Fruit Island obviously wasn't ready to host them again, and the mochi arena still wasn't finished, so the next morning Katakuri suggested a different place.

Watching from the ship as they approached Biscuits Island, Sanji found he couldn't see anything that would qualify as an arena. All the other islands he'd visited had boasted giant themed structures, but this place was almost unnaturally flat. Madeleine houses and ladyfinger paths were visible from the shore, and low pretzel forests covered much of the island's edges, but Sanji couldn't find anything that looked bigger than simple civilian homes.

When they disembarked, and Katakuri led him away from the village and towards the forest instead, Sanji's curiosity got the better of him. "This place does have an arena, right?"

Katakuri was walking alongside him, his long strides once more shortened to keep from getting too far ahead. He seemed to be getting used to going at Sanji's speed, but it was obvious that small steps weren't normal for him. "Not at the moment. It's being re-baked. There is an open field, though. My brother has offered that in its place."

Sanji quickened his pace, frowning. "Why'd he bother offering if he didn't have one?"

"Any space will do." Katakuri's steps matched him, the man moving a little more easily now. If he noticed what Sanji was doing, he didn't say anything. "Besides, he's seen what we've done to the other arenas. I doubt the rest of my siblings will be so accommodating."

"Yeah, okay. But aren't you in charge around here?" Sanji asked, slowing for a second to get a closer look at the ginger-nut 'fruit' on one of the pretzel trees. Biscuits Island had been one of the few he hadn't visited before on Katakuri's tours, so his attention kept getting diverted by the new food-structures around him. "You're a commander, right? Can't you just order them?"

"Not exactly, that isn't how we-"

"Oh shit, are these different sizes?" Sanji interrupted, his interest immediately caught when he noticed the smaller cookies hidden behind the larger ones. They started off tiny then gradually increased in width and thickness until they were full-sized, much like bunches of actual fruit. "Fuck, that's amazing. It's like they're real."

Katakuri turned towards him to cast a glance down at the trees, and Sanji realized that he probably couldn't see what he was talking about. The tallest of the wafer-leaved branches only reached the man's waist. "It must be my brother's work. He prides himself on such things."

Sanji took another minute to admire the detail, then stepped back. "You guys actually do work around here? I thought you just sat around all day in your houses, watching over prisoners."

"That's not true," Katakuri told him, turning back towards the path to the field once more. "We occasionally go out for walks."

Sanji pulled out a cigarette, hiding his wide grin behind his hand as he lit up.

Somebody else was here.

Sanji threw himself into a mid-air flip to dodge Katakuri's punch, kicking out hard to keep himself aloft as he tried to get a sense for this new presence. It was wholly unfamiliar, and he wasn't picking up on any malicious intent, but the pressure in his head was enough to put him on edge.

Katakuri seemed to notice them too, his head turning to the side towards the forest. A moment later he lowered his fists, and Sanji let himself fall to the ground a few meters away, following his gaze.

There was a man there, pushing past the last of the trees to walk into the clearing. He was obviously a Charlotte with his height and his odd-colored hair, and he was wearing the same bizarre orb knee-guards that Smoothie had boasted. Coupled with all the random pink polka-dots and green swirls on his mismatched outfit, he looked like he'd just lost a fight with a rainbow.

Sanji had thought that Katakuri's preferences for all-black clothing were odd at first, but the more Charlotte siblings he met, the more he realized that it was probably a reaction to the goddamn headache he got looking at everybody else.

"Cracker," Katakuri greeted him.

"Brother Katakuri," the man echoed, and even though he didn't look too happy to see Sanji beside his brother, his words and bowed head were distinctly deferential. "I hope I'm not intruding?"

"No. You've come to watch?"

Cracker's eyes shifted to Sanji for a half-second before settling back on Katakuri. "Yes and no. Do you have a moment?"

