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makeitmingi · 5 days

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When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 2]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

With an iced tea in hand, you unlocked the glass doors of your shop and entered. You turned on the lights, placing your tea on the counter and your bag in your locker. Since you were the only worker here, there was no one else to use the lockers but you.

"Roses, tulips, carnations..." You grabbed your notepad to check the incoming deliveries today. The first thing you did was check on your plants and water them.

"You're growing well." You smiled softly, seeing the plant that you sprout, moving the pot away from the direct sunlight.

"(y/n)?" You heard the familiar voice of your supplier at the back door and went over.

"Good morning, Mr Lee. Do you have any surprises for me?" You giggled. You had a good relationship with all your suppliers, they always helped you bring in quality products.

"Well, besides your usual orders, I have some hydrangeas if you would like." He climbed into his truck.

"Here." He pushed the bucket to show you.

"Oh, they're absolutely beautiful. I'll take them." You smiled. He nodded and helped you bring everything in, he usually knew where everything went.

"Sunflowers aren't selling too well." You shook your head in disappointment, seeing your sunflowers there.

"Sunflowers aren't trendy anymore. Have you seen what's on the internet? My daughter told me that girls are content with just bouquets of baby's breaths now. How times have truly changed, right?" He chuckled with a click of his tongue. You nodded and moved the roses into the refrigerated area.

"It's a minimalist thing, no? Bigger isn't better anymore. No one comes in for traditional bouquets anymore." You sighed, going to the cash register to get the money.

"Tell me about it... And this should be everything." Mr Lee said, glancing over the flowers that he brought in.

"Thank you, this is the payment." You handed the money to him. He nodded and placed it in his pouch.

"Also, Mr Lee. I remember you mentioning that Mrs Lee keep getting her hands burnt when she's working at her restaurant. I made her an aloe balm. This should help soothe the burns." You held the tin out.

"Oh, you're too kind, (y/n). Thank you so much for making this." He patted your shoulder.

"Have a nice day. See you next week." You walked him out.

"See you." The both of you bowed to each other and he jumped into his van before driving off. You returned to your counter and began your work for the day.

"Let's see..." You checked the online orders that you had and printed it out for reference.

Moving to your work bench, you began to prepare the flower preparations for each other. You trimmed the stems, removed the excess leaves and cut thorns away before wrapping them up with either cellophane or tissue paper.

"Hello? Are you open?" The bell above the door jingled. A girl walked into store, carrying a pot with her. You cleaned your hands and walked out to the front.

"Yes, we're open. How can I help you?" You smiled.

"My fern seems to be wilting and I can't seem to revive it. Can you help?" She asked.

"Let's see what's the issue." You escorted in. She placed the pot on your work table and you inspected it. The girl patiently waited, watching you as you checked it.

"From what I see, the soil isn't draining water properly. It's retaining too much water and suffocating the roots of the plant." You said.

"What? Can that happen?" She blinked.

"Yes, so that suffocation prevents the roots from absorbing the vitamins and minerals. You should mix a well drainage soil of this ratio and move your fern in." You wrote the ingredients down.

"And I can find this at the plant store?" She asked, reading through what you wrote down.

"You should be able to find the components. But if you don't mind waiting, I can mix some for you to take home." You offered. Hearing that, she let out a sigh of relief and nodded her head excitedly. You went to your storage area to grab the different soil components that you need.

"Peat moss, sand and potting soil." You mixed the components into a bag, adding some fertiliser as well since the fern currently lacked essential nutrients.

"For two weeks, put two drops of this plant reviver into the soil even if you are not watering it." You handed her a small vial.

"Thank you. Actually, do you mind repotting it into the new soil for me? I'll pay you." She requested.

"Alright." You took the fern out and got rid of the old soil. You poured the new soil in, creating a well to put the fern in. After that, you loosely covered the roots with the soil.

"Done." You smiled, removing your gloves.

"Thank you. This is actually my mum's plant and I'm helping her take care of it. I know nothing about plants." She said in embarrassment.

"No worries, the plant should be fine from here. If there are anymore issues, you can come back." You chuckled and rang up her bill. She nodded and paid.

"Thanks again." She bowed and walked out of the shop. After that, you went back to preparing your orders. There were some pick ups today so you wanted to make sure that everything was in order for a smoother pick up.

"Hi, I'm here for a pick up?" A guy walked into the store.

"Sure, can I see your order number?" You asked. He showed you the confirmation email and went to retrieve his order. It was a flower box instead of a bouquet.

"Just make sure everything is okay for you before paying." You said, rounding the counter to the cashier.

"Do you mind changing the ribbons to pink too? She really likes pink." He requested.

"Of course." You grabbed the ribbon. With pink flowers, you wanted to add contrast with a different coloured bow but since he wants it to be pink, there was no issue with changing it.

"That's better. Thanks." He handed you his card.

"I wrote the congratulatory message as you stated in request email but if you'd like to write your own message. This is a spare card, on the house." You handed him the blank card.

"Thank you, I don't know what else to write but if I come up with something I'll add it." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. You hummed and rang up his bill, writing the invoice and handing him a copy, along with his credit card. With a grateful bow of his head, he left the shop.

Before you knew it, the clock hit 1pm, with customers coming in to buy, place advance orders or collect orders they've placed.

'Closed for lunch.'

You sat behind the counter with a tired sigh, taking out your lunch box. Your meals usually consisted of sandwiches or leftovers from dinner the night before.

Which was why Mrs Kim would usually come with food for you, always disapproving of how your eating habits.

RING!

"Sorry, we're closed at the moment." You said from behind the counter, not looking at the door. But you didn't hear the second ring of the door opening again so you stood up.

"Oh!" Your eyes widened in surprised as Hongjoong stood there, looking around the shop.

"Hongjoong sshi..." You blinked, maybe you were dreaming. Maybe your guilt was too much that the male was appearing in your dreams.

"Good afternoon, (y/n) sshi. Is this a bad time? Should I come back at another time?" He asked with a slight tilt of his head, fingers resting on the buttons of his blazer. You shook your head, reaching to get a tissue to wipe your mouth.

"It's fine. What can I help you with?" You came out from behind the counter to properly greet him. He patiently waited as you pulled a chair for him to sit.

"Please, would you like something to drink?" You offered.

"No, I'm fine. Actually, (y/n) sshi, I came to apologise for my reaction during my mother's funeral." He stood back up.

"What? There's nothing for you to apologise for, Hongjoong sshi. I should be the one apologising, I overstepped and said too much. It wasn't appropriate of me." You bowed deeply.

"You didn't overstep at all. Your intentions were good, I reacted poorly." He bowed back.

"No, you're grieving, it's normal." You smiled softly.

"Thank you for understanding." Hongjoong held his hand out but remembered that it was bandaged and cursed under his breath, hiding it and putting his other hand out for you to shake. If you were phased by his injury, you didn't show it. You smiled and slipped your hand into his to shake.

"I should go and let you carry on with your meal." He said once you both let go.

"No, it's fine. You can stay if you'd like." You smiled softly. He let out a small hum and continued to look around your shop, observing all the plants around.

"So, this is where my mother hung out?" He asked, picking up a stalk of rose from your work bench and twirling it.

"Sometimes... She would come for lunch or tea. We would just chat over food." You replied awkwardly.

How much were you supposed to say about Mrs Kim to her own son? You didn't want to sound like you were boasting about your time with her either, that wouldn't do any good.

"I see." He said, placing the flower back down.

"Hongjoong sshi..." You rubbed your arm, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

"Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Just... The truth is, you know a lot about my mother that I don't. You've spent time with her while I didn't so I can't help but feel curious. My relationship with her wasn't as good as she made it out of be." He informed.

"Oh. Hongjoong sshi, it's not my place to judge you or your relationship with Mrs Kim. Whatever relationship I had with her is vastly different from your own." You said.

"You're very kind, (y/n) sshi." He complimented. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

"I should go." He stood up.

"Wait before you go. Your bandage, do you want me to help you replace it?" You pointed. Hongjoong looked down and saw the blood beginning to seep through.

"It's fine, I shouldn't take up more of your time." He shook his head.

"Not at all. I can help if you'd like." You offered. With a soft sigh, Hongjoong sat back down.

"I'll go get my medical kit. Be right back." You told him and went to the back room to get what you needed. You also took a salve that you usually used for wound care.

"I'm not a doctor but I am first aid certified and I study medical plants in botany so you don't have to worry." You smiled and took a pair of cutters to cut away the bandages that Yeosang had wrapped around Hongjoong's hand. Hongjoong quietly observed you, not saying anything else while you focussed.

"I made this salve for wounds. It should help with soothing the wounds and healing." You explained, cleaning the blood.

"Do you always make your own medicine?" He asked.

"No, I just make simple stuff. I'm still learning." You giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear before applying a thin layer of the salve over the cuts and wounds.

"Does it hurt?" You looked up at him. He shook his head and you sighed in relief.

"You can bring that home with you to apply when you change bandages. I have some more." You explained.

"You do a better job than my brother." Hongjoong said after observing how you properly wrapped a new bandage around his hand and secured it in place.

"You should remove the bandage after 3 days to let the wounds breathe and dry." You said.

The entire time, you never once asked Hongjoong about how he got injured or acted differently. You treated it like any other scrapped knee and healed him. Usually, people would be scared or ask him how he got injured like that.

"Thanks." He looked at his newly bandaged hand.

"You're very welcome. If you see signs of infection or get a fever, go to a doctor." You advised. He nodded and took the small pot of salve, putting it into his pocket.

Will he use it? Probably not. But he saw how dedicated you were and for some reason, didn't want to disappoint you by not taking it.

"Bye, Hongjoong sshi. I'll see you around?" You blinked at your own words, uncertainty in your voice.

"Have a nice day, (y/n) sshi." He didn't address it, merely bowing his head and leaving your shop. You let out a long exhale, feeling like you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Ah!" You suddenly remembered the silk handkerchief that you had washed and in your bag.

"Too distracted." You scratched your head and went to the counter to eat a few more bites of your lunch before you had to reopen.

You were not too bothered that you hadn't returned the handkerchief to Hongjoong. Even if you did feel guilty, you had an inkling that you would be seeing Hongjoong again soon. What ate at you more was how foreign Hongjoong spoke about his mother, like she was a stranger that he didn't know.

"Hongjoong, where are you?"

"I went out to run an errand, Seonghwa. Don't worry, I didn't drive. I got the driver." Hongjoong sighed, sinking into the backseat of the Rolls Royce he was in.

"I'm not worried about that. I just wanted to make sure you didn't do something dumb like blow up a building."

"Geez that happened ONCE, let it go... And I'm going to work, I have to go to my club." Hongjoong said, looking at his bandaged hand.

"You don't have to go back to work right away, Hongjoong. The boys and I can take over while you take a few days. You've needed to take a break for a while."

"I'm the leader of Ateez, Seonghwa. I don't need all of you to take over my work." Hongjoong replied.

"But..."

"Yes, my mother died. But sitting around isn't going to bring her back to life. I still have roles to fulfill, I'm not going to let anyone strike us just because I'm down. There are people counting on us, relying on us." He continued.

"Alright. Stay safe then, Hongjoong. I'll see you at the docks meeting at 5pm?"

"Yeah, thanks Seonghwa. I'll see you later." Hongjoong hummed and hung up. The car stopped before Hongjoong's club and the manager came out, opening the door for him.

"Good afternoon, Mr Kim." The manager bowed. The club wasn't open yet so Hongjoong could get some administrative work done.

"Get me a drink and come up to the office." Hongjoong said, walking into the club.

"Yes, sir." He bowed. Upon his entrance, all the workers stopped and bowed down to greet their boss This was the main club Hongjoong worked out of so they were used to seeing him around.

"Give me 10 minutes. No one is to enter." Hongjoong told the guard who stood by his office door.

"Yes, sir." The guard bowed.

Hongjoong entered his office and sat down in his chair. There were some things he needed to do and catch up on privately, without any interruptions. As the leader of Ateez, he had to keep track of the other Ateez members and their work, on top of his own. But the boys always did their work so it wasn't hard on him.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"S-Sir?" Hongjoong heard the timid voice of the club manager outside his door, making him look up from his phone where he was sending messages to Yunho.

"Has it been 10 minutes?" Hongjoong asked back, tucking his phone into his blazer pocket.

"Yes, sir." The male on the other side replied.

"Come in." Hongjoong said. The door opened and the male came in with his iPad and Hongjoong's whiskey in hand. Hongjoong nodded over to the chair and the manager bowed, taking a seat opposite him.

"Update me." Hongjoong took a sip of his drink. The manager began to update Hongjoong on the business.

"We have been thinking of letting our bartending apprentice go. He had been drinking on the job and getting drunk." He informed.

"Who?" Hongjoong leaned forward.

"This is his profile. The next page has some employee complaints and customer complaints that were logged." The manager informed, pulling up the ex employee's profile and handing it over to Hongjoong to look it over.

"I won't read this, let him go. I won't let anyone be caught lacking in my business. One complaint is as good as ten. Make him compensate for what alcohol he took." Hongjoong instructed.

"Of course, sir." The manager nodded, taking back the iPad and going through the other updates.

"Continue to manage necessary manpower and suppliers to the club. Revenue is still good." Hongjoong told him.

"I will. Thank you for giving me this responsibility, sir." The manager bowed from his seat.

"This is the list of VIPs coming. As usual, make sure they are well taken care of." Hongjoong slid over the list of VIP names and the dates that they would be coming.

"Of course." The manager folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

"You can go." With that, Hongjoong waved him off and he left. Hongjoong may seem cold and merciless but he treats his employees right, at least those that do their job well. He is a perfectionist and always wants the best, there shouldn't be anything that's lacking when it came to his business.

"Send Wooyoung and San for that private poker game. That's wheret they'll meet our informant." Hongjoong said to those that were in the group call.

"Oooh, I can get a new suit done." Wooyoung's focus and excitement was obviously on other things.

"What about the governor meeting that's coming up, hyung? Are you going with Seonghwa hyung?" Jongho asked.

"Seonghwa should go with Yunho. They know how to work the charm. Plus the governor's wife seems to favour Yunho." Hongjoong thought out loud, making the other laugh.

"No one can resist that face." Seonghwa chuckled.

"Yunho's ears just turned bright red." Yeosang informed and the others could hear Yunho's yell of protest in the background.

"Wait, what time is Seonghwa hyung and Hongjoong hyung settling the issue at the docks? I want to tag along, I could use some action. It'll be fun." Mingi asked.

"Oh! Me too! If Mingi's going, I want to go!" San agreed. Hongjoong could hear Seonghwa wanting to interject but it was ignored. Hongjoong and Seonghwa could never fight the younger ones, they were simply outnumbered.

"You guys always make a mess when you get involved... This time, call your own clean up crew." Seonghwa hissed.

"You gave in way too easily, Seonghwa ah." Hongjoong laughed and leaned back into his seat.

"I already have enough to think about. I have to pick my battles. Plus, if they can handle it for us, I won't risk getting blood on my new coat." Seonghwa said.

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seravphs · 1 year

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence.

Your termination is effectively immediately.

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered.

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months.

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it.

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business.

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember -

They’re all at work.

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go.

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye.

Onigiri Miya, it reads.

Japanese comfort food. Family owned.

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more.

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then.

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?”

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service.

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.”

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is.

At least the delivery is quick.

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically.

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya.

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself.

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs.

That the food is good is an understatement.

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing.

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next?

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it.

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep.

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible.

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch.

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning.

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong.

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?”

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?”

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?”

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.”

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.”

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?”

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles.

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.”

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!”

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain.

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot.

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby.

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life.

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders.

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time.

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat.

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week.

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate.

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news.

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.”

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star.

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you.

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you.

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way.

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it.

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.”

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen.

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately.

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny.

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass.

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up.

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them!

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart.

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you.

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.”

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri.

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.”

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.”

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back.

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?”

He gives you a look.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.”

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.”

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you.

“Is this…?”

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.”

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.”

