You and Sukuna were the kind of teenagers people don’t grow out of — fights, cops, problems, midnight car races and breakups that never really stuck.
Years later, you’re his boss in a very respectable tech job, and he’s the senior specialist who keeps walking into your office, wrecking your meetings and your self-control in equal measure.
It's up to you to manage incidents, clients, and the one disaster you’ve never been able to contain — him.
tw: toxic relationship, teenager relationship, degrading, drugs, underage drinking, underage fucking, sukuna and you are a mess, jealousy, eventual smut, slow burn but it's actually burning already, dead dove do not eat, fucking at workplace, all the nasties, mutual pinning, fluff and angst, hurt / comfort, hurt / no comfort, past and present.
art by: @winterrbluess
One — It's me Again
Two — Nail Polish
Three — The Drain
Four — Deadrose
Five — Hypnosis
Six — Specter
Seven — Will
Eight — Descending
Nine — Pale Moonlight
Ten — Hiding In Plain Sight
Eleven — Fade
Twelve — Crowded Room
Thirteen — Gone
Fourteen — Ashes
Fifteen — The Gray
Sixteen — Limerence
Seventeen — Sun Killer
Eighteen — Glass
Nineteen — Lip Service
Twenty — Beartrap
Twenty One — Without U
Twenty Two — Make it Hard to Steer
Twenty Three — Dopamine
Twenty Four — Mistake
Twenty Five — Tonight
Epilogue — Provider
Extra — Young and Restless
If you want to make a request, support my writing or prefer to read it on Ao3, the links are below:
✦ ｢ https://ko-fi.com/belimah ｣﹒｢Ao3 ｣ ✦
Congrats! It’s a series!👶🏻 Things are starting to get messy—or messier than they already were. But don’t expect too much from these two; they’re still idiots. They keep playing games. A different game? Maybe.
warnings: cursing, immature behavior.
Word count: 2.8k
Fucking hell.
How the hell did you find yourself in this situation?
Ever since Jungkook told you he’s ‘thirsty’ for you, the fuck that means, you’ve done all you could to avoid him. It’s been a couple of days, and right now, you’re hiding in your room like you’re twelve.
Absolutely embarrassing.
Your friends had told you it’s a bad idea to move in with the hot fuckboy. That it can’t end well. But you were determined it’ll be fine.
Stupid stupid stupid.
In your defense, it’s not easy to find a nice place at a good location with a decent price. The apartment is old and small, but it’s kept in good condition, and Jungkook is surprisingly clean and organized.
Also, you felt like changing your environment after living with female roommates for the last couple of years. And with your limited budget, it felt like an opportunity you can’t miss.
So you went for it.
Of course, you found Jungkook attractive. And, of course, it was obvious from the moment you met him that he was a classic fuckboy. But you thought you had an unspoken agreement between the two of you—that hooking up would be a bad idea. That the relationship should stay completely platonic.
In the beginning, it seemed to work. You caught Jungkook checking you here and there, and it’s not like you cared.
Well, maybe you were a little flattered. Just a little.
But overall, you kept a coldish-friendly relationship.
With time, you did get closer; you hung around with his friends, and he with yours. Sometimes, you spend the evening sharing dinners and watching TV together. But it wasn’t anything more than that.
That was true until recently. Something has changed.
Jungkook is more flirty and daring. It’s no longer a simple roommate friendliness. It’s teasing and smirking. Going around shirtless and throwing compliments. Saying he’s ‘thirsty.’
God, what he wants from you?
What twisted game he’s playing?
Doesn’t he know you can’t afford to lose this place? That it’ll crush your big-girl-handling-it-all-by-herself dream?
That little shit.
And it’s not like you’re looking to get involved with the poster child of being a fuckboy. You’re past your college years, and you learned your lessons. You’re not looking for this kind of drama in your life. You’re over playing with boys; you need to find a man.
And Jungkook isn’t one.
Oh, god.
Who are you kidding with this pathetic monologue?
Like you didn’t play right into his stupid game.
What are you talking about wanting a ‘man’ but entertaining Jungkook’s childish games?
