#Italian restaurant trattoria | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joemama-2 · 4 months ago

Text

somethin' sweet

synopsis: you own a five-star renowned restaurant that is extremely hard to get into. business is great, the customers love it. everything is as perfect as can be. that is until a harsh food critic leaves you a bad review. you're stuck with a dilemma, let this one review overcome you. or.....fuck him so he can change it. tags: smut, sort of public sex, vaginal penetration, oral, gojo is kind of mean and annoying, praise, degradation, doggy, missionary, cunnilingus, dividers by @cafekitsune word count: 6370

The one time you’re not here, the one time you actually listen to everyone’s complaints about taking time to yourself because you overwork way too much. The one time you use your PTO to vacation to Bali for a week,

A distinguished critic visits your restaurant.

You stare down at the screen in your hands, having not at all prepared for this news to be brought on you as soon as you enter. Its words stare back at you, taunting you almost. You’re half tempted to throw it across the kitchen, but that would be another expense added to your list of supplies you needed to buy for the upcoming month.

“What day did he come?” you ask as your pointer finger scrolls the screen, reading more of the nasty review that was left.

“A Saturday. None of us even knew he was coming.” Mayra, your head sous chef, replies. The rest of the staff stands around. Some in nervousness, anticipation, and even anger at the predicament. “We sat him on the top. Even made sure he had the whole floor to himself.”

The top floor, strictly reserved for distinguished guests who waited on your month long reservation list, or for those who would simply buy it out for the night. Your top floor is constantly raved about in the media, sometimes for its lavishness and other times in jealousy. Long story short, the top floor is for the best of the best.

And they gave him that.

But it seems he didn’t care for that at all.

“If you’re in the mood for a culinary adventure that feels more like a misadventure, look no further than Lovely Haven, the so-called “fusion” restaurant that blends American comfort food with Italian classics. Unfortunately, the only thing they seem to have fused successfully is disappointment and confusion. The result is a dismal failure that feels like a cruel joke on the palate, this is what happens when culinary confusion collides with utter mediocrity.

Let’s start with the decor—an odd mix of rustic Italian charm and the kind of neon signs you'd find in a questionable diner. It’s as if someone couldn’t decide whether to create a romantic trattoria or a roadside burger joint. The atmosphere is confusing, much like the menu.”

You scoff as you read this part to yourself. The decor? The decor was one of the things almost every customer raved about. Its bright lights mixed with sleek and stainless furniture was the epitome of success. Going as far as bugging your interior designer for days, even weeks on end, to get it down to the T.

Secondly, mediocre? How dare he? You’ve been in the culinary arts for over two decades now, and so has your staff. You were very nitpicky and quite a perfectionist when assembling your employees for your place of solace. Your 5-star Michelin restaurant, yes, 5-star. It only took two years to achieve that goal, which placed you as the quickest growing restaurant in your area. And he’s treating it like you’re nothing but a simple Applebee’s or Chili’s.

The balls on this man.

“Now, onto the menu—a dizzying array of choices that reads like a desperate attempt at creativity gone horribly awry. The lasagna burger is a prime example of this misguided ambition. It arrives as a soggy monstrosity, with layers of pasta and a sad, overcooked beef patty that would make even the most forgiving diner weep. It’s a culinary abomination, devoid of flavor and entirely forgettable.

Then there are the “famous” Alfredo fries, which manage to be both an insult to fries and Alfredo sauce. The dish is an affront to all things Italian and American, featuring limp, greasy fries drowning in a thick, tasteless goo that resembles some sort of industrial paste. It’s a disgrace, and I genuinely questioned whether anyone in the kitchen had ever tasted actual food before.”

By this point, your grip has tightened on the Ipad, jaw clenching and brows furrowing. This man, he really, really was an asshole. Disrespecting your hard-working kitchen staff was a low blow that you took personally. “How long did it take to get his food out to him?”

“Twenty minutes, Y/N.” Luke, one of the managers, replies. “I timed it and made sure it was prepared before the other guests who were dining.”

So not only was he being treated like a princess, but the other customers, who probably got there before him, received their food after he was served. All for the sake of him not reviewing your restaurant’s “unkempt timeliness”.

You continue to read the last few paragraphs while your stomach twists and turns.

“Service, predictably, matched the culinary catastrophe. Our server was inattentive and seemed more interested in their phone than in providing any semblance of hospitality. Drinks took an eternity to arrive—warm, naturally, because why would you expect cold beverages at a restaurant?

Dessert? Oh, you mean the “Tiramisu Sundae”? It’s a ghastly creation that defies logic, featuring layers of sad, mushy sponge cake drowned in what could only be described as a failed attempt at chocolate syrup. The entire dish is an insult to the beloved Italian classic, tasting more like a punishment than a treat.

In conclusion, Lovely Haven is not just a failure; it’s a disgrace to the culinary arts. If you value your taste buds and your sanity, steer clear of this pitiful excuse for a restaurant. Save your money and your appetite for a place that actually understands food. You deserve better.”

The silence that follows is harsh, awaiting a potential outburst from you. You lift your head and swivel around to glare at the group around you. “Who served him?”

Hesitance replies back, some of your staff looking down as though the ground seems more interesting than your death glare. It isn’t until you ask the question again, in a firmer tone, does Mayra respond. “Susan.”

Jesus christ.

As if things couldn’t be worse, who’s bright idea was it to decide that the slacking employee serves your distinguished guest. The one person who has been trying your presence since she was hired. “Where is—”

You’re disrupted by the kitchen door opening, the problem herself walking through with earbuds in and of course, scrolling on her phone. As she looks up and sees the numerous amount of eyes on her, her steps falter. Confusion sparks through her expression, but as soon as you step forward, it begins to click.

“You’re thirty minutes late, I put you on opening because you said you couldn’t close anymore.” You don’t even have it in you to lighten your tone, eyes narrowed and voice clipped in annoyance, frustration. “Your performance has been lacking for months now, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Ever the brat she is, her arms cross. “I’m a busy college student, I have other priorities and things on my mind unlike the rest of you.”

“And I understand that,” you snap back.”But there is a difference between having other priorities and simply not caring. You don’t listen, you show up late, and you’re using your phone while you’re on the floor. Do you understand how extremely disrespectful that is?”

A moment of silence passes as she seems to formulate what to say in her mind. “I jus—”

“You’re fired.” you cut her off. “Your last check will be deposited within 24 hours, do not come back and if you do, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

Luke and Mayra, along with your other manager, Ren, sit next to you in your office. Computer screen displayed in front of you four while your fingers type away. Mayra glances at your focused expression before back at the screen. “Do you really think he’ll reply back? Critics don’t usually come to review a place for a second time, especially one they strongly advised against.”

“I don’t care,” you murmur, eyes not straying from the email you’re drafting out. “Out of the seven years we’ve been operating, we haven’t had a single bad review. And now, this entitled ass thinks just because he gets paid to eat and critic, he can ruin our reputation.”

Ren sighs, hand lifted to his forehead. “Y/N, it’s okay. One bad review doesn’t and won’t define us.”

“Besides, he’s known for being harsh, he does this to everyone,” Luke adds on.

“Even more of a reason for me to do this. I will not allow him to openly disrespect our hard work and dedication like this.”

