#suyothinks

but when a marine’s blade crosses the polished sole of sanji’s shoe, or a a fist comes flying towards the glinting edge of kitetsu, it’s bloody murder. combat has always been their love language, bruises like lingering kisses, sweat spattered at their feet like rose petals. fighting has always been between them, has always been theirs.

no one else was allowed on their battleground, their bedsheets.

and in the aftermath, all viscera and bloodstained wood, zoro and sanji leap into their well-practiced dance.

a diagonal slash. you still love me, right?

a leg raised high like a hammer. i’m yours, right?

heaving chests. please tell me you’re mine.

what if in germa, being a military kingdom, it was customary for potential partners to court one another through a series of duels. being equally matched in power is a sign of strength, survival, and mutual protection, and therefore a sign of a prosperous marriage.

long after the events of wci, reiju comes upon the strawhats and spends some time with them, catching up with her dear brother and seeing how freedom has treated him.

one day, lounging around (is this what it means to relax?) with the other ladies on deck, she catches wind of scathing words thrown between her brother and the swordsman.

when his blades come unsheathed, she debates on interfering, but when her brother raises a leg in response, teeth bared, she sits back with wide eyes. they exchange blows, meeting hit for hit, sword to sole.

“ah,” she thinks.

robin and nami glance over to see reiju has suddenly focused on the fight, eyes narrowed in hawk-like scrutiny as she watches the resident dumbasses fight.

it happens the next day, too. reiju watches as her brother and zoro brawl, and nami and robin giggle, wondering if she’s happy to see her brother openly roughhousing or simply analyzing their battle tactics.

on the third day, after the two finally back down, panting and snarling and heaving, reiju abruptly stands and walks to zoro with determined purpose.

he squints up at the pink-haired curlybrow, raising his own eyebrow in question. “what?”

“i approve.”

he processes her words, but still grimaces in confusion. “huh?”

reiju’s face does not waver, and she only nods. “you have my blessing.”

sanji pipes up, equally confused. “reiju? what are you talking about?”

she turns to her brother with sincere eyes, endlessly pleased that her brother has found a truly fitting match. “he’s pitifully obtuse, but nonetheless agreeable. he has proven himself, so I believe he will be a husband worthy of you.”

katakuri who’s moved far away from everything he’s ever known in the process of learning to detach himself from his mother’s toxic expectations, and corazon who struggled finding work after serving in the marines, but found a passion in looking after children with busy or absent guardians, just like him.

katakuri who’s come to appreciate the clumsy blond man that stumbles in to ramble about the adorable children at the daycare, completely forgetting to say his order at all, but he doesn’t need to anyway since katakuri’s memorized it all. corazon whose heart flutters at the warm look on the baker’s face whenever he talks about the kids, never needing to see his smile, hidden meticulously beneath a face mask, because it reaches his eyes regardless.

many crises, breakdowns, and disastrous confessions later, they’re married and comfortably settled in the all blue. sanji likes to play music in the kitchen as he cooks, and every now and then he’ll drop his knife, his spatula, his whisk, and reach for zoro’s hand instead, pulling him up from where he’s been lazily admiring sanji on the couch.

“you know i still don’t dance curly,” he grumbles, never mind how he nuzzles into the side of sanji’s head, hand curling comfortably around sanji’s waist.

“stay too long on that couch and you’ll take root there, mosshead,” sanji snarks easily, smiling into zoro’s shoulder.

zoro says nothing, staring out over the expanse of ocean stretched before them.

“there has to be something you want from me. from a relationship with me.”

and zoro fights the urge to take the cook by his shoulders and shake the doubt, the insecurity, the belief that sanji could be anywhere near inadequate, out of him.

instead he steps closer and meets sanji’s single eye, ignoring the striking, diamond-like glint of his other grey-blue eye peeking through his golden bangs so he doesn’t get lost in it.

“yeah. there might be something.”

zoro immediately hates how sanji minutely sags with relief at that, comforted by the familiarity of rejection- something he was more thoroughly acquainted with throughout his life than reciprocation.

“to think i was almost worried you were losing it, going on about being in love with me.”

zoro nods. “i am.”

“right,” sanji scoffs out through a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. the swordsman watches another puff of smoke slip silkily out of sanji’s mouth as the cook turns toward him. “now spit it out. what do you actually want from me?”

but when night falls, those same stars pay witness to how zoro lingers in the galley as sanji cleans up after dinner, dozing off to the gentle clinks of washed plates. they see how sanji climbs up to the crow’s nest long after everyone has fallen asleep, with blankets and a bottle of zoro’s favorite sake in tow.

they see how zoro ambles into the men’s quarters after night watch and clambers into his hammock, bumping not-so-subtly into sanji’s. they see how sanji gently rouses at the movement, and when zoro’s settled, his breathing even, he slides out of his own bed and climbs in with him. he nudges him over, zoro huffing with childish and weightless petulance as he shifts to give sanji the space to curl into his side. they stay like that for however long the darkness of night lasts, sanji’s head on zoro’s chest and zoro’s arm around him, tucked close into each other, warm under the blankets and briefly, blissfully impervious.