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angelnthsnow · 11 months ago

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The Party & The After Party

pairing: toto wolff x f!driver!reader

summary: after winning your first formula one race in your first year in the category, you don't think the day can get any better. fortunately, your boss has other plans for the night.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: age gap? it's never mentioned but it's there obvi, boss x employee, use of y/n, cursing.

author's note: i must say my friends have gotten me into formula one, but it's kinda hard paying attention to the cars when this man exists. i wrote this nonstop in the middle of the night, it's shorter than usual but i couldn't get the idea out of my head, so enjoy! i promise i'll post smth nfl related soon lol k bye!!

In your first year as the first female F1 driver, you had done the impossible. Standing on the 1st place of the Monaco Grand Prix podium, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you looked down at everyone who had ever doubted you. Years of resisting attacks, sexist remarks and the constant need to prove yourself, you felt like you could finally breathe. By your side, stood two of the greatest drivers the sport had ever seen, Lewis Hamilton, your teammate, in P2, and Max Verstappen, in P3.

Your eyes wandered through the vast crowd that chanted your name from below, searching for the man who had made it all possible, your boss, Torger Wolff, the first person who took you seriously. Being a woman with hopes of getting into Formula One was exhaustingly hard, but everything started to change when you won the F3 Championship, a few years ago.

Paul, your teammate at the time, had told you that a certain team principal would come to the race that day, and although you kept telling yourself to not get your hopes up, every single attempt to do so went downhill when you saw the Mercedes team principal walking through the paddock like he owned the place.

To you, Mercedes was everything. Besides being one of the most modern teams, you also realized soon enough that Toto was probably the most open-minded out of all the other TPs on the grid. It was sad, of course, having such a little percentage of people who would be happy to see a woman in a position that was so dominated by men, but still, it lit up a flame in your chest, a string of hope you clung onto whenever you felt like giving up your dream.

That day, with him on the bleachers as you drove fearlessly around Spa-Francorchamps, you won the F3 championship, putting you on a watchlist of drivers that could get into F2.

Ever since that day, the austrian had kept an eye on you.

He saw how fiercely you fought to have a place, to have a voice and to be heard in a space ever so dominated by the opposite sex, and it didn't scare him, not one bit, he admired it. When you stood on that podium earlier, he didn't even bother hiding a smile, taking pictures and videos and chanting your name with the rest of the team as Lewis and Max sprayed the ridiculously expensive champagne on your back as you laughed.

That's why today, hours after winning your first ever F1 race on your first year in the category, he still couldn't get off the high he was on. He had finally gotten the confirmation he so desperately needed, not because he didn't believe you could do it, but because he was eager to prove everyone else wrong, to rip the smugness out of every single man who told you you didn't belong there.

At least that's what he had told you earlier through the radio before the lights went out, prove them wrong. He just didn't know you fought to reprimand a sob as you tried to concentrate in the lights that stood just above the Albert 1st Boulevard.

Now, Toto's eyes scanned every single corner of Jimmy'z searching for you, only to find you on the dance floor, pornstar martini in hand as you swayed to the beats of Empire of The Sun's We Are The People.

You had a smile on your face that could lit up a whole room, and he couldn't be prouder. Soon enough, your eyes met his and you chuckled, making a peace sign to point at your eyes and then at his as the line got lost in your eyes blasted through the club's speakers.

Even at distance, you could see him rolling his eyes and chuckling at your playful gesture, but still, he came closer, until the only thing in his field of vision was the visibly drunk version of you.

"You look happy." he leans down and forward to yell in your ear, making himself heard even if though the loud music made it hard to.

You squirm at the proximity, but brush it off by taking another sip of your drink. "I'm on top of the world, Toto. I don't think I've ever been happier." You yell back and he resists the urge to fight back a smile, presenting you with his pearly whites.

As one of the neon lights hit your face, he's forced to take in all of you. The version of you you'd put up whenever he'd tell you he had an important meeting he needed you to attend, or whenever you were needed to put up a show, like today.

You wore a black strapless dress, the one you'd seen a few weeks prior to the Grand Prix at Elie Saab's display window while you were on your daily night walk through Monaco. It was mesmerizing, with a shimmery type of fabric that would definitely make sparks fly if a bright light shined over it. You had thought of buying it, for days, really, but decided against it because party dresses were never a much needed piece of clothing in your wardrobe. Well, that until you told Lewis about the dress, and when you arrived at your apartment a few hours after the race, there it was, on a hanger hanging on the curtain rods.

