Chapter Text
Sanji was becoming a pyromaniac. An arsonist too. For a good reason! (No, it was actually a terrible reason and his kitchen was suffering at the hands of it.)
The first time, it was an accident. A complete accident, and Sanji swears to all the gods above that had this one incident not happened the rest wouldn’t have played out. Because he was obsessed with a fuckin’ firefighter and instead of being smart and asking him to hang out like a regular human being he’s resorted to lighting his kitchen on fire.
Right!
So, about that first incident.
Zoro blew their damn kitchen up.
Now, when it happened, Sanji was not surprised. That damn marimo couldn’t cook if his entire family was being held at bomb-point, but the sheer size of the kitchen fire was shocking . By the time Sanji had come to, Zoro was speeding out of the house—shouting on the phone with first responders. He just stared at his retreating form, jaw wide open. Zoro burnt their kitchen down .
The second time he came to, he was running out of the house like a crazed man, screaming bloody murdered as he rushed out the door. He was so shocked it was playing in screenshots. Next thing he remembered, he was sitting in his front lawn, chest heaving with harsh breaths as he stared at their home—illuminated by red flashing lights as firefighters burst onto the scene. He still could not believe it. Zoro had nearly set their damn house on fire? On fire .
Good thing it hadn’t spread too quickly. The fire department was fairly quick, arriving on the scene in only moments, and the fire was out just as fast. Sanji was probably being extremely overdramatic, but then again his own kitchen was on fire and he’d only left Zoro in it for a good 10 minutes. God forbid he ever let that idiot in the kitchen again.
Firefighters soon began to disperse from the house, chattering among themselves, brushing ash off their clothes and coming towards the two sprawled amongst the grass. It was funny—well at least to him it was. Though, they had to do their job, and so he stood.
“The fire is out sir, not too much damage done to the place,” the firefighter in front of him spoke, hands crossed over his chest with a bright grin. From the dim lighting coming from the street light, Sanji could see freckles splattered across their cheeks. His hair was black, shoulder length, slightly curly, it looked nice. Sanji nodded dazedly, and the man stepped to the side a bit—into the light—to let his colleagues through. “You’ll be fine though, as long as there aint another fire, eh?” He laughed, and with the better lighting Sanji could see more of his face and god . The guy was literally mesmerizing, his smile looked so much better in the light and the freckles? Dotting tanned skin like constellations, complementing the dark—practically black—shade of his eyes. Sanji was falling in love.
“It was—yeah. It was—an accident. I—err, my housemate… left the stove on,” Sanji blurted, biting down on his lip to stop himself from rambling. The firefighter’s eyebrow raised, and that deep laughter filled his ears again, his face scrunching up. It really wasn’t that funny. Sanji nearly lost his damn house and this is a professional firefighter but—he’d let it slide. Just for him. Only for this gorgeous man who’d showed up to save his damn house.
“Really? Well make sure to keep yer’ eyes on him. Beautiful kitchen, it sure is,” he huffed, gloved hands perching themselves amongst his hips as he pivoted to stare at the house. Sanji nodded again, swallowing thickly as he stared at the mysterious man’s back. He wanted to ask for his name, his number, something. There was such a small chance he’d ever see this guy again, and he would not let this literal hottie slip from his fingertips. It was embarrassing to even suggest, but Sanji would set his kitchen on fire again, his house , if it meant this guy would show up to carry him bridal style out of the flames. Sanji had never believed in love at first sight (who’s he foolin’), but this guy was going to be his husband. Lifting a hand, he opened his mouth to speak.
“I—”
“Ace! C’mon, we roundin’ up. Got another call halfway across the damn town,” somebody shouted. The beautiful man, Ace , turned to stare at his colleague, nodding firmly before turning back to Sanji. There it was again, that smile.
“We’d best be goin’ then. Have a good night, toots. Keep yer’self outta’ trouble!” Ace cheered, turning on his heel quickly and jogging towards their truck. Throwing a wave over his shoulder, he turned back to give another smile to the blonde, before hopping into the firetruck. Sanji only waved back, eyebrows raised as the words “bye” died on his tongue. In what could be his last moments on earth with “Ace”, he couldn’t even manage to ask for a single ounce of information.
His hand dropped, hanging pathetically at his side as he watched the truck revv into action, and the longer he stared the longer dread began to sink into his gut. He was so mad at himself, and at “ Ace” for his awfully pretty smile. It ruined everything! It ruined literally everything and now it’s pissing Sanji off.
