigate the treacherous alliances, schemes, and monstrous forces that haunt her every step. As Crocodile’s bride, her life becomes a game of survival—earning his respect while enduring his cold indifference and manipulative tendencies. However, the fire in her blood will not be dimmed. With whispers of ancient dragons and visions of the Iron Throne calling her home, Y/N begins to embrace her Targaryen birthright, proving that dragons do not cower—they conquer.As war brews across the seas and in Westeros alike, Y/N’s journey will test her body, spirit, and mind. With Crocodile as both her captor and potential ally, she will rise through betrayal, blood, and fire to claim her destiny. Winter is coming, but fire and blood will follow.

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Author: HELLO welcome to my new one piece fan fiction! First of all, I just want to point out, I'm a One Piece fan, and a game of thrones fan, so, why not put them together!!! This story out of warning from my heart, IS NOT FOR CHILDREN OR PEOPLR UNDER THE AGE OF 18!! Game of thrones is a violent show, and combining it with One Piece, it's going to have a lot of graphic scenes like violence, a lot of nudity, love making scenes, and just, game of thrones stuff. BUT! DONT worry, there will be One Piece stuff included too, as it is a story about both shows, put together. Y/n in this story, which is you all! Is a plus size, over weight woman. I wanted to make this book to show women no matter what size you are YOU ARE STRONG! As it is exactly what this Y/n I created to be!!!!

Things to point out: One, I do not own game of thrones or One Piece, they are separate shows and owned by their creators! Y/n means your name. Y/e/c means your eye color. Y/s/c is your skin color, and Y/H/L means your hair length, and Y/H/C means your hair color!!!

Another quick update, if the text is small, I wrote this on Chat GTP for spelling and grammar, so the story would be extra good!

Alright! Without further a do! Enjoy the prologue of my newest book!

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The wind keened through the streets of Loguetown, a mournful howl carried on the salt-laden air. The execution square trembled under the weight of thousands, every voice rising, every body pressing forward as if proximity to the moment might grant them a piece of eternity.

At the center of it all stood him.

Gol D. Roger.

The Pirate King.

The platform beneath his feet was rough-hewn wood, darkened by age and the spit of rain from earlier that morning. Bound in thick iron chains, Roger stood tall, his massive chest bared to the wind. The man exuded something no noose could choke—something no death could claim. He was smiling. Not the smile of a defeated man, but one of triumph, as though he had already conquered death itself.

Beside him, Vice Admiral Garp stood like a stone monolith. His fists clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable save for the tautness around his mouth. He had begged, argued, threatened, all in hopes that Roger might leave this world quietly, without stirring the embers he knew were ready to ignite. But he should have known better.

From the crowd, a cry shattered the air.

“Where’s the treasure, Roger?”

Another voice joined it, shrill with desperation: “Tell us where it is!”

“The Seven Nations! Did you find them?” someone else screamed.

The Seven Nations—the distant lands across the seas, rumored in drunken tales among pirates and whispered over maps held together with wishful thinking. Westeros, they called it, a place where kings warred over a throne forged in fire and death. The Iron Throne—an icon, a myth—rumored to control the very earth and seas. To men who ruled the waves, such a place was an obsession. But if anyone had known its secrets, it would have been him.

The crowd swelled and surged, hands raised as if reaching for salvation. “The Iron Throne, Roger! Does it exist?”

Gol D. Roger tilted his head back, the dying sun catching the edges of his face. He turned, just slightly, to where Garp stood rigid at his side. “You’ll see,” Roger said, his voice low but carrying a weight that made Garp flinch. “This world’s far from over.”

Then he turned to the crowd, his voice booming across the square, silencing even the wails of the wind.

“You want my treasure?” he roared, his words carrying as far as the sea itself. “You can have it!”

A gasp swept through the crowd like a ripple across water, jaws slack, hands frozen mid-air.

“I left everything I own in one place!” Roger bellowed, his grin widening into something maniacal, something eternal. “Find it! The throne, the gold, all of it!”

For a moment, the crowd froze as if the world itself had stopped spinning. And then chaos erupted. Shouts and screams rang out as men pushed and shoved, their eyes wild with greed, their minds already chasing dreams they had yet to form.

Garp closed his eyes briefly, his face twisting with something too heavy for words. Damn you, Roger.

The executioner’s blade gleamed in the dying light. Roger stood tall, his chains rattling like the echoes of thunder. His grin remained. His eyes burned. And as the blade came down, the Pirate King died—but his words lived, spreading like wildfire, from the seas to the kingdoms, from the Grand Line to Westeros.

The age of pirates had begun.

The cool hands of the housewives moved over Y/N’s body, their touch efficient and dispassionate. The air in the chamber was heavy with the scent of oils and perfumes, the richness cloying against her skin. She sat on a low stool, her weight pressing into the cushioned seat, as they fastened the fabric of her gown around her.

It was Alabasta’s finest silk—a deep crimson with golden embroidery that traced the outline of dragons curling around the hem. It clung to her form as it was tied and pinned, the heavy fabric made heavier still by the way it was meant to accentuate her figure.

Y/N said nothing as the women whispered to one another. She had learned long ago that silence was her armor.

“Sit straighter,” one of them barked, nudging her spine as if she were made of clay.

She complied, but only barely. Her gaze remained fixed on the tall mirror before her. The face staring back was her own, though she barely recognized it beneath the powders and oils smeared across her cheeks, the kohl darkening her eyes. She was presentable. She was worthy. That’s what they wanted, wasn’t it?

The doors creaked open behind her. The women fell silent, their heads bowing as if to a god. She didn’t need to turn to know who had entered.

“Leave us,” her brother said, his tone clipped but soft—like silk pulled tight over a knife’s edge.

The housewives scurried from the chamber, their bare feet slapping softly against the marble. The door clicked shut, and the room fell into silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the wind outside.

Her brother stepped forward, his reflection appearing behind her in the mirror. He was tall and lean, his pale hair falling in soft waves over his shoulders. His face, angular and sharp, bore a cruel sort of beauty—a beauty that masked the rot beneath.

“You clean up well, sister,” he said softly, his tone almost kind, but Y/N had learned long ago that there was no kindness in him. Only control.

He stepped closer, his hands coming to rest lightly on her shoulders. She tensed beneath his touch, her stomach curling in on itself. He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

His fingers traced along the silk straps of her gown, tugging at them gently, one after the other. They slid from her shoulders without resistance, and the heavy gown pooled at her waist. The chill of the chamber kissed her bare skin, her full, heavy form now exposed beneath his gaze.

He didn’t speak. Instead, his fingers moved—tracing the curve of her neck, dragging softly across her collarbone, then lower, grazing the top of her breast.

“You are a Targaryen,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “Blood of dragons. Fire incarnate. To think....that this body..." his hands traced lower, caressing her plush, and pudgy waist, stopping at her hips.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, refusing to look away. Her brother’s hands were cold, the touch possessive, but she would not let him see her flinch. That would be a victory, and he did not deserve victories.

He smiled faintly, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer before withdrawing. He stepped back, leaving the air colder in his absence.

“Crocodile will arrive soon,” he said, his voice returning to its clipped, businesslike tone. “And I hope that he sees you as of I, a way back home. But." His eyes darken with seriousness and evil. " You will not embarrass me. Do you understand?”

She nodded once, her expression unreadable.

“Good.” He turned to leave, pausing at the door to glance over his shoulder. “Remember, sister—you are nothing without me.”

The door creaked shut behind him, and Y/N sat alone, her gown still pooled at her waist. She exhaled slowly, the sound breaking the silence like a shattering mirror.

For now, she was a pawn. A bargaining chip. A daughter sold to the highest bidder. But the blood in her veins whispered of dragons. And dragons, no matter how long they sleep, always rise

All she has to do.....is survive.

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abbythewritor · 1 year ago

Text

Hello! I am back, I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, I’ve been trying to fix myself mentally, and have been focusing on surviving life and just strive away from what I enjoy the most. I love writing and I can’t wait to get back into it. A new book will be published by this weekend, as I think I’ll are going to love this.

DC legends of tomorrow is a TV show I most enjoy , as the plot is that a man named rip hunter gathers a team of misfits, heroes, and villians, all working together to defeat the greater enemy which is savage. It gave me the idea to write a similar plot, but with Game/cartoon/anime characters, as well as have the idea that, the world is filled with misfits/heroes, and some people as villains, as truth be told, all of us are broken in our own way, and that’s why forgiveness is important, as well as Jesus who died in the cross, so our sins are forgiven and we can take our burdens and pain to him on the cross. So, here’s a sneak peak at what I’m going to write, and I hope you enjoy. :)

???: “Nine….a monster that was blessed with immortality, who will soon conquer the world and murder but also enslave trillions along with my wife and child. I am assembling an elite team to track down Nine throughout time, and bring him to justice. If me and my friends succeed, Al of us won’t be known as burdens or mistakes, we will be known…as legends.”

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abbythewritor · 2 years ago

Text

"Fairness" One Piece x Saitama reader twelve.

"Just a Normal girl looking for an everyday life. At least, if you call sailing across the seas with idiots with useless dreams a simple task, then you might wanna see a doctor. Seriously."

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentions of Luekimia, and heaps amount of blood and strength. It might be a little cursing, but not bad, and maybe some flirting in there, but it's mostly clean.

Other things:

-You didn't get bald due to your powers; you got bald to an extreme illness.

-You part of the straw hat crew, but others are interested in you and your power.

-Everyone that is a male is taller than you.

-Monsters from the OPM world will appear in One Piece, and I'll make some new monsters you will fight.

Enjoy the twelfth chapter everyone!!

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Man, it's been a while.

Last time we left off, I accepted to join Luffy's crew, and for the past two years, as a captain, he ordered everyone to grow strong, for two years straight.

