#soup kitchen comic

[chowfur]

🧱 {No. 04}

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Aw! XL cooking reminded me of when I was working with children and they'd get nightmares/scared of monsters, so was go to the garden and make Monster Soup! Anything that looked good would go into the nearest source of water (often a bird bath) so that the monsters would know we are kind people and stay outside and not come inside. Also the monsters would think of us as friends and protect us instead of scaring us. Now I'm hoping that I have turned any of these kids into bad cooks bc I was like that flower looks good! Toss it in! 😅😄😄😄

Thank you for reminding me of this memory!

I'm-In-Love-With-The-Monster Soup.

[spiderman616]

one thing that i do find weird is that the majority of people here hate on iron man either for being in the mcu and getting an undue amount of attention/being an annoying character (fair) or being a billionaire. which the second part is not really as founded because batman is a character most people comparatively love and he is also a billionaire. obviously in real life its not possible to be a billionaire and still do the right thing since the only moral choice would be wealth redistribution. but if youre willing to suspend that disbelief for fiction where a billionaire uses their money to become a superhero then i do not see why that logic would apply to iron man as well

[cleocatrablossy]

Pacifica headcanon because I can: while she does bleach her hair blonde as of the show, it used to genuinely be that light. She was born with darker hair like her parents but over a year or two it lightened up to a platinum blonde. It was around the same time her parents started showing her off so Pacifica Northwest was known to be a platinum blonde. But when she got to be around 10 or 11 her hair started darkening back to a dirty-blonde/light brown so her parents began making her bleach her hair so that her appearance wouldn’t change. And of course she agreed since she was raised with appearance being the most important thing so to have hers suddenly change like that was shocking, especially since she probably had a lot of focus put on her being such a light blonde by her parents. Post show she probably starts letting her roots grow out, and until she thinks her hair’s long enough to cut off all the bleached area she dies it random colors just for the sake of it.

[foodandfolklore]

The POWERFUL TOME

Comic by @_pocketss on Instagram.

[hipstergecko]

Chimkin nood soob

mmm soob

[instaviewpoint]

Comics Good Morning November 16 2023

Good Morning!😂 Well it sounds like it would be made that way 🤣! ~Kimberly @ The Rooster Crows 🐓 #goodmorning #smile #comedy #cartoon Find Weather here

[forgetfulmachineart]

[ID: A mostly cool colored, digital three page comic of teen Gojo Satoru talking to young Tsumiki Fushiguro. Page one: Gojo makes a sandwich for Tsumiki who's leaning on the kitchen island. Tsumiki says "Thanks for the snacks, dad" and Gojo responds "No problem, Tsumi." In the next panel Gojo complains "Man... I wish Megumi didn't hate me so much. At least you call me dad..." Tsumiki comments "Megumi does that too, though?" In the third panel, Gojo activates his Six Eyes like a flashlight and yells "When!? Where!? Do you have it on camera!?" to a surprised Tsumiki. Page two: Tsumiki thinks about the various times Megumi has called Gojo 'dad,' including when Gojo gave them a bad hair cut, when the divine dogs bit Gojo, when Gojo made soup, and lastly when Megumi asked Tsumiki to ask Gojo to make snacks which is all represented in blue tinted drawings. In the last panel she has a devious smile and is labeled "8 yr old who just realized how funny she can be" Page three: Tsumiki cheerfully says to a gleeful Gojo "In your dreams!" The second panel shows them zoomed out with a lighting strike going through Gojo's shattered heart while Tsumiki has a cat like smile. In the third panel with a light orange background, Tsumiki is smiling while Megumi comes up behind her and asks "Why's dad crying?" /End ID]

Before this happened

Edit: It has kindly been brought to my attention that Tsumi means sin in Japanese I'm so sorry Tsumiki I should've taken five seconds to check I just wanted matching nicknames with Gumi 😭

[felinecyan]

Untouchable

[Katsuki Bakugo x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When a classmate breaks a well-known rule within the dorm, you decide to take it upon yourself to “fix” the issue.

WC: 2863

Category: Mega Fluff, Kindhearted!Reader, Todoroki being an icon (like always 💅)

I don’t know about you guys, but writing for Bakugo is the single hardest thing I have ever done. He is SUCH a difficult character to get right 😭

I believe I did him justice, though 🙏🙏

『••✎••』

Kaminari had a death wish. That was the only logical explanation for why the electric blonde was currently in the common room with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face, along with a bowl of ramen that just so happened to belong to one Katsuki Bakugo.

Food was the one thing the explosive hero didn't joke around with, and the rest of Class 1-A was painfully aware of that fact. It was like a rule that had been ingrained into everyone's minds after spending any amount of time around the temperamental blonde.

Do not, under any circumstances, mess with Bakugo's food. Ever.

So the moment you had walked out of the kitchen and saw the familiar spice-infused soup in Kaminari's hands, you knew there was about to be a disaster. And that disaster was going to happen at the cost of the boy's life.

You were about to warn Kaminari when a familiar voice stopped you, its monotone quality giving away that it belonged to the heterochromatic hero. "Don't."

Todoroki shook his head at your concerned expression, a sigh leaving his lips. "It's not worth the effort; he'll learn the hard way. I would suggest standing back unless you want to get hit."

As if on cue, the sound of a bowl shattering against the floor echoed through the common room, and you flinched as bits of ramen and broth splattered your pants and shoes. You could only imagine what kind of mess it would have made if you had been standing any closer.

At the same time, Jiro sighed, plugging her ears as she muttered, "So much for getting some peace and quiet today."

Kaminari stood a few feet away from the mess, his entire body trembling in fear. He was too scared to move, frozen to the spot. His golden eyes were glued to the blonde standing before him, a murderous aura surrounding the ash-blonde.

"Bakugo, look, I can explain—"

The blonde's crimson eyes flashed in anger, and his face contorted into a feral snarl as he cut the electric user off. You couldn't stop the flinch that shook your body at the tone. "You... you..."

"It's just one bowl of ramen, dude! I'm sure you could easily make another one!" Kaminari exclaimed, waving his hands in front of his chest frantically. "I mean, come on, I know you love spicy food, but surely you're not that much of a monster that you'd kill me over it! Especially with something so mild as that!"

The room went silent, and Kaminari's words echoed in everyone's ears, but it only took Todoroki’s comment for the tension to change from fearful to downright chaotic.

"That was his last packet."

It was almost comical how fast the blood drained from Kaminari's face and how fast it returned a second later. The electric blonde gulped, a nervous laugh escaping him.

"B-Bakugo, listen—"

He was cut off again, this time by an explosion, which had been aimed right at his face. Thankfully, Bakugo missed on purpose, but the sound had been enough to startle everyone.

"You're so dead, Spark Plug!"

And thus began the chase, with Kaminari being chased around the room by an enraged Bakugo. Kaminari's screams of terror and Bakugo's threats and explosions filled the air, and everyone watched on in amusement.

Well, everyone except for Iida. He was chasing Bakugo, trying to calm the blonde down and yelling at him for using his quirk indoors, but his efforts were fruitless.

