The first few days of a political marriage aren’t supposed to be exciting.

They’re supposed to be awkward dinners, shared silences, and pretending not to hate each other while nobles toast to an alliance neither party agreed to. That’s what you expected, anyway. But being married to Reiju Vinsmoke isn’t like marrying into royalty — it’s like being handcuffed to a cigarette that smirks while burning you down slowly, poisonously, elegantly.

The wedding happened in Totto Land, two weeks after the fiasco with Sanji and Pudding. A showy affair, Big Mom laughing so hard the chandeliers trembled. “Can’t let all those cakes go to waste!” she’d said before slapping your back so hard you coughed up blood. You, her son — the least important, most tolerable one — were offered up as consolation. Reiju was gracious. At least, her smile was. Her eyes told a different story.

“Try not to die early,” she had whispered during the vows, her voice sugar-laced with venom.

Now you’re on a honeymoon cruise across some tropical sea on a candy-themed boat, and you can’t tell if you’re falling in love, or just falling ill. You spend most days on the deck pretending to read maps. Reiju lounges nearby in that impossibly tight black suit of hers, sipping tea, legs crossed like she’s always halfway to murdering someone and sipping tea about it after.

You watch her. Constantly. And not just because you’re married — because she doesn’t make sense. The way she moves is deliberate. Controlled. Everything is poised with her, calculated. Even the way she flicks her hair back. And yet, behind that cold mask, there's... what? You don’t know. That’s what makes you itch.

“Staring again?” she murmurs without turning her head.

“I’m allowed. I’m your husband,” you shoot back, not looking up from your map.

She chuckles. “That’s adorable.”

Then it happens.

Some dumb sea beast — a water serpent the size of a ship — rises from the ocean, thrashing like it just stubbed its toe on God. It spews something blue and boiling across the deck. You shove Reiju out of the way, trying to act brave, only to catch a mouthful of that blue liquid yourself.

Immediately, your tongue goes numb.

Your throat closes.

You drop to your knees, wheezing, as colors swirl in your vision. You hear Reiju’s heels click toward you.

“You absolute idiot,” she sighs.

You barely manage a sound. “Poison…”

“Yes,” she says. “Highly toxic. Water monsters in this region secrete venom in self-defense. Didn’t your mother teach you anything about marine biology?”

You want to answer. Instead, your face smacks the deck. Hard.

She leans down beside you, tilting your chin. “Lucky for you, poison is my specialty.”

Then, without asking, she kisses you.

Not a romantic kiss. Not sweet or tender. Clinical. Swift. Her lips press against yours — and you feel something being pulled out of you. Not metaphorically. Literally. The burn vanishes. Your lungs open. Your heartbeat slows.

She pulls back, licking her lips like she just tasted fine wine. “Well,” she says. “Wasn’t expecting our first kiss to be so… practical.”

You stare at her, dazed. “You... you sucked the poison out?”

“I do everything with style,” she replies, standing and brushing herself off. “Including saving stupid husbands who try to play hero.”

You sit up, coughing. “You kissed me.”

“Technically, yes.”

“And... you saved me.”

Reiju raises an eyebrow. “What, did you expect me to let you die on our honeymoon? I’d at least wait until the third week.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Do I... thank you? Kiss you back? Offer you dinner? I’m new to this.”

She smirks. “You’re cute when you’re panicking.”

You glance up at her. Something shifts. Behind that wall of sarcasm and elegance, there’s a flicker of something — not quite warmth, but curiosity. Like she’s trying to figure you out too, and that makes your chest feel weird.

She holds out a hand. You take it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says. “You look like death and smell like fish.”

“Wow,” you mutter, standing. “You really know how to flatter a man.”