#[ creative pining ]

[noodles-and-tea]

Twins in time au.... Would Fiddleford act as a sort of father figure to Stan? Since Filbrick obviously SUCKED to both Stan and Ford and Fidd is more than definitely missing HIS son, and of course Ford has grown to love him but they're still BROTHERS.. Maybe they could act as the father/son the other is missing?

ABSOLUTELY!!!!

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[abyssalzones]

If you have the same hyperfixation for too long they put money on your head and baby I'm frontlining America's most wanted

bonus parallel fidds sprites

[milkamel]

✨ Kross AU where soulmates share pain from injuries ✨

I’ve been thinking about some kind of a soulmate AU for these too (just for fun, nothing too complicated) and this concept was quite interesting so here it is. I also wanted to make it angsty but instead, it turned silly- I think it’s even better this way. This idea was sudden so there may be plot holes and inaccuracies.

So, Killer and Cross are soulmates and they’re linked by the pain they share (the one that comes from injuries, being hit etc. If any of them gets physically hurt, both of them feel it). Killer has a pretty high pain tolerance due to his experiences, trauma and general numbness, so he barely feels any pain and can easily ignore or not notice injuries on himself.

Cross on the other hand can feel everything clearly but he’d just learned to pretend like everything’s fine. He’s a soldier after all, he has to be strong for his people, friends and his soulmate that he’s bound to meet. He can’t show weakness no matter how unbearable sometimes the pain is. Though he can’t help but be concerned over how intense the pain is sometimes so he tries to avoid anything that might bring even more pain to his poor soulmate who suffers so frequently.

So, in conclusion, we have two idiots who hide their pain and can’t realize that they are soulmates because of that 🎉🎉 Mutual pining and idiots in love 🎉🎉

Killer belongs to rahafwabas Cross belongs to jakei

[nerdy-hyperfixations]

My mom (and my sister) said that both baby Stan and Ford are adorable but Ford is cuter and she likes him better and I think my heart is shattered.

This post is dedicated to my favorite kid Stanley panels:

My mom didn’t even like him when I showed the one where he murders those two kids 😭😭😭 that’s the best part!!!

[aspectnotarized]

Even though I haven't got my Book of Bill yet (I found out late 😔), the fandom revival is poking around at my old Blind Faith au art, and its reminding me of how much fun I have thinking about it.

[phobiacoms]

quando inspiração se torna paranoia

[bacchusbasil]

Ficlet- Stan Loses his Memory (Shapes and Pines AU)

“Oh my gosh, Grunkle Stan you did it!” Mabel excitedly exclaimed as she placed the fez upon the kneeling man’s head.

Ford, Dipper, and Tad lingered behind, sober looks on their faces. Ford rubs his arm as a tear wells up in Tad’s eye.

“Oh uh... Hey there… Kiddo,” Stan hesitantly greets, gently removing Mabel’s arms from his shoulders. “What’s your name?”

Mabel laughs nervously. “Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

Dipper covers his mouth silently, joining next to his sister.

The man in the trench coat touched the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle and looked around. “Heh… who ya talkin’ to?” 

Tad floats up to Stan’s face, reaching for his chin. “C’mon, Mack! You know us! Don’t ya remember me? Your husband-for-tax-purposes?”

The blue being’s supposed husband just stares blankly. Tad grabs him by the collar. “You can’t just forget our anniversary that easily! C’mon, does twenty years of commitment mean nothing to you?!”

Stan backs away from the two, who now have tears flowing over their faces, and Dipper grabs each by the shoulders to pull them away.

Ford leans over to comfort Mabel. “We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill. It’s all gone.”

The older man glances up at his brother. “Stan has no idea, but he did it. He saved the world.”

Ford moves closer to Stan, placing his arms on either shoulder. “He saved me.”

The amnesiac blinked unrecognizingly as Ford teared up. “You’re our hero, Stanley.” His voice cracks. He embraces his brother for the first time in forty years.

Tad reaches for Mabel’s hand, who takes it and pulls him close like a teddy bear. The square cries into her sweater sleeve and she cries into his bowler hat, Dipper putting a hand on her shoulder and lowering his cap.

The family took a solemn moment to mourn.