What the hell were you thinking? Playing along with his teasing? Where did you think it’ll lead you? To hell?
What good did it do to post that picture?
You knew he was checking your profile. He made sure of it.
You know he knows that you know.
And now, here you are, hiding in your room, like a scardey cat.
When you finished showering, you heard Jungkook return to the apartment and ran directly to your room.
You heard him taking a shower, and now you can hear him in the kitchen. You smell something cooking. Fuck, it smells good, and you're hungry. Stupid Jungkook and his stupid cooking skills.
He’ll share it with you if you’ll go out there.
Should you risk it and go out of your hideout, or should you starve to death?
Death doesn’t sound like the worst option, actually.
Your stomach growls.
Shit.
Maybe he’ll finish eating and go to bed, and he’ll leave you some leftovers, and you won’t have to die because you refuse to fuck another fuckboy.
You try to listen closely. Are you having hunger hallucinations, or do you actually hear another voice?
You hear a loud laugh, definitely not Jungkook’s laugh. But it’s a guy’s laugh, for sure.
Your stomach growls even louder, and you start to feel nauseous. Maybe going out now, when there’s a third person with you, is relatively safe. It’s not like he can do something when there’s another person there, right? Also, if he is having friends over, he’ll not be going to his room anytime soon. So unless you’re still considering death, you have to eat.
And you think you are really going to die. And it’ll be embarrassing that he’ll find you dead in your room. What will the headline be?
‘Death by starvation; the unknown dangers of fuckboys’
Hell no.
You brave yourself and go to the kitchen.
Jungkook is standing by the stoves, steering something that smells delicious. From a brief look, it looks like some kind of fried rice concoction. Leaning on the counter by his side, you see his friend Hoseok, Hobi. His friend from college. He’s a friendly, handsome guy with a beautiful smile and a contagious laugh. You’re always unsure if he’s flirting with you or just extra friendly because you’re Jungkook’s roommate. He spots you and jumps to hug you, “Y/n! Long time no see. How are you?” You take a step back from his hug and see Jungkook looking over his shoulder with a smirk.
That little shit.
You want to punch his stupid face. But you ignore him instead; you’re not going to play with him any longer.
“I’m good. Same old shit. How are you?” you ask Hobi with a smile.
“I’m awesome. I just got back from a trip to Mexico. It was amazing. You should definitely go there. Have you ever been to Mexico?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer as he continues to talk. “The beaches there are amazing on another level. But it was so hot. On the first day, I got completely sunburned. I looked like a tomato the whole time.” He’s laughing while fishing his phone to show you the pictures.
It does look amazing, and he is comically red in the photos. You definitely don’t have the funds to travel to Mexico anytime soon. Yet, it’s nice to dream. Maybe one day.
He scrolls past his photos and gets to a picture of a nice apartment. A really nice apartment.
“Is this your new place?” you look up at him as you ask.
He nods enthusiastly, “Yes, I just moved in. You should come over sometime.” And there’s something teasing in his voice.
Before you can answer, Jungkook abruptly says, “Are you eating with us?” in a too-loud voice while he’s watching you. His nostrils are flared and he clutches the wooden spoon with unnecessary strength.
Oh.
He’s mad.
He didn’t like Hobi making a move. That’s nice..
Nope.
No.
No way. You said you’re not playing this game.
Instead, you answer plainly, “If there’s enough for me, yeah, sure.” Like you didn’t just come out of your hideout just for the food. Like he doesn’t know it as well.
Hobi is looking a little taken aback by Jungkook’s reaction. His eyes shift between you and Jungkook like he's trying to figure out something. But there’s nothing to figure out because nothing is going on.
Nothing at all.
Jungkook nods. He scolds his features into a calm expression and says in a more normal tone, “It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Take some bowls to the living room?”
You silently move to the cabinet to grab three bowls and give them to Hobi before moving to take some spoons.
You sit beside Hobi on the couch as he looks for something to watch while you eat.
He chooses some reality dating show he says is a ‘must watch,’ and he starts the episode before Jungkook returns, saying with a smile, “It’s not his thing anyway.”
You laugh because, of course, Jungkook will think he’s too manly to watch something like that.
