#also prepped some more of their food and put it in the fridge

[talietikasero]

woke up late but at least i partially cleaned my house and got some more bookmarks for my fics

[fingertipsmp3]

I genuinely get too nervous when something goes wrong in the sims. I need to do a really chaotic challenge to get out of my comfort zone

[palanaeum]

@turing-tested

Hey, don't be sad. 1lb Beef Shank (or brisket or chuck eye) (🥩) cubed and brought to a Boil (🔥) with a few Peppercorns (🧆) in lightly salted Vegetable Stock (allium free <3) (🧂🫕), skimming the scum off the top. Reduce heat to Low (🌡), cover, and let simmer for 2½ hours (🕝) (or less if the beef is very tender already). Add 1lb cubed Potatoes (waxy kind) (🥔) and cook until tender. Season with Fish Sauce (🩸) and Salt (🧂) to taste. Add in 3c Baby Bok Choy (🥬), canned Baby Corn (🌽), and canned Bamboo Shoots (🎍) and cook for 5 minutes. Serve Hot (♨️) and Enjoy! (🍲😋)

Hey, don't be sad. Ginger (🫚) and garlic (🧄) ok? <3

[frudoo]

Road-tripping with Dad!141 <3

Warnings: Mentions of snacks/eating, GN reader!

Kyle wakes you up at 5:30 on the dot with a hot travel mug in hand, already filled to the brim with your favorite hot beverage fixed up just the way you like it. This man already has a comfy outfit picked out for you to wear, with a sweatshirt of his own as an option if you get cold. While you go to wake the kids up, he stocks the minivan with their favorite snacks as well as yours and his own, blankets, chargers, plushies, etc. 

     Kyle giggles when he sees the kiddos dressed to match you, happily strapping them into their car seats. He grins and sings along to the cheesy soundtracks they insisted he put on as soon as the wheels hit the main road. He holds your hand when you start to doze off, stealing glances at your peaceful face and the children passed out in the back through the rear view mirror. Definitely enjoys taking the roads with prettier views, even if it takes longer and it means more bathroom stops. 

     Simon is also an early bird, but he’s the one to go get the kids dressed and ready while you sleep in. Once they’re awake and hyper as ever, he lets them wake you up by jumping on the bed and giggling in your ears. With you awake and in a good mood (contrary to if he had been the one to wake you), he gives you a kiss on the forehead and goes to pack up the truck. He peels and cuts all the fruit, cheese and other treats and places them into snack boxes, leaving them out for you to pack into the cooler. Since he does all the "heavy lifting," he leaves you to put the kiddos in their car seats (like he doesn't make giant children).

     Simon is absolutely the CEO of the Dad Grab™. As soon as he hears one of the kiddos opening up their snack box, the cupped hand goes back like second nature. If they dare to complain he gives them the blankest stare in the rear view until they dramatically sigh and place the food in his palm. He prefers to take the quickest route, but if one of his babies begs him to go see the pretty trees, who is he to say no? He makes sure everybody gets a turn to hear their favorite music on the radio. He will also 100% make you feed him even though he has a free hand—he’d just rather keep it planted on your thigh. 

     Johnny refuses to wake up early, not when he’s on leave. He’s big on sleeping in, perfectly content to cuddle you until you’re screeching at him that you’ll all be late. While you’re dressing the kids, he’s brewing coffee for the both of you and munching on a protein bar. The kiddos’ snacks are already in a cooler in the fridge (because you know how your husband is), and the back of the 4Runner is packed with all of the luggage (you made him do it the night before because, again, you know your husband). 

     Johnny insists on being the passenger princess because he’s jus’ so sleepeh, and pouts when you glare at him while all the kids dangle from a different one of your limbs. That look is enough for him to get into gear, helping you get the children into their car seats and plopping into the driver’s side while you settle into the passenger’s seat. Like Kyle, he’s a big fan of singing along to his kids’ favorite songs, albeit more obnoxiously until they (and you) are begging him to take it down a notch. If the children are asleep, he’ll try to cop a feel with only a 50% success rate.  

     John is another early riser, and he likes to wake you up with gentle kisses to your neck and the side of your face. The kids get to sleep in while the two of you prep the snacks and get the truck loaded. He helps you wake and dress the children, getting them settled into their car seats with their favorite toys. He brings earplugs and a neck pillow for you if you want to get some rest, assuring you that the kids will be fine and he’ll wake you if anything happens. 

     John is another Dad Grab™ fiend, tickling the kiddos’ knees until they give in and plop a snack into his palm. He’s not picky with music, happy to let you or the children decide, but he does prefer to turn the radio off when everyone’s awake and alert so that he can explain the history behind all the different landmarks as you pass them—he chooses the longer route for that very reason. He loves to hold your hand while he drives so he can bring it up to his lips and kiss your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road.

Thanks to my bestie @xoxunhinged for helping me with these ;)

[sleepynoons]

Made for You

You're a patisserie, and now, also the proud co-owner of your own restaurant, Zhuming Dessert Bar. You're new to this whole CEO thing, and you're hoping to seek some support from those around you – like the head chef next door!

patisserie!f!reader x chef!jiaoqiu, modern!au, sfw

word count: ~9,100

cw: explicit language, use of poisons, a lil slow burn lol

notes: i haven't played through the full story quest, so sorry if jiaoqiu is slightly ooc lol but he is blind and can only eat spicy foods yeet otherwise, wanted to write smth fluffy for this tragic, tragic man. and i also wanted to geek out about delicious east asian food yep.

thank you so much to @lychniis for beta-reading and for helping immensely with the pacing of this piece! @pawpiefawn i hope this story is at least 1/1000th as sweet as you are, and welcome to the hsr hell hole <3

I. TARO Macarons and Winter Melon Cookies

Crush almonds. Toast and grind sesame seeds. Mix egg whites with brown sugar. Skin, cut, mash taro root. Bring water to a boil. Top cookie dough with candied winter melon.

The sun starts filtering in through the window.

Steam soy milk until it foams. Melt gelatin. Frost thinly. Turn off the oven and stove. Slice coconut jelly into thin, small squares. Put everything into the fridge.

The day of a patisserie begins early – 4:30AM for you. Although you’re the head of your restaurant, the Zhuming Dessert Bar, you’re unable to separate yourself from the habitual duties of prepping, cleaning, getting a head start. To be fair, it would also be improper of you to leave such a task to your teammates. After all, these macarons and cookies are a gift for your neighbors, a first impression to the locals of not only the dessert bar, but primarily, the food it serves. The taste and presentation have to be perfect, and there’s no need to burden everyone else with an otherwise tedious and irrelevant task.

The Zhuming Dessert Bar is located in a busy food district, where there are various other diners, cafés, hole-in-the-wall gems, all waiting to be discovered and savored. After a long process of bidding and negotiating, you managed to snag a larger space, a one-story building sandwiched between a complex that housed several small businesses and a well-established hot pot spot. Unsurprisingly, a large majority of the stores in the district aren’t open in the morning, due to the lack of customers, and you only have to make a few runs.

As the time approaches 7AM, you begin to make your way out.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Those are the first words exchanged between you and your team, aside from the occasional “behind” or question, and you giggle as you’re greeted with a chorus of tired moans and lazy waves.

You ask, “I’m gonna head out – no more than two hours. Can someone meet with the vendors while I’m gone?”

Someone next to you nods, and you beam at them as you leave with a few boxes of the treats you made.

You only have three stops this morning – a trendy café co-owned by two college drop-outs, a Japanese, lunch-only spot run by an elderly couple, and a Western brunch place known for its omelettes.

The college drop-outs, acting much like their age, cheer when you hand over their sweets and quite literally gobble them up in front of you. By the time you leave, you’ve been unofficially adopted as their favorite “next-door aunt.”

When you arrive at the Japanese restaurant, only the wife seems to have arrived, and she pauses from her prep work to bring you inside to chat over cups of steaming green tea. Though the conversation is brief, the two of you quickly go down a rabbit hole, discussing the best brand for knives, how to tell when a daikon is ripe, which fruits are in season at the moment. As your exchange wraps up, you promise her you’ll return, at which she slips a napkin into your palm that has “Free Meal Coupon” scribbled on it with haphazard handwriting.

The American brunch restaurant is already bustling with noise, and a sous chef comes to welcome you at the front door. He’s polite, a little younger than you, and has the excitement of someone just starting off their career. You tell him good luck, and he responds likewise, wishing your dessert bar success.

Everyone seems pleasant and friendly, and you feel a rush of eagerness to hurry back to your restaurant. 

When you return, you can’t help but pause in front of the Zhuming Dessert Bar. You admire the spray-painted logo on the windows, the clean and modern architecture of the building, the little signboards out in front with chalk writings of recommendations and prices. Yesterday was your dessert bar’s opening day, and now, you and your team are about to embark on your first full week. Instead of feeling the daunting weight and pressure, you’re restless, hands and wrists itching to pick up a spatula, mouth salivating at all of the syrups and icings you’ll have to taste-test, feet poised to navigate through a crowded kitchen. After a few more seconds of admiring, you can’t hold back any longer and burst in through the back door, absolutely needing to get back to work.

Time passes quickly for all chefs. Even though you’re surrounded by timers that count down to precise milliseconds, the minutes and hours add up, and by the time service has ended, you truly don’t feel the passage of the day until you loosen the apron wrapped around your waist and sit down for a brief break. But you’re not done with all of your work quite yet, and you leave the cleaning and tidying to the others so you can make your last runs of the day.

You had taken a brief intermission after lunch to make the majority of your visits, so the only remaining restaurant on your list is the hot pot place right next door. If you remember correctly, the restaurant’s actually part of a larger chain, Yaoqing Hot Pot, that’s known for offering the spiciest yet most mouth-watering Szechuan flavors.

You jog over to the entrance, and peeking through the glass, you can see a man with peach pink hair sitting at the bar. He’s not wearing a uniform or eating, so he’s neither a cook nor a customer. That must mean he’s either a welcome guest or the manager.

You knock on the door, hoping to grab the attention of the man. His head does perk up, and he faces the door – but makes no effort to get up. You wait for another minute or so, before knocking again. Finally, the man rises from his seat, still facing you, before grabbing a cane and making his way over to you. As he approaches, you can see that his eyes are closed, and you almost fluster with humiliation.

As the man opens the door, you immediately bow, 90 degrees at the waist. “I am so, so sorry for bothering you!”

With a light laugh, the man replies, “No problem, but unfortunately, we’re not taking any more customers for the night.”

You straighten up and hold the box out in front of you. “I’m not a customer, actually. I’m from next door, we just opened.” You quickly introduced yourself and explained the contents of the box to him.

He pauses before slowly extending his palm, face up, out in front of him, on which you place the packaged macarons and cookies.

“Please enjoy! And have a good night!” 

Fearing that you’ve not only inconvenienced the man but also taken up too much of his time when his restaurant’s still crammed with customers, you bow again, despite knowing he won’t see, and scuffle away, only peering behind your shoulder once to see the man still at the door and “looking” down at the box.

II. Anmitsu

“Chef!”

The kitchen’s always loud, from boiling pots of syrup to whirring mixers kneading dough to blenders grinding up crackers, but never because of the people. It’s rare, in the first place, for someone to look for you unless you’re requested to taste a component or item being served that night, but the urgency of the call tells you it’s something different this time.

You rush over to the back door, where one of your pastry chefs, a fresh graduate from culinary school, is frowning beside an equally distraught vendor.

You pat your chef on the shoulder and wave cheerily at the vendor, “Hey, whatever the problem, there’s a way out. What’s going on?”

��We’ve run out of geomeunpat,” the chef responds.

The vendor chips in as well. “There wasn’t an order for the black adzuki beans, and I don’t have any extra. I’m so sorry!”

You nod in understanding. “Don’t apologize. Gimme a second to think.”

Geomeunpat, or black adzuki beans, is crucial to making white adzuki bean paste, which in Korean cuisine, is used to make rice cakes and other confectionery. Adzuki bean paste is also an irreplaceable ingredient for anmitsu, a Japanese dessert that typically consists of sliced fruit, kanten jelly, and rice flour dango. Given that it’s summer, your tasting menu has a few limited specials, and geomeunpat is needed for almost all of them. 

You ask, “Do we have any canned red bean paste?”

Your pastry chef goes to check the pantry and returns to report a number of cans.

“Alright, let’s do this.” You turn to the vendor. “We’re so sorry. Thanks for all of your help, and we’ll see you on Friday at this time, right?” The vendor confirms before leaving. Then, you turn back to your pastry chef. “Let’s substitute with the canned anko for today, but can you call me when you’re making the mitsu? We might need to adjust the sugar content of the syrup, or else it might be too sweet otherwise.”

“Yes, chef!”

“In the meantime, I’ll run to the market to see if there are any raspberries or cherries that can cut through the taste of the anko. Be right back.”

True to your word, you dash the few blocks to the farmer’s market, located at a nearby park with an open field and seating. It’s already mid-morning, so it’s likely that all of the best batches are gone, but there should be enough left over for you to find sufficient ingredients.

As predicted, the market crowd is waning, with many customers having already finished their shopping and gone home or enjoying their purchases at the picnic benches and tables. You look around, skittering around here and there, as if you’re a little child playing hide-and-seek, constantly changing your hiding spot.

This one’s no good either. Just as you take a step back, though, you bump into someone – wait, no, you step on something.

You look down, and you notice you’ve stepped on the ball of a white cane.

“Oh, shoot, sorry!” You jump away and nervously look at the owner of the cane. Your nervousness, though, is quickly replaced with something else, your eyes widening and brows raising.

You blurt, “You’re from Yaoqing Hot Pot!”

Behind the pink-haired man is a younger girl, brown hair tied into long, streaming pigtails and eyes piqued with childish wonder and unbounded curiosity.

The girl asks, “Chef, do you know this person?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

You speak up. “Yes, we have! Only very briefly, though. I dropped by with some treats, on behalf of the Zhuming Dessert Bar.”

Suddenly, the girl lets out a scream, at which you and the man wince. “Wait, did you bake those? They were delicious!” The girl clamors over to you and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “How did you know to pair the taro filling with toasted sesame seeds? And the winter melon cookies were a spin on the traditional lao po bing, right? How did you come up with these ideas? Just hearing about them made my mouth water, but the real deal was –“

“Sushang,” the man interrupts sharply, “you’re being rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The girl, Sushang, releases her hold on you with an awkward chuckle before returning to the man’s side.

You shake your head with a bright smile. “No, not at all! I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sushang gleams at you. “No, but seriously, they were delicious. You said you were from the Zhuming Dessert Bar, right? Are they sold in-store?”

“Yes, I’m the head chef at the dessert bar. Unfortunately, we don’t plan on putting them on the menu for a while because they still need some work.”

“More work?” Sushang’s jaw drops wide open in disbelief, and you shrug.

The man says, “Sushang, you should know that every item on a tasting menu is chosen with utmost patience and care. It can take months to perfect a new item.”

