#fic: dishes

[pain-in-the-riri]

I would love to know what dishes is about!

Thank you for asking! Dishes is the working title of a fic I started almost exactly two years ago and never finished. The premise is, the entire fic is a letter that Remus is writing to Sirius after he's returned from Azkaban and they're attempting to live a normal life again. (Assume sirius survives and the war's over, and now they are forced to be domestic, and all of the old wounds reopen) Re-reading it now I really need to go back to it even though it will break my own heart 😩

wip game post

Snippet

It's when I'm washing dishes and you're in the other room, reading or listening to records, that I feel the most overwhelmed.

Your mug clinking on the coffee table, you shifting on the couch, you turning a page. Living your life so casually just out of sight, and through the small domestic sounds you make and the rush of water flowing from the tap, all I can hear is the hundreds of ways I let you down.

Every chip I put into a plate when you weren't here is evidence of my failure. Every worn out sole on a pair of shoes, every book I added to the shelves without your input, grains of sand to the desert named "Should Have Been" — you should have been there when I fixed the squeaky hinge; you should have been there to help me plant the maple seedling in the side garden; you should have been there and it's my fault that you weren't.

[ some text crossed out, incomprehensible scribbles scribbled over twice more]

I’m not even sure why it is I’m writing this. I know I’ll never give it to you, and it feels like emotional masturbation. Or, more accurately, self harm in prose format.

Sometimes I get stuck here, in the other room, like today. I can hear you stirring your tea right now and I can’t bring myself to get my ass off this kitchen chair and walk over to you because it feels like I no longer deserve your peaceful moments.

[siriuslylantsov]

through your eyes i see, a smile you bring to me

matt murdock with sculptor!gf who makes a sculpture of him because she wants to have matt see himself through her eyes.

sculptor!gf who has him sit for a few hours, she thinks its a tortuous process as she takes rough sketches, pictures from different angles, and carves out the main areas of his face into the clay but he doesn't mind–he focuses on her breathing and the beat of her heart as he meditates.

it's made over the next days, in a little studio where sculptor!gf works tirelessly. it has to be perfect.

“don't sacrifice your style for my sake,” matt says one day when she tells him about how tedious it is to smooth out the clay. he knows that when she usually sculpts, it's rough, patches of clay pressed over each other in textured harmony. “you won't be able to feel it then,” she murmurs distractedly, hunched over her workspace. “it doesn't matter, angel. it’s your eyes isn't it?” he counters and she begrudgingly concedes, she hides her smile and he can feel it in the way she bites into her lip.

she doesn't know how far his sight goes, if she can even call it that. does he know what he looks like? is he only able to picture himself from before the accident? when he was a child? does he feel his face like he carefully did hers when she walked him up to his apartment after a night out with foggy and karen? she plans to ask him these things later, she still has so many questions about his situation but for now this will do.

when it's finally finished and she presents it to him, she's a nervous wreck. he can hear the way her heart races as she sets it down on his coffee table. the way her muscles strain slightly tells him the piece is heavy and he thinks about how she carried it all the way over to his place, his lips curling into a small smile. he pats the seat beside him for her to sit.

he reaches out to the mass he senses in front of him, hands settling over what he assumed was his hair. to be fair the texture did make it difficult to feel but it was clear that he passed over the swoop of his hair when he did. his fingers trail lower and she watches intently as they purposefully skim over his forehead, then his eyebrows, over the bridge of his nose. they part as the drag over the highs of his cheeks and down to his jaw where the dried clay replicates his scruff that she oh so admires. one hand drops down to her knee where he caresses lightly in appreciation and the other curls around the back of the sculpture's neck, thumb hooking around under his chin. 

he pauses there, noting the placement of a scar, right above his adam's apple, where a line of raised skin used to reside, now less prominent due to time passed but there nonetheless. his thumb passes over it a few times, recalling how when he first met her that cut was fresh–he’d never have known stumbling half-dead into her art studio months ago would have led to this and god was he grateful for whoever beat him up that night. 

she leans her head against his shoulder, also thinking what he was. she presses a kiss into his shirt, “do you like it?”

“yeah. i really do,” he whispers earnestly, “thank you.”

she lifts from his shoulder to hold his face, similar to how he was with the mound of clay but with infinitely more care. “i don't think i could ever replicate how perfect you are,” she matches his tone, a little sad. it makes her sad that he’ll never truly be able to see himself but it’s ok, she’ll be there to tell him–and show him–for however long she can. 

for @neverthatsirius-jo (my fellow mattie enthusiast)

[hotshotsxyz]

this town is only gonna eat you

(buddie) (s8 spec) (1.1k) already wrote some buck-gets-hit-by-a-car spec, so how about some buck-gets-shot? kept thinking about "take eddie [to the laker's game] and die" and uh... here we are. cw: mass shooting/ gun violence (described vaguely), somewhat graphic description of a bullet wound, blood edit: now featuring a companion piece

Buck is smiling when it happens. Grinning at Eddie like he hung the fucking moon as he points out what must be the hundredth interesting play he’s seen on the court tonight. Buck’s smiling.

Eddie registers the screams before the gunfire. He smells the metallic scent of spent shell casings before he sees the shooter. He tackles Buck to the ground before he realizes he’s already hurt.