The three around you give one another a knowing look, right before you click send on the email.

“Hello, Mr. Gojo.

My name is Y/N L/N, I’m the owner of Lovely Haven, a place you recently reviewed. After reading your honest review, I am extremely upset and apologetic for the food and service you received that day. That is not at all what we strive for, and again, I sincerely apologize.

If you would accept, I would like to set up a second visit for you. We are closed on this coming Friday, due to the holiday, but I’d love to personally serve you myself and answer any and all questions you may have regarding Lovely Haven and its history.

Please respond back as soon as you have a moment. Thank you again.

Kindly,

Y/N L/N”

“Hello, Ms. LN,

I appreciate you reaching out to me. I’ll come around 8am on Friday. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Gojo Satoru”

You;ve spent the better half of the past two hours setting up and making sure everything is perfect. You’ll be damned if you have a rerun of last time, especially on your watch. Your staff insisted you don’t handle this alone, urging for at least two cooks to be present. But you refused.

Lovely Haven is your business and creation, your heart. So in a way, you feel as if it’s your job as the owner to make this all right. If anyone can serve this man, it’s you.

You’re dressed formally, hair up (in case he tries to complain about hair in his food). Wearing a simple black dress, modest enough as it reaches your knees. It’s tight, but not too tight. You’re wearing small black heels to match, gold jewelry complimenting the attire.

The clock inches towards 8 and you, for some reason, find yourself feeling oddly nervous. Maybe it’s the anticipation or anxiousness for a second try. Your stomach curls, almost like you’re a lovestruck high schooler seeing her crush in the hallways. Sweaty handles fiddle together in front of you while your eyes dart from the watch on your wrist and the glass front doors.

Either this man had a penchant for being late, or you somehow mixed your days up and he’s not coming today. Dramatically, you check your phone and let out a sigh of relief when you see it’s Friday. Okay, good. Then he’s really just late.

Well, not exactly late. But he said he’d get here at 8, it’s 7:57. Usually people don’t get to places at the time they said, because if he came at 8 exactly, that is late. You should always show up at least five minutes before your estimated arrival time, at least that’s how you thought.

No, that’s how most normal, responsible adults thought.

Maybe he’s not normal. Can’t be if he gave you a one star and brutal review. He’s probably just trying to be different from the rest. And you hate people like that. Shitting on something that is actually good, whether it be a show or movie, simply because everyone else says it's good. And the fact that he’s known for his low reviews is even more infuriating.

There’s no way every place he visits is below three stars. It has to be his taste buds, they’re probably—

“Good morning.”

You snap your head up, completely lost in thought that you didn’t even notice, let alone hear the dreadful man walk in. Already not off to a good start. A smile finds its way on your face, hand held out, to which he shakes. “Good morning, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gojo. I’m Y/N.”

He nods, a small smile reciprocated back. “I figured.”

Is it just you or did he tone sound almost condescending? And that smile on his face seems like he’s the type to think he knows it all.

Nope, don’t do that.

Pulling your hand away after what seems like a longer than usual handshake, you step aside and motion towards the array of tables. “Well, why don’t I show you to your table?”

“Yeah, why don’t you?” he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, raising a thin, white eyebrow as if to silently urge you to start walking. You hold back an eye twitch, turning around and walking to the area you set up specifically for him.

He’s following behind you as you walk, the heels of your shoes softy clanking against the ceramic tile. As you glance back, you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes quickly raise up to meet yours. Like he was—

“I apologize for not being around last time, I was on vacation.” you say, cutting off your own train of thought that you won’t entertain.

“Ah, no worries. Where did you go?” His pace matches your own now, walking side by side as his arm barely brushes against your bare skin. “Somewhere nice?”

You chuckle lightly and nod. “Yes, I went to Bali. It was quite lovely. The people were very welcoming and the food was absolutely delicious.”

A hum. “Better than this place, I hope.”

That comment. God, that comment. And the fact that he’s hiding it behind his sickeningly sweet smile, a tilt to his voice like he’s joking but not actually joking. You’ll pray for the former. “I can assure you, Mr. Gojo, both residences of food are exquisite.”

You two get to the square table prepared for him. A crisp, white linen tablecloth across the surface, that creates a clean and elegant contrast that elevated the rustic charm. At the center, a simple yet striking centerpiece emerged—a small terracotta pot filled with fresh basil and rosemary, their vibrant green leaves offering a delightful aroma that whispered of Italian kitchens.

Polished silverware gleamed in the soft light, laid out neatly on either side, ready for the culinary delights to come. An elegant, crystal wine glass on the side. Cloth napkins, folded into intricate designs, rested atop his plate. The dual flickering candles in small glass holders cast a warm glow over the table, creating an intimate atmosphere that you hoped would help catch his eye.

Finally, a menu card that displayed the special dishes you had prepared just for him. You took the time out of your day to make this specifically for today, crafting your menu for a man who probably didn’t think twice about it was not on your 2024 bingo card.

He takes his seat as you stand in front of him, placing the menu closer to his reach. “Here we have a variety of our best sellers and limited editions. Just for you, Mr. Gojo.” Your smile gets a little harder to keep up as he lazily sits back in his seat, scanning the menu with his sharp, blue eyes.

“Interesting,” he observes, even flipping it over. He glances back up at you. “The stuffed arancini, is that good?”

“Delicious, sir.”

“Okay,” he looks back down at the menu. “Then I’ll get the Buffalo Cauliflower Bites for an appetizer, plus the Bruschetta Trio. Oh, and to drink, I want one of your craft mocktails.”

So he asks for your opinion, and doesn’t even order it. “Of course, Mr. Gojo.” You don’t write it down, having already committed his order to memory, due to years in the food industry. “I’ll get started on that right now.”

With one more smile, you turn around and head to the kitchen. As soon as the doors close, your face hardens with irritation. Walking around to grab the appropriate ingredients, grumbling to yourself curses. Sure you’ll make his food and smile at him, doesn't mean you won’t be a brat about it behind closed doors.

The minutes Gojo spends alone, he’s meticulously counting them down. Eyebrow raised as he eyes the kitchen doors and the arms of the small clock. Leg crossed over the other with his arm resting on top of the back of his chair that he;s currently tipping back and forth with the stability of his foot.

After about three minutes, you greet him with his mocktail, setting it down. “Here you go, sir.”

“Finally, I almost died of thirst, you know?” He huffs a small chuckle and he sips from the straw. You want to grimace as he swishes the liquid around his mouth, head tilting in dramatics. He’s acting like it’s mouthwash or something. As he swallows, you do your best not to focus on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

What do you think you’re doing? Checking him out right now, seriously?

“How is it?” Your voice raises a tad, either in nervousness or a way to calm your suddenly rapid beating heart.

“Not too bad, a little sour for me.” He comments, tongue coming out to lick across his bottom lip. “What’s in it?”

“Basil lemonade and berry spritz, Mr. Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrects you, eyes rolling while his hand waves around dismissively. “Stop calling me ‘sir’ and all that, makes me feel old. Besides, this is supposed to feel comfortable isn’t it? Don’t force yourself with the formalities.”

Well, that’s a small breath of relief. You simply nod. “Of course, Satoru. Then you may call me Y/N.”

“Was already gonna do that.”

“Right.”