As much as your looks prevented Toto from thinking about anything else, he couldn't help but notice how huge your pupils were, so big that it felt like your iris' were long gone. That and the fact that your sclera had shifted from white to a more reddish color.

He shifted on his feet, unaware of how to proceed. Were you.. high? Was that even a thing between sportspersons? Deciding on it being a matter that shouldn't be handled in front of the city's most congested place as of today, he mutters a "come with me" in your ear, putting a hand on your lower back as he guided you away from the crowd.

When he finally stops, you find yourself in a more private, smaller room with a few sofas and armchairs. He then proceeds to ask you "You've taken something. What is it?"

You laugh at his sudden concern. The answer was clearly a big red yes written in all caps, but part of you couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed at yourself. You had done it, yes, but now you felt sort of guilty, because the last thing you wanted was to damage his or the team's image. You shake your head, trying to to keep those thoughts away. It was just a party, a party for you, with only selected people being allowed in, it wasn't like you'd wake up to your name on the news.

"Come ooon.. don't be such a party pooper!" You slurred.

Toto was shocked by your reaction, part of him wanted you to celebrate as you wished, after all, you had just fulfilled a dream, but the other part, the responsible boss part craved an explanation, he didn't want you to cause any harm to your already fragile media image.

"Are you serious? You're the star of the entire team today! We have thrown a party just for you and you're getting off on drugs?" He says, lowering his voice on the last word as he crosses his arm.

"It's just a blunt, Toto. I swear I'm fine." Your laugh echoes throughout the small room as you grab his big arms, uncrossing them. "Don't get so serious on me." You look up at him through your lashes.

Toto gives you a stern look before a smirk creeps up on his face. The anger and seriousness fades away in an instant as he realizes the situation wasn't that serious. He sighs and looks at you with a sly, yet curious look. "How many? One, right?"

"Just one, sir." You say mischievously, holding your pinky finger up before kissing it to symbolize a promise.

Toto is taken aback as you kiss your pinky finger in a sarcastic manner, although he doesn't say anything. He looks at you with the same sly look as before. "I see... and have you done this before?"

"Who hasn't, duh?" You furrow your brows, flashing him a backward smile.

'He hasn't, of course. That's Torger Wolff we're talking about' you think to yourself as you look up at him. The soreness of your muscles and the pain of being on your feet for so long getting to you.

Sometimes it was kind of annoying having a conversation with your boss due to the fact that you had to look up the entire time, and countless were the times you found yourself with neck pain after hours of chatting. This conversation would surely be added to that imaginary countless list of yours, because even today, with high heels that could make you look six feet tall, he still looked way too big.

Toto chuckles before getting a playful look on his face. "Oh, really? I highly doubt the star of my F1 team has ever smoked a blunt before, although you do seem very knowledgeable about this." He moves closer to you, looking down at you as he speaks, his voice low and husky. You wondered if his neck ever went through the same problem yours did when you two talked, causing you to chuckle.

"I do?" You lift one eyebrow, narrowing your eyes. "Well, I must say.. the star of your precious F1 Team has done a lot, Mr. Wolff." It comes off more flirtatious than you intended, but you pay no mind to it. You try to take a step back, but end up slipping on the hem of your gown, the high getting to you later than ever.

Toto immediately rushes to you and catches you mid-air, wrapping his arms around your torso.

"Is that so?" Toto says, his voice now raspy and face close to yours.

You exhale deeply, relief from not having made an absolute mess out of yourself filling your body. If you had fallen, your dress would probably be completely torn apart and headlines would have a field trip with it.

He is still holding you, his hands burning on your back.

"Yeah.." You close your eyes, getting away from Toto's embrace as you regain balance and straighten yourself.

Toto steps back as you do so, although he does want to reach out to hold you again. Instead, he settles for engaging on more double entendre conversations with you.

His eyes are full of admiration, your body is more visible in this dress than it has ever been, and he makes a mental note to thank Lewis for the gift. He recalls the moment you two shared a few minutes ago, the way you swayed and jumped with the music like you were the only person in that dance floor would never fail to amaze him.

"You truly do look like a notorious celebrity in this dress, don't you?" He finally says, a hint of shyness in his tone, although the look in his face is stern.

"You could thank your other driver for that." You joke, trying to hide the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.

"I certainly will." he smiles, his gaze softening as his eyes meet yours. They're still red, but it starts to grow on him.