“Yes, chef, but I just can’t imagine how you could do even better.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad, then. If they ever make it on the menu, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

With happy claps, Sushang cheers. As for you, you turn towards the man.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, “I never quite got your name.”

He gives you a small smile in the form of pursed lips. “Jiaoqiu, head chef at Yaoqing Hot Pot, though I don’t do much of the cooking anymore.”

“Well, Jiaoqiu, it’s very nice to meet you. Do you happen to have any thoughts on those treats I gave you?”

Before Jiaoqiu can respond, Sushang answers first on his behalf. “Oh, our chef never eats anything made by other people! He doesn’t even try my cooking, so I don’t even know how to improve!”

The chef nudges an elbow into his employee’s ribs, who winces and whimpers at the pain.

You simply just watch the interaction before saying, “No worries, I get it. Though, I feel like your name is familiar, Jiaoqiu…”

You tilt your head, attempting to recall. His name reminds you of a news headline, something about culinary school and graduation, but nothing else beyond that. Sushang looks like she can barely contain herself, but the set expression on Jiaoqiu’s face prevents her from actually spilling the truth.

Regardless, you move on. “No matter. Anyway, I’m guessing the two of you are grabbing some ingredients, yeah?”

“Yes,” Jiaoqiu affirms. “We always source our fruits locally. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m also looking to buy some fruit!”

“Then come with us!” Sushang suggests. “We know the best vendors in town.”

Before you can even ask if that’s alright with the Yaoqing’s head chef, you’re already pulled along by the arm and tugged towards a tent near the end of the market street.

III. Penghu Salty Biscuits

“Two beers please.”

You sigh, setting down the hardcover menu on the table. Yaoqing Hot Pot is packed with people, even though it’s late at night, 11PM. To be fair, the hot pot chain is a combination of a hot pot buffet and bar, so it makes sense that the store’s open until the unruly hours of the night. But while all of the customers seem to be partying and having the time of their lives, you and your co-owner, Yukong, sit tiredly across from each other.

“How is it only the third week,” you groan as you drop your forehead onto the table.

A waiter comes over to drop your drinks off, and Yukong takes a quick gulp from her chilled mug.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

Yukong co-founded the Zhuming Dessert Bar with you. In fact, the two of you grew up together, and have been inseparable ever since elementary school. When she transferred middle schools, you begged your parents to transfer you as well. When you both were preparing for college entrance exams, you chose the same university as your top pick. When you went to baking school, she got into a neighboring MBA program so that the two of you could continue rooming together. And when you both came up with the idea of starting a restaurant together, the logistics and enthusiasm naturally fell into place.

“That customer just wouldn’t back off,” Yukong grumbles. She takes another drink before picking up her chopsticks, skewering a slice of fatty beef, and dropping it into the boiling tomato broth. “He clearly already got a serving of the ice cream – I saw it with my own eyes! But he just wouldn’t stop lying and making a fuss.”

“I know,” you bemoan. “I’m just glad I have you to handle these kinds of customer problems. I would’ve just cried on the spot.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” She captures the beef with a flick of her wrist and drops it into her sauce bowl. “I just feel bad for Yunli. You know how she is, hot-tempered and impatient, but even she wouldn’t dare speak up against a customer. But you could tell it was taking every inch of her strength to not, just, yell back.”

“Yeah, Yunli was completely out of it for the rest of her shift.” You shake your head as you ladle a knotted bunch of Konjac noodles onto your plate. 

The tomato soup, despite being completely plant-based, is rich, almost too aggressive in its flavor. But when soaked up, the oil and fragrance of the broth fuse seamlessly into the unseasoned nature of hot pot ingredients, so much so that you can arguably eat everything without dipping it in sauce. Still, you drench half of the noodles into your mixture of sesame oil, peanut sauce, green onions, and garlic. When you take your bite, you hum so happily, the chewiness of the Konjac providing great texture while heat permeates throughout your entire body, melting away the knots and strain in your muscles.

“This is so good,” you garble through a mouthful. Yukong’s also entranced with her bite of fish cake, and can only nod in agreement.

Once you finish the Konjac noodles, you slide in a platter of cabbage slices, balls of shrimp paste, and tofu squares.

“Anyway…,” you start. “Next time, I don’t think we should even bother. Most of our customers are reasonable, anyway, and it’s honestly not worth it.”

Yukong frowns at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Because, on the other hand, I don’t think we should tolerate this behavior at all.”

“I know, but I don’t want the other pastry chefs to worry about stuff like this. Besides, we always make enough of everything. Otherwise, the extras would all go to waste, and I can’t keep giving Granny Toka and the college kids our leftovers.”

Yukong huffs and crosses her arms, a pointer finger tapping impatiently at the juncture of her elbow. Yet, Yukong can’t seem to come up with a response, so she acquiesces.

“Yukong…,” you mumble. You look at her, a little expectantly and a lot more nervously.

She slides her arm across the table, a gesture for you to do the same. As you put your hand on top of hers, she says, “I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated. You and the other chefs are our top priority, and I understand you want to avoid causing them as much stress as possible. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Yukong’s always been like this – able to read your mind, say the reassuring things you need to hear at the right time, find the best solution without compromising anyone’s feelings. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand lovingly before someone calls out your name.

“Hey, you managed to come!”

You turn to the side to see Sushang. You exclaim, “Yes, we did! Thanks for having us! The food’s amazing!”

“Of course! If you ever want another discount, just let me know.” Sushang wiggles her eyebrows, and you and Yukong laugh at her antics.

“This is Yukong, my co-founder,” you introduce. 

Sushang steps aside, and only then do you realize someone’s behind her. Which is odd, because the man’s absolutely looming over her, but something about his quiet demeanor must’ve concealed his presence. 

Sushang says, “Nice to meet you, Yukong! This here is Moze, one of our sous chefs. Moze, she made the macarons and cookies we had a few weeks ago.”

Moze stiffly nods, but as soon as Sushang mentions your desserts, a hopeful glint in his eyes appears.

“You know,” Sushang continues, “I’ve only seen Moze talk so much about someone’s cooking, like, literally a handful of times. He rarely compliments other people, but he totally ranted when he ate those sweets of yours.”

Moze scoffs and knocks Sushang on the back of her head. “We’ve told you so many times to not run your mouth.”

You and Yukong exchange warm looks. You say, “Sushang’s just incredibly honest. But I’m glad they were to your liking, Moze.”

Yukong speaks up as well. “We’d like to return the favor, too. Feel free to drop by the Zhuming Dessert Bar, free of charge.”

Sushang yells so loudly that some of the adjacent customers glance at your party. “Are you for real?! Moze, we need to go. Immediately.”

“By the way,” Yukong interrupts, tone more formal now, “is your head chef, Jiaoqiu, around? And is it possible for us speak to him?”

Puzzled, you glance towards Yukong. You came for a simple dinner, and Yukong never informed you of other plans.

Moze answers this time. “The head chef’s in the back. Can I ask what you plan on discussing?”

“Actually, I’m a family friend of Feixiao’s. I’d like to personally meet her right-hand man.”

It seems as if the world has stopped spinning. Yukong knows Feixiao? She knows the owner of Yaoqing Hot Pot? Personally? Huh? It seems Moze and Sushang are both stunned as well, and after a few sluggish seconds, Moze excuses himself, presumably to find his boss.

Jiaoqiu appears in no more than five minutes.

“Miss Yukong, it’s good to meet you in person,” Jiaoqiu greets. Yukong reaches her hand out for a handshake, and only when Moze guides Jiaoqiu’s hand forward does the head chef reciprocate.

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t know you –,“ Yukong begins.

Jiaoqiu cuts her off succinctly. “No worries. It’s only been a few years, after all. I also told Feixiao not to inform others of my condition in the first place.”

“I see.”

Jiaoqiu then redirects the conversation skillfully. “Speaking of Feixiao, I’m sure the two of you have come up with something that requires my assistance? I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

You slide deeper into the booth so that Jiaoqiu can sit beside you. From this proximity, you can make out the sweat lining his forehead, the thick rubber band pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and the creases of his sleeves where they were once rolled up.

Yukong clears her throat, a habit of hers right before negotiations begin. 

“The Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up in a little over a month, and since both of our restaurants are based on East Asian cuisines, Feixiao and I are considering a collaboration. Do you think that’s something your team would be interested in?”

Surprisingly, despite his thoughtful nature, Jiaoqiu doesn’t even take a second to consider. “If Feixiao’s eager about the idea, I don’t see why not.”

“Great. So far, the plan is to add a few of our desserts to your existing menu, while we add some of your appetizers to ours. How does that sound?”

At this suggestion, Jiaoqiu hums with dissatisfaction. “That could ruin the flavor profiles of each of our own stores.”

“Right, of course. We considered that, and that’s why we think it’d be best if both of our restaurants created new items that’d fit both the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival, as well as our respective offerings.”

“I see.”

From your periphery, you can see Moze looking at Yukong, trying to decipher her intentions, while Sushang’s rocking on her feet, cheeks puffed up with anticipation. You, on the other hand, have no problem with this idea either and simply accept the fact that the next two months are going to be very busy.

Jiaoqiu asks, “I think this idea’s not bad. How do we plan on executing it?”

Yukong gestures at you, so you perk up. “Uh, well, I guess we can just meet to hash out the details? I know you’re very busy, though, so that might not work.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jiaoqiu seems to sigh, almost as if he’s giving into defeat. “If both Feixiao and Miss Yukong think this is a worthwhile business project, then it’s my job to see it through. We should begin promptly.”

You nod and begin exchanging contacts with the Yaoqing folks. As you’re typing in Moze’s contact, though, you suddenly get a call from one of your chefs.

You excuse yourself, walking out of the noisy restaurant to answer the call.

“Yunli, what’s up?” you chirp.

You hear very panicked voices until Yunli directly replies. “Chef, the HVAC’s broken. The refrigeration doesn’t work. At all.”

You feel goosebumps snake down your arms and back. Suddenly, your throat feels entirely parched, and you’re not even able to swallow to alleviate the dryness. For once, when it comes to work, your body’s freezing up, rooting you to your spot on the sidewalk, preventing you from running into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

You rush back into Yaoqing Hot Pot, inform Yukong of the situation, and the two of you scramble back to the Zhuming Dessert Bar.

That night, you make several runs home, but you don’t actually get to unwind until well past 2AM. Not only did you have to make several emergency calls to your property manager and repair services, but you also had to drive back and forth to transfer the ingredients to your own fridge and freezer. Simply put, everyone who stayed past service to clean up the dessert bar was utterly exhausted. It was arguably one of your worst nights since the Zhuming’s opening.

It took the whole weekend for the HVAC-R system to be repaired, which meant the cancellation of two days’ worth of reservations. The cancellations impacted the store’s sales significantly for the week, and you were forced to revise several recipes to accommodate for cheaper ingredients. While your other teammates could take the time off, you had to come in to experiment and adjust the taste of each menu item, which is always a painstakingly arduous and tedious process. At times, you felt a hint of nostalgia, reminiscent of your times in pastry school, but those flashbacks only left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Your meetings with Jiaoqiu also began the following week. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you head over and enter Yaoqing Hot Pot through the back door so you can directly walk to Jiaoqiu’s office. Inside his office, there’s a small desk which he sits at, while you situate yourself on a small, plush bean bag that was brought in by Sushang. So far, the two of you have drafted initial ideas, and tonight, Jiaoqiu will be presenting the first iterations of the Yaoqing’s appetizers to you.

Like the first time you met him, you knock on the door twice. As always, when he greets you, he gives you a tight smile. Tonight, though, his expression appears more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m afraid the dishes have not come out as expected.”

You see a porcelain white plate on his desk. In the center, there are a few strips of tofu, topped with finely diced pieces of thousand-year-old eggs, scallions, and garlic. There are streaks of red and black as well, no doubt the Yaoqing’s signature spicy sauce. Beside the plate is a small bowl. You take a step closer to see chunks of cabbage, ginger, radish, and carrots, all of the pieces slightly wrinkled, accompanied by a sharp smell of acid. Both are classic Szechuan dishes: spicy cold tofu and pickled vegetables.

Using the chopsticks laid out on a napkin, you take small bites of the dishes. You’re personally not too good with spicy foods, so you can only hope that Jiaoqiu hasn’t gone overboard with the seasonings.

The thousand-year-old eggs are chewy and dense, in delightful contrast to the softness of the tofu, which practically melts on your tongue. However, the garlic, scallions, and spicy sauce penetrate through and remain as the final aftertaste. Then, you pick up a piece of the pickled cabbages. The water and vinegar brine has been completely absorbed, and you notice that there’s a stark lack of peppercorns, which is usually a key component of this dish. With a crunch, your teeth pierce through the leaf, and you’re impressed by how tender the inside of the cabbage is. You pick around to try the other ingredients.

When Jiaoqiu hears you place your chopsticks down, he asks, “I’m sorry if they’re lacking.”

“No worries. Maybe we should call in Moze, so I can share my thoughts?”

Jiaoqiu does as you request, and a few minutes later, the sous chef joins the two of you.

You give a brief rundown of your suggestions.

“The Zhuming Dessert Bar is known for its milder flavors, and the two appetizers taste great as is but simply don’t make sense in the broader context. I was thinking, maybe for the spicy cold tofu, we can mash the eggs into almost something like a paste? I think it’d provide an interesting texture, and we can use fresh scallions to keep that hint of bite if needed. To be honest, I think there should be way less garlic. Maybe even no garlic at all.

“As for the pickled vegetables, I think this one’s pretty close to done, actually! I think the cabbage is perfect, and I like that there are no peppercorns in the presentation. I was thinking that maybe we can make this dish a little more – how do I put this – refreshing? For instance, instead of using radish, we can use cucumbers instead? The water content might pose an issue, but I think cucumbers could add a ‘clean,’ crisp touch, which I like the sound of. Oh, we should also take out the ginger.”

When you finish, Jiaoqiu and Moze look at you as if you’ve just committed a murder in front of them.

Moze can barely conjure a sentence. “Are – are you – can you not handle spicy foods? Are these too spicy for you? Wh – what are you –“

Jiaoqiu has to interrupt him. “Without the ginger or garlic, you’re essentially asking us to abandon core aspects of Szechuan cuisine.”

You try to justify yourself. “I know it’s a cardinal sin, I get it. It’s like asking pastry chefs to not use sugar or flour or whatever. But the appetizers are just too strong, and none of the desserts we have, including our Mid-Autumn Festival specials, will complement them. Maybe a subtractive method isn’t the best approach, but I honestly don’t know enough to propose any other ideas.”

Jiaoqiu tilts his chin, thinking. Finally, he states, “I think I have one.”

At the next meeting, the head chef presents you the same two dishes, but they look vastly different than before.

Jiaoqiu explains that, for the tofu, he listened to your suggestion and mashed the thousand-year-old eggs into a paste. Within the paste, he also incorporated the garlic, which should be diluted by the natural pungency of the aged yolk. The scallions and chili sauce are filled in a separate container, allowing customers to pour as little or as much as they want.