A small pause follows, hands awkwardly fiddling behind his back. You didn’t even realize it before, but the way he stares feels really invading. Especially with how bright his eyes are, you’re starting to feel naked under his gaze. Like he can sense it, he grins boyishly. “The appetizers?”

You nod again, quicker this time, clearing your throat. “Yes, coming right up.”

And once more, you leave him be while you finish up his food. The bruschetta trio, a classic tomato and basil, roasted red pepper and feta, with wild mushroom and truffle oil topping, served on toasted artisan bread. This dish is loved among your regulars.

And the buffalo cauliflower bites which are spicy, crispy cauliflower tossed in buffalo sauce, served with a side of creamy blue cheese dressing. Perfect for customers with a higher spice tolerance, craving that explosive taste in their mouths.

Holding the two white, glass plates with ease, the doors push open by your back as you walk back over to him. “Bruschetta and the cauliflower, Satoru.”

He doesn’t waste time in taking small, careful bites of each platter. Humming in thought as he does this. It takes a couple minutes before he speaks, using the cloth to wipe at the corner of his mouth. “The mushroom is quite bland, the bread is too hard. And the blue cheese doesn’t go well with the bites.”

Each word is like a punch to your gut. He’s really just finding every little thing to pick at, isn’t he? Lips pursing, your eyebrows raise in faux consideration. “I see, I can remove the dressing for you, and I’ll serve you a softer piece of bread.”

Your hands reach out to take them away, just as his moves into frame. Your fingertips brush against the back of his hand. “No need to take them away, just stating facts.” His smile never seems to leave and each growing second, you feel more and more tempted to wipe it off his face. He gently pushes your hands away, interlacing his fingers together. “Do you expect replacements to suddenly wipe my memory clean? Why should I have to rely on you giving me a replica of what I ordered, when the original piece should’ve met my expectations?”

A little caught off guard by his sudden questioning, you gulp and clear your throat. “Well, if something is not up to par for my guests, it is my duty to replace that with something that is.”

“Sure, but I’m asking why it wasn’t perfect the first time.” He leisurely sips from his mocktail.

A small, but forced laugh leaves your lips. “We do try our best every single time, Satoru. Being perfect has proved hard when everyone has different tastes.”

“So you just give out generic food and hope for the best?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Your brows begin to furrow at his nonchalance, lip barely quirking down into a frown. “I’m sorry, but our food is not generic. We serve with love and dedication.”

“Love,” he repeats in a mocking tone, picking at the bites with his fork. “This was made with love?”

He’s really getting on your nerves now. “Yes, it was. If you do not like it then I can remake—”

“I’ll take the balsamic glazed chicken,” he cuts you off. “With the alfredo fries. You’re talking about remakes, right? Then make those fries good this time. Thanks.”

You can’t help but stare down at him, the nerve he has is beyond rude. His demanding nature contrasts with your helping one. But, you stay resolute in your politeness, mumbling a small ‘of course’ before disappearing back into the kitchen.

It’s a disaster, truly.

A hard, long, infuriatingly annoying disaster.

Every platter crafted with delicacy and carefulness, he sets aside with calmness. Claiming how the littlest of little things was wrong or how it tasted bad. He even makes a couple snide comments about where you learned to cook from and they should be ashamed.

No matter what, however, he conceals his comments with those stupid laughs you’ve started to despise.

Like it’s funny to him how much you’re failing to please him.

Sweat threatens to trickle down your forehead, using a spare towel to dab at your face. Your hair has started to become a tad unkempt, having to constantly push stray pieces of hair out your face and even grabbing at your hair in frustration. This is probably your own fault for setting this all up, but never did you imagine it would turn out like this.

His table is filled with a variety of plates and dishes stacked unceremoniously on top of each other to make room for the next one.

Throughout it all, he watches your struggle in silent amusement. Everytime you turn around to stomp back into the kitchen, he gets a clear, nice view of the way the fabric of your dress tugs around your ass, legs sleek with whatever lotion you decided to put on.

Your perfume fills his nostrils as you come back to him, to which he feels more and more motivated to bring you down and just stuff his face into the crook of your neck. Or the middle of your plump thighs that have just been calling out to him like a siren.

Satoru would like to think he’s a man of self control, but you’re really pushing him, and you’re not even trying.

He’s being purposeful with his actions just to keep this entire visit long. Just so he can keep checking you out and biting his lip as he inhales your scent. Just so he can have the ample amount of time to force down the boner he has from under the table.

And well, because he’s really, really looking forward to dessert.

You breathe out a heavy breath, one of exhaustion as you present him with yet another platter. He laughs to himself as he takes a bite.

“Meh, too soggy.”

That’s it. “I’ve given you everything on the menu.”

“Oh, have you?” His head tilts innocently.

Your teeth grit. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. You really shouldn’t have had such a limited variation.”

“It’s not lim–”

“Dessert, right? That usually comes after the main course.”

“......yes. What would you like?” You’re forcing your words out by now, hands twitching as they threaten to grip his pretty throat.

Wait, pretty?

Jesus christ, can you stop thinking that right now?

“Hmmmm, let’s see here.” As his eyes scan over the desserts listed on the menu, a frown, or a pout, makes way onto his lips. You close your eyes for a second, counting from one to ten and back. “Is this it?”

“Yes.”

“I have to say,” he lowly whistles. “none of this looks very….appealing.” As he looks back up at you, there’s a small glint in his expression. One that almost causes you to shiver, for some reason.

Is he playing with you now?

“Nothing?” You ask, arms crossing over your chest. “All of that is what guests order the most.”

“Well, I’m not some regular schmegular guest, now am I?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s standing, one hand stuffed into his pocket while the other meekly points to you. “So, what do you say? You gonna give me something I actually want?”

A small huff escapes from your lips, now longer having the strength to hold back your irritation. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh cmon, don’t give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“That.” He juts his chin in the direction of your scowl. “Do you usually frown at your customers?”

“I frown at men who take my kindness for granted,” is your response, eyes narrowing. “Also, you have been nitpicking every single thing I’ve given you. You’ve been extremely rude about it.”

“Rude? Is honesty rude now? I thought you wanted my honesty.”

“There’s a stark difference between the two.”

“Really?” He leans closer, face teetering on the line of too close as his point finger just barely skims across your forearm. “Mind enlightening me?”

Your breath almost hitches, skin feeling all too warm. You peek down at his finger before back to his face, heart beating faster than normal. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He counters.

“Like you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He barks out a laugh. “Trying? No honey, I am. Why, do you like it?”

“No, I don’t like being flirted with by rude and random men.” You reply, tilting your chin up. “Especially you, sir.”

His grin widens. “Cute. But you know what I don’t like?” As he steps closer, you’re forced to step back. “No dessert.”

His finger travels up your arm, your shoulder, then stops at your jawline, head tilting as his breath fans your cheek. “So, what else can I eat?”

This is stupid. So stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. Out of character. Anything that means bad.

Is this really all for a good review by some asshat who takes joy out of making people's lives harder? Or are you actually enjoying it?

You feel disgusted at the situation, angered and infuriated that you’ve fallen into his trap. You want to curse out to whatever gods that may be watching and demand why you couldn’t hold back.

Either way, you’re not the only one who couldn’t hold back.