(Shapes and Pines belongs to @void-dude )

[me-writes-prompts]

-:“You’re so oblivious to my feelings and I can’t stand it anymore” Oblivious x Pining prompts:-

(OK BUT THE LAST ONE????????TAG MEEEEEE IF YOU WRITE IT FUCKKKKK)

By @me-writes-prompts

Dropping subtle hints such as lingering touches and a bit too long of an eye contact, but the one doesn't seem to notice it at all.

Person C asking Person A if they are in love with Person B, but Person A having to deny because they aren't ready to face their feelings for them just yet.

"What the hell was back there?" "What?" "Why were you glaring at my date like you wanted to murder them?" "No, I wasn't." "Do not try to deny it, you clearly were." "...I-" "Why?" "No reason."

"You like them, don't you?" "I-...no. Possibly. Maybe. Fine, yes." "Hmm, why don't you tell them?" "I can't, I don't want to ruin what we have for what I wish to have. They wouldn't. They could never like me back like that."

"I wish you knew just how much I liked you, you idiot." They think as they console their friend who has gone through yet another break up.

"I...I'm not worth of their admiration, their love. They don't like me back, [name]." "I'm sure someone out their loves you, admires you, and wants to be with you. You are worth everything and do not let anyone else tell you otherwise." "Do you really think there is a person out there who would like me for who I am?" "Yes. They could be anywhere and everywhere. They could be in front of you. You just have to see them. Feel their love and devotion."

Person A and B going out to an amusement with the same matching outfit, and people keep asking if they are a couple to which Person A denies and says they are "just friends". Person B can't it, and decide to leave them.

^^"Why did you leave me like that back there?" "Because." "Because, what?" "Because, your dumbass can't figure out how much it hurts me when you say that we're "just friends." "Why...why would you be hurting?" "Because I like you! I have feelings for you, and you won't stop stomping on them." "Oh, I..."

"What was that idiot doing back there? Flirting with you like the world was ending, tch." "Huh, and why would you care of all people? I mean, it's not like we're together, right? Because you said it, quote unquote that 'We would never be anything more than friends. We're just really close and make out sometimes as friends. Nothing more, of course." *TAKES DEEP BREATHS* (sad music from a broken radio suddenly plays in the background while they stare at each other)

[chime-art]

She's teaching him how to crochet!!

[ghostcowboi]

my attempt at doomed yaoi

im too lazy to ever finish this TT but I want the world to see my vision.

[who-even-knows-0-0]

your honour, they are in love

other versions under the cut:

i love them

[sleepy-steve]

@steddieangstyaugust 05/08 // ‘Please Please Please, Let Me Get What I Want’ by The Smiths

wc: 2.2k // rating: M // cw: language, negative self talk // tags: YEARNING, post-s4 but vecna dies, eddie has some self-esteem issues, mild references to sexual content

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie isn’t sure when it started. When this… obsession took over his life. When he suddenly couldn’t think of anything but Steve Harrington.

It could have been when they started hanging out every day, the threat of otherworldly horrors gone and the Big Evil defeated. When they realised that while they don’t necessarily have much in common, they both care to learn about what the other likes.

It could have started before that, when Steve continually showed up to help him through his physical therapy, never wavering in his kindness despite how many times Eddie snapped in frustration or lashed out at him. Steve always took it in stride, but never patronised him. Or was it even before that? When Steve showed up everyday to his bedside in the hospital, at first appearing to just be chauffeuring Dustin, but then visiting on his own. Spending hours talking with him or letting the silence settle between them, filling the hours where Wayne couldn’t be there.

Shit, if Eddie really thought about it, it went further back than that too. Before Steve carried him out of hell and quite literally saved his life—though that alone was enough to make a guy swoon—and before the moment Eddie flirted with him in the RV (and really, what was he thinking with that?) and even before their little heart to heart in the aforementioned hell after the first bat attack.

No, if Eddie was honest with himself, it all went back to Steve’s surprise appearance in the boathouse, shoved up against the wall with a shard of glass pressed to his neck and fear in his eyes. Eddie remembers feeling Steve tremble as Eddie held tight to his jacket, watching as he swallowed, skin of his throat pressing against the glass. Eddie’s own hands shook around the broken bottle, from exertion and fear, and god help him he was not going down without a fight in that moment. Their all too literal colliding of worlds was not something he could have been prepared for, nevermind the fact that Eddie almost killed him. But it was that brief moment, so miniscule, right before Eddie let him go, that he realised Steve really wouldn’t hurt him. Despite being held up and almost having his throat slashed, Steve had dropped the oar.

