Love Language

love language

ft. opla!zoro and opla!sanji

zoro.

he’s never been one for loud proclamations of love — or really loud proclamations of anything (other than maybe becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, but even then) — because to him, actions have always spoken louder than words; so he tells you in not so many words but in ever so many actions — in the way he’s always half a step behind you, his arm close enough to brush against yours, his eyes scanning the city street, the restaurant, the skyline of a furtive, dream-scape sea, for any kind of harm that might befall you; in the way he presses a palm to the small of your back, or the way he instinctively moves to stand between you and anything he deems a threat; in the way he smiles when he watches you, an implicit, helpless thing; in the way that everyone can see it but himself, and he’d deny it if ever asked, but in the softness of his body whenever you’re near (because soft isn’t a thing he’s ever been terribly good at, but with you… it never feels as hard as it once seemed); in the way he knows you by the sound of your footsteps, the rhythm of your breaths, the cadence of your heartbeat when you’re happy or scared or nervous; in the hawk-like way he refuses to let you out of his sight, even if he knows the stupid cook will tease him about it for weeks to come; in the way he falls asleep next to you, closes his eyes and knows that this is what safety feels like, and that trust like love, doesn’t come easy, but with, it’ll always, always be here.

sanji.

he is ever the one for loud declarations of love, the loudest and most declarative — because he believes that there’s power in words and power in saying the words out loud — because to him, a promise isn’t a promise till it’s a promise said, and he promises to love you every day, and in every way he knows how — he tells you in the mornings, whispers it into your ear as he kisses you awake, offers you breakfast on a silver platter; he tells you about the menu for the day, asks if you’d prefer a white or a red wine with lunch, muses that since it’ll be mostly seafood, white would be better but… he’ll decant whichever one you want; he tells you in the afternoons, wrapping his arms around your middle to pulls you back into his chest, pressing soft kisses into the crook of your neck, holding you all the tighter when you giggle and try to wriggle out of his grasp; he tells you when he calls you his ‘dream’, his ‘angel’, his ‘sun and moon and stars’; he tells you in the quiet that lapses between you when you help him clean up after dinner, after dessert’s been had and all the wine’s been drunk; he tells you with his lips on yours, with the way he pours himself into you, harsh and almost reckless, because he doesn’t know any other way to fall in love, any other way to tell you just how much you mean to him other than to, well, tell you like this.

𝐑𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐞𝐩. 𝟏𝟎𝟖𝟗 𝐄𝐠𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

mr master manspreader in action ;)

lingering remnants (zoro x reader)

some fluff :) part of my artist!reader continuity (takes place after death's touch) but can as always be read standalone!

wc: 947 masterlist || commissions (info)

ft. artist!reader, law being sooo subtle (he's not), jealous zoro, soft zoro, strawhat interactions, fluff, established relationship

Zoro thought that any prickling feelings of jealousy under his skin had been discarded and forgotten about, but Law’s infatuation with you seemed so much more brazen under the scrutiny of daylight.

He follows close behind your every footstep, making hushed, snarky remarks that occasionally earn a snort from you as your paintbrush drags across primed wooden boards.  Though he has surgical precision, his body haphazardly brushes against yours as the two of you walk towards the kitchen for lunch, making your eyes widen, cautiously bristling at the seemingly unintentional touch.  Intent on monopolizing and consuming your time, Law runs you ragged by offering you caffeine in place of your daily afternoon nap.  You see it—Zoro can tell by the flashes of worry that grace your features that the surgeon’s intentions are clear, but you grin and bear it, keeping a cheerful façade together despite cringing internally at the awkwardness of the situation.

It irritates Zoro, to his very core, that Law was so intent on having you, possessing you, when he had barely scratched the surface on knowing you.  He was simply enamored with the playful, quiet remarks you’d make, and the interest you took in his hobbies that didn’t involve removing peoples’ organs; he enjoyed the interest in him and the easy conversation, as if you were no more than an accessory or prop to him. It was all so superficial.

Law hasn’t seen the way you grit your teeth as you work through more pain than your small frame is capable of handling during a particularly grueling training session, unable to do anything but let out a scream and push harder, or the way you bite your cheeks and growl when frustrated with a painting, when none of the brushstrokes and hues appear how you had envisioned them.  The determination brimming in your eyes, not just to get stronger and protect your crew, but also to perfect your craft and reach your dream, was completely lost on the surgeon.

He wasn’t aware that you got an indescribable high from hanging between the jaws of danger; you often sit with Luffy after dinner, dangling off the head of the Sunny, book precariously held in your head as you read. You fall from your perch quite often, but are never deterred, and always caught by a pair of rubber arms before you reach the crashing waves, laughing as he reels you back up to your seat.  Truthfully, the two of you were a pair of little monkeys, Zoro lays back and watches with a small smile as you constantly fling each other around the ship, often at the expense of a few bruises and scrapes; none of them mattered as long as you felt the wind whipping through your hair and the sensation of feet off the ground.

Law didn’t know how deeply you cared, taking care of each of your crewmates often at the expense of your own well-being.  He’d never caught you comforting Nami with a warm embrace as she dealt with painful memories, rubbing Usopp’s back as he dealt with his insecurities, or drying dishes with the cook, listening to him ramble about fond memories of his mother, or missing the old man he missed so deeply and the restaurant that had for so long been his home.

He hasn’t seen the way you messily slurp your tea with Robin and Brook in the early afternoon, making quiet conversation while you narrow your eyes at the developing sketch on the page in front of you.  And he’s never seen you buzzing, sloppy, intoxicated, and slumped over the table in the library, giggling maniacally to the point of tears.  Law hasn’t had the privilege of seeing the light that illuminates both from your eyes and from your drunk laughter, bouncing erratically off the walls and into Robin’s ears as she gives you an amused, playful smile and ruffles your hair.

He’s been denied the sight of sunlight casting a golden glow on your hair as you shake him awake from a nap with a sleepy smile, a kiss to the forehead, and a dreamy sigh.  The heat running across your flushed cheeks and the warmth of your loving gaze was a sight reserved for Zoro alone, so precious that the mere thought was enough to feed him during years spent apart.  Light—emanating and dripping from your essence—shone from your very soul, and Zoro would give nearly anything to keep basking in it.

Law simply doesn’t know you like Zoro does, and he could never; to a man that lurks in darkness beneath the waves, the tickling of the sun’s rays on his forearms is foreign and strange.  And though Zoro is willing to die at any time if necessary, you make him choose life.

“You okay?” you ask him, hopping up to sit precariously on the railing of the Sunny.  Your stare is curious as it picks him apart lovingly, carefully studying and cherishing each piece before putting them back together.

“Just thinking about you.” he replies, his tone laced with a softness that rendered it nearly unrecognizable.  It’s a tone reserved for special moments like these, when he’s thinking and feeling so much more than usual.

Warmth and raw emotion pouring from your expression causes blood to pool in his cheeks; your feelings are unabashed, and he’s grateful they’re always written all over your face.  Gaining comfort and reassurance from one simple glance is something Zoro never thought he would crave, let alone become accustomed to. 

“So was I.” you say, leaning in closer and pressing a soft kiss to his temple.  As you look at him with a gentle smile, aglow and framed by the sunset, you’re radiant and lovestruck, and just for him.