#sanji dad

I went ahead and added your craving idea right into the story!! Thank you so much for the request, it was super fun to write and I really appreciate you sending it in <3

🥰🍼 Only the best

Sanji x pregnant fem!reader (fluff)

Sanji Masterlist • One Piece Masterlist

The days had started to slow down, and so had you — just a little. Enough for Sanji to notice every shift, every sigh, every tiny stretch of discomfort across your face.

And the second he did, he was there.

Now, he barely let you do anything yourself.

Which was why you were sitting on a plush nest of pillows on the couch, your feet propped up and a silk robe loosely tied over your tank top, while Sanji stood in front of the stove — sleeves rolled up, apron on, concentration sharp as ever.

“Alright, my love,” he called over his shoulder, voice light but focused, “salmon, spinach, and sweet potato. Extra iron, high in folate, and yes — before you ask — the sauce is dairy-free and low-acid like Chopper suggested. How are we feeling about that?”

You smiled. “Honestly? I’m just glad you didn’t judge me for eating pickles dipped in ice cream at 2 a.m.”

He turned, offended in pure Sanji fashion. “Judge you? Never. I live to serve your whims. You want pickles and ice cream at 2 a.m.? Then I’ll be making crème brûlée with a dill pickle crumble at one-fifty-nine, just so it’s ready in time.”

You snorted — but the smile faded just a little as you shifted, hand resting against your belly, a small frown creasing your brow.

Sanji saw it instantly.

The stove went off. The towel came off his shoulder. And in seconds, he was kneeling in front of you, hands gently sliding up your calves as he looked up with those soft, ocean-deep eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. “Just… I feel huge today. My ankles are puffy. My clothes barely fit. I feel like a balloon with feet.”

Sanji didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

He kissed your knee, then looked up at you like you’d said something sacred.

“You are growing life inside you,” he said, voice low and full of something raw. “There is nothing more beautiful than that. You are everything, mon amour. Always have been. Always will be.”

Your eyes welled — again. Stupid hormones.

You wiped at your face quickly. “God, I cry so much lately—”

And just like that, he was pulling you into his arms, gently rocking you as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder.

“No apologies,” he whispered, slipping a hand into his apron pocket. “And you know what I have right here?”

You blinked at him, sniffling. “What?”

He pulled out a chocolate bar like it was a grand reveal. “Crisis chocolate.”

You laughed through your tears. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m prepared,” he corrected, unwrapping it and breaking off a square for you. “Here. For my strong, gorgeous, life-growing goddess.”

You took it. And you felt better.

But he wasn’t done.

Later that night, you were stretched out on the bed, and Sanji was rubbing lotion into your belly with slow, tender hands. His touch was soothing, careful, reverent. The faint scent of cocoa butter filled the room.

“These are for strength marks,” he said, quietly. “Not stretch marks. You’re strong. That’s what they are. Proof.”

You reached for his hair, threading your fingers through it. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I love you,” he murmured, kissing your stomach. “And I pay attention.”

He massaged your feet next. Then your back. Then brought you water. You tried to get up to grab your sweater once — once — and he all but carried you back to bed himself.

“You don’t lift a finger,” he said firmly. “Not while I’m around. I’ve got you.”

But the moment that made your heart stop?

It came just before sleep.

He curled around you in bed, hand resting gently over your stomach, thumb brushing over the soft curve of where your daughter kicked.

“I promise I’ll be the best father I can be,” he whispered, voice almost broken with the weight of it. “She’ll never want for anything. She’ll never doubt how much I love her. How much I love you.”

You turned slightly, looking up at him. “She’ll be so proud to carry your name.”

But his expression flickered — just a little.

“I don’t know if I want her to,” he admitted softly. “The Vinsmoke name… it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s not who I am anymore. She deserves better than that legacy.”

You kissed his hand. “Then we give her a new one. A name that means love, and warmth, and safety. A name she’ll be proud of because it comes from you.”