It was the first hint he got that all those things Dustin had said about Steve were actually true. That all the ideas he’d previously had about Steve Harrington were undeniably false. And Eddie only continued to be proven wrong by the sheer magnitude of Steve’s kindness, his patience, his unending love for his friends. Which now, by some miracle, Eddie was a part of.

It had grown. Out of something that should have just been a trauma-bond that then dissolved once they were quote-unquote healed and realised they actually had nothing in common besides the shared experience of almost dying in an otherworldly dimension. It had grown into something much more than that, something that Eddie never really had before. He’d had friends before, sure, his little sheepies and his band mates, but nothing quite like this. It was both his fault and also not. When he arrived in middle school and was immediately bullied for daring to be a little bit different—despite the differences having more to do with his class status than anything he had truly picked at that time—the walls came up. People could get somewhat close to him, but ultimately Eddie decided just how much he would give to people, and arms length was always safest. They wouldn’t be able to hurt him at arms length.

And yet. Steve Harrington had somehow wormed himself past the walls, beyond the arms length barrier, and settled himself neatly within Eddie’s rib cage. Not only that, Steve brought along the rest of his little group, a family that knocked down Eddie’s walls and forged a space just for him. It went beyond the trauma bond. It had grown into something that almost felt like Steve cared about him. Actually, that wasn’t fair. Steve absolutely did care about Eddie. He’d shown it time and time again. Shown up and held tight and given his time and space and love, being the kind of best friend Eddie only dreamed of having.

And here he was, greedy. Desperately craving more. More of the connection, more of the love —platonic though it is—more of which he has already been given. Arguably he’s received far more than he ever thought he deserved (despite what his new friends might say). But Eddie can’t help it.

He wants. He craves.

He fucking aches for it.

It grips him in a chokehold, this desperation with which he begs to receive more. To have more. To be more. It wasn’t enough to have Steve’s friendship, Eddie wanted his whole heart. His whole soul, even. Every tiny speck of stardust that came together to create him, Eddie wanted it in his possession. Wanted it all to himself, to hoard like a dragon’s greatest treasure. To lock this man away and keep him safe and shower him with love and devotion every day for the rest of his life. He longed for it to the point of feeling more animal than man, a slave to his own desires. Helpless against his own hunger for a connection that would run bone deep between them, etched into his skull, woven into his blood. Eddie burned to fucking consume Steve Harrington and be consumed by him. To have their souls merge together in a supernova and, and, and…

And nothing. Because it would never happen. Not for Eddie, not the way that he wants it to. He reminds himself constantly that he should just be grateful to have the friendship, to cherish it for the special thing that it is. That guys like Steve Harrington didn’t want guys like Eddie Munson, at least not in that way. Not in the way Eddie wanted, because Eddie never got what he wanted.

Well, not never. But rarely. When he goes down this spiral, he struggles to remember times he has actually gotten what he wanted. In love, in romance? Never. Kisses—too fast, too hard, too scared—shared with boys who met him behind the bleachers and didn’t know what they wanted. Or rather, did know but wished they didn’t. Those that ended in the boys running away, or worse, threatening to hit him—to kill him—if Eddie dared to speak about what happened. Not that anyone would believe a jock would ever turn to Eddie The Freak Munson, even as an experiment. That’s all he ever was when he was younger, an experiment. It was all he thought he deserved, at least until he got a bit older and was able to venture out of Hawkins. Then came other stuff. Quick, filthy hookups in club bathrooms and dark alleyways in Indy. A stranger’s tongue in his mouth and their hands in each other’s pants and maybe their mouths on each other and the flash of a smile before leaving and he’d never see them again. It was fine. He got what he set out for in those moments, but nothing more. He never felt like he was owed more, never felt worthy of more, so why would anyone give him that? At least they didn’t end in threats of violence. At least he felt desired, somewhat. But, if given the chance, he’d trade all those experiences for one night of feeling like he was the prize, like he was the one worth fighting for, like someone wanted his heart.