After a few minutes, Jungkook comes to the living room with a steaming pot. He places it on the coffee table, takes one bowl, and pours a portion. You lean forward to serve yourself when he hands you the bowl he prepared. It takes you a moment to respond, but you take it as he shoves it into your hands. He then makes another bowl and hands it to Hobi before sitting on your other side with his own plate.
Hobi stands up and says, “I forgot the beer. Who want some?” You nod, and he goes into the kitchen.
You take a first bite of the food, and you don’t know if it’s because you're so hungry, but it’s fucking amazing. You let out an embarrassing moan, and you say, “fuck, this is so good.”
Before you understand your mistake, you see Jungkook smiling by your side. But it’s not his infuriating smirk or a teasing grin. It’s a genuine, almost boyish smile. He looks so different, so soft like that. Big eyes sparkling with joy. You quickly avert your eyes down to your bowl. Because it does something to you. You feel your stomach moving, and you hope it’s from hunger.
“Thank you,” he says, and again, it’s not teasing like you expect. He just sounds happy. He sounds pleased. And you don’t know what to do with that. He softly continues, “I can teach you how to make it.”
What the fuck is going on?
Before you can replay, Hobi returns with the beer.
You all sit and eat, watching the show. While you and Hobi place bets on who will end up together, Jungkook complains that the show is stupid, and ‘Who the fuck is going to reality show to find love?’ Valid point, but he just doesn’t get the pure joy of judging others’ mistakes. At least he is back to his usual self, which is better, safer.
When you all finish eating, the guys choose a game to play.
“Is it okay with you?” Jungkook asks you.
You look at him, frowning. The question surprises you because why does he care? They can do whatever they want.
“We can watch something if you don’t feel like it,” he continues before you answer.
WTF?
“I’m not really a gamer, but I don’t mind. I can watch you lose.”
Jungkook giggles, and again, it’s not his usual cocky chuckle. It’s a cute giggle.
Ah?
Jungkook? Cute?
A description you never thought you’ll use for him. That you shouldn’t use.
“Come on, I’ll show you how to play,” he nudges you with his elbow. Before he says with a smirk, “so I can beat your ass.”
Aaaand he returns to his usual annoying self. Good.
Hobi burst laughing, reminding you he’s still there, “Just choose already who I beat first, you losers.”
“In your dreams, Hoba,” Jungkook says as he sets up a match.
They’re playing a Dragon Ball one-on-one fighting game. They play a few rounds before Jungkook insists you join them. He shows you how to play, but you fail miserably. Not managing to win a single game after the first mercy round.
It’s still fun.
You trash-talk each other, even if yours is void of substance.
After another round you lose to Hobi; there’s a knock. Jungkook goes to open the door and returns with Jimin.
Jimin comes to the living room while Jungkook goes to the kitchen to bring him a beer.
“Y/n! Good to see you,” Jimin greets you with a hug. He’s also Jungkook’s friend from college. Probably your favorite one. He is cute and flirty.
And completely gay.
“What are you doing with these two losers?” he asks as he takes the seat beside you. You giggle when Jungkook returns, putting the beer on the table as he answers in your place, “Lossing miserably,” looking at you with his annoying smirk.
You flip him off, “Fuck you.”
He flops on the armchair, taking a sip from his beer.
“You wish,” he says with a pleased smirk.
You roll your eyes, making a disgusted sound, “Eugh, I wouldn’t touch you with a stick.”
Jungkook and Hobi laugh, and Jimin squeezes your shoulders, “Cuties.”
You give him a death glare and shrug him off, “Fuck you too.”
He leans back onto the sofa, taking a long sip. “No thanks, I just did,” he says with a huge smile.
You make a more dramatic, disgusted sound, and you shiver. “Ewe, don’t spread your STDs on me,” you say as you dust the imaginary diseases off your shoulders.
“Don’t be sour because you’re jealous,” Jungkook says.
You could strangle him, you swear.
You squint your eyes at him, and he returns a fake glare at you, but he’s still smiling.
“From the bottom of my heart, fuck you,” you bark at him.
