Chapter Text
Sanji really should have known better. It’s not like it’s his first day on the Merry, right? No. He’s familiar with all the crew’s quirks and habits and general shenanigans. He knows exactly what he can expect from them.
Which is why he’s now standing in the middle of the galley, looking around in despair he hasn’t felt in years and asking himself why he didn’t see this bullshit coming.
To his defense, it did start pretty innocently, with Luffy rushing into the kitchen, babbling about needing a knife to cut an apple. (In all honesty, Sanji hadn’t even been aware of the presence of apples on the ship, but upon being questioned, Luffy merely claimed that “apples happen” before grabbing one of Sanji’s precious, extremely sharp knives lined up on the kitchen counter, and then rushing off again.)
And… Fine. That particular knife was one of Sanji’s older ones, and not really top quality. It didn’t take much for it to start losing its sharpness, and the balance was a little off for the cook’s hand. He wouldn’t really mind losing it.
Which didn’t even happen in the end, as barely minutes later, the ship’s stupid swordsman brought the perfectly cleaned knife back to the cook, announcing that Luffy won’t be needing it anymore, since he is currently bleeding out on the deck, but it’s fine because Chopper’s already taking care of it, and the captain might even survive, and also doesn’t Sanji think the knife needs a bit of sharpening.
Though he probably didn’t use that many words to convey the message.
Idiot Mosshead. What does he even know about knife maintenance?!
The thing is, the apple incident wasn’t even when it all really went to hell, though the signs were there and Sanji definitely should have seen them and put a stop to the future disaster.
Present Sanji sighs, lifting the giant slab of salmon (a special Grand Line variety, about four times the size of a normal salmon, enough to feed the entire crew and one Luffy) on the counter, as if he might have just absentmindedly placed it on an entire set of his beautiful knives.
After the Luffy thing, it took about two days for another incident to take place, and the next one to relieve Sanji of one of his knives was Nami, or at least that’s what the cook thinks, based on the fact that the knife was right there on the counter one second and was gone the next, without Sanji even sensing any movement nearby. Also based on the fact that when he managed to locate it, it was on a random barrel near the helm, surrounded by scraps of maps, with its edge covered in tiny pieces of paper dust.
It was one of his nice, long knives, too, and when he found it, Sanji might have let out a cry that made Zoro promptly drop down from the crow’s nest, a sword in each hand, ready to strike.
Fucking Mosshead. Always eager to cut stuff up.
Then only a few hours later, Chopper clip-clopped into the galley, stating that he needed a large chef knife for medical purposes. Sanji did ask him whether he didn’t have his own scalpels, but those were, apparently, insufficient. And upon hearing the words “Usopp” and “unfortunate fishing accident” and “under control… probably”, Sanji sighed and picked yet another knife he wasn’t that attached to.
And good thing he did, as when he eventually got it back (by going to retrieve it from the doctor’s makeshift office), it was covered in a lot of extremely suspicious fluids that hopefully only came from the unfortunate fish, and even after some very thorough cleaning, Sanji still decided to give it a very long bath in the strongest alcohol he could find on the ship.
Before that knife’s quarantine even ended, the resident mountain of pure muscle was already walking into the galley, requesting another one of Sanji’s treasures.
“The boning knife,” Sanji repeated, narrowing his eyes at the swordsman’s impenetrable face, searching for any signs of him joking. “Why would you–”
“I need it.”
“For what?”
Zoro merely shrugged his massive shoulders as he glanced at the knife-and-alcohol containing pitcher on the counter.
“Reasons.”
“Listen, Mosshead, if you don’t tell me how are you planning to desecrate my poor knife, you’re not getting it.”
“Okay,” Zoro replied, deadpan, and took a large gulp from the pitcher before heading back towards the door.
Which, of course, made anger boil in Sanji’s veins, because what does the idiot mean by okay, and how dares he drink from Sanji’s knife decontamination pitcher, and so the cook did the one thing his fury made seem like a great idea, which was grabbing the aforementioned boning knife and throwing it straight at Zoro’s head.
The sword freak, of course, effortlessly caught it by the blade, mid-air.
“This’ll do,” he said, looking at the knife. “Thanks, cook.”
Sanji screamed. Zoro paid him no mind, but when he left, the pitcher has gone with him.
To Zoro’s honor, though, he did return the boning knife and the quarantined one that very evening, absolutely glistening and so sharp they could easily cut through silk.