Buck was smiling, but now his face is inches from Eddie’s and his eyes are wide with pain and panic.

“Eds,” he says, and it’s barely above a whisper but it’s still too loud.

Eddie shakes his head, a tiny, sharp movement. Buck takes a shaky breath and presses his lips together. He understands. Eddie hates that he understands. Thank God he understands.

There’s something warm and wet slowly spreading between them, and it takes Eddie several wasted seconds to realize it’s blood. He’s almost completely certain it isn’t his, which—

God, that’s so much worse than if it was.

One of Eddie’s hands is still cradling Buck’s head, an instinctive act of protection before they hit the ground. With the other, Eddie slowly begins feeling his way around Buck’s abdomen. His fingers brush against torn fabric and he feels nauseous.

I’m sorry, he mouths before pressing down hard.

Buck gasps in pain. A muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort it must take him to keep from screaming.

“You’re doing so good,” Eddie breathes into Buck’s ear. “I’ve got you; I promise.”

The bullet caught him somewhere along the fifth intercostal space on the right side of his chest. Eddie doesn’t have a way to feel for an exit wound, not without letting up pressure on what he knows is there.

At best, the bullet glanced off a rib and tore through nothing but skin and muscle. At worst…

At worst, Buck is dying beneath him and there’s not a damn thing Eddie can do, not until the shooter is dead or gone. All Eddie can do is pray. Pray and hope like hell that God has forgiven him for his incomplete confession.

Another spray of gunfire echoes through the arena. It’s nearly impossible to identify where it’s coming from, but Eddie’s got a vague idea based on the direction people seem to be running in.

Buck takes a ragged, watery breath.

For the first time in his life, Eddie hopes he’s crying. He draws back, just far enough to look Buck in his eyes. His eyes, which are clouded over in pain but free from tears.

Fuck, fucking goddamn it.

Eddie presses his cheek against Buck’s.

“Slow, steady breaths, okay?” he whispers. “You have to breathe through it, even if it feels like you can’t.”

The tiniest whimper escapes Buck’s chest.

“You have to, Buck, I can’t—” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. “I just need you to hold on,” he begs.

A single shot rings out, and nearby, something falls to the ground with a dull thump.

“Suspect is down!” someone shouts. “We’re clear for EMS.”

Eddie carefully extricates his hand from behind Buck’s head. “Hear that? We’re so close, Buck.” He brushes a thumb across his cheekbone, then sits up and raises his hand in the air. “Over here!” he shouts. “I’ve got a penetrating chest wound that needs to be on the first ambo out of here!”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter as he fights to stay conscious.

“Come on, eyes on me,” Eddie says.

With his free hand and his teeth, he tears a strip of fabric from his shirt to wad up and press into Buck’s wound.  The skin there is ragged and torn, almost certainly an exit wound. Eddie curses.

“I need EMS now!” Eddie roars, not tearing his eyes away from Buck for even a second.

“I’m coming to you!” someone calls back.

Buck’s eyes slip shut.

“No!” Eddie commands, rubbing his knuckles across Buck’s sternum. “You’re staying right here with me, you got it?”

Buck groans weakly. His eyes flick back open.

“That’s perfect, you’re perfect,” Eddie babbles. “Just keep—c’mon, Buck, just keep fighting. I need—you have to be okay.”

Buck’s lips part. “Hurt,” he breathes.

“I know,” Eddie says desperately, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

A pained sound falls from Buck’s lips. He lifts one of his hands just high enough to ghost his fingers along the ruined hem of Eddie’s shirt.

Behind him, Eddie hears a gurney roll to a stop.

“Here!”

Eddie turns and find a young woman, no more than twenty years old, wearing a polo that declares her part of a private ambulance service. He doubts she’d weigh even a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Alright,” he says, turning back to Buck. “I’m going to get you onto that gurney. Let me do all the work, okay?”

Buck’s eyes widen. He makes a strangled sound. “Hurt,” he coughs out again, fingers scrambling uselessly against the concrete floor of the arena.

“They’re gonna give you the good stuff at the hospital,” Eddie reassures. He lets go of Buck’s wound and pulls him into a seated position, then rolls him awkwardly onto his back. “I got you,” he says as he stands.

Eddie staggers beneath Buck’s weight but manages to get him down three rows worth of steps and onto the gurney without the young EMT’s help.

“We’re staged just outside the north entrance,” she says as she begins to push Buck toward a set of doors.

Eddie nods sharply. “He’s got a perforating chest wound, probable pulmonary laceration, and a history of pulmonary embolism. Allergic to naproxen,” he rattles off as he pushes the gurney alongside her.

“Um, okay, that’s��are you a doctor or something?” she asks.

“Firefighter,” Eddie corrects. “We both are.”

The closer they get to the exit, the harder Eddie has to work to keep pace with the EMT. He must be coming down hard as the adrenaline fades. A few spots cloud the corners of his visions. He blinks them away.

The doors to the outside fling open, revealing two paramedics from the 136.

“Diaz, is that you?” one of them asks.

The best Eddie can do is nod.

“Shit, and that’s—”

Eddie’s ears start to ring.

“Diaz, were you shot?”

No, he tries to say. One of the paramedics grabs him under the shoulders, and the other pushes his t-shirt up until—

Oh.