He leans forward in his chair, looking at you with a growing smirk, “From the bottom of my ass, you wish.”
Jimin grabs the controller from your hands. “Okay, love birds. What are we playing?” and he starts another match.
After a few more rounds and some more losing, Jungkook stretches and gets up, “Who wants another beer?” Both you and Hobi ask for another, and he goes to the kitchen. Jimin gets up as well, “I’ll come help.”
“So, are you seeing someone?” Hoseok asks when Jungkook and Jimin are out of earshot.
You turn to look at him, and you realize he’s sitting close. Closer than before.
His gaze is intense on you, making you stutter a little when you answer, “N-No.”
He nods several times, like he’s processing, and then continues, “Is there something going between you and your roomie?” He asks with a smirk.
“Jungkook?” you ask with a scoff. “No,” you add fast, firmly. Hoping you sound confident rather than guilty.
He tilts his head to the side, keeping his gaze on you, challenging you. His tone is borderline mocking. “Sure ‘bout that?”
You thought you liked Hobi, but you guess he’s still Jungkook’s friend. Something has to be fucked up about him.
“Yeah?” you give a disgusted look. Because frankly? It’s disgusting, assuming you’re involved in any way with Jungkook.
He straightens his head, smiling wider but without losing the teasing spark of it. He leans even closer, and you can smell his expensive cologne and the beer in his breath.
“So you definitely should come over to my place sometime.”
Before you can answer, Jungkook comes from behind you, forcefully shoving a beer into Hobi's hands and practically pushing him back. You don’t know what he heard, but he doesn’t seem pleased. On the other hand, Hobi looks delighted. Saying a mocking “Thanks, Kook” as he sips.
Jimin is placing a beer on the table in front of you, barely stifling a giggle. You say a quiet “Thanks.” This time, Jimin sits on the armchair as Jungkook takes the seat beside you.
Hobi and Jimin exchange a look, while Jungkook pouts, looking annoyed. He takes the controller from the table and starts another match without saying a word. You don’t know how to read this situation. There’s tension in the room you’re not sure how to handle. So you ignore it, focusing on the game and drinking until it dissolves.
When the hours pass, you don’t know how, but Jungkook gets closer and closer to your side. Until his thigh is touching your bare leg. The warmth that comes out of him makes you notice that you’re cold, even with the alcohol in your blood. You can lean closer to him and let his body warm you…
NO.
What the hell are you thinking?
Treacherous thoughts. Get a grip girl.
You stand up abruptly. Feeling everyone’s eyes on you.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you say as you leave the room.
You go to your room first, shutting the door behind you. You lean against the wall eyes shut, your hands clutch into fists on your hips. You take deep, relaxing breaths. You remind yourself that you decided you won’t fold into Jungkook teasing. That you’ll keep your distance. You will definitely not snuggle into his warm, solid, broad body….
NO.
You’re not going to go down this path. No fucking way.
You take the bottle from beside your bed, drinking the remaining water. You need to sober up. Not so much from the alcohol; you drank only a couple of beers. But from his presence after you avoided him for days. It is like it affects you more now. Do you really have such a short memory? Do you need a reminder he’s an insufferable prick?
You take a hoodie from your closet and go to the bathroom. There, you wash your face and give yourself a little get-your-shit-together pep-talk before going back to the living room.
When you return, you hear the boys chatting, but as soon as you step into the living room, the room goes silent. It’s awkward. No one is playing anything now, and everyone looks tense. What happened? You quietly return to your seat, reaching for the controller on the couch beside Jungkook.
“Anyone up for another round?” you ask, trying to break the silence.
Jimin clears his throat. “Sure.” Hobi stands up to grab more beers, and you resume playing, pretending like nothing’s wrong.
Not long after, everyone starts to feel tired. Hobi orders an Uber for himself and Jimin. As Jungkook walks them to the door, you gather the empty bottles and head to the kitchen to load the dirty dishes into the sink.
Big mistake.
Huge.
