i’m CRAVING a sanji fic rn 🤤🤤
maybe something on showing affection with him? cause i feel like he’s kinda superficial with his affection when first trying to get with u, but then as the relationship progresses the affection becomes so much more.
well ur in luck bc i do have a sanji fic cookin currently but who knows how long it'll take me to actually finish... in the meantime... here are some sanji domestic/affectionate!headcanons bc why not
in the beginning, it would be the grand gestures -- always waking you up with a kiss and coffee (or tea, if you're sick, or just don't feel like coffee that day) and your favorite foods; a bouquet of fresh flowers (do not ask him how he obtains these in the middle of the ocean; he will not tell you and robin remarks loftily one day that you might not like the answer)
in the beginning, he'd tell you he loves you every single hour, lest you forget for even a minute, even though it's only been like... a week and you're not entirely sure what "love" means quite yet
and then, it'd taper off, not because the 'honeymoon phase' is over, but because he'd find other ways to show you -- other ways of tellin you he loves you without telling you in so many words
there's still breakfast, but sometimes instead of coffee or tea, there's a book that you mentioned you'd been wanting to read, there's an origami crane folded out of the napkin with such excruciating care it almost breaks your heart, there's a note written in his sloppy, slanted handwriting that he dreamt of you last night and couldn't figure out if he wanted to wake up to tell you or keep sleeping not to break the fragile dream
and the "i love you"s become something else too -- they become "how did you sleep, love?" and "i knew you'd be craving that" and "c'mon, drink up -- there's more where that came from" and "tell me about your dreams" and "funny, those sound an awful lot like my dreams too".
it'd solidify, this kind of love -- his kind of love -- into something much quieter than anyone might suspect. this kind of love that simmers, the kind of love that curls around you like a hot bath, that draws you in
it's the way he always saves the wishbone whenver he cooks up any kind of bird, how he always waits till everything is done and the kitchen's all cleaned up before pulling you toward the counter, to the tiny little bone with it's winged flanges, him holding one end, the other offered out like a promise (or a wish)
you've pulled so many between you that you've lost count of how many wishes you've made, until you're laughing and complaining that you're running out of things to wish for
"what do you wish for?" you ask one day, when you've tugged and sanji gets the wish, to which he only looks at you and says, "always the same thing, actually. always... just another day with you."
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Quiet nights (♡˙︶˙♡)
zoro x reader
“Your hands,” You mutter under your breath, your gaze settling on your hand in his, tracing a plethora of shapes into the palm of his hand. They seem to engulf yours, enveloping them in a sense of warmth and comfort you are slowly growing used to. You nod your head as though agreeing with yourself, a breathless laugh leaving your lips as you appreciate these rare moments of silence.
“They’re nice to look at,” feeling the words tumble out of your mouth without much inhibition. Being completely vulnerable like this was never your forte, nor was it his. Zoro grunts in response, unable to hide the grin slowly stretching on his face. His thumb leisurely caresses the back of your hand, fixated on your own hand in his just as you were. He had never imagined his hands for anything other than reaching his goal, so used to seeing it grip onto a dumbbell or the hilt of his swords, his intention always ending with violence.
To see it hold yours as though he holds a feather, as though you were something much more precious to him than life itself, surprised both you and himself. You can’t help but feel your heart melt at the sight, his usually gruff exterior melting away before your eyes. He wasn’t even drunk this time, not even a lick of alcohol in his system.
Maybe he was a little drunk, he thought to himself, drunk on the way your gaze held his ever so lovingly, knowing his affections for you were recirprocated.
“To hold.” he finally whispers, as though his words were meant for your ears only, as though you were the only person in the entire world. His eyes met yours and you felt his love for you come crashing down in a tidal wave, drowning you in his endless affections reserved just for you.
“To hold is the one thing I'll never tire of doing."
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"the secret to writing the perfect romance is to make them unable to live without the other person"
"the secret to writing the perfect romance is to make one fall first and the other fall harder"
wrong. the secret to writing the perfect romance is to establish them as individual characters first, with their own personal aspirations and fears, before introducing them to eachother so the characters can fall for characters that were actually written to be characters instead of shallowly written to play a part in a romance story.
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not to romanticize my mental issues but sometimes having adhd is very useful because today during a meeting that could have been an email i kept thinking about crabs wearing small tophats and having little dancing parties and how they'd sound in tap shoes.
and when my boss was like "raquel what do you think?"
i was like "well, i think the others have made good points about this, of course, and i'd be happy to circle around later on it, but i'd love to take a moment and resonate with this before offering my own suggestion. i want to hear what others think before anticipating the client's needs."
and then i went back to not listening but this time it was imagining snails that joust.
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