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 8 months

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🤍a completely random modern au headcanon for each aot character 🤍

eren jaeger’s idea of late night fun is going to walmart/target/etc. he likes to walk around with his friends and be absolutely childish. bonus: he’s banned from a certain store for kicking an inflatable ball across the store.

armin arlert is self conscious of his body. it’s only really his torso though. when him and his friends go to the beach, he’s always the last one to take his shirt off. he doesn’t even have anything to be embarrassed about, he’s just disappointed he’s not as muscular as eren or reiner.

mikasa ackerman’s favorite color is a dark red. the blood, cherry type of red. she’s got a lip tint in that color and her nails are painted too much. she also chews her nails. she hopes the nail polish is enough to break the habit but it isn’t.

connie springer’s favorite fast food restaurant is burger king. he thinks it’s underrated. you can count on him to fuck up a whopper. he also always gets the cardboard crowns to wear.

jean kirstein loves night time. he loves the solitude, the way nobody expects anything from him, and the fact that he can just be. he doesn’t get lonely during his late nights but he wouldn’t mind somebody to share it with.

sasha braus smells really good. she doesn’t use any super fancy products, though. she’s just one of those people that naturally have a good aroma. her skin is also really soft.

ymir tans really easy in the summer. she never burns or turns red. she’s genetically blessed. the sun also makes the freckles on her face pop and clusters of them pop up on her back/shoulders.

historia reiss loves milkshakes and soda floats. she always orders them with a whipped cream and cherry. she prefers milkshakes from a diner rather than a fast food place.

marco bodt really likes plants. he has a collection of houseplants. they line his window sills and he even has a special little rack with a special little light. he’s got a super green thumb.

reiner braun drinks protein shakes religiously. he pretty much sticks to a diet of shakes, meat, vegetables and rice. there are few times where he breaks his routine, usually just joining his friends for a night of drinking.

bertholdt hoover has a surprisingly high tolerance when it comes to weed and alcohol. at least that’s what it looks like on the outside. he’s pretty cool, calm and collected. nobody’s sure if he’s immune to being drunk, or if he’s too anxious about acting a fool to show any signs of inebriation.

annie leonhardt owns a german shepherd 100%. she’s had it since it was a pup and it’s one of the most well behaved dogs. they’re oddly similar in their mannerisms. bonus: it’s named marley.

pieck finger is the type of girl to sit on the floor. like, at all times. when she’s sad, she’ll lay down completely and just stare at the ceiling. it’s peaceful and it makes her feel relaxed.

porco galliard goes through an ungodly amount of hairgel. his hair is hard like those ballroom/ballet dancers in competitions. he has trouble growing facial hair.

zeke jaeger gets his weed flown to him from another state/country. it’s the best shit around. he’s also never home because he “runs a business.” always found with a blunt near by.

levi ackerman doesn’t like energy drinks or coffee. if he needs caffeine, he gets it from tea or some kind of health drink. he doesn’t understand how kids hearts don’t give out with all their monsters and red bulls.

erwin smith is so friendly despite his appearance. he finds joy in little things like a heads up penny or when the barista remembers his name/order. he’s a pretty easy going guy.

hange zoe breaks her glasses all the time. they either sit on them or step on them. it’s easy for them to lose their glasses because their room is a mess. books, papers, knick knacks everywhere.

my jean fic

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astrstqr · 2 months

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☆˙˖ DESIRED REALITY !

things i script for my modern dr. lmk if you want more

⬭ racism, homophobia, ableism, transphobia, islamophobia, anti semitism, misogyny, global warming, climate change, overconsumption, overpopulation, deforestation, habitat destruction etc., used to exist, however they currently do not and will never suffer from them again.

⬭ everyone is treated equal

⬭ no “pro-life”

⬭ people are allowed to have abortions no matter what age they are

⬭ women products are free such as pads/tampons and birth control

⬭ everyone is educated on problems happening around the world

⬭ health care is free

⬭ natives are seen as the founders of America

⬭ south, west, southeast, & central Asians are seen too + people know Asia is not just the east

⬭ having guns are illegal unless your job requires you to have one and there is no other way to get a gun

⬭ periods last a day and are very light

⬭ covid-19 doesn’t exist

⬭ plastic surgery is normalized , isnt look down on but people rarely gets it unless necessary

⬭ children of any age are not sexualized in any form or shape

⬭ in public bathrooms the toilet is always clean, people don't knock on the stall you are in, there is always toilet paper, always soap and a hand dryer

⬭ the Chinese government isn't so harsh & gives the citizens freedom

⬭ people of color’s cultures are RESPECTED, & not appropriated

⬭ foster care takes treats kids nicely

⬭ nobody harms animals and kill shelters are not a thing

⬭ all country leaders are good and honest people

⬭ human trafficking does not exist

⬭ the government never watches you through your phone

⬭ trump never ran for president

⬭ no world hungers

⬭ no one is homeless, and everyone has a home

⬭ world peace

⬭ women and men are equal

⬭ it’s easy for people to make money

⬭ all sickness has a cure

⬭ bullying does not exist

⬭ black history and pride month still exist

⬭ the government isn't greedy and take care of their people

⬭ every country has money, food, isnt poor, etc. etc.

⬭ no toxic parenting

⬭ the Sewol ferry never had an accident

⬭ school shooting doesn’t exist

⬭ minimum wage is $15-$20 an hour

⬭ crimes are punished with justice in mind

⬭ history is recorded correctly

⬭ people can start driving at 15

⬭ Korea is not conservative

⬭ Korea doesn’t have an unrealistic beauty standard

⬭ Korea never divided, it is united and free. But south of korea is like the city part and the north is like rural part

⬭ pollution does not exist

⬭ earth air is clean and easy to breathe no matter where you are

⬭ no acid rain, urban sprawl, ozone layer depletion

⬭ allergies do not exist

⬭ the world is more colorful and not dull looking

⬭ coral reef still has it color

⬭ no water in unwanted places

⬭ grass is always green

⬭ if the population increases the planet gets bigger to produce resources to accommodate the growing population. it doesnt effect the mass of the earth or the gravitational pull

⬭ global warming doesn't exist

⬭ humidity doesn't ruin hair

⬭ the library of alexandria was never destroyed

⬭ apple pencils work on iPhone

⬭ everything is wireless, and nothing needs a cord

⬭ line is always short in stores and restaurants

⬭ buildings and renovating don’t take longer than a wee

⬭ you can book a hotel with being 18 or older

⬭ traffic is always fine

⬭ netflix have more of a large selection of things and dont remove shows/add shows no one wants

⬭ spotify is free

⬭ the switch have a web browser

⬭ tv companies still make tv shows similar to the 2000s and early 2010s , just updated to keep up with the times

⬭ the sims franchise lore is linear throughout the series

the open world features from sims 3 is still present in sims 4

sims 4 is like an updated and better version of sims 3 keeping all the features from the sims 3 (still including everything that is already in sims 4)

non of the games have bugs

every expansion pack etc is just added to the game as an update and no one has to pay for it

⬭ cheap jewelry doesnt tarnish

⬭ washer/dryer cycles are 15 mins

⬭ in the show dancing dolls everyone was treated equally and was never fake to each other.

⬭ people actually do the theme for the met gala and it’s always unique

୨୧⠀˙⠀⠀˖⠀ world aesthetic & vibe

#𓏸𓈒 — YANA #★ DA BRAT DRS #scripting ideas #script #reality shifting #shifting #desired reality #manifesation #things to script #shifting script #shifting community #shiftblr #shifters #shifting motivation #shifting realities

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olowan-waphiya · 1 year

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of fucking course.....they fucking coated paper straws with pfas......its a fucking nightmare

Long-lasting 'forever chemicals', which can cause damaging health issues, found in 18/20 brands of paper straws

In the first analysis of its kind in Europe, and only the second in the world, Belgian researchers tested 39 brands of straws for the group of synthetic chemicals known as poly- and perfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS).

PFAS were found in the majority of the straws tested and were most common in those made from paper and bamboo, the study, published in the peer-reviewed journal Food Additives and Contaminants, found.

PFAS are used to make everyday products, from outdoor clothing to non-stick pans, resistant to water, heat and stains. They are, however, potentially harmful to people, wildlife and the environment.

They break down very slowly over time and can persist over thousands of years in the environment, a property that has led to them being known as "forever chemicals."

They have been associated with a number of health problems, including lower response to vaccines, lower birth weight, thyroid disease, increased cholesterol levels, liver damage, kidney cancer and testicular cancer.

"Straws made from plant-based materials, such as paper and bamboo, are often advertised as being more sustainable and eco-friendly than those made from plastic," says researcher Dr Thimo Groffen, an environmental scientist at the University of Antwerp, who is involved in this study.

"However, the presence of PFAS in these straws means that's not necessarily true."

A growing number of countries, including the UK and Belgium, have banned sale of single-use plastic products, including drinking straws, and plant-based versions have become popular alternatives.

A recent study found PFAS in plant-based drinking straws in the US. Dr Groffen and colleagues wanted to find out if the same was true of those on sale in Belgium.

To explore this further, the research team purchased 39 different brands of drinking straw made from five materials -- paper, bamboo, glass, stainless steel and plastic.

The straws, which were mainly obtained from shops, supermarkets and fast-food restaurants, then underwent two rounds of testing for PFAS.

The majority of the brands (27/39, 69%) contained PFAS, with 18 different PFAS detected in total.

The paper straws were most likely to contain PFAS, with the chemicals detected in 18/20 (90%) of the brands tested. PFAS were also detected in 4/5 (80%) brands of bamboo straw, 3/4 (75%) of the plastic straw brands and 2/5 (40%) brands of glass straw. They were not detected in any of the five types of steel straw tested.

The most commonly found PFAS, perfluorooctanoic acid (PFOA), has been banned globally since 2020.

Also detected were trifluoroacetic acid (TFA) and trifluoromethanesulfonic acid (TFMS), "ultra-short chain" PFAS which are highly water soluble and so might leach out of straws into drinks.

The PFAS concentrations were low and, bearing in mind that most people tend to only use straws occasionally, pose a limited risk to human health. However, PFAS can remain in the body for many years and concentrations can build up over time.

"Small amounts of PFAS, while not harmful in themselves, can add to the chemical load already present in the body," says Dr Groffen.

It isn't known whether the PFAS were added to the straws by the manufacturers for waterproofing or whether were the result of contamination. Potential sources of contamination include the soil the plant-based materials were grown in and the water used in the manufacturing process.

However, the presence of the chemicals in almost every brand of paper straw means it is likely that it was, in some cases, being used as a water-repellent coating, say the researchers.

The study's other limitations include not looking at whether the PFAS would leach out of the straws into liquids.

Dr Groffen concludes: "The presence of PFAS in paper and bamboo straws shows they are not necessarily biodegradable.

"We did not detect any PFAS in stainless steel straws, so I would advise consumers to use this type of straw -- or just avoid using straws at all."

#PFAS #straws #science #contamination #pollution #environmental pollution

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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This is your brain on fraud apologetics

In 1998, two Stanford students published a paper in Computer Networks entitled “The Anatomy of a Large-Scale Hypertextual Web Search Engine,” in which they wrote, “Advertising funded search engines will be inherently biased towards the advertisers and away from the needs of consumers.”

https://research.google/pubs/pub334/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The co-authors were Lawrence Page and Sergey Brin, and the “large-scale hypertextual web search-engine” they were describing was their new project, which they called “Google.” They were 100% correct — prescient, even!

On Wednesday night, a friend came over to watch some TV with us. We ordered out. We got scammed. We searched for a great local Thai place we like called Kiin and clicked a sponsored link for a Wix site called “Kiinthaila.com.” We should have clicked the third link down (kiinthaiburbank.com).

We got scammed. The Wix site was a lookalike for Kiin Thai, which marked up their prices by 15% and relayed the order to our local, mom-and-pop, one-branch restaurant. The restaurant knew it, too — they called us and told us they were canceling the order, and said we could still come get our food, but we’d have to call Amex to reverse the charge.

As it turned out, the scammers double-billed us for our order. I called Amex, who advised us to call back in a couple days when the charge posted to cancel it — in other words, they were treating it as a regular customer dispute, and not a systemic, widespread fraud (there’s no way this scammer is just doing this for one restaurant).

In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor hassle, but boy, it’s haunting to watch the quarter-century old prophecy of Brin and Page coming true. Search Google for carpenters, plumbers, gas-stations, locksmiths, concert tickets, entry visas, jobs at the US Post Office or (not making this up) tech support for Google products, and the top result will be a paid ad for a scam. Sometimes it’s several of the top ads.

This kind of “intermediation” business is actually revered in business-schools. As Douglas Rushkoff has written, the modern business wisdom reveres “going meta” — not doing anything useful, but rather, creating a chokepoint between people who do useful things and people who want to pay for those things, and squatting there, collecting rent:

https://rushkoff.medium.com/going-meta-d42c6a09225e

It’s the ultimate passive income/rise and grind side-hustle: It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to discover a whole festering nest of creeps on Tiktok talking about how they pay Mechanical Turks to produce these lookalike sites at scale.

This mindset is so pervasive that people running companies with billions in revenue and massive hoards of venture capital run exactly the same scam. During lockdown, companies like Doordash, Grubhub and Uber Eats stood up predatory lookalike websites for local restaurants, without their consent, and played monster-in-the-middle, tricking diners into ordering through them:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/19/we-are-beautiful/#man-in-the-middle

These delivery app companies were playing a classic enshittification game: first they directed surpluses to customers to lock them in (heavily discounting food), then they directed surplus to restaurants (preferential search results, free delivery, low commissions) — then, having locked in both consumers and producers, they harvested the surplus for themselves.

Today, delivery apps charge massive premiums to both eaters and restaurants, load up every order with junk fees, and clone the most successful restaurants out of ghost kitchens — shipping containers in parking lots crammed with low-waged workers cranking out orders for 15 different fake “virtual restaurants”:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/01/autophagic-buckeyes/#subsidized-autophagia

Delivery apps speedran the enshittification cycle, but Google took a slower path to get there. The company has locked in billions of users (e.g. by paying billions to be the default search on Safari and Firefox and using legal bullying to block third party Android device-makers from pre-installing browsers other than Chrome). For years, it’s been leveraging our lock-in to prey on small businesses, getting them to set up Google Business Profiles.

These profiles are supposed to help Google distinguish between real sellers and scammers. But Kiin Thai has a Google Business Profile, and searching for “kiin thai burbank” brings up a “Knowledge Panel” with the correct website address — on a page that is headed with a link to a scam website for the same business. Google, in other words, has everything it needs to flag lookalike sites and confirm them with their registered owners. It would cost Google money to do this — engineer-time to build and maintain the system, content moderator time to manually check flagged listings, and lost ad-revenue from scammers — but letting the scams flourish makes Google money, at the expense of Google users and Google business customers.

Now, Google has an answer for this: they tell merchants who are being impersonated by ad-buying scammers that all they need to do is outbid them for the top ad-spot. This is a common approach — Amazon has a $31b/year “ad business” that’s mostly its own platform sellers bidding against each other to show you fake results for your query. The first five screens of Amazon search results are 50% ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is “going meta,” so naturally, Meta is doing it too: Facebook and Instagram have announced a $12/month “verification” badge that will let you report impersonation and tweak the algorithm to make it more likely that the posts you make are shown to the people who explicitly asked to see them:

https://www.vox.com/recode/2023/2/21/23609375/meta-verified-twitter-blue-checkmark-badge-instagram-facebook

The corollary of this, of course, is that if you don’t pay, they won’t police your impersonators, and they won’t show your posts to the people who asked to see them. This is pure enshittification — the surplus from users and business customers is harvested for the benefit of the platform owners:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The idea that merchants should master the platforms as a means of keeping us safe from their impersonators is a hollow joke. For one thing, the rules change all the time, as the platforms endlessly twiddle the knobs that determine what gets shown to whom:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

And they refuse to tell anyone what the rules are, because if they told you what the rules were, you’d be able to bypass them. Content moderation is the only infosec domain where “security through obscurity” doesn’t get laughed out of the room:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

Worse: the one thing the platforms do hunt down and exterminate with extreme prejudice is anything that users or business-customers use to twiddle back — add-ons and plugins and jailbreaks that override their poor choices with better ones:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/9/29/23378541/the-og-app-instagram-clone-pulled-from-app-store

As I was submitting complaints about the fake Kiin scam-site (and Amex’s handling of my fraud call) to the FTC, the California Attorney General, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau and Wix, I wrote a little Twitter thread about what a gross scam this is:

https://twitter.com/doctorow/status/1628948906657878016

The thread got more than two million reads and got picked up by Hacker News and other sites. While most of the responses evinced solidarity and frustration and recounted similar incidents in other domains, a significant plurality of the replies were scam apologetics — messages from people who wanted to explain why this wasn’t a problem after all.

The most common of these was victim-blaming: “you should have used an adblocker” or “never click the sponsored link.” Of course, I do use an ad-blocker — but this order was placed with a mobile browser, after an absentminded query into the Google search-box permanently placed on the home screen, which opens results in Chrome (where I don’t have an ad-blocker, so I can see material behind an ad-blocker-blocker), not Firefox (which does have an ad-blocker).

Now, I also have a PiHole on my home LAN, which blocks most ads even in a default browser — but earlier this day, I’d been on a public wifi network that was erroneously blocking a website (the always excellent superpunch.net) so I’d turned my wifi off, which meant the connection came over my phone’s 5G connection, bypassing the PiHole:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/28/shut-yer-pi-hole/

“Don’t click a sponsored link” — well, the irony here is that if you habitually use a browser with an ad-blocker, and you backstop it with a PiHole, you never see sponsored links, so it’s easy to miss the tiny “Sponsored” notification beside the search result. That goes double if you’re relaxing with a dinner guest on the sofa and ordering dinner while chatting.

There’s a name for this kind of security failure: the Swiss Cheese Model. We all have multiple defenses (in my case: foreknowledge of Google’s ad-scam problem, an ad-blocker in my browser, LAN-wide ad sinkholing). We also have multiple vulnerabilities (in my case: forgetting I was on 5G, being distracted by conversation, using a mobile device with a permanent insecure search bar on the homescreen, and being so accustomed to ad-blocked results that I got out of the habit of checking whether a result was an ad).

If you think you aren’t vulnerable to scams, you’re wrong — and your confidence in your invulnerability actually increases your risk. This isn’t the first time I’ve been scammed, and it won’t be the last — and every time, it’s been a Swiss Cheese failure, where all the holes in all my defenses lined up for a brief instant and left me vulnerable:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

Other apologetics: “just call the restaurant rather than using its website.” Look, I know the people who say this don’t think I have a time-machine I can use to travel back to the 1980s and retrieve a Yellow Pages, but it’s hard not to snark at them, just the same. Scammers don’t just set up fake websites for your local businesses — they staff them with fake call-centers, too. The same search that takes you to a fake website will also take you to a fake phone number.

Finally, there’s “What do you expect Google to do? They can’t possibly detect this kind of scam.” But they can. Indeed, they are better situated to discover these scams than anyone else, because they have their business profiles, with verified contact information for the merchants being impersonated. When they get an ad that seems to be for the same business but to a different website, they could interrupt the ad process to confirm it with their verified contact info.