Including me.

Yep, that's right, he trained his Haki with Rayleigh, and I trained my haki and strength with the Marine hero, Garp.

It's been interesting, as he didn't go as hard as he did with Luffy when he was a kid, but I still worked just as hard.

Every single morning, I start with a prestige workout.

10-kilometer run.

Upper body strength.

Core strength.

Lower body strength.

weight training.

Inner peace activities, Yoga, Stretching, and Balancing.

Then Garp worked on my strategy mindset, along with different defense techniques, attacks, and mind movements with chess, and other Japanese-like games that I wasn't familiar with.

He also taught me different Haki tequniques from himself, and stuff he learned from fighting Roger, who was the last king of the pirates.

At first, I was confused on why he would train a person who would become a pirate, then I realised he knew how important I was to Luffy, and wanted to make me storng so when he comes across me again, he won't hold back his strength, which I wouldn't blame him.

But, things aside, Garp also worked on combat training with me against Koby, who I formed some sort of bond with over the past two years.

The blonde didn't like me because I was a pirate, but I grew on him once the two years were coming to an end.

But, all of the harsh training and sparing, making new friends with some Marines, and people, the two years will soon come to an end, when Tomorrow I meet up with Luffy, and meet my new crew members.

It was a start of a new journey, and Journey of fun, excitement and Adventure, which was something I've been longing for forever.

Oh, and your probably wondering, what about Crocodile, buggy, and the ones who helped me and Luffy at Marineford? Well, let's say I was writing them all letters, and knew that Ivankov was training one of my crewmembers I've yet to meet yet.

All of them are doing quite well, Mister Three Joined buggies crew, while Mister One was working beside Crocodile, as they are trying to rise the ranks, to become something differemt which makes me proud.

Jimbei hasn't written back at all, which is understandable as he is a busy fishman all the time, but it makes me curious on how he is doing.

Luffy has seemed to be doing well, as he wrote back to me all rayleigh has taught him, all the jokes and fun things the two did these past two years, which made me excited to see him more and more.

Ace, however, did some training of his own, which is understandable from the Marineford incident, but he never really told me who trained him.

Either way, I'm glad he's living a fair life right now, as Pop's death is put behind everyone who fought in that war two years ago.

He told me he was doing quite well, finding hobbies to keep him busy, as well as rebuilding the Whitebeard Pirates into something more, which makes me glad his life is taking a turn for the better.

With many thoughts running through my mind, the sunset of this day was showing onto the sea, myself sitting on a grassy hill as the trees and the flowers danced with the sea brease.

You look a little different as well, grown up, as you were still Y/B/T, (Your body type.) but you looked stronger, happier, and more intelegent.

Wigs, the ones you used to wear, you got everything that could cover your bald head out of your life, as you learned that being bald, doesn't mean anything different about a person. You learned hwo to embrace yourself, and your bald head, as it is a symbol of beauty, and it shows a symbol of piece to people, just like Saitama did with his bald head-well, kind of.

As i continued to watch the beauty of the sunset in front of me, I felt a familiar presence behind, as Koby sat in the spot next to me. "It's quite beautiful isn't it?" I nod. "Yeah, I'm sure going ot miss doing this everynight....these past two years have been...." He chuckled. "Hard?" I shook my head with a smile. "No-well, yes, but I've never had to much fun in my entire life....learning new skills, eating different kinds of food that's not from my world, even making new friends." I nudge Koby, as he chuckled. "Never expected this when I was first recruited. Training with a girl who will become apart of a pirate crew who's run by Garps Grandson. Especially a girl from a different world. I say, when a mad man tells me that, I'd think their crazy, but a girl like you, with powers like yours, explaining everything that had happened, how can I not belive it?" I smile more.

"Your lucky I didn't turn on you, 'Admrial.'" He snorted. "Future, Admiral, well, that's still the plan anyway. It just makes me think how far both of us came, and it makes me wonder more how far Luffy proceeded, and how strong he became, guess you'll find out tomorrow, huh?" Sighing, I looked back at the sunset. "Yeah..." Many thoughts ran through my head, as I was quite nervous with meeting his crew, as koby could sense my uneasyness, as his head tilted. "Are you alright, Y/n? You seem to be thinking a lot lately..." I let out another sigh. "Let me ask you a question, before you joined the marines, where you ever nervous?" Koby was silent from my question for a moment, before he ssmiled. "Of course I was, all my life I was scared, but, once Garp trained me, and i've became stronger and knew what being a marine was like overall, all my nerves went away. I knew what my purpose was, to achiev the Marine Admiral title, and I know I can let my nerves get away from my goals." His words struck you in the heart, as you smiled again, your eyes then looking to the ground.

"I see...well, I guess I shouldn't be nervous then huh?" Koby chuckled. "Don't get me wrong, it's ok to be nervous when your entering a new chapter in life, but, trust me when I tell you this, the straw-hat pirates will be the nicest people you ever meet, because I know them too." My eyes widened slightly. "Ah, that's right, you told me you've encountered them a few times." He nodded. "Yes I have, and they are strong too, but now that two years have gone by, I'm curious too see how thye have grown, and how they will think of your strength, I have faith Y/n you'll fit right in, because Luffy asked you to be apart of his crew for a reason." Sighing, Koby was right, as my smily grew a lot more. Luffy didn't just ask me because I was desperate, or on the verge of death, he saw potential in me, he saw my strength physically and mentally, and he sought of it as a perfect fit. Plus he saw my loyalty to him, which a captian needs a loyal crew member in order to survive these treturous seas. "The boys right." Both of us looked to Garp, who held his usual smile, as a cookie was in his hands. Koby's eyes widened with the sight, as he got up. "Sir, are you sure your supposed to be have that?! The doctor said-“

“Bah! Screw what the doctor says; I’m grown up and can have anything I want! Besides, I earned this for training you idiots!” Garp interrupted, laughing while taking a bite of his well-deserved cookie. “Sir, with all due respect, sweets are nice to have oonce in a while, but with how old you are, having too much sugar is not the greatest idea-“ Koby got bonked “I CAN EAT THIS COOKIE IF I WANT TO IS THAT CLEAR?!” “Y-Yer sir!” Giggling from the usual antics, Garp sighed and took the final bite of his cookie while looking at me. “Nerves can be a great obstacle when sailing the seas, but trust me on this: my grandson can take your nerves away in an instant; besides all the training we did, all the battle strategies and studies I’ve shown you both, I have full faith you both will make it in this pirate world. Just remember the important tactics in the future when I’ll be chasing you down, and pray that your God will help you throuth. HAHAHAHA!”

His words made my eyes rolled. "I can achieve anything through Christ who strengthens me, so don't be surprised when I don't hold back." My smirk made him laugh more as he patted my back. "That's the spirit kid! Even if you are a pirate or a marine, a strong will and heart will always be a good power when facing tough opponents; just remember not to gloat about the positive attributes since you always have your crew on your side to back you up. Who am I kidding? I'm a marine, not a pirate. HAHAHAH!" Koby sighed. "I think you had enough cookies.." he took to bag, and Garp paused before slumping, and I giggled more. "Thank you guys…I know I'm going to be ok. I've worked hard for this; now it's time to start a new chapter in my life… I will never be more blessed to be alive right now." Turning to the two, I gave them a huge smile. "Thank you both for the best two years of my life; when we meet again, we won't consider friends or family; we'll be rivals with benefits." Koby nodded, smiling at me. "Right!" Garp put a finger to his chin. "Rivals with Benefits huh? I've never heard that before, but consider me a family Rival. Y/n, keep Luffy in check because he will need much help to get through the seas. Especially now that Ace is saved, just don't do anything reckless, alright? Don't wanna drop you off tomorrow, and something went wrong."

I nodded this time. “Of course, Sir. I’ll do my best.” Garp crossed his arms. “Now, you must know a few things when we arrive tomorrow. One, I will give you a 5-minute head start before sending my marines after you. I will give you coordinates to where Luffy’s ship would be, as Rayleigh told me. Find the ship, don’t get caught, and meet your new crew mates, understand?” I nodded again as he continued. “There will be a high chance the Kuma army will be there two, but nothing you can’t handle. Think smartly, not rashly. Therefore, I have nothing else to teach you; now get some rest; we set sail for Sabaody at dawn.” Me and I nodded again. “Yes, sir!” With that, he left, and Koby looked at me. “Are you going to be ok?” Signing, I smiled, looking at him. “Yeah, actually..”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be more than ok…”

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“Alright, listen up!” It was the next day, as the marine ship you were on was approaching the destination, as Garp was telling you the plan. I had everything ready, all packed, as my excitement grew more. “Here are the coordinates to Luffy ship; before I give you a five-minute head start, you will run into familiar people, new foes, and some idiot lowlife pirates that boast about themselves. Just focus on getting to the Sunny, with no distractions or errors, understand?” I nodded to Garp. “Yes, sir!” He grinned. “Good, now here is a month's supply of food; since I know how Luffy eats, all of this is needed-“ “DID YOU STEEL THE COOKIES FROM HERE?!” Koby snapped as Garp froze, whipping at the boy. “ONLY ONE LUFFY CAN SURVIVE!!” “YOU DID NOT TAKE ONE SIR YOU TOOK A WHOLE BOX!” “LIKE I SAID, LUFFY WILL SURVIVE NOW. SHUT UP!!” Koby got hit with Garp's fists before handing me the food bag, which I could carry easily. “Now, the coordinates should be easy for you to understand since I wrote the instruction for kindergarteners, so don’t screw up and get lost. Once we dock, immediately hop off the ship, no of that emotional goodbye stuff even though I will miss having a girl to train…” he started to get emotional and turned as Koby approached him. “DON’T CRY THEN!” He snapped as I smiled. “It’s okay; crying isn’t a sign of weakness. I’ll see you both again. The two years was just the beginning.”