You should have just gone straight to your room and locked the door. Because when you turn around, there’s Jungkook, leaning casually against the kitchen door. He gives you a smirk that can’t possibly mean anything good and asks—
Oneshot: Reader x Sanity (Rocks D. Xebec if you blink)
Length: 3 K+
Rating: 16+ (Language)
WARNING, ONE PIECE CHAPTER 1155 SPOILERS BELOW
You lost a Davy Back game and woke up navigating a warship full of war crimes. Now the captain wants to go to God Valley. You do not want to go to God Valley.
“That’s the third time you’ve sailed past it,” Rocks growled. His voice rumbled across the deck like thunder caught in a throat, heavy and close. He looked ready to erupt, teeth bared in a snarl, hands twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to throw lightning or throw you into the sea.
You didn’t even glance up from the compass. “Wind shifted.”
“The wind didn’t shift,” he snapped, boots grinding against the deck as he stormed forward. “You shifted. The island’s right there.”
You tilted your head, squinting out across the water where God Valley sat on the horizon like a rotting tooth. Jagged cliffs rose out of the mist like something from a bad dream, and the air tasted too clean, too quiet. “I think the map’s wrong.”
“I drew the map.”
“Exactly. Probably wrong.”
Behind him, Whitebeard was visibly struggling not to laugh. His shoulders shook like a damn earthquake. Kaido wasn’t bothering with subtlety, already doubled over and wheezing like he’d been punched. Big Mom had taken a break from chewing the crew to chew on a cannon instead, treating it like a crunchy breadstick. Shiki was hovering in the sky, idly skywriting the words “GET ON WITH IT” using the edge of his flying sword like a paintbrush dipped in arrogance.
Rocks kept walking until he reached the wheel, jabbing a thick finger against the wood next to your hand. “Turn. The ship.”
You gently placed your gloved hand over the wheel. Calm. Steady. Possessive. Like you were guarding a shrine and he was the heretic. “Here’s the thing. I don’t think we’ve really thought this one through. An island full of Celestial Dragons, armed Marines, and possibly gods playing dice with mortals? That sounds very much like a you problem, Captain.”
He stared at you, hard and unblinking. “It’s about to become your problem, Navigator.”
You sighed. Long. Loud. Rude. “I’m just saying there are a lot of other islands out here. Normal ones. Plunderable ones. Ones that aren’t wrapped in divine judgment and crawling with people who turn genocide into party tricks. Why this one?”
“We’re going,” Rocks said slowly, “because they don’t know we know they’re there. And they have—”
You gave him a skeptical look. “And I’m not going because I think they absolutely do know. Maybe they’re just sitting there, polishing their gold thrones, waiting for a bunch of suicidal pirates to come walking right into the net.”
His eye twitched.
You gestured broadly to the horizon. “What about a nice detour? Maybe we take the long way. A scenic route. Maybe we don’t sail into a divine stronghold like we’re trying to win an award for Most Likely to Die Loudly.”
Rocks stepped closer. The deck creaked under the pressure. His shadow fell across you, deep and cutting. “You swore loyalty to my crew.”
You blinked. “I said ‘I’ll try not to let us crash.’ That’s very different.”
The two of you locked eyes. Silence thickened the air.
Behind you, Shiki had changed the skywriting to say “Seriously, just fight already.” Whitebeard was coughing from laughter. Kaido had started making bets with the crew on whether you were going to get punched or promoted.
Rocks flexed his jaw. “You have ten seconds.”
“To do what?” you asked, without flinching.
“To turn the ship,” Rocks howled, veins standing out like thunderbolts carved into flesh. “Or die trying. You think you can defy me?”
“No,” you said calmly. “I know I can’t. That’s why I keep rerouting us while pretending to be confused about where the sun is.”
“The sun?!” Rocks bellowed, reeling back like you’d just punched physics in the throat. “The sun hasn’t moved!”
“Exactly,” you said, eyes wide with faux solemnity. “Suspicious.”
Big Mom finally snapped the cannon she’d been chewing on clean in half. The crew stared as she tossed the pieces overboard with a grunt of admiration. Kaido was bent over the railing, wheezing like he’d swallowed his own club. Shiki’s skywriting now read “I’M INVESTED.”
Whitebeard crossed his arms and muttered, “Just let them live. They’re the only reason we haven’t died of boredom yet.”