Instead, they choose to avoid the expense, and pocket the ad revenue. If a company promises to “to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful,” I think we have the right to demand these kinds of basic countermeasures:

https://www.google.com/search/howsearchworks/our-approach/

The same goes for Amex: when a merchant is scamming customers, they shouldn’t treat complaints as “chargebacks” — they should treat them as reports of a crime in progress. Amex has the bird’s eye view of their transaction flow and when a customer reports a scam, they can backtrack it to see if the same scammer is doing this with other merchants — but the credit card companies make money by not chasing down fraud:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/rosalindadams/mastercard-visa-fraud

Wix also has platform-scale analytics that they could use to detect and interdict this kind of fraud — when a scammer creates a hundred lookalike websites for restaurants and uses Wix’s merchant services to process payments for them, that could trigger human review — but it didn’t.

Where do all of these apologetics come from? Why are people so eager to leap to the defense of scammers and their adtech and fintech enablers? Why is there such an impulse to victim-blame?

I think it’s fear: in their hearts, people — especially techies — know that they, too, are vulnerable to these ripoffs, but they don’t want to admit it. They want to convince themselves that the person who got scammed made an easily avoidable mistake, and that they themselves will never make a similar mistake.

This is doubly true for readerships on tech-heavy forums like Twitter or (especially) Hacker News. These readers know just how many vulnerabilities there are — how many holes are in their Swiss cheese — and they are also overexposed to rise-and-grind/passive income rhetoric.

This produces a powerful cognitive dissonance: “If all the ‘entrepreneurs’ I worship are just laying traps for the unwary, and if I am sometimes unwary, then I’m cheering on the authors of my future enduring misery.” The only way to resolve this dissonance — short of re-evaluating your view of platform capitalism or questioning your own immunity to scams — is to blame the victim.

The median Hacker News reader has to somehow resolve the tension between “just install an adblocker” and “Chrome’s extension sandbox is a dumpster fire and it’s basically impossible to know whether any add-on you install can steal every keystroke and all your other data”:

https://mattfrisbie.substack.com/p/spy-chrome-extension

In my Twitter thread, I called this “the worst of all possible timelines.” Everything we do is mediated by gigantic, surveillant monopolists that spy on us comprehensively from asshole to appetite — but none of them, not a 20th century payment giant nor a 21st century search giant — can bestir itself to use that data to keep us safe from scams.

Next Thu (Mar 2) I'll be in Brussels for Antitrust, Regulation and the Political Economy, along with a who's-who of European and US trustbusters. It's livestreamed, and both in-person and virtual attendance are free:

https://www.brusselsconference.com/registration

On Fri (Mar 3), I'll be in Graz for the Elevate Festival:

https://elevate.at/diskurs/programm/event/e23doctorow/

[Image ID: A modified version of Hieronymus Bosch's painting 'The Conjurer,' which depicts a scam artist playing a shell-game for a group of gawking rubes. The image has been modified so that the scam artist's table has a Google logo and the pea he is triumphantly holding aloft bears the 'Sponsored' wordmark that appears alongside Google search results.]

#pluralistic #victim blaming #fraud #going meta #douglas rushkoff #ad-tech #local search #wix #amex #thai food #business #rent-seeking #entrepreneurship #passive income #chokepoint capitalism #platform lawyers

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luvrodite · 1 year

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BLOOD IN YOUR MOUTH JASON TODD (college!au)

↳ the first time jason kisses you he's bloody and bruised, and you can't find him more attractive for it

cw: injury, blood, mentioned harassment (not of the reader)

blank blogs DNI you will be blocked

The first time Jason kisses you, he’s bloody and standing underneath a streetlight outside the bar he’s just been kicked out of. You’re utterly enamoured.

It is a Saturday afternoon, and you’ve just submitted your last midterm when the text comes through. The outline of his name on your phone sends a thrill down your spine, and you can’t help the curl of excitement.

J-A-S-O-N.

You trace your eyes over the letters, the blank contact photo doing little to curb the butterflies. They’re no less stronger than when he’d asked you for your number, a warm afternoon after class when the both of you had found your way to the your usual table in the library. You recall the reason he’d used, recall the slant of his mouth as he’d talked, the clutch of his bag in his fingers, the way the light had bent through the window and caught the dust floating above the table. You recall suddenly warm palms, fingertips hot to the touch as you saved his number when the first message had come through.

>> come out tonight?

You frown.

While it’s true that since the beginning of the semester you’ve gotten to know Jason better and as a not entirely unpleasant consequence, been better about hiding away, you’re still tired from the back to back assignments you’ve had to turn in. You’d much rather turn in for the weekend.

And yet, when it comes to the handsome boy you’d met in your literature class last semester, you find it hard to say no. You want to hang out with him so badly sometimes it feels embarrassing. You wonder if it’s obvious how you both soak up his attention and shy away from it. Even months later, you find yourself bashful around him.

As if sensing your hesitation, another two messages come through almost immediately, in rapid succession.

>> it’ll be fun

>> dinner’s on me btw

You chew your lip, staring down at the message.

<< i'm kind of tired idk

<< where do you wanna go

The text bubble appears as you begin to pack your things, sweeping papers off your desk and into a neat pile, collecting cluttered pens and highlighters. The last week has turned your bedroom into something akin to a disaster site, clothes strewn everywhere and sheets rumpled. You bite back a groan at the thought of the cleaning you’ll have to do.

>> i know a place like ten minutes away from campus

>> drinks after?

<< presumptuous

<< i haven't even agreed

>> ok so agree !

>> it’ll be a good time

You huff out a laugh at his tone, typing out a response.

<< who else is going?

>> just you and me kid

>> be excited

>> i’ll drop you home if you wanna leave after dinner

In the bathroom now, tidying the mess of skin and hair products, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You tilt your head, and your reflection does too, as if to say, well? Will you?

You text him your response.

<< ok when should i meet you?

<< send me the address

Jason is lingering outside the restaurant when you walk up, and you take a moment to admire him as you approach, hands in his pockets and shoulders slouched, relaxed. His hair looks wet, and orange light washes over him where he stands beneath an awning, a sky of darkening blue behind him. As if sensing your approach, he turns his head from where he’s been looking at something across the street and his eyes light up in recognition. Your name tumbles from his lips and he takes a step forward as you cross the distance.

“Hey,” he greets you, smiling down at you. “You made it.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” you murmur. His lips stretch into a wider grin and you catch a glimpse of his canines, wolf sharp, a shiver curling down your spine at the sight.

“Guess you did. I’m glad. Come on,” he says, jerking his chin and reaching for the door, letting you enter first. “I think you’ll like this place.”

His shirt brushes against your back, and you swallowed by the sheer size of him, tall and broad shouldered, but it feels reassuring to have him there, especially as the hostess makes eye contact with you and he smoothly coordinates everything. His hand bumps against your elbow as she leads you both to a table and he murmurs out an apology at the same time you do, habitually, shooting you a funny look when he hears you, like he’s amused.

You’re seated across from him at a table so small his knees bump against yours beneath the table and he laughs a little when you say sorry once again. It isn’t the first time you’ve hung out with him, or the first time you’ve gotten food together–a semester has come and gone since your meeting him, and now the fall semester has started up again, but he has a way of short-circuiting your system, earnest and straightforward and far prettier than he has any right to be. You aren’t used to boys like him–though a voice in your head suggests that there isn’t anyone else like him.

You offer him a small smile when he laughs.

“Can’t believe they stuck us here,” he says to you, dropping his voice as a waiter passes your table. You look over to where a fair few tables far larger than yours remain unoccupied, and grimace in sympathy. “At least the food is good.”

You look up from the menu, sparing him a glance. He’s all rounded edges and sweeter looking in the soft light. You look back down.

“You’ve been here before?” you ask, feeling silly for the question but he nods.

“My brother took me, when I first moved out here,” he says, scratching idly at his cheek. Teal eyes skim the plastic menu. “We come here whenever he comes to visit.”

“Older brother?” you guess and he hums.

“Dick,” he says, and his eyes widen when you stare at him. “His name, I mean. That’s his name…Richard, but he goes by..yeah.”

“Oh,” you laugh, as your pulse flutters under your skin. “Bet he gets a lot of flack for that.”

“You have no idea,” he snorts, launching into a story that has you covering your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Somehow, dinner flies by faster than you think it would, a blur of stories from both your childhood and his. Jason asks questions and you don’t feel as though you’ve been put on the spot, pleasantly warm as you answer through your own laughter. The bubbles from your drink linger and pop on your tongue, and there’s a flush in your face that you blame wholly on him and his teal eyes, attentive and animated as he describes his family.

The both of you are pushing out of the door after an argument about splitting the bill (“I said I would pay, get lost!” and “I didn’t even agree to that!”) that had left you pouting and Jason smug. The rush of air that greets you is cool against your heated cheeks, and you smile to yourself as the both of you step out into the street.

“So?” Jason asks and you turn to him. “Was I right? It was good, huh?”

And he looks so pleased with himself that even if you hadn’t enjoyed a bit of it, you wouldn’t have it in you to tell him.

“It was,” you agree and his smile grows broader.

You lapse in conversation for a moment, and a breeze ruffles his hair on its way through the lit street. It’s grown fairly busier as night falls, crowds of people out to enjoy their weekend, and you step closer to Jason as a particularly large group passes you, falling into step by his side to avoid bumping into them.

“So..home?” he asks, tentative.

“I think so.” You chew the bottom of your lip. “I got up early to get in the finishing touches on my midterm.”

His eyes go soft, almost immeasurably fond, as he gazes down at you. “Of course you did. Alright, c’mon, then. Let’s get you home.”

He takes your hand gently, fingers circling your wrist loosely and guiding you down the busy street. You find yourself appreciative of this, even as the butterflies erupt anew in your stomach at the touch, his body carving a path in the flow of foot traffic that you can fall into easily without worry of getting lost.

The both of you walk in silence, the sounds of the city filling in the gaps around you. You admire the outline of Jason’s profile in front of you, light from the cars and storefronts washing over the both of you and throwing him into sharp technicolour focus in front of you. You feel a little dizzy at the sight of it, and looking down to where your hands join only worsens it, rendering you soft and pliant in his hold, tracing his footsteps with your own.

And then, all of a sudden, you’re coming to a halt in front of a parking lot next to a bar, nearly colliding with his back. You blink, equal parts sleepy and stunned, peering over his shoulder where he’s stiffened up.

“What?” you ask. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand, and turns around to pass you a set of keys. You frown, confused, following his finger when he points to an old, red car just a few feet away.

“That’s my car, I’m just gonna go check on something over there,” he says, tipping his head back to gesture to the bar. “Can you get it started for me? I won’t be long.”

“Is everything okay?” you ask, and now you’re the one holding his wrist as he turns, taking a half step after him. He looks back at you, and his mouth relaxes, offering you a reassuring nod.

“‘S fine, sweetheart,” he assures, pushing you gently in the direction of his car. “Be back in a sec.”

But curiosity roots you to the pavement where you stand, and you watch as he walks to the entrance of the bar, where murky yellow light spills out onto the walkway. Several bench tables have been pushed together on the outer side of the path, smaller tables with high stool chairs pressed against the exterior wall of the establishment. It’s fairly empty outside, all the patrons seeking shelter from the chilly weather inside and you step a little closer to see when Jason, shoulders set like a man on a mission, crosses the threshold and disappears into the building.

You creep a little closer, keys clutched in your fingers, until you can get a look through the windows. They’re a little stained, but you find Jason eventually, crowding close to a pool table where a boy around your age is leaning down, cue stick pointed against green felt. His back is to the window, but you watch the guy pause and straighten up, annoyance clear on his face even as he tries to cover it up with a smile you don’t think you like too much, self-assured and a little mean. There isn’t any friendliness in it.

Outside, the wind begins to pick up and you’re wondering whether you should just return to the car–every bad thing in the movies happens because people can’t mind their own business–when suddenly, so fast you almost miss it, his fist flies out and knocks right into Jason. You jump in surprise, a hand flying to your mouth to muffle the startled yell that slips out.

But Jason is seemingly unphased, and you catch a glimpse of blood in his mouth as he– smiles. It’s nothing like the smiles you’ve ever seen, wild and a little feral as he lunges forward, knuckles slamming against the boy’s cheek and sending him sprawling across the tabletop. He just gets that hit in before he’s being restrained and hauled back to the door, shoved across the threshold with no regard for gentleness. He stumbles, and that grin is still curving his mouth up when he looks up, wolfish, savage, and–it stutters when he meets your eyes.

You stare back, wide eyed at the sight of him. His keys hang limply in your hand, forgotten in favour of their owner whose nose has begun to bleed down his chin, drippin onto the collar of his shirt and staining it crimson.

“I–thought I told you to wait in the car,” he says weakly, at last.

“What was that?” you ask, dazed, ignoring him. You look between him and the windows of the bar, where you can still see the other boy, holding a tea towel to his split cheek.

His lips part, and he looks away as if to search for an answer he does not have. Like a magnet, your gaze flicks down. You swallow at the smear of red that settles above his cupid’s bow, dark, almost black as the shadows on his face stretch.

“Jason.” You stress his name. He grimaces.

“I didnt-” he breaks off, letting out a loud sigh. “I knew him, okay? Didn’t do that for no reason.”

You wait, sensing the oncoming explanation. By his side, you spot the reddening skin of his knuckles, looking at home amongst the pale, faded scars.

“He’s a dick,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It seems almost shy, the way his fingers press against his lips as he tells you the truth. “He’s in one of my classes and he was giving one of the other guys a hard time ‘cause..”

His face hardens and you fear he’s about to go back into the bar. You hedge a step forward to clutch his sleeve. He shakes his head. You don’t let go. “Anyway, he had it coming. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else. He was bothering some girl in there too, when I saw him…piece of shit.”

Affection blooms between your ribs so suddenly it leaves you breathless, and you stare up at him, stunned.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he blows out a breath, watching you carefully.

“I thought you’d hit him harder,” you blurt out, and his eyes widen. He lets out a tired laugh, wincing in between snickers.

“Don’t think you’re s’posed to agree with me, baby,” he murmurs, drawing closer. You’ve probably stretched his sleeve out with your grip, but you make no move to let go. Baby. It fits in his mouth, belongs to him, even. He’s claimed it now.

“Right,” you breathe out, blinking up at his face. The air goes still, the undercurrents of adrenaline re-igniting with the trip of your voice over the five letter word. There is no admonishment in your tone, and teal eyes turn onyx in half a breath, lashes fluttering as he looks at you. “Violence…is bad..”

His eyes crease, amused, but he’s barely moving, and his voice comes out a little strangled. “Word of advice, don’t ever go into politics.”

“You don’t believe me?” you joke quietly and he huffs out a laugh. Once more, your gaze snags on the glimpse of his canines, peeking from below his lips, pointed and shiny.

You can smell the blood on him when he takes a step closer, the toes of his sneakers scuffing against yours. You look at him clearly, awash with the yellow light of the street, bloody and bruising. He’s lucky that he isn’t due back on campus for another two weeks, but you have a feeling it wouldn’t matter either way–he’s no less attractive to you. It should concern you that you find blood a good look on him, or that the savagery in his smile only made your heart beat a little faster, but you can only stare through half lidded eyes at him.

Somewhere down the road, the roar of an engine filters through the air, but you pay it little attention when he draws closer, closer, closer.

You aren’t sure who moves first, only that Jason kisses you for the first time underneath that streetlight, and the taste of copper in your mouth only presses you closer into him, clutching his sleeve and hoping it leaves as much of a mark that he’s left on you.

i hope this made u guys feel as insane reading it as it made me writing it (and trying to post it, but for a different reason). something about a man covered in his own blood...

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jersey boy au #jason todd college!au #jasonsmirrorball

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lbxbx · 5 months

Text

Blackmail 3 | KTH

Pairing: Idol!taehyung x reader

Genre: smut, angst. Five shot

Synopsis: being part of their staff meant you had to be around them all the time, Taehyung has a checklist of all the girls he slept with and filmed and you were next on the list, as he lures you using several ways one of them being actually showing you the content he films, before you finally give in and he actually films you to tick you off of his list. Little do you know it’s the biggest mistake ever.

Disclaimer: events and incidents in this fiction are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. This does not resemble Taehyung’s character whatsoever. taglist: @idkduewhy @wiebouquetbarbarian @tan-veee @pookiej @xstfudaisyx @junecat18 @whipwhops @mother2onsters @lil0u0 @whoa-jo

Previous | Next

It’s been almost a month, nothing changed really and he was right, during the whole tour you two kept it professional around the rest of the team, but not like all of the time, he would on purpose bite onto your fingers when you’re putting on his makeup, or even graze his elbow against your tits when you two are standing next to each other, but other than that you two kept it professional to avoid the rumors.

their tour ended a couple days ago and they planned a celebration dinner for the entire staff at a nearby restaurant for barbeque and you wouldn’t say no, they were nice enough to give everyone a raise and a few days off as a reward, so tonight was the last dinner before you get back to work this Monday to film their variety show.

You had woken up early to go and buy yourself the car you were saving for and you finally did, it had to stay at the agency for a couple more days for the license plate and papers, but you were at your best that day. The moment you get into the restaurant you are welcomed by everyone cheering around and raising their shot glasses and welcoming you in, you hug your friends and get seated with them before taking off your cardigan.

That day your mood was top notch, you felt strong and proud of yourself, you finally got your car, you adore your job that introduced you to so many nice people and you were really feeling your best. You got dressed into a white summer dress with spaghetti straps, and you can’t lie, you wanted to bring the attention to your tits.