"Stop running around the room! You're going to destroy the furniture and break something!"

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, DUNCE FACE! GET BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS!"

Typical afternoon in the U.A. dorms.

After what felt like forever, the chaos eventually died down, with Bakugo calming down enough to sit and stew in his anger and Kaminari passing out from his quirk short-circuiting. You helped Iida clean up the mess that had been left behind, and everyone else returned to their activities.

But you felt bad for Bakugo. Yes, the blonde was a little intense and downright mean sometimes, but you knew what it felt like to crave something you didn't have. Especially when you physically buy that ‘something.' So, you decided to go out and get the angry Pomeranian a replacement packet.

Of course, given the fact that being empathetic was a common occurrence for you, the explosive hero wasn't at all surprised to see you walking toward the doors of the dorms with nothing but your wallet and a smile.

And he was not pleased.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face the blonde, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Honestly, you were still shocked that he was still in his uniform, given he usually changes the moment he walks through the dorms. Not to mention, he even started wearing it properly, which was a feat in itself.

"Umm..."

"If you're about to say the damn store, I'll blow your ass to the moon," he threatened, and you couldn't help the frown that tugged at your lips.

"I'm just going to get you some more packets, okay? It's not a big deal," you said, your eyes softening. "I don't like seeing people upset, especially not over things that can easily be solved."

"Like hell, I'm upset!" He snapped, but the lack of bite in his voice gave him away.

You raised an eyebrow but kept your mouth shut. After knowing Bakugo for as long as you have, you've learned that the best way to deal with him is to keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself—at least, all thoughts and opinions about him.

"I'll be back in an hour, okay?" You said, offering him a kind smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

Something about the look in your eyes and the kindness in your voice was enough to make the blonde falter, his resolve slipping. He clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl on his face.

But, since he didn't respond, you figured that was all you were going to get from him. So, you turned back around and headed for the doors, intent on leaving.

You hadn't gotten very far, however, when the sound of the couch squeaking alerted you. You turned your head just in time to see Bakugo jump over the back of the sofa, his slacks making a thud sound as he landed, snatching his phone off the coffee table before he headed in your direction.

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath, causing you to tilt your head, but before you could say anything, your wrist was being grabbed, and the front door was opening.

"If we're gonna get the damn ramen, then I'm coming with. It's annoying when people come back with the wrong shit, so it's better to go myself."

"Oh," you hummed, not expecting him to follow you. You smiled up at him, and the scowl on his face deepened. "Well, alright, then. The more, the merrier."

Bakugo grunted in response, dropping his grip on your wrist so he could shove his hands into his pockets. "Just keep up, alright? I don't want to wait for your slow ass."

With that, the blonde walked out of the dorms, and you were quick to follow.

For those twenty minutes, you couldn’t help but be amazed at how quiet the walk to the store was. Normally, Bakugo was yelling at someone for one reason or another. Whether it was because they were stupid, slow, or a bunch of other reasons that seemed to only make sense in his head, he was never silent.

But, currently, it was different. Bakugo wasn't talking, or yelling, or grumbling, or doing any of the things he normally does. He wasn't even walking fast, keeping his pace slow just enough so you could keep up.

He didn’t have a scowl on his face, either. He wasn’t smiling, of course, which would actually terrify you if he was, but there also wasn’t a sign of irritation or anger on his face.

In fact, he was the most relaxed you had ever seen him, his muscles not as tense as usual, and his posture was straight, yet not rigid. And his crimson eyes seemed to have a hint of softness in them, something that you had never noticed before.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even realized that the two of you had arrived at the store until the ash-blonde had started walking through the automatic doors, not waiting for you to catch up.

Shaking your head, you hurried inside, quickly scanning the store for a sign that pointed to the aisle where the ramen packets were. Bakugo was a couple of feet ahead of you, with a look of indifference on his face as he followed the sign. However, he stopped once he reached the right aisle and turned around to look at you.

"Hurry it up, nerd," he growled, his impatience getting the better of him.

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile on your face. "I'm going, I'm going."

Bakugo didn't say anything as he turned back around and started walking through the aisles, and you were hot on his heels. Believe it or not, you were on a side mission, determined to not just grab the ramen for him.

He got distracted, and the two of you weren't in a hurry, so you went around and grabbed a few things that you knew your classmates had mentioned wanting. If you were going to take the time to go to the store, you might as well make it count.

After a few minutes, you ran into Bakugo, who had his arms full of different flavors of the ramen brand he liked. He took one singular glance at the contents of your basket and rolled his eyes.

"The hell are you getting all that shit for? I ain’t helping you carry anything."

"Well," you huffed, a pout on your face. He seemed to realize you were about to give him an entire speech because he immediately let out the most dramatic groan you had ever heard from him and began walking away.

You didn't care, though, and continued speaking, following him around the store.

"Well, I was just going to get the ramen and be done with it, but then I ran into Mina, who told me she was craving some 'chocolatey goodness,' which are her words, not mine," you explained, pulling out the package of chocolate-covered strawberries.

"Anyway, so, then I ran into Kirishima, who was complaining that there were no manly snacks in the pantry, and the last of his protein bars were eaten the other day, ironically also by Kaminari," you added, showing him the small box of protein bars. "So, I figured I'd get him some more and make sure Kaminari has his own snacks."

Bakugo groaned once more, still refusing to look at you. And, again, you ignored him and kept speaking.

"Also, Sero wanted more chips, and Koda was asking for some extra treats for the animals," you continued, showing him the chips and animal treats. "I didn't run into Midoriya, but he’s been awfully kind with his notes, so I'm pretty sure he would appreciate some gummies and pocky."

"Alright, I get it," Bakugo grumbled, a grimace on his face.

"Mineta also asked if I could grab him a new bag of limes, but I figured, after that little stunt he pulled in the changing room, that he doesn't deserve to have his gross habits indulged." You scoffed, trying to make a dramatic gesture but failing, given the items in your arms.

Bakugo paused in the middle of the aisle, turning around to finally face you, his arms still full. "You done?"

"Hey, you asked." You shrugged, a smile on your face. "I wasn't finished, though. Jiro wants more popcorn, Ojiro needs some more protein powder, Hagakure needs—"

"Is any of that shit even for you?" He cut you off, narrowing his eyes at you.

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "No. Why?"

"You came all this way, wasting money on everyone else's crap, and didn't even think about grabbing shit for yourself?" He asked, his eyes narrowing further. "Are you stupid or something?"

"Um, well, no?" You answered although it came out as more of a question. "It's not a big deal. I was already going here, anyway."

Bakugo clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He walked forward and, without a word, dropped his armful of ramen onto your own. "Hold these."

Before you could protest, the ash-blonde walked past you and disappeared from view. Confused, you spun around and tried to follow him, but the sudden weight in your arms made it hard to move.

"Bakugo, wait up! I can't move!"

"Then stop moving, idiot." His voice was muffled by the shelves, and you couldn't tell where exactly he was. But, as if he had a sixth sense for things like this, Bakugo returned to the aisle, his arms full of random snack foods and drinks.