He smiled at that — really smiled. And you felt him relax beside you.

“Mon trésor,” he whispered, brushing your hair back. “Whatever name she carries, she’ll carry it knowing she was made with more love than the whole damn world knows what to do with.”

You smiled, your heart so full it ached.

So if you’d like to request something, please keep it within those themes going forward 🥺 Thank you so much for supporting this series and for loving Sanji as much as I do! 💕

~

🌸 All the Pink in the World

Sanji x pregnant fem!reader (fluff)

Sanji Masterlist • One Piece Masterlist

The Weeks Before

The weeks passed in a blur of soft kicks, odd cravings, and a quiet, glowing sort of anticipation.

Sanji had gone into full-blown papa mode the moment the gender reveal ended — practically sprinting into town at the next island stop, returning with arms overflowing: fabric swatches, parenting books, stuffed animals, and entirely too many tiny, frilly dresses. By the end of the day, every shopkeeper on the block knew his name.

And the nursery?

Oh, he lost his mind with it.

Pink. Absolutely everywhere.

But not just one pink.

There was soft blush on the curtains, pale rose on the walls, bubblegum sheets on the tiny crib. He’d hand-stitched baby booties with embroidered strawberries, hung a string of paper hearts across the window, and framed little recipe cards titled “Papa’s Favorites” for decoration.

You’d peeked in one day while he was adjusting a mobile shaped like macarons.

“Sanji,” you said, hands on your belly, “she’s not even born yet and she already has more clothes than I do.”

He turned with a sparkle in his eye, holding up a glittery onesie with puffed sleeves. “Yes, and I fully intend to double her inventory.”

You laughed, rubbing your stomach. “She’s going to think the world is made of cotton candy.”

Sanji smiled — not the flirty kind he gave to strangers, but the soft, real kind.

“Good,” he said. “Because as far as I’m concerned, it should be.”

He walked over, hands warm as they settled over the curve of your belly.

“I want her to feel safe,” he murmured. “Loved. Always surrounded by warmth. I didn’t have that when I came into this world. But she will.”

You kissed his cheek, voice thick with affection. “And she will. Because she has you.”

He beamed at that. You stayed there, forehead resting against his, wrapped in pink paper hearts and hand-sewn dreams — in all the pink in the world.

~

🌙 The Night She Came

It began just before midnight — quiet at first.

You woke to a tight ache in your belly, like a wave curling in slow motion. You shifted in bed, hand moving instinctively to your stomach, steadying your breath.

Sanji stirred immediately beside you. “Chérie?” he rasped, blinking awake. “Is it—?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think it’s starting.”

He sat up so fast you thought he’d fall out of bed.

Within seconds, he was moving — lighting the lamps, grabbing towels, laying out every item Chopper had packed in the birth kit. He was fast, efficient, borderline panicked.

“You don’t have to do everything in one minute,” you said, wincing through another contraction. “She’s not gonna fall out while you’re folding towels.”

He was by your side in an instant, dropping to his knees, hands wrapping around yours.

“I know,” he breathed. “I just—I want everything to be perfect. I need to be ready.”

You looked at him, heart full and aching, and brushed a hand through his hair.

“Sanji. You’ve been ready since the moment I told you we were having her.”

His gaze softened. He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm.

“Then let’s bring her home.”

~

Not long after, Chopper burst in — already wearing his doctor’s coat, little hooves carrying his medical kit, eyes sharp and focused.

“I’m here!” he said quickly, adjusting his hat. “Vitals, supplies, everything — we’re all set.”

“Thanks, Chopper,” you said, voice tight but grateful.

Sanji looked like he wanted to weep and adopt him.

Chopper caught the look and immediately turned red. “D-Don’t get emotional! I-I’m just doing my job! I’m a doctor!!”

Still, despite the fluster, he stayed calm and steady — guiding your breathing, monitoring your pulse, checking every detail with gentle hands.

