#svvcrdsman

@svvcrdsman - SENDER KISSES RECEIVER'S INNER WRIST + IN THE KITCHEN ♡

↪ Swing by before last call. I'll whip you up a treat. ↪ x

ㅤㅤThe hours drift by as Sanji looks at the messages once more, a double set of blue ticks firmly in place yet there's no response, the edge of a thumb lightly tapping against the side of the phone as if the rhythm would somehow drum up a reply, going so far as venturing to a different part of the building in case the low ceiling of the temporary establishment had an effect on reception ( aucune aide là ). A spark of inadequacy threatens to take hold as the cook considers that perhaps the addition of the 'x' had been a little much, wishing he could withdraw it despite knowing it was far too late, departing from the spot he'd been hovering at near the till behind the bar to delve into the inner depths of the kitchen, leaving behind a member of front-of-house taking a payment from their last group of indulgent customers as they make arrangements to head home. The blond hadn't heard from the other man in a few days, knowing fully that Zoro had an excessively hectic work schedule this week, frequently intermittently fighting the urge to scroll through social media profiles in search of any inkling of what he was up to ( aucune chance ).

ㅤㅤㅤㅤA knot forms within the base of Sanji's stomach as he opts to call it a night, the swinging entrance juddering closed behind him just as a distant commotion starts up on the other side of the expansive sleek room, someone apparently wanting to head inside despite their doors on the verge of shutting ( ça arrive de temps en temps ). Fingertips absentmindedly fumble at one of the loosening buttons keeping the cook's apron in place, the opposing palm lowering to rest against the cool surface of a countertop, index finger lightly tapping with the sheen of lighting overhead splayed across metal ( il déteste ressentir ça ). It's a thought that's swallowed down as the man tells himself that he shouldn't have had any expectations, that nothing had changed as such so this morose sentiment is uncalled for— except, that's not how Sanji parses his emotions as things draw out, anticipation having gotten itself embroiled with genuine longing, the lengthening of time spent apart ( aussi petit soit-il en apparence ) making matters all the more difficult when forlornly thinking forwards to the future.

ㅤㅤ"Qui suis-je plaisantais. Je ne pourrai pas survivre à une relation à distance," the blond glumly mutters to himself under his breath, navy blue fabric falling away from his front to be placed to one side, the motion of the sous chef's frame overshadowed by another's bearing - a familiar warmth lingers against the back of Sanji's wrist, digits tracing a delicate line over faint creases of skin that peek from the layers of his sleeve, a touch that slowly evolves to be increasingly ardent in its intentions, contact that grows firmer as the man feels an enveloping grasp. The cook remains perfectly still as notes of cologne drift across to engulf his senses ( il sentait toujours si bon ), lips parting in contented relief as Zoro's comforting form presses against Sanji's back, an arm desirously wrapping around his midriff tugging him closer still into a full bodied embrace. Temples poised with respective visages nestling against one another's, the pair remain like this for a moment in blissful silence, a quiet murmur of the kitchen's lighting being the sole means of interruption.

@svvcrdsman 🤳

ㅤㅤDulcet tones of downtempo have the capability of lulling a person into a false sense of security, the murmuring thrum of the underlying beat indiscriminately weaving its way into the air, solid surfaces embodying a gentle reverberation to the touch. The music isn't particularly loud in the least but it creates a form of encumbering barrier nonetheless, explanatory words contending with the rhythm growing muffled with syllables entwining and melding together, watchful gaze tracing the outline of moving lips ( succombe à l'indulgence ). A soft roseate haze permeates their surroundings to create a warm glow over cheekbones, glints of curved metal contending with the depths of downcast brown eyes deep in recollection the more the stranger talks.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThere's a transient quality about the room given how people sway for brief periods before moving on to busier adjoined sections with livelier crowds, a notion heightened as the blushed luminosity commences to shift, bringing about a faint cyan aura which graces tufts of comparably darker hair. It's impossible to say that a person can outright fall in love by glancing at the mere outline of another ( non, ça a un autre nom - la luxure ), but Sanji had been staring a little too intensely for far too long now, not entirely engaging with the conversation but rather taking in other elements utterly imbued in physicality instead. The blond was listening but... not quite paying attention, the sheen of a world of celluloid glamour gradually being peeled back to reveal a level of hard work that not many considered with much detail ( ce mec, en revanche, avait beaucoup de réflexions à ce sujet ).