As for the pickled vegetables, Jiaoqiu added a rather unique ingredient. 

“Why lotus root?” you ask.

He explains, “Lotus root is in season right now, and we took inspiration from the classic Yunnan lotus root salad. We soaked the lotus root in a one-to-one ratio of rice vinegar and water to extract the starch, before blanching the slices. We also added ginger and a bit of sugar to the brine, so there wouldn’t be a need to keep the ginger slices in the dish itself. The one thing I want you to check is if we added too much peppercorn and salt.”

One bite of each dish, and you’re grinning ear to ear.

“This is it,” you whisper, in sheer awe. You can’t help but take two more mouthfuls of each appetizer. “In just one night, and you made such vast improvements. Jiaoqiu, you’re a genius.”

What was supposed to be a celebratory moment seemed to be ruined instantaneously by your comment. Moze’s face drops and Jiaoqiu can’t help but wince, to your confusion.

All of a sudden, very shy and embarrassed, you mumble, “Did I say something wrong? The food’s great, Jiaoqiu, is there something that’s not to your liking?”

Moze states, rather gruffly, “No, we’re very happy that you enjoy the dishes so much. After all, it’s been a while since Jiaoqiu has cooked something by himself.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you both look so upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Jiaoqiu sighs. “Then, these two are a go. One more left.”

From then on, your interactions with Jiaoqiu become stiff and rigid. Not that you had made much progress in the first place, but at the very least, the two of you could speak in the same fluid prose of ingredients and techniques and practically anything related to cooking and baking. Now, the two of you barely speak outside the context of the collaboration, and even the feedback you receive doesn’t come straight from him. Sushang had mentioned this earlier, and she’s absolutely right – Jiaoqiu doesn’t touch your cooking at all. In fact, Moze’s the one who munches away at your samples, while Jiaoqiu only asks for his opinions.

Are you frustrated? Absolutely. But it’s not like you can call off this project for such a small reason. It’s not like Moze doesn’t offer great advice, but it’s not up to the level of expertise that you need. So, not only do you feel frustrated, you also feel directionless, and your creative juices are running out.

You hate to admit it, but this sucks. 

IV. Taiwanese Pineapple Cake

You should’ve prepared for all hell to break loose because “busy” doesn’t even begin to describe your current state.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Is approaching in a week, which means the collaboration’s also set to launch in just a few days. But before that, it seems you have other, more urgent issues to address first.

“Wait, why isn’t Lingsha here?” You look around, hoping for someone to know. You have a full house tonight, and you need all the helping hands you can get.

Yunli, who’s busy shaping some fondant, responds, “I think she’s sick.”

Alarmed, you quickly shoot Lingsha a text, asking her about her condition, in addition to a reminder to please, please, please let you know next time.

“That’s fine, but we’re going to need someone to take over her station…”

There are two halves to your team. Since the dessert bar is split between a morning bakery and an evening tasting restaurant, you’ve placed your less experienced chefs on the morning shifts. This could be a good opportunity for one of them to learn, you think.

“Huo Huo,” you call out, “can you stay for the rest of the day? I’ll make sure Yukong pays you overtime.”

A small, green-haired girl squeaks at the sound of her name. Even from a distance, you can see her body begin to shake and tremble.

“Y-yes,” she stutters as her knuckles pale from gripping onto a hand mixer so tightly.

You shoot her two thumbs up and a gentle smile. “You’ll be great, I just know it, Huo Huo. You’re in charge of presentation, so all you have to worry about is not breaking any dishes, alright?”

You, in fact, did have to worry about broken dishes that night.

Frankly speaking, Huo Huo was all over the place. She confused some of the dishes with each other, so the presentation wasn’t right at times. She also spilled glaze, so those desserts had to be tossed. The most tragic of her mistakes was that she forgot basic kitchen etiquette and almost got burned in the face with a blowtorch. Yunli’s tolerance was clearly waning, and you had to pinch her multiple times to prevent her from unleashing all of her rage.

You can’t help but think this is all your fault.

And as you trudge to Jiaoqiu’s office, your stomach sinks further. You feel the fatigue coursing through your veins, and despite your usual patient and easy going temperament, you can feel your thread of optimism thinning, dangerously close to snapping.

You just never expected it to break so soon.

“Uh, where are your samples?” Moze asks.

You can only close your eyes and cover them with your palms. You feel so weak in the knees. You want to keel over.

The burning sensation at your waterline doesn’t help either, and even though you can’t breathe, you hold back so as to not let anyone hear your sniffles.

You’re an actual patisserie now. No more groveling and self-pitying – you left all of that behind at baking school and your previous stages. You’ve made it so far, and you can’t fumble it. You need to be on top of things and be professional. Why are you even upset? What’s wrong with you? Keep. It. Together.

Jiaoqiu mutters, “Moze, leave us for now.”

With barely audible steps, you feel Moze walk away, and Jiaoqiu slides his office door closed behind you. Though it takes him a bit, he manages to feel his way down the wall so that he’s stooping beside you.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” you say, voice muffled as you hide your head with your forearms, tucking your chin to your chest.

“Yeah, running a restaurant never gets easier.”

You peek up at him. “But you never seem to be sweating over it.”

“Everyone has their worries.”

You take a deep breath. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if you cry or not because Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to care.

You ask, “I feel like I don’t know how to lead my team properly. We managed to get everything out in time, but the kitchen was an entire mess. We also had to get repairs done a few weeks ago, even though the property’s new and all. And remember when we ran into each other at the farmer’s market? It’s because someone forgot to properly do inventory. Like – these are all basic procedures. What am I forgetting to teach them?”

“From my experience, it just comes from routine reminders during meetings, and being ruthless when it comes to firing people.”

You roll your eyes. “Jiaoqiu, I’m afraid not everyone has the luxury of an inbox overflowing with hiring and employment requests.”

“Then, you have to do the hard thing and train them. Over and over again, until they finally get it right.”

You take another inhale. He’s right.

The stooping’s becoming uncomfortable, so you let yourself fall back and onto the ground.

“Thanks, Jiaoqiu. I think I’ve got my shit together again.”

“Of course. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

You begin to get up but end up deciding otherwise. You suggest instead, “Let’s just talk for a bit, if you have the time. We’ve been seeing each other so often, and I feel like I know practically nothing about you.”

You see a flash of suspicion cross his face, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t reject the idea either.

You help Jiaoqiu to his desk before finding your usual spot on the bean bag, and ask, “So, tell me. What about Yaoqing Hot Pot is stressing you out?”

“The new hires. I trust Moze, but it’s hard for him to handle everything by himself. I would ask Sushang, but it’s more important that she concentrates on honing her own skills right now.”

Something Moze said rings in your head.

“And…,” you start. “I’m guessing you can’t help either because you haven’t cooked in a while?”

Jiaoqiu remains silent. More hints from previous conversations seem to pop into your head.

You ask again, tone much quieter and more polite, “You told Yukong your blindness is relatively recent. Is… is that why you’ve stopped cooking?”

“I’d get in the way of too many people. Plus, I can really only trust Moze to help me in the kitchen, but that’d hinder his own growth as a chef. I couldn’t ask that of him.”

“So those appetizers –“

“That was a one-time thing. The others know how to replicate them by now.”

“But I want to eat your food.”

The words fly out before you can think about them. You gasp at your audacity, hands flying to seal your mouth, and Jiaoqiu has a surprised look on his face.

It takes a few moments before Jiaoqiu breaks the silence with huffs of chuckles. “You called me a genius the other day, didn’t you?”

You nod at first, but remembering that he can’t see, affirm vocally.

“It’s just a personal peeve of mine, but I detest being called that.”

Furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose, you try to think of why.

Jiaoqiu… Blind… Genius… Hate… Feixiao…

You let out another audible gasp, this time horrified.

“I remember,” you hiss.

No wonder his name’s familiar. 

You’ve never paid much attention because you were so entrenched in your own work, but a few years ago, Jiaoqiu was a superstar in the culinary world. He was winning awards left and right, despite not having even graduated culinary school. But then, he suddenly disappeared, and all of the tabloids were speculating as to why. He didn’t come back into the limelight until he joined Yaoqing and became Feixiao’s right-hand man.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but…”

“I was poisoned.”

You gape at him.

He continues, indifferent to your loud reactions. “Being a ‘genius’ comes with its own share of problems. I had classmates who were envious of my achievements, and one of them slipped methanol into a dish they wanted me to try.”

The story’s horrifying itself, but what leaves you completely stunned is Jiaoqiu’s nonchalance. He’s speaking as if he’s reading the news, as if this terrible thing happened to some stranger and not to him.

“Oh, Jiaoqiu…”

“It’s alright. I owe Feixiao for entrusting much of Yaoqing to me.”

“Thanks for sharing these painful memories with me…”

Jiaoqiu simply nods. “I hope the Zhuming Dessert Bar sees better days.”

V. Fuqi Feipian

Everything does seem to calm down, though there’s never truly a peaceful day when you’re working in the restaurant industry.

Lingsha returns in good shape, and with her and Yunli’s help, the three of you begin to offer additional training sessions after work to better prepare the newcomers. You’re a small team, after all, so it’s only right that you have each other’s backs.

The launch of the Mid-Autumn Festival goes as well as Yukong and Feixiao predict. Revenue streams are the highest they’ve ever been for the Zhuming Dessert Bar, and the food seems to be well-received. There are always a few pesky hate comments on social media platforms, but those can’t be helped.

Most importantly, your relationship with Jiaoqiu has improved dramatically. You first tested the waters by sending him an hour-long ASMR video of cat purrs, and he replied likewise with a five-minute compilation of foxes yipping and laughing. Also, even though there’s no reason to meet anymore, you still drop by and bother the pink-haired chef whenever you have the time. Mostly, it’s just you pestering him to make you food and him refusing, but after ten minutes or so of pointless bantering, he relents and you help him around the kitchen, setting timers, fetching ingredients, and making sure he doesn’t cut himself.

For the most part, he does well even without your assistance. His sense of taste is incredibly acute, and his hands seem to remember how to slice at different angles, widths, and shapes, all from rote memory. Still, it seems that having you there provides an additional layer of safety, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

“What are you going to make for me this time?”

You’re holding Jiaoqiu by the hands, steering him towards the industrial fridges standing tall to one side of the kitchen. Unlike the narrow and rectangular layout of the Zhuming Dessert Bar’s kitchen, the Yaoqing’s is much more spacious and has sufficient walking room.

“The freezer should have a piece of beef shank.” You let go of one of his hands to open the door, and as he said, there’s a plastic-wrapped chunk on the top shelf. You take it out, and then walk the two of you over to the central island, where there’s a large cutting board and knife.

“Knife to your right, beef to your left. Is there anything else I should grab?”

“Can you get some sesame seeds, chili oil, and a stalk of celery?”

As you collect the items, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Jiaoqiu picks up the beef shank by the fingertips, and using his other hand to roughly measure out the length of the cutting board, sets the meat down near the center. Then, with fleeting touches, he feels for the wooden handle of his knife.

“The blade’s facing downwards,” you call out.

“Thanks,” he replies.

With his left hand, he traces the shank until he reaches the edge, where he backtracks by a few millimeters and curls his fingers in so that the first joints are tucked away. With steady movements, he brings the knife over with his right hand until the flat of the blade meets his curled fingers, and now he knows where to cut. Though he’s slow, much slower than a professional chef should be, every slice is done without hesitation. There’s no wavering, no stopping, no interrupting the motion of the knife being plunged down onto the cutting board. He continues, procedurally shifting his left hand back and right hand forward, until he’s divided the chunk of beef into beautifully thin slices.

You only come back when he’s set his knife down.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re making.”

“The name’s a little misleading,” he says, “but it’s a dish I grew up eating quite frequently. Do you think you’re up to trying something spicy?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, when have you made something not spicy?”

His lips break into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a bowl with a short rim, will you?”

“Yes, chef!”

Into the bowl, he transfers the beef shank and pours spoonfuls of chili oil, salt, and white sugar on top. He mixes everything, ensuring that the tips of the chopsticks don’t puncture through the meat, and sets the dish aside.

He then picks up the knife again, which you follow up by placing the celery stalk onto the cutting board.

“Center middle”

“Leaf intact?”

“Yes.”

He searches for the end of the stalk, and when he finds it, he chops the leafy section off. He makes diligent work of the rest, first splitting the stalk in horizontal half before chopping it vertically into small bits. When he’s finished, he transfers the celery pieces into the bowl, giving the ingredients a good mix again, before returning to mince the celery leaves.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away from the cutting board. He says, “You’ll realize that Szechuan food is quite simple to put together. This dish is called fuqi feipian.”

“You said the name was misleading.”

“Well, its literal translation means ‘husband and wife lung slices.’”

You can’t help but chuckle at the name. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be romantic or gory.”

Jiaoqiu smirks and crosses his arms. “Either way, it’s spicier than all of the other things I’ve cooked for you. Take a bite.”

Mentally, you prepare for the numbing bite of the spices and chilis as you eat a slice of beef. The acidity of the oil and celery leaf garnishing hit you immediately, and you almost choke at the sudden impact of flavor.

You cry out, “Spicy!”

“I told you.”

You quickly swallow before picking out pieces of celery and peanuts to soothe your tongue.

“Seriously, Jiaoqiu, how can you eat this all the time?”

He simply shrugs. “I can’t really taste anything else.”

“Wait, what?”

“I started losing my sense of taste in culinary school. The doctors said it was probably due to stress from the competitions and media appearances. Now, I can only really eat very strong and spicy flavors.”

You almost drop your chopsticks onto the floor.

“Jiaoqiu,” you choke, “you can’t keep dropping these severely depressing facts about yourself out of nowhere.”

“Oh, sorry, should I have mentioned a trigger warning or something?”

You huff unhappily before taking another bite, barely managing the stinging heat at the back of your throat.

Jiaoqiu suddenly asks, “Did you enjoy culinary school?”

You pause to reflect. “I kinda took an unconventional path. I actually have a Bachelor in something completely unrelated to cooking, but I couldn’t find a full-time job after graduating and decided to give baking a shot. Baking school was hellish, though, I can’t lie.”

He makes a noise of surprise when you finish.

“You didn’t enjoy baking school?”

You scratch the back of your head. “I mean, it was tough. I don’t remember much besides crying a lot and feeling very incompetent. It’s hard being surrounded by really young and accomplished people all the time.”

“I thought you were going to say you had the time of your life.”

“Why?”

“Well…,” Jiaoqiu starts, though he turns to face away from you for some reason. “You seem very optimistic and easy to get along with. People like you thrive in social environments, like school.”

You try to muster your usual smile, but you can’t will your mouth to stretch or your cheeks to lift. “I guess, and it’s not like I hated my experience. I was just… I was too concerned about making up for lost time.”

You don’t want to think about this anymore, so you take another bite.