And the craziest part was… sometimes he did feel that way. Sometimes Steve made him feel that way. Like Eddie was the most special person on the planet. Like no one else could draw his attention away. Like they were the only two people in the world. Like Steve could actually…

No. It wasn’t like that. Eddie had to remind himself endlessly. It wasn’t like that. This love wasn’t reserved just for Eddie, who watched Steve share it with all of them. When he picked up Dustin to take him wherever he wanted to go, despite the squabbling they shared. The way he and Robin seemed to read each other's minds, attached at the hip whenever possible. How he helped Max after she got out of the hospital, ready to drop everything at a second’s notice if she needed him. Spending afternoons training basketball with Lucas, giving him all of his tips and shining with pride at his skills.

Still… there was something. Something in the way Steve’s eyes lit up whenever Eddie arrived. Something in the way he was almost always too close, fingers brushing as beers were passed, arms and legs pressed against each other during movie nights, arms held tight when nightmares returned, and one glorious evening of warm cuddling and dreamless sleep after sharing a joint. Eddie lived in those moments, let them play on an endless loop in his mind, reading deep into each tiny interaction. Thinking about every smile sent his way and was it any different from the smiles anyone else got? God, he wanted to believe Steve had a special one just for him. One that was a little bit softer and sweeter and shyer.

The idea is nice, but it’s washed away by the cold reality of the fact that it would never happen. Even if, by some miracle, Steve was anything other than straight, why would he want Eddie? He could have anyone he wanted. And Eddie wouldn’t get what he wanted because that’s just how life was for him. Though he may beg and plead with invisible entities for it, though he might crave and ache to the point of feeling feral with it, though he might promise—swear on his life—to himself and anyone up there listening that he’d treat Steve so well if given the chance, Eddie knew it just wasn’t on the cards. The sooner he accepted that the better.

His resolve in place—forget about it, or at least bury it until it could be forgotten—Eddie makes his way up the driveway to the Harrington house. He wouldn’t think about it for the entirety of movie night. He absolutely would not.

“Hey, man!” Steve answers the door with a perfect smile and joy in his eyes. Eddie’s resolve wobbles. “Just in time.”

Eddie takes a moment to steel himself, firmly reminding himself of his goal, as he follows Steve into the house. And it lasts for all of two minutes before he’s pulled down onto the sofa, thigh pressed against Steve’s. Was there truly any reason for Eddie to be tortured this way? He tries to remember that Robin is on the other side of Steve, and that there’s limited room on the sofa but fucking hell… Their shoulders brush, the soft grazes through layers of fabric sending Eddie’s mind spinning, until Steve places his arm around behind Eddie on the sofa-back, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat of his skin. And god, this is so much worse. The desire to lean in and cuddle him, just nestle right in and have Steve’s arm around him, drives him crazy. The idea that they could… that this could be normal for them, domestic even. It went beyond the physical, Eddie wanted to take care of him. To show him the love Steve had so willingly given to him, and give it back ten-fold, hundred-fold. To create a life with him. To be proud of him and show him off and love him endlessly. To go to the ends of the earth to grant Steve his every wish, if he could just have one chance, he was begging—

Get it together! Eddie’s internal voice hisses at him, and he tries to shove all his thoughts back down into a vault, feeling a bit like trying to get water back into a broken hydrant. He does his best, managing to get it back down to a simmer, rather than a rapid boil.

Steve shifts slightly, suddenly a bit closer. It all comes rushing back. The warmth where their thighs are touching becomes burning hot and all the aching, craving, yearning, wanting that Eddie tried to shove down and out of his mind is suddenly front and centre and focused on the way Steve laughs and those glorious moles dotting down his neck. He feels insane with longing, desperate to press his lips to those moles, as if that could ever convey the depth of his feelings for the man beside him. Overcome with the need to drag his fingers through that beautiful hair and maybe even pull on it a little, just to see what kind of noise Steve makes, Eddie hears the tiny voice in his mind telling him off for staring. He just can’t seem to drag his eyes away. Steve throws his head back with a laugh, exposing his throat, and Eddie might as well perish right then and there, distraught with how much he wants to bite it. To just sink his teeth into the skin and feel Steve’s pulse beneath with his tongue. To leave bites and bruises all over his body, everywhere Eddie thinks is beautiful…

Before he can summon enough shame to look away, Steve catches his eye, and just grins, eyes lit up with that same brightness he always seems to have when looking at him.