Koby smiled at my words as he walked closer to me. "Of course, I'll put up a good fight next time." I smiled at his confidence as he held out a fist, but I ignored it and hugged him, and he froze. His face was red; he was shocked that I was doing this. I was getting emotional when I felt his arms wrap around me. "Be safe. Koby… don't get yourself killed.." I whispered as he hugged me tighter; I could feel his breath on my skin. "Same to you, Y/n.." Pulling away, I wiped my tears before looking to Garp, who was still crying while facing out, as I sighed. "Garp." I knelt to him and smiled. "Thank you for training me and helping me to grow stronger. The techniques you taught me will also come in handy for defense. But sometimes, when good people part ways, it's always good to cry occasionally. But don't worry, I won't think any less of your strength because you are crying. I'll be ok, and keep Luffy safe, I promise." His brows knitted together. "You better; I don't want another brat to worry for when I'm chasing me. Besides, you'll be one hell of a pirate, a strong one at that." I smile. "And it's all thanks to you. Well, I guess I should go, huh? Thank you two again. Be safe!" As my five minutes were starting, I grew excited. I bowed, grabbed my stuff, and hopped off the Marine ship, running straight ahead. As Garp and Koby watched, Bogard walked up to the two and just glanced at Garp. "You're giving her more time, aren't you.." Garp laughed. "Of course I am; she'd be considered lucky since this place is confusing; she should be just fine. EVERYONE GET READY TO PULL TO THE FRONT BAY! WE'LL CUT THEM OFF!!" A bunch of 'Yes sirs' rang through the deck as the ship went out of the dock while you, of course, were looking at the directions as you followed the numbers on the trees.

This place was unique, full of bubbles which is meant for a five year old.

Everything looked plastic, even though it wasn’t, as you took a chance to take in the scenery, grasped the food bag and stuff, and adjusted it on your back.

Many people were here, and it was pretty lively with different people. The more I got closer to town, the more excited I felt.

Continuing to run, I tried my best to avoid many people and not make a big scene, as marines were already around the area, but they were probably not under Garp's command.

Making sure not to be seen, I kept a low profile as my posture was normal, my head was down, and my excitement was high.

It was not just excitement running high through me; it was also nervous because I hadn't seen Luffy in two years, let alone met his whole crew, and I heard rumors that they were just as strong as him.

Garp informed me of their names, as they all sounded unique, and I couldn't wait to meet them.

Roronoa Zoro: The fearsome swordsman.

Nami: Cat Burglar or Navigator

Nico Robin: the famous archeologist.

Chopper: The doctor.

Vinsmoke Sanji: The Cook.

Franky: The Shipwright

Brook: The musician

Usopp: The fearless sniper.

All of their titles seemed unique and different, and it made me even more nervous to meet them, as I didn't know where my strength and title stood against them, but I hope I get along with everyone.

As I kept running and running, I arrived at a green-hilled pasture, as more bubbles from this island were formed, until...I saw him.

That's right. I saw Luffy's big backpack on his back as he was in front of Rayleigh, who had trained him for the past two years.

Behind him were two handsome men: a tall, muscular, green-haired guy with a slash on his left eye and the other male beside him, who was blonde, elegant, and had a black go-tee.

"Huh, those two men must be a part of his crew.." I stated as I continued running that way, but as I was heading to them, the Marines yelled to stop Luffy and the two men as they were about to attack.

My eyes widened, and my teeth gritted as I jumped before the three. When I got close enough, my cloak blew in the wind as my fist went back. "NORMAL SPREAD PUNCH!" I yelled, Slamming my fist on the floor as all the marines that were in front of the three suddenly scattered in a large explosion.

The ground rumbled, and the leftover marines' eyes widened as they couldn't believe how much power suddenly occurred.

Dust arose, the chaos in front of Luffy, and the two men widened their eyes as my Silhouette was shown, making Luffy's lips form a bright smile.

"You're an Idiot, Luffy....for not having your guard up all the time.." I stated, a smile curling on my lips as I was revealed.

The marine's eyes widened more when they saw me, as some of them backed away with fear.

"I-It's Y/n L/N's..! The powerful girl that saved Fire Fist Ace years ago!"

"W-Why is she here?! Rumors said she joined a pirate crew; wait, don't tell me.."

"Stop her from helping the Strawhats escape!!!"

Luffy couldn't stop smiling. "Y/n!!! Is that really you?! Wow!! You look so different! HAHA!" Luffy hugged me, and his laughter brought warmth into my ears as I laughed, too, hugging him back. The blonde Male had hearts in his eyes and was waving his arms. "Wah! A pretty lady!!!" I blushed, flattered by the blonde's comment, as the green-haired male stepped forward, grabbing onto his sword handle. "Luffy, you know this girl?"

Luffy smiled, letting go of me as he began to pat my back repeatedly. "It's Y/n! I forgot you all haven't met her yet! She is a part of our crew!" Both of the men froze, as I smiled nervously, and I waved. "H-Hi...I heard a lot about you both...Garp has told me a lot of information...your Zoro and Sanji right?"

The two's eyes widened as Sanji's eyes turned into hearts, his nose bleeding a little. "She knows my name!!" Zoro stepped forward, a little shocked. "Yeah, those are our names... you said Garp told you information about us..which means you were with the Marines?"

Laughing nervously, I scratched the back of my head. "Well, I wasn't a part of the Marines; I just gotta taste what it was like for the past two years. Garp trained me, actually." Sanji paused his simpering as his and Zoro's eyes widened. "Wait, really, Garp trained you?" Sanji asked. "I'm surprised," Zoro added, then continued. "Being the hero of the Marines, I would expect the least of him to train someone who's part of a pirate crew. Well..it's nice to meet you, Y/n gotta admit, you're strong, but are you worth enough to fight alongside Luffy..?" Zoro's calm question caught me by surprise, but I wasn't hesitant when I firmly nodded my head to him before speaking."Luffy has a strong heart and a great dream. People like him deserve Fairness and to achieve his goals and actions in life. Two years ago, I fought alongside him to Save Ace. I won't stop fighting with him until he becomes pirate King. For the world to know even the lowest of people who are pirates or Marines or even just regular people, all deserve Fairness and to live in a world where they won't be bored but have a sense of fun and adventure." My words struck Zoro somehow, as he could see the determination, loyalty, and Kindness in my eyes. He didn't know who I was or what Luffy had brought to the table, but he knew I was loyal to Luffy, making his lips curl into a small smile as I saw his hand go out to me. "Well then, that settles things...dI like you Y/n.....Welcome to the crew..." My heart fluttered as I looked up at him before smiling, as my hand firmly grasped in his. "Thank you both!"

"You kids better go; I'm sure more Marines will be coming this way." A familiar voice spoke, and we all turned to see Rayleigh as I smiled at him. "Rayleigh!" He smiled down at me calmly, his tall form towering over me. Even though his age had seen better days, his looks never failed him, as he was as handsome as ever. "Hello there, Y/n-san; I must say, Garp trained you well. Did you lose weight?" I smiled more at his question as I nodded. "I did! I've never felt better about myself, and I have your Grandpa to thank for that, Luffy." Luffy laughed, holding his stomach with a smile as Rayleigh chuckled.

"Well, I'm proud of you, Y/n; you look good... perfect. Be who you want to be...don't let anyone else tell you who you are, because if you let them..well.." His hand reached out, gently popping a bubble about to land on my nose as my cheeks rose in color, and his smile continued to show the more he looked at me. "Your life won't be as bright as it is now...you don't want that, do you, Y/n?" My heart continued to beat rapidly; I felt like I was going to explode as my head quickly shook, which made him smile more, his hand going onto my head. "Good girl...because bright people like you deserve fairness, just remember that. I want to keep seeing your Kindness when you rise with Luffy on the Grandline; just don't forget to Visit this Old Geezer occasionally, ok? Can you Promise me that?" Nodding from his question, my eyes met his again. "Of course, I'll visit you, Rayleigh; that is a definite promise, right Luffy?" Luffy nodded also. "Yes! That's right! You are not alone anymore, Rayleigh! Your family to us now!" When Luffy smiled, Rayleigh got emotional as he wiped his eyes. "Family huh? I quite like the sound of that...you all better be careful...the Grandline is even more dangerous than ever, so remember to always keep guard and protect each other...you four better head to the Sunny; I'll take care of the Marines here.." Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and I all nodded with Rayleigh's words, as we turned, and started running, heading to Luffy's ship.

Before the Marines could attack us more, Rayleigh fended them off, serving no match against him.

As the four of us ran, heading in the right direction, Luffy smiled brightly beside me. "We have so much to catch up on!" I nodded to his question. "Indeed we do. Luffy." As Luffy smiled brightly again from my agreement, a large shadow cast over the four of us as we paused to see a Giant bird, which widened my eyes.

But, before we could be hesitant, a familiar voice spoke, and we saw the familiar Doctor, known as Chopper, waving and Yelling to Zoro, Sanji, and Luffy.

"Chopper!" Luffy yelled, smiling more as the bird landed. My eyes sparkled when looking at the Reindeer, as he was so cute when he tackled Luffy into a hug, and Zoro and Sanji, the four of their laughter, warmed my heart.

As Chopper looked at Luffy, he looked at the bird. "Everyone is waiting for you, Luffy, at the Sunny!" Luffy's eyes widened. "Robin, Brook, Nami, Usopp, and Franky are there already?! Well, we can't keep them waiting! Zoro, Sanji, Y/n, let's get on the bird and hurry!"

The three of us nodded, soon getting on the bird, which took off, as Chopper directed it to the right path while it flew high in the sky.

