azzy @tiredbatt - Tumblr Blog

Oct 14, 2025

Hello… :^ I hope it’s okay if I request something with Sanji where female reader and him are in a relationship together and they’re both sweet as sugar<3

I was thinking about something where Sanji has a huge baby fever- like every time he sees his reader being motherly in any kind of way he just gets crazy im his own Sanji-like cute way and he just keeps talking about it. I think it would be super sweet :’) can be suggestive or can be just sweet. Whatever you like<3

⋆ A Recipe for Forever ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

── .✦ Sanji x Reader ˎˊ˗

⟡ ݁₊ . Words: 9,537

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Warnings: fluff/domestic content, pregnancy and child birth themes, emotional/romantic content, mild suggestive themes, hinted fem reader.

⟡ ݁₊ . A/N: heyoo! i had fun writing this one more then i expected anyways. I mayyy have skipped classes to write this because i REALLY didn’t wanna go. But either way, i hope you enjoy! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

The moment of your meeting with the Straw Hats wasn't just a change in fortune; it was a sudden, brilliant flash—like the sunlight punching a hole through a week of storms, unexpected, almost blindingly warm, and impossible to forget.

You’d been adrift in the gentle currents of the East Blue, a quiet pilgrim moving from port to port. Your currency was simple: kindness traded for coin, a hopeful smile for safe passage. In your worn leather satchel, you carried only dried herbs and the earnest, quiet belief that the world, despite its best efforts, wasn't entirely rotten. You certainly weren't seeking out pirates that day, but destiny, in its messy way, had already steered the Going Merry toward your patch of coast.

And out of the chaotic, vibrant bustle of the port, he was the one who found you.

The sun was a brute that afternoon, beating down on the docks. Sanji, mid-mission for galley supplies, spotted you wrestling a handcart piled high with island fruit. You were stubborn, refusing the shopkeeper’s help, your brow already beaded with sweat. Then came the flash: blond hair like a halo in the harsh light, a purposeful roll of sleeves, and a sudden, undeniable strength as he took the wooden handles from your grip.

“Let me,” he insisted, his voice a low, sure melody. “A beautiful lady like you shouldn’t be lifting a thing heavier than a flower petal.”

You laughed—a short, embarrassed sound—and managed a sincere thank you, certain this was a fleeting encounter. You were wrong. A whirlwind of events later, you found yourself sitting on the deck of a pirate ship built not just of wood but of audacity and dreams, surrounded by the most gloriously loud, beautifully strange people you would ever know.

You weren't the crew's anchor, a master of combat like Zoro, or a compass rose like Nami. Your contribution was quieter, rooted in the small art of making things better. You were the silent guardian of comfort, patching the frayed edges of their chaos: brewing restorative teas for the motion-sick, carefully wrapping fresh bandages on a split knuckle, or ensuring every sleeping pirate had a blanket against the sea-chill. You became the crew’s soft place to land.

Luffy dubbed you "the crew’s heart" for your sweetness. Usopp swore your presence made the Going Merry feel more alive. Even Zoro once offered a grunt of thanks after you tended to a particularly nasty wound. But with Sanji, the connection was cut from a different, finer cloth.

He started, predictably, with his usual performance—compliments spun like glittering, disposable silk ribbons. You would blush, he would preen, and the rest of the crew would roll their eyes with practiced weariness. But as the days blended into weeks, you began to see past the flourish. You noticed the quiet offerings: the way he’d always save the ripest, unblemished fruit just for you, the subtle drop in volume when he spoke your name, the shift in his laugh—a deeper, more genuine sound reserved only for moments shared with you.

Late at night, sometimes, you'd find him alone in the galley, a lonely cigarette burning down to ash, a cup of untouched tea steaming softly. You'd slip onto the bench beside him, your knees brushing in the hush, and the world would slow just enough for a profound, startling thought to take root: maybe your chaotic journey with the Straw Hats had always been destined to begin with that heavy cart of fruit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was meant to find its true path with him.

It unfolded the way most truly important things do: not with a cannon blast, but with a whisper of inevitability on a night when the sea hummed its oldest lullaby.

You and Sanji were on the tail end of cleanup duty long after the rest of the crew had surrendered to sleep. The Merry rocked beneath you, a gentle cradle on the waves. You were putting away a stack of clean plates, humming an unrecognizable tune, when your hand ghosted over his. It was a fleeting, tiny connection, but he froze, utterly still.

“Careful, love,” he murmured, the usual teasing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But his eyes held your gaze with a profound gravity that was anything but playful.

The air thickened, a sudden, tender stillness descending. This wasn't the familiar, comfortable warmth of flirting; this was different. Serious. He was looking at you as though he had just confirmed something he'd been carefully, fearfully anticipating for weeks.

“Sanji,” you breathed, the name barely more than a sigh, afraid to shatter the fragile moment.

And then, he kissed you.

It was neither grand nor flawlessly executed. His hands, usually so steady, trembled a little, and his lean-in was almost hesitant, giving you every possible chance to retreat. You didn't. You simply couldn't. It felt as ancient and unyielding as the turning of the tide.

The kiss was slow, exquisitely soft, and dizzyingly gentle—the essence of the man he was when he dropped all his charming pretenses. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a quiet, shaky laugh that held a note of pure disbelief.

“Mon dieu,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve wanted to do that since the very day I met you.”

You didn't make a formal announcement. The crew didn't need one. They pieced together the new reality, observation by small observation.

The change in Sanji was the clearest sign. His over-the-top, sacrificial devotion to Nami-swan and Robin-chwan remained—a deeply carved, unchangeable habit—but it lost its desperate edge. The others noticed he no longer threw himself on the deck for their affection, that his gaze had a new, magnetic pull, always drifting back to you, even when he was mid-swoon for someone else.

He didn't beg for kisses from anyone anymore. Except from you, perhaps, in the quiet, firefly-lit corners of the galley.

Often, as the day wound down, you’d find him leaning against the ship’s railing, the tip of his cigarette a tiny, glowing ember in the twilight. You’d walk up, take your place beside him, and without a single word, he would take your hand. His thumb would trace the lines of your knuckles in slow, steady circles. He was not a man given to daily declarations of devotion, but you saw the truth in every meal he tailored to your exact favorite ingredients, in every soft glance across the deck, and in the extra half-step closer he stood whenever trouble showed its face.