Your breath hitches, a broken string of whines leaving you as the flat of his tongue runs through your slippery folds. His hands on your thighs keep you grounded in place atop the table, because your hips keep twitching up in need of more friction.

You can’t even see his face as it’s so far buried into your wet pussy, practically stuffing his face with it. But god do you feel him. The tips of his hair tickle your inner thighs. His low moan reverberates through you, making you shiver and tingle with excitement.

“A—ahh….!” Your hand finds a place on his hair, pulling as your head tilts back with another moan. “F—fuck…”

His lips smile against your skin, pulling away for a second to look up at your blissed out expression. His face is coated in your juices and you haven’t even came yet. “Pretty good, might be the best thing I’ve had today.”

As he goes back to ravishing you, his tongue slips into your aching hole. Which causes your back to arch up, a higher pitched whine leaving you. “Tad salty, very sweet.”

His comments feel degrading almost. But with the way your thighs threaten to close around his head, pushing his face closer to your cunt, he has a feeling you like it.

It’s electrifying and confusing at the same time. You’ve never been one with hookup culture, you’re not a virgin either but this is on a totally different level. Here you are, letting him tongue fuck you in the middle of the empty restaurant in which you were supposed to be serving him.

Technically you are still serving him.

He urges your hips closer to the edge of the table, spitting harshly against you as he delves back into giving you the best eat of your life.

His tongue alternates between your hole and clit, giving both equal attention while his fingers knead the plush skin of your smooth thighs. Your toes curl in your heels and you feel so close.

You can practically taste it on your tongue, not even mindful anymore of the noises that you’re making. Too engrossed in the utter bliss of the way his mouth sucks and licks at your folds.

You don’t even know you’ve finished until he’s come back up, licking away your release that’s plastered to his pale skin. Left panting and staring up at the dangling lights that feel blinding.

What brings you back down to Earth is the soft clanking of metal. Your head whips down just as he’s unbuckling his pants, eyes blown wide. “W-what are you doing?”

He simply looks at you, shrugging with nonchalance as his belt comes undone, button and zipper next. “Gonna fuck your pussy, what else?”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s faster. Holding your legs open, leaning his face closer. “What? Don’t wanna?”

“I—I shouldn’t. I mean, we shouldn’t.”

“Pfft, why not?”

“Because this wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“But it has,” he tugs his slacks down, giving you full view of the raging boner nestled under his black boxers. His hand reaches to give himself a few strokes. “Haven’t been this hard in a long time.”

You feel your release ooze down onto the tablecloth, hole feeling empty as it clenches around air. All you can do is watch him jerk himself, gulping as you lick your lips. “This is….really wrong.”

Yet it feels so right.

His lips touch the side of your neck, kissing and sucking a small mark into your skin. You tilt your head for him, arm coming up to hold around his neck. Chest heaving up and down. “I’ll fuck you good, I promise.”

Your eyes are instantly drawn down to his leaking cock as he pulls it out. Long and thin veins decorating the length with pre-cum leaking out the head. Trimmed with a small white bush of pubic hair at his base. It looks pretty.

He huffs out a breathy laugh, titling your face up to him, lips meeting. His lips are soft and plush, melting into it. He keeps his hand on your nape so he can deepen the kiss, tongue invading your mouth like a snake.

Spit dribbles down the corners of your mouths. All the while he’s teasing your entrance with his cock.

“Ngh!” You pull away, face scrunching and mouth agape.

“Mm, like that?” His tip runs up and down your slit, smearing his pre into your folds and around them. The sight is lewd. “So wet, just from my tongue too. How many guys make you finish from just eating you out?”

Out of all the times he tries for a conversation, does right now have to be one? “N-none…”

He hums. “So I’m the only one? I like that.”

He finds your hole, just barely pushing in. Your nails claw at his shoulders, whimpering into his ear. “S-shit, just wait a second…”

“For what?” His voice is husky, brows pinched together. The warmth from your cunt practically enveloping him whole.

You croak out something unintelligible. For a few seconds, you two stay frozen like this. But that’s cut short as he slowly begins to slide deeper. “Shit, stop squeezin’ me.” He grunts.

All you can offer is a weak “I’m not” before being cut off by a breathy moan, one he replicates with you. He moves in deeper and deeper, until he’s finally buried to the hilt in your warm pussy. It’s big, bigger than you’ve ever taken. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

His fingers dig into your hips while your nails into his shoulders.

Practically feeling his cock twitch within you, you have to hold back squeezing around him even more. But it just feels too good not to. It makes you feel full.

As he begins to move, he’s whispering dirty praises into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Who knew you had such good pussy.”

“Look at you, sucking me in like a good little whore, huh?”

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever had.”

Each word he emphasizes with a quicker thrust. The silverware clanks around you, some even falling to the ground. The table creaks and the cloth crumples up. “W-wait….slow…ngh!”

“No slow,’ he patronizingly laughs, his gaze darkened as he looks at you. “Going fast, you’re gonna take it too. ‘Cause you’re a desperate little thing, aren't you?”

You whine out, biting down hard on your lip you’re surprised you’re not drawing blood yet. He takes this as an invitation to devour your mouth once more. The kiss is harder this time, more sloppy. Seems sloppy is his thing.

Before you know it, he manhandles you to flip over, ass high in the air while his hand forces your back down into an arch. “Just like that. Stay still and I’ll let you cum again.”

With this new position, he’s able to hit spots you didn’t even know were there. All you have to hold on is the cloth of the table, balling them into your fists while he mercilessly pounds into your pussy from the back. His balls hit your clit in a repetitive motion that damn near causes you to see stars.

Noises and mumble words fall out your mouth like water, the side of your face being pushed down into the hard surface. His hand twirls and tangles in your hair before giving it a hard tug back.

“Mngh!”

With one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, it gives him all the reigns to perfectly fuck your squelching hole, pace unforgiving. And what’s he doing the whole time? Laughing. That asshole is laughing.

Either at your state or the fact that you fit so perfectly snug around his cock like a ring.

It’s like he’s moving on autopilot, just one thing on his mind. Fucking you like your his fleshlight he keeps in his room. “Maybe I should’ve come here sooner—fuck—could’ve had this pussy all to myself even sooner.”

He groans, head tilting back as a familiar sensation bubbles in his stomach. “Ah, god…fuck.”

“D-dont cum!” You half-heartedly shout, body trembling in preparation for your second release of the day.

“Hah?” he huffs out. “You tell a guy who’s fucking a pretty pussy he can’t come? You’re crazy.”

“Ah….hah…!” You mewl out, squeezing around him.

He curses under his breath, hips stuttering. A warm feeling erupts deep within your cunt, causing you to whine. It makes your whole body feel as if it’s on fire, thighs shaking. Your cum mixes with his own, dripping down the backs of your thighs in a disgusting manner. You’re left panting for air

He spends a good time watching it all happen, and as he pulls out, seeing your hole twitch and tremor around air almost starts to make him hard again. He leans over, hot air hitting the shell of your ear, his voice low and husky. “Up for more?”

Monday, 9am.

Incoming message from

Mayra:

Check your email, forwarded you something.

You groan tiredly, fingers fiddling with the bright screen of your phone. Clicking on the wrong app a couple times before opening your Gmail. You press on the email from Mayra, an attached link.