“You’re doing so well,” he said quietly after another long contraction passed. “She’s close. Just a little longer.”

Sanji squeezed your hand, lips brushing your temple.

“You’ve got this, mon cœur.”

“I swear to god,” you panted, “you are never touching me again.”

He gave a watery laugh. “That’s fair. You’re terrifying right now.”

And then—

The world split open.

One final wave crashed over you, deeper than pain, deeper than anything you’d felt.

And then —

A cry.

Tiny. Sharp. Alive.

Time stopped.

Chopper caught her with quiet grace, hooves impossibly gentle as he lifted her into the world. He looked up at you both, smiling wide.

“She’s perfect. She’s healthy. Congratulations.”

You reached for her with trembling arms, voice caught in your throat.

When she was placed against your chest, she let out another small wail — and just like that, your heart shattered and reformed all at once.

“She’s here,” you whispered, tears spilling freely. “She’s really here.”

Sanji didn’t speak.

He stared at her like he was seeing something divine — like nothing else in the world existed.

“May I…?” he asked softly, voice thick.

You guided his hands gently.

“Hold your daughter, Sanji.”

He took her as if she were made of starlight — trembling, reverent, breath caught in his throat.

And the second she settled into his arms — so small, so warm —

He broke.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, silent and unashamed.

“Mon trésor…” he whispered, voice cracking. “She’s… she’s everything.”

You watched him, heart full to bursting.

“She looks like you.”

“No,” he said gently, rocking her. “She has your light. Your calm. Your grace.”

He kissed her soft forehead, still weeping, voice nothing more than a prayer.

“We made her.”

Then, after a moment, Sanji looked up — tear-streaked and smiling.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you.”

You blinked, exhausted and curious. “Anything.”

“I’ve thought about it since the day you told me she was a girl,” he said. “But I didn’t want to say it until she was here. I… I want to name her after my mother.”

He paused, swallowing thickly. “Sora.”

Your breath hitched.

“Sanji…”

Only love filled your chest. You reached for him, hand over his heart.

“I would be honored. It’s perfect.”

He exhaled — and cried all over again.

Holding both of you, wrapped in the name of someone he had lost, and the life he had just found.

~

🎀 Later That Night

She slept in a pale pink blanket, cradled in the crib Sanji had built with his own hands.

He stood over her in silence — arms crossed, eyes red, lips curved in the softest smile.

You stepped up beside him, slow and sore, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“She’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“She’s everything,” he whispered back.

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “You did good, Papa.”

He reached back, pressing your hand against his chest. “You did everything, Mama.”

You snorted. “We’re not calling each other that in front of the crew, right?”

“Oh no,” he said smoothly. “Just every single day of our lives.”

You both laughed — tired, breathless, floating.

He looked down at her again, eyes glassy.

“I’m going to teach her how to make strawberry tarts.”

You smiled. “And I’ll teach her how to throw a punch.”

He pulled you closer.

“She’s going to grow up so loved.”

You kissed his shoulder, whispering:

I loved writing this so much because Sanji would do exactly what his mother did for him because Sanji is his mother’s son. Not Judge’s. He inherited her gentleness, her empathy, and her appreciation for kindness so he would absolutely eat it with a smile on his face. Thank you for requesting this I hope you enjoy it! <3

🥞 A Recipe for Papa

Sanji & Daughter Sora (OC) | 5 Years Old | Emotional Fluff | Callback to Sanjis Backstory

The morning sun was barely rising when Sanji stirred.

He always woke early. Always.

But today, something felt… off.

There wasn’t the usual clatter of him starting the coffee. No scent of warm bread. No gentle hum of breakfast prep. Just silence.

Then—

CRASH.

Followed by:

“I’m okay!!” in a high-pitched, suspiciously cheerful voice.

Sanji’s eyes snapped open. “Sora—?!”

He scrambled out of bed, one pant leg on, hair still wild, already halfway to the kitchen only to be met with a small foot against his leg.