The staff cheers again when the boys walk into the restaurant and they take their seats. And even when you know that what happened the other time was a one time thing, but fucking god Taehyung looked like a fucking snack. Nothing special really, but his gray sweatpants are going to be the end of you, you try your best to keep your eyes off of him and act occupied.

As the food is served and the atmosphere around the place was incredible, everyone was happy, some were even too drunk and dancing while chewing on their food, everyone was chatting and catching up, it felt like home to you, and you wouldn’t risk losing your job for anything.

On the other hand though, Taehyung is nodding his head to his manager who was telling him about his family nonstop but Taehyung doesn’t care, he’s not even sure he’s listening at this point.

He was searching for you the entire night, and right when his eyes landed on you the alcohol was already going through his system and he can feel his body heating up. He finds himself having flashbacks of how perfect your cunt wrapped around his cock when he was fucking you that night, he still didn’t get enough and he’s thirsty for more.

You made a great choice wearing the white dress because it did bring his attention to your tits, he clears his own throat at the thought of going down on you and fuck he needs you tonight.

You can easily tell that someone was looking and you know exactly who, so you turn your head away on purpose and gather your hair away from your neck to reveal more of your chest, this ignites him even more and all he knows is that he’s up on his feet excusing himself away from his manager and making his way to you.

“Good evening girls.” He leans his palm on the table with a toothy smile on his face. “Are you having fun?” He laughs on the inside and he finds it funny that he fucked every girl that was seated around this table.

“Yes!” Leah pours him some Soju and hands him the shot glass. “Have a drink with us.”

“Some other time, but hey Y/N, can we talk?” He tilts his head, everyone was too drunk to make a big deal out of it so you just nod your head and pull your chair back to get up onto your feet. He puts his hand on your lower back and walks a couple steps away from the table. “You look incredible tonight.”

“Oh yeah? How’d you like the dress?” You ask already knowing the answer, he high key stares down onto your tits and takes a step closer. “Would love to take it off of you tonight.”

You giggle and cross your arms. “I’ll take that as a yes, I got it when we were in the states last week.”

“Mhm, it brings out your tits.” He puts his hands in his pocket, his eyes still locked onto your chest. “Wanna come over tonight? I’m having an after party.”

You were never invited to after parties so you didn’t mind at all. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind, your place?” You ask, and he shakes his head right away. “No, I can’t risk something breaking or the apartment being messed up and getting dirty, I actually rented a B&B for the night.”

“Sure, I’ll be there.” You laugh when you realize that his eyes are not still not moving. “Is it an actual party or is it just us? Cause it sounds suspicious.”

“No, I promise it’s not just us.” He finally looks up at you and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight, I’m sending you the location right now.”

“Sure, I’ll see you tonight.”

He walks back to his table, this time pulling the seat next to Jungkook who’s digging into the pork belly. “So? How did it go?”

“She’s coming, you can consider it done.” Taehyung grabs onto the closest pair of chopsticks and grabs a bite. “I’ll leave first and set up the cameras.”

“Cool.”

Jungkook has probably watched your video with Taehyung more than Taehyung himself, and he’s been itching the entire time wanting to spend a night with you, he kept nagging wanting his friend to try and plan out a night or you three, and ever since they walked into the restaurant Jungkook thought it’s the perfect opportunity.

“Look just tell her it’s a fake party or something.”

“She’s not that stupid Jungkook, she’ll figure it out.” Taehyung gritted on his own teeth, he’s had enough and at this point he just wants things to get done with just to stop the nagging from the younger one.

“Just invite her over to your place or something, please.” He’ll shed tears if he needed.

“Alright fine.”

And it’s not until approximately 3 hours later, and people start leaving, you get up and put your cardigan on and grab your purse. “I’ll see you guys on Monday,”

“But hey, we’re going out with the girls to this club a couple blocks away, aren’t you joining us?” One of your girl friends asks, you look at your phone screen to check the time before straight up lying to her. “I can’t, I’m really tired and I have to go home, but hey, have fun.” You wave your hand goodbye and walk out of the restaurant before hearing someone calling out your name from behind and following you outside. “Y/N, wait up.”

You turn to the owner of this voice and it’s Jungkook, holding his car keys and wallet and running outside. “Oh hey, what’s up?”

“You’re going to Taehyung’s place? I can drive you there, I’m going there too.” He points his head towards his car.

“Oh, you don’t have to, he sent me the location I’ll call a cab or something.” You unlock your phone, he laughs and puts his hand behind your back. “Let me drive you there, come on.”

You don’t argue anymore and just follow him to his luxurious car, your ride there was quiet but not awkward at all, only the sound of his radio playing music was in the background along with the sound of the wind through the open windows.

“I guess it’s right here.” He finally parks his car, it wasn’t that far away but you can hear music blasting in the dark alleys, “Do you know who else is invited?”

“I know the rest of the boys couldn’t make it, but it’s mostly people you know.” You two leave the car and get into the building, Jungkook waves hello to the security guard near the gate and the guard smirks. Jungkook and Taehyung are recurrent visitors to this B&B and almost every time they show up with a different girl. “Have a pleasant evening Mr. Park.”

Yeah, he just called him that because the boys used fake names all the time when it came to such activities.

You both take the elevator to the 28th floor, the elevator doors open right into a huge apartment that was nearly empty, only two guys handshaking Taehyung and saying goodbye, before getting into the elevator and leaving. “Hey, where’s everyone?” Jungkook walks further inside, totally knowing that there won’t be anyone else but the three of you.

“They’re on their way.” Taehyung proceeds with the lie, before inviting you inside, again his hand on your lower back guiding you onto the leather couch. “Tequila?” He grabs out the bottle with a couple shot glasses.

“Yeah, sure.” You make yourself comfortable, Jungkook sits right next to you, you find it a little concerning when he’s sitting really close, his leg grazing against yours. “Kook?” Taehyung offers a drink.

“No thanks, I’m driving.” It makes you a little relieved that at least someone will stay sober. “Here you go.” Taehyung hands you the shot glass and clinks his own with yours. “Cheers.”

You gulp down the shot and grab the bottle to examine it. “It doesn’t taste half bad, I like it.”

“Here, let me pour you some more.” He grabs the bottle and pours you down another shot, before refilling his own and clinking it with yours, and the two of you throw your heads back when taking the shots. Gosh, why is it getting hot in here?

Jungkook gets up onto his feet and stands behind the couch, his hands landing onto your shoulders. “Can I help you with your jacket?” He asks, as if he knew you were started to feel overheated, you nod your head and pull your hair to the side as he helps you take off your cardigan, Taehyung who’s sitting next to you runs his fingers down your forearm and whispers. “So how was your vacation?”

Jungkook pours you another shot of tequila and puts the shot glass on the coffee table in front of you, before taking back his seat this time even sitting closer to you, your attention was on Taehyung the entire time as you were genuinely telling him about your vacation even when he truly doesn’t care, he’s just using the small talk as a way to distract you from realizing that no one else was going to show up, and he was giving Jungkook the chance to make a move on you.

And it was already planned ahead, as you were talking, you feel Jungkook’s fingers tugging your hair behind your ear and moving down to your neck and back, slowly and gently rubbing small circles to make you relax in your seat and it works in a click of a button, your eyes feel heavier and your body is heating up even when the cardigan is long gone.

You turn your head towards the younger one but Taehyung quickly asks. “Oh and what else did you buy?” Making you turn your head back to him, and Jungkook takes the chance to run his finger right under the straps of your dress and pulls it down, this time he wouldn’t resist the urge to put his lips right onto your shoulder to kiss you there making you flinch in your seat. “Jungkook?”

Taehyung nudges Jungkook from behind your back and laughs as he grabs your shot glass to hand it to you. “Here, have this.”

Jungkook adjusts his seat when he’s warned by the oldest and gets up onto his feet. “Should we put on some music?”

“Oh yeah, totally.” Taehyung walks towards Jungkook as they start flipping through their playlist to start the music, you grab your glass and drink the shot before putting it down, you’re already feeling lightheaded and your fingertips are on fire for some reason. You rarely had tequila unless you were going out with your friends or partying, tonight was neither of the occasions but it’s doing things to your body.

You lean back onto the couch and close your eyes for a second, you flinch again when you feel a set of hands on your shoulders. “Here, let me help you relax.” Jungkook stands behind you and rubs your shoulders, moving down to your neck and rubbing your skin, slowly but surely approaching again to kiss your neck, sending shivers down your body and spine. “Mmm.”

You’re definitely conscious but totally not oriented anymore, your tolerance for alcohol wasn’t really good so you got drunk way too fast. “Let me help you take those off.” Taehyung gets down on his knees, grabbing your foot in his hand and unbuckling your sandals to take them off, gently rubbing your feet that are heating up as well. He presses one kiss onto your ankle with his eyes locked onto yours and moves up to your calves.

“Mmm.” Rings in your ear when Jungkook fondles with the straps of your dress again, this time briefly pulling it down to reveal your shoulders and a little bit of your cleavage, licking there and nibbling small bites all over your skin. “Shit.” Barely escapes your mouth, you can’t keep up with both at the same time, especially when Taehyung has already reached your thigh and he’s biting onto you too. He pulls back and stands up again. “Let’s take her to bed Jungkook.”

And Jungkook doesn’t think twice before yanking his shirt off, Taehyung grabs you by your hands and walks you towards the bedroom that seems to be prepared and it hits you right now that this was planned for. You look around the room to see three tripods set up on the corners of the room which makes you turn to look at Taehyung. And what even possessed you? You shoot a smirk at him and tilt your head. “Are we filming this?” And by the way, the sober you wouldn’t have accepted this at all.

Did they even put something in your drinks? Of course they can’t, you only blame the tequila for this.

“Yeah.” Taehyung throws off his top too and walks behind you to put his hands onto your hips, pulling you close to him, “Do you see Jungkook right there?”

“Mhm.” You stare at the youngest, you’ve seen his body all the time at work but this time it’s making you wet when you see him topless with a boner begging to be released from his sweatpants. “Jungkook has been thinking about you the entire time, wanting to make you feel good just like I did before, and we can’t let him down, can we?”

“What do you say princess?” Jungkook walks closer, rubs his nose against yours and bites onto your lower lip. “I think I can fuck you better than he did.”

Your body is heating up again and your face is bright red when you’re sandwiched between the two, Taehyung’s clothed erection poking your ass and Jungkook’s erection poking your lower stomach. “No blindfolds this time.” Your condition makes Taehyung giggle from behind you before he collects your hair away from your neck and whispers. “No blindfolds this time.”

Jungkook’s tattooed hand grazes onto the skin of your thighs before it lands right onto your covered cunt, his lips that are hovering over yours curl into a smirk when he feels your cunt pulsating against the moist thin piece of fabric, he presses his hand to locate your clit and proceeds to rub it in circular motion, his lips finally connecting to yours for a single kiss. “That’s it.” Taehyung whispers from behind you, his hands still on your hips and slowly scrunching up your dress in his hands to reveal your little white panty, his hands grope onto the flesh of your ass tightly leaving trails of his fingernails.

You throw your head back against Taehyung’s chest when Jungkook’s fingers move faster. Jungkook knows the female body well too, so with a quick glance to your chest that rises faster he can tell you’re already aroused enough and ready to cum any second now, but he can’t let you cum right now, the night is still young and he’s planning to fuck your soul out of your body.

He pulls back and takes off his sweatpants, Taehyung throws your dress off and takes a seat onto the bed, and just like the first time, he butters up his bread by holding your hand to come closer and sit onto his leg, cupping your face closer to kiss you, your lips parting for his tongue and your hands holding his head slowly making your way to scratch the back of his hair softly. Taehyung’s hands are slowly moving to your back to unclasp your bra and reveal your swollen tits.

Jungkook gets into the bed and leans his head against the headboard. “Come here princess.” Jungkook seems to be a lot softer than Taehyung and you clearly remember hearing the girls from the staff mentioning that he was romantic and sweet in bed.

But you also heard one of the girls mentioning that she couldn’t walk after she spent a night with these two. Well at least tomorrow you have the day off so you can rest.

You obey and climb the bed, crawling on your hands and knees towards Jungkook and he pulls you in for a kiss again, his hands moving down to his own boxers to palm his boner. “I wonder if my dick can fit in that little mouth, do you think we can try?”

And you hook your fingers onto the top of his boxers and pull them down slowly, his hardened cock escaping it and almost hitting you in the face making you giggle. Again, you blame the alcohol.

You grab his cock into your hand while locking your eyes into his, stroking it gently and licking the tip once, you were too distracted with what’s in your hand to not focus on Taehyung, who’s already fully naked and climbing on the bed too, positioning his head between your legs, his arms hook around your thighs and he pulls you fully down to land on his face.

It drives Jungkook feral when he sees your eyes slowly closing and your jaw dropping down at the contact of Taehyung’s warm mouth to your clit. He grabs his own cock and the back of your hair, pointing the tip to your lips and slowly pushing your head down to take more of his cock into your mouth. “Mmm.” Your other hand lands onto the bed and you grab the bed sheets into your fists when Taehyung wraps his mouth around your clit. It was so arousing and you almost feel like this is too good to be true.

The tip of Jungkook’s cock hits the back of your throat making him gasp and pull you away. “You look so fucking beautiful with that cock in your mouth. Hyung get the camera.”

You whine when you feel the warmth of Taehyung’s mouth drifting apart from your cunt, he gets up and takes one of the cameras off of the tripod and hands it to Jungkook. The youngest grabs the camera and points it towards you, he doesn’t bother looking at you when he can clearly see your face from the tiny screen on the camera.

His grip gets tighter on your hair and he pulls you down to suck onto his cock again, bobbing your head up and down still not reaching your throat. And in the meanwhile Taehyung gets back in his earlier position and wraps his mouth around your cunt, flicking his tongue against your entrance and even pushing it inside to stretch your pussy with it, your back arches when he sucks onto your clit like there’s no tomorrow, you try and move your hips away from him but he hugs onto your legs making you fully sit on his face.

“Mmm.” Jungkook’s cock is making you choke on words and you can barely make a sound specially when he pushes further inside your mouth, this time the tip poking your uvula and making you gag and try to pull back, his grip onto your hair tightens and he pulls you up, zooming in with the camera to show the strings of your saliva connecting your mouth to his cock that’s already leaking precum. “You’re doing so good princess, do you think you could do it again?”

“Fuck.” Is all you manage to moan off of the top of your lungs when you feel Taehyung’s fingers enter your pussy, slowly curling them against your spot and thrusting them in and out, your wetness already covering his fingers and dripping down his palm. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and swallows the two digits inside which makes Taehyung mumble. “Fuck.” Your pussy was getting greedy for more.

Jungkook pushes his cock back into your mouth and moves his hips up to meet your lips, your eyes shut tightly and your tears stream down your cheeks when you gag again this time audibly, making Taehyung spank you on the ass and dig his fingers into your flesh. “Good fucking girl, Ugh.. that’s it.” Jungkook was pretty vocal in bed.

Your hand lands onto his big thigh and tap it repeatedly, begging for him to pull out so you can catch a breath, and he pulls back to watch you gasp for a breath, your nails dig into his skin and you look onto his lips, feeling over stimulated from the man that’s sitting between your legs. “Fuck I’m gonna cum.” If you’d only see how you looked in the camera, it was phenomenal.

“What do you say Jungkook, should I make her cum?” Taehyung asks, pushing one more digit into your thirsty pussy making you scratch onto Jungkook’s skin, your hips slowly grinding against his fingers. “Please make me cum.” You beg, holding onto Jungkook’s dick into your hand and stroking it. “Please.”

“Don’t make her cum.” Jungkook throws the camera down and gets up to switch positions with Taehyung, sitting behind you with your ass facing him, he spanks you on the ass again and buries his face into your ass, licking your puckered hole and teasing your entrance with his fingers, “Holy fuck.” You reach your hand back to hold onto his long dark hair and push him closer into your ass, in the mean time Taehyung grabs your face into his hands and pulls you in to kiss you once before whispering. “Do you think it’s fair if you blow his dick and don’t blow mine?”

He strokes his cock and points the tip to your mouth and gets a tight grip of your hair, before thrusting his hips up to meet your mouth, repeatedly fucking your mouth and the only sound you can hear is your throat clicking with each thrust, and Jungkook’s hums as he savors your juices that are flooding out of your cunt. He swears he’s never tasted a pussy like yours.

You’re already fucked, your cunt was clenching around Jungkook’s tongue with each gag you release, your fingernails are digging into Taehyung’s thighs and your throat is done for today. Taehyung pulls back just to observe your fucked up face and it scratches the itch inside him to see you like that, all messy and drooling from being fucked in the face by his cock.

“Come here.” He lays down completely on the bed and pulls you away from Jungkook’s grip, his hand reaching down to massage your entrance with the head of his cock and smacking it against your wetness. Jungkook sits up behind you and strokes his dick too before pointing it to your butt hole, your soul escapes your body when they both enter you at the same time and you could swear you see stars.

The magical stretch in your pussy caused by Taehyung sends you to heaven, and it’s more arousing to him when he feels your cunt hogging his dick and clenching around it, slowly pushing more inside you until he’s balls deep, not giving you a second to adjust. His eyes are locked onto your face when your body stiffens, he could easily pound into you all night and he’ll still be hungry for more.

And the cherry on the top was the stretch you feel in your ass, Jungkook whimpers and grips tightly onto your ass when he feels how tight your hole was around his cock, it drives him insane enough that he feels himself seconds away from painting your insides with his seed, he takes a second to breath before pushing in further inside, he grits onto his own teeth and throws his head back. “You’re fucking incredible princess.”