Through a mouthful, you pivot the conversation. “By the way, there’s no way I can finish this all by myself. Have some, too!”

You tap Jiaoqiu on the shoulder so that he turns to face you again, and you tightly grip the chopsticks so that the food doesn’t drop.

Jiaoqiu tries to deny at first. “No, no, I already ate dinner.”

“But Jiaoqiu, please! You made so much, and it’d be such a waste to keep it overnight. C’mon, just one bite, it’s right in front of you.”

He opens his mouth and leans forward, but either because your hands are shaky or because he simply cannot reach, he keeps missing.

You ask with slight amusement, “May I?”

“Just hurry and give it to me.”

You slide your free hand underneath his chin and hold his head in place. Initially, he sputters out of shyness and embarrassment, but finally relents as you tell him to keep his mouth open.

When he’s chewing on it, you say, “Really good, right? You should cook for yourself more often.”

“It’s fine. Could be better,” he replies. “Besides, it’s dangerous cooking by myself.”

You shrug. “I can always come over and help, like I did tonight.”

He sighs. “You’re so demanding. You just want more free food.”

You giggle with glee and clap at his shoulders. “Of course not!” You feign hurt. “I just want to spend more time with a good friend!”

Jiaoqiu huffs and you think he rolls his eyes. “Friends,” he mutters, “don’t eat from the same pair of chopsticks.”

You feel your face burn, having been completely unaware of the implications of your actions.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you retort, though there’s really no bite to your words. “You haven’t even tried my desserts once.”

VI. Sweet Run Bing

On the last day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you come over with some leftovers to hand to the Yaoqing staff. You’ve gotten to know them quite well, and of course, Sushang and Moze are the first ones to appear.

“What’d you bring this time?” Sushang sing-songs.

You set the boxes on a counter and list everything out. “There’s coconut cake, a Taiwanese rendition of French custard tarts, some of our special mooncakes, and sweet run bing. There’s more than enough for everyone!���

You try to take a step back so that all of the Yaoqing chefs can reach your desserts, but you bump into somebody.

Or more specifically, someone holds you by the shoulders.

You look over to find Jiaoqiu resting his hands on you, face turned towards the commotion in the center of the kitchen.

He muses, “Sweet run bing? Isn’t it usually salty?”

You laugh. “Yes, but it’s pretty popular in Taiwan to add ice cream and nuts to make a sweeter version of it.”

The question always floats in the air but is usually left unaddressed. This time, though, Jiaoqiu surprises you.

“Can I try?”

A sense of pride and satisfaction pumps through your entire body. “Of course!” you exclaim. “Let me get you one!”

The two of you retreat to the calmer corner of his office, and you watch him intently as he holds the run bing close to his nose.

“I smell peanuts, almonds, and vanilla. There’s also something sweet?”

“Yes, we added some of our homemade canned peaches!”

“I see. Let me try it.”

Slowly, methodically, Jiaoqiu rolls up the crepe and takes a bite from it. You gulp and can almost feel beads of sweat forming at your temples from the anticipation and anxiety.

Then, something in his features softens. 

“The texture���s great.”

At his compliment, you bound out of your seat, whooping and cheering.

“I’ll take it! Next time, I’ll make something you can actually taste. I roasted the nuts to create a smokey flavor and to add some crunch, but I didn’t want it to be too overpowering, so I also added some herbs, like ground coriander and –“

“Wait, there’s coriander in this?”

You comically pause in the middle of your celebrating. “Uh, yes?”

It’s your first time seeing the man… so frightened.

You can’t help but glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like coriander.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t move.

“Isn’t coriander supposed to be important in Szechuan cuisine? You were the one nagging my ears off weeks ago –“

“First of all, I wasn’t nagging you. Second, I personally don’t like to eat it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t use it.”

“Sure, fine, but the run bing doesn’t taste bad, does it?”

Jiaoqiu grimaces. “It tastes fine… even if there’s coriander in it.”

You smugly croon at him. “What other foods do you hate? I’ll convince you otherwise.”

Jiaoqiu takes another big bite of the run bing, before replying, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You flush at his words, rendered unable to speak. In fact, you have to clear your throat a couple of times in order to respond. “And… you’ll cook for me, too?”

He nods, with firm intent. “For as long as you want me to.”

You feel like the vanilla ice cream in the run bing, melting and dripping, positively overheating.

[paper-mario-wiki]

Hey how do you cook chicken so often. It's always a huge fucking hassle to me to prep and cook chicken and it's so expensive I usually don't bother. Is there some trick you know for making it easy?

the answer's a lot more simple than ya think. i just have a huge bag of chicken breasts in the freezer. dont remember PRECISELY how much it was, pretty sure under $25 for 10 pounds at costco, and it'll last you several weeks when cooking for one.

the only real "prep" for making it easier is, when i don't have any chicken thawed in the fridge, i take some out of the freezer and put it into a plastic bag in the fridge. then, by the next day, ive got chicken that can be cooked and eaten up in 10 minutes. while still raw, it'll stay good for 2 days refrigerated, and up to 4 if you're stupid.

the breasts are actually a little bigger than i'd like when cooking just for myself, so while they're still frozen i find their middle and split them in half on the hard corner of my kitchen counter.

before seasoning, pat down the breast with a paper towel to get excess moisture off. it'll cook more evenly and make seasoning stick easier. i only use salt and pepper before cooking because im lazy and spiceless (poor), but you can definitely use herbs and whatnot when cooking. also smash down some of the thicker bits of the meat with the bottom of a cup or a mallet if you've got one. as long as the breast isn't thicker than, say, the width of your index finger, it'll cook through very easily, mostly in its own juices. otherwise you'll have a harder time cooking it evenly, though it can still be done. it just takes longer and might not look as nice.

pan-frying is as easy as putting in a splash of olive oil (not a ton, just enough for the breast to rest in), and cooking for 5 to 7 minutes on both sides, depending on how brown you want it. this is on medium-high heat, so i set my stove's little heat dial to 6 or 7.

for reference, the meal i made today (chicken breast, hashbrown, fried kale) was prepared in about 15ish minutes, including prepping the chicken and getting it on the pan, which was done first cuz it takes the longest to cook. the hashbrowns cooked on the far side of the pan away from the chicken, and the kale in my air fryer for 3 minutes. the chicken came off the pan first, and i let it rest for a few minutes while i let the hashbrowns finish cooking.

it sounds like a lotta work, but sincerely the most tedious thing about cooking with chicken is thawing it out, so having a few single-person servings of chicken in the fridge makes the whole process much simpler.

make sure that you're wiping down surfaces and utensils that the chicken touches while still raw, and try not to let any of the other foods at all. salmonella is easily avoidable, but still no joke.

[basuralindo]

Hey I'm dropping a crepe recipe because there's still people around who think they're hard to make and I'm sick of french food being romanticized to the point of inaccessibility.

I call this a 3-2-1 method to make it easy to remember; 3 eggs, 2 cups water/fluid of choice, 1 cup flour.

I'm sparing you the obligatory backstory on my path to cooking extremely flat pancakes because we both know that neither of us care. If you want to hear me overshare check my blog between 1-4am pacific time.

•Anyway, start with three eggs and beat with a fork until they're all one color (you can use a whisk or an egg beater but I hate the extra steps. Fork it):

•Add 1 cup flour:

•Add whatever dry flavoring you want (I usually go with cinnamon and cardamom, today we're doing matcha cause that happens to be what I'm cooking. Some mornings caffeine is meant to be eaten):

•Add sugar to taste if desired. It's not necessary for the recipe, and if you've managed to add enough to throw off the consistency you've got other shit to worry about, so follow your heart. I usually use like two tablespoons or so (I prefer brown, but white tastes better with matcha):

•Decide on your fluid of choice. Water and/or milk is the usual, but you can do literally whatever you want; hot cocoa, coffee, tea, soda -whatever you want them to taste like. Go nuts with it. Use soup if you want idgaf it's between you and your chosen god at this point. I recommend starting with 2 cups for simplicity, but you can add more if needed for the right consistency. At this point I just eyeball it tbh.

•Add a little at a time and start mixing until it's as smooth as you can get (this is also where you'd add wet flavorings, like vanilla extract):

•Add the rest until the batter is roughly the consistency of heavy whipping cream, or like thin tomato soup (if you actually ran with the soup joke, add a little water to thin it out). Just get it to where it's still a little viscous but will run if you pour it on the pan:

•For best results cover and let it sit in the fridge overnight or for a few hours (it will separate a little, just mix it again). For last minute "I forgot to prep this last night but I really want crepes" results, we're putting it aside while I wash dishes and heat up the pan.

•Ladle out like ¼ cups worth onto a hot lubricated pan (butter or cooking oil, medium heat) and swirl it until it coats the bottom. Don't stress if it looks like shit the first few times, that's what practice is for, add a little more fluid if it's not spreading well:

•cook until the top is no longer wet and edges start to lighten:

•Flip it with either a very flat spatula or sheer hubris (spatula recommended for beginners), and cook for like 45 seconds (I have no sense of time), then slide it onto a plate:

•Top with whatever you want and try whatever folds/rolls you saw in that one show that made you think these were cool.

Go forth, have fun, eat well.

(if you want an even easier method with only mild sacrifice to quality: mix a couple eggs and some extra fluid into your leftover pancake batter and leave it in the fridge for the next morning)

[hellyeahsickaf]

Cooking While Disabled

One of the things I miss most about being less disabled is cooking. It was one of my favorite things to do and something I've always been good at.

On good days there are things I can do that make it easier. It's not the same as before, but I hope that sharing what makes it possible for me to cook helps others who struggle with it.

Tips for cooking while disabled:

You can incorporate precooked food in your meals. For example, stir fry with precooked rice with the ingredients of your choice, or taking frozen pasta (like the ones with maybe sauce and a couple other things) or plain microwave pasta (I prefer these, but heat it first) and putting it in a pan adding other ingredients like vegetables, cheese, garlic, etc

If it comes frozen or canned that can really help. Frozen rice you can just microwave, frozen cut veggies and garlic and onions are good as well

Buy a chopper with different shaped blades, spiralizer, electric slicer/grater, food processor, or any appliance that will save you energy. Ideally machine washable. Stand mixers are also better than manual ones. Especially helpful if you have joint/wrist issues

You can always prepare ingredients ahead of time. I find that sometimes it helps to prep (chopping or mixing ingredients, etc) earlier in the day or even a day before. Then you can put it in the fridge or freezer until you're ready to cook the full meal

Look up easy recipes or recipes for elderly/seniors. With the latter you may find more nutritionally balanced food but an unbalanced easy meal is better than none

You can sit while you prepare ingredients.

You're allowed to take breaks. You can turn the stove off, maybe put a lid on it to retain the heat, sit down, maybe take something for your symptoms. Some things you may not be able to stop in the middle of like making pancakes or deep frying something, but if you're making soup or curry or chili or something, often you can turn it off for a bit and take care of yourself.

If you need help and can get it, please ask for help. I know many of us need to work on asking for help including myself. Even if it's just washing the pots and pans or chopping something. You are not a burden you hear me?

Stretch before and after cooking just as one would before a workout. It will likely lessen any joint pain or stiffness as you are still exerting yourself

Listen to your body. Just as you're allowed to take a break, you are allowed to decide you won't be able to finish what you're doing. You may put away your food before it's done (if this won't ruin the meal). You are allowed to leave a dirty pot in the sink and come back to it later (just make sure you or someone else does before it gets gross). You can wash them in the dishwasher. I know this is bad for the seasoning on pots and pans but you can reseason them to be nonstick again and use nonstick spray

You can buy seasoning mixes rather than using individual seasoning. Instead of parsley, oregano, basil, etc you can buy Italian seasoning. Instead of paprika, pepper, cumin, oregano, salt, etc, you can just get taco seasoning. This may sound obvious but it can save a lot of time and energy

An issue I have is buying perishable ingredients thinking I can use them, having a bad week or two, and the ingredients have gone bad. Try to plan out your meals before shopping and ask yourself if there's an easier alternative for any ingredients. Maybe pre chopped fresh onion instead of a whole one, sliced mushrooms instead of whole, frozen vegetable blends instead of individual, powdered ginger instead of the root, bullion instead of stock that you may not be able to use all at once. I know this is like one of the other points but these are what I find most helpful

Use supercook.com! You input the ingredients you have on hand and you'll get a list of recipes you can make with what you have. Often there's a wide range of complexity and difficulty

Make enough food to freeze or refrigerate leftovers. It helps if you can portion it into single servings in Tupperware or freezer bags. You can prepare frozen burritos for your next few lunches or dinners, separate portion sizes of spaghetti, portion salads, etc

Feel free to add any additions!

[claimedcrossbows]

Served! Sanji x Fem!reader

Slight anime spoilers/foreshadowing.

This is OPLA Sanji though.

-

You were laid down in your quarters trying to keep the vomit down after you had been sick the entire night. Your head was killing you and you were simply not ready for whatever chaos was happening downstairs, but you had a kitchen to run, so you slowly got dressed, and slowly made your way downstairs to absolute anarchy.

“Y/n! We’re out of crawfish and it’s tonight's specials!” Your little sister says immediately approaching you.

“How did we run out of crawfish?” You groaned.

“Rasha forgot to order more and the nearest port ship is still a day away.” She explains frantically.

“Substitute it for lobster in the mac and cheese, and 86 the Crawfish Etouffe Balls.” You demanded hoarsely your vocal chords still fried from vomitting all night.

“Y/N are you okay? You look awful.” Your sister says looking at your haggard appearance and your overall sweaty pale face.

“Great, now go do as I told you, and make it quick rumor has it a critic is dining with us tonight!” You say the last part loud enough to attract your team of cooks attention.

“YES CHEF!” A chorus of voices ring out as you nod and all but wobble your way to the fridge for some much needed seltzer water.

Of all the days for one of the most known critics on the grandline to come pay your restaurant a visit it just had to be today when you could barely stand up right.

Fortunately for you you had a great team of chefs under your command as you watched them all hurry about prepping and making numerous dishes that looked about as masterful as could be.

You were by far one of the best restaurants on the grandline, your restaurant resided on a small beach in a lighthouse where many ships sailing by frequented your restaurant when they were in need of a good meal and conversation.

And you were no doubt one of best female chef’s the grand line had ever seen.

At just age 7 you had won your local cooking competition taking home a wonderful gift basket of exotic spices that had eventually lead you to your well known name of The Spice Queen.

You specialized in Cajun styled cooking, but you could cook just about anything in any style, you were well versed in cuisine having read numerous cookbooks throughout your life, you even knew quite a few special recipes to help revitalize sailors who were in need of more than just a flavorful meal.

Many pirates sought you out after large scaled battles that left them in tatters, if anyone asked any of those pirates what saved their lives and healed their wounds, they would name you.

Which is how you got your second name, as The Crock Pot Doc.

Yep, one taste of your special famous soup was said to cure a man on his death bed.