Eddie’s a fucking goner.

[abyssalzones]

gf sketches of january :J

[birdmetaphors]

kim pine vs. my artblock

[fanaticsnail]

Bar Shift: Part 1

First time writing for Sanji, which accidentally turned into a multi-part mini series. This is part 1!

Your eyelids fluttered open as the rays of the morning sun shone through the material of the curtain and directly onto your face. Any other day, waking with the dawn would cause you to groan, wipe your face with your fingertips and you would lunge straight into a tirade of self-hype to awaken your senses as you prepared for your shift as the front of house manager of the floating restaurant, Baratie.

However, today was unlike any of the others you had encountered over the past several months. Today, you had finally been rostered for a single day off. You smiled and raised your arms over your head, stretching them above you and arching your back with a low moan. You released the tension acquired in your shoulders and shrugged back into the mattress below you.

It was not like you hadn’t been rostered off, releasing you from your duties over the several months prior. You had just acquired the nasty habit of accepting shifts pushed onto you to cover other members of staff in their duties. From aiding with back of house duties: washing dishes, vegetable preparation, sauce reduction and preparing ‘family meal’ for the staff to enjoy after completing a successful shift; to aiding the head Chef Zeff with listing groceries, preparing payroll, timetable scheduling and product costing. This is how you rose so high in the ranks aboard the sailing restaurant as their front of house staff; never being one to decline a shift to cover others in their time of need.

You smiled to yourself, springing the sheets from your body and preparing to undertake a true day dedicated to only yourself. You had a whole list of items prepared in your mind: face masks, deep hair conditioning, pampering your body by doing some exercise in the gym and enjoying breakfast on the broad deck in the sunshine on the bar.

You started with your face, plucking unruly and unwanted hair from their desired location, applying a face and hair mask and began doing your stretches to limber your body up for a small run after your masks had dried, been rinsed and tidied.

As the conditioning treatments began to solidify atop your features, you placed a record in your music player and swung to the beat with a small giggle. You discarded your sleep attire and searched through your draws for something to exercise in and something to wear to breakfast after you had a shower.

You rinsed off the dried masks from your face and wrapped your masked hair into a tight bun out of your face and left your quarters adorning your work-out gear. You completed a slightly cardio intensive routine over the course of an hour, including some kick-boxing against a small bag hanging from the ceiling on the crew-quarters gym before heading to the showers.

Indulging in the warmth of a lengthy shower, you dried your now shiny soft hair and styled it in a way you hadn’t done in a while – wearing it out instead of in the tightly woven style you would adorn in your regular shifts aboard Baratie. You raked through the locks, pinched your cheeks a little to add some warmth to your un-made up features and left the showers wearing slightly dressy clothes.

You were relishing in every moment you had acquired in a well deserved day off, noticing the hands on the clock on the hallway indicated it was now around 7:45am as you made your way atop the deck. More often than not, you would pull double – if not triple shifts – to aid the creater, owner and head chef of Baratie; often starting at 5am to aid in pastries, work a full shift on the floor before covering for a chef in the kitchen or helping with the dishes from the rush before managing the bar for the night life. You would often end your shift just after midnight if the night was slow, but would stay later if required.

There had been two crew birthdays for the front of house staff, one chef du cuisine reigniting his affections with an old flame and asking you to cover for him in the kitchen, three injuries at the hands of apprentices and one chef finding themselves overcome with some form of sea-bearing respiratory illness he acquired on one of his days off that rendered him useless for a week. Each time, Patty or Carne would seek you out and sheepishly ask you to cover; knowing they could truly count on you. And each time, you would say yes.

As you took a seat, basking in the light of the morning rays; you rolled your neck and closed your eyes to release some tension in your neck as a shadow fell over your face – successfully blocking the warmth from falling onto your skin.

You opened your eyes and looked up to see the blonde chef, Sanji; a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he presented you with what looked to be some number of fruits above a jelly and custard tart with whipped cream on the side. You smiled at him and sat up slightly from your reclined position.

“For you, princess,” he said with a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes and accepted the dish from him and placed it on the side table to the right of the lounging chair you were sitting on.

