Hi! Thank you for reading my first Zosan fanfic! This story has no beta so please forgive any errors.
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CHAPTER 1: The Marimo & The Cook
"Oi, shitty cook. Gimme some booze."
Sanji gave a heavy sigh while chopping some damn onions. He had his hands full with dinner preparations and the least he could have was some damn green moss ball whining about some fucking booze. "Shut up, Marimo. We're having tea for dinner. It's Nami-san's tea party so stop your shit."
Being the barbarian that he was, Zoro gave out a rebellious grunt. The swordsman crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows knitting together more firmly than usual. "Ah? What's that, shitty cook? The hell I care about that witch's tea party?"
A vein popped out of Sanji's forehead. He sent a deathly glare to the swordsman. "Stop talking shit to Nami-san, stupid Marimo! Want me to shave your mossy head and fillet you?"
It had already been out of reflex when Zoro unsheathed two of his katanas and got ready for a brawl with Sanji. "Ah? Wanna fight, ero-cook? I'm gonna cut you into cubes, you damn Curlybrow!"
Sanji pointed his knife towards the barbarian and chopped him a thousand times in his mind. "Just try to make a commotion in my kitchen..." He narrowed his eyes to the Marimo, imposing an intimidating aura like a predator protecting its territory. "...and I will serve you soiled socks for a month." He continued to send glares to the swordsman, his well-polished knife glistening a deathly glow of yellow because of the kitchen lamp.
"Tch. Then let's take it outside." Sanji was about to comply with the damn moss ball's challenge when someone barged inside the kitchen door without even a knock or a fair warning.
"Sanji! I'm hungry! Meat! Meat! Meat!" A stupid-ass-of-a-rubberman they call 'captain' had the nerve to barge in like a wild animal in his precious kitchen. Dumbass did it a lot of times and Sanji already drilled into his head a lot of times about how rude was that. But being as stupid as he was, their captain just laughed like an idiot while saying, "Sorry! Sorry!"
"Dinner's in 30 minutes. Get out, Luffy," Sanji said, almost exhausted.
"Eh? Then why is Zoro here?" Luffy pulled his eyebrows in confusion and cocked his head to the side innocently. Why did he have to go out and Zoro got to stay? "Gimme some snack, Sanji."
"Shut up, you bottomless pit. No snacks before dinner. You'll ruin your appetite."
"But... I'm hungry!" Luffy exclaimed, banging his fists on the counter like some spoiled brat rubber kid.
"Then go chew some wood over there on deck," Sanji said irritated, continuing with his dinner preparations.
Luffy made a childish sound. "Meanie."
"Come on, Luffy. Pansy cook's in his time of the month." Zoro tuggged luffy by his ear, making it stretch in an inhumanly way as the captain was dragged towards the door.
Sanji frowned at Zoro at this remark. "What did you say, shitty swordsman?" He growled at Zoro but the other guy seemed uncaring about his irritation. He just waved his hand dismissively, banging the door behind him, and leaving the cook in his fit of rage. Damn that marimo. He really got into his nerves in the most spiteful and irritating way. Fucking shithead didn't even know what etiquette was.
He fixed his eyes on the frizzling garlic and onions on his pan. His body moved like a reflex in his kitchen, like each limb was programmed to move without voluntary consciousness. That was how adept he was as a chef. His dream was not only to find All Blue, but also to be the greatest chef alive and kicking in the Grand Line and in all Four Blues. That shitty geezer Zeff would surely piss on his pants.
He tried. Really. He tried to focus on what he was doing, but it seemed like his mind was drifting into something fucking undesirable and was better to be buried into oblivion. He viciously tried to harass his mind with the images of lovely women with large boobs and sexy curves. Women in bikinis. His precious Nami-swan and Robin-chwan. His eyes almost turned into hearts... if it weren't because of that gray eye. That gray eye boring into his soul like a parasite, sucking all his blood until it all ran out. Those heated stares, warm pants and wet tongue that left him breathless. That sexy scar on his left eye and that remarkable scar running across from his left shoulder until his right hip. Those calloused hands roaming around every inch of his skin, crawling like venomous snakes on his lithe body and drawing ambiguous patterns that made him shiver ever so slightly. And that grass hair. That fucking, annoying green hair. Those soft, short strands entangling between his fingers, tickling his palms a little and the ends biting onto his skin as his grip tightened.