I couldn't help but be in awe with the View of this island, as it was pretty beautiful. It was peaceful, flying so high in the sky as I closed my eyes, enjoying the calm wind hitting my skin. The bird continued to head to the Sunny until Luffy saw his ship in his eyes and smiled again. "There it is! OI! GUYS!! EVERYONE!!" He yelled as I looked down at him, and the other members of his crew smiled more, too, getting up from their spots and running to the edge of the boat, greeting him back with the same amount of kindness.

I noticed some of them crying, and it made my heart warm when the bird got closer.

But, then suddenly, a pool of blood came out of Sanji's nose as he flew off the ship, and my eyes widened with shock as the chopper yelled for him as he fell into the water.

Zoro wasn't bothered to get him, as it was customary for his nose to bleed like this; I was just concerned for Sanji as the bird was close enough to Sunny, allowing me, Luffy, chopper, and Zoro to hop on, as Chopper thanked the bird.

As the bird flew away, Usopp cried for Chopper to stop Sanji's nose from bleeding, as Zoro simply walked past, and I looked amongst the Chaos, not knowing what to do as Luffy was too busy admiring Franky's new form. "Excuse me." A voice spoke as I turned to Robin, who looked at me curiously as her tallness towered over me.

"Are you the new crewmember Rayleigh spoke of?" My posture was fixed as soon as she asked that, and I nodded. "Y-Yes, my name is Y/n; it's nice to meet you." My answer piqued Nami's interest. "Oh, so your Y/n! You helped Luffy save Ace!! I'm Nami! It's nice to meet you!" She offered me her hand, and I smiled and shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Nami. Luffy told me so much about you." My statement made her sigh. "I'm sorry if Luffy has caused you trouble. He's a good captain but can be a handful sometimes." I giggled at her statement. "Ah, not Luffy is fine, he's not a handful I promise-" I paused when a Skeleton, or Brook, approached me as he bowed like a gentleman.

"Hello there, beautiful Lady! My name is Brook! I do have one question, if you don't mind me asking." I smiled up at him. "Ok, sure, go ahead." He coughed in his handkerchief before he leaned down to me more. "May I see your panties?" My face fumed red before Nami suddenly bonked his head instantly. "STOP ASKING TO SEE WOMANS PANTIES! YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE HER UNCOMFORTABLE!" she snapped; I was shocked by the sudden outburst but then snorted when holding my mouth as this situation was quite funny. "Don't mind, Brook." I turned to look up at Franky, who had a smile on his face.

"He asks that question to every woman, so don't feel a bit embarrassed; the name's Franky and I gotta say, when I heard Luffy asked a girl like you to join our crew, I didn't believe you'd be this cute." His compliment made my face flush more as Nami's head whipped to him. "Don't add gas to the fire, Franky!" Franky shrugged. "What? It's the truth. Besides, I don't think she's too bothered by it, right?" His wink made me giggle as I nodded. "You're right about that. Say, Franky, I think you're pretty cool; I knew of a Cyborg once." His eyes widened. "Really? What was he like? Strong, tall, handsome?" Watching him smirk, I smile. "He was all three of that thing; sadly, he died when fighting a monster, but he still lives in my heart!" Franky's facial expression changed slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that; you have my respect, Y/n. He must have been a true good friend." I don't remember Genos, but he seemed to be a good friend of Saitama as I nodded with Frankie's command. "Yeah, he sure was.." I looked around before my eyes landed on Usopp and Chopper chatting with Luffy. "And you two must be Chopper and Usopp, correct?" The two pauses when turning to me, as Usopp nodded confidentially, his lips forming a grip. "That's right! I'm Usopp the Great, The most feared sniper of Luffy's crew!" My eyes sparkled with curiosity as I smiled. "That's so cool! So you shoot guns and stuff?!" He smiled nervously at my comment. "Well, not just guns; I can shoot lots of stuff and also make throwables to aid me in a fight, I know; hold your applause; it's awesome..." I smiled more, impressed with his Skill, as Nami glared at him. "We all know you are just being greedy now.." She growled as Usopp froze suddenly before laughing nervously. "I'm a pirate; what do you expect, Nami-"

"Oi, everyone heads up," Zoro spoke, as suddenly a Cannonball flew by Sunny, almost hitting it as it alerted everyone else.

Usopp and I ran over to the ship railing, looking more serious as we looked towards the Marine ships. "Oh no! When did they get here?!" Usopp asked as I glanced that way, as there were about three Navy ships. "It seems there are three Navy ships that way," I stated, as more Cannon balls barely missed the Sunny as I turned to Luffy. "Luffy, should we get rid of them?" But, before he could answer, more Cannonballs flew, heading straight for the ship this time, as the crew prepared to deflect them until pink-like arrows took them down, which alerted us to look at a familiar ship, Boa Hancock's ship.

Smiling, Robin walked up beside us; her face was blank. "That's Kuja's logo." Nami turned to her, confused. "Kuja?" "They're strong Amazonian pirates led by a pirate empress, Warlord." Robin's words shocked Usopp. "A Warlord?!!" Robin turned to him. "Her name is Boa Hancock. They say anyone who sees her will be attracted by her beauty." Brook stood on the other side of me, looking through the scope, as his face turned to shock, pink hinting at his bony facial structure. "Oh, too bright! She is dazzling!" He almost stumbled backward, as I giggled while Usopp caught the scope, looking as well as his mouth nearly dropped to the floor. "Wow! She must be a goddess!" His words widened Sanji's eyes as he hopped up from the floor, bolting to Usopp as he looked. "Goddess? Goddess! Let me see, let me see, where is she-" He paused when he saw her, turned into stone, and I Usopps eyes widened. "He turned into stone!" We both shouted with shock as Luffy came up behind us. "Oh, that's Hancock and the others!" He spoke as Usopp looked at him, as well as Brook and Sanji.

Boa turned her head to look at the sunny, as she saw me smiling which warmed her heart before she winked at me, which made my cheeks rise in color as Brook almost had a heart attack when he flung back.

"She helped us," Luffy spoke. "Let's set sail now!" he ordered, as Nami questioned if he knew her, as he nodded. "Yeah, I was sent to Maiden Island and I became friends with them. They helped Y/n too in keeping her in their country to recover her injuries." He stated as Usopp looked back at Boa's ship. " So that's the legendary female-only island, right? They definitely live up to their name." I nodded with his question before Sanji came up behind Luffy, a dark aura behind him. "Luffy..you were friends with the pirate empress?! HEY! WERE YOU REALLY TRAINING HARD?!" Sanji asked, tears of remorse coming from his eyes as Luffy smiled nervously at him. "Yes, Sanji, I really did train." Sanji slumped, going on all fours as he was crying more, I was then beside him, patting his back. "It's ok Sanji-kun, at least theirs other empresses out there in the sea..." He sobbed more, and my eyes widened as I felt like I made it worse as Zoro walked past, with a blank face. "Ignore his cries, he's grown more than an Idiot since two years ago." Sanji whipped to his feet. "SHUT UP MOSS HEAD!"

Nami sighed, as she spoke up before the two started fighting again. "Okay, let's get ready to set sail now!"

Everyone agreed, as no more marines were attacking us or stopping us from leaving, as a Marine ship was in my view, I saw Garp, Bogard, and Koby, and I smiled at them; waving. "GARP!! KOBY!!! BOGARD!!! THANK YOU FOR THE BEST TWO YEARS OF MY LIFE!!!" I yelled, catching the straw hat's attention, as Usopp and Chopper's eyes widened with fear when seeing Garp's ship.

But, Luffy told the crew not to attack, as everyone saw the tears brimming on Garp and Koby, while Bogard just smirked, as they stated their goodbyes, as it was an emotional moment.

Tears brimmed my eyes also, as the thousand Sunny continued to pull out of port, The three marines stayed until the Sunny's ship was out of sight. But, as the Sunny was sailing across the sea, a bubble roof was formed from the stuff coating the ship, as me, and everyone else's eyes widened as Nami spoke up again.

"Listen up everyone." She opened a paper. "A coated ship can reduce any kind of pressure. So once the floating bag at the ship's bottom which keeps it on the surface has been removed, it'll be less buoyant and start to sink."

"I see." Luffy, Zoro, and I spoke as Nami smiled. "Pretty easy to understand, right? Anyway, spread the sail now!"

Everyone nodded with the agreement as the straw hats, and I prepared to set sail.

Garp was right; Luffy and his crew weren't so bad, as from that day forward, I had a pretty good feeling about the future...as I will not stop fighting along side Luffy until.....

He becomes king of the pirates...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author: I AM SO SORRY, IT HAS BEEN A WHILE!!!

Author: You're probably wondering where I went, so I'll tell you! I have been away fixing myself and my mental health. Many things in my personal life have been going on, and I needed a break from activities to help aid myself and refresh my life.

Author: But now, after very long months and days, I'm finally back to writing. I am sorry if this chapter is a bit boring, but I promise there will be more exciting chapters in the future!

Author: Anyways, I am sorry again for being away so long. More chapters of this book will be published before Christmas, and the New Year, so I hope everyone is having a good last month of the year! Happy Holidays, and have a good day, everyone!

Bye lovelies!!!

76 notes · View notes

abbythewritor · 2 years ago

Text

"Fairness." One Piece x Saitama reader, eleven.

"Just a Normal girl looking for an everyday life. At least, if you call sailing across the seas with idiots with useless dreams a simple task, then you might wanna see a doctor. Seriously."

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentions of Luekimia, and heaps amount of blood and strength. It might be a little cursing, but not bad, and maybe some flirting in there, but it's mostly clean.

Other things:

-You didn't get bald due to your powers; you got bald to an extreme illness.

-You part of the straw hat crew, but others are interested in you and your power.

-Everyone that is a male is taller than you.

-Monsters from the OPM world will appear in One Piece, and I'll make some new monsters you will fight.

Enjoy the eleventh chapter everyone :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"BIG SIS!!!!"