But none of that mattered if you couldn’t pull off a perfect dinner service tonight of all nights. You had to make sure this critic was absolutely blown away and you weren’t about to let a little food poisoning stop you.

So you chugged your seltzer water and began mincing and julienning veggies.

That was until a loud bang echoed throughout the entire lighthouse followed by a bunch of screaming and crying.

You quickly put down your knife and made it to the dining area where you absolutely could not believe your eyes at what had unfolded before you.

“WE NEED THE CROCK POT DOC, BRING THEM,PLEASE HURRY!” A man in a straw hat yellled looking around the room of patrons and chefs who had also exited the kitchen to see what was happening.

You stepped forward trying to process the sight before you, a group of pirates had barged into your restaurant all with desperate faces and who you could only assume was the captain carrying a orange haired woman who looked to be on the brink of death.

“I’m her, what the hell is going on??” You asked trying to wrap your head around this and the current state of your dining room that has been nearly destroyed by their barging in.

The straw hat man hastily made his way toward you carrying the woman with desperate eyes.

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and you have to save my friends life.” He said shakily but with a determination you could respect.

You laughed in disbelief, this man trashes your dining room on a special night and expects you to just save his friends life??

“And why would I do that?” You scoff looking at the state of the girl who looked worse than you felt.

“Because I’m the man who will be king of the pirates, and I promise I will pay you whatever you need and more if you save Nami’s life.” He says unwavering.

A few of your cooks scoff and laugh, “King of the pirates? This kid?” One of your cooks laughs.

You frown, “I don’t work for free, especially not when I have a important critic frequenting my restaurant tonight, there’s a doctor village not to far from here maybe a day’s travel at the Drum Kingdom-”

“She doesn’t have a day!” Luffy stresses.

Your frown deepens, your about to protest before a wave of nausea makes you wince. “Look I don’t have time for this I’m sorry but you need to leave-”

“Madam.” A voice behind this so called Captain Luffy rings out and you look past the kid and sees a tall blonde man in a black suit stepping forward, his face tense but gentle as he addressed you. “I understand your busy, but she will die if she doesn’t receive some kind of medical attention and I hear your not only one of the best cooks on these seas, but your cooking even rivals most medicines prescribed by doctors.” He says as he walks up to you.

“And you are?” You ask raising a skeptical brow.

“Sanji, The best cook in all of the east blue and maybe the world Mam’.” He says confidently as he shoots you a wink.

You immediately laugh, “Wow you have a lot of nerve to say that to my face.”

His face drops as he immediately shakes his head, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend you I just-”

“Well you wouldn’t be a good cook if you weren’t cocky, so there must be some talent behind your words.” You say crossing your arms. “Your Sanji, Chef Zeff’s prodigy I assume.” You say watching his eyes widen.

A small smirk crosses his lips, “Ah, so you’ve heard of me madam?” He says flirtatiously.

“Yeah, I heard a flirty handsome chef trained by Chef Zeff himself has been making his name in the culinary world as one of the best chef’s out here.”

“Oh really?” He says his smile widening.

“Yeah, but it looks like they only got the flirty part right.” You smirk back watching his face drop.

“Sanji’s the best cook on the grandline!!” Luffy immediately defends.

“Yet he can’t make a healing dish?” You interject.

Luffy grunts in annoyance, “Look we don’t have time for this Nami’s dying will you help us or not!?” He shouts angrily.

“N-”

“You say a food critics coming tonight right?” Sanji suddenly says.

You turn to him and nod, “Yes and I need to get ready-”

“You look sick, how do you expect to impress a critic and you can barely stand up right?” He asks staring directly into your eyes.

“How the hell do you know i’m sick?” You questioned.

“I know when a lady’s suffering.” He says gently.

You didn’t know how to respond to that so you just let him continue.

“So how about a deal, I help lead your cooks tonight and pull off an exsquisit meal to impress the critic, and you in turn heal my friend?” He says.

“And what makes you think you can make any of my dishes East Blue Boy?” You challenge, honestly intrigued by the cockiness of this man.

“I’m a fast learner mam, just give me a sample of what needs to be cooked and i’ll make it.” He says.

You were about to deny this foolish request until the sounds of numerous peoples stomachs gurgling suddenly caught your attention.

“Uhhhggg, Chef Y/N we don’t feel so good.” One your top chefs say holding their stomachs.

“Neither do I.” Chef Rasha groans.

“Oh no..” Another chef groans running out the room and into the bathroom.

“I feel fine?” Your little sister says looking at you in disbelief as more and more chefs ran out the room in distress as you watched your customers quickly flee out the front door.

You couldn’t believe this..your entire staff had contracted food poisioning.

You look between Luffy and the dying woman and then back at Sanji as your stomach churned even more.

Uhg.

“Fine, but my little sister will be your sous chef, she’s basically the mini version of me so listen to her directly got it?” You say approaching the blonde man who’s flirtatious smile made its way back onto his face.

“Anything you say Madam-’ ”And please stop with the Madam, Call me Chef, Y/N.”

“Chef Y/n, beautiful name, fits a beautiful woman.” He says.

Your stomach churns again as you quickly grab your little sisters chef hat and proceed to heavily vomit directly into it.

“Wow Sanji, your flirting literally made her vomit.” A man says placing a pitiful hand on his shoulder.

“Shut it Usopp!” Sanji hisses. “I’m going to have my friends help me considering your now understaffed, is that okay?” He asks looking at your concerningly handing you a handkerchief from his suits pocket.

“Fine, but don’t let that one” You say pointing to luffy. “Anywhere near the food.” You say getting a strange vibe from the straw hat boy just from the way he was eyeing your customers abandoned plates of food they had left.

“Trust me, I wasn’t.” He admits.

“Fine its a deal.” You say reaching out your clammy shaky hand that he immediately picks up and kisses.

Your face contorts into disgust as you take your hand back, just who did you let in your kitchen??

-

Hey guys wanted to do a little Sanji One shot I think this will be a two parter but I thought it would be so cool if Sanji met another incredibly talented chef who just so happened to be a woman right before we meet Chopper at the Drum Kingdom arc!!

[amomentsescape]

hiii! so i just started a new job a couple weeks ago and its super physically demanding. when i get home my entire body hurts and since i currently have no money until i get paid i cant really eat on my lunch breaks (i also dont have anything i can bring from home). so i was just wondering if i could request headcanons of reboot jason with an s/o in this situation and how he might take care of them? (or if he would even care lol!)

Jason with Overworked! Reader

Reboot! Jason Voorhees x Reader

A/N: I'm sorry to hear how taxing your new job is. I hope you'll find some rest and stability soon!

Jason has never had anyone to take care of before

But even then, he knows that what you're going through is painful

The way you practically drag yourself through the door

The pained smile you put on to try and convince him you're okay

The tense muscles he can feel when he hugs you

He absolutely hates it

He wishes you two could switch roles for a while

He'd happily take on the work if it meant you got some time to just sleep in and rest

But of course, this isn't possible

However, Jason would be damned if he just sat back and let this continue on

You came home like you do every day, dragging your feet and craving the simple moment when you could finally just sit for a bit

But when you walked through the door, you were met by the strong arms of Jason

He immediately led you towards the bathroom, not giving you any time to ask what was going on

And once you were there, you could feel your breath stop

The bathtub was filled with steaming water and fresh flower petals

There were a couple wax candles decorating the small table beside it

The room smelled of roses, and you could already feel your knees going weak at the sight

Without a single word, Jason was already helping you out of your dirty work clothes and leading you into the tub

The moment you were in, you could feel yourself literally melt

Jason sat beside you outside the tub, grabbing a cup to start pouring the warm water over your head

You were in that tub until the water went cold, relishing in everything Jason was doing

He helped wash your hair and your back

He used his rough hands to work out the knots in your shoulders and neck

And he just sat with you, listening to you talk about the day

And once you were done with your bath, he led you over to the kitchen

The small fridge that once was empty now had several containers inside

One was of your favorite meal for the night

And the rest were prepped for you to take to work

When you looked at Jason absolutely astounded, he just shrugged

You had no idea how he ever got this food, but it didn't even matter

Your eyes were already tearing up as you practically flung yourself at Jason

He knows how hard you have been working for this, and he wanted to show you just how proud he is of you

You definitely slept more peacefully that night than you had in ages

[remuswriting]

MEET ME IN THE POURING RAIN; MIYA ATSUMU

Y/N decides to walk home, even though it's pouring. Atsumu and his truck save the day.

WORD COUNT: 1,950 words

TAGS: Feelings Realization; Friends to Lovers; Fluff; Post-Time Skip

NOTES: Do I write too much of Atsumu? I don't know and I don't care! Also, not beta-read. It's 2 AM as I post this so hopefully the amount of typos is not overwhelming

Read on AO3

The rain is relentless against the pavement and soaks Y/N down to the bone. The nice jacket his mother bought him for his birthday two years ago does nothing to keep him dry. It’s actually just weighing him down as the rest of his clothes stick to his body. He should find somewhere dry and wait for the rain to lighten up, but he just wants to be home already.

Y/N usually enjoys his walks home from his calculus lecture. Some days he listens to an audiobook or calls Atsumu to hear about what crazy things the MSBY Black Jackals have been up to. Although Atsumu may be annoying at times, he’s a phenomenal storyteller when he wants to be, and Y/N likes listening to stories after suffering through his three-hour calculus lecture. Atsumu also loves talking, so it works out well.

His phone buzzes inside his bag, signaling he’s gotten a text, but he refuses to pull it out. The rain will just ruin it, and he doesn’t have enough money to replace it. He imagines it’s Atsumu asking if Y/N is home yet or if he’s sound shelter to wait out the storm. Atsumu prefers calling over texting, says it’s easier to say what he needs to than type it out, but he waits until Y/N calls him because Y/N likes texting more.

His phone buzzes again in his bag—several more times, actually. There’s the possibility that it may not be Atsumu texting him. It could be Osamu, asking the same questions as Atsumu while also probably questioning him if he still has enough to eat since he meal preps for Y/N.

“It amazes me ya’ve survived this long,” Osamu said one day when staring into Y/N’s bare fridge. Two days later, he brought a myriad of containers of food, all labeled of what they were and smiley faces next to the messy kanji.

Y/N has always been thankful for the meals Osamu makes him, because he knows it does take time out of Osamu’s day, (also Osamu will not let him pay him for the food—was actually insulted when Y/N mentioned it) but he’s really thankful for those meals right now. All he wants to do is shower, put on some warm clothes, and heat up some food before watching the newest J-Drama he’s found on Netflix. The rain hasn’t put him in a cozy mood, but a mood that requires a cozy atmosphere to fix.

Lightning strikes across the sky, and Y/N really should find somewhere dry, but he’s so close to his apartment. There’s no point in stopping now. In roughly five minutes, he’ll be walking up the most likely flooded steps to his apartment. That’s what he tells himself when thunder shakes the ground beneath his feet.

For the first time in 10 minutes, a truck drives by him. Well, the truck actually slows down and matches his pace. It’s really his luck that he’s going to be killed in the pouring rain. It’s probably karma from not stopping. It’d really help if he could make out what the truck looks like, but it’s raining too hard to get a clear look. However, he faintly hears the truck window roll down slightly.

“What the hell do ya think you’re doin’?” Atsumu’s familiar voice yells over the rain. Relief crashes over Y/N because that means he’s not going to be kidnapped or killed.

“Walking home,” Y/N yells back so Atsumu can hear him, and he wonders how Atsumu knew it was him. The rain is coming down too hard for Y/N to make out the faded red truck Atsumu refuses to give up. It doesn’t matter that it’s quickly becoming a piece of shit with how terrible of a driver he is, he’s attached to the damn thing. “What are you doing?”

“Lookin’ for ya, obviously,” Atsumu says, and Y/N’s heart races a little. It must be because lightning makes an appearance once again, lighting up the gray sky. “Ya’ve not been answerin’ anyone’s texts or calls.”

Y/N rolls his eyes, even though he doubts Atsumu can see him. “I’m being rained on. Why would I get my phone out?”

“Why are ya lettin’ yerself get rained on?” Atsumu asks, as if that’s the real question. “I would’ve come and gotten ya if ya just texted me.”

It’s not a confession of anything, because Atsumu tells him that all the time. He tells Y/N how he doesn’t need to be so independent and can rely on him whenever he needs to. Atsumu is just like that, though. He’s so dedicated to the people and things he cares about, and really, Y/N is amazed he’s part of the small list of people Atsumu likes enough to consider his friends.

“It’s not that far of a walk,” Y/N says, and it thunders again. A sense of reality washes over him because if he stays out in the rain much longer, he’s going to end up sick. Being sick will make Atsumu fret over him by trying to take care of him while insulting him at the same time. It wouldn’t be such a terrible thought if Atsumu wasn’t so terrible at taking care of sick people. “Or at least not far enough that I thought to bother you.”

Atsumu stops the truck, and Y/N stops as well. He could just keep walking, but he doesn’t know how Atsumu will respond to that. Maybe driving up on the sidewalk to actually stop Y/N from walking away.

“You’re such an idiot,” Atsumu snaps, and Y/N flinches a little. “Get in the damn truck so I can take ya home.”

“My clothes are soaked,” Y/N says, and he wishes he could see Atsumu. It’s hard to fully know what Atsumu is thinking when he can’t see him.

“And?  Get in the truck.”

“I’m going to get your truck all wet if I get in,” Y/N says, but he’s walking up to the door now.

“It’s already gettin’ all wet with the window bein’ down, so hurry your ass up,” Atsumu says, and Y/N grabs the door handle. His grip on it isn’t great because of how wet his hands are, but he manages to open it without issue.

Atsumu is soaked as well, which explains why he doesn’t care about Y/N’s clothes being wet. He really looks like he was nearly drowned, as if he was out in the rain for a while, but Y/N doubts he looks any better.

“Why are you soaked?” Y/N asks as the door closes. Atsumu’s hair is plastered against his head, but he still runs his fingers through it, and excess water runs down his wrist.

“I had to get out to my truck somehow,” Atsumu says, and the rain comes down harder, making the truck shake a little. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself, cause if ya get sick, I ain’t takin’ care of ya.”

It’s unsaid, but they both know Atsumu will take care of him as he always does. Y/N does the same when Atsumu isn’t feeling well—physically and emotionally. They’re just there for each other in a way that doesn’t translate across the board. Because Osamu may meal prep for Y/N and Y/N may help him out in the restaurant sometimes, but they wouldn’t do the things Y/N and Atsumu do for each other. Y/N wouldn’t go over to Osamu’s house when he’s sick to take care of him, sleeping in the living room so he’s not alone for too long.

(Although, Atsumu does have Osamu. He doesn’t really need Y/N, but that’s never been talked about. Osamu just lets Y/N in and says he has to go check on his restaurant before leaving Y/N to care for Atsumu. Really, it’s a strange thing, but it’s somehow understood without saying anything.)

“Worry about yourself,” Y/N says as he rolls his eyes. “You’re more likely to get sick out of the two of us.”