“Stop right there, Papa!”

She stood at the kitchen doorway, arms stretched out like a gate, golden ponytail bouncing, her oversized apron dragging across the floor.

Sanji blinked. “Sora, what are you—?”

“No peeking!” she huffed. “I’m making you a surprise!”

“But—chérie, you could hurt yourself in there—knives, fire, grease—”

“I pinky-promised Chopper I wouldn’t use the fire or sharp things,” she said proudly. “I’m just mixing! You always make me breakfast. So now I’m making you breakfast! Because you’re my favorite person. Forever.”

Sanji’s heart immediately exploded in seventeen directions.

“But—” he tried again.

“OUT.” she said with a sugar-sweet smile that did not match her threatening ballerina pose.

Sanji took one slow, defeated step back. “Fine, fine. But call me if anything goes wrong, okay?”

“Promise!” She beamed, dimples deep, one eye peeking through her bangs. “You’re gonna love it!”

~

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty.

Sanji sat on the couch staring at the ceiling, fighting every urge to go in the kitchen.

When she finally reappeared, her cheeks were flushed, flour on her nose, holding a very suspicious-looking plate behind her back.

She walked up like she was presenting treasure.

“Ta-da!!” she chirped, placing it in his lap.

Sanji looked down.

It was… breakfast? Technically?

There was a pancake, but it was shaped like a fish and kind of… green. There were strawberries on top, but one still had the leaves. A generous squirt of chocolate syrup had made everything underneath a soggy mess.

He blinked.

“Well?” Sora said, bouncing on her toes. “Try it!”

Sanji took a slow breath.

And then—he smiled.

Not forced. Not fake. Soft. Deep. Honest.

Because in that moment, he saw a little boy again, standing in the Germa kitchen. Clumsy hands, mixing whatever ingredients he could find, making something awful all because he just wanted his mama to smile.

And he remembered her — Sora, the woman who ate every bite of that terrible meal without flinching. Who told him it was the most delicious thing in the world, just because he made it.

Now here he was — a father. Holding a chaotic plate made with floury fingers and unconditional love.

“My, my, Sora, you’re spoiling me!" He looked at the pancakes and gasped dramatically. He picked up a fork. “Looks magnifique, sweetheart.”

Sora’s eyes lit up like stars. “Really?!”

He took a bite. And to absolutely no one’s surprise, it was terrible.

Too sweet, too soggy, weirdly warm and cold at the same time.

It might’ve had… pickles?

But he chewed slowly, smiled wide, and said, “Best breakfast I’ve ever had.”

Sora giggled and clapped, practically vibrating with pride.

She climbed into his lap, snuggling against his chest, her pink heart-shaped locket bouncing gently as she moved.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she whispered. “For always cooking for me. For being the best papa.”

Sanji wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

“You have no idea how happy you make me,” he murmured.

She looked up at him, eyes sky blue and bright. “Does it taste like love?”

He kissed her forehead, eyes stinging.

🍼 About This OC:

Sora is my original OC — the biological daughter of Sanji from One Piece. I created her as part of a Dad!Sanji where he raises on the ship with the crew after her mother passes away from an illness.

I write fluff and soft emotional scenes with Sanji + Sora, so please feel free to request any ideas you have for me to write, requests are always open!

Sora’s Masterlist

Please don’t repost or claim her as your own. Reblogs are always welcome!

Full Name: Sora (named after Sanji’s late mother)

Age: 5

Birthday: February 14

Parents: Sanji (father) | Her mother passed away from illness when Sora was 2

Carried Item: A soft plush bunny named Muffin — pink, floppy-eared, with a pastel bow

🏡 Living Situation

Franky built a small, cozy room aboard the Thousand Sunny just for Sanji and Sora.They share one big bed and sleep snuggled up together every night.

✨ Appearance

• Hair: Shiny blonde, styled in a high ponytail tied with a pastel ribbon. A long side fringe covers one eye — just like Papa Sanji.