Well, we made it to Hancocks ship, as two beautiful women, and more women, hopped off her ship, onto the heart pirates ship, as they happily greeted her thankful she returned safely.

While that was happening, Ivankov and her crew were about to leave, as she trusted Jimbei, Ace, and Luffy to stick with me, as well as Crocodile. "Now! I trust you four with her, you all don't mind if I leave things to you?!" Her question made Jimbei nod. "No...it is fine. I can't swim yet anyway. The least I can do is stay here until she gets well." Crocodile nodded in agreement, leaning against the rail. "I owe her a favor..." Ace smiled. "Same here! She saved my life, I need to thank her in person." Luffy chuckled. "She needs to Join my crew!" The three looked to her, as crocodile scoffed. "What makes you think she'd join you, brat...?" Luffy whipped to him. "BECAUSE SHE'S MY FRIEND THAT'S WHY!" Crocodile cringed. "That's not how you belive she'd join you, just because she's your friend." "SHUT UP LEATHER PURSE! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!" "What did you call me?!" "You heard me!! She will join my crew!!!" Ivankov chuckled at the sight of the two arguing, as Ace crossed his arms. "That's my brother for you, though, I won't go against him though, Y/n-san is pretty powerful, she seems fit for Luffy's crew." Jimbei nodded. "Indeed, it's going to be interesting how things play out. Ivankov...Ace....since we all were locked in the most brutal prison in the world...without her, all of us wouldn't have met each other....or to Save you.." Ace chuckled, as Ivankov smiled. "Your quite right, Jimbie, both of us tried our best to keep up with Luffy and Y/n-girl at Marineford, didn't we? It's hard to say goodbye to you both..but I have sweet candies waiting for me to come back to the kingdom....." She started to tear up. "Please take good care of Y/n-girl!!" Jimbei nodded, as well as Ace, accepting her plea, as the Marine ship sale went down, as Ivankov crew setted sail, as both parties said their goodbyes, the others headed to the Miaden Island, Amazon lilly which was home to Boa, the female only empire where men are prohibited.

Theirs also tribes of femal fighters that lives there as well, known as Kuja, as the ship aproached two large doors, which opened.

Behind it, many females living on the island greeted the snake princes back home.

Others were hesitant as they saw men on the ship, but stopped when they met Luffy, as Boa told them they were not the enemy. "A female who battled with Luffy is on that ship! She suffered greatly, mentally, and physically during the battle at Marineford, and she's hanging between life and death now." The females eyes widened with her statement as she turned to them. "Ladies, Carry Y/n to the Kuja Castle as soon as possible!" "Hold on Hancock!!!" She paused when looking to an older lady. "It's fine if it's just the lady. But we can't allow those men on that strange ship to step foot onto the Maiden Island. It's against our country's policy!" Her words made Boa's brows furrow. "Then at least let the doctor on to help her-" "No!" The granny interupted. "We can't allow any men to come onto the island, even if he is a doctor! We have so many good doctors on this island!" She spoke, as Law leaned against his ship wall, holding a blank face. "Well, I don't care either way, but..do you have the same medical equipmen and technology as my ship?" He asked, glaring to the old lady, who was iritated with his statement, which was true as he continued. "If her wounds open up, she is going to die.." He stated, Hancocks eyes widened as a smirk formed onto his lips. "Take her, if you don't care about it." He finsihed, as Jimbei stepped forwards. "It's obvious that we can't save Y/n-san without this man. If he can't come in, we have no choice. We must go somewhere else." He spoke, as Boa clenched her fists. "Impossible! We'd be attacked by the Sea Kings! Even if we get awa from them, the Navy could find us at anytime!" The granny sighed. "Oh well...we only do it as an exception but...you can stay in the area of th bay. The Sea Kings won't attack you there." Everyone was greatful for her kindeness, as the submarine took action to that area, the ladies of the island wishing my health will go well.

Though, with all the waiting and time, two weeks have passed, as I was still not awake, as Law had been treating me, while Ace, Crocodile, and Luffy never left, as everyone stayed at the bay side.

"How much longer do we have to stay in such a small space..." Someone spoke. "Yeah, the only thing to look forward to is...-"

"Guys! Sorry to keep you waiting! It's meal time!" The polar bear, and the three men who were playing cards smiled, as the women working with Boa brought baskets of food, veggies, and stuff to eat.

Luffy's eyes had stars, drool escaping his mouth, as Ace chuckled, a smile onto his face. "Guess we don't have to worry about starving anymore." Crocodile took a cigar out of his mouth. "We wouldn't starve anyway if we hadn't stayed here.."

Everyone started to get food, as Law and crocodile weren't hungry, a sboth of them were leaning against the tree, as a blonde women walked up to them. "Excuse me.." Law looked up at her. "Is she awake..yet?" His head shook. "I see." she spoke. "It's up to Y/n-ya's spirit." Law spoke, looking up at her. "Whether she's willing to live or not." He finished, leaving thoughts in her head, as one of her allies called her, as she left to go help.

But, as things were starting to calm down, my eyes shot open, rememebring the events of whitebead getting shot down by black beard, as well as Akainu trying to hurt ace and Luffy, Mihawk fighitng me, as well as the dead bodies of pirates caused by mariens.

All of those memories flooded in my head, sweat dripping from my forhead.

I looked down, seeing wires hooked up to me, just like when I was little as it brought tragic memories, as my breaths started to quicken.

The wires...the postion...the saem feeling long ago...I didn't like it...I didn't like it at all...I needed to get out of her...

I let out a painful scream, ripping the wires off of me as it alerted people outside, as the gorund then rumbled, an explosion happening inside the ship.

Smoke arose in the medical area, some of Laws crew, trying to get me to lay back down as I slowly walked passed them. "Lady! Lay back down! Unless you want to drestroy the ship!!" My breaths were heavy, my head simply turning as my blank, emotionless eyes looked to them, which sended shivers down their spines. "P-Pops..." I mumbled...remembering whitebeards death clearly, as outside, Ace, Law, and Jimbei ran forwards to the ship, before the roof of the submarine broke open, as I came out of it, landing behind them harshly, the ground shaking.

This shocked everyone, even crocodile, who looked at me with wide eyes, mixed with worry, as I tried to sit back up, but I still was in utter pain, my hands gripping the grass below me, my nails digging into the dirt.

"P-Pops..." I brokenly spoke...my eyes white, as I repeated it multiple times. Ace, underatnding how I felt as he took a step forwards, his face lined with remorse and sadness for me, until he saw me sat up, looking to the sky. "WHERE IS WHITEBEARD?!" I screamed, worry, sadness, and anger hitting my voice.

Tears were streaming down my face, as I started to bolt, looking for the man to see if he was alright, as I was unable to save him back at marineford.

But, to my knowledge, he was dead, as Luffy and lawd crew were trying to stop me, as Law, Ace, Jimbei, and Crocodile were sitting in a circle, just watching. "What happens if we leave her like this..?" Jimbei asked, as Lawy sighed. "It's simple. Like I said when we got here, if her wounds open up, she will die." Crocodile scoffed. "Easy for you to say when she has the energy of the rubber brat...." The four looked to me, tripping on a rock, as the crew and Luffy saw the chance to hold me down, as I struggled with their grip. "Let me go!! I need to get to the old man! He needs medical attention!" I screamed, Luffy still trying to hold me down. "Y/n-san! Please calm down!" "NO! Let me go Luffy!" I yelled, as the crew still were trying to hold me down. "Shut up! I'm looking for pops!" I yelled, as one of Laws crew members spoke. "I told you that White beard is-" "I SAID.." All of them scattered, even Luffy as I threw them off of me. "LET ME GO!" I bolted from them, as I headed more deep in the forest, as I wanted to look for whtiebeard, as Crocodile got up from his spot, before Ace stopped him. "Let me talk to her..." Crocodile glared down at him. "Why should I let you to that...?" Ace looked to the warlord. "Because her and I lost the same person we care about..." Crocodile understood, as he couldn't argue with his comment, as he simply sat back down, as Ace walked in the direction I was heading, as his ears could hear the trees getting destroyed by my anger.

My fists were bleeding, my breaths broken and raspy, my eyes shaking as I looked straight at the ground, but I realised, that I wasn't at marineford when I noticed the grass, as I looked up to brids flying over my head, and the blue sky. "W-Where am I?" I asked, wondering if it was all a dream...as I kept looking at the sky, as my memoires were still coming back to me, as whitebeard did die of black beards hands, as well as many other pirates dying by the head of marines, even a giant Orc that Ace cared about.

All the information made me clutch the sides of my face, my knees giving out as I started to whale, and cry, now knowing that whitebeard is truly dead.

Ace saw this, as he rushed, his eyes widened, as he caught me in his arms, his knees hitting the grass as all he could do was wrapp his arms around me as I cried.

"Y/n...." He spoke...as with all my pent up emoitions inside of me...I just cried into him, not wanting to even speak at all.

"The war is over.." He whispered. "Pops is..." "DON'T SAY THAT!" I snapped, my face looking up to him, as my eyes were red and puffy, which made his heart hurt. "Don't say anything!" I pleaded. "I already pinched myself hard enough to rip my skin! If it were a dream, I should've woken by now!" I continued, Ace's eyebrows furrowing more, as he listened to me, as closed my eyes, looking down. "I-It's not a dream, isn't it...? I-I wasn't able to....." Ace's grip on me tightened, his teeth gritting with sadnes as slight tears escaped his eyes as well. "Y-Yes...Cutie....p-pops...is dead.." His truthful words struck my heart harshly more, as tears continued to poor, as I clutched onto him more and more.