"Perhaps," Katakuri answered, taking a few steps towards Cracker to close the gap and crossing his arms. In this new position, the towering column of his left leg was planted firmly between his brother and Sanji. "What do you need?"

Sanji shifted a little so he could peer around it, wary. His blood was still running hot from the fight and the rudeness of the interruption was annoying, as well as the fact that like Amande, Cracker hadn't even bothered to acknowledge him. He could forgive it in her, but couldn't this guy see that they were busy?

Once more, Cracker's eyes darted to Sanji for just a second before returning to Katakuri. "I was hoping to speak to you alone."

Well, fuck you too, then. Sanji knew there could be plenty of sensitive empire-related information that the Charlotte family kept between themselves, but he'd be stupid to think this little 'talk' would be about anything but him.

Katakuri couldn't have missed something that obvious, either. Even though it was always difficult to tell what the man was feeling, Sanji recognized his posture now as being deliberately closed-off. "I'm in the middle of something. Perhaps you could come to Komugi this evening?"

Damn right, we're in the middle of something. Sanji's annoyance was redoubled at the reminder. He always hated having to pause halfway through a fight; their smooth flow of reading and dodging each other had been broken, and it would take time to get back into the right mindset.

Sanji looked back to Cracker just in time to watch the man's face settle into an even harsher frown, his eyebrows coming together. "I…can't make it tonight. Is there any other time?"

The guy was obviously pushing, even if he was trying to be polite about it. Sanji looked down at the ground and idly toed at a loose piece of the biscuit floor. It felt odd to be standing there and listening to a conversation that was quite literally going over his head. Cracker might be shorter than Katakuri, but he had to be at least three meters tall, more than enough to tower over Sanji.

Katakuri didn't seem interested in participating in whatever little game Cracker was trying to play. "You'll have to forgive me. Most of my days are taken up with prior engagements."

Yeah. Like what you're interrupting right now, asshole. Vindictive joy was sparking in him each time Katakuri shot the guy down.

But Sanji realized that he was being petty. The Charlotte siblings had every right to still be suspicious of him, and he could hardly blame them for doing it.

It's not like it's personal, Sanji told himself, that tiny bit of guilt still present in the back of his mind. He's probably just worried for the people he cares about. I know I would be, too.

"What prior engagements? You mean your fights?" Cracker asked, and for a second his composed façade dropped, his eyes widening incredulously. "With this guy? That's like, five minutes, tops!"

That tiny pit of guilt evaporated. Nevermind, he's a moron and I hate him.

Katakuri's stance shifted a little, his leg planted more firmly between Sanji and Cracker. "What I choose to do with my time is my own concern, little brother."

Cracker's deep frown made a reappearance, and he hesitated for a long moment before he tried to speak again. "You really don't have any time to talk?"

"You're welcome to come visit me at my home. Is there anything else you need?" Katakuri's words were casual, but it was obvious that he expected the subject to be dropped. He was using that same flatly commanding tone that he used to shut down Sanji with, like when he had to tell him to stay in bed and heal up.

Funny, he couldn't remember the last time Katakuri had used that tone with him. Actually, he couldn't remember the last time Katakuri had pulled out his closed-off act at all. The man wasn't usually an open book, but there was a stark difference between the Katakuri sitting relaxed in his kitchen and the Katakuri standing in front of him now.

It looked like Cracker wanted to say something else, his mouth opening for just a fraction of a second before he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he closed his mouth and shook his head once, sharply, before throwing Sanji a last narrow-eyed glance and turning back towards the forest.

Sanji waited a few moments, standing there behind Katakuri and feeling the pressure in the air lessen as the man got further and further away. As soon as he felt he was out of hearing range, Sanji spoke up. "Hey, quick question."

Katakuri turned his head, looking back over his shoulder and down at him. "Yes?"

He sounded normal again without that odd aloof coolness in his voice, and Sanji felt tension he hadn't known he'd been holding lift from his body. Seeing Katakuri like that again had been an uncomfortable reminder of times that were far behind him now. "So, how many of your other siblings want my head on a pike?"