And while the crew's teasing was relentless—Luffy’s booming shouts of "Sanji and Y/N are sitting too close again!" or Usopp’s knowing smirks—it didn't bother you.

Because somewhere between the thunder of pirate life and the hushed beauty of long nights at sea, you had journeyed from being the crew’s heart... to being Sanji’s.

It wasn’t meant to be a public service announcement, but the sea has a way of dissolving secrets. You and Sanji hadn't been hiding your connection, but you hadn't been shouting it either; it was a treasure to be held, soft and precious, in private. Then came a breezy, lazy afternoon, and a fishing expedition that required Luffy to stand near the railing.

You were beside Sanji, watching the horizon swallow the sun. His arm was loosely draped around your waist, a cigarette resting on his lips as he murmured something tender about the colors of the sky matching your eyes.

“Luffy, look!” Usopp yelled from the foredeck. “Sanji’s got his arm around Y/N again! They’re definitely dating!”

Luffy’s head whipped around, his grin a mile wide. “Wait—you are?!”

You froze, utterly mortified. Sanji blinked slowly. Before either of you could formulate a denial or an explanation, the ship exploded with reaction.

Nami groaned into her map table. “Finally.”

Zoro merely rolled his eyes and muttered, “Tch. Took long enough, pervert.”

Usopp was beside himself, grinning like he’d just landed a trophy fish. “I knew it! I told you guys they were sneaking around!”

And Luffy, ever the master of subtlety, threw his arms wide and bellowed, “Sanji and Y/N are in loooove!” loud enough to send every startled seagull spiraling away from the ship.

You wanted to become part of the deck planks. Sanji, on the other hand, let out a magnificent, unburdened burst of laughter—full, carefree, and gloriously him. He tightened his arm around you and, for the first time, pressed a tender, unmistakable kiss to your temple for the whole world to witness.

“Well,” he said, a breathtaking smirk playing on his lips, “no point hiding it now, huh?”

From that moment, it was official. You were his, and he was yours.

Life aboard the Merry (and later, the sun-kissed Thousand Sunny) felt imbued with new, vibrant colors. Mornings were signaled by the unmistakable aroma of breakfast and Sanji’s voice, a low rumble, as he hummed your favorite tunes. Nights ended with your head tucked beneath his chin, his voice a low thrum as he wove elaborate, hopeful tales of the All Blue. Though he never stopped his formal admiration for the other women, the difference was a profound sea change: his gaze softened only for you, his voice dropped to that precious, quiet register only when he spoke your name.

He treated you like something sacred, yet he loved you like something real. There were small, human arguments—about a burned pot of tea, a reckless dive into danger, or a bandaged cut—but every one of them ended with a gentle apology and a soft smile shared under the sprawling indifference of the stars.

Then came the ominous shores of Sabaody.

You’d never seen Sanji so coiled, so tightly wound. The world felt heavier there, the air thick with suppressed menace, the ground thrumming with untold danger. You stayed close, instinctively, because the place scraped against your nerves like grit.

The ensuing disaster was a terrifying blur. The Celestial Dragon. The righteous, bone-shaking punch from Luffy. The crushing weight of the Pacifistas. And then, Kuma.

You reached for Sanji’s hand as the chaotic wave finally broke. His fingers closed around yours with a desperate, crushing strength, as if he could anchor you to his side, keep you from being swallowed by the storm. His eyes, meeting yours across the maelstrom of the battlefield, were a terrifying mirror of fear, love, and a thousand desperate words that had no time to be spoken.

“Don’t you dare let go,” he commanded.

You held on with every fiber of your being, enduring the strange, crushing pressure in your chest, until the world finally tore apart in a flash of blinding, indifferent light.

When you awoke, the sky was utterly foreign. The sea was silent, the silence deafening.

And Sanji was gone.

For the first time since boarding the pirate ship of dreams, the world felt intolerably empty. You had no concept of time or place, only the agonizing certainty that your heart had been left behind—still beating somewhere across the vast ocean, held tightly in the strong hands of a cook who had just promised you a lifetime.

You pressed a trembling hand to the hollow ache in your chest and whispered into the salt-laced wind:

“Please… be okay.”

Because if the journey with the Straw Hats had taught you one undeniable truth, it was this: no distance, no island, no opposing force in the world could ever keep you from finding your way back to him.

The most immediate truth of your separation from Sanji was that the sea was never adequately hushed.

Even on the stillest nights, when the waves slipped onto the sand in soft sighs and the distant stars offered a flickering semblance of company, the space directly beside you felt vast, empty, and acoustically echoing. You held your tears close; they were never prolonged. You had made a promise, a vow to him, to survive this rupture.

The island that became your temporary home was remote—neither actively cruel nor intentionally kind, merely lonely. The villagers were gentle people, yet they were not pirates; they could not comprehend the visceral ache of being torn from your crew, your found family. You spent your days in relentless service, tending to injuries, cultivating new skills, and pushing your body until it rebelled. The sheer conviction of reuniting with Sanji, of standing by his side as an equal, became the cold steel that held you together.

By the shore each evening, you watched the rhythmic roll of the tide. You would trace the letters of his name into the damp sand, a solitary ritual, allowing the next wave to completely erase the words. Occasionally, a sudden breeze would carry a scent that was undeniably smoke and spice. Sometimes, you would genuinely laugh at the memory of his atrocious but charming pick-up lines, his dramatic flourishes, his unwavering devotion. At other moments, the mere echo of his voice—soft, low, whispering your name—would dissolve your hard-won composure entirely.

“Two years,” you would murmur into the salt wind. “Just two years. I will find you again.”

And across an impossible distance, Sanji was whispering the same vow.

He had landed in what felt like a brightly colored hell. Kamabakka Kingdom was vibrant, loud, and aggressively not you. Everything there, in the most infuriating and unexpected ways, triggered memories of you. The faint, sweet scent of perfume on the evening air, the boisterous laughter echoing through the halls, even the intense pink hue of the sunset—all of it pulled mercilessly at the thread of your smile.