Huh.

He has been shot.

The paramedic in front of him is saying something, but Eddie can’t quite understand it. Over his shoulder, the EMT looks blurry and horrified.

The spots in his vision return with a vengeance, and in his last few moments of lucidity, it occurs to Eddie that the bullet in his abdomen is probably the same one that ripped through Buck’s chest.

Then, the world fades to black, and Eddie thinks nothing at all.  

[albon-no]

saw that photo of taylor and literally dropped everything to draw her

[scruus]

Stomach buldge with kaveh. Imagine tracing the outline of your cock on his soft belly while he's bent over his table. He's whining about how you're too big, and he can barely take all of you in him. Imagine thrusting gently in and out of him making him stare as his stomach shows off your cock with each and every thrust.

Belly bulge u say huh 🔔

notes: NOT PROOFREAD, amab!gn!reader x afab kaveh, belly bulge, office sex, self-degradation(?) by kaveh, creampie, pregnancy mentions. K bye

kaveh surprising his ceo!reader partner after days of being away from home due to work. He enters your cabin with a smile across his face and a bag full of your favourite snacks. You could almost feel the tears well up in your eyes when you see your lover standing a few inches away from you, lunging at him like he was a soft, comfy bed during a thunderstorm.

Showering him with kisses and pining his body so close to yours kaveh could almost sense your bodies melting in one but oh he missed you so dearly too. And this absence of loving intimacy surged into that of insatiable lust.

“a-am sorry kaveh, am really bu- ugh”, low groans escaping your throat as his tight cunt squeezed around your cock, still fitting perfectly around you while a flushed Kaveh was trying to cover his face with his neck scarf. An attempt to muffle his moans as well.

Irritated, you snatched the piece of cloth and threw it down. “Y/N! You gifted me tha-ahn!”, he moaned when a sharp thrust hit deep inside him, making Kaveh’s legs tremble a bit. You hooked an arm around his waist, pulling his figure up from the table and leaning down, mushing your bodies close again.

“Do you really think I give a fuck about that gift when all I want right now is you?”, your eyes a fiery passion, the underbags doing no justice to the emotion you’re feeling right now. “How I want to make you cum on my cock and see you cry for me after such a long time-“, you thrust again, balls deep and he chokes out a moan, “after not being able to even have your fucking fingers caress my face?”

Kaveh’s whimpers morph into a melodious tune, a songbird you wish only you were an audience to while the entire world were to be locked away from witnessing such artistry. You look down at his soft tummy and let out a soft moan, the shape of your dick clearly peeking at you through his insides.

Oh fuck, I wanna make him pregnant.

“Honey look”, kaveh follows your eyes down to his stomach and he almost felt his orgasm rushing over. Its so erotic and whorish, his body just can’t take your huge fucking dick yet his cunt stretches itself so easy like some slut just to swallow you all up. His body is way more hungry for you than he would like to accept.

“With the way my cock peeks a hi at me everytime through your stomach, I am resisting all I can to not fuck you senseless and crazy right now”, you mutter as your pace fastens and Kaveh knows your not joking because he is very well aware of how fast you can turn him into a whore. He surely doesn’t want that fact to be visible when he exits your office after all.

The way you both are clinging on to each other and rutting together as if bunnies on heat. His wails becoming louder and your moans becoming weaker. Kisses that speak more than words and actions and an “i love you” from both of you was enough to tip the other one over.

You rest your head on his shoulder while he tries to recollect his senses and boast a bashful color of red all the while trying to lecture a giggling you.

Al-haitham stands outside your door, loosening the tie around his neck and shuffling his pants to hide his boner after he just heard his best friends fuck each other like mad men. Horrible day for al-haitham.

A glowing bright day for you two!

[dixonsdarkelf]

Vec: *walks into their home to see Daryl shirtless in the kitchen* *sighs* I need you to put a shirt on.

Daryl: There a problem?

Vec: I’m ovulating, I can’t do this right now.

Daryl, chuckling: Jus’ for that, I ain’t doin’ it.

Vec, playfully: Fuck you.

Daryl: Name the time ‘n place ’n I’m all yours, sunshine.

Vec: … *blushes*

Vec: I walked right into that one, didn’t I?

Daryl: Sure’s shit did.

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie

Vec is my OC, she belongs to me

[iammissdistress]

i think charles should be pinned to the floor by edwin. i don't really care how it happens. but i have one scenario in my head. imagine that scene in the first episode when charles tries to convince edwin to learn to defend himself. so it's basically the same scene, but edwin is without boxing gloves. they're practicing, edwin's really trying, and charles gets distracted by his arms (his sleeves are rolled up), so edwin ends up on top of charles. and the rest is up to your imagination

[lulublack90]

Prompt 9 - First Anniversary

@wolfstarmicrofic January 9, word count 487

Sirius looked at the watch in the shop window. It was gold with a simple clock face, exactly like Remus would like. It was ludicrously expensive, and Remus was bound to complain. But if Sirius couldn’t spoil his boyfriend on their very first anniversary, then when could he?

Twenty minutes later he was walking out of the jewellery store with the watch in a little bag. He couldn’t wait to give it to Remus. 

