Emmet Davis

Your boyfriend closes an entire restaurant just for you after realizing how worn down you are by everything.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of bullying, cheating, insecurity when it comes to weight, and illness

PLOT: Emmet knows three things for certain: that worry expands to fill any space you give it, that words are cheaper than actions, and that the person he loves is drowning in stress while he stands helplessly on the shore with nothing but good intentions and excellent knife skills. He's already doing everything a devoted partner should do—waking before dawn to pack lunches, maintaining their home with the quiet dedication of someone who believes love is spelt m-a-i-n-t-e-n-a-n-c-e. These cooking meals would make his restaurant-owner mother proud. But somehow, it's not enough. You're still struggling, and Emmet, who has never been blessed with eloquence, needs to do something more. The solution arrives between bites of fresh pappardelle: he'll close Hearty Grill on their busiest night, transform the restaurant into a private paradise of flowers and candlelight, and teach you the secret family recipes his mother swore would never leave the family. It's either deeply romantic or completely absurd. Possibly both. Armed with too many roses, his mother's culinary secrets, and the kind of nervousness that makes a man question every life choice that led to this moment, Emmet prepares to offer the only thing he's ever been truly good at: creating something nourishing from raw ingredients and hope. Sometimes love isn't about finding the right words. Sometimes it's about knowing when to hand someone a wooden spoon and say, "Let's make something together." A quiet story about a man who believes he's never quite enough, a partner who deserves the world, and the magic that happens when you stop talking and start cooking.

SUGGESTED RESPONSES This is for those people who for the life of them can't think of a response, but want to RP. Don't worry Aster will think for you! Someone complained they still don't know what to RP despite the suggested responses. Some of guys like being spoon-fed like a child goddamn! But anyway. Here's a different version for you if you can't think ALL YOU LITERALLY HAVE TO DO IS COPY PASTE IT. You're free to add onto it. But there. No more thinking. Just copy and pasting.

(this is only for the first version of the intro message)

Fluff Route 💖 (Soft, comforting, and heartwarming) {{user}} felt something crack open in their chest—not breaking, but blooming. All week they'd been holding themselves together with wire and determination, convinced that if they just pushed through one more day, one more meeting, one more impossible deadline, they'd somehow find solid ground again. But here was Emmet, standing in his mother's kitchen with flour already dusting his forearms and that impossibly gentle smile, offering them not solutions or advice or pity, but time. Just time, and his presence, and the promise of making something together. Their throat tightened with the kind of emotion that had no name—gratitude mixed with relief mixed with the overwhelming recognition that they were loved in ways they'd forgotten to notice. Without thinking, {{user}} closed the distance between them and wrapped their arms around Emmet's waist, pressing their face against his chest where they could hear his heartbeat, steady as always. "You closed the restaurant," they mumbled into his shirt, half-laughing, half-crying. "On a Sunday. You absolute ridiculous man." They pulled back just enough to look up at him, reaching up to touch his face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. "Teach me everything," they said softly. "Every secret. Every trick. I want to know all of it—not because I need to learn to cook better, but because I want to know the things that made you who you are."

Angst Route 💔 (Emotional, painful, and cathartic) {{user}} stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Emmet's outstretched hand like it was something dangerous. The flowers, the candles, the effort—it was too much. It was all too much, and not because it wasn't beautiful, but because it was, and they didn't deserve it. How could they? They'd been so wrapped up in their own stress, their own problems, snapping at him over small things, barely remembering to ask about his day, taking for granted every single gesture he made because Emmet was always there, always steady, always giving. And here he was, looking at them with those emerald eyes full of hope and nervousness, offering them his mother's secrets like they were precious enough to deserve them. "Why?" The word came out sharper than {{user}} intended, jagged with the kind of pain that made everything ugly. They took a step back instead of forward, arms crossing over their chest defensively. "Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep—" Their voice cracked. "I've been horrible lately, Emmet. I've been stressed and mean and I can barely hold a conversation that isn't about work, and you're standing here with rose petals and your mother's recipes like I've earned any of this." Tears were burning behind their eyes now, hot and humiliating. "You wake up at five in the morning to make me lunch. You leave me notes that I barely have time to read. You clean the apartment and buy my favorite snacks and you never, ever complain, and I don't—" They pressed their palms against their eyes, trying to stop the flood. "I don't know how to be the person you think I am. I don't know how to deserve someone who loves me like this."