“Am not!” Atsumu says as he starts driving toward Y/N’s apartment. “I’m an athlete, which means I have the strongest immune system ever.”

Y/N chuckles because Atsumu is the one who gets sick more often out of the two of them. “I’m pretty sure Sakusa-kun is the one with the strongest immune system.”

“We ain’t talkin’ bout Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, and his accent is coming out just a little more. It always does when they have these small, meaningless arguments. He’s always been one to get worked up over small things, even when he says he’s not. “We’re talkin’ bout ya and how you’re terrible when you’re sick.”

“I think you’re getting me confused with you,” Y/N says as he presses the back of his head against the headrest. A shiver runs up his spine, and he realizes Atsumu has the air on. “Why the fuck do you have the air on?  Do you want us to get a cold?

Atsumu glares at him as he turns the air off. “Is it to yer likin’ now?”

Y/N hums. “Yes, thank you.”

His apartment appears in the window, and excitement rushes through him. All he can think about are the things that motivated him to even walk in the rain, and Atsumu is an added bonus. Atsumu can take a shower too since he has clothes at Y/N’s apartment, and they’ll watch that J-Drama and eat some food together.

Atsumu’s sudden silence has Y/N look over at him, and Atsumu’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly it’s concerning. Y/N just stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out what’s suddenly brought on this behavior. Atsumu has always been someone who just says what he’s thinking or feeling, and when he doesn’t, it still shows. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve; he wears it proudly on his chest for everyone to see. Y/N just catches on better than most.

“Do you want to come in?  I still have meals Osamu-kun made,” Y/N says, and Atsumu’s grip on the steering wheel loosens.

“Really?” Atsumu asks, and he sounds like an excited child.

Y/N chuckles. “Yes, really.”

Atsumu’s smile is bright and warm as they pull into the parking lot. Y/N smiles with him, and the familiar warmth he associates with Atsumu blooms in his chest. When Atsumu looks at him, it only grows to burn a little. It’s when Atsumu unbuckles his seatbelt Y/N realizes that part of him would’ve been crushed if Atsumu had said no. He would’ve understood, but having Atsumu with him will improve his mood better than any J-Drama will.

They look each other in the eyes, and Y/N gently tilts his head a little. “You didn’t get soaked just running out to your truck, did you?”

Atsumu’s smile falters slightly, as if he’s been caught, and his cheeks turn a gentle pink. Y/N nearly laughs, but he holds it in, just like he holds in the urge to run his fingers through Atsumu’s soaked hair. The brassiness in it has Y/N making a mental note to buy Atsumu more purple shampoo. After a moment, Atsumu chuckles a little.

“No, I didn’t,” Atsumu confesses before unbuckling his seat belt. “I didn’t realize the math buildin’ was so big.”

Y/N actually laughs this time. “Yeah, but next time I’ll make it easier to find me.”

Atsumu’s blush only grows to cover his entire face. “Ya better.”

[spookwyrdie]

Sweet Spot {part 2}

{part 1}{part 2}{part 3}{part 4}{part 5}{part 6}

Baker Felix x Florist reader

summary: Setting up for an actual wedding is a lot of work, especially when you can't stop thinking about the dream you had about Felix. Is floral prep enough to distract you? That becomes a huge challenge when Felix helps you out in your time of need. // genre: fluff, angst if you squint // word count: 3.1k // warnings: adult dialogue, sexual themes //a/n: This chapter isn't explicit, but it'll be worth the wait. if you're not on the taglist and would like to be, please reply to this post or send me an ask!🥰

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity, so you didn’t have an extra moment to spare to even think about Felix and the dream. You didn’t have to think about the way your heart thumped uncomfortably in your chest at the memory of Dream Felix’s hands roaming your body. If you found yourself with an extra moment of downtime, the memory would flood your thoughts, heating you up and bringing a flush to your cheek. It was such a visceral dream. You could almost feel the ghost of his fingers digging into your hips, controlling the speed of your thrusts. But with the ever lengthening to-do list to get all the florals done before this wedding, you had the perfect distraction from the new wave of feeling for Felix. 

Well, it was the perfect distraction - until you needed help the night before the wedding. Your humble little floral business was just you and Hyunjin, and both of you had been working overtime to deal with the last minute bohemian aesthetic switch. Your fingers were rubbed raw by all the armature wire and wayward thorns that found their way into your thumbs. It was an all-hands-on-deck situation, so you called in the reinforcements. 

By the time the back-up arrives in the shape of Chan, Minho, and Felix, your apartment looks like the garden supply section of a home improvement store exploded. You have deep bags under your eyes when you answer the door. Relief spreads on your face at the sight of the three extra pairs of hands, ready to lighten some of this blossom burden. 

“Sorry for the mess, I had to take out most of the food from my fridge to make room for these flowers,” you say sheepishly. “The fridge at the shop is already packed.”

Hyunjin waves at them without looking up from his position hunched over on the floor, counting the bundles of pampas grass, baby’s breath, and Queen Anne’s lace.

“Y/n, this is way too much. I hope you’ve upped your fee for this,” Minho says, eyeing the different greenery strewn around the floor of your apartment. “A big last minute change like this warrants more money.”

“Yeah, I know, maybe I’ll try to talk to Johnny sometime about it.”

“Definitely talk to Johnny about it,” Chan adds. “Don’t let any client rip you off, especially not your ex.”

“You also look like you need some rest,” Felix says, coming up behind you and resting his hands on your shoulders. The protest rising in your throat dies immediately as he starts to knead lightly into your tense muscles. Your eyes close for a moment, leaning into the comforting touch, tilting your head forward as his thumbs rub an even rhythm up the back of your neck. His deep voice, so close you can feel his breath ghost along your skin, breaks you out of your reverie when he says, “So what do you need us to do?”

You clear your throat as your head snaps back up. 

“Right, so…”

You give them each a task - Minho adding final touches to the corsages and boutonnieres, Hyunjin putting together the bridesmaids bouquets and table arrangements, then handing them to Chan for the finishing ribbon. Which leaves you and Felix on your own. This wouldn’t be an issue under normal circumstances, but having a sex dream about one of your best friends isn’t exactly the most normal circumstance. Your focus goes to the flowers, avoiding eye contact with Felix. The two of you are hunched over the separate parts of the arch, wrapping and securing the vines, leaves, and grasses onto the armature. You try not to notice when your fingers brush, sending a tingle through your hands.

After the fifth time you yawn, Felix leans forward to catch your eye, concern written on his face. “Y/n, you are literally about to fall asleep standing up. We can take it from here, you go lay down.”

“No!” you shake your head vigorously, blinking to keep yourself awake. “I have to make sure all of this stuff gets finished.”

“The rest of us are here and Hyunjin knows how to store everything until tomorrow,” he implores. “You need to get some sleep before set-up tomorrow.”

You blink slowly, like a frog, as you look from him, to Hyunjin, Chan, and Minho on the floor. Felix sighs, putting down the wire cutters, and taking your hand. Silently, he leads you to your bedroom, ignoring your exhausted whining. You shuffle in, immediately face planting onto your mattress. You feel Felix pulling the blanket around your body, tucking you in.

“Don’t worry, Y/n. We will handle the rest of this,” he murmurs, deep voice lulling you to sleep. “Also, don’t forget to send me the address tomorrow for the venue. I’ll meet you there after I finish up with a delivery.”

You hum in agreement, too drowsy to form words, eyelids heavy. The room is quiet as you feel yourself begin to drift off. You assume Felix had left until you hear a small whisper in your ear. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says as he presses a gentle, lingering kiss to your temple.

~~~

The morning is a full frenzy. Before dawn, you and Hyunjin nearly trip over each other to load up the van, playing a floral version of tetris. With the wedding venue being nearly an hour and a half drive away, you were double and triple checking your inventory before heading out. You did sleep pretty well last night once Felix forced you to stop working and go to bed.

Just as you were about to jump into the passenger's seat, Hyunjin asks “Y/n, aren’t you forgetting something?”

You go down your mental checklist, everything seems in order - the garlands are all boxed properly, the table arrangements and vases are stacked carefully, the floral arch is broken down into its separate pieces for traveling. You made sure every petal and leaf was accounted for.

“No, I don’t think so. What?”

Hyunjin stares at you, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at your clothes and back up. “Sweetie, your dress?”

You gasp, jogging back up to your apartment to grab the outfit you painstakingly put together for this wedding. The garment bag with your dress, your overnight clothes, and all of the things you need to look presentable, hangs neatly on your bedroom door. This is the first wedding that you’ve been both hired for and invited to attend. It would have been simple to set up all the flowers and then leave, but you have a strange sense of dignity that you need to uphold when it comes to your condescending ex. Of course you’ll show up, and you’ll even have a very good looking date joining you.

That warm rush of arousal burns through you again at the thought of introducing Felix as your date - no, your boyfriend. Truth be told, the idea of playing pretend with Felix for one night like this excited you. It was actually his idea to pretend you were dating, it would make your success seem all that more believable. You could tuck this memory away for the future, a snapshot of what it could be like if Felix reciprocated your feelings. 

You trot back to the van, hanging your garment back up on one of the hooks in the back. Anxiety bubbles up in your chest as you settle in for the mini road trip to the venue. At the last minute, you remember to text Felix the address.

you: the address for the venue is 143 Myrtle Way. you: sorry that it’s a bit of a trek. 🌻Felix: are you sure this is the right address? you: yeah, why? 🌻Felix: no reason, just double checking.  🌻Felix: see you soon 🥰

~~~

You hate admitting that Johnny and Jenny picked a lovely venue for their wedding. It’s deep in wine country, a smaller venue for the expected 100 guests, at the perfect time of summer. There’s a semi-outdoor section for the ceremony, attached to a lovely covered reception hall, all within a few hundred feet of the actual resort where most of the guests and wedding party are going to stay. Everything is lush and green surrounding the area. Even in the early morning light, you take a moment to soak in the crisp air.

When you and Hyunjin arrive around 7 AM, the sun is just beginning to peek over the horizon. Even though it’s not for a few hours, you get to work unloading. You’ve always been an “err on the side of caution” type when it comes to being early to a place. Staff shuffles you in to begin bringing in load after load of flowers. The main ceremony hall is where you start, hanging all the garlands and tulle around as planned. Hyunjin holds a stepladder while you start pinning up the hanging greenery, hands tinged green from handling all the leaves and vines.

It’s a little after 9 AM and you’re about halfway done with the main hall. You sigh, rolling your tense shoulders and neck, wishing you had the extra pairs of help hands you had last night. The memory of Felix pressing a kiss to your temple burns through you suddenly. Did he really do that? Was that just something you made up as you drifted off? Maybe your anxious brain wanted to soothe you a little before such a big event. 

You reach up to pin another vine when you sense a person next to you. Assuming it’s Hyunjin, you say, “Could you hand me that spool of twine, hun?”

“Hun?” a deep voice responds. “Is that my new pet name?”

You squeak, slipping a little from the surprise. Two hands grab your waist to steady you on the stepladder. 

“Careful, Y/n!” Felix chuckles.  “People might think you’re falling for me.”

“Felix! Why are you here so early?!”

He saunters around you, picking up the twine and reaches up to hand it to you.

“Is that anyway to greet your boyfriend?” His voice is bubbly and light, contrasting with his deep tone. “I got done with my delivery earlier than expected, so I figured I’d come and help you set up.”

“O-oh,” you stammer. “Thanks, Lixie.”

He smiles as you take the twine from his hand, his whole face lighting up. It makes the butterflies in your stomach start to swarm. 

Felix’s help is a huge relief. He seems to anticipate your needs, handing you things before you even ask, grabbing you a coffee and some food to help you perk up a little. The biggest relief is how he eases your nerves about the actual wedding you're decorating for currently.

Hyunjin is inside working on the table arrangements while you and Felix finally start on the arch. Right where the bride and groom will be standing, you snap all the pieces together, Felix helping hold all of the parts up while you handle the screwdriver. The spot at the top has been tricky, holding your arms far above your head and nearly standing on your tiptoes to attach the metal armature together. 

“I’m going to try something, okay?” Felix says, watching you struggle from his position of holding the stepladder steady. Before you even have time to process what happens, he wraps his arms around your thighs, hugging tightly, and lifting you up a few more inches. You gasp, hands shaking as you try to finish up what you’re working on. When you finally get the screw cinched down, you look down at him.

The way his eyes are literally sparkling as he holds you up with so little effort has that same heat pooling in your belly. He looks like the sun incarnate, a warm glow seems to emanate from him as he smiles up at you. You feel your cheeks heat at his rapt attention. Other parts of you also heat up when you realize how close his face is to your core. Your mind floods with images of what he would look like between your legs in a different context, and you feel a jolt of desire burn through your body. 

“You can put me down now Felix,” you whisper.

“Oh!” he starts, broken out of his trance. “Yeah, of course.”

But he doesn’t just set you down. The grip he has on your thighs loosens slightly as he lets gravity drag you down slowly. Your whole body is pressed up against his as you slide down, feeling every inch of his torso. His hands caress up your hips as you move down. Once your feet touch the ground, he doesn’t let you go, holding you close in his embrace. You’re almost at eye level with him, faces so close you can feel his breath against your skin. His hands splay across your back, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater. Fluttering in your chest, your heartbeat feels like it’s about to burst as he leans his face in, closing the distance one millimeter at a time.

“Felix, I-”

Just then, the door to the seating area bursts open. Jenny, wrapped in a fuzzy white bathrobe, her brown hair in curlers, is marching towards you with a frazzled Hyunjin following behind her. You gasp, pushing Felix away, clearing your throat.

“Hey Jenny!” The adrenaline pumping through you from the shock makes your voice waver a little.

“Y/n, I need to see my bouquet RIGHT NOW,” Jenny says, distress painted on her features.

“S-sure, let me take you to the fridge.”

Hyunjin mouths ‘sorry’ as he shrugs, clearly this was out of his hands. You leave Felix and Hyunjin in the main hall and lead Jenny to the kitchen area, her slippers slapping against the tile. Her anxiety is palpable, you can almost taste it. You reach into the fridge towards the back, wanting to keep these blooms in the best condition.

“If you want to make any changes, I brought some extra flowers and greens just in case,” you say cautiously as you bring out the bouquet. It was just like you two had agreed on during the last consultation,  a muted tone bouquet of white, cream, and pink. There are different types of grasses like white bunny tail puffs and longer fronds of pampas framing the light blooms. Leaves of a sage green pop through to complement the blooms. A few quail feathers placed in between some of the grasses peek through, giving the texture more depth. 

She’s silent as she wrings her hands, a deep crease of worry marks her brow. You wait, trying to gauge her reaction - does she love it? Hate it?

“Y/n, I-” she squeaks. “It’s lovely. I’m sorry. I just got all up in my head about today and then Johnny texted me something, so I had to check.”

“Huh? What did Johnny text you?”

“He said something about the bouquet being wrong. He kind of implied that you were doing a bad job on purpose.”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her breathing panicked now. “The stress is just, like, getting to me I guess.” 