“Oi, cook—what’re you staring at?” a harsh pat to the back, and now he’s even more annoyed than he was watching them speed off.
“None of your damn business, mossy,” He groused, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants as he uselessly kicked at the gravel. The hand on his back lifted, and silence rang out. His brow furrowed deeply, lip curling into a frown. Zoro always knew how to get his panties in a twist. Sometimes, he begged to the angels above that one day his stupid prestigious doctor boyfriend would be relocated to an agency in France and take Zoro with him— forever .
Zoro, annoyingly enough, snorted, “Whatever you say. I’m goin’ back inside. Leave the door open when you get in there, I don’t wanna go to sleep with it smelling like smoke,” he mused, waving the other off as he trudged up the path back towards their house, “You got work tomorrow, don’t you? So stop moping and hurry up with it,” Zoro shouted and with that—he retreated inside.
The audacity of the idiot who nearly rotissieried them in their own house.
“I wouldn’t be out here mopin’ if somebody hadn’t tried to barbecue himself!” He shouts back, a last minute retort as he chases after him. Just to rub it in, too, he slams the door shut.
—
Though, the remnants of that night never really died down. At work, he found himself daydreaming over his cutting board. Dreaming of pretty smiles and flushed freckled cheeks. Broad shoulders, long hair, and a deep, crooning laugh. Fond eyes, the voice of a sweet southern angel—ready to sweep him off his feet and into the safe cool air—away from the sweltering heat of the flames.
“Sanji—you okay, darlin’?” He’d coo, stepping onto the grass of his front lawn, the blonde clutched tightly against his chest. Secure, as if he’d never let go—not for one moment.
Oh how he’d wish—just wish —he’d opened his big mouth and said something. A dazed sigh leaves his lips as he dices a tomato, staring into the marbled walls of the Baratie. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, it wasn't like he needed to anyways. Sanji was a professional! He could probably dice this thing with his eyes closed… with an audience… of just Ace. Ace would love his cooking—they’d have all their dates in the comfort of his dining room—where he’d devote his night to cooking for the love of his li—
“Holy shit—Sanji!”
He drops his blade, tugged away from his floaty fantasies and back into the rowdy kitchen of his father’s restaurant. He stared down, looking at his blade—stained with tomato juice and… blood , a lot of it. Holy shit— holy shit!
“Oh fuck, oh fuck! ” Sanji shouts, grabbing at his hand to view the damage. His hand was covered in it. What the fuck had he done?
“God, you idiot! Where the hell was your head at, hah?” Patty all but yells into his ear, eliciting a wince from the injured chef. Sanji hung his head low in shame. He’d been so caught up in his childish fantasies of a firefighter that he’d nearly sliced his damn fingers off! What a humiliating feat. At least the blood missed the tomatoes, right? Patty grimaced, roughly grabbing a hold of Sanji’s extended hand. Surveying it briefly, he gave a loud sigh.
“Get your ass in the car, and go to a damn hospital Sanji, you cut deep—but not too deep. Any more and you’d be servin’ finger fries, ya’ hear?” Patty chastises, and Sanji nods. He can’t fight that, after all—he was guilty as charged and he knew it.
“Ai ai, captain,” he murmurs, and with the walk of shame—he retrieves a stack of papertowels, wrapping his hand in them tightly before taking another walk of shame right out the backdoor. He’d never live it down, he knew he wouldn’t.
—
The hospital visit was embarrassing and enlightening, for two good reasons. Reason number 1, he was treated by none other than Zoro’s stupid prestigious doctor boyfriend. He’d hoped, prayed , that Law wouldn’t have taken a shift that day. But, when is Trafalgar D. Water Law not at work?
Whenever Sanji isn’t there allegedly, because for the 800th time he can count—he meets Law at the fucking hospital.
Though, the second reason was the enlightening one. Law meets Sanji in the hospital room—and before he enters to treat him he’s… talking to somebody. Sanji tried to peer around his lanky figure to catch who it is—he’s nosy like that. It’s a deep voice, male aligned. Sanji’s toes are practically crossed hoping that maybe it’s this Ace fellow. Though, the chances are slim, aren’t they?
“Who ya’ treatin’, Torao?” The man speaks, peeking into the room. Law grunts, turning his head to check who was in the room—him, Sanji of course. Raising an eyebrow at the discovery, he turns back to the mysterious voice and steps to the side. “Just Zoro-ya’s flatmate. It’s not everyday you see him here, Zoro-ya says he considers himself ‘Mr. All Careful’,” Law air quotes, and he can hear the other person laugh as they step into the room, “Zoro’s not too careful himself is he? Last night, their kitchen was on fire. Ain’t that funny?”