The Okama army adored their routine teasing. “Thinking of your little sweetheart again, curly-eyes?” they’d coo. Sanji would turn crimson, loudly insisting that a true gentleman never forgets the face of his lady. But when he retreated to the kitchen alone, after the last sounds of the night had faded, he would lean heavily against the counter, close his eyes, and your face would appear—a gentle, steady vision smiling only for him.

He cooked your favorite dishes obsessively, attempting to replicate the exact, perfect flavor, yet every attempt tasted subtly hollow. He would silently curse himself for remembering the way you used to hum quietly when you ate, the way you’d steal an extra bite when you thought his back was turned.

He despised not being able to hear your laugh. He hated that he couldn't shield you. But more than anything, he loathed the sharp, constant agony of your absence.

Every bruising kick he delivered, every forced step toward greater strength, was powered by the image of your face. You had once called him “the crew’s warmth,” and he made a solemn, private oath: he would return as a fire—strong enough to keep you safe, to keep you close forever.

When the nights were impossibly long and the kingdom finally slept, he would step outside and light a single cigarette. Taking one slow, measured drag, he would exhale the smoke into the void and whisper:

“Wait for me, mon amour.”

Perhaps it was merely imagination, yet somewhere far across the churning ocean, you would swear you could feel it: the faint, warm trace of smoke and fierce longing drifting between the stars.

You looked up at the same sky every night, two hearts divided by miles but connected by the same constellations and the same single, binding promise: I’ll find you again.

When the time finally arrived—when the sea began to gather the crew into its fold once more—you knew exactly who you’d seek first. Your return to Sabaody was not marked by the sight of the familiar mangroves or the bustling chaos of the markets; it was marked by the sea itself.

It shimmered in the afternoon sunlight just as it had on the day he was lost. For a fleeting instant, it felt as though no time had passed. Yet, your reflection stared back different: stronger, sharper, etched with the resilience of two hard years.

You had promised yourself you wouldn't cry. You planned to smile, to offer a light tease, to keep the reunion effortlessly casual. But the moment your eyes caught that familiar flash of blond hair slicing through the crowd, your carefully constructed composure fractured instantly.

“Sanji!”

He spun around so violently his cigarette nearly fell. For one long, frozen heartbeat, he simply stared, eyes wide with disbelief, as if fearing you were just another dream conjured by his lonely deprivation. Then, impossibly fast, he was moving.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he slammed into you, his arms wrapping around you in an embrace so tight it felt like a necessary pain. His laughter was a choked, breathless sound, brimming with the essence of you.

“Mon dieu, it’s really you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice vibrating with barely contained emotion. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

You nodded against his chest, swallowing the thick, painful sob that threatened to break you. “I told you I’d find you again.”

He drew back just enough, his hands cradling your face as if you were made of fragile light. His eyes devoured every detail—the faint, new scar on your cheek, the curve of your smile, the shimmer of tears on your lashes—and then he kissed you.

Right there, in the chaos of Sabaody Archipelago.

This kiss was not soft. It was desperate, famished, the release of two years of held breath. You poured everything you had saved into it—every unspoken word, every whispered promise, every lonely night.

When the kiss finally broke, he was smiling through tears he would never acknowledge. “You’ve changed,” he said softly.

“So have you,” you countered, your voice thick. “You smell like perfume and heartbreak.”

He laughed then, genuinely and loud, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how much I missed that mouth of yours.”

The crew’s reunion swirled around you—Luffy’s shouting, Nami’s scolding, Zoro’s feigned indifference—but none of it truly anchored you until you felt the warm, certain slide of Sanji’s hand into yours. His thumb traced a familiar circle on your palm, a simple, solid gesture that grounded you completely.

In the days that followed, you couldn’t stop stealing glances at him. He was a different man: stronger, a little harder, but with a deeper, richer quality in his eyes—a depth born of loss, relentless longing, and a love that had refused to surrender.

He also looked at you differently. No longer like a fantasy, but like a promise irrevocably kept.

In the quiet moment after the flurry of reunion had passed, when the others had retreated and the moon painted the grove silver, he found you sitting by the water.

He sat beside you, close enough for your shoulders to brush. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low. “I fell in love with you twice, you know.”

You turned to him, a soft question in your eyes. “Twice?”

He nodded, the cigarette a faint ember. “The first time was before we were separated. The second time… is right now. Because somehow, you’ve become even more impossible to forget.”

You laughed quietly, a warm ache filling your chest. “Then I suppose I fell twice too.”

He leaned in and kissed you again—slow, tender, the taste of finally coming home.

In that moment, under the stars of Sabaody, surrounded by the beautiful cacophony of your reunited crew, you knew the sea had honored its word.

You had found your way back.

Life aboard the Sunny after Sabaody was undeniably different.

It wasn’t merely that everyone was stronger or wiser; everything had settled into a profound new order, as though the ocean itself had paused its breath until you were all together again. The ship seemed brighter, the laughter was richer, and the air always carried the faintest, most comforting scent—something like cinnamon and home.

Between the galley smoke and the boundless waves, your connection with Sanji matured.

He remained fundamentally Sanji: still offering automatic, if now somewhat half-hearted, swoons for every passing beauty; still lighting your cigarette before you could even reach for it; still cooking every meal with the devotion of a man feeding royalty. But a new quality was evident in the way he looked at you—a gaze so soft and full it suggested he was constantly confirming that you were real, present, and his.

Your inherent tenderness toward the crew seemed to amplify tenfold after the separation. You fussed over every detail: Zoro’s cuts, Chopper’s rest, Luffy’s reckless diet. You ensured Robin stayed hydrated, that Usopp didn't exhaust himself tinkering, and that Brook wore a heavier wrap despite his claims of feeling no cold.

And every single instance Sanji witnessed this care, something essential in him seemed to melt.

You might be gently fixing Luffy’s perpetually messy hair or quietly scolding him for another near-fall overboard, and Sanji would be there—leaning against a wall, his hand over his heart, his eyes sparkling as if he were witnessing a miracle.

“Mon dieu!” he’d gasp dramatically, his legs nearly kicking out beneath him. “She is too precious for this world! The care she offers that idiot—it is positively angelic! My poor heart cannot bear such purity!”

“Sanji,” you’d sigh, though a smile always betrayed you.

He would simply grin, twirling back into the kitchen like a man who had seen heaven and elected to stay.