She slumps against the counter, placing her forehead against the cold countertop. You return the bouquet to the cold of the fridge, and turn around. She’s shaking a little as she leans over the counter, her breath shuddering. You tentatively reach your hand out to place it on her back, rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, Jen. I know the planning has to be stressful.”

“Yeah,” Jenny’s voice comes out so small, muffled against the counter. “I don’t know. I never thought I’d get cold feet, but now they’re, like, freezing.”

She lifts her head to look at you, eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake with him?”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, balking at her question. The two of you have never been close, this whole exchange has been well outside your comfort zone.

“No, I don’t,” you say. “I think you two work so well together. You’re Jenny and Johnny!”

“Right but like, will I still get to be Jenny once I’m married to Johnny?”

You pause, unsure of how to respond. “I’m confident that you two work well as a unit and as independents. I think this is just pre-wedding jitters for both of you.”

She gives a slight nod, gazing off into the distance. 

“Also, to be honest, Johnny has never known shit about flowers, so what would he know about this bouquet?”

Jenny giggles, a funny hiccuping sound. 

“Do you like it? We can still make some changes,” you offer.

“No, no. I love it. It’s exactly like I pictured,” she sighs, finally coming down from her outburst. “Thanks, Y/n.”

You breathe a sigh of relief as she turns to leave. The bridesmaids are waiting outside the kitchen, having chased after her when she ran out to the lobby. They coo at her, creating a din of reassurance as they usher her back towards the dressing room. You wander back into the main hall, watching Hyunjin and Felix affix the last of the lights to the garlands, perfecting the atmosphere.

“Hey, Y/n, how did it go?” says Felix once he sees you.

“It was alright, she was just a nervous bride looking for an outlet of her stress.”

“Good, I thought she was going to explode based on how fast she was talking to me earlier,” says Hyunjin.

You chuckle at that. “Nah, she’s alright. Johnny apparently talked shit about my floral arrangement skills, so it made her really nervous. But, whatever.”

“Jerk,” quips Felix.

You hum in agreement. “It looks great in here, guys.”

“Thanks, we’re just about to finish up,” Hyunjin says. “You can go ahead and start getting ready, the ceremony starts in a couple of hours.”

Right, the actual ceremony. That sickly anxious feeling pulses through you again. Interacting with a nervous bride is one thing, but seeing your ex getting married is an entirely different beast. You take a calming breath, trying to shake the nerves.

“If you need anything, sweetie…” Felix says, placing his hand on your shoulder. Your nerves roar back to life at his simple touch. “...let me know.”

It’s wild how incredibly vulnerable one sentence can make you feel. Felix has a way of making you feel like you’re under a spotlight, but instead of sweating nervously in front of a crowd, it’s like basking in the warm glow of sunset. You get a little lost in his eyes for a moment before shaking yourself out of it. 

“Wish me luck!”

taglist: @binniesbabe @jeonginsleftcheek @ivydoesit23 @stayatinykatsy @jaquisos @mong---mong @palindrome969 @dottydarling

[nurse-buckley]

Just a silly Buck x autistic!reader because I had a big autistic meltdown the other day. No title because I am lazy and burnt out.

You hadn’t had the best day at work, and when that happened, you knew you likely weren’t in for a good night. Already overwhelmed and overstimulated, you knew one little thing could set you over the edge. Still, you were excited for a night with Buck and a few days off work.

You got the ingredients out of the fridge for chili, something home-cooked and comforting for you both to enjoy. You put on your noise-canceling headphones, played your favorite playlist, and began chopping the ingredients. Everything felt okay, and you felt yourself slowly decompressing and relaxing.

Buck had come in halfway through your ingredient prep and gave you a kiss on the cheek before he went to shower off the grime of his own shift. You placed some bread rolls on the cooking sheet and put them in the oven. The food smelled amazing, and you wanted nothing more than to just be in your comfortable clothes with the man you loved on the sofa, tucking into the meal.

As you knew all too well, though, things don’t always go to plan. The timer for the bread went off, and you grabbed it from the oven, placing it aside as you stirred the chili, trying not to let anything burn. You grabbed the bowls out of the cupboard, setting them down ready to plate up.

As you turned to grab the bread, you completely forgot how hot the cooking sheet was. The shock that the burn sent through your body sent you over the edge. Everything felt too much—the tightness of the headphones over your ears, the music that was doing well to drown out your emotions was now too loud, too overwhelming. You ripped your headphones off your ears, shaking your hands as if it would cool down the burn and take away the stinging sensation. You fell to the floor with a scream, the only way you felt you could get out your emotions that were bubbling up inside, feeling like too much and only adding to your overwhelm.

Buck heard the loud clutter followed by your scream and a thud. His heart was in his throat as he raced towards the kitchen where the commotion had come from. He saw you sitting on the floor, back against the counter, rocking back and forth gently with tears streaming down your face; short gasps coming from your lips. Buck could see the pan on the floor and the bread rolls strewn all over the kitchen from where you’d dropped the pan, and he had an idea of what had happened. He turned off the stove, moving the pan from the heat quickly before he knelt down in front of you.

You were too far gone to even notice he was there until you heard his soft voice breaking through. “Y/N, sweetheart? Talk to me. What happened?”

You looked up at him, unable to catch a breath as you held out your hand towards him. He could see the red blister already forming on your hand and looked at you with a soft expression.

“Can I touch you?” He held his palms towards you, keeping his voice low and gentle as he waited for your confirmation. You nodded, despite the overwhelm you needed someone to hold you, someone to ground you and help you regulate when you got like this. He knew he wanted to get a look at your hand first but he also knew he needed to get you calm and gain your trust before he could. He knew you were in a fragile state right now and while the burn needed treatment, you needed him more right now.

“Come here,” Buck held you in a bone-crushing hug. Something he found that often worked when your mind and body were so overwhelmed like this. His warm and solid body against yours, the grounding pressure of his hug and the smell of him had you relax a little. He kept his breathing even, which was easy for you to follow. You could hear the soft beat of his heart against your ear and the low vibration of his voice in his chest as he murmured words of comfort to you.

“There we go.”

“Breathe…”

“I’ve got you.”

You didn’t know how long he held you there for, but you didn’t care. Once he felt you relax a little in his arms, Buck softened his grip on you to get a look at your face. “Feel better?” You didn’t want to speak. You were too tired and always felt awful after a meltdown. You nodded your response, causing Buck to crack a small smile and place a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “Would it be okay if I took a look at your hand?” Your eyes widened a little as you clutched your hand closer to your chest. The last thing you wanted was to have any sort of medical attention or more pain and discomfort, but the logical side of you also knew that he needed to look.

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Buck encouraged, holding out a hand. You slowly reached out your hand and placed it in his and allowed him to turn your wrist gently to get a good look at the burn. “Okay. It’s not too bad, but we need to run it under some cold water and put some burn gel.”

“What about dinner? I ruined it…” you said, getting a look at the mess of bread and crumbs on the floor and the smoking pot of chili that you knew by the smell had burnt.

Buck could see you beating yourself up and getting in your head again and was quick to stop you. “You didn’t ruin anything sweetheart. It happens; you’re not to blame.”

He guided you to the bathroom with a protective hand around your waist and sat you on the edge of the bathtub as he turned on the faucet and held your hand underneath. You hissed and tried to pull your hand away but Buck’s hold was firm but gentle as he held it in place, “I know sweetheart. I’m sorry.” After you’d held your hand under the running water for long enough, Buck gently patted your hand dry and applied a layer of the burn cream and bandaid to hold it in place.

He helped you to your feet and guided you to the sofa, placing a soft blanket over your lap. “I’m going to clean up and then we’re going to get take out, ice cream and watch a movie cuddled up together. How does that sound?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile. It wasn’t the perfect night the two of you had planned, but it wasn’t over yet and you were going to try not to let anything else ruin it. With Buck by your side, that’s all you needed.

[ikemenomegas]

Megumi is not good at cooking. Not the way that Tsumiki is. He remembers how she used to stretch their meager meals. To this day, he cannot perfectly recreate the warm kakitamajiru she'd made, powdered ginger, thin sliced scallion, white pepper. But she always could. She tells him there's no secret ingredient, but there has to be, if only that it's his sister's hands which made it.

That is not to say he cannot cook. He's good at following recipes. Gojo's more than once ruffled his hair in the morning, thanking him for the leftovers in the fridge (and despite his denial Gojo-san is picky). But it's never the same.

At first, you'd thought it was some weird, chauvinistic holdover and had been fully prepared to absolutely tear into Gojo about it. Megumi's a bit embarrassed about that (one of the few almost-fights he'd witnessed between the two of you), but he exhales softly as you wrap an arm around his shoulders, patting his hair as he leans against you in the kitchen.

You now think that it's funny, but it's also cute because when Megumi really wants to eat something that tastes better than mine, he'll do literally everything up to and including prep, and also dishes after.

He's young with time to learn, but it's considerate while also being sad. You do appreciate it, but before you all moved to campus, Megumi kept his own room tidy, made plenty of his own meals, avoided asking to do any kind of extracurricular which could cost you and Gojo either time or money. It was difficult to teach him to be a child and you'd never quite managed it with either Megumi or Tsumiki - both of them resistant to being taken care of, both of them too early acquainted with the reality that some people read care and saw burden.

Megumi leans against your shoulder as you stroke his hair, fluffy soft, a smile on your lips as you wait for a couple tomatoes to blanch.

You don't tell him he didn't have. You grin, remembering the adorable little growl he'd made last time. It's good to see him being a bit of a brat, comfortable with it.

"Thanks," you say instead, and he leans heavier for a second before standing straight, freeing your arm to dish out the tomatoes into a bowl. He even takes them to the sink, peeling the loosened skin, the mealy inner portion getting under his nails.

You are so grateful that Megumi has already sliced up the onions and put them in water just how you like them.

You're slicing the tomatoes into wedges, Megumi standing back at your shoulder like him watching you do this for the seventh time will finally give him the answer, when you start talking.

"You know, my mom used to make this for me. They've got a garden." Lots of people in the countryside have gardens. "And we got tons of tomatoes every year. And it doesn't matter how many times I make it. I think hers will always be better."

Megumi looks from your hands to your face and then slowly back again as you scrape the cut half up onto the flat of the knife and into a bowl and then start on a new one.

"She says the same thing about her parents' food," you smile. "Her dad's gyoza. She's very sure that filling is better than anything she ever made for us growing up."

The look on your face is so soft it makes Megumi's face warm and something comfortable-uncomfortable wanted-unwanted twist in his stomach.

You nudge him. "Save about a few slices for the salad?"

He nods and gets you another bowl to set the sliced tomato aside.

You set about putting together the rest of the meal while he trails behind. Blanching thinly sliced beef, pointing out what needed to be mixed for a gingery vinaigrette, stir frying tomatoes, eggs, onions, chicken, lotus roots, napa, noodles...

He mumbles an apology when his stomach growls as he's setting out two places. It's an awful lot of food for a night when Gojo-san isn't coming around, maybe he just had big eyes when he was pulling everything out.

You just laugh. "It's almost done. You can start, don't wait."

But he does, carrying plates from the counter to the table for you and giving you such a puppyish stare when you don't sit down fast enough it makes you abandon wiping down a spot of flour to pull off your apron an sit across from him.

"itadakimasu," he murmurs, politely pressing his palms together as you do the same.

He closes his eyes a little longer than necessary to savor.

"Yours still tastes better."

If you could reach him, you're pretty sure you'd be happily making his hair even more of a mess than it already is right now. There's a secret, complicated look on your face, although he's sure it's mostly happy. And in the end you just say,

"Thanks, Megumi."

"Mm," he replies, holding out his bowl as you offer him another spoonful of noodles.

[itsabouttimex2]

Yandere Alphabet: Red Son

Authority: Do they see themselves as above their obsession?

Yes, yes, and yes. A thousand times over. Red Son’s pride is unmitigatable, an ever-searing pillar of his person. Y/N is viewed as a silly mortal pet, with a collar to boot. Though his opinion of you might eventually improve to seeing you as something of a friend, it still wouldn’t be great.

Bread: Can they cook or bake? Is their obsession responsible for their own food?

So long as they don’t injure themselves further than a mild burn or cut, Y/N is allowed free roam in the kitchen, allowed to make themselves what they please. Good behavior earns them a little fridge all to themselves, stocked with healthy snacks and ingredients they enjoy- Red Son can be generous, when he wants to be.

Not that he won’t steal from your plate if the things you cook look good enough. In a way, it elevates your status with him, sharing food with you as family would.

If you do get hurt too bad, Red revokes your access to the stove, oven, and knives. He’ll starts to make your meals for you, with the addendum that you help with the non-dangerous stages of food prep. Of course, what’s actually happening is that he’s making extra portions of what he likes, then giving it to you. Let’s hope you like spicy food.

Cruentus- How do they respond to Y/N being hurt, both slightly and severely?

Immediate scorching of whoever dared to lay their hands on property of the Demon Bull Family ensues, and then continues until their flesh has carbonized. Red Son will clean and bind your wounds with a firm hand, viciously scolding you for daring to put yourself in a position where you might be harmed in the first place. “My family has a reputation to maintain, you numbskull! If anyone sees you damaged, what will they think of us?!”

This lecture will occur even if the perpetrator broke into the Demon Bull fortress and smashed down the door of your room to get to you. After some time has passed, he’ll feel slightly bad for blaming you, and bring you something sugary to drink.

If the wound is minor, like a cut or scratch, Red Son will scoff at the weakness of your skin and ignore it, mocking you as ‘whiny’ and ‘pathetic’. If the issue persists, he’ll steal a few high quality first aid kits from a hospital and throw them onto your shelf.

Disengage- What’s their response to being ignored?

Laughter. Mocking, howling laughter. And then an immediate removal of privileges and freedom until they ‘grow up’, in Red’s own words.

Enclosure: Where do they keep Y/N? Do they have a place for them at all?

In the Demon Bull Family’s Fortress. Y/N has a section in Red Son’s room all to themselves, with a little mattress and small shelf to fit several personal possessions. During the beginning of their captivity, Y/N will be shown a length of chain bolted to the wall with a shackle on one end- a warning that freedom is now a privilege, not a right. You’ll have to wear it all through the night for many months on end if you make any escape attempts.

Facade: Are they good at hiding their true intentions?

No. But that’s only because doesn’t even try. The most he’ll do is lie to his parents about the depth of his obsession- and they’re willing to believe (for a time) that he merely wanted an amusing little pet to keep him company.

Garment: Do they take control of Y/N’s clothes?

Yes, to a stifling extreme. Red Son will torch the entirety of your wardrobe in order to replace it with something more suited to him and the tastes of his family- expect lots of red and purple. Secretly, Red enjoys matching with you. He might spare a few pieces of your clothing from his fire if you argue to their sentimental value. Also, he’ll do your hair, likely in a way that resembles his mother’s style. He might even force you to grow it out so that he can pin it up in twin ‘bull horns’.