The link leads you to a familiar site, embarrassment painting your features as you read.

“After a rather lackluster first experience at 'Lovely Haven,' I was pleasantly surprised by my second visit. Walking into the restaurant felt like stepping into a cozy embrace, with the ambiance perfectly set to spark a little magic. The soft music and intimate lighting created an atmosphere that made everything feel just a little more exciting.

Let’s talk about the food. I started with the savory starter, which was a perfect balance of flavors. Each bite was a tantalizing tease that had me eagerly anticipating what was to come. Then came the main course, which was cooked to perfection and bursting with flavor. It had just the right amount of kick, leaving me wanting more and more.

I decided to try their special dessert this time, and let me tell you, it was absolutely divine. Each bite was a burst of flavors, rich and decadent, just how I like it. The way it melted on my tongue was nothing short of a culinary revelation. I might have lingered a little too long over that dish—can you blame me? It was like savoring a sweet secret that just kept getting better.

But let’s not forget about the service. The owner was not only charming but also incredibly attentive. There was a delightful chemistry between us that made the evening even more enjoyable. She made sure I was well taken care of, adding that special touch that turned a simple meal into something unforgettable.

If you’re looking for a place that offers more than just food—something that tantalizes the senses and leaves you feeling revitalized—I highly recommend giving 'Lovely Haven' a try. Just be prepared for some delicious surprises that might have you coming back for seconds (or thirds!). I certainly will!"

a/n: first smut piece kind of. if there's typos, pls overlook them, i was very tired and in heat. sorry if it's not very slhow burn :( but i hope you all enjoyed. thank you smmm <3

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk gojo

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j23r23 · 7 months ago

Text

Unfinished Business

Tangerine x Reader

The moon hung low over Rome, casting a silver glow on the ancient streets. The air was thick with the aroma of Italian cuisine wafting from nearby restaurants. It was a beautiful night, but for me, it was just another job.

Or so I thought.

I made my way through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of Trastevere, one of Rome's oldest and most charming neighborhoods. The pastel-colored buildings, adorned with ivy were illuminated by warm, golden streetlights and created a scene that felt almost timeless. The murmur of conversations in Italian floated through the air, interspersed with the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter from the outdoor trattorias.

I was dressed in a beige canvas jacket over a loose white shirt, paired with dark jeans and my trusty Doc. Martens. A thin golden necklace adorned my neck, its sun pendant glinting in the moonlight. My dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a pair of small, discreet earrings completed the look.

As I walked, I blended in seamlessly with the crowd of locals and tourists. Aware of my surroundings, I take in every detail. I checked my reflection in the glass of a nearby shop window. My eyes scanned the people behind me, looking out for anything unusual. I adjusted my jacket, feeling the comforting weight of my guns hidden underneath it.

Walking again I turn onto Via della Lungaretta, I could see the bell tower of the Basilica di Santa Maria in the distance. The basilica's facade, stood out even in the light of the evening. I had a rendezvous at a small café just a few steps away from the church.

The café, tucked in a quiet corner, was almost hidden from view by a canopy of wisteria. Its outdoor seating area was filled with round, wrought-iron tables, each adorned with a single candle flickering gently in the night breeze. I slipped into a seat at the far end, my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of the entrance and the street beyond.

I ordered an espresso the bitter aroma mingling with the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce. It was almost enough to make me forget why I was here.

Almost.

As I waited, I couldn't shake the feeling that this night, this job, was going to be different from any other.

I had been summoned last minute for an assignment, an urgent backup situation. The briefing was vague, a hurried phone call from a handler I hadn't heard from in years. The pay was enough to make me pack my gear without asking too many questions.

Little did I know, this job would take me down memory lane. The very streets I walked; were the same ones I had left behind years ago. Memories began to surface—another time, another life. A mission that ended sour, and bonds broken. The weight of those memories loomed over me as I glanced around the café.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed softly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a message from an unknown number. The screen illuminated with a new set of coordinates and a brief message: "Location changed."

The abandoned warehouse was a cavernous space, its corners swallowed by shadows. I stepped cautiously inside, the light filtering through cracked windows casting eerie shapes on the concrete floor. The sound of my boots echoing in the vast emptiness.

"Looks like our backup has arrived," Lemon's voice cut through the silence, tinged with his usual dry humor.

"About time," Tangerine muttered, his tone gruff and annoyed.

The moment I heard Tangerine's voice, my heart skipped a beat. Memories of our teenage years flashed before my eyes—times filled with reckless adventures, stolen goods, and countless nights in jail cells. We had been inseparable, the three of us, until everything fell apart.

We were in a seedy motel room, we had just returned from a grueling mission, one that pushed us to our limits and tested our resolve. But instead of celebrating our success, the atmosphere crackled with frustration and anger. Lemon had left to procure some essentials—food, clean clothes, and the like—leaving Tangerine and me alone, a situation that had become increasingly uncomfortable over the past few months.

I stood by the window, staring out at the neon-lit streets below, trying to gather my thoughts. Tangerine paced the room, his movements agitated, his jaw clenched in a way that signaled trouble brewing.

"You can't keep doing this," I finally spoke up, my voice low but edged with frustration.

"Doing what?" Tangerine snapped, stopping in his tracks to glare at me. "Trying to keep you alive? Making sure you don't get yourself killed because you're too damn reckless?"

His words hit like a slap across the face, igniting a fire within me. "I'm not a child, Tangerine! I can take care of myself. I don't need you constantly hovering over me, questioning every move I make!"

"You call this taking care of yourself?" Tangerine shot back, his voice rising. "You nearly got us both killed back there! If it weren't for Lemon and me cleaning up your mess—"

"You don't get to decide what risks I take," I shot back, my temper flaring. "We're supposed to be partners!"

His jaw tightened even more, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Partners? A partner thinks about the consequences!"

"Oh, and you do?" I interrupted, standing up to face him squarely. "You act like you're the only one who cares about the consequences. Well, newsflash, Tangerine, I've had enough of your lectures!"

He took a step towards me, his voice low and dangerous. "Maybe if you listened to me once in a while, we wouldn't be in this mess every damn time!"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief.

The room seemed to shrink around us. We had faced danger together countless times, but this argument cut deeper than any knife or bullet.

"You're not the same person I used to know," Tangerine said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "You've changed, and not for the better."

His words struck a nerve. "I've changed? You just think of me as an annoyance," I said bitterly. "And the one that has changed is you! You've become controlling, possessive..."

"I'm trying to protect you!" he exploded, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don’t you get it?"

"You're smothering me," I replied, my voice raw with emotion. "I can't breathe with you watching my every move."

Tangerine looked away, his jaw working as he struggled to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered finally, the admission hanging between us like a death sentence.

Tangerine's gaze snapped back to mine, disbelief and hurt warring in his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't do this anymore," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'm done, Tangerine. I can't, I..."

The silence that followed was deafening. Tangerine stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, conflicting emotions flickering over his face—anger, hurt.

"Fine," he said ultimately, his voice clipped and cold. "Go then!"

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. "What the hell are you doing here?" Tangerine's voice was sharp, filled with disbelief and anger.

I turned to face him, my eyes locking with his. "Got a call. Backup needed. Guess they didn't mention who it was."