Dead Dove Route ☠️ (Intense, violent, and morally gray)

[Mini author's note: What the hell is wrong with you if you use this route? Why would you want to hurt this sweet man omg? WHO HURT YOU?]

{{user}} looked at Emmet's extended hand and felt something cold and vicious uncoil in their chest. He was doing it again. That thing he always did—martyring himself, bending over backwards, sacrificing his own needs to fix problems that weren't his to fix. And the worst part? He didn't even see it as sacrifice. He saw it as baseline. "Did Edward want to close tonight?" {{user}} asked quietly, ignoring his hand. Their voice was calm, almost detached, but there was something sharp underneath. "Or did you railroad him into it? Use that soft voice and those hurt puppy eyes until he couldn't say no without feeling like a monster?" They walked past Emmet into the kitchen, fingers trailing over the carefully arranged ingredients with something like contempt. "How much did all this cost? The flowers, closing on your busiest night, the 'finest ingredients' from the market?" {{user}} picked up a tomato, felt its weight, set it down harder than necessary. "Don't say it doesn't matter. Everything matters when you're running a business. How far behind are we going to be next month because you needed to prove something?" {{user}} turned to face him, and their expression was frightening in its flatness. "I know what this is, Emmet. This isn't about teaching me to cook or spending time together. This is about you trying to fix me like I'm one of your recipes—like if you just add the right ingredients in the right order, I'll stop being stressed and everything will be perfect again." They stepped closer, and there was something almost cruel in their smile. "But here's what you don't understand: I don't need you to save me. I need you to stop pretending you don't have your own breaking points. I need you to stop being so fucking good all the time, because it makes me feel like I'm the only one who's allowed to be a disaster."

Silly Route 😂 (Absurd, goofy, and lighthearted) {{user}} stared at Emmet's hand, then at the pristine kitchen with its carefully arranged ingredients, then back at Emmet's hopeful, nervous face. A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in their chest—slightly unhinged, definitely exhausted, but genuine. "Emmet Davis," they said solemnly, "I need you to remember this moment. I need you to remember that you voluntarily invited me into your professional kitchen and offered to teach me secret family recipes." They took his hand, but instead of a romantic gesture, they shook it like they were sealing a business deal. "Because when I inevitably set something on fire, burn the carbonara, and somehow manage to break a pot—don't ask me how, we both know I'll find a way—I want you to remember that this was YOUR idea." They moved past him to survey the ingredients with the confidence of someone who had once mistaken salt for sugar in a birthday cake and served it anyway. "Okay, so what am I looking at here? This is garlic, obviously. This is... also garlic? Wait, are there different types of garlic?" {{user}} picked up a shallot, squinting at it suspiciously. "Is this garlic's fancy cousin? Why is it wearing a purple suit?" Without waiting for an answer, they grabbed an apron from the hook—not Emmet's, but a spare with the Hearty Grill logo—and tied it on with significantly less grace than he'd managed. "Also, I need to warn you: the last time I tried to cook pasta, I forgot about it and it turned into... I don't even know what to call it. Pasta jerky? A carbohydrate hockey puck?" They turned to him with a grin that was equal parts mischievous and exhausted. "But you know what? Teach me anyway. Worst case scenario, we order pizza and your mom never speaks to me again. Best case scenario, I accidentally create a new signature dish through sheer incompetence and we name it after me. 'The {{user}} Special: Nobody Knows What It Is, But It's Technically Edible.'"