Sanji’s heart has stopped beating.
It’s Ace, and Ace knows Law.
Ace knows Law .
This was golden.
“Just a mistake at work, I am Mr. All Careful,” he grumbles, running a thumb over the wrist of his non-good hand. Ace laughs again, shaking his head. Now that he’s not layered in gear— he can get a good glimpse of him in broad daylight. He’s tall— holding a couple inches over Law. Olive tanned skin, dotted with freckles in every crevice, and tired lines under his eyes. Though Sanji can’t help but feel.. as if they add to the image. He’s beautiful—really. Long black hair, shoulder length, curled, unkempt in the best way possible, framing his face. He wore small hooped earrings, and Sanji was in love with the way they looked on him. He was obsessed with the way Ace looked. Dressed casually in a tight white short sleeved shirt, and some baggy black sweatpants—leaving so little but so much to the imagination. Down his arm was a tattoo, spelling “ASCE” , with an X through the S.
His voice was deep, he was a southern too—and Sanji had no trouble telling. The accent gave it away, and in a good way. It added to his character, the accent curling around his words and around Sanji’s fuckin’ heart.
He was so pretty. Sanji was going crazy, he had to set his house on fire—he needed him in his house again.
“Oh really? Well that hand don’t look too pretty, toots,” Ace snickered, uncrossing his arms to point at the blood soaked tissues clutched in his grip. Sanji grimaced—right.. his hand.
“I—forgot about that. I can’t really feel it right now,” he laughs weakly—the blood loss is makin’ him all woozy.
“Which definitely isn’t a good thing,” Law interjected, concerned gaze dropping to his hand as he came closer, “I’ll have a look at that. We’ll talk later, Ace?” he mumbled, not turning around to address the other—but it seemed he’d gotten the message. Offering a curt nod, Ace raised a hand in parting, “Of course, Traf! See you later, you too Sanji. Stay safe toots,” he commented.
There it was again , that damned nickname. Toots ? Sanji was going to lose it, surely he was.
But as always, Ace was gone before he could get a word out— and he was tempted to bang his head on the nearest wall.
—
He’d concocted a genius plan. It was so genius actually, that nothing could stop this plan—it was a guaranteed success! He’d given Zoro the details and honestly, it was flawless. Zoro didn’t even have to try for it to work.
“You want me to burn down our kitchen.. so you can get Ace to come to the house again?” Zoro repeated slowly. They’d been going over it for about 15 minutes now—with Zoro repeating the same question in different variations for 10 of those 15. Sanji was patient, he was trying to be patient. He was being so patient because he loved this plan and he was convinced it’d work effortlessly.
But Zoro was so stupid and pea-brained he had to ask 20 different times if he was stupid.
“Are you—are you dumb?” He laughed, the laughter strained and laced evidently with concern. An emotion he thought Zoro was incapable of showing.
“Why would I be dumb? Zoro, darling, I assure you this plan has a three-hundred percent success rate! When he comes over, I’ll swoop in and take the chance to ask him for his details after he graciously carries me out of the blazing rifts!” He cheers, clasping his hands together to emphasize his point—cheeks flushing pink.
Zoro’s brow twitches, he’s starting to get pissed. How could Sanji be this dumb?
“Why don’t I just give you his number… like a sensical human being. He literally works with Law. I have hung out with him on multiple occasions. I called him on the night of the fire. Hello? I knew you were a fucking bozo but this is insane,” Zoro threw his hands up, exasperatedly. This was beyond clown behavior. If this wasn’t some big fucking joke he’d skewer Sanji on a stick and toast him over a fire. If it was… he’d skewer Sanji and toast him over a fire.
At this rate though, he was sure Sanji was dead fuckin’ serious.
Zoro’s face scrunched up as Sanji’s glare bore into his skin. It made his very being crawl—he’d never want to see Sanji look at him like that ever again. This guy was a maniac—a pyromaniac in the making.
And looks like Zoro is roped into it too.
So! That very night, Zoro dumps a gallon of oil into a hot pan and watches—fearfully—as it’s engulfed in flames. Though, they make no move to stop it. Together, they watch it. Feet frozen to the ground as the stare at the monster they’ve started, flames licking at the stovetops around them, the fire spreading across countertops, over the towel hanging from the oven handle, to the hardwood floors—
The fire was on the floors. He’d prayed the firefighters would make it there fast enough before it spread through the damn house. Maybe they should’ve thought that through. The fire makes no move to spread any further, but they stand… and stare.. unmoving. Ok, yeah—they should move.