And you, goodness you were doomed, your entire spine stiffens when Jungkook enters you more but your back arches when Taehyung gets balls deep inside you, this is so overwhelming to you and you never tried this, it takes a single twitch from Jungkook’s cock inside you to make you cum, Taehyung being the first one to notice when you clench around him smirks, he grabs your face closer and laughs. “Your princess is creaming on my cock.” He tells Jungkook, and Jungkook is not even listening he’s in his own world.

Both of them start moving in and out of you in sync to fuck you through your orgasm, you can barely balance on your own hands so your entire upper body lands on top of Taehyung, your silent cries in his ears are more than enough evidence that you’re as aroused as they are. “Don’t stop.” Is what you manage to say, one hand barely moving behind you to grab Jungkook’s thigh and dig into his skin too. “Please..”

Both of them pound into you not giving you a break after your orgasm, only minutes after you feel yourself building pressure on the inside and you know you’re about to cum again if they don’t stop. “Shit.” You whine when you feel Jungkook pulling out of you, he taps Taehyung on the thigh once and they switch positions again.

This time Jungkook enters your vagina and Taehyung pushing into your ass making you scream off of the top of your lungs, Taehyung proceeds to fuck you in the ass endless when he knows you’re prepped enough for him to pound into you fearless. But for Jungkook, it takes him a second to appreciate how your cunt wraps around his cock, he grabs your head into his hands and pulls you in to kiss you, pressing his forehead against yours and slowly making his own pace to move inside you.

“Mmm, fuck.” Your fist clinches the bed sheets behind Jungkook and you look him in the eyes. “You’re gonna make me cum again.”

“Cum for me princess.” He wraps his fingers around your neck and finally starts moving inside you, the friction from both dicks hitting your spots over and over makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head and again you lose your balance and land on Jungkook, he wraps his arms tightly around your body to get a better grip and pounds into you again, Taehyung on the other hand is seconds away from busting a nut and he’s debating in his head whether he should cum inside you or not, Jungkook’s penetration is making your ass tighten around Taehyung’s cock and it feels fucking insane inside you. And to make you cum faster he reaches his hand down to your clit to rub it in a circular motion.

“Fuck, fuck…” This was your end, your back arches one last time and you squirt against Jungkook’s dick hard enough to push him out, Taehyung still rubbing your clit and fucking your ass through your orgasm, your body shudders and you suffer to catch a breath again.

Jungkook is milliseconds away from reaching his end as well, he gets up onto his feet and grabs you by your wrist to pull you down onto the floor onto your knees. Both of them stand right by your face and stroke their dicks a couple last times before releasing their load onto your face and neck, and you don’t know what is it but you can’t like the taste of it whatsoever, this time luckily you didn’t gag like the time before, you were able to control yourself.

Taehyung as usual, gets into the bathroom and you hear the shower water running, but Jungkook… He stayed.

Even when there’s another bathroom and he could easily go shower, but he decided to stay, he grabs a nearby towel and a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and wetting the towel to clean your face gently, he goes down onto his knees still breathless and whispers. “I think you deserve to be taken care of after giving me one of my best fucks ever.”

You barely laugh and hug your arms closer to your body to cover it, he hands you the water bottle and helps you take a couple of sips. “Are you feeling okay?” He can see your hands shaking.

“Mhm, I’m just sore, that’s all.” You look around the room trying to locate your dress, Jungkook follows your eyesight and stands up. “I’ll go grab your dress.”

Of course you were thankful that he’s here but still, he doesn’t owe you anything and you could easily clean yourself up and just go home, but he grabs your clothes and helps you put them back on, “Thanks.” You grab the bed for support but Jungkook helps you up. “Jungkook call her a cab.” You hear Taehyung from the bathroom, but Jungkook rolls his eyes and leaves the bedroom to put his clothes back on. “Come, I’ll drive you.”

“You know you don’t have to.”

“Come on Y/N, let’s go.”

Monday comes in a blink of an eye, you were feeling a lot better and this time you didn’t need the painkillers, it seems like you’re slowly getting used to it and honestly you don’t like the fact that you are.

Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets when you remember the fact that you were filmed that night, but hey come on, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ll just end up on his phone like any other content. You can’t deny you’re a little embarrassed, not only you were filmed, but you had your first threesome ever that night, it felt good and all but it was with the guys you work with and you have to see this morning.

You promised yourself sincerely that this cannot happen again no matter what, you know it can cause trouble for the two of you, well right now it’s for the three of you, but it can’t happen again and you have to keep your promise to yourself.

“We’re starting in 10 minutes.” The producer shouts for everyone, and you finish your last touches on Taehyung with the sitting spray. “You’re all good.”

“Thank you.” He leans forward towards the mirror to check out his face. “What do you think about that night?”

“Not bad, but it can’t happen again.” You carefully whisper low enough so you can’t be heard.

“I know right? I don’t think I liked the attention stolen away from me—“

“No Taehyung. The whole thing in general, it can’t happen again.”

“Let me help you change your mind, come here.” He leaves his chair and grabs your wrist to pull you out of the makeup room into another room in the studio. “Remember the first time we slept together? Back in London.”

“Yeah.” How could you forget?

“Don’t be mad, but I filmed us having sex.” He looks at you, waiting for your face to change, and you giggle in disbelief. “Of course you didn’t, I didn’t see any cameras.”

“Well practically, you were blindfolded in the first half.” He shrugs and opens the movie on his phone, thinking he did something he’s going to be credited for, or thinking he did you a favor and you’re going to thank him any second now.

But cold sweat washed through your entire body, your limbs feel numb gradually all the way from your fingers to your shoulders, your ears are buzzing and you’re practically dizzy at the view you see. “You can’t be serious.”

The look of disbelief in your face was genuine. A couple days ago you were filmed with your consent, but that time you were filmed behind your back?

“Just watch it before you say anything, you’re gonna love it.”

“Why would you do that?” 15 minutes into the video you ask him, your hands barely able to hold onto his phone, at the point the amount of sweat your body released was enough to make you dehydrated, you kept swallowing repeatedly but your throat was dry.

“Well… you agreed to be filmed the other day didn’t you?”

“Oh so that makes it okay to do it?” You argue. “Is this why you blindfolded me? So I wouldn’t see you filming?”

“Y/N you’re being delusional.” The audacity on this man to gaslight you.

“Delusional? How exactly am I delusional?” You push him. “Taehyung you literally filmed me without my consent, this isn’t delusional this is a fucking crime.”

He breaks into laughter, totally unbothered to look back at you. “Relax, I’ve already showed you content on my phone and yours will be like any of them, it just stays on my phone for reference, whether it was the one from London or the other night.”

“Yeah, it means you’re showing it to your next victim.” You shut your eyes tightly still wishing this is a nightmare of some sort. “Okay, let’s just calm down and choose the easy way out, delete them both.”

He scoffs at you as it you just told him a joke. “Of course I won’t, in fact next time we’re filming it again.”

“Let’s be clear, there will be no next time. And I’m in this video, don’t you think I have a say in it? Please delete it.”

“Well, I filmed, produced, and was in the video, I get a say in it too.” He finally gets up. “And honey, there will be a next time, and you will be filmed, otherwise, you’re not going to be happy with I might do.”

“You can’t force me Taehyung.” You take a step back, “Oh no, I’m not going to force you god forbid, you’re going to willingly come to me and ask to be filmed Y/N, and it’s for your own good.”

You watch him unlock his phone and replay the video again, this time your face is on full reveal right after you took your blindfold off. “I don’t think your family would be happy when they see their daughter being fucked till she can’t walk, and most importantly, I don’t think your superiors are going to be happy when they see you fool around with an idol.”

Oh my god, how did you not see this coming?

Of course someone who begs girls to get into bed and films them doesn’t just film them for his own pleasure. He films them all just to blackmail them into sleeping with him again, and obviously it worked on anyone.

But it can’t work on you, you’re smart and you will probably figure your way out of this at some point.

“I’m blindfolded and cuffed in the video you dumb fuck, it’s very clear I was the one forced into this.” Except you weren’t forced into this and that’s where the major problem is. You willingly went to his room and you agreed to sleep with him, and oral consent legally counts. And the other night the camera was right onto your face and you were totally okay with it. It’s partially your fault too for agreeing to go into this.

He turns the volume up with a smug smirk on his face as he proves to you that you weren’t forced into this.

“I need to cum. Taehyung please, don’t stop.”

“Again, please, do it again”

“Do you wanna be fucked or not?”

“Yes please.”

“But isn’t this you begging to be fucked?” He takes a step closer and you quickly snatch his phone and throw it across the studio which makes him get a grip of your wrist and forcefully push you to face the wall. “Listen sweetheart, we both know how much of a slut you are, you agreed on going through this willingly but we’re finishing this my way, so be a good girl and act smart for once.”

“Taehyung let go.” The tight grip on your forearm hurts, you tried to fight and push him away but you couldn’t when his body is fully pushed against you. “Please let go.” Your voice has already gone shaky, worried he’d do something to you or even hurt you more than he already did.

He could easily kill you and no one will find out considering everyone else was occupied on the set.

“Tomorrow night, I’m texting you the location, be there at 8, otherwise, it’s going to be a serious problem and you don’t want your life to be destroyed don’t you? I could just post that video and no one would look at you the same ever again, you’d lose your job and no one is going to hire you.” He feigns kindness and tugs your hair behind your ear before caressing the side of your face and pressing a kiss onto your cheek. “And I know you’re smart enough to not let that happen.”

You look at him over your shoulders as your tears roll down your cheek. “Save your tears, any attempts of messing around, I want you to keep in mind that I have several copies of that video.”

“What did I ever do to you?” You question him, wondering if you actually did anything to him before that he needs to take his revenge this way but no, you two always kept it professional but the way this man was built was unlike any other man.

A toxic grown up who uses his position, if it’s considered one, to blackmail women and manipulating them into fulfilling his weird kinks willingly. It sucks that you too fell into his trap.

He collects his phone and tilts his head while laughing psychotically. “My god, you actually look scared right now, you realize you don’t have to be, right? Don’t you trust me?”

Clearly not.

“Oh I get it, since this clip clearly contains you showing up to my room back in London, hmm.. a staff member showing up to an idol’s room, this obviously means that you were trying to persuade me into something, or worse, it could look like you’re actually seducing me.” He looks around pretending to think. “If that were the case I guess people should probably know, they might just go ahead and fire you and you’ll be labeled for the rest of your life as the staff member who actually harassed the idol.”

“What are you? And how are you hiding all of this?” Your chest heaves, the man has already planned anything ahead of time and he clearly knows how to set you up if you don’t show up to your sex appointment, but it wasn’t only you who’s threatened. These exact same words were told to everyone, hence they all slept with him again and again.

“I don’t want this video out either, but it’s all up to you right now baby.” He puts on his shirt and collects his stuff. “See you tomorrow.” He presses another kiss to your cheek and leaves the workout room leaving you standing against the wall helpless.

You don’t know what’s next, but you surely know that you can’t have sex with him ever again and you need to earn yourself time before tomorrow to be able to figure out a plan.

How come girls are treating him well even when he blackmailed them? They all slept with him but they never warned each other, gosh you’re starting to think that maybe you should talk to someone about this maybe they could help.

Help? How exactly when they fell into this trap before you and they surrendered to it and chose to agree and sleep with him again. You collect your stuff and head back home, you need to think or probably sleep on it before figuring an actual solution that will get you out of this.

Yeah, sleep on it, you scoff when it’s already past 3 in the morning and you’re still flipping in your mattress. It’s killing you that you’re totally clueless and nothings comes to your mind other than just give up and sleep with him again to save your career and your reputation.

You take your phone out and fully decide on texting him.

3:27 | You.

What do you want from me?

You’re crossing your fingers hoping that he’s awake, you see the read receipts within a minute before he calls you and you answer right away, you can’t waste anymore time.

“Why are you still up?”

“What do you want from me Taehyung?” You sit up adjusting the pillows behind your back. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“You’re making a big deal out of it.” He sounds like he’s half asleep. “You should be grateful that I’m just asking for sex nothing more.”

“You’re blackmailing me just for sex? Taehyung you literally slept with a countless amount of women, you can go sleep with any of them and just forget what we had.”

“Listen, I don’t have much time to argue about this, just do as I say and be there tomorrow—“

“I’m not gonna be there.” You argue right away, shrugging your shoulders as if he can see you.

“Oh really?” He scoffs. “Listen sweetheart, I’m sending the location right now, be there at 8, otherwise you know what’s going to happen.”

“You know what? You’re an obsessive piece of shit and you need to get help.” You hang up and throw your phone away.

Okay think, Y/N. Think.

He could easily post the video and you will easily lose your job and your reputation, but at the same time, what has he got to lose? There must be a way to stop this but you’re still not thinking well.

You were never an over thinker but tonight you are, imagining what would actually happen if he ended up posting the video, what would your agency think? What would his fans think?

Exactly.

He’s in the video too he can’t post it otherwise it would harm him too, you’re in the video cuffed and blindfolded, but he’s in the video spanking you with an actual belt and even slapping you and that’s considered assault. And the video from a couple nights ago, you’re a helpless woman sandwiched between two grown up men, it’s pretty clear that you were talked into it.

But you also need to set him up somehow, you’re thinking that you may have to go tomorrow night just to convince him that you’re okay with what he wants. You need to plan this carefully in order to take him down.

You have something, or an idea on how you’re going to set him up, but it’s going to cost you an extra night with him and you just have to force yourself in order to protect your career and what’s left of self worth.

“Good morning.” He enters the room and takes his top off, they’re filming another episode of their variety show before heading out to film something overseas next week. The rest of the staff get to work and you do too, putting the headband on to pull his hair back. “I’ve been thinking about you all night.”

He looks at your reflection for a second, your call ended last night with you calling him ill so he wasn’t sure if you were talking to him. “Oh yeah?” He sounds suspicious.

“Mhm.” You look around and lean forward to whisper in his ear. “I was watching this movie, and it made me want to try some things out with you.”

He was quickly lured into the subject and he low key thinks you’re being for real, he may be smart and shit, but he’s still a man, and men are so easy to seduce. He smirks and turns his head to face you. “What is it?”

“Remember when we discussed slapping before? You told me that I could ride your uhm.. you know.” You’re truly disgusted with yourself, are you really doing this?

Jungkook is watching your reflection through the mirror and he can see you inching forward to whisper into his ear which makes Taehyung bite onto his lip and close his eyes. “Yeah, we could totally do that, but hey what made you change your mind?”

Not only Jungkook is watching, but the rest of the girls on the staff are now sure that you two or onto something, and they pity you thinking you don’t already know who the real Taehyung is.

You print a kiss onto his ear and pull back, he looks up onto your lips and bites his own before whispering. “I could fuck you raw right here on this chair and I don’t care what people might say.”

You fake a giggle and continue doing your job, secretly wishing you could just stab him in the eye with a makeup brush or probably suffocate him with the band around his head. You feel your eyes filling up with tears. You can’t do this, it can’t happen again.

Taehyung hasn’t had enough time to produce the second movie of your night with Jungkook, his fogged up drunk brain from the other night recalls picking up the cameras and throwing them into his handbag and just going home, too tired to even transfer the files to his iPad or even think about editing them.

Luckily it’s all saved on the memory card so he kept procrastinating until he had enough time after finishing his schedule in the afternoon, he had to rent another B&B or a hotel room since he’ll never invite you to his own place, so he grabs his stuff and drives there to prepare anything and kill some time with editing.

He collects the three memory cards and starts digging through the files, but for some reason he can’t find them. He pouts in confusion and puts the memory cards back into the camera and opens it, searching through the filmed media, and weirdly enough, he can’t find a single video from that night.

Same thing goes for the other two memory cards, and nothing. Were the cameras never filming? Did they forget to press record?

There’s a reason why he has to be sober on nights like these, he needs to be conscious enough to be careful with what he does and how to handle his equipment.

He did in fact forget to press record, even the camera Jungkook had in his hand, there was nothing on it, none of the cameras were recording and you got lucky with that. There’s nothing to prove that you agreed to any of this.

300 notes · View notes

thiselement · 11 months

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Restuarant Bowls in California - This-element

How many types of bowls are there?

There is a wide variety of bowls available, each designed for specific purposes or types of food. While it's challenging to provide an exhaustive list, here are some common types of bowls used in restaurants and households:

Soup Bowls: These are deep bowls with higher sides, designed to hold soups, stews, and broths. They often have a wider mouth for easier consumption.

Cereal Bowls: These bowls are shallow and broader, suitable for holding cereals, granola, and milk.

Salad Bowls: Larger, wide-mouthed bowls used for mixing and serving salads. They can also be used for pasta dishes.

Rice Bowls: Small to medium-sized bowls used specifically for serving rice dishes. In some cultures, they are also used for other grain-based meals.

Pasta Bowls: Similar to salad bowls but often shallower and wider, designed to hold pasta dishes with sauces.

Dessert Bowls: Smaller bowls used for serving desserts like ice cream, puddings, or fruit salads.

Noodle Bowls: Often larger and deeper than regular bowls, specifically designed for noodle dishes like ramen or pho.

Mixing Bowls: Larger bowls used in kitchens for mixing ingredients when cooking or baking.

Serving Bowls: General-purpose bowls used for serving a variety of dishes during meals, such as side dishes or main courses.

Fruit Bowls: These bowls are typically shallower and wider, used for serving fresh fruits.

Sauce Bowls: Small bowls used for dipping sauces or condiments.

Baking Bowls: Heat-resistant bowls used for baking dishes like casseroles or desserts.

Salsa Bowls: Small bowls used for serving salsa or other dips.

Sugar Bowls and Creamers: Specialized bowls used for serving sugar and cream alongside coffee or tea.