“What is it, love?” you asked him, gesturing to the dish he had handed to you. He broadly smiled at you, appreciating the name you bestowed onto him. He removed the finished cigarette from the corner of his lips and placed it in the ashtray on the table beside a different recliner, further away from the dish.

“It’s a white chocolate ganache custard tart with a bitter blueberry reduction,” he began, crouching down at the table, fixing his gaze at the dish in front of you and gesturing to each part.

“I’ve topped it with a sweet lychee jelly with chiffonade mint leaves and finely diced cubed mango,” he pointed to the finely chopped pieces, “and I’ve hand-whipped a vanilla bean meringue buttercream just for you.”

You noticed a twinkle in his eyes as you looked the dish over, assessing its presentation. You narrowed your eyes at the tart base, noticing it was different than the usual pie crusts Sanji had worked with in the past.

“And the base?” you questioned him, arching your eyebrow up at him. He chuckled a little and leant forward.

“A flattened and rolled out layered Bischoff brioche,” he winked at you. You were not unaccustomed to Sanji’s flirting, as many of the chefs would playfully banter with one another during the shifts. Between Patty, Carne or the other line cooks; it was more loving insults or playful banter and encouragement. If there was a pretty lady sitting at the tables, a chef would alert the rest of the kitchen by calling out a dish to table number that didn’t exist, or more boldly, wolf-whistle under their breath.

With you, being one of the only women who would grace the back of house with your presence on the line, they would often include you in their jabs and try to point out any men they would deem worthy of your time. Sanji, however, would push to include you in a more flirtatious manner – often calling out the non-existent table number when you would walk to the pass on one of your front of house shifts, or referring to you with a rotating number of pet-names, his latest including “princess”.

“Thank you, love,” you smiled at him, broadly. You picked up a small fork and sliced the sharpened edge of the utensil into the tart and collecting a sample of each of the ingredients onto it.

“Did you make one for yourself too?” you asked before raising it to your lips. He was gazing at you with anticipation as you placed the ingredients into your mouth. Immediately, an explosion of flavours erupted over your tongue; bitterness from the reduction, richness from the ganache and meringue, fresh juices from the jelly and herbaceous botanicals from the mint leaves eclipsed over your senses; pulling an unwilling moan from between your lips. Sanji broadly smiled at your reaction, his eyes twinkling at the unwithheld compliment to him that he managed to bring forth.

You blushed heavily at the reaction your body made in response to consuming the first bite of his food and continued to chew, rolling the contents over your tongue.

“Bloody hell, Sanji!” you widened your eyes and covered your mouth with the hand you had the utensil in, still chewing the tart in your mouth. He chuckled and cradled his head in his enclosed fist, bashfully while he continued to watch you enjoy the dish he made.

“To answer your question, princess,” he smiled, “no I didn’t. I made that especially for you.”

You swallowed the first bite and rose your eyebrows in subtle shock. You again carved off a generous piece of the tart, ensuring you collected a taste of each of the many parts of the dessert. Sanji followed your movements with his eyes as you skilfully did so, only looking back to you in confusion as you presented the fork towards his lips.

“Well then,” you declared, offering the fork further over to his lips, “say ‘ah’.”

He smiled widely before leaning towards the silver utensil and wrapping his lips over the tip of the fork. His tongue collected the ingredients from the bottom of the fork, drawing your eyes to the silver balled piercing located on his pink frenulum momentarily. He maintained eye contact with you as he placed the contents into his mouth, causing an unintentional blush to rise from your chest, tips of your ears and over your cheeks.

He released the fork slowly from his lips, removing all pieces of indulgent tart from the end of the fork and he smiled at you with fondness.

“Thank you,” he nodded his head at the fork, “always wanted to share a meal with you. I didn’t think it would be quite as literal as this, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at his playful flirtation and began to collect more of the beautiful breakfast he had meticulously prepared for you.

“You should’ve made this one for Chef,” you commented, “he might even be so inclined to put this on the menu. I’d vouch for you, love.”

He laughed at your comment, reaching into his jacket pocket and placing an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Nope,” he said, bringing his lips to the filter end of the cigarette, “too much work went into that one. Wouldn’t want it wasted on uncultured pricks that believe the height of cuisine is a well-done tomahawk steak with mashed potatoes and boiled carrots.”