Tangerine's jaw tightened. "We don't need you."

Before I could respond, Lemon stepped between us. "Oh, for crying out loud, can we save the drama for after the job? We're on the clock here."

I ignored Tangerine's sour demeanor and turned to Lemon, a genuine smile spreading across my face despite the tension. "Lemon!" I said, pulling him into a hug.

Lemon chuckled, returning the embrace, almost breaking my bones. "Hey darling. How are you doing?"

"Better, knowing I’m working with you." I admitted, glancing briefly at Tangerine, who was busy checking his weapon with a scowl.

Lemon sighed, shaking his head. "You two need to work this shit out after this."

Tangerine shot Lemon a glare, but I could sense his frustration. Lemon had always been perceptive, the one who could see through our tough exteriors to the complicated feelings underneath.

As we geared up for the mission, the tension between Tangerine and me simmered just beneath the surface. We moved with practiced efficiency, that came from years of working together, each of us slipping into our roles seamlessly. Despite our issues.

Between gearing up and going over procedures, Lemon found a chance to pull me aside. "You know, Tangerine hasn't been the same since you left," he said quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

I nodded, my gaze drifting towards where Tangerine was meticulously checking his equipment.

"He's not good at expressing it, but he missed you," Lemon continued, his tone earnest. "We both did."

Lemon placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Before I could respond, Tangerine called out, snapping at me. "How many times have you gotten yourself into trouble since you left us?"

"Not as much as you two, I bet," I shot back, unable to resist the jab.

Lemon chuckled, the sound echoing in the warehouse. "Touché."

"Speak for yourself," Tangerine muttered under his breath, though loud enough for all of us to hear.

Lemon laid out the blueprints of the building we were about to infiltrate, his finger tracing the paths we would take. While I was listening Lemon explain the plan, I checked my weapons, my movements precise and controlled.

"You still using that old piece?" Tangerine teased, nodding towards my gun.

"It gets the job done," I replied curtly, my focus unwavering. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

Lemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You two are unbelievable," he muttered, though there was a fondness in his voice that we couldn't miss.

As we finalized our plan, the tension in the warehouse shifted. This job was risky, the stakes high. The mission was straightforward: infiltrate, retrieve, and eliminate if necessary. But the emotional undercurrent between Tangerine and me was palpable, a distraction we couldn't afford.

"Alright, let's do this," Lemon said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet that settled over us.

With a nod, Tangerine took point, leading us towards the back entrance of the building. The night air turned darker as we moved, shadows melding with shadows, our steps silent.

I couldn't help but feel his scrutiny as we moved through the shadows. "You still relying on brute force for everything?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the comms.

I shot him a sideways glance, irritation creeping into my tone. "At least I don't shadow your every damn move like you do mine," I retorted, adjusting my gear with unnecessary force.

Lemon, sensing the escalating tension, sighed audibly. "Focus, both of you."

Tangerine rolled his eyes, but I could see annoyance in his expression. "You’re still as thickheaded as always," he jabbed, his voice laced with frustration.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. "And you waste too much time analyzing my every move."

Lemon glanced between us. "You two are like an old married couple," he muttered under his breath, though his words were loud enough for us to hear.

Tangerine and I shot Lemon a glare. "Shut up!" We both hiss.

With a reluctant nod from Tangerine, we pressed forward. The night air grew colder as we approached a courtyard, each step bringing us closer to the heart of the operation. Despite our differences, our training took over, and we moved with practiced efficiency.

As we reached the back entrance, Tangerine signaled for us to halt. He checked his watch, then glanced around the corner cautiously. "Two guards up ahead," he whispered, his tone sharp.

I nodded, my annoyance with him momentarily overshadowed by the need for precision. "I'll take the one on the left," I replied, already moving into position.

Tangerine shot me a skeptical look but didn't argue. "Fine. Just don't screw it up," he muttered.

I smirked, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "Careful, Tangerine. You don't want me to accidentally shoot you in the foot" I quipped, before focusing back on the task at hand.

Tangerine just glared at me with annoyance.

With a silent countdown from Lemon, he and I sprang into action. The guards were swiftly neutralized, our movements synchronized despite our bickering.

We moved as a unit, knowing each other's moves without needing to speak. The emotional walls we had built seemed to soften, if only for the duration of the operation.

As we breached the targeted room, the unexpected happened—a flurry of gunfire erupted from all sides. The air filled with the sharp cracks of bullets ricocheting off metal, and the acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy.

All three of us instinctively took cover. It was chaos, the plan unraveling. We moved swiftly, communicating in terse commands and covering each other's positions as we fought our way through the ambush.

"Cover me!" Tangerine shouted over the din of gunfire, his voice cutting through the chaos.

I nodded, providing suppressing fire as he maneuvered to flank the attackers. Bullets whizzed dangerously close, the adrenaline pumping through my veins heightening my senses. In the midst of the firefight, Tangerine and I found ourselves back-to-back, a position from countless missions past.

"On your left!" I shouted, spotting an approaching enemy.

Tangerine spun, his movements fluid and precise. With a series of controlled shots, he neutralized the threat without hesitation.

"Thanks," he muttered, the words barely audible over the continuing gunfire.

While Lemon retrieved the crucial files we needed from the secure server, Tangerine and I methodically cleared the warehouse floor by floor.

As we regrouped outside the warehouse, the agitation between us returned, like a storm cloud on the horizon. Our previous exchange of curt commands and coordinated movements had been efficient, but now we were back to our old ways.

"You were reckless," Tangerine yelled, stepping closer, his jaw clenched in anger.

"Reckless? I was doing my job," I countered, meeting his gaze defiantly. "I was covering your ass! If it wasn't for me, you'd be Swiss cheese by now," I retorted sharply, pushing my index finger against his chest.

Lemon, sensing the rising tension, attempted to intervene. "Hey, let's all take a breather here," he interjected calmly, trying to diffuse the escalating confrontation.

But Tangerine wasn't backing down. "Your "job" almost got us pinned down there," he insisted, his voice rising with each word.

I felt a surge of indignation. "And what would you have done differently, huh?" I shot back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

"I would've followed the plan!" Tangerine snapped, his frustration palpable.

"The plan went out the window the moment we were ambushed!" I argued, my voice rising to match his intensity.

Tangerine turned away abruptly, pacing a few steps as he tried to rein in his temper. "You’re still the same!" he protested, his voice strained.

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my own emotions. "But we made it out, didn't we?" I said, trying to reason with him.

Lemon's pointed look spoke volumes, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. "You two need to sort this out. Now!"

Tangerine and I stood in the cool night air, as he finally broke the silence. "Why did you leave?"

I took a deep breath, the words heavy on my tongue. "Because you were driving me crazy. You wouldn't stop criticizing me, watching my every move."

He looked away, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "We were partners. I didn't need protecting. I needed you to trust me."

He met my gaze, his blue eyes filled with an intensity that took my breath away. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Because I—" He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

Lemon's voice cut through the tension. "For the love of God, just say it already. You love her. It's been obvious for years."

Tangerine froze, his gaze locked on mine.

The world seemed to stand still in that moment. My heart raced, emotions swirling in a tumultuous whirlwind. A statement I had never expected, hung now between us.

"Lemon..." Tangerine started, his voice thick with emotion.