"Cracker is an isolated case. He has personal reasons to be uncomfortable with your presence here." Katakuri didn't try to deflect it this time, at least, but that was hardly a satisfying answer.

Sanji couldn't remember ever seeing the guy before, but considering how much of the wedding ordeal was still a mad, hazy blur in his memory, his memory wasn't exactly trustworthy. "Great. So what'd I do to him?"

"It wasn't you," Katakuri told him, but that meant nothing.

"So it was Luffy. Chopper. Brook. What did-"

-we do to him. Us. The Strawhats.

No. Have to keep his trust. Play along.

"-they do to him?" Sanji finished smoothly, without pausing.

Katakuri finally moved, his long strides carrying him past Sanji and to the other side of the arena. "Luffy defeated him. With the help of another, too, I believe. He didn't take it well."

Katakuri was obviously trying to end the conversation, returning to his place opposite him on the platform as if to resume their sparring, but Sanji wasn't done yet. His answer sounded reasonable enough, and it explained Cracker's behavior, but the fact that Katakuri was pushing to drop it so fast…

He couldn't let it go. "Just that? Nothing else?"

There was a shift in Katakuri's manner, a half-second hesitation where his shoulders rose a fraction of an inch as his upper arms tensed.

"No," the man told him, easy, dismissive. There was nothing in his voice to give him away, and from this distance, the slight change in posture had been almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Sanji let out his breath in a long, weary exhale, reaching into his back pocket for his smokes. He had a feeling they weren't going to be fighting again anytime soon. "You gonna tell me, or am I gonna have to guess?"

It was almost comforting, feeling Katakuri's gaze sharpen and zero in on him. The spike of panic he used to get when it happened was long gone, leaving him with a grim sense of self-satisfaction in its place; he knew now that it meant Katakuri was sizing him up, trying to get a read on what he was thinking.

The man didn't answer him, but he didn't need to. His silence told Sanji everything he needed to know.

He lit up his cigarette, sucking in smoke before blowing it out in soft wisps. "So Germa made a stop here too, huh?"

The pressure left him, Katakuri looking elsewhere. "One could say that, yes."

Of course they had. What the fuck else did they even do, besides go around and make people hate them? It was the only point of their whole twisted, sadistic existence. "What was it this time? Poisoning the water supply? Burning a hospital down?"

Katakuri finally seemed to give in, facing him head-on. "Your brothers-"

"I don't have brothers," Sanji bit out, cutting him off. The connection between him and the Vinsmokes was a dead one. Even if the rest of the wedding was fuzzy in his mind, he sure as hell remembered that part of it.

Katakuri's gaze was sharp on him again, making hairs rise on his skin, but it felt more curious than critical. Sanji wasn't sure why; he'd made it damn clear before that he didn't want to be associated with those monsters.

"It was the most recent Germa attack," Katakuri amended after another moment, moving on. "Other places were hit, but I believe it was the youngest who invaded this island. He went after the civilians while my brother was away. That's why the arena is missing, as well. He…threw it at the city."

Well, isn't that just par for the fucking course.

Sanji was plenty familiar with Yonji's love of picking on people weaker than him, and the reminder of it left him feeling like shit all over again. Of course they'd wait until the actual fighters were gone. Of course they'd go after people who couldn't defend themselves. Why the fuck wouldn't they? They were psychopaths, the scum of the earth, cruel, sick fucking bastards who-

"Okay, one more thing," Sanji spoke up, bitterness seeping through in every word. "Is there anybody here they haven't fucked over?"

"They've managed to reach most places here," Katakuri said evenly, though the furrows in his forehead let Sanji know he was frowning. He obviously didn't want to be telling him any of this, but that was tough shit. "We don't have many patrol ships left, and the larger ones take time to move. We had little way of stopping them in time."