His affection wasn't triggered only by grand gestures; the small moments undid him most effectively. The way you adjusted Chopper’s hat against the wind. The soothing circular motion as you rubbed Robin’s shoulders. The soft, unconscious humming when you folded linens for the dinner table. Every soft sound, every act of compassion—it all sank into him like a profound warmth he now understood he could not live without.

Sometimes, when you walked into the kitchen in the morning—barefoot, your hair still mussed from sleep—he would pause mid-slice, his knife suspended in the air, momentarily lost in simply observing you.

“…You’re doing it again,” you'd tease, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Doing what, ma chérie?”

“Staring.”

“Can you blame me?” he’d reply, his grin never failing to bring a blush to your cheeks. “You walk in here looking like that, and my poor heart just—” He would clutch his chest dramatically, nearly dropping the frying pan. “Boom. Gone. Dead. Buried. Leave flowers, please.”

You would toss a dish towel at him. He would catch it effortlessly, lightly kiss the fabric where it had grazed his cheek, and state, “Even your chastising is nurturing, mon amour. I swear, one day, the sight of you will give me baby fever for real.”

You always laughed, but the sentiment wasn’t a joke. Sanji spoke about it constantly—a blend of teasing and sincere daydreaming.

He’d watch you returning from an island, balancing a heavy shopping bag on your hip with an innate grace, and whisper to himself, “She would be the perfect mother…”

When you knelt to tie Luffy’s perpetually loosened sandal for the tenth time, he would have to physically bite his glove to prevent himself from shouting something utterly embarrassing.

Once, as you were comforting a small, scraped-kneed Chopper with gentle pats to his head, Sanji actually dropped to his knees behind you, muttering, “I can see it, I can see it—our adorable future, she’s radiating light—someone must stop me before I propose!”

Zoro very nearly pushed him overboard that afternoon.

You would roll your eyes, laugh, and tell him to focus, but beneath the theatrics, you knew Sanji’s heart was utterly sincere. He adored you completely. The sight of your innate tenderness didn't just fluster him; it solidified everything he had ever yearned for but never expected to possess. A home. A true partner. A place where love wasn't a painful, fleeting pursuit, but an unshakeable, steady presence.

And when the nights were calm and the sea surface gleamed like black glass, he would show you that love in his quietest manner.

You would find him at the edge of the deck, cigarette in hand, gazing toward the unbroken horizon. You’d join him, curling against his side, and he would murmur, “If I am ever lucky enough to build a life off this ship one day… I want it to be only with you.”

You would rest your head on his shoulder. “You already have a life with me, Sanji.”

He would smile then—soft, dreamy, utterly vulnerable. “Then I am the luckiest man alive.”

And somewhere out there, the sea would sigh its approval, wrapping the Sunny in waves as gentle as your touch—because even the vast ocean understood:

You and Sanji had found something worth sailing forever to keep.

Initially, the sheer intensity of his declarations left you adrift.

The comments regarding children, the pervasive softness in his gaze, the way his voice turned reverent when he observed your small acts of compassion—it all caused a profound tightening in your chest. It was not entirely unpleasant, yet it was far from comfortable. You loved Sanji, deeply and unequivocally. However, love on a ship built for conflict felt inherently fragile. The contemplation of something as tender and terrifying as children seemed like an act of dangerous hubris, a dream too large for your reality.

You would offer your usual laugh when he made these comments, but a stillness would settle within you afterwards.

What if you lacked the capacity for a love so vast and long-term? What if his words were just the fleeting passion of his dramatic nature? You were constantly reminded of how quickly the sea could devour everything you cherished. How could you rationalize cradling something so small and soft when every day was a high-stakes gamble between survival and irreversible loss?

Yet, with every earnest word he spoke—every time he watched you with that shining certainty in his eyes—the image began to solidify.

It started subtly, an unwelcome intrusion of thought.

You would watch him prepare the morning meal, humming quietly as the sunrise spilled across the galley floor, and an image would impose itself: a small child perched on the counter, legs swinging, babbling excitedly as Sanji carefully gave them a spoon to “assist.” You could almost hear his voice—soft and infinitely patient, the same tone he used when teaching you a complex culinary technique.

The image became persistent.

It infiltrated your waking hours, slipped into your dreams, and surfaced in the quiet afternoons when he would fall asleep with his head nestled in your lap. It was there in the tender moments when he would kiss your forehead and call you ma chérie as if reciting a prayer. You began catching yourself smiling at the vision—Sanji in a flour-dusted apron, trying to gently coax a giggling, tiny reflection of himself into not consuming all the raw pastry dough before dinner.

You did not intend for this thought to ripen into a serious desire. But it did.

And one clear night, as the ship slept and the stars shimmered above the endless water, the thought finally escaped.

You were resting together on the deck, Sanji absently tracing slow, warm circles on your arm. His cigarette was long extinguished, the silence profound. For once, he was entirely quiet, simply holding you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to his life.

“Sanji,” you said softly.

“Mm?” His reply was sleepy, deeply content.

“Do you… do you genuinely want children someday?”

He paused, then smiled faintly in the darkness. “With you? More than anything I can name.”

You turned your head to study his face, searching for any hint of his usual jest, but found only love. Honest, open, and visibly aching.

“I always thought it was impossible,” you confessed quietly. “The sea, this life… it doesn’t seem to leave room for something so permanent. But lately—” You paused, allowing the weight of the moment to settle. “I keep picturing you cooking and laughing, and… I don’t know. I think I’d like to see that. I think I would like that life with you.”

For a second, Sanji was utterly motionless, staring. Then, with a sound like something joyous breaking free, he bolted upright, eyes wide, a grin splitting his face in a way that looked almost painful in its intensity.

“Mon dieu! You truly mean it?!”

You laughed, startled by the sheer, unbridled joy in his voice. “Yes! I mean it, I—”

He interrupted, grabbing your hands and pulling you to your feet, spinning you in a wild, exhilarating circle under the sky. His laughter echoed brightly over the waves, unrestrained and beautiful.

“She wants to have a baby with me!” he shouted toward the moon, as if the cosmos required immediate notification. “My angel! My darling! My future mother of the year!”