Lemon stepped forward, a knowing smile on his face. "I've known for years, Tangerine. You're not exactly subtle."

Tangerine shot him a glare, but there was gratitude in his eyes. "And you never said anything?"

Lemon shrugged. "It wasn't my place. But it's about time you two figured it out."

I turned back to Tangerine, my heart pounding. "I... I thought..." I stood there, comprehending what is happening.

Tangerine took a step closer to me, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do love you. More than I can put into words."

Relief washed over me, mingled with a surge of emotions I had kept buried for so long. "Then why..."

Tangerine reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. "I was scared," he confessed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "Scared that if I admitted how I felt, it would jeopardize everything. Our partnership, our friendship..."

"Our sanity," Lemon chimed in, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Tangerine ignored him, his focus solely on me. "But tonight, seeing you again, after so long. I can't deny it anymore. I need you, not just as a partner, but as..."

"As something more," I finished for him, my voice trembling with emotion.

He nodded, his thumbs brushing lightly against my cheeks. "Yes. As something more."

Lemon cleared his throat, breaking the intimate moment with a smug grin on his face. "Well, now that we've got that settled, can we please get out of here before the authorities decide to crash your little make-up session?"

We chuckled softly, the air around us at ease now. Together, we made our way through the deserted streets of Rome.

As we walked, Tangerine reached out and intertwined his fingers with mine. It was a simple gesture. I reciprocated the act, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into my skin.

Lemon walked a few steps ahead, occasionally glancing back with a satisfied expression. "You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. It's about time you two got your act together."

Tangerine rolled his eyes but didn't let go of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the nudge, Lemon."

Lemon grinned. "Anytime. But seriously, keep it together, I can’t handle more drama."

Something i put together on a whim...

#tangerine x reader #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine 🍊#tangerine fic #bullet train tangerine #aaron taylor johnson #aarontaylorjohnson #tangerine fanfic #lemon and tangerine #lemon bullet train

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ranticore · 19 days ago

Note

im so curious about the kitchen nightmares au, is félix a waiter? are erica and jean creating crimes against the culinary arts in the back? why is esk of all people gordon ramsay

relevant background info was that when i first got my ipad and was getting to grips with procreate, i was also drafting the first go at mvf so i was drawing mostly refs and character designs, and while i was doing that on an ipad i realised that i could, for the first time ever, watch something on another screen while drawing. guess what i watched

this super old art was one of my first paintings all in procreate and i did it while watching kitchen nightmares. love the show (uk version only), it's absolutely terrible and fake and ramsay sucks but something Compels me

i drew a series of fake interview portraits for all main characters of mvf, as different staff members in a failing restaurant on the show. esk who was kind of the straight man/critical voice of the group ended up being the celebrity chef

anyway the basic plot is they work at a tacky outdated italian trattoria with all that entails, that serves french cuisine, in the year 2005. the restaurant was a money laundering front owned by helena but she was an absentee owner who would deny any claim over the restaurant flaws and be generally away & uncooperative

the restaurant was failing because it looked awful and the food was not good but also because the staff could not work well with one another and the constant arguments that customers would overhear was turning them off

the person who called in gordon ramsnake was the restaurant manager, Félix, in a very roundabout attempt to try to bring heat down on Helena

general overview of the staff & their flaws

Manager (Félix) - actively embezzling from the business, basically a middle manager tyrant trying to control everyone else, ambition of becoming the owner one day (and then they'll ALL see). Would deflect the blame for the restaurant's issues onto every single other person except Francis because he can do no wrong ever. Aw jeez guys we just don't know where the money is going!! Don't look at his meticulously-kept, well-hidden balance books or his incongruously nice car. He looks like the sleaziest businessman you have ever seen.

Head Chef (Jean, you guessed right) - confrontational and rude, could not accept criticism no matter what and would pick fights with customers who sent the food back. He could cook decently but only to his own schedule and preference. The type to go "my food is perfect and nobody can teach me anything" before esk convinces the owner to hire a new head chef who can actually listen to feedback. His prized menu hasn't changed in 7 years.

Front of House (Islin) - zero charm or charisma but otherwise pretty sincere, though it IS weird that an ordained priest is working here and not in a church somewhere. He explains in an interview around the back of the restaurant that he's identified a new route to finding converts because just knocking on people's doors hasn't had a good return. He has zero interest in any aspect of the restaurant experience. Attempts to preach to most of the diners.

Head Waiter (Erica) - he's clearly had no training and is never where he's supposed to be at any given time, and it almost looks like he's ambushing the diners while they're mid-bite on purpose. Calculated bare-minimum work while spending most of his time in the kitchens for some reason. In the course of the episode it's discovered that he makes a decent cook and gets relocated. He had a habit of telling customers that the food was bad even if it wasn't.

Barman (Francis) - eager to please and maybe the only truly friendly face in the restaurant, he's the only reason anyone comes back. But he has an inconvenient habit of giving steep discounts to women, so the bar almost never turns a profit. There have been a few complaints about Barman's inappropriate advances from diners & the fact that his shirt is always a little bit too open. He seems to believe that there's nothing wrong with the place and it's a perfectly legit successful business, so it's hard to get through to him to change his behaviour. Won't hear a word of criticism against Félix or Islin.

Sous-chef (Léá) - hates it here hates every second of every day can't stand anyone wants to be out of there asap but she knows she lacks the experience to actually be a sous-chef in a legitimate restaurant, which means she'd take a pay cut if she tried to find work anywhere else, so she's trapped. She has a habit of throwing parsley garnish far too liberally over every single dish because she read in a book from the 90s that this is how you get a Michelin star

Rival Restaurateur (Senca) - she runs an equally tacky fake unpopular italian trattoria across the street and she's been trying to get Helena's one shut down for years by doing various etsy badluck curses and getting the hygiene inspectors called on them but it hasn't worked yet. She suggested to Félix that maybe trying to get the restaurant on TV would draw enough negative attention to get it shut down (and then he could reopen it of course). She's a bit surprised he actually went and did it even though the show could not have been less flattering towards him and he's essentially turbo-nuked his own reputation into the dirt forever. But she's waiting behind the scenes to make an insultingly-cheap offer and then they'll ALL see

over the course of the episode the above flaws are identified. esk attempts to propose a remodel of the tired décor which is fiercely resisted by Félix because he kind of likes the fake tuscany look but eventually he gives in and the place is given a modern and fresh feel. it draws a crowd on its reopening night but the staff struggle to meet the demand, unused to such numbers, and it ends up with Jean refusing to cook and walking out (he's fired shortly after).

they regroup and organise a charming promo event where they serve real french cuisine in a stall outside (oysters mostly) to draw customers for a new lunchtime service. this is well-received because new Head Chef Léa (now even MORE trapped in a role she has no real claim to) doesn't have to cook the oysters so she can't fuck them up. Félix actually tries to be receptive to the staff he's managing, for once, and he does a good job of supporting them and finally effectively managing the floor.

episode ends with Esk walking away and wondering if it left the restaurant in good hands, concluding that "only time will tell". there's a sequence of the restaurant's one successful lunch service, everyone smiling and working well and diners happy, with the text "RESTAURANT closed its business in August 2005, three months after the filming of this episode".