I stayed like that for a couple of minutes, Ace crying with me as well, as he knew whitebeard basically his whole life, as he understood how I was feeling. "I...I coudln't save him...I-I-I was suppose to be a hero...a hero w-who brings fairness to everyone...b-but I couldn't save h-him...I-I-I'm so weak...!" I sobbed, my confession making Ace's eyes widened with shock, as his grip around me tightened more, as he brought me even closert to him. "Cutie..." "A-Ace...p-please leave me be...! Go to the others..!" He sighed with my request. "I can't..I can't just watch you hurt yourself anymore..." My face grew frustraited as I looked up at him. "It's my body! Why does it matter to you-" "Then you can't blame Whitebeard for doing what he did! It wasn't your fault that he was Killed, he was killed by teaches hands! His death was nothing of your buisness!" My teeth gritted, as I gripped his shoulders.

"Shut up! It was fully my buisness! I was fighting in that War as well, and I promised him that he and I will both save you together, with no death's at all!" He cupped my face. "That's a stupid promise Y/n!" He gently spoke. "War isn't kittens and rainbows, you can't expect evberyone to live! That's not how life works! Someone had to make a sacrafice, somepeople had to die...! I know ho wyour feeling, I know what your goign through because Pops was an actually father to me!" His confession made my teeth grit, as I closed my eyes. "So don't you dare say it's your fault he died, because me and I both know it wasn't, it was supposed to be me who was supposed to die, not him!" My eyes shot open with his statement, as I looked to him with furrowed eyebrows. "A-Ace-" "It's true! I was meant to be executed! But, now do you see!? Things are more clear for you now, you belvied that you can bring fairness to everyone, that you could overcome anything just like Luffy. Althoguht you never doubted your strength, you still had a kind heart for people, no matter if marines or pirates! But all those formidable enemies you faced, all of those words from Blackbeard, your confidence was slipped away, all because your motion was to become the greatest hero, which was your guid to life!" His words made my fist clench, as he whipped some continuing falling tears from my eyes, as his forhead leaned gently against my own. "I know you have lost a lot...and the toughest enemies in the world blocked your way time after time...but you'll never find your true self like this...if your lost in full regret and guilt.....I know that it's painful now, Cutie, but you have to bottle up those feelings! Don't just think about the ones you've lost, when you can make new memoroeis with new people you have met!" My eyes widened from his words, as my body stopped, realisation hit me as I rememebred Luffy's words back on that Marine ship.

"Well if you decided to stay, wanna join my crew?" I gasped, before standing up. "L-Luffy!" More tears pooled out of my eyes, as I still had my answer to tell him.

I finally understand what I want to do in my life, as all of the past that happened to me, the war, my cancer, Saitama and pops death...everything that could bring me back down...didn't matter, as new doors were opened for me, as I had an oppourtunity to grow.

Looking up at Ace, I clutched to him again. "W-Were's Luffy?! I-I need to see him, I need to give him an answer, I-I-" Ace smiled, knowing what I'm talking about as his hand reached out to me. Without hesitation, I grabbed it as he helped me to my feet. Hugging him, my eyes closed “Thank you…” I whispered, as he hugged me back. “Of course… let’s get back to everyone else..” nodding we headed back as quickly as possible as my eyes looked to the sky, slightly smiling as I finally knew the truth.

Even through the hard times, with white-beards death, Saitama…my cancer…and life in general…I gave to push forwards, forget about the past and grow stronger and better mentally.

Because even though I was trapped and corrupted, now I found people who freed me, and will never leave my side…and I must do the same, even if I don’t leave this world.

As everyone near the ship was talking, Luffy saw me and Ace instantly, as he hopped up, smiling and running to me. “Y/n!” I smiled to, leaving Ace and running to him as well. “Luffy!” We both hugged each other, his arms going around my waist as he spin me around. Hugging me more, his hands grasped the side of my face as his forehead leaned against mine. “Your ok..your really ok..I was so worried you’d hurt yourself...or something worse..” He told me, as his voice was slightly cracked. I gently smiled, and adjusted his hat. “How could I let myself go down when I need to join your crew?” He was confused with your words at first, not believing them as his eyes widened. “C-Come again?” I giggled from his words” The whole time we were at marine ford..when you asked me that question on that marine ship, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I realized when I was kicking the shit out of those trees, I might not be able to go back to my world and to be honest, I don’t ever want to go back….this world here, I’ve never experienced so much excitement in my life. I can fight things without killing it with one punch, I-I can fit in as this world doesn’t care about what others look like, I have already made so many friends…” I look to everyone, as they all looked to me, as I looked back at Luffy, smiling more. “Even you…you’ve been by my side since stout saved me from that Jail, you never judge of what I do, say or how I fight, you know how to get a problem done and fix it, and you care for others. In my eyes, that is a wonderful captain who’s crew I’d love to join…” he smiled from my words, his heart racing as he let out a shaky sigh, as he didn’t know what to say at all. “I-I- Y/n-San you don’t know how much that means to me…you’d be a great fit for my crew, and I don’t care if your weak, tall, tiny, fat, skinny, with hair, or bald, I just know that I want to give you the same fairness as you did to me…and also give you the adventures, excitement, and fun you wanted your whole life because no person deserves to go through what you’ve been through. So yes, you are now apart of my crew, and I promise Y/n, I will not fail you as a friend, and as a captain…”

Smiling, I gently grasped his hands, as I looked straight into Luffy’s eyes. “I know Luffy….”

Leaning my forehead against his, my eyes closed as the wind blew on us both, creating a calm atmosphere.

“I have pure faith in you…”

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Author: YAY! Back to back upload!

Author: things are heating up! I wonder what life for Y/n will be in the future! Only one way to find out!

Author: I hope you enjoyed todays chapter! And This is the final chapter of the Marine ford arch, and the book is only just getting started!

Author: please don’t forget about the fan art contest! The pictures you send me will be judged by the end of October! The winner will get to decide a special chapter of their request for me to write!! Anyways, I have work to do still so I will see you all later!!

Author: BYE LOVELIES!!

47 notes · View notes

abbythewritor · 2 years ago

Text

"Fairness" One Piece x Saitama reader, Ten.

"Just a Normal girl looking for an everyday life. At least, if you call sailing across the seas with idiots with useless dreams a simple task, then you might wanna see a doctor. Seriously."

Warnings: Blood, gore, mentions of Luekimia, and heaps amount of blood and strength. It might be a little cursing, but not bad, and maybe some flirting in there, but it's mostly clean.

Other things:

-You didn't get bald due to your powers; you got bald to an extreme illness.

-You part of the straw hat crew, but others are interested in you and your power.

-Everyone that is a male is taller than you.

-Monsters from the OPM world will appear in One Piece, and I'll make some new monsters you will fight.

Warning: It will be a long chapter today. :)

Enjoy the tenth chapter everyone! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I've never expected you to be this strong... Cutie!!"

An explosion, after your Haki was formed, as a Tunnel of fire was formed.

Your Haki was able to break Ace's chains, as he was now free, smiling, holding onto your waist.

"You are also stubborn, I guess I'm not surprised since you've been with my brother most of the day!" As he gripped your waist more, he picked you up in his arms, bridal style, before zooming off the platform, going through the tunnel of fire as we heard cheers from the pirates below, shocked faces of Whitebeard, Admrials, and Warlords were shown as Ivankov was crying. "S-She's something else!!" she sobbed, as Luffy was awake slightly, smiling, as some tears strolled down his face. "A-Ace...." he spoke, finally relieved that he was free, as the blonde boy that was with Koby screamed with disbelief. "AHH! THAT IDIOT GIRL DID IT! SHE FREED ACE!!" Koby was smiling, himself now knowing who I truly was, as I was super cool in his eyes as he didn't say anything.

The marines below were getting ready to fire their cannons at us, as he looked at me. "Y/n, we must stay alert, we need to split up for now!" I nodded, as he let go of me, as we both harshly looked at the marines.

Clenching my fist, I pulled my arm back. "NORMAL PUNCH SPREAD!" I slammed the ground, causing many of them to scatter, as Ace pulled off his own move. "FIRE PILLAR!!" Fire shot down from his hands, creating a copy of a pillar, as from the bottom, the fire spread, burning many marines also.

I was surprised by this, his power was as strong as when you landed and looked at him kneeling on the ground, his breaths heavy, your heart raced, as the once clear air was now orange, and smokey, bringing an effect to him that made Ace more incredible.

As our silouhettes shined in the Amber light, the marines pointed more of their guns to us, telling them to not let us get away.

"Y/N-SAN! ACE-SAN!" Jimbei yelled, a smile onto his face as Whitebeard grinned as well. "Don't forget! Fire Fist Ace is a fire--Logia type!" Marines spoke, as Ace looked to me. "Let me be honest cutie. I never thought when I was locked in that cell with you you'd be the one to rescue me, or would I'd thought one day I'd meet a girl like you. Your storng, intelegent, and to think you came her with my brother while taming him, it's rather attractive..." My heart raced while looking at him as he grabbed my hands. "Sorry if this sounds cheesy, but I guess fate has brought us here for a reason, and now, I have an urdge to survive this...with you...Thank you...cutie." My eyes widened, a feeling in my heart came that has never happened beofore, in a long time as I felt this way when I first met Saitama, as I am reliving those moments when I was on wires again.

Both of us were lost in thought, not caring that the war was still going on, as our eyes were just locked with each other, having a moment of thanks with no words, but just by looking at each other. Smirking, he gently touched my bald head. "What's with your bald head? Did my fire do that or something?" I snorted, looking away. "No Ace, your fire didn't do it...I've been bald my whole life..." "I know." My eyes widened. "Y-You knew?" His smirk widened. "It's pretty obvious, Cutie, it's not like I've never seen wigs before, besides, I felt like you had more H/c hair, than what your wig looked like." I chuckled lightly. "You guessed right....do you want a reward?" He laughed. "Oh? A reward from you? How could I resist? Once we get out of here, cutie....i'd love to take you out sometime...how does that sound?" My heart beated. "L-Like a date?" He snickered. "Sure, or we can hang out as friends at first, i'd love to get to know you cutie, and what you like to do in your daily life-"

"DON'T LET THOSE TWO GET AWAY! THIS IS YOUR EXECUTION PLATFORM!" Sighing, both of us looked to more marines surrounding us, all of them having gune.