Snack Bowls: Small bowls used for serving snacks like nuts, chips, or popcorn.

These are just a few examples, and there can be variations and specific types of bowls based on regional cuisines, personal preferences, and culinary trends. The choice of bowl often depends on the type of food being served and the occasion.

#paper products restaurant #soup storage containers #disposable salad bowls #paper soup containers with lids #drink cup with lid #2 oz souffle portion cup #plastic round container with lid #16 oz clamshells

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radiowendigo · 3 months

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HERE IT IS!! After four something days it’s finally done my lord. This one is super fluffy.

It was a regular day at headquarters and Riley just got home after a productive day at high school. Which included two tests from two different courses. Despite intense preparation, it peaked Anxiety’s nerves even more. Joy and some of the other emotions had to intervene before it got out of control. Riley finished her homework, which included history and biology. It was difficult at first, but she eventually grasped the majority of it and finished her schoolwork.

Riley was getting ready for bed when Joy saw that Anxiety remained tense from today. Even after drinking anti-anxiety tea and spending some time relaxing on her massage chair. When Riley eventually fell asleep, the majority of the emotions started to depart from headquarters in preparation for their own bedtime. They all needed to get a good night's rest because Bree and Grace were coming over tomorrow!

While on dream duty tonight, Joy observed Ennui, who was walking away slowly with the others yawning. Suddenly, an idea struck her, and she sprinted towards Ennui, grinning with excitement.

“Hey, Oui, Ou!” Joy called.

“Hm?” Ennui’s head turned to look at the bright emotion.

“Say, you and Anxiety seem to be really close friends. Do you think it would be too much trouble to ask if you could help Anxiety relax so she’s up and ready for tomorrow?” Joy asked.

“Sure.” Ennui replied.

“Great! Thanks so much, Oui, Oui!” Joy said happily.

Ennui just sighed, turning away not bothering to correct her at this point and started looking for Anxiety. In their room, which they shared with Embarrassment and Envy, she didn't see her there. Upon entering the lounge area, she discovered Anxiety scribbling away notes on her clipboard. Ennui took a step closer, causing Anxiety to notice her and yelp in shock before turning back to her papers.

“What are you doing?” Ennui asked.

“I am writing plans for the weekend and the following scenarios that could come with these plans! We got Bree and Grace coming over tomorrow, and we might go out for a drink or lunch. So, I’m writing down which cafes and restaurants we could pick so we’re ready right away. And if neither of those work, there’s the park and we can have a picnic there. And we’ll need to be nicely dressed for all these outings, so, I wrote down some basic but fashionable outfits for Riley so that she stands out, but not too much. Then, on Sunday, mom and dad are taking us for a nature walk and—“

Exhausted from the lengthy speech, Ennui groaned, rolling her eyes back into her head. She moved closer to Anxiety who was still rambling and pulled down her clip board, causing Anxiety to stop and glance up at her.

“Oh, la, la, Anxiety. You’re going so fast I can’t even keep up anymore.”

“I’m sorry. I just got a little ahead of myself.” Anxiety laughed nervously, but looked away a little embarrassed.

“Don’t worry about it. Do you want some tea?”

“Huh?” Anxiety looked back at Ennui stunned. Ennui has never offered her something like this before.

“Sure.” Anxiety replied smiling softly.

Ennui felt content, knowing that her proposal was effective and benefiting her friend.

“Alright. I’m going to make it. I’ll come back with it when it’s ready.”

“Thanks a lot!”

Ennui smiled to herself and walked out of the room to go make her tea. Five minutes passed and Ennui returned holding a dark orange mug of anti-anxiety tea. She handed it to Anxiety who was sitting on the couch analyzing and editing some notes on her clipboard.

“Here. Be careful it’s hot.” Ennui warned while using her other hand to take the clipboard and pencil from Anxiety.

“Thanks, mon ami.” Anxiety said while grabbing the mug taking a small sip and hummed in pleasure.

“How is it?”

“Really good, thanks.” Anxiety replied.

“I’m glad. Enjoy.” Ennui said softly. Pleased to see Anxiety enjoying her beverage and that she made it good. After Anxiety finished her drink, she observed Ennui, who was lying down on the couch typing away on her phone. Anxiety was fascinated by so many things about Ennui. Including the way she looked. Her skin tone, the way she dressed and managed to pull it all together, and her hair. Sometimes she really wanted to touch her hair, but was terrified to ask, worried she would cross a boundary.

Anxiety enjoyed playing with and feeling various textures as a means of self-soothing. After a while, Ennui’s hair became one of Anxiety’s few most desired objects to touch. The thought of touching Ennui’s thick, purple strands made Anxiety’s whole body shake in anticipation to her very core. Soon Ennui looked up at Anxiety after noticing her staring at her.

“Do you need anything else?” Ennui asked unbothered.

Anxiety gasped and looked around the room scratching the back of her neck in a way to calm herself.

“Uh. This might. Sound..a little unexpected and you can say no. But,..could I possibly..braid your hair? Please?..” with trepidation, Anxiety questioned, her voice fading as she finished her sentence.

The silence was loud after that.

Ennui's eyes widened slightly as she wasn't expecting that answer. She then lightly exhaled making Anxiety fear she passed a boundary.

“Sure.” Ennui finally said.

Anxiety just continued to stare at her, dumbfounded.

“Are you sure?” Anxiety checked.

“Oui. Go ahead.”

“Okay!” Anxiety squealed after which made Ennui blushed lightly but didn’t notice. Jogging to Ennui, who slithered to the centre of the couch so Anxiety could comfortably sit behind her, began working on Ennui’s strands while she kept scrolling her phone.

Ennui sighed in pleasure, feeling relaxed at the feeling of her hair being played with and Anxiety’s fingers running through her locks.

“You enjoying that?” Anxiety asked.

“Oui. It feels really nice.” Ennui hummed.

“Glad to hear!” Anxiety chirped continuing her work. After a few more braids it was completed! A traditional braid. Anxiety brushed her index finger delicately over each braid while grinning pleased at her work.

“Do you want to see the finished project?” Anxiety asked eagerly. Ennui chuckled.

“Sure.”

Anxiety left the room and came back with a bedroom mirror and placed it in front of the indigo emotion.

Ennui sat up and looked through her braid and smiled. Anxiety sure knew how to braid hair.

“It looks nice. Merci.”

“No problem! Thank you so much for letting me do it again.” Anxiety said grinning sheepily.

Ennui was happy to see that Anxiety was less nervous than before. She glanced at her tenderly while Anxiety continued to discuss about her hair. It seems that her plans for the weekend were long ago. Afterwords, Anxiety went to look out at the window. Ennui went back to her phone. The window had a view of some of Riley’s islands and long-term memory. Some time passed and Anxiety began to toy with her hands; she had no idea why, but ideas for the weekend were returning. Ennui's ears soon perked by the quick motion of Anxiety’s skin rubbing against each other, so she lowered her phone and faced the window.

“Are you still worrying about tomorrow, again?” Ennui questioned a little worried.

“Oh.” Anxiety’s hands froze. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” Anxiety said, shame in her voice.

“I have an idea. Come.” Ennui said gesturing for Anxiety to approach her with a wave of her arm.

Nodding, Anxiety made her way back to the couch, wondering what Ennui had in store this time. Ennui searched for a ten-hour asmr rain video. After taking her earplugs out of her sweatpants pocket and carefully inserting them into Anxiety's ears, she turned on the video. After taking a moment to grasp what was happening, Anxiety smiled, relaxed, and crept towards the couch wall, causing Ennui to smile subtle.

After a few minutes, Anxiety's eyes started to go heavy as she imagined herself actually being beneath a cabin while listening to the gentle rain. Ennui yawned and put an arm around Anxiety's shoulder on the couch. Anxiety’s eyes popped open and nearly lost it, blushing heavily, but managed to control herself. Ennui rested her head on top of Anxiety’s making her heart race. Anxiety slowly closed her eyes and tried to focus on going to sleep, and it worked. Anxiety’s head landed gently on Ennui’s shoulder. The two emotions fell asleep resting against each other. Joy came in the room a while later to check up on them, and was touched to what she saw.

“Good job, Ennui.”

(In this story, Anxiety and Ennui haven’t revealed their feelings for each other yet or even shown signs that they like each other, so it’s just two goobers being flustered and sweet with each other :3)

#inside out #inside out 2 #anxiety inside out #ennui inside out #anxiety inside out 2 #ennui inside out 2 #inside out anxiety #inside out ennui #inside out 2 anxiety #inside out 2 ennui #anxiety x ennui #anxienn #my writing #fluff

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blood-and-pizza · 5 days

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Notable Details from the original "Into The Pit" story (PART 1)

Upon the mill's closure, Oswald's dad works part-time at the deli counter in a store called the Snack Space (a 7-11 equivalent, basically), which requires a red vest as their uniform. Oswald is embarrassed by the fact his dad is wearing the vest as he drops him off at school. Just a neat bit of world-building.

Oswald has a best friend named Ben who moved into the next town over.

Oswald's bullies, including Dylan Cooper, call him "Oswald the Ocelot" after a cartoon character they saw as pre-schoolers, a big pink ocelot named Oswald. Again, more world-building.

Oswald is described as having freckles and a cowlick in the original story.

Oswald has no modern electronics in his home, save for one laptop he shares with his family. His phone is an outdated model he's embarrassed by.

Oswald's teacher, Mrs. Meecham, puts on a movie for her class on the last day of school, which is described as "about a farm with talking animals", "too babyish for a roomful of fifth graders". I'm guessing they might have been watching the animated adaptation of Charlotte's Web... or it could be wishful thinking on my part, since I love that movie.

Oswald has been drawing mechanical animals ("bears, bunnies, and birds") for reasons even he doesn't know, other than lack of anything better to do when he's bored.

Oswald's mom works at the hospital from 12PM to 12AM... yikes.

Oswald's dad can't cook to save his life. If it can't be boiled in water or heated in a microwave, he has to buy his meals... how relatable.

Blue-box macaroni and cheese exists in FNAF, meaning Kraft and its products likely exist, too. Just thought that was funny for some reason.

Oswald's dad squirts ketchup into his mac and cheese. I just think knowing he's the kind of dad who does that is really funny... kinda reminds me of my stepdad's love of ketchup, to be honest.

Other pizzerias that once existed in Oswald's town were Gino's Pizza and Marco's Pizza, both of which closed not long after the mill closed. Both Gino's and Marco's are described as good restaurants, while the food at Jeff's Pizza is described as "decent".

Oswald is into B-grade Japanese horror films, including kaiju movies like Zendrelix vs. Mechazendrelix. Zendrelix is apparently FNAF's answer to Godzilla, making Mechazendrelix an equivalent to Mechagodzilla. They're described like this: "... Zendrelix just looked like a giant dragon thing, but Mechazendrelix reminded him [Oswald] of the mechanical animals he drew when he stripped them of their fur." Zendrelix is also described as being portrayed by "a guy in a rubber suit", solidifying the connection between him and Godzilla.

Oswald and his dad both really love bacon. I just thought that was cute.

When Oswald visits the library, a place he finds "actually kinda fun", he shows interest in a science fiction book from a series, as well as a manga he liked. Based, IMHO.

The library Oswald visits frequently allows homeless people to use their computers and other resources. WE NEED LIBRARIES AND THIS IS EXACTLY ONE REASON WHY!

Oswald's mom, being a nurse, is a bit of a germaphobe and won't let Oswald play in places she considers dirty. A ball pit would be considered one such place.

The pizza Jeff serves comes in huge slices too big for the paper plates they're served on, and very greasy. As someone who was born in NYC and used to eat greasy New York pizza... I think I would have liked eating at Jeff's. Maybe.

Oswald reads a library book while visiting Jeff's Pizza, about "a world where kids with secret powers went to a special school to learn how to fight evil". I wonder how many books that describes...

Oswald plays an online fantasy game at the library that's free to play, but Oswald gets to a point where he can't progress without money. I wonder what game it could have been...

Oswald's dad and mom used to date in high school, often frequenting a roller rink, and are great skaters as a result. Oswald himself can't skate and needs his parents to hold him up.

Oswald's dad only ever buys vanilla ice cream.

There's a video rental service Oswald's family uses called Red Box, but I don't know if it's meant to be the same as the actual existing Redbox. Maybe it is?

Oswald's mom is very good at playing Clue... oh, and Clue exists in the FNAF universe.

Oswald's dad prefers practical effects over CGI in movies. Oswald is the exact opposite.

Oswald's dad is a fan of country music. Oswald... is not.

#fnaf #fnaf into the pit #fnaf oswald #fnaf oswald's dad #fnaf oswald's mom #fnaf jeff #fnaf itp #fnaf fazbear frights #fazbear frights #into the pit #world building

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swingsetindecember · 1 year

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quebec's language laws have protected quebec in a weird way from late stage capitalism. by no means to idealize quebec, i just don't see it wildly talked about how a language barrier has stalled capitalism.

i am sure there are socio-economic papers written on this. like because you need to have french contracts, terms of service and signage, a lot of american companies and global conglomerates don't go to quebec. like a lot of businesses just don't exist in quebec compared to the rest of canada. like franchise restaurants. quebec has a lot less franchise restaurants. oh there are a couple but they are like very specific to quebec and also just in the more metropolitan areas. usually in suburbs you don't have a lot of franchise restaurants.

this is also sweepstakes. because in quebec a mail in entry is required for any sweepstakes. you don't have to buy the product. also a lot of brands need to have their labels in french so a lot of products just don't get to quebec market

also a lot of the population wants to be serviced in french so they prefer quebec companies. this is why there are quebec specific internet and telephone companies. bootlegging is wild popular because there was usually a lag before you could get english content because they needed to make the french dub.

its also why movie rental stores stayed open for a long time in quebec because they catered to french language dubbed movies. like blockbuster did come to quebec but it didn't have the same chokehold on the market. like i rarely went to blockbuster growing up, there were 3 local video rental places that had more titles than blockbuster because the blockbuster business model didn't appeal to quebec residents. especially if you wanted to rent french versions of video games.

anyway, just interesting to think about

#i hate franchises and monopolies #canada #quebec #i remember before couche tard ruined depanneurs there was a dep that had the best juice #i miss depanneur perrette to this day

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yyokkki · 8 months

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If They Had Dating Profiles

Format modelled after Bumble So many profiles either disgust me or make me laugh so here it is All characters have been aged up to 18 or above for this btw

Dormleaders

Riddle Rosehearts

Pictures: His top pic is his passport photo, he’s wearing the full suit, tie and blazer and his hair is perfect. The rest of the pics follow this pattern.

About Me:

My name is Riddle Rosehearts and I intend to date with the intent of marriage so if you are seeking “something casual”, please swipe left.

I will not tolerate smoking, drinking in non-social settings, an untidy presentation, inappropriate language, or any of that “fwb” nonsense. Thank you.

My Basics: Has every category filled out except for height

Leona Kingscholar

Pictures: Only one photo and the angle is tilted upwards from his chin while he’s lying down, it’s also kinda blurry

About Me:

fwb or chess

My Basics: Mf only has his height filled out

Azul Ashengrotto

Pictures: His top pic is of him cutting the opening ribbon to his restaurant and the rest are perfectly tailored, photoshoot level pics of him doing things like signing papers, wiping his glasses or casually leaning against an expensive car

About Me:

Proud owner of the restaurant, Mostro Lounge, the product of my blood, sweat and tears.

If we have our first date in my restaurant you get a 50% discount on all items 😊.

My Basics: Pretty much everything is filled out

Kalim Al-Asim

Pictures: A really cute pic of him doing the thing where he’s standing in front of the Eiffel tower and pinching his fingers to make it look like it’s in his fingers, the rest are of him with dorky filters on or more travel pics at famous landmarks

About Me:

HIII, im a hugee extrovert and i love love LOVE going to partyz so if you wanna come too just hmu!! lookin to go on dates but if you wann just hangout i don’t mind either ^^

I LOVE spoiling all my friends and family with gifts so get readyy HEHEHEHE

My Basics: Yup filled out

Vil Schoenheit

Pictures: Literally the best pictures you can find on the site, you probably won’t believe it’s him until you meet him irl, they’re that gorgeous. If Azul’s was photoshoot level, Vil’s is AI generated level

About Me:

Yes, I am the real Vil Schoenheit, if you don’t believe me, the photos I’ve used can’t be found anywhere else on the internet.

My MagiGram is vilschoenheit_real

My Basics: Only a select few are filled out for privacy reasons

Idia Shroud

Pictures: Only one and it’s an anime character

About Me:

hmu on valo lsersss lmaoooo @ is nekurasamurai

pls swpe right if ur a gamer uwu

My Basics: Nothing is filled out but gender and height

Malleus Draconia

Pictures: Black screen with red edges you can tell he accidentally took a pic facing away from him and his finger was in front of the camera

About Me:

is this the text to speech function oh hello child of man i am cooking looking for a suitable spouse that will rule over the valley of horns thorns with me thank you

My Basics: N oth ing

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst headcanons #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twst riddle #twst leona #twst azul #twst kalim #twst vil #twst idia #twst malleus

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buzzcutlip · 2 months

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Cracks and Gaps - The Worst Day (part I) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 7434 words ao3

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother's restaurant. As an editor, you can't miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy.

A/N: I've started writing this story a looong time ago last year. There will be two more parts. I would like to thank @carmyboobear for being the most incredible beta and helping me out on the rocky journey. They're a very special person to me, and also a fantastic and inspiring writer themselves. Please, check their Carmy stories if you haven't!