Looking at you like this, completely wasted, happy and carefree, he couldn't help but remember the afternoon you two had met, when he started to be so sure you'd be by his and Lewis' side on a race weekend one day.

Now, there you were, in front of him, with a trophy standing somewhere back in your apartment. "I'm so proud of you." he finally says, not because he thinks you should hear it, but because it's all he wants to say to you after today's events.

You look away from him shyly. You had heard it before, specially from him, but every single time felt like fireworks in your belly. Him being proud of you was capable of putting you on a whole another level, it was just another signal that you had made it, that you had proved you were capable, even to those who were always so sure you definitely were.

You try to hide a smile as you mutter a simple thank you, because in this state, visibly high and drunk, staring at the man who had made it all possible, it's all you manage to say.

He smiles back at you, and your mind almost short circuits when he steps closer, not stopping even when you can feel his breath close to your face. That's when you realize he's about to hug you, and you just let him.

It's genuine, simple yet abnormally meaningful. His big hands rest crossed on your lower back as he pulls you closer, making your cheeks rest on his suit covered chest. You almost feel like crying, because how could you not? You had it all now, a place in the sport you so desperately craved to have since you were a kid, a win, an amazing teammate and an even more amazing boss, who believed in you through your entire career.

"You've done it." He says quietly as if you're a wild animal that would run away at any abrupt movement or sound. "I can't even imagine how you feel."

On cloud nine, that was the most appropriate answer.

"It's like nothing I've ever felt." you say, arms hugging his chest. "Thank you for always believing in me, you have no idea how much you've done for me." you sniff, clearly on the verge of tears.

"It's nothing compared to what you deserve. You're one of the greats, Y/N. The whole world's gonna know you name." he says, causing the tears you so eagerly fought to keep off to fall rapidly on your cheeks. You sniff, opening your eyes to see that a small wet circle had formed on Toto's shirt.

"Shit, sorry." You laugh awkwardly as you take a step back, desperately trying to dry your tears with your fingers before they ruined your makeup too.

"Hey, it's fine." He steps closer again, bringing his thumb to your face as he continues your job of drying the tears you had shed. Once he's done, his hands linger there for a bit longer than they needed to, stroking your cheeks. You thank the Gods for whatever the hell he was on today. "You do look pretty when you cry, though I must say I prefer the way you look on top of a podium, with champagne drenched hair and a first place trophy in hand."

You roll your eyes, as if it was possible to fall even more in love with him. It had become stupid at this point, really. Clearly the two of you had something special, to say the least, going on, but none of you were courageous enough to come clean about this.

"You aren't a bad view from up there as well." You shoot back, earning a smile in return.

The shameless and obvious flirtation to whoever watched from outside continued for a few minutes, until Toto insisted that you should go back to your party, and although at this point you had decided to give up the celebrations to look at him for the rest of night, there he was, once again with his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd back to where he initially had seen you. Doesn't take long for you to get lost in the music, dancing like there was no tomorrow. Toto had excused himself to greet other team members and sponsors, fulfilling the ultimate boss role even at parties, and stealing glances from you every now and then while talking to someone.

A few drinks later, the club was getting more empty by the minute, the clock almost hitting 4:30 a.m. Your makeup was already lightly smudged, your black Louboutins long gone in the corner you once laughed with your friends. As you thanked the remaining people for coming, Toto showed up again, startling you as he came from behind, putting his right hand in your shoulder.

"Seems like the party has reached an end." he says, making you look up at him. His face was fairly red, and by the way he slurred his words, you could tell he was somewhat drunk. His hair was messier than earlier and the tie that was once a fancy bow was now untied, resting around his neck, a nice combination to his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

"Unfortunately. I hope you had fun, though." you reply, turning your attention to shake some of your guests' hands.

"It's always fun with you around." He says as he smiles to the same people shaking your hands.

You crookedly smile, turning around to walk to your table. As you do so, he follows.

"Do you need a ride? I saw you coming in with Bradley, but he already left," He watches you as you walk through the empty club, employees cleaning the floor of what was once the party of a lifetime. "guess parties aren't really his thing." He chuckles.

"I don't wanna make you take me home now, it's late and you're probably very tired."

"Oh, please, it's Monaco. Not like I'm going to be driving for hours." He replies, earning you a laugh. You and Toto lived pretty close to each other, but you'd drive past his building before getting to yours, so you truly didn't want him to make a huge detour just because of you.