"What are you—"

"Shut up and follow me," he said, not letting you finish your sentence. You opened your mouth to speak, but a sharp glare from the blonde made you close it.

Bakugo led you through the aisles and dropped the items onto the conveyor belt, much to the surprise of the cashier. The young girl didn't dare comment on the large pile of utter junk food, however, and merely rang it all up, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Once the total came up, you pulled out your wallet to hand the girl the money, not wanting Bakugo to waste any of his own money on you, but the blonde snatched the bills from your fingers before you could pay.

"Hey, what—"

"I said, shut up." He clicked his tongue and turned away, his back facing you. You could hear the rustle of his pockets as he fished out his own wallet, and you were quick to shake your head.

"Bakugo, the whole point of me coming here was so I could pay. You were the one who got his last packet stolen, so I was supposed to be paying for the new one, and—"

"Do you ever shut the hell up?" Bakugo interrupted, his voice gruff. He didn't turn around to face you, but his tone was enough for you to shut up. "I don't give a shit about the money. It's my own damn fault for letting that dunce face near my food, anyway."

"But—"

"And it's not like I need the money," he added, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet and handing them to the cashier. "My parents are loaded. It's not a big deal."

Way to show off, Blasty.

But you knew better than to say that. Instead, you closed your mouth, your eyes softening. It didn't make sense to you, though, because not only was he buying his own replacement ramen, but he was also buying an abundance of junk food, which, while tasty, wasn't for him or you.

It's always about repaying the favor with him, but this was just... unnecessary.

"Thank you," you said instead, knowing that he would only get irritated if you kept protesting. "That was... unexpectedly nice of you."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," he grumbled, picking up a few of the bags. He handed them to you, and you struggled to balance the weight, but you didn't complain. "It was your fault for being too damn nice."

You blinked, not sure if you were supposed to take that as a compliment or an insult. Either way, you didn't say anything and merely nodded. Bakugo didn't spare you a second glance as he grabbed the rest of the bags and began walking toward the exit.

"You coming, or what?" He called out, not looking back at you.

A smile grew on your face, and despite him not even looking at you, something told you he could sense the happiness radiating from you. You hurried forward, struggling a bit to balance the bags in your arms and keep up with Mr. Grumps, but the smile didn't leave your face.

"So... does this mean we're friends now?"

"The hell? No!"

"I think we are, Blasty."

"Don't call me that." He narrowed his eyes at you, but you merely giggled.

"Would you rather it be Kacchan? Kaminari's been using that one a lot lately."

"Call me that, and I'll blast you into the fucking sun."

"Blasty it shall be, then."

Needless to say, the walk back to the dorms was the complete opposite of the walk to the store. But, just as the silence between the two of you was comfortable then, the bickering and teasing and overall playful nature of the conversation was comfortable now.

Bakugo would never admit it, and you knew better than to ask, but he didn't have a problem with the nickname or the new friendship that blossomed between the two of you.

And you didn't have a problem, either.

[thebettybook]

The hunter who reached for the star

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

Characters: OPLA (One Piece Live Action) Roronoa Zoro x Straw-Hat-Crew-Member!gn!reader. This fic is written in Zoro’s point of view

Summary: Reader gets an idea to draw portraits of the Straw Hat crew. While the other crew members make the portrait sessions fun and chaotic, Zoro takes it as a chance to spend more time with Reader

Warnings: Mild cursing from Zoro. Sanji cheekily references the “draw me like one of your French girls” line from Titanic for laughs. Other than that, all fluff

Strawbetty’s notes: Y’all were so sweet with my OPLA Zoro crush headcanons post so here’s a oneshot as my thanks :)🫶

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

Zoro sat at the far right end of the tiny dining table in the Going Merry’s kitchen. Despite being surrounded by his fellow Straw Hats, Zoro had his eyes closed and his arms loosely crossed in front of his torso.

Like at most mealtimes, the other crew members were far too engaged in their lively chatter and harmless bickering to notice that Zoro was trying to sleep.

Instead of dozing off, Zoro could only think about the conversation he had with you last night—how the two of you, both unable to fall asleep, gazed up at the stars.

Every word, every sensation, replayed in his mind—from the midnight waves that lulled the ship to the way his name softly rolled off your tongue like a siren’s song—

“Zoro.”

He heard you call his name at the table, pulling him from his recollections. His thin, dark eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t crack his eyes open. He was too tired to do so.

“Zoroooo!” Luffy stretched his neck from his seat at the head of the table to the end of the table where Zoro sat. The captain didn't hesitate to place his mouth right next to Zoro's left ear. “WAKE UP!”

Zoro’s eyebrows furrowed just a bit as Luffy’s voice pierced his ears. The stoic swordsman opened his eyes, his brown orbs glittering with annoyance. “I’m awake.”

Luffy cackled before snapping his head back in place and turning his attention back to his breakfast of potato bacon soup with a loaf of bread.

“Good morning, Zoro,” your smile, albeit sheepish, eased Zoro’s fatigue a bit. “We were talking about how it would be nice to have official portraits of ourselves, so I offered to draw everyone’s portraits after we all finish eating.”

“I’ll practice my poses!” Usopp chimed in, comically pursing his lips and sucking in his cheekbones to appear like a model. “You know what I always say, if I didn’t join this crew, I would’ve been a model by now.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Zoro couldn’t help but respond with his usual sarcasm, earning him an offended look amped up for dramatics from Usopp.

“Would you like to have your portrait drawn, too, Zoro?” You leaned forward with your elbows resting on the table, giving him a hopeful smile.

Even though Zoro didn’t really care for having his portrait done, and even though he would usually say “no” at any given chance to anyone concerning anything, there was no way Zoro could say “no” to you.

Plus, you drawing his portrait would mean the two of you would get to spend more quality time together. No way would Zoro pass up that chance.

“Mm,” Zoro answered, his voice rumbling an octave lower due to his drowsiness. “I’ll go last.”

Despite Zoro’s nonchalant attitude, his heartbeat quickened when he saw your smile widen.

— — — — —

The setting you chose was a blue-and-white-striped seating area between two rectangular ivory windows in the main room that provided the area with ample lighting from the sun outside.

Zoro watched you pull up a chair a few feet away in front of the seating area for you to sit on while you would draw your portraits. As you placed your drawing papers and pencils on the pool table next to you, Zoro made his way to the far corner of the room to rest on a cushioned bench underneath a circular window.

With one leg propped up, Zoro shifted to get comfortable on the bench and rested his left arm across his torso.

Finally. Zoro shut his eyes, but his ears couldn't shut out the voices of everyone around him.

The first person you drew was Luffy, who would ask you a fleet of questions like “What do you think we’re gonna see at the next island?” or “Wanna know about the craziest dream I had last night?”.

As much as Zoro was (endearingly) used to Luffy’s enthusiasm by now, Zoro contemplated leaving to get some peace and quiet in his own room. He was about to open his eyes and do so before he heard your laugh.