And, as the final nail in the whole damned coffin, of course they'd only been able to do it because of him.

Katakuri had told him just the other day that the events of the wedding had decimated their forces. His allies had taken out their sea slug network. His allies had destroyed all their tarte ships. And he himself had baked the cake that had knocked out their mother, their strongest protector, someone who'd have easily smashed the Germa to bits if she'd still been conscious.

The Vinsmokes were predators, striking where they saw weakness. And he'd made that weakness, so he was just as fucking bad, just as fucking pathetic-

No. Stop thinking.

Katakuri was looking down at him now, stepping closer, his hands falling from where he'd held them ready. He'd tried to keep this from him, Sanji realized, and that caught in his head as fury fired hot in his veins.

He welcomed it. Anger would save him from being dragged back down into the abyss. If he was pissed, at least he wasn't thinking. "Were you ever gonna tell me this, huh? Just gonna leave me in the dark?"

"I told you last time," Katakuri pointed out. "I didn't see the benefit in repeating it."

Last time? What, like when he'd asked why Amande hated him, and Katakuri had told him about Reiju? He probably didn't see the benefit in repeating it, because if he told Sanji about every little thing the Vinsmokes had ruined around here, he'd talk himself hoarse.

It's all my fault.

Sanji hated that little voice in his head just as much as he hated the Germa. Both of them were parasites, clinging on to anything he ever gave a shit about in this world and dragging it down to hell with them.

I let them do it.

Shut up.

I let this happen, I made this happen, I couldn't stop it, I'm weak, I'm weak-

Shut up!

Anger rose once more. The abyss wouldn't take him without a fight.

Katakuri was coming towards him faster now, the same long strides that had carried him so far away bringing him closer just as rapidly. It was intimidating as hell, seeing someone that big move so fast, and that piercing gaze was fixed right back on him. "Sanji? What's going on?"

Sanji couldn't look at him right now, couldn't meet that gaze and let it see what was going on in his head. His cigarette was suddenly too heavy in his hand, so he dropped it. The ground was safer than looking at Katakuri, so he fixed his eyes there, only watching the smooth biscuit tiles even as his voice came out cracking from barely-restrained rage. "Don't need to tell me anything, no, I'm just the fucking cook, can't have me getting upset, can't have me getting hurt, 'cause then I'm fucking useless, stuck sitting around all day-"

Katakuri was talking to him, was saying something as he got closer, but everything was blurring together now. He could barely make out words through the ringing in his ears.

He didn't tell me because I'm weak. I'm too weak to handle it. Just a few words and I'm falling apart.

No, stop it, shut up, shut up-

You're proving him right. Weak. Pathetic.

No! You're wrong! Shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP-

You're nothing but a failure, Sanji.

And the voice in his head was no longer his own, but Judge's, Ichiji's, Niji's, the combined voices of everyone who'd ever seen him in that cell and told him it was where he belonged. He was grasping at the edges of the pit, desperate to climb back out, desperate to stay himself, but it was useless. His fingers slipped and he was falling, down, down, into the void, into the dark-

Warning rang out in his senses, the signals warped and distorted in his dissociation, but blaring loud enough to knock him out of his daze, his head jerking up. Katakuri had closed in on him faster than he'd realized, and he was reaching out, a massive black-gloved hand covering his vision.

It clamped down on his shoulder, and in his mind its heat encompassed his whole body, putting a sudden halt to his mad plunge into the endless dark.

"Sanji," Katakuri said, simple and clear as he kneeled down in front of Sanji, and the word grabbed him and reeled him out of the spiraling depths like a hook lodged straight in his brain.

Sanji couldn't do much but look at him, his eyes locked on Katakuri's, held captive by the steadiness and surety in that yellow gaze.

"Sanji," Katakuri repeated, and shivers thrummed through Sanji's skin at how soft his voice was when he said his name, "I didn't want to tell you…because you're just not one of them."