THE WORST DAY

The first time you meet Carmen, you are both a little over twenty and in Copenhagen. He is staging at Noma, and you are interning at a design studio where everyone is very “green.” From one of your conversations with Carmen, you learn that Pop-Tarts and Cheetos are illegal here. In Europe. Most of the sodas that stained your tongue crazy colors when you were a kid are banned too. He lectures you on Scandinavian agriculture and food production.

Carmen is skinny and short—still a bit taller than you, though—with sharp, high cheekbones and bulging eyes. You don't know enough about each other to be “friends,” but he is a good companion. Your high school friend Becky knows Carmen’s older sister; that’s how you found each other in Denmark’s capital.

On two rare occasions, you get drunk together, and that happens only when he is stressed from work. Like, stressed STRESSED. You'd think he only drinks special natural wine from Lofoten or something, but his choice of poison is canned Budweiser. Maybe he misses home as much as you do. Maybe that’s what leads you to almost kiss him the second time. Carmen lives on a boat, and he takes you there, where you drink vodka mixed with herbs and licorice that Carmen concocts, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates. The drink tastes good. Weird. You don't hide your grimace. Neither of you comments on the alcohol ratio. It's more vodka than anything else, that's for sure.

Carmen is not your type, physically or character-wise—you are an introvert yourself, so you need someone to bring you out of your shell. Obviously, doing an internship on a different continent is a huge step, one that is only on you. He also smokes a lot and probably doesn't wash his hair. You've heard about his crazy mother and bonkers family from Becky, so you understand why Carmen is Carmen. Why he’s run off to Europe. It's just—his face—his eyes, when he's telling you about his dream job at Noma or Alchemist—they glow, and he becomes so animated, the quiet excitement seeping to the surface, and there's fondness blooming in your chest. He also knows a thing or two about sports, as you do, the subject bringing you back to Chicago, and the longing for “home” and “familiar” is terribly strong in the moment, enhanced by the alcohol. And Carmen, the boy sitting opposite you, with burns on his hands and ripped jeans, is both of those things put into one.

Nothing happens between you two, but the urge to press your own lips against his lingers after you leave in a taxi, not brave enough to ride a bike under the influence.

You try to stay in touch after Copenhagen, messaging Carmen on his empty Facebook profile, sending a text once in a while, mainly at Christmas, and when you have some terrible junk food, just to make fun of him. When he FaceTimes you, he’s in Paris, and you’re in Dublin. The next time, he’s in California.

He rarely ever answers messages on the phone. Usually, it's an emoji, sometimes a word or two. Soon, there are no answers, and you can't be bothered. You carry on with your life in Chicago, and it doesn’t take long before you start seeing Carmen Berzatto in the paper, on the internet. The young prodigy chef, everyone says. Reluctantly, you read the articles, thinking about the Copenhagen Carmen, smiling at his photos. He's grown up, filled out. His hair is curlier, his shoulders wider, his biceps stronger. He looks good. Good and sad, you think to yourself, and decide not to text him to congratulate him on his star career. Carmen is not one to care about what you think of it.

It's only when you hear from Becky that Mikey Berzatto has died, that you think of Carmen properly, after years full of work in the magazine office, one shitty almost-boyfriend, and summers spent in Europe, writing about sustainable travel and solo adventures. Becky says that he's inherited a restaurant from Michael. You decide against sending him condolences—too personal.

But about ten months later, there's whispering that a fancy restaurant, The Bear, is replacing The Beef of Chicagoland, and it's actually your boss who tells you that you should go check the place out.

You are not into that whole haute cuisine thing, to be honest. You never understood those tiny little portions and strange ingredients and their combinations. You prefer good pasta with Bolognese sauce or roasted chicken with mashed potatoes. Sometimes you wonder if Carmen's strange relationship with his family is what's keeping him away from his Italian roots and forcing him to work in pristine, starched whites in sterile kitchens, cooking intestines and antlers, making it art.

---

Becky gives you Natalie Berzatto’s phone number to get in touch with her to try to schedule an interview for the magazine feature. Your boss, Rob, hopes that Carmen could even make it to the cover soon when The Bear takes off. You’re not sure how you feel about bypassing Carmen completely and going straight to his sister.

So one Thursday, in early May, you decide to walk there, unannounced. You corner the building, passing a big glass window, and before you make it to the main entrance, you nearly collide with a very wonky wooden stepladder. With Carmen Berzatto on top of it, fiddling with a screwdriver or a similar tool, and a signboard.

The second you make contact with the ancient stepladder, Carmen shouts, "Fuck!"

“Sorry,” you yelp, and one glance at the man high up confirms that you are indeed dealing with the Chef himself.

“Could you watch out?” he says angrily as he makes his way down, measuring every step carefully.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, waiting anxiously for Carmen to—hopefully—recognize you. To anyone walking by, you must look like an idiot, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting motionless and stiff for a guy to climb down a ladder.

You don’t know what you had been expecting but definitely not Carmen staring at you with his huge, bloodshot eyes for seconds that feel like minutes. You nearly turn around and walk away, no joke.

He looks—

“You look—” you start. Terrible. But also, like, gorgeous. Terribly tired but hot. Is it awful of you to think that?

“Hi,” Carmen says, one hand going into the big mess of his hair, the other one into his pants pocket. He's avoiding your eyes, which makes you even more nervous, makes you think it was not such a great idea to come here.

“Hi!” you say, probably overly enthusiastically. “You're back in Chicago,” is the first thing you can think of.

He nods. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, congrats on the new place,” you say, gesturing to the building behind him, newspaper covering the windows. “I'm really sorry, I thought it was already open,” you explain, tugging on the hem of your lilac sweatshirt nervously. Can he tell you’re lying? “Becky mentioned something about it.”

“No, we’re opening next week,” Carmen says, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

“I'm really curious,” you smile carefully, testing the waters, wondering how he's going to react. You haven't seen each other in more than five years, and Carmen's never been exactly friendly. Not like mean, but definitely not easily approachable. “I work for this magazine, and we would love to do a feature on this,” you say, leaving out that it's you who would be writing it. Who wants to write it. Not only about the place but about Carmen, the enigma, the quiet boy, the excellent chef.

He only nods, clearly not sharing your enthusiasm. “Maybe later,” he taps the cigarette against the palm of his other hand. “When we're ready for this kind of thing.”

“Of course,” you agree quickly.

“Might be a while.”

“So what is the big plan?”

Carmen looks at you, measuring you. Like he thinks you have some ulterior motive. He lights up the cigarette, taking a long drag from it, and you fight not to scrunch your nose in disgust. The older you get, the more you hate the smell. Especially when someone is blowing out the smoke aimlessly—almost—in your face.

“My partner—Sydney, she’s hung up on the stars. So I guess a fine dining kinda place,” Carmen says, flicking the cigarette butt in the general direction of the gutter. The second sentence comes out more like a question than a statement, but you are still processing the first one.

“You run a business with your girlfriend?” you swear you don’t mean it to sound so accusing.

Carmen takes a step back, physically—bumping into the stepladder behind him—and mentally, too. “No! She—Sydney’s my business partner.” The defensive tone tells you exactly how your words sounded though. You wince. “We’ve been working on the new concept together with Nat, and the whole crew, actually. It’s—it’s a family business, I guess—uhm. We had only like three months to finish, and—”

You can see he’s really flustered. He’s starting to stutter, hand nervously scratching his neck. You hate the sight, hate that you’ve made him feel like this.

“I’m sorry!” you interrupt him. “It came out all wrong. I shouldn’t have said that,” you say urgently, hoping to see him relax back to his non-caring, nonchalant, tired-looking self. How could you mess up so quickly? Is that your special ability or a curse?

“‘s fine,” Carmen says, and he does relax a bit, shoulders dropping an inch. He doesn’t look friendly though. Or in the mood for a chat. “I just—she’s a business partner,” he repeats obstinately, face red.

The moment grows awkward. In your coat pocket, you touch a pack of chewing gum and start fiddling with it. “I—my office is nearby so I thought I could come around and see the progress,” you say into the void, trying not to cringe too much. “Maybe I would take a few colleagues for dinner.”

“The reservations aren't open yet,” Carmen says in a flat voice. You can’t call him out because it’s probably true anyway. Plus, you just lied again—the offices are not close; you had taken the L—and you feel bad about it.

There’s not much left to say, you realize. He’s not giving you any space to turn this “accidental” meeting into a proper conversation. You shuffle your feet nervously, feeling stupid.

“Alright. It was nice seeing you!” you say, as it’s about time to end this. “Hope everything’s gonna work out great!” you add in a cheerful tone, already setting to walk back to the station.

“Yeah. Thanks. Bye.” Carmen says back, lighting a second cigarette.

What a nightmare, you think as you walk through the busy streets.

—

In the following weeks, you almost forget about The Bear. Rob complains about the nonexistent article on the new, already hyped-up restaurant and wasted opportunities, but what can you do? The not-at-all-accidental meeting with Carmen had been a disaster you actively try to erase from your mind. Working on your regular column and material for the website keeps you busy. Then Becky calls out of nowhere, and you two arrange lunch at The Marq. You end up swapping hilarious stories from the last two months you hadn’t seen each other, and you secretly pray she doesn’t ask about Natalie Berzatto or her brother. You're out of luck, because she does—of course she does—and you have to lay the cards on the table.

“You did contact Nat first though?” is the first thing Becky asks.

“I didn’t,” you shake your head. “I didn’t want to exclude Carmen right at the very beginning,” you admit.

“Oh god,” Becky rolls her eyes at you, taking a small bite of her salmon cake sandwich.

“I knooow,” you quickly stop her, feeling like ordering something stronger than the simple soda you’ve been drinking.

“I think you should still call Natalie,” Becky says, pointing at you with a determined frown. “I went to see her and her new baby just last week. She asked about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Apparently they could really use some help getting the word out about The Bear. A good excuse to talk Carmen into an interview maybe? An exclusive one?” She wiggles her eyebrows, knowing how cool it would be for you to come up with this.

“Maybe,” you muse, playing it cool. Inside, you are already hyped up about the possibility of scoring the first interview with the former best chef in the world. Is he still good at all? Why did he disappear? Why is he back?

—

The anxiety of the following days forces you to actually text Natalie. You’ve been checking online websites and Instagram accounts apprehensively, worried that a medium might publish something about The Bear before you get a chance. Rob isn’t a dick, but you wouldn’t want to look incompetent in his eyes. So far, you’ve been able to steer away from conversations about the new Carmen Berzatto restaurant at work. Your work ethic makes it difficult for you to let The Bear go without a fight.

That’s how you find yourself in front of Natalie’s door. When she opens it, she doesn’t hide her fervor.

“Oh, finally! Hi! Please come in.” She ushers you inside. You’ve never seen her in person, only on Becky’s Instagram, maybe, and even though the exhaustion is apparent on the woman’s face, you can spot the similarities with Carmen in her features right away.

From the dark hallway, she leads you to the sitting room. When you look around, it’s hard to find a clutter-free space. Every surface is covered with baby clothes, baby diapers, baby wipes—clean and dirty—bottles—full and empty.

“Sorry for the mess,” Natalie appears next to you, snatching away a baby muslin from the sofa. “Have a seat, please,” she nods. “The baby’s asleep. Hopefully for the next—” and she checks her watch, “another twenty minutes.”

As you sit down, Natalie collapses into an armchair, not minding what appears to be a pile of freshly washed newborn onesies and other clothes underneath her.

“Thank you so much for stopping by,” she says sincerely, and you notice the many stains on her purple t-shirt.

You smile. “No problem.”

“Becky said that you know stuff about Instagram and social media and marketing and all that?” Natalie’s eyes are wide and hopeful.

“I would say so,” you nod.

“I’m not sure what Becky mentioned already,” Natalie says as she starts pulling the baby clothes from under her and folding them absentmindedly. That definitely says something about the state she’s in, without Becky describing the situation to you—not only with The Bear but also Nat herself. “Carmy’s putting so much into the restaurant—we all are—so much hope,” she babbles, “none of us have slept properly in weeks—months! And now the baby...” Natalie’s gaze becomes unfocused for a moment before she blinks rapidly. “The timing’s not so great,” she forces out a weak laugh, and you smile again, already feeling bad for her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“I understand. It’s hard,” you empathize, feeling genuinely bad—not for The Bear—but for Natalie.

“I’m not a marketing guru, but I can research things,” she carries on, more confident now. “But I can’t be there all the time, y’know? It’s just not possible. If—if someone could help with keeping the place afloat and spreading the word—” she stops talking and folding, looking directly at you. “That would be just so awesome,” she finishes quietly, her bottom lip wobbling.

You know that Nat’s not trying to emotionally blackmail you, even though the situation kinda feels like it, and you do feel for her.

“I can help, yes.”

“I’ll talk to Carm and Sydney, and we’ll figure out how much we can offer you!” The relief and excitement are apparent in the way Nat jumps up from the armchair.

“That’s alright, really,” you say calmly, putting a hand on her arm now that she’s closer. “We can discuss this later,” and you give her another encouraging smile.

The unmistakable sound of a baby crying comes from somewhere in the house. Poor Natalie freezes, her hand going to touch her chest. She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Thank you. Thank you,” and she takes a hold of your hand, squeezing it. “I’ll tell Sydney to get in touch with you—or you can actually just go to the restaurant; they know about you.”

That makes you slightly uncertain as you remember your first attempt at an unannounced visit to The Bear.

“Alright,” you nod with a polite smile. After all, you’re getting something out of this too.

—

Sydney texts you exactly 22 minutes after you leave worn-out Natalie and her baby behind and invites you to come to The Bear the next day. To make yourself appear more untouchable, you reply that the soonest you’re available is next Monday. Make them wait.

It gets you on edge, though, and more than once you think of Carmen in his tiny Copenhagen kitchen, how things used to be. How easy it is to grow apart. Not that you’d been friends exactly. Hard to be anything like that with a person as closed off as Carmen Berzatto.

On the agreed Monday, you dare to finish early at work and take the train to The Bear. Your stomach is in knots, even though you’ve been pretty brave about the whole thing. It’s just—you’re not sure how Carmen’s gonna react when he sees you, and you’re already thinking about the worst possible scenarios. Just stop! you tell yourself resolutely, forcing yourself to concentrate on the simple but well-thought-out marketing plan you prepared to present. Without being asked. If Carmen sees that you actually KNOW things, he might change his opinion about you. Not that you KNOW his opinion, but—maybe he would actually acknowledge you finally.

It’s just after the family meal when you arrive. A tall man who introduces himself as Richie lets you in instantly, and he’s clearly been informed about your arrivall. As soon as Sydney is notified of your presence, she rushes to you from the kitchen in the back, wiping her hands on her apron. You notice right away that she’s friendly and calm, and it relaxes your nerves. There’s no doubt she loves the restaurant and her job, and you see that she worries as much as Natalie does, or even more.

“We’re opening in two hours, so it’s a bit wild in the back, but maybe you wanna see the kitchen?” Sydney offers as she’s showing you around the newly restored restaurant, opening the heavy door. “A quick peek,” she adds as a loud cracking noise comes out of the exact door.

You’ve been to a couple of kitchens, and you must say that this one’s definitely on the chaotic side of the scale. People in white aprons run here and there, no one’s still, not even for a second. There’s a good amount of shouting and a huge amount of swearing. In the middle of everything, there’s Chef Carmen Berzatto. He looks like a character from Cartoon Network. His wild hair is sticking out in all directions, dark tattoos covering his arms and hands, face sweaty, eyes ready to pop out of his head. He’s shorter than most people you see circling the kitchen, but the loudest one. He shouts orders, and you notice the vein on the side of his neck—it sure is ready to burst. You wonder how far he is from having a heart attack.

“Or maybe next time,” Sydney mutters, gently pushing you out of the way and shutting the door again. She leads you to one of the brown wooden tables where you settle again.

“Is he always like that?” you ask Sydney, actually glad that you’re not in the room where the storm’s currently happening.

“Only when he’s stressed,” Sydney explains shortly, an apologetic smile on her lips.

When it comes to money, it’s obvious The Bear doesn’t have much to spare, that much is clear. Sydney is extremely apologetic and sweet about it.

“There’s a marketing budget—previously non-existent—that we’ve set aside and can offer. It’s just not much, I’m afraid,” she tells you, jittery.

You want to reassure her, to tell her that you're doing it for Carmen, for an old "friend." But from what you've gathered, Sydney doesn't even know that Carmen knows you.

So you just smile and reassure her anyway. "I'll put it on my resume. I can use more cases with social media for hospitality," you lie.

Nodding, Sydney clarifies, "Yes, just Instagram. Please. Carmy doesn't want to put anything in the press. Yet."

When a curious Richie joins you at the table, you present the Instagram plan to both of them. Even though Richie can't help making a few rather stupid remarks that only he finds funny, they both listen carefully. You see a lot of skepticism on Richie's face, probably because he doesn't understand some of the big words, you guess, but Sydney seems to be really into everything from pictures of the food and the weekly specials, to quick reels showing potential customers a little bit of behind-the-scenes action.

"Oh, I'm sure Cousin will be thrilled to have people sticking their noses into his business," Richie says, and you're not sure how serious he is. But Sydney shushes him, and you carry on, showing her the mock-up of the possible Instagram feed to set the mood for the profile.

For the next three weeks, you go to The Bear twice a week to gather some content—photos and videos. You talk to the crew and film those who are okay with it. Your presence is met with mixed emotions, but Sydney's gratitude and kindness make up for every suspicious glare and exasperated sigh when you find yourself in someone's way. Besides the restaurant, you take your neighbor's dog for a long walk every Saturday morning, call your mom and dad to check in, scroll Instagram instead of finally starting an actual book, and often wonder why Carmen is so hostile towards you.