“Sanji!” you hissed, trying to smother your laughter as he spun you again. “You’ll wake everyone—”

“I don’t care!” he beamed, setting you down but maintaining his tight grip. “Let them wake! Let them know!” He kissed you then—a quick, dizzying moment of smiles and salt air—then held you close, forehead pressed to yours.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice slightly unsteady, “how happy you have just made me.”

You looked up at him, at the faint glimmer of moisture in his lashes, and all the fear and doubt you had carried dissolved like morning mist.

In his embrace, the concept no longer felt impossible.

It felt like sunlight. Like home. Like a foundation you could build together, regardless of the sea's unpredictable currents.

As he whispered promises against your skin—of futures, shared laughter, and a kitchen someday filled with tiny, helpful hands—you allowed yourself to wholeheartedly embrace the vision.

For the first time in a long time, it felt safe to dream.

Because you were dreaming with him.

When the exuberant laughter and spinning had settled that night, you and Sanji remained side-by-side, breathless and content, enveloped by the stillness of the stars. The ship creaked softly, and the sea hummed quietly, a patient audience to your shared joy.

Yet, once the deep quiet took hold, a pragmatic thought drifted into the space between you.

“Sanji,” you said softly, tracing the line of his sleeve. “We need to talk to the crew first.”

He blinked, still smiling but faintly surprised. “About what, my heart?”

You offered a meaningful look. “About this. About us. About… what we want to do.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You mean, about starting a family.”

You nodded, a hint of nervousness returning. “It’s a massive decision. We are pirates; our home is a ship that takes cannon fire weekly. They deserve to know, to truly understand the implications if we choose this path.”

Sanji fell silent for a long moment. Then, he took your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. “You are right, mon cœur. You always are.”

The next morning, the entire crew assembled around the galley table after breakfast. You stood beside Sanji at the end of the table, your hands clasped together, your hearts steady but undeniably anxious.

Luffy was already grinning, his mouth full. “What’s up? Are we having a party?”

Usopp leaned forward. “Oh no. That’s the ‘we need to talk’ stance. Are we in trouble?”

Zoro crossed his arms, instantly suspicious. “If this is about the quality of the cooking again, I’m leaving.”

You took a fortifying breath and offered a smile. “No, nothing like that. We just… have something to tell you all.”

Sanji placed a supportive hand on your back, his voice uncharacteristically measured. “We have been talking, Y/N and I. And, well—someday, when the time is right and things calm a bit… we would like to start a family.”

The room went silent.

Utensils clattered. Luffy froze mid-bite. Usopp’s eyes stretched wide. Robin’s lips curved into a tiny, knowing smile. Nami exhaled sharply, setting her glass down with a heavy thud.

“Sanji,” she began slowly, her voice laced with disbelief, “you cannot be serious.”

“I am,” he confirmed, his tone firm but gentle. “We both are.”

Nami sighed, rubbing her temples. “You two are wonderful together, but is this truly sensible? We are constantly in danger. We can’t realistically raise a baby on a ship that sails directly into Marine headquarters every other week.”

You stepped forward before Sanji could reply. “I understand how it sounds, and I share your concern. But we aren’t talking about right now. We just want you all to know that this is a hope we share—something we are planning for the future.”

Robin tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. “You are asking for our acceptance, then.”

“Perhaps not even our blessing,” you admitted, offering a small smile. “Just your understanding. This crew is our family. We would never even consider a decision this major without involving all of you.”

Sanji squeezed your hand, his gaze warm and steady. “We are not being reckless. I would never intentionally put her—or anyone—at undue risk. But I needed you all to know what she means to me. What this future means to me.”

Nami looked between the two of you, her expression softening noticeably. “You genuinely have thought this through.”

“We have,” you stated quietly. “We’ve endured everything together—the sea, the wars, the loss, the two-year separation. After all that, this isn’t about running away from the pirate life. It’s about building something permanent in spite of it.”

Usopp nodded slowly. “That’s… that’s actually beautiful.”

Luffy blinked. “Wait—so you’re saying we’d have a baby on the ship?!”

Sanji laughed, affectionately ruffling his Captain’s hair. “Someday, Captain. Someday. Not tomorrow.”

“Aw! I’d be a great uncle!” Luffy declared proudly, pumping his fist.

You laughed, but when you glanced toward Zoro, his expression remained unchanged. He was leaning back, arms crossed, silent.

You stepped slightly closer to him. “What about you, Zoro?”

He lifted a brow. “What about me?”

“Do you think it’s a foolish idea?”

He held your gaze for a long moment before exhaling slowly. “No. I think it’s insane. But… we are pirates. Everything we do is insane.” His mouth twitched into something close to a smirk. “If anyone could make it work, it would be the two of you.”

Sanji blinked, momentarily stunned. “Wait—you’re agreeing with me? Has the world ended?”

“Don’t push it, curly-brow,” Zoro muttered, turning his attention away.

Nami finally let out a long sigh, shaking her head but smiling all the same. “You know what? Fine. I can’t stop you from wanting this. Just promise me one thing.”

You straightened. “Anything.”

“If it ever happens… you ensure that child has a truly safe place. A real home, not just the Sunny. I won’t lose either of you because you tried to blend war and tenderness.”

You felt a sharp sting of emotion in your eyes as you nodded. “We promise.”

Luffy then jumped up, shouting so loudly the ship seemed to shudder. “That’s settled! The Sunny is going to have a baby someday!”

Everyone groaned and laughed as he celebrated his future role. Sanji looked at you then—truly looked—with a depth of joy that made your chest ache with reciprocal love.

When the noise subsided, he bent close and whispered, “See, mon amour? Even our family believes in us.”

You smiled through your unshed tears, resting your head against his shoulder. “They always have.”

As the Sunny sailed onward through the sunlight and the crisp salt wind, you realized the vision was no longer just a private fantasy. It was a tangible future—one that your strange, marvelous pirate family had deliberately made space for.

A future.

A home.

And, eventually, a little one waiting to join the adventure.

The weeks that followed your shared declaration were wrapped in a painful, exquisite quiet. Each night, you and Sanji found an intense, warm connection, tangled in whispered affection and laughter. There was no desperate haste, only a love that felt steady and deeply rooted. Yet, the ritual of hope and disappointment began again every morning. You would slip away, a flutter of anticipation in your chest, but the small test would relentlessly display the same vacant result: Negative.