Red was clearing from Sanji's eyes, his blurry vision returning to normal as the darkness around him receded. Feeling returned with it, and he realized that Katakuri's hand was just barely resting on him, long fingers half-curled around his upper arm. In his mind, that grip had felt like an iron vise, solid and unbreakable.

"You don't look like them," Katakuri continued, and though the rare softness was gone from his words like it had never been there, Sanji knew what he'd heard. "You hold yourself differently. You walk differently. You speak differently. Even at the wedding, everything about you was different, and they…"

Here he paused, seeming to struggle for the right words to say. It was such a natural thing to do, needing a minute to gather one's thoughts, but Sanji couldn't remember ever seeing him do it before. He'd always been ready, always been prepared, always a few steps ahead-

It took a second for him to get it, his mind still too tangled up in how good he felt when Katakuri had said his name like that, but eventually it struck him.

Ah, of course, Sanji realized. He's not using his foresight.

Then, with warmth spreading in his core, He listened to me. I asked him not to, and he listened.

"…they're nothing," Katakuri finally finished. "They're nothing like you."

"Ah…um," Sanji said, quite dumbly, then cleared his throat. He had the feeling that he should say something, like thanks for saving my stupid messed-up ass even though you probably don't know it, but he couldn't think of a way to phrase it without explaining why the hell he'd needed saving in the first place. "Yeah…thanks. Good to know."

It was the most awkward expression of gratitude he'd ever given, and considering that he'd once tried to thank Zeff for everything the old man had done for him, that was saying something. But Katakuri accepted it, at least, lifting his hand away and pushing off his knee to stand at his full height.

"Trust me, Sanji," Katakuri told him over his shoulder, already turning to walk back towards his place on the other side of the platform. "My siblings will come around. They're looking for someone to blame now, but they'll see. What Germa does has nothing to do with you."

Trust me, Sanji.

"Yeah," Sanji said to Katakuri's back as he walked away, feeling the vibrations in the ground beneath him caused by the man's steps fade as he went further and further. Through all the chaos of the past few minutes, all the thoughts of the hell he'd just narrowly avoiding plunging back into, only one thing stood out.

His name, spoken so softly, so openly by this man who could crush him to a pulp, this enemy…but an enemy who had plucked him out of the abyss with nothing more than a touch and a few words.

Sanji…you're just not one of them.

He'd always known that, even when he hadn't known it was a good thing. He knew he wasn't one of the Vinsmokes, knew he'd never belong with them, and had learned over the years that he never wanted to. These words were nothing new to him.

Katakuri was facing him again now, a hundred meters away with his fists raised and his stance ready. Sanji mirrored him, still a little dazed that he was himself right now. Not some pathetic, dissociated shell of himself, locked inside his own head. Himself. Thinking. Feeling.

You're just not one of them.

Sanji.

He'd heard those words before, yes. And he'd heard his own name before, obviously. He'd just never heard it said like that, in that tone, as if they felt happy for him to be that way. As if they were glad for it. As if by seeing him, and seeing the way he was, they were…

Proud.

If there was one thing Sanji could identify that the Charlottes loved most, he wouldn't say sugar, or sweets, or tricking people into thinking they were getting married then putting a bullet right between their eyes.

No, he'd have to say it was excess.

The sheer amount of soaps, shampoos, and general body products that the shelves of his little bathroom had been stocked with was absurd. There were shelves and shelves of bottles he barely even recognized the ingredients of, nevertheless what they were actually meant to do, but he had to admit that such a big selection came in handy. Especially when he'd had to use three different types of conditioner just to get his hair back to normal after what the peanut brittle had done to it.

Aside from that, he'd never touched any of them, outside of going through the shelves to see if there was anything he could use in a potential escape attempt. He'd been hoping for something slippery or sticky to toss at a potential enemy, but he'd settle for anything solid enough to act as a projectile weapon.

