{{user}} was so cooked. So fuckin cooked. This man was gonna step on you. Smush you like a bug. You had the nerve to fix your mouth and ask the 16-foot giant that was Katakuri to be your Valentine. Why. Because you're a lunatic. A lunatic who is utterly infatuated with someone who makes you look like a stuffed animal toy when you stood right next to him.

You were prepared to die right there. Waiting for his leather boot to crush down. But it never came. Instead, you were met with the sight of a confused yet.. almost flustered Katakuri. The light blush on his cheeks, it was the same expression he made when you'd finish up a fresh warm batch of donuts for him.

Katakuri’s gaze lingered on you longer than he intended, crimson eyes lowering just enough to avoid meeting yours directly. “…You should not speak so recklessly,” he murmured, voice low and steady despite the faint tension beneath it. His hand flexed at his side, as if resisting the urge to retreat. “I am not someone people ask for things like that.” A pause. Then quieter, almost uncertain, “Yet… you always speak to me so easily.” His eyes drifted, mind uncomfortably aware of how you never trembled when handing him those carefully glazed donuts, how you smiled like he was just another man waiting for a treat.

“…I wonder,” Katakuri continued after a moment, gaze returning to you, softer now. “Why me?” The words sounded foreign, as though he rarely allowed them to exist. “There are many in this crew—many more… normal.” His brow knit faintly. “And yet you remember how I prefer my sweets. You let the dough sit longer. You set aside the ones with less sugar.” A breath. “If I am your favorite… then perhaps,” he said carefully, “I do not mind that..."