Sirius had planned everything out. First, he was going to bring Remus breakfast in bed. Then he’d present him with the watch and probably stay in bed all day.

He got up early to get started, but Remus was already up and sipping a cup of tea while reading his book. 

“Happy anniversary,” Remus said to him, standing up and going to the oven where he was keeping their breakfast warm.

“You remembered?” Sirius asked, his voice a little hoarse as he stared in wonder at his boyfriend. Stuff like this wasn’t Remus’s thing and the fact that Remus had remembered, Sirius felt so much emotion that he wanted to throw himself into Remus’s arms.

“Of course I remembered,” Remus rolled his eyes and pointed at the huge puppy calendar on the wall where today's date had been circled in red pen and proudly proclaimed that it was their anniversary. Sirius jumped into his arms anyway. 

“I love you,” He said, kissing Remus. 

“I love you too,” Remus smiled back at him, carefully depositing him on a chair and getting the plates out of the oven with his oven gloves. 

“I got you something,” He said once Remus was tucking into his food. Remus paused, mouth full of eggs. He swallowed roughly. 

“I got you something, too,” He told Sirius, his hand disappearing into his pocket and taking out a small velvet pouch and passing it to Sirius. Sirius took it, staring at it, his eyes becoming a little misty. 

“Thank you,” He spoke softly. He jumped up and disappeared into the bedroom to retrieve Remus’s gift. He handed over the bag, and together they opened their gifts. 

“Oh, Sirius, it’s beautiful,” Remus gasped, fastening the watch around his wrist at the same time Sirius tipped the contents of the pouch into his hand. 

A watch fell out, and he laughed at how they’d had the same idea. His had a black leather strap and Mickey Mouse on the watch face, his arms acting as the minute and hour hands. He loved it. He immediately put it on and checked it was set to the right time. 

“It’s not much, but I saw it, and it made me think of you,” Remus tried to explain, but Sirius cut in.

“Remus, it’s perfect. I love it,” 

They ate their food as quickly as they could, and then Remus led him by his Mickey Mouse watch back into the bedroom, closing the door behind them.

[nuttwatt]

KAZULA the bear au where in azula is a young star chef from the fine-dining world of republic city and was forced to go back to the FN after her brother’s death. She then had to run and revive their barely hanging family owned diner where she hired her sous-chef/future business patner katara.

[newoozi]

your new friend vernon is walking you home one night, telling you all about the date his mom is setting him up on in an attempt to “get out there more”. he admits it’s been a while since he’s taken somebody on a date, and he’s sort of nervous and half dreading it. he doesn’t even have any idea what he’s going to wear.

the two of you reach the front of your apartment building, and you face to look at him. placing your hands on his shoulders you teasingly say, “wear that navy blue polo shirt of yours. it almost makes you look nice.”

he huffs out a small laugh in response, but the truth is he’s sort of spiraling. you notice what he’s wearing beyond an aesthetic sense? do you pay attention to how the shirt fits him perfectly, how it hugs at his chest and shows off his arms? of course, vernon knows he’s attractive — people swoon over him on the daily, and many times he can get away with not paying for ramen at the convenience store if the girl at the counter is young. but, it never crossed his mind that you thought about him in that way. it was different with you, wasn’t it?

he thinks about that, and you, on the way back to his dorm.

you text him to ask about his date the next night, the curiosity getting the better of you.

how was ur date? did she appreciate the polo?

he admits he didn’t wear the polo, but doesn’t offer any explanation as to why. he adds that the date was going fine until they were saying goodbye and she went in for a kiss on the cheek and he held out his hand. he probably won’t see her again.

you laugh out loud at his message.

when it’s your birthday a week later, he wears the polo to the casual dinner you host at your place with your closest friends. he notices when your eyes linger on his lean figure, and the way you blush when you know you’ve been caught. you’re almost sure he’s worn it on purpose.

[artficlly]

a dish served cold [masterlist - completed]

Marvel Western AU

outlaw!bucky x reader

after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, kidnapping, murder/death, attempted sa, vomiting, violence, death, blood, injuries, choking, guns, alcohol, smoking, swearing, creepy men, period typical attitudes, bounty hunters, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, bucky has issues, mention of robbery & crimes, mention of police (law), mention of flooding & drought, vague mention of animal death, betrayal, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything - will be updated with each chapter

main masterlist

CHAPTERS - THIS SERIES IS COMPLETE

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven

[asliceofzosan]

in which Zoro takes the blame for not paying for the food at the Baratie (sequel to Sanji witnessing the riceball incident in Shells Town)

Ribeye steaks piled one on top of the other, a massive helping of mashed potatoes with boatloads of gravy, salads, soups, and fancy dishes with names Zoro can't pronounce — all made up the massively long order list that he knows Luffy has not a single Berry to his name to pay with.

Zoro looks around the place, tuning out the story of the giant goldfish that Usopp has told them before, his eyes resting on the blonde waiter flitting about and flirting with every woman at every table.

Sanji was his name. Zoro didn't recognize it. But when he arrived to their table and saw Zoro, it looked like their resident waiter recognized him. Zoro's reputation in the East Blue is not a laughing matter, so it didn't bother him at first. But the way Sanji stared at him, wide blue eyes and with a touch of a smile on his lips, told Zoro that there's something a lot more than recognition swimming in that man's head.