Generally, you try not to hang out in the kitchen directly, especially not when Chef Carmen is present. Being uncomfortable in a new environment makes you positively anxious, causing you to go through a whole pack of your favorite cinnamon Simply Gums a day.

You also remember to always tie your hair up—not that the staff there wear hairnets or anything, but you don't want Carmen to find another reason to frown at you. He's been basically only frowning or ignoring you. Hard to tell which one is worse.

You always clean your hands super thoroughly, like during COVID, singing the "Happy Birthday" song to time it before daring to even stick your finger in the restaurant. Sydney offers you an apron to protect your work clothes, which you refuse. You sense from some people there that you're not entirely welcome.

But the more you avoid Carmen, the more likely you are to bump into him. You know Murphy's Law. So one morning, he just appears from around the corner, carrying a tray of mushrooms.

For a second, you're actually horrified that he's going to introduce himself. Before that can happen, you blurt out, "Uh—do you remember me? Copenhagen?"

Carmen stops and looks at you, wiping his wet hands on the towel attached to the string of his white apron. "Yeah," he confirms, "yeah, I do." He says your name, all soft and correct, along with your surname, and with his eyes fixed on you, you're frozen to the spot, affected whether you like it or not. Then he leaves to taste Tina's roasted peppers.

Obviously, your mind can't let the episode slip away. As you type copy for the upcoming Instagram posts, you pause every so often to cringe at how embarrassing you behaved. Of course, he remembers you, for fuck's sake! You're working in his restaurant—kinda.

"Hey! Copenhagen! You wanna see this?" Carmen yells a bit later from the other side of the kitchen, and you falter, deciding whether you're really going to answer to him calling you that.

You bite your tongue and trail hesitantly to the station where Carmen is with Tina and Ebraheim, gathered around a saucepan.

"Tina, chef, this is excellent. Well done," Carmen says to her as you approach, then turns to you.

"This is what we wanna share with the world. Perfect red pepper sauce. Simple but delicious."

"Okay," you respond, taking in the expectant way all three of them are looking at you. Like you're some kind of magician. Or a fraud.

"Just," Carmen adds before he sets off, "no recipes leave this kitchen," and he waits for you to confirm.

"Right."

Slowly, you start to question why you're helping The Bear. Is it because two years ago you thought of Carmen and what you might have felt for him? What could have been? More than the chef himself, you find yourself growing fond of the place and the employees—some of them! Seeing the Instagram followers number increase fills you with pride and satisfaction. Fuck Carmen.

---

Mornings are usually the only time when Carmen isn’t around, and you try to time your visits so your paths don’t cross.

Wanting to snap photos of the new tableware and make a quick, fun video reel, you head into the kitchen. There's no one around—Sweeps is probably hiding somewhere, and Sydney might be in the office. Not wanting to bother anyone, you set your always-heavy handbag on a chair and start looking for everything you need. There's no reason for you to feel like you're sneaking around, but you can't help feeling nervous. That’s when your clumsiness strikes, and you manage to knock over a glass of water. Rolling your eyes, you get on your hands and knees to wipe the spilled water with a rug that you hope is meant for cleaning, as you’re very aware of every item having its particular function here.

You straighten up and stretch to get one more plate from the shelf. Then you lose your footing on the still-wet tiles. Your foot slips, and the top plate falls to the countertop with a loud cracking noise. You react quickly, trying to break the fall, but there's no use. The plate shatters to pieces.

Of course, it’s Carmen himself who emerges from the door leading to the office, and you wince—both physically and mentally—preparing yourself for a very unpleasant collision.

“What’s going on?” he asks as he approaches you, eyebrows pinched. He’s not wearing his chef whites, just a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans.

“Sorry, I—” you start apologizing as Carmen stands next to you, assessing the damage.

“What—what’re you doing here?” he asks in a very flat voice, staring at the pieces of ceramic.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to tidy this and also pay for the plate, obviously,” you ramble, reaching down for the shards.

“Don’t,” Carmy barks, stopping you by grabbing your shaking hands in his. His hands are big, the tattoos making them look harsh and crude, even though the touch is gentle. “Don’t cut yourself,” he adds quietly, holding you until you relax your arms and then a second longer.

He must sense your nervousness. “It’s fine, I’ll get it,” Carmen assures you, catching your eye. “Hey,” he lays a soft hand on your arm, “step away, I’ll clean this.”

Nodding, you step back and wait patiently, disconcerted, watching as Carmen carefully handles and discards the shards, then checks the floor for any tiny fragments. He turns back to you.

“Are you okay?” he checks.

“Yeah.” And you’re more thrown off balance by having Carmen pay attention to you, all of a sudden, than by damaging the kitchen’s equipment.

He studies you for a moment, his face unreadable, and you’re the one to look away first. Which you hate, by the way.

“You wanna see some stuff I’ve been working on?”

“Sure,” you agree, taking a deep breath to relax further. “I’m sorry. The loud noise—” you wave your hand in the air vaguely, rolling your eyes at yourself. “Just scared the shit out of me, I guess,” you finish with an apologetic smile.

“You’re alright,” Carmen confirms and disappears for a bit. In the meantime, you have a small meltdown, shaking your head at yourself for being so, so very terribly lame. Luckily, before he returns with a tray of different dishes, you pull yourself together.

Carmen sets the tray down, revealing an array of colorful and sophisticated meals that instantly catch your curiosity.

“Any allergies?” he asks.

“Passion fruit—easily avoidable. Sometimes kiwi,” you list. “And grumpy chefs,” you add cheekily, feeling bold.

Carmen pauses. “I’m not grumpy. I’m focused.”

“You weren’t like this in Copenhagen,” you say softly, leaning a bit closer to him, your body language signaling that once you had been comfortable around each other.

“I’m more focused now,” Carmen retorts, stubborn and maybe a bit offended. “Back then I—uhm—I felt comfortable around you. It was easy.”

“And now?” you almost whisper.

But Carmen ignores the question, pushing the first bowl closer to you. “Here, taste this… or take a picture and then taste it.”

And you understand that the re-bonding is over.

---

Soon, you drop the habit of visiting the restaurant only in the mornings. One reason is that spending time with Carmen, talking to him or watching him cook and explain things, makes you late for work twice in a row. That usually never happens as you take pride in being on time at the office. You don’t work at The Bear for money, but you hardly think about it that way. When you decide to pop in during the morning, Carmen shares his deadly strong black coffee that he mills himself with you. It’s bitter but heavenly. Secretly, you like drinking it while chewing your favorite cinnamon gum, which somehow makes the taste even better—smoother and richer.

The second reason—you discover that Carmen is much calmer in the evenings after service. Less jittery, more relaxed. His blood flows slower, you think. His heart pumps with more ease. Sydney and he share thoughts and plans for the restaurant with you while you all sit at an empty table. It’s nice, you think, while watching Carmen’s hands play with a napkin. His hands are especially nice.

It’s Saturday and raining as you find yourself sitting in Gordon Ramsay's Burger. Nothing could’ve surprised you more than Carmen asking you to go out eat together. Had he felt bad for ignoring you at the beginning? You’re watching the rivers of raindrops on the big glass window, waiting for Carmen. As usual, you’re ten minutes early, and after you order a Life’s a Beach, the first thing on your mind is you're just early, he didn't stand you up, and then: this is not a date, babe! Which instantly startles you into sitting up straight and looking around, as if someone could see your embarrassing thoughts. Why are you even thinking about this?? Then Carmen arrives, wet patches on his shoulders and jeans that cling to his thighs. He chooses the Chicago hot dog and three different burgers with a bunch of sides. While he only nibbles on them and writes down notes on his phone, you feel bad for wasting the food and eat more than you should. Carmen studies the buns very carefully and asks you a lot of questions about the food, some of which you find amusing and actually—endearing. When you go to bed that night, your belly’s uncomfortably full. You dream that you’re pregnant and about to go into labor, and you’re pretty sure that Carmen’s the father. And, honestly, do you need a book of dreams to explain the meaning? Fuck.

---

All goes to hell next week when Carmen sees you eating a sandwich from the corner shop down the street. Instead of having your regular lunch with Becky, you’ve chosen to run to The Bear so you could see Marcus unveil his new dessert. But before that, you popped into the nearby deli to order a mozzarella and sundried tomato sandwich. No one at The Bear had ever explicitly invited you to the family meal, and you would never dare to have free food there. But the way Carmen looks at you while you sit on the step by the back exit, eating the rather dry sandwich, is indescribable. The stern look on his face is back, with a closed-off facade. His eyes are cold. Before you take it all in, you wave at him awkwardly, chewing. Carmen retreats back inside wordlessly, leaving you confused and a little hurt.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere surrounding you doesn’t improve when you return to work, the stupid sandwich sitting in your stomach like a heavy stone. You have a big argument in the meeting room while planning the next month's issue. Then one of your co-workers makes a nasty remark about your single life. The afternoon drags on painfully slowly, which forces you to message your cousin—an astrologist extraordinaire—to check what the heck is going on with the universe.

Tuesday morning is rough. The second you wake up, you know you’ve overslept because you never get up without the alarm ringing angrily. A single glance at your phone proves it to be true. Right after, you notice three missed calls from Sydney and two from Nat. There are no text messages, though.

At first, you intend to call Rob to beg for a home office day, something you rarely ever use. But as soon as you check your calendar, you’re reminded of the big conference happening from 11 a.m. until 5 p.m. You rush to work, finishing your makeup on the train, then enter the office building to quickly run through notes with your colleagues. The first time you have a chance to make a quick phone call is when you finally go to the bathroom. It’s Natalie who you manage to reach first, as the lunch rush at The Bear is just unfolding. Over the cries of Natalie’s baby, you hear half-sentences about a recipe, Carmen, and a leak. It’s hard to put it all together. At 4 p.m., Nat finally sends you a text. It says: “Recipe’s published in Taste of Home. Carm’s mad. Says someone leaked it.”

It contains a link to the Taste of Home website, with Carmen’s perfect Berkswell Pudding recipe in the Top Recipes of the Week, marked “Chef’s tip.” You check it again to make sure, and surely—it’s one of the dishes Carmen introduced to you just last week. You didn’t dare to photograph it, much less taste it. You remember concentrating on the way his lips moved when he explained the preparation process, not much on the cooking itself.

What’s clear to you is that the "Someone" from Nat’s message is actually you.

A gloomy dread settles in your stomach as the meeting goes on and on. You barely pay attention, which makes everything even worse. You’re scared of what’s happened in the restaurant, and you’re worried that you’re going to miss something important in the meeting.

When you run for a second quick bathroom break, instead of peeing, you think of your next step. You could try to call everyone in the restaurant, try to find out what the hell is going on. But you don’t want to be seen as hysterical. You check Instagram and possible messages to find traces of a catastrophe. There’s nothing. Again, you open the website with the recipe. The photos are pretty sloppy, definitely not something Carmen would prepare. As you check the ingredients, you notice there are some major differences from Carmen’s dish. All in all, the only thing that stops you from texting Carmen is your pride. And true fear.

Absolutely dreading facing Carmen, you make it to The Bear during dinner time. Which, obviously, is the worst possible timing. You’re only praying that he’s not in the kitchen but hiding in his office, deep in paperwork.

It’s Sydney who you meet first as you sneak into the restaurant through the back door. She grabs your arm.

“Don’t go to talk to him now! He’s in a really, really bad mood. Natalie and I were trying to call you.” There’s genuine worry on Sydney’s face, her eyes big and honest.

“I don’t understand what happened,” you frown. You can feel a headache approaching from the intense day in the office. “I think he should tell me himself if there’s a problem.”

“I’ve been trying to work it out with him, to explain—”

“Explain what?” you question, more sternly than you usually are around Syd.

She falters. “It’s just this stupid thing—and we love having you—don’t let Carmy upset you,” Sydney half-explains. It doesn’t make much sense, and you shake your head, heading to the office. You’re more mad than afraid now.

You don’t wait for an invite after you knock shortly. Closing the door behind you, you find Carmen leaning against the desk, a bottle of water in his hand.

Everything inside of you drops the second he lays his eyes on you. There’s no doubt he’s angry.

“Didn’t Natalie tell you you don’t have to come here again?” Carmen asks curtly. “I’m surprised you think it’s okay to be here.”

Not expecting Carmen to be this harsh from the beginning, you swallow instead of answering.

“I hope that you’re happy now,” he says meanly, putting the bottle down on the desk.

“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you croak out, sincerely meaning it.

Carmen straightens up, watching you like a feline. “The recipe. It’s out. One fucking thing I asked not to get out, and now the whole of America can see and fucking even cook it at home.”

You’re frozen to the spot. From the very beginning, you knew that Carmen is not a person to mess with, hoping that you would never experience his anger directed at you. Now it’s happening.

You want to say something about no one being able to cook the way he does, but it’s pointless. Instead, you’re fighting off the flush on your face from embarrassment. You feel like a child being scolded, but you don’t want to look like one.

The muted but still loud kitchen noises bleed through the closed door. A shout, clattering. Not loud enough to stop Carmen from piercing you through and through with his ice-cold eyes.

“I promise I didn’t do anything like that,” you say, desperately wanting the chef to believe you. “I swear!”

Carmen pinches the bridge of his nose, one hand propped on his waist. You wait, breathless, for his next move, scared to death. The shirt you have on is wet with your sweat. The really badly smelling kind—the one your body produces when you’re stressed or scared. And you’ve been stressed since the very morning. You flinch when you move your arm and the odor hits your nose, hoping that Carmen can’t smell you. You would be mortified. The strap of your tote bag is digging into your shoulder painfully, but you don’t dare to move to put it down to relieve your arm.

“This all doesn’t—it doesn’t make any sense,” Carmen starts pacing, looking down at the floor and not at you anymore. You’re not sure if it’s better this way. “You come here, wanna do a fucking interview with me, or some shit, then you show up again—this time wanting to work here. For free! So, please, tell me—how does it sound, huh?”

Petrified, you realize how exactly it all sounds. When Carmen says it like this, it makes you look like a fraud. Like a terrible, terrible person. A liar. Your mind goes weeks back, back to the moment you actually thought of maybe digging some scoop in here, maybe convincing Carmen to do the interview after all. But it’s far from how he’s making the situation sound.

“Carmen,” you start without knowing what you want to say. Carmen’s stopped walking around the tiny office like a caged animal, and he’s again looking at you. There’s so much tension in his face, back hunched. “It sounds bad, but may I explain—”

“You may not,” he cuts you off briskly. His neck—normally a place you find sexy—is all red, and the thick vein there is getting more and more prominent by the second. “No one fucks with my business, you understand?” Oh—and he’s shouting now.

The natural defense, you didn’t know existed, is to make yourself smaller. Somehow, anyhow. You hang your head, avoiding looking at his face. You just can’t meet his eyes, even though Carmen’s bowing and tilting his head to force you to.

“It’s like I have to start asking the staff to sign an NDA,” he carries on.

Carmen’s getting slowly closer and closer to you, pushing you against the wall by the door. He’s not touching you but only because you’re not allowing it. You’re sick with humiliation. Lost for words, probably for the first time in your life.

“—and Nat fucking leaves me here—us, all of us—and that’s just not fair. I would expect so, so much more from my sister. Not that my brother was much better,” he chuckles humorlessly, but you see it’s more like an effort to catch his breath. “Lousy fuckers… Do you think you do your job well here, chef?”

He’s scaring you now. The hair by his temples and above his forehead is damp, and his gesticulation is wild and weird.

“Do we disgust you here, is that right, hm?” Carmen probably finally sees your frightened expression because he adds, “Why would you buy food somewhere else and then come here to eat it?!” You understand that he’s referring to the day he saw you eating the sandwich by the rear exit. Unsure whether he expects you to reply, you decide to stay quiet. Your knees are starting to shake, from exhaustion after the long day and perhaps, from Carmen’s current behavior.

“It made ME sick,” he says, his face just inches from yours when one of his hands slams into the thin wall right next to your head. The noise echoes in the room, and you’re desperately hoping it’s not loud enough for the others to hear from outside. You would die on the spot if they knew what’s going on here.

“Who do you think you are?” Carmen shouts some more, loud, by your ear. It vibrates through you and never stops. You’re shivering all over, you notice. It’s not okay, not okay!

At last, you raise your head, chin jutting out. “No one’s going to talk to me like this. No one,” you spit out in the chef’s face, taking him by surprise. “Don’t you ever shout at me again,” and you jab him right in the middle of his chest, instead of punching him there like he deserves.

When you’re leaving his office and rushing to the back exit, you hear Carmen yelling.

Everything feels tense and your hands are shaking. Your jaw is set so hard your teeth could crush from the pressure. The fresh air hits your face, and you focus on breathing deeply through your nose. The sounds remind you of a steam engine. You walk for about a minute, mind blank with the shock. Only when you turn a corner do you allow yourself to stop, which causes the first tears to fall. You’re so mad at yourself. Why the fuck are you crying?! There’s so much frustration in the crazy mixture of emotions you’re feeling. You’re completely overwhelmed with it, not knowing what to focus on at first.

Out of habit, you look for your phone in your handbag to check the screen. The fucking heavy bag that’s been killing your shoulder. Frustrated, you let it slide off your arm and down to the sidewalk. You don’t even care if it breaks, as it lands with a noisy, dull sound. It had been years since you got properly yelled at, and you’re angry that it affects you this much. You promise yourself to take a few seconds here, in the middle of an empty street, then call a cab. At home, you can cry.

PART II

#here it is! i can't quite believe that it's happening #the bear #fic #my fic #carmen berzatto x the reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fic #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you

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