Sadly, nothing had looked useful. For the rest of his stay so far in Katakuri's residence, Sanji had ignored the seemingly endless rows of colorful labels and fruity scents.

But this time, when he'd stepped out of the shower and put the only two bottles he ever regularly used back in their places, he'd paused, then grabbed one of the more simple-looking lotions before closing the door to the cabinet.

After all, with no more mirrors watching him, it was safe to get a little more…creative.

"Trust me, Sanji."

Sanji let his head fall back on the pillow, one forearm raised to cover his eyes as he worked his fingers in a little deeper. He felt so much more comfortable spreading out like this now that he knew he wasn't being watched, but Katakuri's room was right next to his, so he still had to be careful.

The last thing he wanted was the man knowing what he was doing right now.

"Trust me, Sanji…I'll take care of you."

Only a few of those were Katakuri's actual words, but Sanji's mind had taken over, twisting the man's voice to say what he wanted to hear. In his head, hands were pushing down on his thighs, spreading them and holding them open. He'd be so gentle, so soft…

"Hold still for me."

Sanji shuddered, letting his eyes slide closed as he trembled beneath an imaginary touch. Katakuri was big enough that he could hold him down with a single hand on his chest, pinning him more effectively than Zoro ever could. And with an extra hand free…

Sanji imagined for just a moment that his own fingers were Katakuri's, pumping slowly inside of him. He'd be looking at him with those same yellow eyes, saying his name in that same voice he'd used today, telling him he'd take such good care of him-

Sanji bit back a hiss as he arched up from the bed, bearing down on his own hand, chasing the feeling until the need subsided a little. Would Katakuri let him ride his fingers like that, while he was preparing him? Or would he demand control, holding him down with all that strength and forcing Sanji to stay at his own pace? Sanji knew he could be over-eager sometimes, but with Katakuri, he'd probably need all he could get.

Sanji paused for a moment, eyes opening and fingers slowing in their movements inside of him, as he contemplated just how much he would need. He'd never really stopped to wonder how the size difference would translate to other parts of his anatomy. Katakuri was about three times taller than him, but that was just height; he was three times wider than him, too. If he was looking at mass altogether, the ratio would be quite a bit bigger.

Fuck, he'd be massive, wouldn't he?

Breaking it down into a simple equation, three times the length by three times the width…meant nine times the sheer amount of dick.

"Holy fuck," Sanji whispered, lying there in his bed with his fingers completely still even as the lotion he was using as lubricant slowly leaked out of him, the implications of what he'd just realized hitting him hard. Then, when he actually pictured it a moment later, "Holy fuck."

Taking Katakuri's cock would be almost like taking a fist, which would be doable, except he'd have to take the whole fucking rest of the forearm with it.

Sanji felt himself clenching up, his thighs clamping shut at just the thought of how much that would hurt. He'd be split in half. Torn in two. Completely wrecked. It was out of the question. Sure, Sanji couldn't remember ever wanting to ride somebody to oblivion as much as he wanted to ride Katakuri, but there were very few things in this world he was willing to die for, and dick wasn't one of them.

But he doesn't have to be that size. It's my fantasy. I can pretend what I damn well please.

That thought caught in Sanji's head, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized it wasn't such a bad idea. He had experience with other men; wouldn't it be easier to take what he knew of their bodies and just adapt them to fit Katakuri?

Zoro was the obvious choice, since he and Katakuri were the closest in body shape. Sanji would admit, he'd seen a lot more of Katakuri's legs from his height than he'd ever seen of Zoro's, but from head-on they could pass for similar.

It took a little mental work, rearranging proportions and trying to figure out how Katakuri would look if he was normal-human-sized, but eventually Sanji got to something believable. It was just a matter of lengthening Zoro's legs a bit, cutting the hair a little closer, and giving him Katakuri's familiar predator-gold gaze.