“Luffy! Stop changing your face!” You giggled at how Luffy stretched his mouth out a mile wide.

“What? I’m trying to give you the biggest smile I can!” Luffy’s words jumbled together with his mouth still wide open, only making you laugh more.

That melodic laugh of yours was one Zoro could listen to all day and night no matter how tired he was. He continued to sit on the bench, but his eyes were now open and fixed on you and the rest of the crew around you.

The next person you drew was Usopp, who kept twisting and turning his face and body in hopes of looking like a supermodel.

“Just relax, Usopp,” you chuckled, putting your pencil down.

“I can’t relax,” Usopp threw his head back dramatically. “I’m Usopp, Supermodel of the Seven Seas. Make sure to get both of my good sides.”

Pfft. Zoro let out an amused huff under his breath at the same time you rolled your eyes at Usopp, who simply shot you a cheesy grin.

After Usopp was Sanji, who took off his pink chef’s apron from making brunch to don his usual black suit blazer over a striped blue dress shirt and black pants.

The first thing Sanji did was lay sideways on the couch with his body facing towards you. He propped an elbow up and rested the side of his head on his palm.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” the cheeky chef winked at you, snickering at his own playfulness that betrayed his flirty facade.

“If you say that again, I’m throwing you overboard with nothing to save you but a door to float on,” you threatened, but you couldn’t help but cackle.

Your portrait session with Sanji couldn’t end soon enough. Zoro felt his usual mild annoyance towards the cook grow as he watched you and Sanji exchange popular references like they were your and Sanji’s inside jokes.

Luckily for Zoro, in a matter of minutes, you finished Sanji’s portrait and began drawing Nami. The Straw Hat’s navigator sat straight with perfect posture, and donned a sincere smile that softened her usual serious expression.

While Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji already had their portraits done, they stayed to hang out. The three of them pulled up chairs to the pool table, each taking one of your extra drawing papers and pencils to draw something of their own.

Luffy and Usopp’s eyes were fixed on their papers. Zoro guessed with a small smile that Luffy was probably drawing something food-related while Usopp was probably drawing himself.

Sanji, on the other hand, had his gaze fixed on Nami. Sanji was skilled and swift with his pencil strokes as he was with a chef’s knife, and anyone who looked at him at that moment would see a smile of genuine admiration on his face as he studied Nami.

Zoro turned his attention from the others back to you. He noted the way your gaze would shift between your paper and Nami as you sketched her.

He also noticed the slight pout your lips formed when you were completely in your element, focused on capturing the subject onto your paper.

The six of you fell into comfortable silence, and Zoro chose not to make any large movements as he basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun that glimmered into the room through the windows.

It was a rare moment like this where the entire crew was together in one room, not laughing or bickering or talking, but simply enjoying each other’s presence.

— — — — —

Zoro didn’t hesitate to get off the bench and make his way over to you once you handed Nami her portrait. He rotated one of his arms, trying to get out any kinks from his shoulder blades.

Unfortunately for Zoro, Sanji was the first to notice him.

“Looks like someone didn’t get enough beauty sleep in time for his portrait,” Sanji teased, earning a mild glare from Zoro.

The rest of the crew chortled in good nature, and before Zoro could respond with a biting comeback, you blurted out, “Zoro always looks good, though.”

Zoro barely had time to register what you just said, even when you covered your mouth with your hand in embarrassment.

Sanji, Usopp, and Nami quickly displayed all-knowing smirks on their faces, while Luffy piped up, “Sanji, I’m hungry and I wanna eat a snack.”

Zoro subtly sucked in the inside of his right cheek to stop himself from smiling at your statement right then and there. If he smiled, he’d never hear the end of it from the others.

“Ok, everyone who’s had their portraits done, out,” you turned your back to the crew, fumbling with your pencils and papers on the pool table. “And yes, go eat snacks or something.”

“Ok!” Nami, Usopp, Sanji, and Luffy all saluted you at the same time. The first three shared a mischievous look before all four of them skedaddled out of the room.

Once they all left, Zoro’s lips eased into the smallest of soft smiles as he made his way to stand next to you.

Zoro couldn’t decide between saying “Hey” or “What’s up?” to sound cool now that the two of you were alone, so he bent down slightly, peering at the portraits you drew of Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji that they had forgotten to take with them.

Zoro didn’t know much about art, nor did he have much of an eye for it, but even he could tell you were good at it. His eyes followed the charcoal lines of the three crew members’ features—Luffy’s scar, Usopp’s dimples, and Sanji’s stubble—and how perfectly you captured them on paper.

“Nice,” Zoro murmured. His eyes moved up from the portraits to you, only to find your eyes already on him.

“Thanks,” you gave him a grateful smile, fiddling with the pencil between your fingers.

“Where do you want me to be?” Zoro straightened up, but his eyes never left yours.

“You can sit right there between the windows,” you broke his gaze and pointed to the spot.

Zoro nodded, going over to the seating area between the two windows. He removed his three swords from the leather strap at his hips to sit down.

Instead of placing his swords to the side or on the floor, Zoro wrapped his right arm around his swords, his bicep flexing as he did so.

In his natural sitting position, Zoro sat up straight, his posture perfect from years of training as a swordsman. However, he wanted to appear casual, so he rested his left leg over his right and put his left hand in his pant pocket.

“Can you draw my swords, too?” Zoro’s eyes flicked back to yours.

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled, plopping down onto your chair with a blank piece of paper and your pencil ready.

Zoro then noticed the charcoal pencil smudges that caked your fingertips. He realized that throughout all the portrait sessions, you never once took a break.

He cleared his throat. “You should take a break.”

“What for?” Your eyebrows lifted in confusion.

“Just noticed you haven’t taken a break since you began drawing us,” Zoro stated. His tone came out flat but the way his eyes softened at you conveyed his care. “Go drink some water, or wash your hands, or something.”

Zoro didn’t realize that he probably sounded more blunt than he meant to, but your eyes only flew down to your hands.

“I’m good, but thank you for thinking of me,” you cracked a huge smile. “Actually, wanna hear a fun fact about me?”

Zoro nodded. He found himself curious that you didn’t wipe away or wash off the pencil smudges on your hands yet.

“I like keeping pencil smudges on my fingers until I’m done with a drawing or an art project,” you gently rubbed one of your fingertips, but the charcoal smudges remained. “It’s like marks that show I put my best effort into what I drew.”

“I get it,” Zoro glanced down at his left palm, which had hardened over the years from calluses he gained from swordsman training. “That’s how I feel about my calluses.”

He couldn’t contain a chuckle when you leaned forward in your seat, your eyes widening with intrigue as he held out his left palm to you.

The skin of his palm was rough, battered with Zoro’s badges of honor that were his calluses. He never really looked at his calluses much, but the way you marveled at them like the stars you marveled at last night made Zoro’s chest puff up a bit with pride.

“Very cool,” you grinned, leaning back in your seat. “Are you ready to get your portrait drawn, Roronoa Zoro with the cool hand calluses?”

An easy laugh escaped Zoro’s lips as he sat up a bit and repositioned his hands to his former pose. “Yep.”