Smirking again, he just looked to me. "We'll discuss the details later, let's focus on getting out of here." Nodding, I smiled as me and him got in stance, as they started firing their guns.

The bullets didn't effect me, as they bounced off of me, as the bullets just went through body, which turned into flames, as the marines eyes widened, shocked.

Smriking, I bolted, as he just stood their to watch for a second, as two were about ot shoot me again, until my hands grabbed their guns, twisting their arms, breaking it while they screamed as they were tossed away.

Ducking from a sword, I karate chopped a marines neck, nocking him out before moving to the left, kcikign a stumbling marine in the back, lauching him into others as they stumbled like bowling pins.

Quickly turned, I backed away, doging and blocking multiple punches, as a grabbed the mans fist with my hands, chuckling. "Are you ready?" The marin was confused before I tossed him away, Ace burning him above in the air as he screamed with pain, as I punched another one in the gut, making the poor guy explode.

As his guts dropped to the floor, his partners face turned green, as he looked like he was about to vomit, as Ace brought his arms back ,his fist lighting on fire as he was about to slam it on the ground. "FIRE FIST!!" He yelled, slamming his knuckles onto the concrete, burning around 50-100 in front, clearing a more admitted path for us to go through.

As we continued forwards, fighting off m arines, dodging bullets, and punches, as we looked unstoppable.

Some of the whitebeard pirates smirked while watching us, as a man with a large black mustache smirked. "They are unstoppabletogether, never expected this to happen..." A little elf nodded with agreement as he turned. "MAKE A PATH FOR THEM EVERYONE!!!" Pirates yelled with agreement, as Marines wouldn't let ut go without a fight, as we powered through some more, pulling off insane combos and moves.

As bodies of marines showered down like rain, both of us breathed heavily as I turned to him, smirking.

"Your storng, Ace-san, makes me want to surpass you with Luffy." He chuckled. "Hah! Well, I don't mind bieng surpassed by you in the future cutie, your quite strong yourself...tell me hows my brother?" I frowned from his comment. "He's with your ship doctors." His eyes widened. "What happened-" "Some of the vice admirals got to him, nto your grandpa, but...others...he used a lot of his energy..." Ace looked to the floor, his fists clenching... "Luffy...you idiot...." I watched Ace with silence, as he looked up again. "Well, I now know he's in good hands..." He started to smirk again. "When we get out of here, someday in the future I'll make sure to remember to give him a good scolding...yet I should thank him ...without his help..." He went silent, as I smiled, about to say something to him until the air Suddenly felt cold.

Both of us stopped, Ace's teeth gritted as Admiral Aokiji was in front of us, as Ace's arm held out in front of me, as me and the Marine locked eyes. "Cutie, let me protect you, it's the least I can do." My brows furrowed from his comment as Aokiji simply looked to us. "Someday? There's no tomorrow for both of you.." He spoke, his hands going into his pockets. "You think you can escape?" He asked, as my teeth gritted before the Marine held out his hand, ice forming onto it, which made Ace grin with excitement. "Back up, cutie." I paused, looking at him. "But-" He looked at me. "Trust me..." Fire formed onto him, as my heart race, I knew he was strong, and strong against this Admiral as I nodded, turning and running the other way.

Soon enough, more Ice formed on Aokiji, as a pheasent formed, heading to Ace, while more fire came from the boy, heading to the Admiral, as the two clash, flinging upwards to create a powerful blast and energy to surround the area.

My eyes widened with shock, as the two stared intently at each other, as the Ice of Aokiji was vaporized which made since because of the rule of science.

I smiled, as many others on the battlefield were impressed,as Mister three's face was lit up. "Fire fist Ace...is cool..." Buggy Zoomed to him. "STOP BEING IMPRESSED YOU WAX HEAD!!" He snapped. "S-Sorry, but he is. With Y/n and him fighting together, they're almost unstoppable!"

Buggy didn't like his backup answer, as him and mister three agured, while Ace and you continued to fight off marines, until whitebeard spoke up.

"WHITEBEARD PIRATES!!! LISTEN UP!!! I, AS YOUR CAPTAIN WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST ORDER!!!!" Me and Ace paused, turning to whitebeard as my eyebrows furrowed, Ae's teeth gritting. "P-Pops!" 'All of you and I will split up from here! Everyone, survive at any costand get back to the New World safely!" He yelled, shocking everyone apart of his crew, even you, as one of his allies spoke up. "P-Pops! Are you planning to die here-" Whitebeard stomped the ground, getting in stance. "I'm a remnant from the old times! There is no ship that can bear me in the new era!" His muscles flexed, creating the same light crack in the air as before, as it spread quickly, as the waves began to run wild. "GO, YOU GUYS!!" My heard broke, as I could barely stand due to the large amount of rumbling. I heard Ace grit his teeth with sadness and annoyance, as he saw me stumbling making him grab my waist and cary me again, as I struggled against his arms, making him let go as I bolted to whitebeard, his eyes widening. "C-Cutie!!"

Trying my best to dodge rubble, waves, or anything that could knock me down, whitebeard saw me run to him, as slight tears were escaping my eyes, this shocked him.

As I got close to him, my tiny arms wrapped around his giant leg, as it shcoked his crew, everyone in the war, and him.

Eyebrows raised, his body slightly tensed, but, his heart slightly felt remorse as he saw my shaky breaths, my back shakingly heaved up and down.

From the first moment he saw me, he knew I was storng, and justa rookie, but, once he saw me fight, with my emotions, and glanced at my personality, he saw me not just as a rookie, but a kind, experienced girl, who just wants what's best for other people, not myself.

And he's exactly right, as the way he felt me grip his pant leg, the way he saw tears flooding from my eyes, he knew that he mattered to me, even if I never truly knew him at all, he was like family already to me.

"Brat..." I didn't look up. "We knew how this was going to end. There is no war, that doesn't come with tragidy....." I shook more. "You want fairness for everyone, the weak, the low ranked, the high ranked, even the rich and the poor...but let me tell you something brat...life doesn't always work that way. There's always a point in life where a journy comes to an end...and for me...to be able to take down the marines, to save Ace with my own life...that's a ending to my era..." I didn't like his words, but I knew they were true...I knew something had to be done, I knew someone had to stop the marines...which is why I accepted it...as I look up to him, my eyes are red and puffy.

But instead of speaking to him...I grabbed one of his large hands, and prayed for him, pray that his death won't be forgotten, and that his legacy will be strong and he will be in a better place.

As Marines and other pirates were confused on what I was doing, Garp ordered everyone to stop what they were doing, as out of respect as everyone in the battlefield was silent.

But, even thought Garp ordered a pause on the matter, Admiral Akainu saw this opportounity to Kill Luffy, who was laying to rest.

Ace saw this, as his eyes widened. "Luffy!!!" He yelled, bolting, as I finished praying, looking that way, as Ace got in fornt of Luffy, as Akainu was about to Kill Ace with his devil fruit.

Qucikly acting, I used my speed to try to get to him in time, Ace's back faced Away from the Admiral, to Luffy as he closed his eyes waiting for death to come, until I stepped in front of him, Akainu's lava fist hitting against my skin as I let out a scream of pain, but his fist didn't go thorugh, it just bruned my skin rather badly, as blood escaped my mouth.

Ace heard my screams from behind him, as his eyes widened with fear, Luffy's did as well.

Crocodile, Buggy, Mister three, Mihawk, Mister one, Jimbei, Ivankov, Aokiji, Smoker, Tashigi, Koby, Marco, Doflamingo, Kizaru, and Whitebeard all looked my way, their faces mixed with shock, fear, and anger, as I was protecting Ace, taking the pain from him.

Both him and Luffy couldn't belive this, as Akainu pulled away with a satisfied 'hmm' as I was about to fall to the floor, before Ace and Luffy ran to me, taking me into their arms. "Y/N-SAN/CUTIE!!!" They screamed, my eyes closing as I was passing out, not caring that Akainu was attacking again, until his fist was stopped by Jinbe, as his water and his lava clashed, both Haki's going crazy.

But as he let go, Marco and the large mustache man attack the admiral quickly Marco out of rage as they got a hit on him, but his skin was turned to lava. "How annoying." He simply spoke. "Can you two see it's too late to save the girl? Look?" Both of them looked to me, laying in Luffy and Ace's arms, as a large burn was on my back, my wound from mihawk broke open, as blood spilled down my side, to my hip.

Their eyes widened, as Ace could still feel a pulse, as Luffy's eyes were lined with fear. "O-Oi...Y-Y/n-san...y-you need t-to get treated-" He paused when I coughed, more blood escaping my mouth as Ace's teeth gritted. "Cutie! Stop struggling! We'll get you out of here! Why did you do this?! It was supposed to be me who was in your position, so why did you have to act like an idiot-" "S-S-S-Stop i-i-it..." I brokenly spoke, my tired eyes looking to him. "A-A hero....d-doesn't l-live k-knowing that s-someone else d-dies....a-a h-hero d-dies knowing a person is s-saved...and well." Ace's teeth gritted. "Don't say that! Your not dying! We'll take you to a doctor! You'll be fine!" I chuckled, then coughed up more blood. "I have faith.....don't..." I started to feel even more tired, as more of my weight leaned more on Luffy, as my eyes closed more. "Worry..."

And with that...all I saw was black....as I heard the screams and cries of the two brothers...who was fearful I might die.

"Y/N-SAN!!"