“That’s our queue,” Sanji croons, and quickly latches onto Zoro’s hand—dashing out of the kitchen with haste and into the front yard. They’re panting when they reach, Sanji hunched over desperately huffing to catch his breath. And Zoro, oh Zoro is going to cry —he hasn’t cried since he was a boy! But today and today officially he became an arsonist. An arsonist over a man who’s information he had .
Meh, he’s being dramatic. It was kind of fun.
Sanji and Zoro stood outside of the house, on the phone with first responders once again. Frantically, the two yelled and pleaded for firefighters. Another house fire! In the kitchen! Oh no!
But oh yeah.
They were there in no time, charging into the wide open space with a hose and a crew ready to do their best. Of course, nothing he shouldn’t have expected from y’know.. Firefighters. Though that wasn’t what he was looking for. Sanji’s eyes scanned the scene in anticipation. Ace , where is he? He shuffled from side to side, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt. Now his hands were in his hair, nervously pushing it back, then to the side, then back onto his face. He was on edge—had he ruined their just renovated kitchen for Ace to not show up?
He turned to Zoro, who seemed unbothered, which was good. That was great. At least Zoro wouldn’t chop his head off and run around the neighborhood growling like a wild beast. (Why was that his first thought of Zoro’s reaction?)
“Sanji! Nice to see ya’ here—or is it nice? Yer kitchen was just on fire.” A voice approached him coming from the smoke pouring out of his home. He didn’t think it was that bad, but with the way firefighters were leaving covered head to toe in ash? He was worried.
More worrying though, was the fact that Ace was talking to him.
His heart dropped to his ballsacks. Ace was here… which was good! Slowly shifting his gaze upwards, he met eyes with the other. His hat was off now—his face clearer in the setting sun.
“You—! It’s… fine. My kitchen will—survive it,” Sanji spluttered, a blush overtaking his cheeks suddenly. What a fuckin’ idiot he was—he better not screw this up anymore.
“You sure, toots? You’re a chef, ain’t ya’? I’m sure you’ll need it,” Ace raised an eyebrow, a gloved hand raising to brush back tousled black hair. Sanji was weak in the knees— toots . He’d never known how much he’d like that nickname until Ace was the one using it. Don’t fuck up Sanji, don’t fuck up.
“Got a whole restaurant for it, my kitchen will be fine in a couple days time,” Sanji soothes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. Ace gives a fond smile—and maybe, just maybe he can do this.
“Well that’s good. Was afraid you wouldn’t be able to—I go to your restaurant a lot, actually. ‘S good over there!” He beams, lifting his free hand to pat Sanji’s shoulder, “Though I never get to talk to ya’ there, maybe we can sometime. Actually—speakin’ of talkin’. Law was supposed to give you my number before you left the hospital yesterday,” Ace snorted, dropping his hand from Sanji’s shoulder. The cook’s eyes were wide as saucers now. Ace was— what .
“He… he was?” he stammered, and his eyes only got wider as Ace’s face contorted into a flustered expression.
“Yep! But, he forgot. A little embarrassin’ for me. Dontcha’ think? Ack, anyways—I think… I brought a paper with my number on it—” he trailed off, hand reaching into the pocket of his suit. Sanji watched, shocked—mesmerized, as Ace dug into his pockets. He was stunned into silence. All this time—Ace was already seeking him out? Ace was—he didn’t have to just set his fucking kitchen on fire just now? He was going to die. He was praying his stove survived that damn fire.
“Aha! Found ya’, damned paper. Here you go, toots,” Ace fished a small scrap of paper from his pocket, his number and address scribbled hastily onto it. Sanji’e eyes bored holes into the sheet—as if trying to engrave each letter into his brain. He’d get it tattooed if he had to! Ace raised a hand to his neck, awkwardly toying with the hairs on his nape.
“My address is there if ya’ wanna drop by… you don’t gotta. Just… there, makes sense, right?” He offered, a bashful smile on his beautifully handsome features. What if Sanji died right now.
“Yes! I—I’d like to drop by. When I get the chance… maybe. I’ll try!” Sanji yells—and he didn’t mean to yell. He’s so humiliated already… Why didn’t he just jump back into the fire?
“Great—’m glad! See you sometime then, right?”
“Right… you—have a nice night… Ace,” he offered a wave, and Ace smiled back, nodding his head in that polite— attractive gesture.
“You too, toots. Try not to set your kitchen on fire again, kay?”
He’s gonna die.