He can't put a finger on what it is exactly though. It's driving him crazy.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?"

Sanji turns to him and nearly steps back in shock. Zoro quirks an eyebrow, confused and a little annoyed. He wore his best clothes today (Captain's orders). And he's pretty sure he even took his mandatory once-a-week bath before they went inside (Nami's orders). Still the waiter looked at him like Zoro had grown a second head. Like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Maybe there really is something wrong with your eye," Zoro muses, crossing his arms as Sanji quickly straightens his posture and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Got a problem with me, waiter?"

Sanji coughs out a laugh. Zoro notes with narrowed eyes that there is the slightest tint of pink coloring his cheeks. Is he blushing? The fuck?

"None at all, sir. I think I was just seeing things." The look in the waiter's eyes betrays his statement but Zoro chooses to say nothing. With a practiced smile, he turns back to Nami and asks her how she'd like her water that makes Zoro stare at him this time like he's grown a second head.

"And um..." Zoro is surprised Sanji hasn't left yet and is once again directly addressing him. "We have a few specialty riceballs not on the menu today. I'll bring them out... on the house."

Without even explaining what the fuck that meant, Sanji turns on his heels and beelines straight for the kitchen.

"I think Nami's boyfriend might be yours too, Zoro." Usopp teases him with a snicker and the glare he gives him is sharper than the blades of his swords.

Now, here Zoro is, letting Ussop's words affect him more than they have any right to as he downs his third bottle of beer.

The specialty rice balls haven't come out yet. Zoro's starting to think it's just a sick joke. But he doesn't let it get to him. Or tries to. Why offer free food when you can't deliver on it? Fucking ridiculous. And no, it's not like he suddenly craved rice balls when the blasted waiter mentioned them. That's not it at all. Bullshit.

"Didn't the waiter said he's coming by with rice balls?" Zoro finally snaps and the conversation his crew was having died down immediately at his statement. Ah fuck. He probably should have just kept his mouth shut because Nami was now looking at him with a shit-eating grin not entirely unlike the one he gave her when he teased her before the meal.

"How would you like them, oh great swordsman?" She teases with a glint in her eye. She cups her cheeks with her hands in delight at the irritated snarl Zoro gives her.

"With or without seaweed?" Ussop chimes in.

"Cubed or crushed?"

"Fuck off," Zoro hisses between his teeth. Nami and Ussop share a look before bursting into laughter. Zoro looks over at Luffy who was swinging his feet and obliviously sipping his milk. When Luffy makes eye contact with him, he just tilts his head with wide blank eyes and it makes Zoro question all his life choices.

"You wanna ask him?" Luffy says, already clamoring over the booth and waving at the object of Zoro's unexplained irritation. Zoro sinks into the seat as Sanji approaches with the bill for their meal.

"Your bill, sir."

"Zoro's asking if you're gonna bring the rice balls you promised." Zoro just stared up at the ceiling and thought of a million different ways to cut a hole into the floor so that the ocean could take him.

There is a headache inducing silence that follows Luffy's question. Zoro can't help but finally look at the waiter and he doesn't know how to explain the feeling that bubbles up when they make direct eye contact. Maybe it's indigestion. It's probably indigestion.

Instead of bringing up the damn rice balls, Zoro just grabs the tray with the bill from Luffy's hand. Just as expected, his annoyingly endearing captain put down an I.O.U for the ridiculously long list of food they ordered. Several possible scenarios could happen from this. And Zoro doesn't want to think about Luffy wreaking havoc in someone else's kitchen.

With a deep sigh through his nose and a knowing look at Nami, Zoro wrote down his own name in place of Luffy's.

"Zoro, what—" Luffy almost took the bill back when Zoro stood up and handed it directly to the waiter, who looked just as dumbfounded as the rest of them.

"If your head chef's got a problem with that, he can talk to me directly. Tell him that for me, won't you?" Sanji takes the bill, reads what's written, and there's a phantom lurch in his chest that happens when Sanji looks up at him and smiles. Zoro doesn't want to describe it. He'll allow himself to firmly believe that it's a side effect of eating too much food. It's indigestion. You're just constipated. Never mind that the feeling is most prominent in his chest and not his stomach.

"Of course, sir." Sanji purrs and the sound runs like a cold river down Zoro's spine. There's a hint of mischief in the gleam of his visible eye. Every instinct in Zoro tells him it's dangerous. He should take his crew out of here, onto the Merry, and run.

But he stays rooted to the spot, wrist limp on the hilt of his sword, as he watches that damn waiter walk away from him.

"WHO THE HELL IS RORONOA ZORO?!"

The steady routine of washing the dishes helps quiet Zoro's racing mind.

It's a very welcome distraction. The clinking of the ceramic against metal utensils provides a cacophonous symphony that helps drown out all of Zoro's waking thoughts. The sooner he starts to think, the sooner he starts to notice how that stupid fucking waiter has just been sitting at the table behind him, cursing Zoro with his mere presence.

Scrub scrub scrub...

"You sure you don't want any help?"

Scrub scrub rinse...

"No."

Scrub rinse dry...

"I really have nothing better to do."

Zoro's eye twitches.

"Good for you."

A long silence follows this and Zoro thinks the waiter finally gave up. That was until...