You turned your focus to your paper and pencil, and your head tilted downwards a bit as you brought your pencil down to the paper.

Before you could begin your sketching, Zoro racked his brain for anything witty or funny to say, not wanting to waste the opportunity of having this alone time with you.

“Don’t get my bad side,” Zoro joked, but his words accidentally came out as serious with the stoic expression he kept for his portrait pose.

“You don’t even have a bad side,” you murmured without hesitation, your eyes still fixed on the paper as you began drawing him.

Zoro’s lips broke into the widest grin he had on all day. He turned his head to the right in an effort to hide his flustered expression, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from turning upwards and his eyebrows from lifting.

“Shit,” Zoro mumbled as low as he could, but his growing smile and movements utterly betrayed him.

“Ack, Zoro! Don’t move!” You grumbled at him.

Zoro hid his face in his right shoulder. Both of his shoulders shook as he let out a hearty laugh.

“I’ll never get your portrait done at this rate,” you huffed.

“Good,” Zoro replied with nonchalant defiance. He turned his face back towards you, peeking at you from underneath his eyelashes as you turned your gaze back to your paper.

Zoro’s eyes first saw how the sunlight hit your face, how the gold flecks of light saturated your irises and illuminated every imperfection on your face he thought was perfect.

If Zoro could draw half as well as you could, he wouldn’t hesitate to draw you right then and there.

He wasn’t the artist, but here he was, studying you—taking in every upward quirk of your lips, every back-and-forth of your gaze from your paper to him, every movement you made—and trying his best to capture them all with the sharp pencil that was his memory.

It was only the two of you in the room, and you were only a few feet away in front of him, but Zoro couldn’t help but feel that you were so far away from him.

With the comfortable silence between you two, Zoro’s mind filled with the conversation he had with you last night.

— — — — —

“That’s Orion’s Belt,” you had pointed up to a constellation made of three stars last night. “Those three bright stars.”

Zoro turned his eyes up to follow your finger. “Who’s Orion?”

“Supposedly a demigod huntsman who passed and was placed up in the stars,” you hummed. “Wait, you’re kinda like Orion! With being a former pirate HUNTER and having THREE swords.”

Zoro brought his gaze back down from the stars to you.

“That’s a reach,” he scoffed. Zoro took a leisurely step back, the wooden floorboard of the Going Merry creaking a bit under the weight of his boots.

A crooked smirk glimmered on his face as he reached his hand up to the direction of Orion to humor you. “Literally.”

You chuckled, playfully nudging his shoulder. “Really? I thought there wasn’t anything Roronoa Zoro couldn’t do. Even reach for the stars.”

He wasn’t one to care for fluffy words or compliments, but your comment—and the way you spoke with such faith and confidence in him—sparked meteor showers in Zoro’s heart.

Zoro tried to avoid touching the back of his ears, which grew as hot as the stars. He shifted his body to rest his palms against the polished wooden railing of the Going Merry.

“Why do people like looking at things that are far away?” His eyebrows furrowed up at the stars in an attempt to change the subject.

“I think it’s because since the stars are so far away, all anyone can do is look at them and try to draw them,” you gazed up at the sky. “To capture that moment of seeing something that feels so far away from you but is so beautiful that you can’t help but want it near you.”

— — — — —

Zoro remembered not really understanding your words last night about people’s fascination with stars.

He didn’t get why people would yearn for something they couldn’t have.

Now, watching you as you drew him in daylight, Zoro understood what you meant.

You were physically near him a lot, bright and warm like a star he found himself wanting to get closer to, only to be reminded of the possibility that seemed as wide as a light-year that you might not feel the same.

He was lucky and he wasn’t. He could admire you up close but he had to keep his romantic feelings for you at bay.

Wait, scratch that.

Zoro was never one to believe in luck.

At his core, he was one to never back down from a challenge—to fight for what he wanted.

He didn’t know how you felt about him other than you regarded him as a close friend like he did with you, so there was a possibility he could get rejected.

Thus, Zoro’s pride from not wanting to get hurt prevented him from outright asking you right then and there if you liked him, too.

For now, Zoro would fight his pride with every chance he could get to spend more time with you—to build up his courage to confess his feelings to you someday.

To reach for the star.

And if that meant moving and messing up during this portrait session to lengthen his time with you, he’d do it again and again.

Zoro bided his time before he decided to part his lips.

“Beautiful,” he mumbled.

“What is?” You inquired, not stopping your hand with the pencil.

“A star,” Zoro didn’t hesitate to answer, knowing his reply was so bizarre it would get your attention.

And it did, as your eyebrows scrunched together and your head flew to the sides to look for a star outside the windows or one that miraculously appeared near you and Zoro somehow.

“Which one? And where?”

A genuine chuckle escaped from his lips, turning your eyes back to his. He hoped his next words would anchor your attention on him.

“The one right in front of me.”

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

Important

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi :D

🏴‍☠️————————-💚-————————🏴‍☠️

[chowfur]

If I pretend I'm normal long enough, maybe I will be {No. 01}

[stararch4ngelqueen]

A Spoonful of Honey

Jason Todd/pregnant fem!reader (cause why not, I started reading the adventures comic so silly Jason is just on my mind as much as big beefy himbo acting like a baby over taking medicine. Chat I’ve been through it these past months, so this isn’t proofread)

Time Written - 11:05 p.m

The morning was cold, dreadfully cold, with a humid fog blanketing the dreary skies, blurring the atmosphere in a quiet haze. The temperature reached forty degrees at the highest around the late evening, giving those who had no business being outside a perfect excuse to remain indoors.

You basked in this opportunity to bring out your gold handle, cream colored dutch oven. Soft cardigan sleeves pushed up to your elbows to cut vegetables for a hearty dinner.

Slow, rugged feet trudged into the kitchen in the midst of you sautéing a rainbow assortment of veggies in butter and oil, dressed in his ‘plain ol’ civilian clothing’, a muted gray hoodie pulled over his head.

A sort throat was how it started; signifying the side effects to his nightly routine. Vigorous exercise could only help so much to fight off the chill, but with temperatures dropping incredibly low, sweat could nearly freeze on skin shortly after it’s been secreted.

The cold nearly nipped a permanent flush to his chiseled cheeks, kissing a sprinkle of color on his nose. He looked as exhausted as he did the previous night, when he first arrived home with a short cough and occasional clear of his throat.

Jason was sick, in the beginning stages of a cold. He’s not even bothering to hide it, yet continued to insist it wasn’t as bad as he led it on to become.

“You’re makin’ soup?” he asked. A comforting, light pressure of broad muscle against your back. Warm hands roaming from their soft placement along your hip dips roam forward, rustling along the fabric of your plush sweater, palms finally settling snug over your stomach.

“Mhm.” You nod, settling one of your hands over his interlaced fingers. “Chicken. With potato, and a ton of vegetables you like.”

“Mmm,” he hums, lightly sniffing the delectable curls of seasoned steam from your spice additions. “Smells incredible, ma.”