Sanji would like to make it absolutely clear that his blood did not rush straight down to his dick upon seeing that, because… that would be weird, right?
Right?!
Oh, well. Anyway. This was probably the point when it all started to go downhill, and fast.
It almost looked like everyone somehow began to assume that since Sanji had hesitantly allowed them to borrow the knives once or twice, they were now automatically free game whenever the crew longed for a sharp blade to cut shit with, and it didn’t quite occur to them to make sure the knives were still sharp when they were done with them.
Sanji groans, checking the drawers, just in case.
Yes, during the past few days, the situation has been getting more and more out of hand. His knives kept disappearing from their rightful places faster than Sanji could hunt for them. He couldn’t – he can’t – spend more time looking for knives to cut his ingredients with than actually cutting them, not to mention cooking them.
Because yes, contrary to the crew’s apparent beliefs, Sanji is a cook, not a detective.
He mutters a curse under his breath, lifting the fish again, just to make sure that he didn’t miss a blade hiding under it, but the answer is… no. There’s nothing. Not even a stupid paring knife. Only the kitchen counter and Sanji’s own broken dreams.
And the worst thing is, it’s not even like there aren’t other blades on the ship. Zoro might be way too emotionally attached to his swords, especially the… well, the white one, but he doesn’t judge a blade by its length, and he has adopted a few nice daggers as time went by, and those are actually there to be used by the entire crew as needed.
True, Sanji hasn’t seen a single one in a while, but…
Oh.
Of fucking course.
The crew must have lost all those daggers before coming for Sanji’s dear darling knives.
Which, obviously, ruins Sanji’s perfect plan to at least go retrieve one of said daggers and use that to cut up the stupidly large fish that’s sitting on his counter.
Which means that the only blades on the ship that are currently sharp and easy to find…
Oh.
Of.
Fucking.
Course.
Zoro is frantically running around the ship, turning his head this way and that, eyes desperately searching for their target, for a glint of a blade, for a patch of white…
“Wado Ichimonji,” he whispers, as if his sword can not only hear him, but also call back.
Minutes ago, he woke up from an afternoon nap to find one of his three scabbards empty, the precious weapon simply gone. He jumped up immediately, not thinking twice about it, and threw himself into searching.
“Damn it, Zoro,” Nami frowns at him. Probably frowns. She sounds like she’s frowning. “What happened to you?”
“No time,” he growls. “Wado Ichimonji.”
“O...kay?” she states, probably blinking. “What about it?”
Zoro doesn’t have the time for idle chatting, though, so he simply ignores her question and goes back to his main mission.
The sword isn’t on the bottom deck, and it’s not on the main level, either. Zoro even climbs into the crow’s nest, scaring Usopp who’s currently on watch, but no, he didn’t leave the sword there.
So where is it?!
“Think, Zoro, think,” he mutters to himself.
“Uhm. Can I help you?” Usopp asks from the bottom of the crow’s nest. What is he even doing there? Oh, right. He fell on his ass with a squeak when Zoro’s head suddenly appeared in front of him.
“Where was I before I went to take a nap?” Zoro frowns.
“I don’t know?” Usopp says. “Working out?”
“No.”
“Lunch?” Usopp suggests.
“Lunch,” Zoro repeats. Yes, lunch would make sense. “Thanks.”
With that, he grabs the nearest rope and promptly drops back down onto the deck.
“Zoro, have you gone fucking insane–”
The galley’s door swings and hits the wall with a loud crash and Sanji nearly cuts his own hand off with the stupid, awkward sword.
“What the–” he starts, only to see Zoro standing in front of him, his face anguished, his eyes desperately glancing around, looking for…
The white sword that’s currently in Sanji’s hand, covered in salmon juices.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Zoro shrieks, more words than Sanji has heard him say in the past two days or so.
And fine, maybe this idea wasn’t as bright as Sanji’s tired-of-your-bullshit mind made it seem. Zoro’s eyes are wide and screaming murder, and while the cook definitely isn’t scared of the idiot, his legs are starting to consider a fast retreat. Maybe even a swim.
But his brain is who’s calling the shots here, and his brain only sees one possible way out of this.
Also, the idiot has already shut the door, and is currently standing in front of it, so escape isn’t really a viable option here.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Sanji snaps back, bringing the sword back down to cut off another piece of the fish. “Making dinner.”
“With the Wado Ichimonji?!” Zoro yells.
Yeah, that’s the sword’s name. Right.
“So what?” Sanji shrugs.