Rocks looked one moment away from biting the mast in half. He jabbed a furious finger toward the distant silhouette of God Valley, a speck of cursed land rising like an accusation from the sea.
“If you don’t turn this ship toward God Valley,” he growled, voice dropping to a dangerous quiet, “I will throw you there myself. Piece by piece.”
You squinted toward the horizon. Then at the wheel. Then at him. Then back at the wheel. And sighed.
“…Fine,” you muttered, jamming the rudder into place with a deliberately sulky shove. “But when I get vaporized by divine wrath or stabbed by some purebred Celestial Dragon’s ceremonial fork, I am haunting your logbook.”
“You already haunt my logbook, idiot,” he snapped. “Focus.”
With great theatrical suffering, you turned the ship. The hull groaned, sails billowed, and slowly the ship swung back around. Straight toward fate. Straight toward the one place every voice in your body screamed to avoid.
Straight toward God Valley.
Rocks grinned, a slow, cruel smile that made it very clear this man had never once worried about divine consequences. He looked like a demon watching the gates to hell creak open and wondering which foot to stick in first.
You stared at the island with exhausted loathing. “Stupid island. Stupid gods. Stupid captain. Should’ve stayed in cartography school.”
No one believed you’d joined the Rocks Pirates voluntarily. Not even the crew.
You’d been press-ganged by fate, blackmailed by a man who thought ‘mapmaking’ meant drawing targets, and very possibly cursed. You had lost a Davy Back fight when you were four rums in, and high on confidence. It was slapjack. Slapjack. You had been destroying him until your reflexes caught up with your blood alcohol level, and the world turned sideways. You lost your balance, then your freedom.
You were lucky he didn’t take your hand clean off when he finally won a round.
Now here you were, steering a warship full of living disasters toward a god-haunted island like it was just another Tuesday.
The wheel creaked as you leaned into the turn, muscles tight. The wind shifted again. Or maybe that was just your guilt trying to help you escape. You couldn’t tell anymore.
Then the silence hit.
Long. Cold. Absolute.
The kind of silence that came before bad decisions and battlefield massacres.
You glanced behind you.
Rocks was still there. Unmoving. Watching. His eyes were slits, that eerie stillness settling over him like a curse coiled to strike.
“If you don’t keep this ship going towards God Valley,” Rocks said, voice quiet and soaked in that lethal calm that always came right before things exploded, “I will tie you to the mast.”
A beat.
“Again.”
Your eye twitched.
You didn’t flinch. Just slowly turned your head and gave him a flat, soul-deep look that said you had been through it and were done. Absolutely, cosmically, universally done.
“You wouldn’t.”
He stepped closer.
And smiled.
Not the kind of smile sane people smile. No. This was the kind of grin that made war veterans dive behind furniture. The kind that came with background organ music and permanent trauma.
“Do I look like a man who wouldn’t?”
You stared at him. Long. Hard.
Unfortunately, he did.
He looked exactly like a man who would tie you to the mast with cursed rope, whisper something about “unleashing your inner potential,” and then summon a lightning storm with his bare hands.
While yelling ‘character development’. Because he had.
“That was one time,” you said. “One time I got seasick and fell asleep at the helm.”
“You dreamed we were being hunted by priests and veered us straight into a sea king’s mouth. In the middle of the night.”
“That’s subjective—”
“We lost five crew members,” he said, pointing a finger for emphasis, “and my favorite cape.”
You blinked. “You have like nine capes.”
He roared, “That one was haunted!”
“Then it’s in a better place!” you shouted back. “Maybe haunting the sea king now!”
“Don’t deflect,” he snapped, jabbing a thumb toward the looming island. “Steer the ship.”
You groaned like a martyr. “Fine! God Valley. Certain doom. Hope you enjoy whatever divine nightmare greets us. I’ll just be down here, screaming into the rudder.”
Rocks nodded, satisfied. As if you’d finally seen the light.
Then he paused. Tilted his head.
“You’re still going to try to swerve at the last second, aren’t you?”
You gave him a toothy grin.
“Do I look like someone who wouldn’t?”