"CUTIE!!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The war was over.

Shanks stopped the war.

Whitebeard died from Blackbeard, who stole his devil fruit.

And Fire Fist Ace, was Alive...but broken without his captain, and me by his side.

I was taken by a new group of pirates, who's captain seemed to be a doctor.

Ace and Luffy went on the ship with me, not leaving my side as Jimbei was injured as well, as he needed to get treated.

The crew of the doctor prepped us for a major surgery, as the man who was quite handsome, with tattooes, black hiar and sideburns was putting on gloves, his eyes glued to me as he could tell I just didn't have burns on my chest, their were internal injuries as well, even for jimbei.

So, the man went to work, doing everything he can to fix any internal injuries on me, and my wound from Mihawk, as there was more wrong than the fragments Marco had gotten out.

As Ace and Luffy where helplessly waiting for the operation to be done, the submarine shook, causing the two to be alert as Ace and him looked out a peaking hold, watching as the sea turned into ice.

"Shit!" Ace grumbled, turning to Luffy. "Hang on!" Both of them hanged onto something, as the submarine changed courses, Sinking lower to try and escape the ice. It was successful, as everything thought things were calming down, until the ship rattled again, as Kizaru send multiple shots with his devil fruit to the submarine, which is impressive, since the Submarine is far away.

But, the person steering the ship was smarter, as he was able to go lower and lower avoiding the attacks with ease, as Shanks and everyone still at Marineford.

Once things have died down, the world knew the war was over, as the marines anounced they won, even though they were the one's who failed to kill Ace, but saw Whitebeards death, who was killed by blackbeard as their victory.

For a couple of hours, once the submarine was in a safe distance, it came up from the water, as on the deck, the walking polar bear came out happy, feeling the cool air hitting his furr with a bright smile.

"It's so refreshing! How nice it is outside!" He spoke, as Ace and Luffy came out as well.

But, to their demise, their was a Navy ship beside the submarine, as the empress Boa Hancock jumped down from it. "Luffy!" She yelled, hugging him instantly. "I'm so glad your ok!" she spoke happily, as Ace's eyes widened with pure shock, as did the pirates and Polarbear.

"HOW DID YOU FIND US HERE?!" Snapped the polarbear as Hancock still hugged Luffy. "WE THOUGHT THE NAVY FOLLOWED US HERE!" She let go of Luffy, as she pointed to her snake. "I apolagize, I made Salome follow you underwater." "I see!" "Don't change the subject furry beast!" "The Polar bear slumped. "So mean.." "SO WEAK!" His crewmates yelled, as Boa continued. "How's Jimbei, and the girl? Will they recover-" She was paused when the doors opened, as the captain of the Heart Pirates, Trafalgar Law came out with a blank face, whiping his hands. "I did everything I could." One of her eyebrows rose. "So, they're alive?" He sighed. "We were able to stabalize btoh of them, However...the girl took greater damager than you think. With the sword slash on her side, and internal injuries, as well as the massvie amounts of cuts, bruises and burns, there is no garantee that she will survive yet." Luffy and Ace's heart broke from his truthfull words, as both of them looked to the ground, anger and sadness travelling through their bodies.

"IT'S NO WONDER!!" A new, familiar voice spoke, as they looked on the marine ship to see Ivankov and her crew. "Y/n-girl didn't back down when trying to Save you Ace-boy!" The Heart pirates were confused when looking to Ivankov, as their heads tilted. "Who are they?" Luffy smiled. "That's Ivan-chan! She helped me and Y/n rescue you Ace!" He confessed, as Ace put a hand to his hips. "I see. Well, I'm greatful." Boa scoffed, crossing her arms. "They have snuck on the ship.." Ivankov jumped, landed on the ship in front of everyone. "I can't belive she pushed herself that hard! With the amount of strength she had, and with how much she could withstand, I'd never thought she'd ever get hurt like this! That's how much she wanted to help you Straw boy, and Ace boy!" Both of their hearts raced, knowin gthe full situation of your kindness, as Ace looked away, his brows furrowing.

"But, when Whitebeard died in front of her eyes....that's when she truly knew the world wasn't fair to people like us. DAMN IT! THE WORLD DOESN'T HAVE JUSTICE! IT PISSES ME OFF!"

Boa hancock felt remorse for me, even though she hasn't met me, as she thought of me as a same species, a strong woman. "It is sad that I never got to meet this girl...she has truly earned my respect." She spoke, looking away. "Everyone on that battlefield wished that was us taking her place."

Ivankov crossed her arms. "Indeed, with how the warlords, marines, and pirates alike watching her fight, and how kind she was, there was no doubt Y/n-san had gathered a unique audience to her! Even with her bald head!" The polar bear looked to Ivankov. "Oh! I've been wondering why she was bald....it's weird to see a human girl with no hair-NOT THAT IT'S A BAD THING OF COURSE-" "She's bald for a reason, which wasn't her fault.." everyone paused, and turned to the deep male voice, as Crocodile was on the ship, as Ace, Luffy, and Laws crew got in stance, as he just sighed with annoyance. "Stop your defense crap I'm not here to hurt nobody....that will come later until I know Y/n is alive...not that I care for her anyway..." Law's head titled. "Y/n?" Crocodile glared to him. "That's the girls name..." "Ah, I see."

Crocodile looked to everyone. "It's not my place to tell you this, but since she probably won't wake up for a while...I guess you need to know what she told me...and Mugiwara...Y/n isn't from this 'world.'"

Everyone's eyes widened, except Luffy. "R-REALLY?! THAT'S MADNESS!" Ivankov spoke, as Ace nodded. "Yeah! What makes you say she told you-"

"If you've seen her powers, their like nothing the world has ever seen, extreme strength, incredible speed, powerful enough to take down a giant with one punch, you all saw it yourselves, the way she fought Hawkeye without hesitation, splitting the sea when almost punchin a marine, how she fought three admirals by herself, you'd see she's not like any devil fruit user, plus, she told me back at Impel down she didn't know what a Devilfruit is..." Law put a finger to his chin. "Your words seem belivable...I'm guessing you escaped with her correct, all of you?"

Luffy nodded. "Yeah, she was a great help. But, she told me much more than from being a different world, she told me her powers were transfered to her by another person." "R-REALLY?!" everyone except Law, Crocodile, and Luffy yelled, as he nodded. "Yeah, by a name of Saitama, who is basically a hero to her."

Ivankov. "So, a man named Saitama, who is also from a different world, gave Abby-girl her powers. It all makes since of why she never heard of a Devil fruit before. But, Why did he do that?" Luffy looked to the ground. "He saw potential and how brave she was, she had a sickness." Everyone paused, brows furrowing. "A sickness?" Ace repeated. "What kind of Sickness Luffy?" Luffy stayed silent for a bit, still looking to the ground. "She told me when she was little, she wanted a life full of fun and Adventure, that is until she got sick, with a disease called luekemia.."

Law's eyes widened. "L-Luekemia! You mean she had a type of Cancer?! That makes much more since...."

Ace's head tilted. "C-Cancer? What is that?" Ivankov sighed. "It is a form of sickeness that is rising in our world, that already exists in her world, it can easily kill a human wihtout the propper treatment, as Luekemia is only active to young children, which Abby-girl sadly faced. I see why this Saitama-man gave her his powers, he saw a warrior behind those eyes. Tell me, Luffy, was she alone during this Cancer phase?" Luffy looked away. "Yes. She also told me, her parents were killed by monsters from her world..." The deck went silent again, as Hancock put a hand over her mouth. "Poor thing...s-so she was fighting alone..."

"Until that man showed up.." Ace finished, as the deck went silent again.

But, the silence was broken when Pirates were scolding for someone to get rest, as Jimbei came out brokenly, looking straight at Law.

"Jimbei!" Ivankov yelled, as the fishmans eyes glared right at Law. "You're Trafalgar Law from the North Blue, aren't you?" Law simply nodded, as Ivankov put her hands to her hips. "Hey, is it ok for you to move around like that" Jimbei ignored her question, as he was still looking at law. "Thank you!" He spoke, then continued. "You saved my life.." He bowed with respect. "You must rest. It could kill you." Law blankly spoke, his arms crossed as Jimbei shook his head. "I can't ease my mind...not when Y/n is fighting for survival...it's impossible!" He contineud. "What she and Ace has lossed was too important to them both, that is why I know that Abby-san must be going through far worse! At least, her instinct, her faith forced her to lose consiousness at that time. Even if she survives...." Tears start to form in his eyes. "I can't stop worrying about the moment when she wakes up." His words struck everyone's hearts, even Crocodiles, as he understood that seeing whitebeard, who aided me died in front of my eyes would effect me someway, as he looked to the ground, his teeth gritted, as Ace's fist clenched, feeling the same way as Jimbei did.

But, as the silence went on, Boa looked to the polar bear. "You, Fuzzy beast, do you have a transponder snail?" Her question made the bear fix his posture. "Yeah..I mean...yes, ma'am! I'm sorry..." He confessed, as she looked to the others. "I'm gonna call the Kuja's ship so we can go across the Calm Belt even with this submarine. If the government finds out that Y/n is alive, they're gonna come after her with how much power she has shown to them. Let us harbor her at the Maiden Island!" Everyone was shocked by her answer, as she continued. "If they still see me as a Warlord....then...."

"She can rest safely!!"

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Author: YAYYYYYYY! ACE IS RESCUED!!!!!! WOHOO!!!

Author: Sorry this chapter as a bit long, I wanted to put two episodes together, so I hope you don't mind.

Author: I hope you enjoyed todays chapter, and don't forget about the fanart contest!

Author: Remember! When your done drawing both pictrues, please attach it and message me it on Tumblr instantly! There is still time for people to enter!!!

Author: Have a good night everyone, BYE LOVELIES!!"

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