Esk goes back to interview the owner and ask why it failed, and Helena just explains that she sold it and moved on while dodging every other question. Esk berates her for having no passion for the business, calls her lazy and immature, and she simply walks out of the interview.

#i have the art of everyone else but it's fierce outdated #mvf

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merakiui · 9 months ago

Note

Correct if i'm wrong, but isn't Italian Azul Canon?! Cuz i remember reading a post where Azul mentioned that his Mom runs a famous ITALIAN restaurant in the coral reef. I don't know if they did that on purpose so that Azul could fit the Mob boss aesthetic, but still!

Basically, Azul talking dirty to you in Italian isn't far off! 👀

It's definitely implied! One of his Luxe Couture voice lines mentions that his mother grew what was once a "small trattoria" into the popular, well-known restaurant it is today. At the very least, we can assume Mama Ashengrotto's restaurant is Italian-style based on Azul's line about it.

I think it's so fun to consider with the mafia/mob boss vibes the Octavinelle trio has. >:D mermafia my beloveds!!!! Aaaa but then it's also implied that the tweels' "family business" may be some sort of mob/mafia/crime family........ but in my heart, Italian Azul is very much real and true. (´▽`ʃƪ)♡ I want him to say sweet things to me in Italian. <3 oh, to be called all manner of pretty nicknames by him.......

#twisted chit chat

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jjkamochoso · 18 days ago

Text

Let’s Get This Bread

Fluff

Guido Mista x gn!reader

The Sex Pistols unexpectedly steal your food… chaos ensues!

Warnings: light cussing

It was a beautiful day in the warm Italian sun. The birds were chirping while people were chattering as they walked by. Naples was alive with an exciting buzz of energy that certain spring day and you were eager to make the most of it. You went on a stroll around your neighborhood, not having to go into work since it was your day off. Following your nose, your feet took you into the direction of a local trattoria; your stomach rumbled with hunger as you neared the eatery, delectable smells wafting from the building.

You were seated on the patio of the home style restaurant, not wanting to be out of the weather that was being oh so kind to you today. Carefully looking over the menu, you made your selection, thanking the waiter as you handed the paper back to him. You sipped your drink casually as you observed the patrons around you. The restaurant was busy but not crowded—perfect conditions for people watching. You turned your head to the left, watching a man pull the chair out for the lady he was there with, the woman beaming at him graciously.

They must be on a date, you thought, smiling to yourself. It was the perfect weather to fall in love or be out on the town with your significant other. Of course, you were not so lucky to be clutched in the grasps of love, but the plate of fresh-out-the-oven bread that was currently being placed in front of you had your heart beating wildly just the same. Your teeth sunk into the soft texture and you swore you died and went to heaven; today couldn’t get any better.

And then you saw him.

With your cheeks filled with bread and curiosity filling your mind, you had gone back to watching the diners around you when you suddenly made eye contact with a stranger. You tried to look away but his gaze was magnetic, holding your attention with his playful expression and extremely handsome face. After what felt like eternity, you broke away from the staring contest. You didn’t want to bother the man; it looked like he was in some sort of important business meeting with the way one of his colleagues slapped him on the back of his head and told him to pay attention. You moved your attention to the sky above the city street, opting to watch the clouds while you daydreamed about the mystery man. What you wouldn’t do to kiss those plush lips of his…

(You were a bit of a hopeless romantic).

You absentmindedly reached out your hand to grab another piece of bread. However, your fingers only found empty air. Bringing your eyes downward, you gasped.

Your bread was gone!

Furrowing your eyebrows, you thought hard. Did someone steal it while you were lost in your thoughts? No, you would’ve sensed someone walking past you. A bird, maybe? That would’ve been too noisy to not notice.

What happened to your food?

In an instant—a strange instant—you had your answer: you witnessed your last slices of bread floating away.

You rubbed your eyes, not believing what you were seeing. What was stealing your food? Insects? Was someone playing some sort of trick on you? You watched as it floated toward the group of men to your right and eventually fell onto the table in front of the man who you locked eyes with earlier. Confused but pissed off, you abruptly stood from your chair and stomped over.

“Excuse you!” you interrupted, conversation halting between the men. You paid them no mind, nostrils practically flaring as you thrusted a finger at the man in the crop top. “I don’t know how you did that, but that’s extremely rude! I want my bread back!”

His brown eyes met your angry ones.

“Huh?!” he asked, looking like he hadn’t a clue what you were talking about.

“The bread that just magically dropped in front of you,” you seethed, your finger now pointing at the slices, “that’s mine. It was taken from my table just now.”

“Bread?” he repeated. “What the hell are you talking about-”

He grunted in surprise as he saw the bread lying in front of him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he moaned, slapping a hand on his face in disappointment.

“Look, I don’t care how attractive you are, you can’t just take people’s bread, alright?” you said, hands on your hips.

He looked around before pointing at himself in shock. “Wait, me? You think I’m attractive?”

“You seriously need to control those things, Mista,” a man with long hair and purple lipstick said gruffly. You had no clue what he was talking about or what actually was going on but before you could question things further, a man in a white suit calmly addressed you from the other side of the table.

“Please excuse us for interrupting your meal. This one,” he slung his arm around the shoulders of a younger boy with black hair, “has been practicing his magic for the school’s talent show and must have mistakenly taken your food instead of the food here at the table. Our sincerest apologies.”

The man with the bob sent a reassuring smile your way while the boy gave you a huge grin and thumbs up. Did you believe them? Not in the slightest, but there was no other believable explanation.

You sighed. “Just… order me a new plate, would you? My last one was freshly baked, mind you, so I expect that again.”

“Of course. Again, please accept our sincerest apologies. Enjoy your meal,” the man in white told you. You nodded, bewildered at the whole ordeal, but not wanting to made a further fuss. You were about to walk back to your table when you caught a glance of the crop top-wearing man once again, this time looking at you with hearts in his eyes. You couldn’t help but let a chuckle slip past your lips.

“I hope to see you again under better circumstances, bread boy.”

“Me too, bread… babe,” he replied, a charming grin plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes and laughed, ecstatic to see your entree arriving as you took your seat back at your own table.

Throughout the rest of your meal, complete with another plate of hot bread, you tried not to think about the handsome stranger too much, knowing you’d probably never see him again. Naples was a huge city with people always coming and going; who’s to say he even lived there? You wiped your mouth with your napkin and watched as the mysterious group left. You and the man shared one last smile before he left for good, talking and laughing loudly with the younger boy. The restaurant was quieter without them—definitely not as lively. You wondered who they were and what they were up to. You could tell they had their secrets, which was apparent in the way they made up that ridiculous lie about magic and a talent show, but you honestly had no better answer for how your food was floating through the air.

Whatever, you thought, they ordered me more bread and nothing else happened. I should just laugh this off and forget all about them.

When your waiter came back, presumably with your bill, you went to pull your wallet out but he stopped you.

“The table that was over there paid for your meal,” he explained, “but the man in the red and blue told me to give you this.”

He handed you a piece of paper and walked away, clearing your dishes. A phone number was distinguishable, yet your eyes struggled to adjust to the other scrawled, messy letters. Eventually, you deciphered what was written.

Sorry again for earlier. You’re really hot and I’d love to take you out on a date.

Call me ;)

Mista (bread boy)

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