“Thank you. Good for the cold,” you comment, feeling satisfied at your seasoned sauté of protein and vegetables. You glance over your shoulder, smiling a little at his calm, droopy expression. “And colds.”

“Wow. Funny.” He murmurs per your amusement, taking over in reaching for the box of broth you set aside.

“You looked a little under the weather. Just wanted to help you feel a little better.” You reply after nodding in thanks for his aid, snapping open the seal to the box.

“You’re always taking care of me.” He exhales, his head tilting to kiss you on the cheek. He sounds grateful for the consideration, but he’s not very surprised by it.

You always had a tendency to spoil him. It’s just been your nature since the minute he first knew you.

“How’s the little one doing?” he asks, thumbs brushing light ovals over the soft mound of your protruding bump. Barely the size of an overripe grapefruit, or an underripe honeydew.

“Fine. No complaints,” you continue while pouring in the chicken broth. “Though, I’m sure the baby’s convinced that papa is doing a terrible job not resting up.”

Of course, he says nothing of it to confirm or deny. As if there was anything to deny, you could hear it in his slightly nasally tone. His fingers continue their gently ministrations, his eyes seemingly fixated on your actions, or unfocused as his mind trails off to space.

“Jay.”

“Hm?” His head slightly perks, leaving you to instantly assume the latter.

“It’s only been four months. You won’t feel much at four months.”

Maybe it’s faint arrogance to the doctor’s words. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he thinks that he can feel their baby shifting and wriggling around inside. He never thought of it before until it occurred to him one day, entering his mind at first as a silly thought before turning into a strong fixation.

“What, are you expecting it to come out and give you a high five?”

“Shut up.” He grunts, earning you a smirk.

“Couch,” you instruct, your gentle squeeze of your hand on his forearm combatting your firm tone. “Dinner’s almost done. Go relax.”

“Alright.” He’s quick to agree, yet his actions say otherwise. For a man who’s known by others to sulk, in your doting presence he reverts to a state a comfortable serenity, regardless of this mild illness weighing heavy on his tired bones. Regardless of your ever so heartwarming instruction, he retaliates with gentle backlash, consisting of third grade retorts and heavy groans. All in good fun, merely poking at your funny bones to catch a glimpse of a smile.

He moves his hand in little circles against your belly, waiting for his baby to respond. While he doesn’t feel any kicks just yet, he’s excited just thinking about all the times they have to come.

As much as you loved every ounce of physical touch, the slightest pet peeve of him not doing as you requested for his own good irked your mind. “Jason. You gotta move.”

“Can’t,” he mutters, “I’m fine right where I am.”

“You can play with the baby after you eat, Jason,” you insist. “You gotta eat, take some medicine, and rest. You can’t take medicine until you’ve eaten first.”

“I bet you the baby’s hungry, too.” Such sweet words from his mouth nearly had you melting on the spot. Already a doting father in waiting, how could you not feel your heart flutter?

“Jason,” you insist once more, your spoon resting on the rim of the cooking pot.

“Don’t wanna,” he replies, sounding both annoyed and amused by such insistence. His warm body never separated from yours for a mere five to seven minutes after that, your palm reaching up and back to catch his cheek, meeting the warm skin of his flushed face.

“You ever notice that you get grouchy during a cold—“

“I’m not grouchy right now though—”

“—the baby wouldn’t want their papa to be grouchy.”

“And you’re being a little mean.”

“Me? Mean?” You sounds surprised, though you’re smiling wide the entire conversation.

“Yes, you.”

“I could never.”

He doesn’t look at you though, his voice sounding playful once more. “You’re being super mean, trying to make me eat and take medicine and everything. The audacity, ma.”

You scoff as you closes the pot, turning your full bodied attention to Jason.

You smile, adoring your sick beloved, the father of your unborn baby gazing down at you with exhausted, lovestruck teal eyes. He always looked so cute, especially sick with a cold. Especially with the mentality of thinking he can do what he wants at this moment, thinking he’s said all the right words to coerce you.

“Good. That’s called love, now gooo.”

He sighs, and he’s really not looking forward to it. The idea of eating just doesn’t sound appealing right now anymore, nor does taking the medicine. Either way, the coziness of his woman wrapped in pearl colored cashmere with a cozy smile finally allured him towards the promising comfort of the living room couch, a temporary respite.

Inevitably, He left you to finish, granting the kitchen vocal silence for the next twenty minutes, apart from the soft drum of heavenly soup coming to a boil. Only when you come to find him did you see him flopped on the couch, an arm draped over his eyes to block all means of light.

You beckon him with a bowl of warm soup settling on the coffee table, alongside the eventual promise of lemon balm tea with a spoonful of crystallized honey.

“I don’t even feel that sick,” he grunts as he sits up, his voice starting to get a little hoarse from him talking (and complaining). Let the big guy say what he wants, you knew him better than even he admitted to allow.

“Then you’ll have no problem drinking my horrible concoction,” your gentle sarcasm would never be heard as unfavorable in his ears.

Jason takes a sip of his soup, slightly wincing from the heat on his sore throat, but he doesn’t seem as pleased with it as he’d originally thought. It tastes good, everything you’ve ever concocted for meals brought comfort, but as of now. he’s not really as hungry as he anticipated.

“What is this? Chicken, right?” He’s just making small talk now, wanting the conversation to last. “It’s really good, really, ma. Just not as hungry as I thought.”

You nod, not really happy about the outcome. But again, he’s sick. You can’t blame him.

“Take a few more sips, at least. Just so the medicine dosent make your stomach hurt.”

Jason looks away when you mentions the medicine, but he nods all the same. He eats what he can from his bowl, his shoulders slumping as exhaustion decides to increase weight down on his bones, forcing him into an even drowsier state.

All he does is partially lean against you after setting his bowl back on the table, keeping his eyes closed to ease the faint throbbing pressure building at the top of his head.

“I don’t even like cold medicine… I can’t sleep when I’m drowsy.” He mutters to himself, seeming to babble to no one but himself on not being so ill.

Your hand reach up to settle along his back, easing the tension with your fingers massaging his neck, confusion conflicting your mind at first.

“What you just said made no sense,” you giggle a bit, watching him lazily shake his head with a mild scoff.

He presses his head against the curve of your shoulder, his voice growing soft like a cat’s rumble. One of his arms settles lazily around your back. his body feeling practically limp.

By now, his response came in a series of short, muffled hums. He’s not complaining, really, but he is being extremely clingy. He just wants to be wrapped up in your arms, succumbing to an incredibly long sleep in your embrace, as if he can’t support his own weight. (He really can, but chooses not to.)

“On the bright side, the medicine says it tastes like honey.” You gently suggest, putting optimism where it may have lacked.

“Can’t you take it for me?” He lightly whines, his voice rumbling with a drowsy rasp. At this point, it’s not even because of the cold. Jason’s just too exhausted to think straight.

“I don’t know if pregnant women can take this kind of cold medicine,” you whisper to him, holding his shoulder after combing through his hair.