• Eyes: Bright sky blue — though only one is usually visible thanks to her fringe.

• Eyebrows: The iconic Sanji-style twirly eyebrow.

• Dimples: Deep and adorable — her only physical feature inherited from her mother.

• Height: 3’0”

• Weight: 32 lbs

• Signature Outfit: Baby-pink bunny dress, strawberry clip-on earrings, and ballet flats.

💖 Signature Accessory

Sora always wears a pink heart-shaped locket that she never takes off.Inside is a picture of baby Sora and Sanji together.Sanji gave it to her as a precious gift — a symbol of their unbreakable bond. It’s her most treasured item.

🌸 Personality

Sora is sweet, bubbly, endlessly polite, and a little whirlwind of warmth.But insult Sanji or the crew, and she becomes a candy-coated menace — a pint-sized ballerina of vengeance with devastating kick.

💌 Love Languages

• Physical Affection: Hugs, kisses, lap cuddles, hand-holding — she’s constantly attached to Sanji like a little shadow.

• Acts of Service: Making handmade gifts, baking tiny treats, and drawing “thank you” cards for the crew.

🍓 Favorites

• Color: Baby pink

• Animal: Bunnies

• Food: Strawberry shortcake, warm milk, and anything her papa makes — as long as it’s not spicy.

🚫 Dislikes

• Spicy food (can’t handle it at all)

• Overly salty things

• Foods that aren’t “papa-approved” — her palate is sensitive and Sanji always cooks to match it perfectly.

🩰 Combat Style

• Sora uses elegant ballerina kicks, pirouettes, and spins infused with sheer power — inspired by Sanji, but uniquely her own.

• Trained by both Sanji and Zoro — finesse meets force.

🍬 Devil Fruit: Ame Ame no Mi (Candy-Candy Fruit)

Type: Paramecia

A Devil Fruit that allows Sora to create, manipulate, and transform any type of candy — including chocolate, gummies, cotton candy, caramel, and more. Used for offense, defense, mobility, and even healing (through sugar-based energy boosts).

Sora's Dream:

Her dream is to have a floating bakery ship where she can bake the best sweets in the world. She imagines sailing from island to island, sharing her delicious treats with everyone she meets, spreading happiness with every bite. It’s the perfect combination of adventure and baking — just like her papa, Sanji, but with her own sweet twist!

Fun Facts & Quirks

• Baking is her absolute favorite activity, especially with Sanji.

• Loves anything Papa cooks—he instinctively knows her palate and never makes anything too spicy or salty.

• Strawberry-flavored treats are her obsession.

• Animals love her and follow her like she’s a sugar fairy.

• A crafty little artist—draws, makes bracelets, and decorates with glitter. Crew members proudly wear her handmade crafts.

• Plushie fanatic—names and gives personalities to each one, never travels without at least three.

• Sanji personally bathes and dresses her every day, picking out all her outfits himself.

• Strict bedtime: 8 PM to 7 AM — a solid 10 hours of sleep.

• Piano prodigy thanks to Brook’s teaching; they often play duets, her fingers dancing over the keys like her ballet moves.

• Always says “Umai~” in the sweetest voice after every bite, no matter how small.

Favorite Crewmate

Usopp — “Uncle Pop-Pop”

Sora adores Usopp, thinking he’s the coolest storyteller ever. They’re chaos partners, building glitter cannons, gummy traps, and prank toys.

💛 Her Heart Belongs to Papa

How would Sora react to meeting Red Leg Zeff? Would he tell her stories of his old pirate times? Would he approve of the methods that sanji taught her how to cook lol?

🍓Hi pookie, thank you for the question! Omg okay so honestly I feel like Zeff would have such a soft spot for Sora (because she is a girl lol) like everyone would be so shocked to see it. He’d totally tell her stories from his pirate days, maybe exaggerate a little just to make it sound cooler lol. And yeah, he’d definitely approve of the stuff Sanji taught her, but you know he’d still find some way to roast him about it 😂 Like he’d be proud but never admit it out loud. Now I have wrote a fic before on Sora meeting Zeff but here is a new fic instead. I hope you like it!