You laughed at his comment, watching him as he stood up and attempted to click his flint-less lighter to ignite a flame. He growled slightly in frustration, prompting you to reach for your own lighter in your bag. You rose to your feet and situated yourself in front of the tall blonde, reaching up your lighter and flicking the flint to ignite a small flame from the end. He smiled in thanks at you as you brought your hand cradling the flame up to his lips once more. He leant into your hands, igniting the tip of the cigarette and inhaling deeply before releasing the tobacco-riddled smoke from the corner of his mouth away from your face. You smiled at him and flicked off the flame from your lighter and made to place it back into your bag.

Unknown to you, Sanji’s eyes followed your every movement as he gazed at you with nothing but pure adoration. This little crush he seemed to have on you was subject to many of the unrelenting teasing from the kitchen staff, especially from Patty. He didn’t mind being the butt of the joke, especially as his only crime per say was his unrequited fantasy in pining for you.

Sure, he’d flirt with many women over the course of his shift – more often than not to secure a higher tip, or to simply mess with an overzealous man who needed his oversized head to be knocked down a few paces. It was only ever playful, nothing truly more. With you? He found to be fixated on you. The highlight of his shift was knowing you were with him on Baratie, pulling all of your strength, effort and unbridled determination in ensuring the smooth sailing of each night. He adored how much work you put into the place, especially as he owed his life to the head chef and having you aboard seemed to make everything flow so easily.

Silence fell between you as you cut into the meal Sanji prepared for you and continued to place it into your mouth. He continued to smoke, always turning to release the smoke away from you to not tarnish your dining experience in any way.

Loud footsteps broke you both out of your shared silence together as Patty almost skipped over to the place you were sitting, a broad smile adorning his finely groomed facial hair.

Immediately, alarm bells blared into you as this smile you came to know as the one he would only ever use when asking you to cover a shift.

“No,” you said, holding your hands out and defensively shaking them at him, “absolutely not.”

The smile continued to widen over Patty’s features as a clasped his hands together in a pleading fashion.

“Oh my darling, the most precious and radiant flower all of the ocean has to offer,” Patty began his tirade of flattery aimed at you, prompting Sanji to turn to stare at his form.

You shook your head and frowned at him, continuing to wave your arms in front of your face.

“Don’t even start-,” you began, being cut off by more flattery.

“The angel of the east blue,” Patty spoke over you, “more beautiful than the shooting stars littering the sky!”

You brought your thumb and middle finger to your brow before raking your fingertips through the loose strands of your hair. Sanji’s eyes narrowed slightly at the stream of compliments flowing from the blue-haired chef.

“What happened?” you uttered reluctantly at his flattery. Patty dropped his hands from their pleading position and released a sigh, reluctantly removing the smile from his face.

“Cole slipped a disc in his back while walking down the steps last night,” Patty uttered through gritted teeth. You sighed slightly and frowned at the comment.

“Are you certain it’s a slipped disc? Not the fact that his fiancé was finally cleared to dock yesterday?” you growled at Patty. He flinched a little at your accusation, before uttering.

“Actually, he did seem more limber this morning,” he confirmed with a downturned smile, arching his eyebrows. You groaned and lay back into your reclined position after placing the fork on the side table alongside you finished plate.

“If Cole wants me to do his bar shift for him, he should be the one here grovelling for coverage,” you declared with frustration. Patty nervously laughed at your comment, turning to look at Sanji who had a look of complete displeasure on his features.

“You know what?” you suddenly said, sitting up from your reclining position, “the only way I will accept the shift tonight is if the almighty head chef Zeff himself saunters over here and tilts my head up with his index finger and whispers it to me like he would a lover. If those absolute improbable circumstances are completed, I’ll work the bar tonight.”

You slumped back into your seat with a large smile, knowing there was no way Zeff would come to you and flirt his way into having you complete a bar shift for him. Sanji snickered slightly at the thought. Patty excused himself from your presence and sculked back into the halls to where you assume he would go and ask another rostered off member of staff to complete tonight’s shift.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you turn down a shift,” Sanji said, collecting another cigarette from his jacket pocket.