He grinned back, wider, sharper, entirely unholy.
“That’s why I already prepped the mast,” he said.
Your face fell.
You turned.
And sure enough—there they were. Ropes. Dangling from the mast like cheerful execution decorations. Knotted. Waiting.
“You absolute lunatic!” you shrieked.
Whitebeard burst out laughing and clapped once, hard enough to rattle the sails. Shiki started taking bets on how long it would take you to chew through the rope this time. Big Mom offered to do the knotwork. Said she was very good with knots. Said it twice.
You gripped the wheel like it might save your soul.
And Rocks? Rocks leaned against the railing like a smug war god, arms crossed, wind tugging at his hair, watching you steer directly toward the most cursed island in existence with that look in his eye like he already owned your bones.
God Valley loomed.
Cliffs like knives. Storm clouds swirling like courtroom wigs. Lightning flashed with the kind of judgment only divine bureaucracy could invent. The air tasted like iron and impending lawsuits from the heavens.
You narrowed your eyes.
Then you narrowed them harder.
Then looked over your shoulder.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
You backed away from the helm. Casually. Quietly. Like the deck was made of glass and you were nothing more than a gentle breeze with absolutely no intention of desertion.
One step.
Two.
Rocks glared.
Shiki squinted at you. “Why are you walking like that?”
“I left something below deck,” you said smoothly, gesturing vaguely. “Bathroom. Anchor. Ghost. Something.”
“Your dignity?” John offered without looking up, his drink half gone.
You flipped them both off with grace and precision.
Then bolted.
Straight over the railing.
Splash.
Sweet ocean freedom. Saltwater salvation. The siren call of anywhere else. You kicked away from the ship like the sea itself had opened its arms and promised better management.
Half a dozen escape plans bloomed in your head at once. You were already choosing your fake name (captain Definitely Not The Rocks Navigator was leading the charge) when it happened.
Something grabbed the back of your shirt.
Not your arm.
Not your shoulder.
Not your waist, romantically.
Your. Shirt. Collar.
You were plucked from the ocean like a feral cat caught stealing fish.
“Absolutely not,” Rocks muttered, hauling you out of the sea with one arm like you had personally disappointed Poseidon. Water streamed down your legs. Your boots made tragic squelching noises. You rose from the waves like a soggy, blasphemous offering to the gods of bad decisions.
“PUT ME DOWN—”
“I will,” he said calmly, already striding back across the deck. “Right after I tie you to something useful. Like the helm. Or the cannon. Or my patience.”
You kicked.
You flailed.
Gloriosa ignored you both studiously.
You made sounds so guttural and violent that even Big Mom paused mid-bite and muttered something about sea-witches.
“I WAS TRYING TO ESCAPE TYRANNY. WHERE’S GILL HE’D UNDERSTAND!”
“You were trying to escape your job,” Rocks corrected, not even winded. “Which is treason. And frankly, embarrassing.”
“You’re embarrassing!”
“I conquered an archipelago last week using nothing but a pebble and a scream. You think this is what’s going to break me?”
You hissed like an offended eel as he stepped over the fallen cannon Big Mom had eaten earlier, ignoring the crew’s growing cackles. Whitebeard had to sit down. Shiki started sketching your wanted poster with the phrase WANTED: For Cowardice and Excessive Sogginess.
He reached the mast.
The ropes were still swaying, practically giddy.
“Don’t you dare—” you snarled.
“Oh, I dare,” he said.
“This is an abuse of power!”
“This is restraint,” Rocks said. “You haven’t seen abuse of power until I decorate the sail with your bad attitude.”
You clawed at the air. “You’ll regret this!”
“No, I’ll sleep better. Everyone will.”
Big Mom grinned wide enough to terrify the horizon. “Oooh, do the ankles. They kick so funny when it’s the ankles.”
“I will bite everyone on this ship,” you howled as Rocks looped the first rope. “Mark my words!”
He ignored you.
Tied the second knot.
Then patted your head like you were a freshly captured pet. “There. Secure. Happy?”
“THIS IS KIDNAPPING!”
“It’s only kidnapping the first twelve times. After that, it’s tradition.”