“It’s my sword! My most treasured possession! Not one of your stupid, shitty knives!”
“Oh, no no no no no,” Sanji growls, pointing the sword straight at its owner. “Excuse me, sir, but my knives are nowhere near shitty, and they are my most treasured possessions, and I definitely would prefer to use them, it’s you lot who keep stealing them from me!”
“I’m not stealing your stupid knives,” Zoro growls, taking several steps towards the cook, clearly unfazed by the weapon aimed at his chest. Though Sanji supposes that once you’ve been cut open by one, swords don’t really seem that scary to you anymore, especially when they’re in the hands of cooks. “I asked you for one, and I gave it back!”
“Oh. Uhm,” Sanji comments, hesitating for a moment, and that is apparently long enough for the swordsman to promptly disarm him and take his precious Wado Ichimonji – and the only knife-resembling object Sanji has right now – back.
With the sword out of the way, he takes several more steps forward, forcing Sanji to step back, until his ass hits the cabinets lining the wall behind the cook. As a result, Sanji is now cornered and being towered upon by a big, angry, big swordsman.
Also has he mentioned big.
How does he even seem so big when Sanji is literally the taller one?!
Have you been working out, Sanji wants to blabber out, and has to bite his bottom lip to make the words stay where they belong, and that’s in the depths of Sanji’s traitorous brain.
He’s not scared by the man who’s currently pressing him against the cabinets, quivering with rage and staring down at Sanji with a glint in his eyes that’s promising endless torture and agony. Okay, he might be a little scared, but it’s definitely not the main emotion he’s feeling right now.
His eye dart from Mosshead’s face, down to the vast expanse of his shoulders and stupidly big chest muscles…
“Never,” Zoro growls, voice deep and threatening, “touch the Wado Ichimonji again, shit cook, or I’ll use it to cut off your hands.”
Sanji glances back up, willing his blood to please go back to his brain where it belongs instead of… where it’s all headed now.
Come on, Sanji, let’s not get horny about big, green-haired idiots. We have a rule against that, remember?
“Really?” he smirks, defiant, simply because he knows it’ll only piss Mossy off. “Will you?”
“Yes. Or I can cut them off right now.”
“So you’ll be cooking all your meals from now on?” Sanji grins, batting his eyelashes.
“You…” the moron grunts, pressing his chest against Sanji’s before… hesitating.
He glances down at their bodies, then back at Sanji’s face, the fury in his eyes being swiftly replaced by confusion. Almost as if he’s only now realizing what he’s doing, which doesn’t seem plausible to Sanji, as it would require some thoughts being able to fight their way through the moss in his skull.
“Yes, Mosshead?” Sanji smirks, sensing that he might be getting the upper hand without even lifting a finger. (He will not comment on other parts of his body that are now threatening to lift on their own as a result of a hot, angry, huffing man pressing against us.)
He means hot in the literal sense, of course, as the heat radiating from Zoro’s skin is…
“Don’t. Touch. My. Sword,” the idiot mutters, then turns around and promptly leaves the galley, leaving Sanji trembling in what’s definitely only shock.
Zoro slams the door behind him, mentally snapping at his dick to go back down, immediately, while simultaneously congratulating himself on wearing pants that are tight in all the right places, meaning that not a single member of the crew – that is, of course, gathered on the deck now, probably debating whether someone should go make sure they’ll still have a cook when Zoro’s done with him – can see his current struggle with self-control.
“H-hi, Zoro,” Luffy starts upon seeing him emerge. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Zoro grunts, glancing at the poor Wado Ichimonji in his hand, covered in salmon juices. Disgusting. “The cook is missing his knives.”
“His…” Chopper peeps.
“He needs them to cook dinner,” Zoro elaborates. “Now.”
“I. Uhm,” Vivi says. “I think I might have seen one. In… in my room.”
“There might be one in the crow’s nest,” Usopp announces. “Or maybe two. Or even three.”
“Good,” Zoro nods. “I’ll be cleaning my swords. Call me for dinner.”
That is, if the stupid, infuriating cook even decides to give him one.
Fucking Sanji. Making his blood boil in his veins with every idiotic word he says, and then making the angrily bubbling blood head to places where it shouldn’t be.
“Stupid cook,” Zoro mutters to himself as he heads to his room. Well. Hopefully to his room. The ship’s layout is horribly confusing, really. “How dares he touch my sword.”
And how dares he look so weirdly hot doing it.