Again, he forces you to wear a collar stamped with the family insignia (pictured here twice, the Chinese word for ‘bull’, written in bone script), but good behavior will have him upgrade you to a large pendant instead.

Also, you’re getting a bindi/tattoo like his- but only after he’s shifted you from ‘pet’ to ‘sibling’.

Handicap: How do they handle Y/N being or becoming disabled?

Unfortunately, a disabled Y/N in the clutches of Red Son is very likely to be the victim of humiliation and dehumanization- for a time. As his affection and care for you grows, the blade of his pendulum swings. He switches quickly from constant mockery and boundary stomping to stifling care and strict restriction. One day he’ll be kicking your crutch or hiding your anxiety meds while you panic, the next he’s demanding you to relegate yourself to the constant use of a wheelchair and punishing you for not taking your medicine where he can see it.

Intertwine- How physical are they? Do they enjoy skinship and touch?

Red Son is pretty reserved in terms of touch- he’ll accept minor displays of physical affection, but rarely initiates. When he does, you can expect condescending headpats and lots of hair brushing. If you’re feeling particularly down, he’ll muster up a half-hearted hug, awkwardly thumping your back.

Jaunt: Are they willing to take Y/N out in public? Where do they go?

No. Not unless they’re willing to be led around by the aforementioned shackle, the chains rattling with each step taken. However, Red Son might teleport them to somewhere isolated and empty for a few minutes, allowing them a little bit of fresh air as a quick reward for compliance and obedience.

Kindness: What brings out the best in this yandere?

The Crystal Heir AU leaves him extremely protective towards Y/N, acknowledging their trauma and suffering- and he works to be a better person for them.

Alternatively, when you get very sick- Red Son will stay beside you all the while, stuffing you with water, medicine, and hand-made soup. Having you completely vulnerable only serves to make him softer, given that you can’t fight or sass him- he might even cuddle you once or twice, letting you rest against his ever-warm body.

Limitation: What holds them back? Work? Family obligations? Physical weakness?

His family’s goals and ambitions are always at the fore of Red’s mind, a perpetual desire to please them. Given the time he has to spend planning or tinkering, Y/N does have time to themselves- enough to plan or attempt an escape, if they can muster the courage.

Morals: What lines are they not willing to cross?

Any form of ‘rigorous’ discipline or outright abuse. Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning your thighs or whipping you hands, and wouldn’t ever beat you outright. You might get slapped on the back of the head or receive a sharp swat on your nose- but he wouldn’t really go any further. Also, no deliberately putting Y/N in danger. He’s just not risking it.

Nausea: Can they tend to an illness, or would they rely on a doctor?

He handles it himself. As mentioned before, Red Son plies you with water, soup, and medicine. He’ll restrict you to his own bed, sleeping in the guest room as you recover- and he’ll sneak in during the night to wipe the sweat from your brow and refill your glass.

Obcordate: What reminds them of Y/N?

Food and drink with warming (but not spicy) spices, like cookies with a dash of ginger and cinnamon. Stray dogs that would be better off taken in hand and brought somewhere safe. Any little flower that’s blooming all alone.

Pacify: How do they comfort Y/N? Do they even bother trying?

Jokes aside, he’s not too great- but there’ll be some mild, concerned effort. Maybe just lay your head in his lap and let him play with your hair- it’s more comfortable for him trying to give you a hug or pep talk.

Queue: Do they have something of equal or greater importance to Y/N?

His family. Red’s obsession with Y/N will never come before his love for his parents, even after they find themselves forcibly ‘adopted’.

Redemption: Could they grow out of their obsession and make amends with Y/N?

Unlikely, but not impossible. After several months/years spent spent with them, Red Son will grow more protective and less cruel, but his obsession never really fades.

Sobriquet- What nicknames do for they have for their obsession?

Many mocking and insulting epithets are bestowed upon Y/N, the most frequent being, you guessed it- peasant. If Red Son grows particularly angry, he’ll get more threatening with his wording, referring to you as ‘kindling’ or ‘firewood’.

After a few months spent in captivity, he might refer to you as little sister (妹妹) or little brother (弟弟). These moments are fleeting, but impossibly soft and genuine- and after a few months or even years spent acclimating to your new life, you might see fit to call him older brother (哥哥).

Troop: How many people do they obsess over? Is that obsession spread equally?

Just one- Y/N.

Underdog: Who‘s on the yandere’s side? Would they help out?

His parents are massive enablers, unfortunately. So what if their son has a little mortal pet? They want to take over the world- Red Son taking one of the mortals that they wish to subjugate as a slave/pet/companion does not bother them at all.

Though they do find you to be very cute- especially when Red Son forces you to dress and style yourself like a member of their family.

Vocalize: How do they justify their actions?

Red doesn’t bother- he doesn’t need justification. He wanted Y/N, so he took them. The end, with no regret.

White Whale: Why do they pursue Y/N? What caused this obsessive love?

Probably they do one or two nice things for him and he snatches them up, not unlike a human adopting a cute and friendly stray. The bulk of his obsession comes later, after he’s spent enough time to start caring about you.

Xanthous: What do they really want?

Approval, attention, and affection. Red Son switches from desperately seeking his father’s pride and love to demanding to have yours, finding it a much easier goal to achieve.

Youth: How old is Y/N in comparison to them? Younger, same age, or older?

Given that they’re almost invariably a mortal he finds amusing, Y/N is much younger.

Zealous: Do they pursue Y/N doggedly, or are they more laidback and casual with their approach?

Red Son is extremely casual the majority of the time- he’s entitled and prideful to the point that he sees nothing wrong with what he’s doing. Why would he be anything but relaxed?

Author’s Choice 1: What do Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King think of Y/N?

Iron Fan thinks of you as adorable when Red Son styles your hair like hers, and might even throw some of her old clothes your way- they’re abraded to softness and cozy to sleep in, offering some comfort during long nights. She’s not too opposed to having you as part of the family, even if she has to help her son “train” you into obedience and politeness.

The Demon Bull King uses you as practice for his future rule over mortals, making demands of you. He chuckles as you scurry about to fulfill them, trying hard to avoid his ire. Occasionally he’ll lift you by the scruff of your shirt, examining you closely. It’s fun to watch you yelp and kick, fearful that he’ll drop or crush you- he won’t actually do either, to his credit. It’s just funny to him that you think he might.

[shuuuuush]

I WOULD FIGHT FOR YOU ANYDAY [Kenny]

Summary: Kenny gets into a fight with someone who was talking bad about you behind your back.

Warnings: mentions of fighting and injury

A/N: I don't think I've seen many Kenny fics, so here's for Kenny lovers out there 🫶

*** ***

*** ***

They say there is nothing like coming home and collapsing onto the sofa after a long and tiring day. In your opinion, anyway, it's the second best thing, the first is collapsing and going into a long hug with your boyfriend, Kenny.

You were out all day hanging out with some friends and just came home a few minutes before 8. You had gone grocery shopping half an hour earlier as you wanted to make Kenny his favourite dessert, apple crumble. And you haven't really cooked much for him lately, so you also wanted it to be a surprise.

Usually, he comes home at 9 on normal days. Depending on other days, he has boxing training, to which you mostly stay at home by yourself. But you knew today he had to shoot a video, so he'll be back at the normal time.

Cleaning yourself up and prepping the dinner, you got started on making the dessert. You smile as you remember watching Kenny's Come Dine With Me video. You remember his reaction to you laughing at his cooking skills, you love him but it was horrendous.

"I probably made a better apple crumble than you." He said, pouting at your laughing figure.

You grin, shaking your head. "Oh, I definitely make a better apple crumble." You said, still recovering from laughter.

After half an hour, the dessert was prepared, you left it on the counter to cool. All that was left was the waiting game.

5 minutes, Sitting on the couch, you decided to turn on the TV, just to wait out the time.

25 minutes, looking at the clock, you sighed. Maybe they just had a long day to record.

40 minutes, scrolling through your phone, debating whether or not to call him. You didn't want to disturb him either as it might interfere with their video. You ended up not calling him.

1 hour later. At this point, you concluded that Kenny was either not coming home or is going to come home very, very late. And the food was already cold, so you wrapped it up and put it in the fridge.

You sighed, looking at the clock once more, 10:21 pm. You decided to head to bed instead, halfway up the stairs you're thinking, maybe you should've called him. Pulling out your phone, you suddenly hear the jingling of keys unlocking the front door.

Running back down the stairs, heading towards the front door, you're about to question the man you love.

"Ken, you better have an amazing explanation fo-" You cut yourself off suddenly when you saw him. He had bruises on his face and a cut on his lip, clutching his left arm as he locked the door and drops his keys on the table.

"Hey love, sorry I was late..." His voice was lower than a whisper as he glanced briefly at your shocked figure than away.

A sudden hurt hit your heart after seeing his face. Your eyes widened, and you stood in shock for a split second before you quickly came over to help him. Bringing him over to the sofa and setting him down, careful not to hurt him.

You quickly went to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, and you wet a small face towel. Rushing back to Kenny, you sat down and carefully started cleaning up his face.

"Baby, what happened? How are you feeling? Are you okay? Does this hurt when I touch it? When did this happen?" Bombaring him with all the questions, he took your hands and looked into your eyes.

"Love, one question at a time, please."

"Okay," you started, taking a deep breath, "What happened?"

"How about you clean me up first actually, then I'll answer that one. My face hurts like hell." He chuckled, shaking his head and looking back at you, rolling your eyes in response with a small smile.

You took the cold cloth and cleaned up the blood scar on his lip, then moving onto the bruises, slightly pressing onto it and asking if it hurt or not, to which he flinched, obviously indicating to you, it did.

Asking if there was any pain elsewhere, you remembered him clutching his arm earlier. You asked if he could remove his jumper so you could check his arm, to which he calmly complied.

There was a huge bruise along his left arm, and you got an ice pack from the freezer and put it around his arm, wrapping it around with a bandage gauze to keep it in place. Finally, your boyfriend was all patched up.

"Okay, Kenny, you have BIG explaining to do." You waited, watching with set eyes, hoping to know why the hell he came back to you injured.

"How about we head to bed? I'm pretty tired. Long day shooting the videos, you know?" He half smiled and started to get up.

"KENNY!" You weren't having any of that. You pulled him back and sat him back down, careful not to hurt him even though you were getting annoyed. "I'm not playing around. Tell me what happened. Now."

His head hung low, and he nodded and began telling you what happened.

***

"Nah, nah, Niko, you're violating him." AJ doubled over with laughter, trying to recover his breath as they all were watching and listening in the van. Shooting another fake employee video and Niko was currently violating someone about their "bad breath."

"Ask him what he wants to order, then tell him to shush." Chunkz suggested giggling with the rest of the boys.

Over the phone, their conversation could be heard, "Oh yeah, what do you want to order?" "Yeah I'd like a-" "JUST SHUSH MAN."

All of the boys suddenly burst out of laughter at the tall man's actions. Time was up, and Niko returned to the van. It was Kennys turn to be a fake employee.

Walking up to the customers, the boys told him what to say to the person ordering. He did all they told him to say until this one customer tried to mess up the whole thing for Kenny.

He knew who Kenny was, and he ratted him out to the manager, the little snitch. Causing Kenny to get kicked out, and while doing so, the customer started cursing out Kenny, saying his boxing was trash and Kenny just ignored it and laughed off his insults, until the man mentioned you.

He started saying "Oh and that pathetic girlfriend of yours, she's not even pretty and that goes well with her ugly personality. Matches why she chose such an idiot person like you."

Kenny stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Anyone who was around him could tell that he was mad, and the anger fueled swirling inside his dark eyes.

And where there's a boxer, there's a punch.

One punch led to another, and then there was a fight, the boxer and the man throwing punches at each other, causing the beta squad boys to run out, trying to stop Kenny.

"Yo Kenny, chill out, don't kill the guy!" Sharky said, holding Kenny back. Chunkz got in the middle of the two of them and told the man to back off, AJ screamed at the man to never come back, making him run away from the lot of boys.

"Calm, Ken, Calm." Niko tried soothing Kenny down after he was clearly outraged, placing one hand on his friends shoulder.

"No! This donny thinks he can talk bad about Y/N?? She's amazing, and the love of my life shall I remind you lot. I'm not letting that slide. That guy is proper mad if he thinks he can talk like that."

Kenny was fuming, still trying to break free from Niko and Sharkys grasp, but after some talk and calm words from the boys. He managed to let down his anger.

"Look, Kenny, I know you're mad and all, but you wouldn't want to return back to Y/N in pieces? If we didn't stop you, that idiot or you would've been in the hospital, bro." AJ stated, and for once, he actually tried to calm the boxer instead of trying to annoy him.

"AJ's right, bruva. Calm yeah, don't worry, we'll delete the footage. We can take you back to your house after." Chunkz said, putting a hand out on Kennys shoulder, reassuring him.

Throughout the ride back to his house, Kenny was wondering if you would have thought less of him if he didn't finish off the guy. Let him run away? Allow him to even speak about you like that in the first place? Or if you hated that he was too aggressive at times, and would it scare you off? All these questions floated in his head, worrying him even more to the second closer to his house.

When he arrived, he checked the time on his phone, 10:19 pm. He thanked the boys and exited the car, fumbling for his keys and in his mind trying to find out how to approach you.

***

"And that's basically it." He admitted, a straight face, but you could see in his eyes, worry and confusion to your reaction.

You were still processing what he said, and then finally set on his eyes. You could honestly feel tears start to develop in your eyes, as you stare at this beautiful man, all that he did for you? And he thought that you would be mad at him for defending you?

Honestly, sometimes you think this man lets his hits to the face, hit his brain a little too hard.

You placed both of your hands around his face and made him look up at you, as he was looking down earlier. His gaze softened, and he could read it in your eyes that all those thoughts that he was afraid of weren't true and probably weren't ever going to be true.

"Kenny," you started still having your hands on his face, "You do realise that I would never be mad at you for protecting those you love? In fact, I'm really happy that you would do such a thing for me." Your lips curled into a soft smile when you saw in his eyes the relief he felt after hearing your words.

"I would fight for you any day, love." Kenny smiled back at you and leaned in to kiss you. A soft kiss but reassuring you and mostly himself that he would always love you and fight to protect you. And he would always be by your side.

Pulling away, you laid your head on his chest, wrapping an arm around his torso, and he wrapped his around your waist. "Still, I don't like that you got hurt. But it did mean I got to take care of you for what you did." You laughed, causing Kenny to chuckle too.

"Also, I smelt something when I walked in here earlier?" He questioned, and you got up off of his chest and smiled widely.

"Apple crumble, baby." You winked and laughed as Kenny got up real quick to sit at the dining table waiting to try the apple crumble.

Right now, you wouldn't care about any other problem in the world. Everything that mattered to you was here right now, in front of you. And to give him what he deserved after what he did for you, it only seems fair for a king.

Taglist: @b4tasquad