Romantic Route 💞 (Passionate, heartfelt, and intimate)

{{user}} had been holding their breath without realizing it, and when they finally exhaled, it came out shaky and overwhelmed. They looked at Emmet—really looked at him—standing there in the dimmed kitchen light with his hand outstretched and that expression on his face that was trying so hard to be casual but couldn't quite hide the vulnerability underneath. Five years. Five years of mornings where they'd wake up to find him already in the kitchen, five years of coming home to a clean apartment they hadn't cleaned, five years of little notes tucked into their lunch bags with terrible puns that made them smile even on the worst days. Five years of Emmet loving them in quiet, constant ways they'd somehow started taking for granted, like air or sunlight or the fact that the earth kept turning. And here he was, nervous that he'd done too much. Nervous that flowers and candlelight were somehow excessive when he'd been giving them the world in increments so small and steady they'd forgotten to notice the magnitude. {{user}} moved forward slowly, watching the way relief flickered across his features when they took his hand. But they didn't stop there—they kept going, stepping into his space until they could slide their arms around his neck, until they were close enough to see the flecks of darker green in his eyes, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. "I noticed," they said softly, and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. "I know you think I don't, but I noticed. Every single morning. Every note. Every time you stayed up late to help me with a project even though you had to be up at dawn. Every time you asked how my day was and actually listened to the answer." Their hand came up to touch the chain bracelet on his wrist, the one they'd given him five years ago when they were still just learning each other's edges. "I don't tell you enough that you're the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't thank you enough for all the ways you make my life softer. And I definitely don't tell you enough that you're not the only one who's terrified." {{user}} leaned their forehead against his, closing their eyes. "I'm terrified every day that I'm not good enough for you. That one day you'll realize you've been wasting all this love on someone who can't cook and forgets anniversaries and gets so caught up in work stress that they forget to tell you how extraordinary you are." They pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, and their voice dropped to something fierce and tender. "So yes. Teach me your mother's recipes. Teach me every secret you know. Not because I'll ever be as good as you in the kitchen, but because I want to carry pieces of you with me. I want to know the things that matter to you. I want—" {{user}} stopped, smiled, felt their own eyes getting damp. "I want to make something beautiful with you, Emmy. Not just tonight. Always."

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This is a commission for Bear. I'm sorry this took a while it's been a while since I wrote anything fluff I totally had to reset my brain to not write angst. I had to watch sappy romance movies just to get the angst out of my system. So sorry for the delay. This will serve as a break from all the angst and heavy bots.

Also, this bot was made with Deepseek in mind since Bear uses Deepseek. For those using JLLM you will have to utilize the chat memory.

If you’ve been enjoying my bots and want to dive even deeper into the world of Arcadia and my other characters, there’s so much more waiting for you! You can now: ★ Read exclusive alternate scenarios (SFW + spicy ones ) that won’t be on JanitorAI ★ Enjoy short stories featuring your favourite characters ★ And even read the Arcadia novel — chapters, lore, and all its chaos — before anyone else! The Arcadia novel is free on AO3 and Royal Road (updated every 1st of the month), but if you want to read two chapters ahead, get bonus stories, and help bring this universe to life through an audiobook and webtoon, your support means the world. We’re currently at $270 out of our $2000 goal for the audiobook — which is insane for the first week. You guys have no idea how much that means to me. Every pledge, even $5, helps bring the characters’ voices, music, and stories to life. If you’d like to be part of the journey (and maybe hear Renzo, Leonardo, or Felip breathe life in full audio soon ), come join me on:

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WHILE YOU GUYS ARE HERE I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE WARM WHISKERS PROGRAM AGAIN!

So, for December, I’m starting a one-month Warm Whiskers Project where 40% of my earnings from commissions, Ko-Fi memberships, and Patreon will go toward helping the cats. To afford everything I'm hoping to reach $250-300. Whatever excess is left will be used to pay for the medical bills of cats who are sick and have been abused. I have already coordinated with a local cat welfare group that cares for the strays and puts them up for adoption. What this project will provide: • Two cat houses (each fits 4 cats) • 3–4 auto feeders • 3–4 water dispensers • 1–2 months worth of cat food • And if there’s extra: help for cats who clearly need medical attention or have signs of abuse

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