“Pretty please?” He whispers, his body feeling a little warmer from your presence. As comforting as it may have been to him now, a few minutes longer would’ve resorted in an uncomfortable ache in his neck from this poor posture.

“C’mon baby, just one little cup of medicine and you can sleep as much as you want. I’ll even yell at Bruce or Dick if they even try to call.”

Jason gives a light chuckle, his nose brushing along your jaw before planting a minor kiss along your neck.

“Fine, guess I’ll stop giving mama a hard time about it. It’ll be your job in about five months.” He speaks in second tense towards the bump in between you, followed by an eye roll on your end.

Watching you measure out the golden, syrupy mixture of potentially foul tasting medicine left him in a weak bind. He’d graciously drink horrid syrups consisting of fear toxin and joker venom if it meant you’d spoon-feed him an antidote. Such blind devotion was rare to come by throughout his life, comfort was your name in a foreign language.

He’s blessed with your smile once he had gotten the medicine down, rewarded with a kiss on the tip of his nose and a cup of promised tea, ambrosia to combat the foul taste. Goddamn medicine bottles with their stupid, deceiving lies.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so needy.” His slurred mumbling surprised you the most as you adjusted the blankets between the two of you.

A light tongue click leaves you, shaking your head in denial from such an unnecessary apology. “Don’t be, you silly man.”

Whether from some conflicting guilt, or illness inducing dysphoria on his mind, or shame, you gently deny and accept his apology with another kiss.

The effect of the medication is quickly kicks into place after ten minutes in bed, starting to drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Nothing but calm silence steals his consciousness for a few hours, warm bodies sheltered by the chilly winds batting against fogged glass throughout the long hours of the night. Despite the occasional faint echoes of neighbors next door and above, serene silence envelopes the minds of exhausted bodies.

You were snuggled up beside him with one of many pillows invading the space. Your cardigan sprawled neglected on the floor, cast aside due to the overwhelming seer of body heat.

He sighs softly, still tired, but his eyes glance over to the time on the nightstand clock.

He’s been asleep for hours, the time being … A little after eleven.

“Damn.” He whispers, drawing your closer to his body in a close hold. You feel so good like this, so safe. Spending all this time with him, doting on him, caring for him would mean the fifty percent chance you’d be afflicted next once he got better. Jason didn’t mind one bit, as much as he knew he should’ve been the one spending all his free time being attentive to your needs.

Either of you would look back on this and laugh of it, considering it practice for the baby.

For now, in the short time period of limbo between doctors appointments, checklists on supplies, criminal justice, and other impending challenges of becoming parents, everything was quiet. Calm, perfect even.

“Shh, the baby’s sleeping,” you softly retaliate, your hand cradling over his on the bump. You nudge just a little closer to the warmth radiating off him, seeking comfort with the furnace you call your beloved.

“What time is it?”

“Sleeping time,” he retorts, still sounding a little drowsy, his words coming out slow and somewhat slurred. His nose felt more stuffy than before, his head aching with a pressure that grew the longer he remained awake.

Once more, calloused fingers rustle against the fabric of his shirt on your body, potentially to be stretched during the later months to come. Here’s to hoping, he’s been secretly dying to see it.

“I love you both,” he whispers along your forehead, speaking from his heart in the sanctuary of your shared vulnerability.

You smile, tilting your head up to plant a soft, exhausted kiss on his chin. “We love you too,” you whisper, fighting back sleep to express an intimate act of love.

He closes his eyes, ready to sleep again. He’s not tired yet, stuck between the purgatory of both conscious states, but he’s not going to be able to stay awake much longer. At this point, he’s already half in the land of dreams. He’s comfortable—and happy to be with you, and with his baby.

“Never wanna let go of you two,” he mumbles, faintly catching the fragrance of your shampooed hair, the faint spice of ambery musk clinging to your skin.

You can’t help but quietly coo, burying most of your face against the crook of Jason’s neck.

“Then, don’t.”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

One final cooking poll.

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰ BAKUGOU KATSUKI ; — anyone would be silly not to love you, katsuki.

࿄ ! warnings — f!reader, no warnings. so fluffy it’s sickeningly sweet.

katsuki knows that he’s a little difficult to deal with sometimes. to love is a different story altogether.

from a young age, he never really cared about what others thought about him. he wasn’t interested in friends, tolerated his family and he didn’t care for women at all. and at 16, he deemed this to be a perfect way to live.

well, now he was 22. who knew that loneliness would hit him in tumultuous spouts of self loathing and bitterness? not him, that’s for sure. he sees his friends getting into relationships and while he’s thankful that they always include him in things despite his brash attitude and sharp tongue, there’s an embittered taste on his tongue that lingers when he sees kirishima and his girlfriend.

katsuki doesn’t think he’s particularly unattractive either and women do approach him; unfortunately, they’re left sour by his mannerisms and deadpan tone of voice. at 18, he didn’t care that girls didn’t really understand him. but four years is a heck of a long time to change your view on things: things being love.

you tell him that anyone would be silly not to love him.

katsuki has known you since he was a stupid, brooding adolescent kid. he thinks it’s a blessing and a curse that you came into his life so forcefully, uprooting yourself and plopping your ass into the middle of it. he’d never tell you but sometimes when he’s on blind dates with the next girl that denki thinks is “the one,” all he can think about is you: especially when his forgettable date orders your favourite, barbecued duck noodle soup, to be exact and he remembers when you made that for him on his 18th birthday.

when you come over to his place to cook dinner and watch a film, you ask about his date and katsuki alludes to the failure of it and that she also “eats really noisily,” a pet peeve of the blond’s. you frown cutely, like you always do when he tells you about the flings that don’t go well.

“well, anyone would be silly not love you, katsuki,” you’d always say and it was routinely with the way he’d stand behind the kitchen island and you’d smile at him, eyes crinkled and shining, making a raspy breath hitch in his throat.

and when dinner was ready, you’d set out both your bowls of dumplings and duck and sometimes you’d put on a netflix show that you really like (katsuki thinks netflix sucks but for you, he’d watch paint dry); however, this time, you opt to just talking, catching up on your day and the plans for the week.

“y’know, blind dates aren’t all they’re cracked up to be anyway. statistically speaking, your soulmate is probably someone you’ve known all your life,” you say candidly, slurping noisily and katsuki watches you thoughtfully before scoffing, all bemused.

“i speak to maybe four women, including you and my ma. great odds,” and you giggle at that, making his heart jump while some soup dribbles down your chin.

“there’s someone out there for everyone, okay! and who are the other women besides me and your mom?” you raise a brow jokingly and katsuki lifts a hand to softly flick at your head.

“just coworkers. like i said, the odds ain’t great,” he grumbles and you rub at the spot on your head before resting your hand on top of his and lifting it back up to press it to your warm cheek.

“you have me! am i not enough woman for you?”

katsuki’s eyes soften and his thumb subconsciously rubs across your skin.

