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trixree · 3 years

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Some SanLu brainrot about hunger:

It all clicks into place on a Tuesday night of absolutely no consequence. Or, perhaps, it was in the early hours of Wednesday morning.

The thing is, Sanji’s got a sixth-sense for Luffy and his hunger. It’s like a survival strategy—a thing of necessity. He’s learned to predict and anticipate the incessant demand for food just as easily as anything.

He has a conversation with Chopper about it, one afternoon. A quick, to-the-point exchange about what Sanji has always suspected: that Luffy’s devil fruit and his abilities expend a lot of energy, that their captain has an insane metabolism, that his body is always frighteningly close to operating on starvation-mode, just to keep up with the demands Luffy makes of it. So, Sanji… adapts. Learns. (If, in more dire circumstances, he detracts from his own meals in order to continue to supply Luffy and the rest of the crew with the amount of food they each need—well. No one has to know about it but him.)

He’s always been an incredibly light sleeper. Sanji’s awake before he really knows it, some light, imperceptible shift of the air in the cabin alerting him before Luffy even makes a sound. A moment later, gentle but insistent prodding starts up on his shoulder.

“Alright,” he murmurs, sitting up from his place on the rug. Technically, it was supposed to be Usopp’s turn to sleep on the floor tonight. Hammock space is limited so they all try to rotate through. But Usopp had worn himself ragged making repairs to the Merry this afternoon and, well. He needed the proper rest more than Sanji did.

Luffy is crouched at his side in the dark, smiling with enough wakefulness in his eyes that Sanji knows he’s been up for a bit. Hungry. Wondering whether or not he should wake him.

Yes, Sanji wants to shout. Always wake me when you’re hungry. Wants to shake his captain so hard that the message sticks in his bones. This is what I am here for.

There’s a guilty little tilt to Luffy’s mouth as they shuffle—bleary and shivering slightly from the cool air on deck—into the galley. Well, at least the closest that Luffy ever gets to guilty. Maybe shy? No, that’s not the right word either.

Out of muscle memory, Sanji goes to roll up his sleeves, only to realize he’s just in an old tee-shirt that he reserves for sleeping.

“Do you want anything in particular?” he asks. Luffy hefts himself up onto the counter, sitting just a few paces away from the stovetop. Sanji should scold him for it—he really should. But. There’s something very… soft about the picture Luffy makes, haloed in the warm orange light of the galley and bare head betraying the wildness of his shaggy dark hair. He can’t find it in him. Something warm twists in his chest.

Luffy hums, considering. “Nah! Sanji always picks good stuff.”

One of those blinding smiles flashes between them, rare only in that Luffy’s beloved strawhat is still residing in the men’s cabin and in the fact that his cheeks are still lightly flushed from the brief trip out into the cold and—

Oh…

Freefall. Sanji’s heart is in full-on freefall, lurching over one beat and the next, dizzy with a sudden blast of adrenaline because—

Because—

He uses the leftover rice from Chopper’s half-eaten dinner (such a finicky appetite the little doctor has) to whip up a quick fried rice dish, heaping with chicken and scallions and just a touch of sweet-corn. Luffy blinds him again with another one of those smiles of his before tucking into the dish, quickly inhaling it, and Sanji just… watches.

He watches the visible enjoyment of the meal paint itself across Luffy’s face—always an open book, especially over sensation and appetite (and sensation, isn’t that a thought? What other pleasures does he experience so openly? Does his face twist up like that when—?) A satisfied sigh when he’s done, and then Luffy just… folds his arms on the tabletop, rests his head on them, and…

“Thanks, Sanji. It was perfect,” Luffy tells him, voice oddly soft in the way that it so rarely is. He’s keeping quiet for the sleeping crew, Sanji knows, but a traitorous little part of him aches with the intimacy of it. Luffy, looking all sated and sleepy like that, smiling with contentment from where he’s got his head pillowed on his arms, that tender look for him and him alone and Sanji is dying.

“Always,” Sanji says, meaning an entirely different set of things than the ones that his simple response implies. I will always give you anything you want, gods help me.

#SanLu brainrot #writing scraps wednesday #i've had this idling in my drive for a while please enjoy #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #sanlu #trixree writes

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