"Are you still mad about the rice balls?"

"Oh my god!" Zoro nearly slams a pile of dishes onto the floor. He turns to Sanji, who is just casually smoking at the table, and stomps over to him. Once he was right in front of him, Zoro snarls at him, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Talk about those damn rice balls one more time, I'm gonna chop your head clean off for them to use in tomorrow's ramen stock."

Sanji blinks, then turns his head to the side to blow smoke away from Zoro. Zoro tries to convince himself that he isn't staring at the way Sanji's lips purse around the cigarette in the process.

"I can still make you the rice balls," Sanji says without a single ounce of fear in his body. "I just couldn't do it while the old man was around." He then stands up and steps around Zoro with a practiced grace. "Are you willing to wait ten minutes?"

"I'm not hungry," Zoro hisses but his stomach betrays him with a loud grumble. He's been washing dishes for so many hours. He probably missed dinner.

Then, as Zoro straightens his posture, Sanji does it again — he smiles and Zoro doesn't know what to do.

"Sit." Sanji gently nudges a chair out with his foot. It lands perfectly in front of Zoro at a perpendicular angle. "I'll have them out in five."

"You said ten minutes." Zoro found himself saying, only to be contradictory. Sanji laughs this time and the resulting smile pierces Zoro's heart with a million cursed swords.

"When someone's hungry, I feed them." Sanji says simply and that's the statement that ends their conversation. Zoro still refuses to sit on the chair, instead finding himself gravitating towards the counter that Sanji was preparing his ingredients at and leaning against the marble.

Before Sanji found them at their table, he brought down a marine and a fearsome pirate with just his feet. Zoro was fascinated by his fighting style even if he didn't want to admit it out loud. But he's always been curious. Especially now, with Sanji whipping out the sharpest knives and using them effortlessly as Zoro would wield the Wado Ichimonji.

"You're good with knives," Zoro says before he could stop himself. Sanji chuckles.

"Of course, I am. I'm a chef. Best one in the East Blue."

"What's a chef doing waiting tables, then?"

"Cause I was kicked off the line this morning. It's a weekly occurrence, nothing special." The way Sanji scrapes his ingredients into a bowl betrayed how he felt about it despite his nonchalance. "I can cook better dishes than everyone in this damn kitchen but Zeff refuses to acknowledge that. It's always 'your food is crap', 'slice those carrots thinner', or 'needs more fucking oregano—"

Sanji throws the knife onto the cutting board, its tip now embedded neatly straight down the middle. It stood perfectly still, like it was afraid of what Sanji could do if he added more pressure. Zoro raised an eyebrow, looking up at the now irritated cook with a smirk.

"Sorry," Sanji mumbles, taking the knife and cleaning it carefully with a cloth. Zoro says nothing. He just props his elbow on the counter and places his chin into his hand as he watches Sanji in his element. Eventually, it's down to just shaping the rice balls with his hands and Zoro asks the question that poked at his mind during Sanji's mini outburst.

"If you're so dissatisfied cooking here why don't you just leave?"

Sanji pauses. His head is down, his blonde fringe obscuring one eye as his fingers twitch against the rice ball.

"It's not about that."

"Yeah?" Zoro leans as close as he could get with the counter between them. Sanji still refuses to look up. "A hot-headed cook who claims to be the best in the East Blue settling down here — where he is not head chef — is as contradictory as it gets."

"You don't know–" Sanji snaps but stops himself immediately. He looks up to glare at Zoro through narrowed eyes. "You don't know why I still stay."

"Enlighten me then, cook." Zoro leans his hip against the counter. "Because really, someone as good as you claim to be has got to have some ambitions. Dreams." Zoro holds the man's gaze. "Do you hate the old man?"

"No!" Sanji counters immediately. "The man fucking raised me. I owe him my goddamn life!"

"Owing him your life isn't the same as giving up your life to work at a restaurant that barely lets you cook."

"You don't know shit!" Sanji nearly slams his fist down on the counter, pointing a finger at Zoro with his face beet red. "This restaurant was his dream—"

"But is it your dream?"

Silence. Total utter silence.

Where color is nothing but a dark void of black and grey, a sea of blue greets him from the pages. Vivid pink skies and tangerine mangroves burst to life. All types of fish swim in his mind's eye but if he reaches out to touch them, it certainly should be real. A phantom breeze kisses his cheeks and water laps at his feet. He's drowning but he swims in delight. He's falling but he feels the clouds cushion him with warmth.

There is a vast ocean out there, one that contains delicacies and species from all four seas. Creatures of every kind, spices that have never been tasted.

The All Blue.

In Sanji's world of black and white — he strives to find the one place that's in screaming color.

There are tears in Sanji's eyes before Zoro could comprehend what was going on. But he wipes them away before he can get a good look at him. The kitchen was quiet around them. The only sound peeking through was the faint music from the bar outside. Though Zoro's heartbeat was louder in his ears than his own breathing.

But he could hear each footstep Sanji takes, the scrape of the plate as it's pushed in Zoro's direction, and the click click of Sanji's lighter as he helps himself to another cigarette. Zoro looks down and sees the rice balls presented in front of him — three heaping helpings, all coated in a different topping, all different flavors.

Zoro takes one.

And it's the best rice ball he's ever had in his life.