You learned to fold the sharp sting of failure into a seamless smile before he could notice it. You’d emerge to find him setting out breakfast, his face alight with that familiar, genuine sunshine grin. “Good morning, my love! Sit, I’ve made your favorite!” he’d call, and you would obey, masking the subtle, heavy drop of your heart.

Sanji, for a time, didn't ask directly. He feared placing pressure on you. But the way his smile subtly softened, the concern etched around his eyes when you couldn't quite meet his gaze—it told you he knew the ache of waiting was mutual.

One evening, as the ship rode a stretch of water so calm it felt like a lake, you found him standing alone by the railing, a cigarette ember glowing in the twilight. You approached quietly, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I thought I’d find you here,” you murmured into the fabric of his shirt.

He turned his head slightly, his hand covering yours. “Just needed the air, ma chérie.”

You hesitated, the question a dry lump in your throat. “It’s not working, is it?”

Sanji went instantly still. Then, he fully turned, crouching down slightly to look directly into your eyes. “Hey. Don’t speak like that.”

“It’s been weeks,” you whispered, the words tight. “Maybe it’s just… not meant to be for us.”

His hands rose to cup your face, his thumbs catching tears before they could even form. “Listen to me. It will happen, exactly when it’s supposed to. Do you hear me? You are the most beautiful, wonderful thing in this world, and if the universe wants us to wait, then let time try to keep me from loving you. It can’t.”

You let out a shaky, brittle laugh, and he followed with a smile, soft and utterly sure. “Besides,” he added, brushing a kiss to your forehead, “it’s a pretty magnificent thing we get to keep trying for, isn’t it?”

You laughed properly then, wiping your eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

And so, the trying became an act of profound faith. With every kiss, every shared secret, every goodnight whispered into the dark, the ache of waiting slowly transformed. It no longer felt like a failure; it felt like a steadfast certainty.

Then, weeks later, in the pre-dawn stillness, it happened.

You barely stirred, yet an immediate instinct, a strange, profound stillness in your core, jolted you awake. You slipped silently from the bed, your breath held tight, and reached for the small plastic test—your hand moving purely on muscle memory now.

This time, as the agonizing seconds bled into the silence, something shifted. A second line began to materialize—faint, but undeniably there.

You stared, your eyes widening, your heart instantly thundering a furious rhythm against your ribs. You clapped a trembling hand over your mouth to stifle the cry that rose in your throat, not realizing you were shaking until Sanji’s sleepy, concerned voice drifted from behind you.

“Mm… mon amour? What’re you doin’ up so early?”

You turned, holding the test out in hands that trembled violently. He blinked, confusion clouding his gaze, which then dropped to the object—and in that singular instant, he froze.

“Is that—?”

You nodded, a choked, tearful laugh escaping you. “It’s positive.”

For one prolonged heartbeat, he simply stared. Then, his entire face illuminated, radiating a light brighter than any sunrise. He emitted a sound—a choked, ragged noise between a gasp and a cheer—and suddenly, you were airborne. He lifted you cleanly off the ground, spinning you rapidly in a circle.

“We did it!” he shouted, his voice thick with both laughter and tears. “Oh, Y/N, we did it! Mon ange, you—you’re—”

“Pregnant,” you finished, laughing through the rush of unstoppable tears.

He showered your face with kisses, desperate, joyful, as if to confirm the reality of your skin beneath his lips. His voice trembled against your temple. “You have no idea how eternally happy you’ve just made me.”

You rested your forehead against his, feeling the frantic, beautiful drumbeat of his heart matching your own.

“I think I do,” you whispered.

And there, in the quiet, dim cabin, enveloped by the steady, rhythmic pulse of the sea, the two of you clung to each other—laughing, crying, clinging—as the world, quietly and irrevocably, shifted forever.

You’d never thought happiness could manifest as a physical glow. But as the Sunny cut across a sea of glass that morning, sunlight spilling golden over the deck, you felt exactly that—light, radiant, and utterly whole.

The secret had been tucked warmly in your chest for two days, a treasure waiting for the perfect reveal. You constantly caught Sanji’s soft, awestruck glances, his eyes still holding a disbelieving tenderness. Every few minutes, he’d reach for your hand, holding it tight, his thumb tracing your skin as if he could already feel the tiny life growing within.

Nami was the first to call you out.

“Alright,” she said, arms crossed, a knowing squint in her eye from across the deck. “You’ve been smiling way too much for days. What, exactly, is going on?”

You froze mid-laugh, meeting Sanji’s eyes—he immediately tried to extinguish his grin behind a puff of smoke.

Luffy perked up instantly. “Ooh! You’re hiding something! Tell us!”

You glanced around the deck: Zoro dozing on a barrel, Robin with her book, Chopper humming over his herbs, and Franky tuning a piece of hardware. It felt right. This was your family.

You squeezed Sanji’s hand, and he gave a silent nod.

You took a deep, steadying breath. “There’s… something we want to tell you all.”

Luffy leaned so far forward his nose nearly touched the table. “You’re getting married today?!”

Sanji laughed, shaking his head gently. “No, Captain, not quite yet.”

You smiled, your voice gentle but infused with certainty. “We’re… going to have a baby.”

For a split second of collective shock, the deck was completely silent. Then:

Chopper gasped so loudly he lost his balance and tumbled over a stool. “You’re pregnant?!”

You nodded, tears immediately stinging your eyes. “Yeah. I found out a couple of days ago.”

The deck erupted in glorious noise.

Robin closed her book, her quiet, beautiful smile blooming. “How absolutely wonderful. Congratulations to you both.”

Usopp shrieked, “We’re gonna have a baby on board?!” before frantically backtracking. “Wait—not literally on board, right? We’ll find an island! Right?!”

Franky laughed so hard his sunglasses slid down his nose. “SUPER news! I’m going to have to fully baby-proof the Sunny!”

Even Brook, with a delighted clatter of bones, chimed in, “Ah! How beautiful! I would weep for joy, but I lack the eyes!”

Luffy leaped up and cheered so deafeningly that a flock of seagulls scattered from the mast. “WE’RE HAVING A BABY!!!”

Sanji groaned happily, “We’re having a baby, Luffy, not the entire crew!”