Katakuri would meet him in the crow's nest gym, just like Zoro did. Sanji would lean back against the benches on the sides, and Katakuri would kneel down in front of him, urging him to spread his thighs with that same gentle touch he'd used earlier today. He'd be so soft with him, working him open one finger at a time, whispering promises that he'd be careful, that he'd take his time.

Sanji let his eyes slide closed once more, resuming his movements and slowly stretching his inner walls. Katakuri would still be big, just like Zoro was big, and he'd need a lot so that when the time came it wouldn't hurt.

He slid another finger in, shifting his position against the bed a little so he could go deeper. He teased himself with flicks against his prostate, imagining how Katakuri would do the same, his fingers thicker and more calloused than Sanji's smooth ones. It'd be rougher on his insides, but Zoro's had been like that too, and the knowledge that he was being made ready to take cock gave him a far better thrill.

And then, finally, finally, he'd pull his fingers out and lean forward, teasing Sanji's hole with the head of his cock. Sanji would never admit he liked it, especially not when Zoro did it, but it made the feeling of being filled at last so much better.

Then Katakuri would push in, holding Sanji close against his chest, gently pushing past the waves of little muscles that were still resisting him, until he was fully buried inside, his arms wrapped around Sanji and his face buried in the crook of his neck and his voice whispering the sweetest, most beautiful things-

Things Zoro never said.

Sanji's fingers slid out of himself, the rising tension of his orgasm abruptly dispelled, the lotion cooling quickly with exposure to the air and leaving him feeling cold and empty.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding.

Zoro had never fucked him like this. It was just another fantasy, Katakuri's face pasted onto Zoro's body pasted onto the lover he wished he had.

Sure, there were the times when they weren't too mad at each other, or when Sanji started things on his own terms. Like the times he managed to drag Zoro into the spare supply room and pull him to the floor and actually see Zoro's face while the man tried to break him in half, but those were few and far between.

Most of the time, they fucked after their fights. And since Zoro always won their fights, that meant Sanji's face was always shoved into the floor, and the warped brown wood of the Sunny's gym was all he ever saw. Zoro would never hold him gently, or give him time to adjust; he always fucked like it was some sort of contest, because everything was some sort of contest with Zoro.

And while their little sex-sessions in the crow's nest tended to mark the end of their fights, they almost always meant the beginning of a whole new one. Usually over why the fuck Zoro couldn't just reach around and help get him off like a normal fucking person. Really, was it too much to ask for him to have some common human decency? It wasn't like the bastard got off any less from doing it, either; Zoro just refused out of principle. He just didn't fucking understand why it always had to be about 'winning' with the goddamn son of a-

Sanji sucked in a breath and forced himself to calm down, un-clenching his jaw and relaxing the muscles in his legs where old habits had made him tense up in anticipation of a fight. Zoro wasn't here, so there was no use getting worked up about it, anyway.

But the fact remained that Zoro never fucked him like this, and even the horniest, most desperate part of his brain knew it, so it wasn't working.

He's not the only one I have. I know someone who'd be gentle. I know someone who'd care.

And Sanji remembered that he did. His heartbeat stuttering in his chest, his fingers clenching into helpless fists as memories washed over him, Sanji remembered who'd touch him just like Katakuri had. Who'd be soft with him, careful even, holding back all that strength and power just for his sake.

Fuck, it felt so wrong, thinking of him like this. Having him come up in his head even after everything that'd happened, remembering his hands and his mouth and trying to pretend it was somebody else.

Damnit, everything about this situation was so goddamn fucked up. Katakuri was literally right next door, and here he was, three fingers deep in himself, having a goddamn crisis over people who weren't even here.

It was fucking pathetic.

How could he do this? How the fuck could he just use his memories of him like nothing more than a tool to get off with? Like just another body he could use to play pretend? Some kind of toy? How could he let himself get away with this shit?

And Sanji decided, there in that moment, that he couldn't.