~

The Baratie was quieter than usual just after lunch rush, when the sea breeze slipped through the open windows and the scent of garlic and butter lingered in the air.

Sanji stood near the counter, arms crossed, watching nervously as his five-year-old daughter Sora approached the legendary Red-Leg Zeff with the solemnity of a knight meeting a king.

She clutched her bunny plush tight, pink dress freshly ironed, high ponytail bouncing with each step. Her visible eye bright sky blue was wide with curiosity.

Zeff, seated at his usual corner table with a cup of black coffee, raised one bushy eyebrow.

“So this is the little eggplant’s eggplant,” he muttered, voice gravelly.

Sora blinked. “I’m not an eggplant. I’m Sora.”

Zeff snorted. “You talk better than your papa did at your age.”

Sanji bristled. “Oi, geezer —”

“Sit down, Sanji,” Zeff said without looking. “You’re hovering.”

Sora climbed into the chair across from Zeff, legs swinging. “Papa said you were a pirate.”

Zeff leaned back, eyeing her. “That so?”

“Did you really kick a cannonball in half?”

Zeff’s mouth twitched. “I kicked a lot of things in half. Cannonballs, masts, egos.”

Sora giggled, dimples flashing. “Papa said you taught him how to cook.”

Zeff grunted. “I taught him how not to burn water. The rest he figured out eventually.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “She’s been helping me in the kitchen since she was three. She can whisk a sabayon better than half the sous-chefs I’ve worked with.”

Zeff looked at Sora, then at Sanji, then back again. “He teach you how to cut onions without crying?”

Sora nodded proudly. “I wear swimming goggles.”

Zeff barked a laugh—short, sharp, genuine. “Smart girl.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny, worn recipe card. “This was the first dish your papa ever made that didn’t taste like regret. You want to try making it?”

Sora took the card reverently. “Okay!”

Zeff watched her with a strange softness in his eyes one that made the kitchen staff go quiet, one that Sanji hadn’t seen since he was a boy.

“She’s got your hands,” Zeff said quietly. “But her smile’s better.”

Sanji swallowed hard. “She’s got good taste.”

Zeff turned to Sora ruffling her hair gently. “You keep cooking. And if your papa ever tells you to add truffle oil to everything, ignore him.”

Sora nodded solemnly. “Okay.”

Sanji groaned. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

Thank you for requesting this! Hope you enjoy it!

🍓The Sweetest Slice

Sanji & Daughter Sora OC | Papa & Daughter Moment | Baking Fluff

The galley was calm.

No Luffy rampaging. No Zoro stealing sake. No Franky revving machinery or Usopp setting off glitter traps with Sora.

Just the golden mid-afternoon light pouring through the Sunny’s kitchen window and the soft, familiar sound of whisks and buttercream.

Sanji rolled up his sleeves. “Alright, mon ange — ready for Papa’s favorite part?”

Sora stood on her special step-stool beside him, her pink apron tied crookedly, a big bow at the back, and flour dusting her cheeks like freckles.

“Sponge time!” she cheered.

Sanji chuckled. “Oui, sponge time.”

They started with the eggs.

“Crack it gently,” Sanji said, guiding her small hand over the bowl.

Crack.

Sora beamed. “I didn’t get a shell in this time!”

Sanji kissed the top of her head. “You’re becoming a real pâtissière.”

She hummed happily while whisking — Sanji guiding her grip, letting her stir while he added sugar and vanilla.

“I like the smell of this part,” she said, nose crinkling.

Sanji smiled. “That’s the vanilla. Your mama loved it too.”

She paused for a moment, then whispered, “I think that’s why I like it.”

He said nothing at first, only leaned down to give her the gentlest kiss on the temple.