You opened your mouth again.
He stuffed a damp rag in it.
“Shh. Navigator’s working.”
And with that, Rocks returned to the helm. The cursed island loomed in the distance like an insult. Lightning split the sky behind it in the shape of a skull.
You made a sound that could curdle milk.
Shiki gave you a ten for effort.
Kaido offered you a drink by pouring it over your head.
And somewhere, deep in your salt-stained, rope-bitten soul, you began drafting your revenge arc.
It would be long.
It would be petty.
It would be biblical.
There would be no survivors.
Shiki cheered from the crow’s nest. “Five minutes faster than last time!”
So you spent the approach tied to the mast like some very sarcastic martyr, soaked to the bone, fury boiling beneath the surface, muttering hexes under your breath in every tongue you could remember. Some of which you may have invented just for this moment.
The ship sliced through the waves, cutting a path straight toward damnation. On the horizon, God Valley loomed with all the subtlety of a divine middle finger. Black cliffs jutted like broken teeth. Clouds swirled as if whispering rumors to the thunder. Lightning forked behind it, flickering dramatically because of course it did.
And there you were.
Still tied to the mast.
Arms pinned behind your back.
Your hair dripped. Your dignity leaked steadily into the planks beneath you. You heard the footsteps before you saw him. Heavy. Deliberate. Far too confident for someone who routinely caused international incidents before breakfast.
You didn’t even bother looking up.
“You’re lucky I like you,” Rocks said, coming to a halt just a little too close. His voice was all smug amusement, like he wasn’t the reason you’d nearly drowned fifteen minutes ago. “Anyone else would’ve been ballast.”
He finally removed the gag, and you immediately hissed like a wet kettle left on too long.
You gave a long, theatrical sigh, tilted your head back, and thunked it gently against the mast.
“Can I at least be untied when we get there?”
He laughed. Low and pleased, like he was the main character and you were the side quest he didn’t know he needed.
“So you can make off with the Roger Pirates?” he said. “I don’t think so.”
You turned your head, just enough to look at him. Just enough to let the mischief in.
Just enough for your brain to whisper: Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t—
“But sir,” you said brightly, “that’s prime breeding stock. Have you seen Scopper Gaban?”
Of course you said it.
You always did.
He froze mid-step like you’d just drop-kicked his ego.
And then, with perfect delivery, he muttered, “And I rest my point,” before turning to walk off, like he hadn’t just been emotionally stabbed in the thigh by a drive-by thirst comment.
You smirked, victorious.
“Also, Rayleigh has very stable boat energy,” you called after him. “I could build a future on that man’s anchor set.”
Rocks turned on his heel so fast the deck nearly caught fire.
“Do you want to be tied upside down?!”
You lifted your brows. “I’m just saying—if I’m going to be kidnapped at mast-point, I should be allowed a little window shopping!”
“You are not allowed to browse rival pirates like it’s a damn livestock auction!”
You shrugged as best you could, the ropes creaking around your shoulders. “You tied me up like a prize heifer, Rocks. I’m just leaning into the branding.”
His jaw clenched.
He stomped back toward you, fury simmering behind his eyes. But it wasn’t the clean kind. No, this was that cursed, complicated flavor of anger that came with being mildly obsessed with someone you wanted to launch into the sea and lock in your quarters.
He stopped close.
Too close.
The sea was loud. Your heartbeat louder.
He leaned in, breath brushing your cheek, voice low and dangerous.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game.”
You smiled. Sweet. Sharp.
“Good,” you whispered. “Because if I die, I’m haunting you in your dreams.”
He blinked.
Visibly flustered.
His mouth opened. Closed. Twitched.
Then, with the dignity of a man hanging by a thread, he spun on his heel and stomped off again, muttering under his breath like the deck had wronged him.
“Blasphemous little sea rat. Gaban, my ass. Can’t even take down an admiral. Ridiculous.”
Whitebeard whistled from the rigging. “Think you broke him.”
Stussy gave you a standing ovation.
Kaido tossed you a damp towel like a peace offering.
You let it flop over your face and whispered to yourself, “Next time, I'll bite.”