He wouldn't sink this low. He could do anything he needed to in order to survive these nights, fuck, even fantasize about an enemy who was sleeping right next to him if he had to, but he wouldn't involve him in this. He deserved better.

Sanji pushed the thoughts, just like he always had. They stuck around, little wisps of memories in his head, the sound of his voice and the feel of his skin and the whispered promises, but eventually they faded away. Just like they always did.

Sanji squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath and waiting for the moment to pass, before opening them again. He still had a problem, and if he planned on getting any sleep tonight, he needed to solve it.

Fine, then. If he couldn't pretend that Zoro was gentle, then he'd pretend Katakuri was rough.

Remembering that one night so long ago, where he'd stood in the cold and Katakuri had stared him down from the doorway with his fury making the air tremble between them, Sanji found that it was a far easier change to make. Katakuri might have been soft with him, but he knew the man could have just as easily been so, so hard.

He'd shown that superior, dominating strength many times before in their fights. The first time, when he'd taken Sanji off-guard and pinned him against the ground. Then the second time, when he'd pulled that trick with the giant mochi arms, then just plucked him out of the air and tossed him to the floor.

Zoro would've counted both of those as a victory. Getting Sanji down on the ground was the way he always won, knocking his legs out from beneath him so he could get right down there with him and leverage his superior strength. Katakuri might have let him back up, but Zoro wouldn't have given him the chance.

And, Sanji thought, shivering a little as the possibility teased at the edge of his mind, what if Katakuri didn't, either? What if he was like Zoro, and followed him to the ground, and pinned him, and-

A bolt of heat shot straight to his cock, and a short, breathy cry was wrenched out of him, his insides clenching. Fuck, yeah, Katakuri acting like Zoro was good. Yeah, he could work with that.

But the cry had been a little louder than he liked in the quiet night air, and Sanji stilled, holding his breath and listening for sounds of movement from Katakuri's room next door.

One moment of silence. Two moments. Sanji waited a full minute, too terrified of the consequences to be anything less than absolutely sure.

Nothing.

Sanji let out the air he'd been holding in a heavy exhale, settling back on the bed and reaching for the lotion bottle once more. Maybe his luck had finally come through; Katakuri must be a deep sleeper.

Katakuri was many things, but a deep sleeper wasn't one of them.

That didn't matter, though. Sanji could have been as loud as he'd liked, screaming to the rafters, and Katakuri wouldn't have heard.

He wasn't there.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Reiju heard her brothers fighting against their restraints, furious choked-off noises filling the room as recognition struck them all at the same time. The past two visits had been so close together, and now for this one as well…it seemed their torment was meant to be regular entertainment for this twisted, cruel monster of a man.

She kept her head lowered as he neared, only bothering to raise it when she could feel his frigid presence close enough to wash over her. He hadn't tortured them last time, only sat and watched as her brothers struggled, so perhaps it would be the same again. This time, she would demand answers. She could play at being haughty, could ask about Sanji under the guise of-

The trident was imbedded in the wall before she even realized it'd been thrown.

Her brothers went abruptly silent. Their ability to sense danger was far duller than hers, just like their ability to feel pain, but in the most extreme of situations even they could pick up on it.

And judging by the cold fury in Katakuri's unnaturally-colored eyes, this was certainly an extreme.

The man wrenched his weapon back by the end of the handle, tatters of paper falling from the impact site. The points had landed between her and Ichiji, boring three deep holes into the book-prison wall right beside them. Each was easily as large as Reiju's head.

Ichiji, never silenced for long, turned his head back to Katakuri in the stiff, jerky movements that were all he could manage, mutilated mouth forcing out sounds that were a mockery of words. "Hrm..haaa…"

Katakuri's arm moved, the trident raised above his head. At such a close range, it was clear who he was aiming at.

After all, the first time he'd visited them, he'd started with Ichiji too.