"I have a dream," Sanji murmurs, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. One glance and Zoro could see that whatever his dream is... it still burns like molten lava in the heart of this chef. "I'd just rather give up on it than die searching for mine."

Zoro swallows, turns around, and takes the cigarette from Sanji. The ashes fall into his palm, its embers dimming as he squishes it between his fingers.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Zoro says, looking up to make eye contact with Sanji. He can see it almost immediately — the longing for something that seems near impossible to achieve, the acceptance that it's hopeless — but Zoro sees it, clear as day, that the flickering flame of hope still shines in Sanji's eyes. That he's just waiting for his sign to let it once again consume his soul in a roaring fire, brighter than even the sun could be.

Zoro wants to see him shine.

"Come meet my captain," Zoro instinctively wraps his hand around Sanji's wrist. Surprisingly, Sanji doesn't pull back. "I think he'd really like to get to know you."

Sanji doesn't protest.

Zoro takes the rice balls to go.

Never waste food.

[psychopomp-namine]

this is a dumb question and the answer is probably something like, "they didn't really think about it" but it's been bothering me for a while. where is the kitchen??

we know from the chibi shorts and yingdu ep 1 that cheng xiaoshi does the cooking. he even showcases this in S1E2 when he tried to replicate the noodle recipe

it seems they use this counter a lot for food. when they're eating, it's either here, the table next to the storefront sofa, or in the sunroom

but according to the floor layout, there is no kitchen in the first floor (or second, or third). there's the studio front, the dark room, a restroom, and the sunroom

so... where does cheng xiaoshi cook?? is the kitchen just not shown here?

the only thing I can think of is that he brings out cookware to the sunroom, like when they have hotpot. and I don't think cheng xiaoshi cooks elaborate meals or anything, so that's probably enough, but that's still such a hassle though? maybe that's why they always order takeout in the chibi shorts.

he looks so happy in this ad that I think it's a shame if they don't have a proper kitchen in the studio. I don't think this is in their studio but uh. it should be?? I'll pretend this room exists in their studio.

anyway, yeah, the answer is probably "they didn't really think about it" but the logistics of cooking in their studio is bothering me lmao

[thedaselcor]

Morgana and Merlin both stared, absolutely astounded when breakfast was done and Arthur brought all the dishes away without being prompted. Gwen had gone with him, but was sent back only a minute later.

“He just needed to know where the soap was,” she explained, though she was as astounded as the rest of them. “Told me we needed to start on flower crowns,” she added, as if she thought Arthur had said it to explain things, but that she didn’t understand how it explained anything anymore than the others did. Merlin couldn’t fight the crimson blush that invaded his cheeks when Gwen shot him an ‘I told you so’ expression. When he first tried to talk, it came out with a squeak, “I can--” he coughed to try to stabilize his voice and try again. “I can show you how to braid the flower crowns right into your hair, if you like!”

[zorrasucia]

congratulations on 300 followrs!

would like to request "snowed in" trope for "this mess was yours"-verse. headcanon or deleted scene :)

Thank you, Anon! I love this trope so much 💜🥰

Made this half fluff and half smut, because I think we're at a point where they've definitely caught feelings but if they fuck at the end of it there's still plausible deniability 😉

I hope you like it!

Send a request for my 300 followers celebration! 🥳

this mess was yours (now your mess is mine) - Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Rating: Explicit (1.2k)

Tags: Smut, Set two(ish) years before the present aka the New York years, Porn with a little plot, Fluff, Friends with Benefits, Virgin!Carmy (my beloved), Snowed In, Domesticity, P in V Sex, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

You found Carmy smoking, sitting on the staircase of your building with his coat on.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. You had tried his door earlier and imagined he was trapped back at the restaurant, and what a nightmare that would be for him.

Carmy looked up at you, pale from the cold.

"J-just smoking a cigarette," he shrugged, teeth chattering slightly.

"Look, I know the lease says that you can't smoke inside the apartment but, like, it's a snow storm, I don't think the landlord would kick you out if he found out," you reasoned. Carmy remained silent. "Plus, I think the staircase still counts as 'indoors' for legal purposes."

"Would you believe me if I told you it's warmer here than inside my apartment?"

You tilted your head. "What do you mean?"

"Heating's busted. Landlord said he'd fix it this week. I spend so little time in there that I honestly didn't care," he shivered.

"Until we got snowed in and you have no job to go to," you finished for him.

"Exactly."

"Come on," you gestured upstairs.

~

You put a blanket around Carmy's shoulders and sat next to him on your couch. You grabbed his hands, exhaling on them to warm them up.

"Do you want to take a warm shower? Should I make tea?" you asked, worried.

"I'm fine," he repeated, smiling as you caressed the hair by his temples. He had some color back on his face. "Thank you, though."

"Okay," you agreed, lying back on the couch, bringing him with you. His face settled on your chest, his hair tickled your chin, and his weight on top of you was comforting.

"What were you planning on doing today?" he asked after a while.

"Not much," you replied, fingers carding through his curls. "Movies and napping, probably."

"Sounds amazing," he exhaled, his breath tickling your chest.

You smiled, holding him close.

"Why didn't you come over earlier, Carm?"

"I didn't know if you'd be in the mood," he shrugged, looking embarrassed.

