The galley of the Sunny was filled with the familiar warmth of Sanji’s cooking, the smell of grilled meat and spices rolling out like a wave that clung to the air. The table was crowded—stacks of plates, bowls half-filled with soup, utensils clattering as the crew devoured everything Sanji brought out. Laughter and chatter mingled, the atmosphere easy and bright, the kind of moment only the Straw Hat crew could create together.

You sat beside the cook, leaning in slightly as he offered a new sauce he had been experimenting with. Without really thinking, you speared a piece of meat, dipped it into the sauce, and held it toward Sanji. His eyes softened in thanks as he leaned in to taste.

And that’s when the sound ripped through the room.

“HEEEYYY!”

Every fork froze midair. Chopper nearly choked on a bite, and Brook’s laughter hiccupped into silence.

At the head of the table, Luffy was on his feet, hands slamming down against the wood so hard the cups rattled. His wide eyes burned—not with hunger alone, but with something far sharper, more restless. His lips pulled into a pout, his brows furrowed, and his chest heaved like he’d just seen the greatest injustice in the world.

“Why are you feeding him?!” His voice cracked, half whine, half accusation, carrying across the galley like a cannon shot. “Feed me too!!”

Everyone blinked.

Sanji sighed, a faint smirk tugging his lips, but there was no missing the tick of irritation in his brow. “Oi, oi, Luffy. I’m the cook here. If they want my opinion—”

“NO!” Luffy cut him off, jabbing a finger directly at you, not even acknowledging Sanji anymore. “You gave him the food! You’re supposed to give it to me!”

It was so undeniably Luffy—loud, obvious, a child screaming his feelings at the world without shame. But beneath the whining was something else. His fists were curled tight, his shoulders trembling just a little, and when his gaze locked onto you, there was a flash of heat that had nothing to do with food.

You could see the thoughts tangling in his head, raw and unfiltered. Why are they giving Sanji their attention? Why did they lean in so close? Why wasn’t it me sitting there, tasting what they offered? Why does my chest feel weird, like it’s burning?

To anyone else, it would look like Luffy being Luffy—jealous over a piece of meat, throwing a tantrum over being left out. But to him, it wasn’t about the meat at all. It was about the way you smiled when you gave it. The way your hand moved, careful and thoughtful, offering something precious that wasn’t his.

And suddenly, that wild hunger in his stomach wasn’t for Sanji’s cooking at all. It was for you.

The crew erupted into laughter, of course. Nami smacked her forehead, muttering about idiots. Usopp nearly fell off his chair laughing. Robin only hid her smile behind her hand, eyes glinting knowingly.

But Luffy didn’t laugh. He stomped around the table, ignoring the howls of the others, until he stood in front of you. His mouth was still turned down in that exaggerated pout, but up close, you could see how his ears had gone red, how his gaze flickered nervously before settling stubbornly back on yours.

“Give it to me,” he demanded again, but softer this time, his voice rough around the edges. “You’re supposed to feed me, not him.”

The room faded into background noise—the crew’s laughter, Sanji’s growl, all of it blurred out. Luffy leaned down, closing the space between you, not shy in the slightest about wanting what he wanted. His expression softened for the briefest second, a smile tugging clumsily at his lips as if he realized he was caught showing too much.