They folded the flour in carefully, then poured the batter into two round cake pans. Sora insisted on smoothing the tops with the back of a spoon.

“I have to make it even, Papa. Like last time.”

“You remembered,” he said, a little stunned. “Of course you did.”

Into the oven it went.

~

When the cakes were cool, Sanji helped her trim the layers — not because she couldn’t do it, but because he didn’t want her near a blade just yet.

She took care of the real magic: spreading the whipped cream.

Tiny hands, a big spatula, and intense concentration.

She’d stick out her tongue while smoothing it with all the seriousness of a shipwright. Then came the strawberries.

Sora pressed each one in place with purpose. “One in the middle… and five around it.”

“Why five?” Sanji asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I’m five,” she replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Fair logic,” he said with a grin.

Sanji sliced two pieces of the finished shortcake, placing one on a delicate plate with a tiny fork.

Sora climbed down from her stool, wiping her hands on her apron, then reached up wordlessly.

He scooped her up in one fluid motion and carried her over to the small couch tucked in the corner of the galley — their secret spot. It was where Sanji always sat when she needed her milk, her lullaby, or a quiet Papa hug.

She curled into his lap, bunny plush Muffin tucked under one arm, her cheek against his chest.

Sanji handed her the tiny plate and her warm milk in her favorite bunny cup.

She took one bite and closed her eyes. “Umai~…”

Sanji chuckled quietly. “You always say that. Even when you make it.”

She smiled up at him. “It’s better when we make it together.”

He went still for a moment.

Then smiled — a soft, tired smile, like the kind only she got to see.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It really is.”

They sat in peaceful silence, sharing bites. He brushed a crumb from her cheek. She fed him a strawberry with sticky fingers.

The ship swayed gently under them. The only sound was the clink of forks, the occasional hum from Sora, and the low rhythmic beat of Sanji’s heart as she leaned in closer, warm milk still half full in her lap.

Sora blinked sleepily after the last bite, nestled in the crook of her papa’s arm, her tummy full, her heart even fuller.

“Papa?” she mumbled, her voice small and soft, nearly lost in the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yes, mon trésor?” he replied, brushing a crumb from her cheek with the back of his knuckle.

“Can we do this forever?”

Sanji looked down at her. Her eyes were half-lidded now, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, her bunny cup empty and plate licked clean. The remains of the shortcake — their shortcake — sat on the nearby table, a quiet symbol of something sweeter than sugar.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “As long as I’m alive,” he whispered, “we will.”

Sora yawned, stretching her arms up before curling even deeper into his chest. Her hand found the locket around her neck and clutched it, thumb rubbing over the smooth pink heart without thought.

“You always make it taste just right…” she murmured.

Sanji kissed her forehead gently. “That’s because I know your heart by now. Every little bit of it.”

She hummed. “Even the parts I don’t know yet?”

He paused.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Even those.”

There was a long silence after that — just the sound of the sea, the creak of the Sunny’s wooden frame, and the faint ticking of the galley clock.

Then she whispered one last thing, barely audible:

“Love you the most, Papa…”

He closed his eyes, holding her close like she was made of spun sugar and soft dreams — something no storm could ever take from him.

“I love you more than all the sweets in the world, ma petite,” he breathed.

And as the golden light dimmed into evening, Sanji sat there, arms full of his greatest treasure, the smell of strawberries still hanging in the air, and the warmth of a daughter’s love melting every scar life had ever given him.

He didn’t need anything else.

Not tonight.

🍓🧚‍♀️ A Tooth Too Far

- Sanji & oc daughter Sora

Thank you for the request! Here’s something short and sweet ☺️ Sora ended up making a comeback quicker than I thought 😂

~

Sanji was plating up a slice of strawberry shortcake when he heard the tiniest gasp from behind him.

“PAPA!”