“It’s been five months since I’ve had a proper rostered off day,” you shrugged your shoulders and slumped back into your chair and enjoying the warm rays of the sun shining into your body, “and that was the only thing I could think of to get Patty off my case. I have so much respect for Zeff, and I would never mean to disrespect him in any way. I’m sure Patty has run off to find someone else, anyway.” Sanji smiled in response.

“May I?” Sanji asked, gesturing to your bag to retrieve your lighter.

“Go right ahead, love,” you said, closing your eyes and placing your hands behind your head.

Suddenly your peaceful morning was again interrupted with a loud thump and heavy wooden slap echoing along the polished wooden floor of the hallway where Patty had retreated into moments earlier. Several other bellowing drumbeats could also be heard reverberating behind the thump and slap, alerting both Sanji and yourself to a few bodies approaching.

You snapped your eyes open and stood immediately alert, focusing your sights on the approaching figure of your head chef.

“Alright, pumpkin,” the chef declared, charging over to the place you were standing alongside Sanji, “I’ll play along.”

Your eyes immediately widened at the figure closing the distance between you. Several other chefs, including Patty and Carne were trailing closely behind him almost brimming with excitement.

“Sorry Chef?” you apologised as more of an indication of mishearing him, shock riddling your face. He closed the distance between your bodies, bringing himself uncomfortably close to your own. He reached his hand forward and hooked his index finger beneath your chin, lifting your gaze to focus on his eyes.

“I need you,” he whispered into your face with a hint of close intimacy, holding firm to your chin and pulling all of your focus into his gaze. He paused before he released your chin from his firm grip, “to work the bar tonight.”

You felt a blush creep up over your shocked features as your head chef stepped away from you.

“Y-yes chef,” you managed to stutter out from between your clenched teeth, eyes still standing wide in shock. He smirked slightly and brushed his hands over his apron, stepping away from your close proximity. The snickers of your coworkers were reverberating throughout the area, causing more waves of embarrassment to course over your body.

“I meant no disrespect, chef,” you called after him, suddenly. Zeff chuckled in response.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, “couldn’t resist a challenge though. Get a move on, your shift starts in under an hour.”

He began to retreat back to the kitchen office before calling back over his shoulder; “and Cole was working a double tonight.”

You hung your head and grit your teeth at the shock of the fact your boss actually responded to your non-serious challenge. Your shock was broken by the full belly-laugh from the blonde sous chef next to you, prompting you to snap your gaze over to his. His eyes were closed as he flung his head back and released more of his unhinged laughter.

“Your face,” he managed to gasp out through his unrelenting chuckles, “you should’ve seen your face.”

You growled slightly at the comments made by your coworker.

“Yeah, well I didn’t think my words all the way through, did I?” you spat at him in mock anger. He continued to laugh at you, wiping a small collection of tears spent at your expense.

“I didn’t think the old man had that amount of charm in him,” he said once hunching himself over and wiping his palms over his knees to collect himself.

“To be fair, neither did I,” you replied, “for a second there, I almost caught feelings for the man.”

Sanji chuckled again and straightened himself up.

“Gee if that all it takes to charm you, I should’ve given that a go first. Didn’t need to go through all the trouble of making you breakfast,” he playfully flirted with you, nudging your shoulder with his own. You offered him a warm smile in response.

“Alright, enough playing,” you said, nudging him back, “I’ve got to go get changed out of all this and make myself presentable.”

“You’re always more than beautiful, princess,” Sanji commented at you with a playful smile.

“Hah-hah,” you responded sarcastically, “seriously, love. I’ve got to go get into my bloody uniform now. Customers await.”

You reached your hand up and patted his cheek affectionately.

“Thank you again for breakfast,” you expressed your gratefulness to him, “it was beautiful. We should do this more often.”

He widened his eyes at you and leant slightly into your touch before you turned on your way, returning to your crew quarters. His gaze trailed over you, eyes filling slightly with a small amount of want. Although partially exhausted, he was so glad he gave up his night to preparing a dish especially for you – especially as you released such beautiful sounds acknowledging how much you appreciated it.

He was absolutely going to make something more flavourful for you to hopefully pull more of those melodic sounds from your lips. If he can’t have you moaning his name while coupling with you in a romantic embrace, he was going to extract those illicit sounds from you the only other way he knew how: cooking.

Part 2