Made With Love

Chapter One: Get Out Of My Kitchen

Notes: Hello! This is going to be the introduction chapter to hopefully make sense of the story I have in mind, and I'm going to start off with a TRIGGER WARNING just in case. The boss (basically an npc type oc I made up) will be verbally and mentally abusive, but I'm not going to go overboard on it. He's just going to be incredibly mean, hateful, and act like a dickhead. Think of a Gordon Ramsay type, but just extremely toxic with zero good intentions, and half the talent. To clarify this is going to be a cute romance fic, but I have it set for the reader to be depressed and traumatized, and Stucky will make their first appearance in the second chapter. There will be no gore or violence, and any smut will be in later chapters because this is going to be a slow-burn relationship. Also all mental thoughts will always be italicized in bold to make it less confusing. Tony/Pepper and Steve/Bucky are also married ships in this fic, and Stucky is on good terms with Tony. 

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The kitchen on a busy day like this is thick with heat and noise. Fellow cooks are yelling out orders, informing waiters when their food is ready to go, and huffing out words of frustration when they fall behind or miss a step.

Pots and pans never cease their obstreperous clacking while several are used all around the cluttered cooking stations, and the sound of metal on metal even becomes louder than our own voices at times. However one voice remained above all of the racket in the room. One full of aggression and dominance. This attitude is not uncommon with head chefs, but yours takes it to a whole new level with how he behaves.

You can feel the hard lump in your throat beginning to form at the feeling of someone behind you. Watching you. Your shaky hands still manage to work expertly though while your brain goes into autopilot. Chop, stir, flip, season, and repeat. Don't fall behind. You have to go faster.

You're on edge as you do the job of two people on your own, nothing you're not used to, but all you feel is anxiety while doing it. An intense pressure on your shoulders weighing you down as you give your all to avoid making mistakes. You've been cooking for so long that you know messing up happens, you're human and can fix it, but not anymore. Not here.

"You're slacking! Come on and pick up the pace!" The booming voice hovering behind you makes you flinch.

"Yes, Chef!" You answer loudly over the noise of the kitchen so he knows you heard him. As if you could rush any faster without error. You know by now it doesn't matter that you actually get your tickets out on time. It is never good enough for the boss you try so tirelessly to please.

"Yes, Chef? You have five orders on your ticket, and you only have two started! Work. Faster." You just got the ticket a few minutes ago after rushing out your last one, but he doesn't stop adding on the pressure. Pushing you just to see how you crumble under the impossibility of his requests. You'd argue back if you knew it wouldn't make things worse for you, but now you wouldn't dare. You learned your lesson.

He's quick to invade your space when you give no response, even as you noticeably try to hurry up. He just loves to watch you struggle. "You lazy fucking cow. I can't believe how unappreciative you are. You're lucky enough to even be here when you're better equipped to make shitty fast food, and yet you're not even thankful to be in my kitchen. Fucking useless. Move." He spat angrily. You didn't give him the true reaction he wanted. He wants you to argue so he can tear you down further with an actual reason, but you lost your will to fight back months ago in order to keep this job.

"Sorry, Chef." Your voice cracks as he moves you out of the way from the burner, making you feel small as you move down to start the other three orders on your ticket. Breathe. Keep trying. You'll be okay.