He's Such A Dear - Tumblr Posts
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.