His cheeks warmed up. A strange pooling sensation started to gather in his gut. And he just slapped both of his cheeks. "Fuck." His hands were on both sides of his head, his cheeks fucking throbbing against his palms. "Pull yourself together, Black Leg," he said to himself. He did not want to remember that thing. Not in a million years. It was just a one-time thing. A grave and honest mistake. It was never in their "cleanest" intention. But what was done was done. And if life wasn't such a bitch, that damn marimo didn't even remember a bit about it, while Sanji here was almost drowning in his own recollection. That was what pissed him off the most. And it was the most logical explanation why he was so grumpy and pushy to the swordsman this past month–always throwing snarky comments and starting up a fight.
His beloved Robin-chan already asked him if he was alright, and why he was so pissed at Zoro. She really was a very perceptive and observant woman. The crew members seemed to be oblivious to his behavior, well, setting the brilliant archeologist aside. She knew that something wasn't right, and that he was a bit tense around the marimo. He just thanked the raven-haired woman for her concern and then began declaring his undying love for her. She flashed her beautiful smile and that was all it took to melt Sanji's heart. He knew that Robin wasn't buying his "just a headache and the marimo was really pissing me off" reason. She even suggested him to go to Chopper if the headache persisted. Such a thoughtful and considerate woman. Unlike a certain marimo species.
Women were lovely, soft and curvy. They smelled good, dressed good, and looked good. Ah! They were Sanji's goddesses! The marimo, on the other hand, was nothing but a brainless brute–a barbaric musclehead with no discretion at all, always saying stupid things from his stupid mouth. But he couldn't deny that the marimo was sometimes a bit attractive. Especially when he was lifting those stupidly humongous weights, his eyes strained with deep concentration, his muscles flexing at the most fucking right angles, and his chiseled abs glistening with sweat. Hell would need to freeze before he admitted that out loud.
Not that Sanji liked men. He liked women a million times over. It was just a bit bothering that he found Zoro "attractive" and that Zoro just happened to be a man. His rival to boot.
For fuck's sake.
Sanji cursed. His garlic and onions were much darker than what they should be. "Shit." He burned them. But he wouldn't waste food. Not until he was breathing and kicking. He knew that he would come up with a remedy later on because that was how it always was. Not that he was bragging about his skills, but he just knew how good he was at cooking.
While he was peeling some potatoes for his soup, Sanji suddenly got a sick feeling. His vision swam a bit, as his throat swelled up with acid. He stopped peeling and sat on the bar stool. He planted his elbow on the counter and palmed his face. He was having a goddamn headache again. Perhaps he should really pay Chopper a visit anytime soon.
He grabbed a cigarette stick and his gold lighter from his pant pocket. Flicking the lighter on, Sanji sucked in a joyful breath, filling his mouth and lungs with that sinful taste of nicotine. It relaxed him everytime. His cigs were his best buds. As he inhaled a third lungful, he felt an itch in his throat and began coughing out the smoke.
"Already dying shit-cook?"
Sanji raised his head up and gave the bastard a death glare. "I'm not gonna give you the benefit of enjoying your life. So no. I'm not dying, you asshole."
"Che." The swordsman grunted. Annoying cook. "Robin told me to help you."
"You deaf or stupid?"
Sanji rolled his eyes and continued to savour his cigarette. "Just get the fuck out, marimo. I don't need any help."
"Figures." When Zoro turned around and was about to open the galley door, they were both surprised when the cook said "wait." Zoro looked over his shoulder, his eyebrow arching questioningly.
Sanji stood there behind the counter, frozen and speechless. What the fuck did he do that for? He didn't want Zoro to wait. He wanted him outside. But his mouth just moved according to its own. "What?" the swordsman said, irritated.
"N-Nothing." The cook averted his eyes, his aura shifting from being surprised to sudden concentration on his recipe. "Just go out, asshole." He heard Zoro mumble something before he finally exited the galley door. Sanji gave a heavy sigh and propped himself up against the counter, his cigarette burning between his index and middle fingers. What the fuck was wrong with me?
And then it happened. He smelled something bad and he instantly flipped his eyes open. "Fuck!" He ran toward his grilling chicken legs. He immediately put them out the fire, placing them on a clean china plate. When the commotion died down and his adrenaline declined to its normal level, he stared at his food for a moment with unbelieving eyes.
He just burned his own beloved food.