"We don't have to fuck every time we see each other," you reasoned, realizing as you were saying it, that you had at least made out every single time you visited each other's apartments.

"Oh," he scrunched his face and paused. "Alright. Can I stay here for a while then?"

"I would be very offended if you didn't," you said sternly, playing it up for humor.

He chuckled, snuggling his face between your breasts and running his hands over your sides, soothing, sleep inducing...

You woke up to the smell of cinnamon and the sound of butter sizzling on a pan. You climbed up on the counter to watch Carmy cook, trying not to think about the time he had eaten you out on that same counter.

"I didn't have much in the pantry," you apologized.

"Stale bread makes for good french toast," he replied simply.

"It's been ages since I had breakfast for dinner," you beamed, watching Carmy pour some coffee in a mug and hand it to you. "Thank you."

He smiled in return, looking at ease and comfortable as he cooked, and you wondered whether he was like that in every single kitchen or just yours.

~

"S-O-U," you spelled, tracing the letters on Carmy's fingers.

"Sense of urgency," Carmy said, voice soft and eyes closed.

You were lying in your bed, warm, you in your pijamas and him in his t-shirt and boxers. You had never had the time and leisure to see his tattoos properly, now you were relishing it. Your fingers caressed the drawings gently, the movie playing in the background long forgotten.

"Seven seven three?" you asked, fingers curling around Carmy's bicep.

"It's the, uh, the Chicago area zip code."

"Ever think of going back?" you asked carefully.

"I don't-" he covered his face. "I don't think I can. All the things that made me leave are still there, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it."

He reached out to hold your hand, intertwining your fingers.

"Can I sleep over?" he asked.

"Course you can, Carm," you smiled softly.

"Thanks."

~

You woke up to the streets below completely covered in snow and Carmy sleeping soundly by your side.

You took him in, the sight of Carmy relaxed and with nowhere to go for once in his life. You made yourself some coffee and let him rest until late morning.

Once he started stirring, you climbed on top of him, waking him up by kissing his neck.

"Morning," he mumbled, running his hands through your hair.

"You look so good in the morning, Carm," you said, kissing the side of his face, feeling him harden underneath you.

"Fucking hell," he drawled. "I know you said we didn't have to fuck every time but-"

"Yeah. I was thinking the same," you giggled and started grinding your core against his erection.

"Fuuuck. You're going to kill me," he arched his neck into the pillow, squeezing your ass as you straddled him, keeping you in place.

You got rid of your sleep shirt unceremoniously, his eyes and hands suddenly all over your breasts.

"You look good in the morning," he emphasized, enjoying the sight of your body in broad daylight, sitting up to bury his face between your breasts. "Need to fuck you."

"Please," you whined.

He rolled you over, your head hitting the pillow, Carmy hovering above you. His tattooed hands took off your shorts and underwear, eyeing your pussy greedily. He kissed all over and licked between your folds, enough to have you flushed and ready, but not enough to make you come.

You moaned needily; the sight of him rolling on a condom on his cock made you writhe on the bedsheets with impatience.

"Please," you repeated.

You had all the time in the world, you knew, but his crooked smile told you that Carmy was enjoying edging you a little too much.

"Can I try something?" he asked.

"Anything," you grabbed at his ass, trying and failing to bring him closer. "Just- please."

He smiled wider, maneuvering your legs to rest on his shoulders, practically folding you in half as he pushed forward to enter your pussy.

"Jesus, fuck!" you blurted out as you felt him move inside, inch by inch, impossibly deep, his blue eyes keeping you grounded. "Oh."

"Good?" he asked, his forehead touching yours as he bottomed out.

"Shit, Carmy. So fucking good," you whined. His eyes crinkled with pride. "Definitely going to get a cramp in my leg at some point," you warned him with a giggle. "But it feels fucking good right now."

"Won't take long, I promise," he smiled against your lips.

He pounded into you, hard thrusts that made the bed shake and had you rolling your eyes.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groaned, his open mouth breathing into yours, his gold chain dangling invitingly.

You wanted to pull it, bring him towards you, hold his face, scratch his back... Overwhelmed, you reached back instead, grabbing at your pillow desperately.

"How am I so close already? Carmy, fuck!" you cried out.

"Touch yourself," he said and you obeyed him immediately, your middle finger pressing on your clit, pussy pulsing hard against his cock. "'m close too."

You giggled, writhing with pleasure.

"Gonna make me cum," you mumbled needlessly, just praising him. "Feel so perfect inside me."

"Yeah?" was all he could say before your pussy started fluttering around him, taking him over the edge, making him grunt and squeeze his eyes shut, losing all his restraint. "Shit."

"Yeah," you exhaled, canting and circling your hips to get every last drop of pleasure he could give you. "Carm..."

"Mmm?" he placed a tired kiss on your ankle.

"I'm glad you stayed over," you whispered.

"Me too."

~

@vyctorya

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

Free fic concept which is a trope I like: one of the jedi generals has a campaign go badly in a way they take the blame for and are politically disgraced for, so they lose their rank and go to the front lines as a low ranking trooper instead. They'd stick out like a sore thumb among the clones, of course, but life is full of unexpected twists and turns. Their old clone commander outranks them now. It's a bit awkward.