HOOTS AND HOLLERS FOR THE OTHER PARTS OF PICKY EATER
Savannaclaw x picky eater!reader
Heartslabyul version
a/n: I sprained my foot yesterday so I was forced to start serving this + Octavinelle version. also I read ALLLL of your thoughts(reblogs, comments, ect) please guys tell me if yall enjoy this or sum it makes me giggle and work faster to publish these, why everyone so shy</3
warnings: fluff, slightly ooc
word count: 1.1k
Leona had spent the entire morning doing the absolute bare minimum, which mostly involved listening to the ghosts and ensuring his meat was cooked "until it stopped moving." He had prepared a massive, heavily spiced flank steak. Simple, brutal, efficient.
Then the Ghost Chef floated by, snickering. "Hope you didn't over-season that, Kingscholar. Today's judge is so picky they practically need a magnifying glass to inspect their food."
Leona rolled his eyes, leaning back against the counter. "As if I care. If they don't like it, they can starve—"
The cafeteria doors opened. You walked in, looking small, polite, and entirely out of your element at the judging table.
Leona’s ears instantly flattened against his head. [Name].
His mind raced through your extensive list of food grievances. You hated meat that was "too chewy." You hated strong, overpowering spices that "lingered too long." You once spent ten minutes trying to dab grease off a slice of pizza with a napkin.
Suddenly, the lazy Housewarden looked very alert. He grabbed the plate, marched over to your table, and dropped it down with a heavy thud, crossing his arms and glaring—mostly to hide the fact that his tail was twitching nervously.
"Just eat it," Leona grunted, looking away. "If it's too spicy, don't force yourself."
You smiled up at him, genuinely happy to see him, and picked up your knife. But as you cut into the steak and noticed a pocket of unrendered fat, your face involuntarily fell into an expression of deep, tragic revulsion.
Leona’s tail whipped hard against the floor. She’s doing the face. "Hey. If you're gonna look at my cooking like it's a pile of garbage, just don't take a bite."
"No, I want to try it!" you insisted. You took a small, careful bite, chewing thoroughly. The spice hit, but it wasn't bad. You swallowed and smiled warmly. "It's actually alright, Leona. The meat is really tender."
Leona let out a long, slow breath through his nose, his ears perking back up. He smirked, running a hand through his hair to regain his composure. "Hmph. 'Alright,' huh? Lucky for you, my 'alright' is still better than anything else you'll get today. Don't expect me to cook for you again anytime soon."
Ruggie was practically drooling over his own creation. He had made a massive, loaded plate of deep-fried potato croquettes. It was cheap, it was filling, and it used up every leftover in the kitchen.
"Just a warning, Bucchi," the Ghost Chef cackled. "The judge today is incredibly finicky about what they eat. Good luck getting a passing grade!"
Ruggie laughed it off. "Picky? Please! Food is food! If they don't want it, I'll just eat it myse—"
He stopped mid-sentence as you walked through the door.
Ruggie’s ears did a full 180-degree spin. Oh, no. Not [Name].
Ruggie knew your eating habits because he usually ended up eating the halves of the meals you rejected. You hated anything "too greasy." If your fingers got sticky, you looked like you were going through a crisis. And his croquettes were currently glistening with fry oil.
"Shishishi... hey there, [Name]!" Ruggie laughed, a bit more high-pitched than usual as he slid the plate forward. "Look, I know you're not big on fried stuff, but I used the good oil! Mostly!"
You gave him an encouraging nod. "Thanks, Ruggie, they look great."
You picked up a croquette with two fingers. A single drop of oil smeared onto your thumb. Your face instantly twisted into a grimace of pure, instinctual discomfort, your nose wrinkling as if you’d just smelled a skunk.
Ruggie’s jaw dropped, his hands flying to his head. "Agh! The face! You're making the face! Come on, don't look at my hard work like it's a poison potion! I used the premium potatoes for you!"
To soothe his panic, you quickly took a bite, ignoring the crunch. It was actually quite flavorful. You wiped your fingers and smiled. "It's alright, Ruggie. Really. The filling is super savory."
Ruggie collapsed into the chair next to you, wiping a layer of cold sweat from his forehead. "Man... 'alright' never sounded so good. You seriously gave me a heart attack with that look. Next time, I'm baking 'em. Or boiling 'em. Whatever keeps that look off your face!"
Jack had approached the Master Chef exam like a military operation. He had prepared a high-protein, perfectly balanced chicken and broccoli stir-fry. No grease, no heavy sauces, just pure nutrition. He was 100% confident.
Until the Ghost Chef casually mentioned, "The judge today is a total nightmare. The pickiest eater on campus."
Jack snorted. "Food is fuel. They just need to appreciate the nutritional value—"
Then you sat down at the table.
Jack’s tail froze mid-wag. His ears stood straight up, twitching wildly. [Name]?!
He stared down at his stir-fry. It was healthy. Too healthy. He suddenly remembered that you hated broccoli because the little tree-like tops had a "weird, fuzzy texture" that made you shudder. And he had chopped the broccoli extra large for maximum crunch.
Jack’s chest puffed out as he approached, trying to look imposing to mask the sheer anxiety making his fur stand on end. He placed the plate down carefully. "Here. It's... it's chicken and broccoli. I know you don't like the texture of the greens. You can leave them if you want. I won't get mad."
You smiled up at him, touched by his consideration. "No, you worked hard, Jack. I'll eat it."
You picked up your fork and speared a piece of chicken, but a rogue piece of broccoli fuzz brushed against your lip. Your face immediately fell into a look of profound, silent suffering, your eyes narrowing in an accidental glare of pure betrayal.
Jack’s tail tucked completely between his legs, and his ears flattened against his skull. "I knew it! The texture is bad, isn't it?! I should have minced it! I should have just made a smoothie! I'm sorry, [Name], don't eat it if it grosses you out!"
You quickly chewed and swallowed, waving your hands. "No, Jack, really! It's alright! The chicken is seasoned perfectly, and it's actually really good."
Jack blinked, his ears slowly rising back up, though his face was entirely bright red. He cleared his throat loudly, crossing his arms and looking away to hide his massive relief. "Oh. It's... alright? Hph. Well. As long as it's edible for you. Next time, I'm chopping the broccoli into microscopic dust."
i just made some BULLLLL dinners(octavinelle) downstairs but u gotta laugh for a scoup😹✌
Do not steal/copy my ideas/writings, inspiration is okay but please credit me for all that's good. DO NOT use my writings to train ai or put in anything that has anything to remotely do with ai
ⓘcopyright, fic belongs to @velsettetine 2026 only on tumblr!
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