He turned, instinctively wiping his hands on a towel, already halfway to panic. “What is it, ma chérie? Did you trip? Did someone—”

Sora stood in the doorway of the kitchen, clutching her bunny plush to her chest, eyes wide and watery. Her pink dress was a little wrinkled from nap time, ribbon slightly askew. But what caught his attention was her trembling lower lip… and the tiny gap where her front tooth used to be.

“I lost it,” she whispered, voice wobbling. “My tooth fell out…”

“You lost your first tooth?” he said, voice low.

She nodded, eyes wide. “It just fell out. I didn’t even cry.”

Sanji let out a breath, soft and shaky. “Of course you didn’t. You’re brave. You’re perfect.” He paused for a minute. He didn’t cry. Wouldn’t. But his chest ached in that way it did when something beautiful hurt a little. Like watching a soufflé rise just right, knowing it wouldn’t last. Like seeing her grow up in front of him, one tiny milestone at a time. He pulled her into his arms wrapping his arms around her tiny frame. “Oh, mon ange,” he murmured into her hair, voice thick. “You’re growing up so fast. I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready.”

Sora blinked, confused but wrapped her tiny arms around his neck giving him the hug back. “Papa, are you sad?”

“No, no, sweetheart,” he said quickly, pulling back just enough to kiss her forehead. “I’m just… proud. And emotional. And maybe a little devastated that my baby girl is turning into a big girl.” He said dramatically.

She giggled, dimples flashing. “Does this mean the Tooth Fairy’s coming?”

He stood, with her in his arms, bunny dangling from her hand. “She’ll be here tonight. But first shortcake and milk. Chef’s orders.”

“Extra strawberries?”

“Triple.”

Sanji had just finished tucking in the little hurricane he called his daughter when she suddenly sat up, clumsily holding a sheet of crumpled paper behind her back like it was some kind of top-secret treasure.

“Papa,” she said, proud and breathless, “I drew you something.”

He was already smiling. “Did you now, ma chérie? What masterpiece have you brought me this time?”

She shoved it into his hands with sparkly eyes. “It’s us! Walking down the aisle!”

Sanji blinked, then looked.

The drawing was everything he expected: uneven lines, lots of pink hearts, a crooked sun in the corner smiling way too hard. Stick-figure Sanji had a tiny scribbled cigarette in his mouth and a full suit; Sora, in giant pigtails and a glitter-covered dress, was holding his hand, beaming.

Across the top, in barely spelled letters:

“Sora & Papa’s Wedding 💍”

She tapped the picture and whispered, “When I grow up… I wanna marry you, Papa.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Sanji clutched the paper to his chest and dropped to one knee like she had just stabbed him through the heart with a tiny, glittery dagger. His cigarette fell right out of his mouth.

“Mon dieu… Sora…”His voice cracked as he clutched his shirt like he needed to keep his soul inside his body.“You—you want to marry me? You think your Papa is worthy of that kind of honor?!”

She nodded happily. “Yep! You’re the best boy ever. You cook and you smell good.”

Sanji was in full emotional ruin. SORA!!! You—You can’t just—Papa’s HEART!!!” “You’re going to send me to the grave with your CUTENESS!!”

He scooped her up with trembling arms, kissing her forehead a dozen times as she giggled and squealed, still clutching the drawing.

A minute later, when the crew walked by outside the room and heard sniffles, Zoro cracked the door open a little.

“Oi. You crying in here?”

“SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH, MOSSHEAD! You wouldn’t understand! She proposed to me! This is the happiest day of my life!”

“…She’s five.”

“AND SHE HAS EXQUISITE TASTE!”“Did you hear that?! My daughter wants to MARRY ME!!“You losers could never understand this level of unconditional love!!”

~

Later that night, Sanji gently folded the drawing and slipped it into a special compartment in his suit jacket—right next to a photo of his mother.

He looked down at his daughter, finally dozing off with her cheek squished into the pillow, hair a mess, arms flopped open like a little starfish.

He smiled.

“If only I could stay in this moment forever…”