@svvcrdsman - ' he's been lost for an alarming while. but damn if zoro's going back without what he's been hunting for. the swordsman storms through the town, going through every street. the sheer intensity zoro carries with him makes it seem like he's hunting for a thousand bounties. by the time zoro returns, it's close to midnight. in lieu of a greeting, zoro shoves something into sanji's chest. "--i'll get you a real one in the future." zoro draws his hand away from the ox plush. '

ㅤㅤA new summer island, a new town - Sanji should be worried when the navigationally impaired swordsman doesn't return after an inordinate amount of time, the once vibrant sky turning inky with the emergence of bejewelled stars, the cook feigning indifference despite peering at his watch at frequent intervals. The blond reasons that Zoro is perfectly capable of taking care of himself... but past experience says otherwise having seen him walk in the opposite direction when trying to head back to the ship in plain view. He keeps himself preoccupied whilst tending to an outdoor barbecue to ring in the New Year, children awake way past their bedtime running along the sand with sparklers, the man promptly swatting at an elongated hand stretching across the beach attempting to grab a hold of a skewer that's not quite ready yet—

The aftermath of the battle was visible on both ships - some broken railings, torn sails, a few ropes undone or also torn. The most important thing, both crews were all alive, some sporting greater injuries, some more benign ones. Regardless, Hongo had his hands full tending to the wounds of both crews, aided by those who at least had some medicinal knowledge or knew how to bandage wounds that were just bleeding and needed to be cleaned and nothing else.

This wasn't as Shanks had imagined meeting Luffy again, or that soon for that matter either, though there was little to no say he had in it. As they were having their get little get together and he got to meet all of his crew, naturally nobody paid much attention or spotted the Marine ship approaching them. He could see how tempting it was to take out two birds with one stone, what with his and Luffy's bounties. Well, the aforementioned vessel was now floating around the Going Merry and the Red Force in pieces, along with whatever crew was on board.

It was just Shanks' luck that his good - and only - arm got a rough beating, a rather nasty gash on his upper arm bleeding heavily. The saddest part was that even after ten years, he had the urge to reach with his left arm to try and stop the bleeding, and he didn't want to bother Hongo since he had bigger and worse injuries to tend to first.

Thankfully one of Luffy's crew, the green haired swordsman, came over and put him out of his misery.

A hiss escaped through gritted treeth as his injury was cleaned and bandanged. "Thanks," the red haired captain said, mustering up a smile despite the pain. "You're Zoro, right?"

it was hard for her NOT to approach someone who was obviously hurt. Well . okay , she didn't know if he was or not but he certainly wasn't moving. Maybe he was dead? Oh, she hoped not. She frets over and over again while that tattoo of hers slithers down her sleeve and peeks out through her hand to get a better look.

[ we should just leave him. ] it says , in a voice that only it's host could hear.

But the girl shakes her head , worried , borderline frantic. " he can't be dead , I-I mean , do you think someone's out looking for him ? "

It wasn't all too often that he agreed to a few rounds of drinks, even less so when the company was a potential rival. The thing was, it worked with Shanks, and he had fallen for it again with no other than Roronoa Zoro, the very young man whose life he had spared some time ago.

Truth be told, he didn't exactly know why he found himself in his company. He supposed it was as good company as any, and it was better than sitting in the corner on his own, gloomy and stoic as he was. Still, he was deep in though, a hand reaching inside his pocket to pull a pendant out, the aged gold and the pearlescent glimmer playing in the candlelight - a reminder of some other times, when he was the fun Mihawk, when he still found joy in life in the simplest and smallest of things, when he still hadn't resorted to being as emotionally distant as possible.

Yellow eyes finally shot up, Mihawk not even having realized that he'd been stuck in his thoughts for a while now. To keep appearances, slender fingers let go of the pendant and reached for the glass of red wine sitting in front of him to take a sip. There was a lot on his mind, more than he wanted to trouble Zoro with.

Deny and feign annoyance, it always worked.

"What possibly made you think I wasn't okay?" Except the pendant, the look of almost longing on his face? Nothing. A rookie mistake.

The swordsman took a deep breath. "It's not like it matters."

He never took Zoro for a man that could utter a truth like that. And it strikes something within him. How many times has he raged against the sea, against the people, against himself? How many times has he found solace in anger? At times when no one would hold his hand, he’d curl it into a fist. And now, he can’t bring himself to aim it at the swordsman.

“Yes. That is why we’re fighting each other. Maybe, if not for anger, we’d find ourselves nowhere.”