“plenty ‘nuff woman for me. don’t know who else could put up with me,” he says earnestly and both your eyes widen almost comically at the words that slipped out of his mouth.

he’s about to dejectedly pull his hand away when you slightly lean into his touch, “it’s like i said. anyone would be silly not to love you,” and you angle your face so your plump lips kiss into his thumb.

you decide not to comment on the reddening tips of his ears and the pink dusting across the golden specks of freckles on his cheekbones, to save him from the embarrassment.

maybe it’s the years from knowing katsuki that allows you to always say the 8 words: from seeing him transition from a brash, harsh, emotionally constipated 17 year old who was at least three inches shorter than you (he would vehemently deny the passing of time in which you would tower over him) to an almost 23 year old man, who picks you up from school most days, who’d wash your makeup off when you got too heavy handed with the liquor, who knows your order at the local chinese off by heart and who is now definitely almost a foot taller than you.

before katsuki washes up, he shyly asks you to stay the night - in his own roundabout way of being timid, which includes his heavy voice and a seldom amount of eye contact - and you normally do sometimes, with him sleeping on the couch while you take up his kingsize bed. your heart shakes a little in your chest but of course, you smile in reply and nod. you and him both know that this time, it’s different.

“we can stay in my bed… if you want,” mumbles the man gruffly and this time, you bite back a smile. dealing with katsuki meant that you didn’t like to fluster him at times where he was opening up to you, albeit in small, crumbly pieces.

you nod again and reply.

“of course.”

it’s 9:35pm on the dot when you both settle into the duvet of his huge bed and katsuki is kind of stiff, to say the least, and there’s a metaphorical wall between you two. you think he’s staring straight up to the ceiling, if his breathing pattern and the slight glow of his red eyes told you anything.

“is it okay if we cuddle?” you whisper, turning to your side to face him and you think you did something right because he breaks out of his self-doubting stupor and after a few moments, opens up his arms to your smaller body as a leg wraps around his waist and an arm drapes across his chest.

“you okay, katsuki?” you whisper again. “did i do something?” and he can hear the pout and the furrowed brow in your voice.

katsuki all but he wraps an arm around to pull you closer, “no. just go to sleep, dumbass.”

you pull yourself up and he panics a little but he can slightly make out the smug grin on playing on your lips and your bright eyes in the dark as you lean on his chest to be level with his face.

“i promise no one under the age of 45 goes to bed at half 9. you’re so lucky you have me,” and before he can ask what you mean on “having you,” you press your lips onto his and it’s ended before it even started. the taste of his mouthwash and your chapstick lingers and he’s stiff all over again.

“anyone would be silly not to love you, even if you act like an old man,” you sigh, bonking your head softly onto his and he inhales deeply, playing with the hem of his shirt draped on your body.

“don’ need anyone else to love me when i have you, right?”

he can see the smile that reaches your eyes, crinkles and all.

“you might be right about that,” you hum and katsuki leans up to nose around your jaw before locking lips with you properly.

katsuki knows that he’s a little difficult to deal with sometimes. to love is a different story altogether. but when you look at him like that: like he has the world on his fingertips, encased in ribbon and inscribed in lettering addressed just for you, he decides that he’ll never accept anything but the best.

even if he is a little bit of a grandpa. but you’d be silly not to love him.

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © moominsuki. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[momo-minomo]

Batfam Cooking/Eating Habits

I know that the fandom has, for some reason, settled on the idea that Alfred and Jason are the only Waynes that can cook and the rest are health disasters but honestly the comics doesn't really support that (with the exception of Bruce and maybe Cass lol) and I have serious doubts that Alfred would let ANY of his kids go through life without basic life skills. So based on comics and my own thoughts and feelings, here's how I figure everyone's kitchen skills would be.

Bruce: He follows a VERY strict diet to maintain his peak physical condition but will break it for special occasions or feeding his kids takeout on patrol. As for cooking, for the most part Bruce is an utter disaster in the kitchen. He's had Alfred by his side his entire life so most of the time his attempts at cooking went extremely badly, even if it was something as simple as a damn sandwich as Tim can attest to here:

After Alfred's death he does eventually learns to make a few specific, simple things really well like the omelette he made for Clark here. As you can see, though, he's still pretty helpless in the kitchen with anything beyond the very basics, even dishwashers lol

Dick: Our flippiest boy is not the hopeless cereal-addicted kitchen disaster that fandom assumes he is. In fact, Tim was surprised at how good Dick is with all the "domestic skills" like cleaning, laundry, and cooking. Dick has cooked multiple times in the comics, especially for dates or Tim. He is constantly trying to feed his baby brother in general so he's cooked him pasta and soup for sure and just showed up with takeout or donuts a bunch.

Jason: I love the headcanon that Jason is a foodie and a really good cook even though I admit there's not much evidence for it in the comics. No evidence against it, either. Jason definitely loves to eat good food and doesn't bother with a strict diet like Batman and he loves a good burger. Considering his past, though, I think it's very in character that he'd learn to cook really well from Alfred so he's always self-sufficient. Since I don't have any comic snapshots of him cooking, here's Jason's eternal love for burgers instead!

Tim: His relationship with food seems kind of complicated to me. Tim on his own will eat super healthy so he remains in top shape for the job. What we see him eating, though, are things like plain salads, kale chips, and scrambled egg whites. Considering his extremely active life he should be eating more protein and larger portions but he often leaves them unfinished. As a young Robin it didn't seem like he got fed much at home, either, since you see Dick trying to feed him at every opportunity and he was always hungry if Alfred or Dick offered to cook or buy food for him.

When Tim is with other people, the YJ crew, his friends, Dick, Spoiler, etc he's far more willing to eat. Dick pulls out donuts and Tim is rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Dick brought a thermos of soup on patrol for himself but immediately hands it to Tim when he shows up and Tim downs it. So my HC is that Tim will eat as a necessity but doesn't really like to do it by himself. He's a social eater. He'll spend an entire afternoon eating a boring but healthy meal because he has to but if a friend or sibling show up he'll happily eat a full meal with them and even junk food.

As for Tim and cooking, we actually know he can and is pretty good at it! In comics he's cooked with Dick, learned to make chicken soup with his stepmom Dana when Steph was sick. We also see in the comics that Tim has prepared a full breakfast spread for when Jason shows up to a pre-arranged meeting to ask for information. Jason asks if the waffles are Alfred's recipe (apparently Alfred's one culinary sin is paste-like waffles lol) and is happy to sit down and munch when Tim assures him they aren't. He's also made pancakes for Steph and the family after patrol, a father's day dinner for Bruce, and a cake for Bernard! So Tim is a really good cook that doesn't really bother for just himself much. He prefers to go all out cooking for other people.

Cass: I don't know as much about Cass as I do the others (I need to read her stuff soon!) but I know she has terrible table manners and likes to sneak into her siblings and close friends apartments to eat their food, use their showers, and sleep. She has her own place, but she much prefers the homes and food of her loved ones. She also apparently didn't even blink at Alfred breaking into her home to stock her shelves with food, do laundry, and clean lol. With this I figure Cass doesn't really cook at all and just does take out, easy to eat meals that can be eaten cold or microwaved, and mooching off her loved ones' cooking and pantries!