Zoro opened one eye from his spot on the barrel, offered a slight, gruff smirk, and muttered, “Well… guess I can’t call you just ‘lovebirds’ anymore. You’ll be parents now.”

“Don’t phrase it like that!” Sanji barked, though the retort was utterly devoid of anger—only dizzying, pure joy.

Nami stood with her arms crossed, still feigning unimpressed severity, but her smile utterly betrayed her. She stepped forward and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You really are glowing, you know that?” she said softly. “Congratulations, Y/N. I mean that.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your heart swelling to an impossible size.

Sanji immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, unable to resist. “Isn’t she radiant, everyone? My beautiful, perfect angel—she’s carrying our little miracle!”

“Sanji, please,” you laughed, your cheeks burning as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

The crew’s chaotic, affectionate laughter rose around you, echoing over the waves. But beneath the noise was something deeper—a foundation of affection, warmth, and unshakeable family.

You stood there, sunlight washing over your face, Sanji’s hand resting protectively over your abdomen. The ship swayed gently, carrying not just a crew of pirates anymore, but a family growing, one heartbeat stronger.

The subsequent months seemed to slip by in a golden haze. Each morning you awoke to the gentle thrum of the Sunny and the feeling of Sanji’s arms around you—his head buried against your shoulder, his breath a steady presence.

The early changes were constant—the morning sickness, the tenderness, the subtle expansion of your body. And though you tried to minimize them, Sanji became an expert observer of your condition.

If you so much as sighed, he was at your side with perfectly temperate water, specialized tea, or a pre-prepared snack.

If you sneezed, he was immediately asking if you needed a heavy blanket.

And if you looked even slightly fatigued:

“Mon ange, you must rest! You cannot stand for too long, it is not good for the baby!”

“Sanji, I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” you’d protest with a soft laugh, touching his cheek.

He’d respond only with that lovesick, unwavering smile, kissing your hand. “All the more reason to protect you, ma chérie. Both of you.”

By the fifth month, your belly was undeniable. The crew treated it like a communal project: Chopper insisted on daily stethoscope checks; Nami found excuses to lay a hand on your stomach to feel for kicks; and Luffy would crouch beside you with wide, excited eyes, whispering, “Can the baby hear me? Hey! It’s Uncle Luffy!”

Sanji, however, was in a world entirely his own. With every passing week, he looked as though he had fallen in love all over again. His hands were perpetually gentle when they traced the rising curve of your belly, his lips soft when he pressed quiet kisses to the place where his child grew.

One night, sitting together beneath a sky thick with stars, your fingers intertwined over your swelling abdomen, you asked, “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

He tilted his head, considering the horizon. “I think… a girl. A beautiful little angel, exactly like her mother.”

You laughed softly, resting your head on his shoulder. “And if it’s a boy?”

Sanji’s smile became profoundly tender. “Then he will have your kindness. Your heart.” He paused, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “He will never feel what I felt growing up.”

You reached up, lovingly brushing his hair back. “He will have us, Sanji. Both of us. That is the only thing that matters.”

He swallowed thickly, nodding. Then, he shifted the mood. “What should we name them?”

You thought for a moment, smiling. “If it’s a girl… Arielle. And if it’s a boy… Lucien.”

Sanji’s eyes softened instantly. “Arielle L/N. Lucien L/N. Perfect.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Not Vinsmoke?”

He shook his head decisively, his expression firm. “No. I do not want my child to carry that name. It is yours they should have—because your name means family, love… home.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you leaned in to kiss him. “Then L/N it is.”

Your belly grew rounder, and so did the cheerful chaos aboard the Sunny. Your cravings became legendary: pickles dipped in caramel, midnight oranges, occasionally a baffling mix of seaweed and chocolate. Sanji never once complained. He would race to the kitchen at any hour, muttering “Anything for my darling,” as he enthusiastically created the strangest snacks.

He built you a small, cushioned chair near the galley so you could rest while he cooked. He would hum as he worked—soft, melodic tunes that often made the baby kick, as if already recognizing the sound of his father's love.

It was Robin who offered the simple suggestion one golden afternoon, watching you both. “You two should marry before the baby arrives.”

You froze mid-snack. “Married?”

Sanji’s head snapped up, the cigarette dangling forgotten. “Married.”

And that was all it took.

The ceremony took place two weeks later, right on the Sunny. Franky and Usopp constructed an arch from spare wood and shells. Nami and Robin wove flowers through the main railing. Chopper collaborated with Brook, whose violin played a soft, lilting melody carried by the gentle sea breeze.

Luffy, the most excited of all, insisted on being Sanji’s "best man," which mostly involved him weeping uncontrollably before you even appeared.

You wore a simple, flowing white dress Nami had helped you sew. As you walked toward Sanji, the sunlight shimmering off the water, he stood waiting in a crisp white shirt, his tie loose, tears already welling in his eyes.

When you reached him, he took your hands as if they were made of light. “You have made me the happiest man in the world,” he whispered.

You smiled, tears finally spilling. “You already were, Sanji.”

Robin officiated with her calm, graceful voice, and when she pronounced you husband and wife, Sanji didn't wait—he scooped you into a deep, consuming kiss, and the crew erupted in cheers.

Luffy yelled, “Now we can have a baby wedding feast!”

Sanji, without missing a beat, laughed against your lips. “I’m way ahead of you, Captain!”

That night, the Sunny glowed with golden lantern light, filled with food, laughter, and music. You sat beside Sanji, your head on his shoulder, his hand resting securely over your belly, holding the future in place.

For once, the world felt quiet. Safe. Complete.

You looked up at him, his golden hair catching the light, and whispered, “We did it, Sanji.”

He turned to you, his smile soft and unshakable. “We did, mon amour.”

As the stars reflected in the water, you realized this was every impossible thing you had ever dreamed of—

Love. Family.

And a little life waiting to meet both of you.

It was sometime after midnight when the final chapter began—the deep quiet that settles when the sea is gentle and the crew is asleep.

You woke to an ache curling through your abdomen—dull, heavy, but not yet truly painful. You lay there, one hand instinctively resting on your belly. The baby had been exceptionally restless all day, kicking and shifting as if impatient for the world.

You focused on breathing, waiting for it to subside.

It did.

“Just Braxton Hicks,” you murmured to yourself, turning to resettle.

But minutes later, it returned—sharper this time, deep and insistent.

Beside you, Sanji stirred at your quiet gasp. “Mon ange?” his voice was rough with sleep but instantly on edge. He propped himself up, watching you. “What is it? Are you okay?”

You gave him a small, strained smile. “I’m fine. Just… false contractions. They’ve been frequent lately.”

Sanji’s brow furrowed, concern flashing. “Are you certain? Perhaps I should wake Chopper—”

“No,” you insisted quickly, shaking your head. “Sanji, it’s late. Everyone’s asleep. It’s nothing, truly.”

He sat up fully, already halfway into his robe. “I don’t care if it’s late, mon amour, you’re in pain—”

You caught his wrist, smiling softly despite the twinge that rolled through you again. “I promise, I’m fine. If it were real labor, it would be much worse than this.”

He hesitated, a beautiful mix of worry and trust on his face. “You swear?”

You nodded, leaning back onto the pillows. “I swear. Just stay with me.”

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before settling back down—though his arm remained draped protectively across your stomach, an anchor for you and the baby.

For a brief time, peace returned. The sea whispered against the hull. The baby kicked gently under his palm, and you smiled in the dark, murmuring, “You’re impatient, aren’t you? Just like your father.”

Sanji chuckled faintly. “That’s my little chef, eager to join the kitchen.”

You were still smiling when it happened.

A sharp, deep pain—real, undeniable labor—rolled through you so suddenly it stole your breath. You gripped the sheets, stifling a cry.

Sanji was up in an instant. “Y/N? Hey—hey, what is it?”

You tried to speak, but then you felt it—a sudden warm gush beneath you.

You froze, eyes wide.

Sanji saw the instant shift in your face. “What—what is it?”

You blinked, utterly dazed. “My water just… broke.”

For one incredible moment, there was pure silence—only the waves, the ship’s creak.

Then:

“WHAT?!” Sanji shrieked, leaping out of bed so fast he nearly tangled in his slippers. “Your water broke?! Mon dieu, Y/N—! The baby—you’re in labor!”

“I—” You laughed breathlessly, half in disbelief. “I told you I didn’t think it was real!”

Sanji ran a frantic hand through his hair, pacing wildly. “We have to get Chopper! No—wait, blankets first! Towels! Hot water! Chopper!”

He was gone before you could call after him, shouting down the hallway. Within seconds, the entire ship was jolting awake—doors slamming, voices echoing.

Luffy’s sleepy confusion, Usopp’s frantic questions, Nami’s exasperated commands—it all blurred as Sanji rushed back to your side, breathless but grinning maniacally, his eyes shining with a potent mix of terror and pure joy.

He knelt beside you, taking your hand in both of his. “It’s happening, mon amour. It’s really happening.”

You laughed through a wince, gripping his fingers tightly. “I guess our little one couldn’t wait for morning.”

Sanji kissed your knuckles, tears of emotion shimmering at the corners of his eyes. “Then let’s meet them together.”

And somewhere above deck, the Sunny rocked gently under the stars—carrying you, Sanji, and the tiny life you’d dreamed into existence, into the magnificent dawn of something brand new.

The world was softer now.

Quieter with a deep, pervasive peace.

Morning sunlight spilled across the deck of the Sunny, casting a beautiful golden haze over everything. You sat near the railing, wrapped in a thin blanket and warm light, holding your child in your arms.

A little boy.

Lucien L/N.

He was small, perfect, with a soft downy layer of blond hair and the most beautiful little pout that seized your heart every time you looked at him. His eyes—Sanji’s eyes—were still a hazy newborn blue, blinking up at you with trusting sleepiness as he let out small, contented coos.

You hummed a lullaby, the same one you used to sing when your hands rested over your pregnant belly. Your thumb brushed his tiny fingers as he clutched your garment, his new warmth pressed against your heart.

The ship was silent in the early hour. Only the faint sound of waves and distant gulls disturbed the calm. Sanji was just a few feet away, at his portable stove, already lost in his work. You smiled as the rich aroma of something sweet drifted toward you.

He turned when he heard your laugh. His hair was tied back loosely, sleeves rolled, apron on—an image of such intense domesticity that it still felt wonderfully unreal. “What’s so funny, mon ange?” he asked, his voice warm and low.

You grinned. “He’s trying to copy your eyebrow. I think he’s going to be just as expressive as his father.”

Sanji’s laugh was quiet and full of love. “Of course he is. A man must have good expression—it is in the blood.”

He crossed the deck to you, a small plate in hand: miniature pancakes, cut into perfect little hearts. He set them beside you before crouching down, his entire being melting when his gaze settled on his son.

“Bonjour, mon petit prince,” he murmured, gently tracing Lucien’s cheek. “You are getting more handsome every day. Just like your papa.”

The baby giggled—a tiny, airy sound—and reached with unsteady hands for Sanji’s face. Sanji’s heart seemed to visibly liquefy. He caught the baby’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Ah, see? He knows I am his favorite already.”

You feigned offense, raising an eyebrow. “His favorite, is it? You forget who carries the snacks.”

Sanji chuckled, leaning in to kiss you softly; his lips tasted faintly of sugar and sea air. “Then we will share the title.”

Lucien let out a happy babble between you, as if agreeing, and Sanji rested his forehead against yours. “You are incredible, Y/N. Watching you with him…” he trailed off, his voice thick with overwhelming emotion. “It is everything I ever dreamed of.”

You smiled, your free hand finding his. “You make it easy to love this life, Sanji.”

He kissed your fingers, then leaned down to gently scoop Lucien into his arms. “Come, little one—Papa made breakfast. Time to learn the sacred art of the kitchen.”

You laughed, standing to follow as Sanji carried your giggling baby toward the galley area, the strong, golden morning light wrapping around all three of you like an unbreakable promise.

The sea stretched endlessly ahead, shimmering and alive. The Sunny sailed steady and sure, carrying not just pirates anymore—but a fully realized family.

And for the first time in your life, you knew with absolute certainty that you had achieved every impossible thing you had ever wanted:

Love.

Home.

And a future that began right here, in Sanji’s arms—with the tiny, fierce heartbeat you both had dreamed into the world.