"Fine," you smile, grabbing your sparkly clutch. "just please tell me you came with your 300sl roadster." You say and he chortles, rolling his eyes.

The Mercedes 300SL Roadster owned by Toto was probably one of your favorite cars in his collection. Hell, in anyone's collection. It's such an incredibly classy vehicle you couldn't resist its charm.

"I did." He says, and you let out a slightly loud yes! as he grabs your scarpins, laughing at your reaction. The way the smallest things were capable of making you happy always made him smile. Even after closing a multi-millionaire deal with your team, some things would never fail to make you excited, such as being driven home in a car you've always wanted.

The both of you start to walk towards Jimmy'z's exit in a different sort of haze, like the two of you were in your own little world together, laughing and exchanging inside jokes. The dry warm Monaco summer air hits you as soon as you step out, and soon the vallet comes driving Toto's car, opening the door for you to get in.

As the both of you get in, he starts driving, the sound of the car's engine echoing throughout Princesse Grace Avenue. Duke Dumont's Ocean Drive in the radio as your hair flies due to the speed in which Toto's driving. Now and then, he casually glances at you, smiling at the way you still manage to dance even when sitting on the passenger's seat.

Despite being a race weekend, the city seemed awfully quiet and empty at this time. Soon enough, he takes a turn and you're finally in Larvotto, which meant in a few seconds he'd be pulling up at your home. However, before he had the chance to, you saw the sun rising in distance, its warm light gleaming in the sea water.

"Toto, look!" you point to the horizon, and he slows the car down to follow your gaze. "It's so beautiful.."

"Indeed it is.." he says, and you can tell by his tone he's got a change of plans coming. When you realize, he's parking the car in the shore, exiting the vehicle to open the door for you. "Come on, let me give you a real after party."

You smile, because there was no way the day could get any better. You were sure you'd wake up later convincing yourself this had been a dream. Taking your hand, he pulls you out of the car, and after you close the door, he runs towards the sea, fingers intertwined with yours.

In this moment, you force yourself to forget about all of the implications and concerns that could come at you. In this moment, it was just you and Toto, not a Mercedes driver and the Mercedes' Team Principal. To anyone else who'd catch a glimpse of the scene, the both of you looked like stupid, reckless teenagers in love.

Sitting on the sand, you try to catch your breath, stomach hurting due to you not being able to stop laughing. You lay your head on his broad shoulders, hands holding his arm.

Suddenly, he feels the need to confess, "I'm always so happy when I'm around you" with the german accent getting heavier as it always did when he was drunk.

You smile, "Me too."

A beat, and then, "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known."

It comes lower than he intends to, but he's also never felt so nervous around someone as he does now. You thank the heavens for the fact that he's not looking at you, you look like a kid stupidly in love.

"You don't need to say that," you sigh. "you've already told me you're proud of me for today."

"I know. I'm not saying it because I feel the need for it to be said, but because I truly think that." he replies. "Ever since that day in Spa, you've proven to be an extremely fierce, fearless, wonderful driver and an even more amazing woman." You roll your eyes at his compliments. "I mean it, Y/N." He grabs your attention just by saying your name, making it all even more real. "Mercedes is extremely lucky to have you, and so am I." he looks at you, his face closer than ever as yours rest on his shoulder.

"You have me?" You say, looking at him through your lashes.

"I like to think I do. Do I?"

"Utterly." You giggle, your eyes glowing just by looking at him.

His hands go to cup your face, and the last thing you'd expect from him happens. At first, his lips brush over yours lightly, as if he's asking for permission, testing the waters to see if he's allowed to go further. When you don't protest, he deepens the kiss, sweeping you off your feet.

The both of you laugh, and you hide your now completely red face in his chest. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this." you say, feeling his body hairs stand on end.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to do this." he says, and you shed a tear on his partially shirt covered chest. "Are you crying?" He asks, and when he hears you sniff, he takes it as a yes. "Hey, don't cry. Look." he lifts your chin up, making you stare at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.

The sunrise looked like a piece of art, with pinkish and yellow tones coloring the sky. Toto puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You could now add having him at your list as well.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff x y/n #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #fanfic #alternative universe

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cutielando · 6 months ago

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hungary 2024.

okay, we need to talk about the Hungarian Grand Prix.

i've seen a lot of people all over the internet saying how Oscar didn't deserve the win and that he stole it away from Lando, that Lando shouldn't have let Oscar past, all kinds of theories.

first things first.

BE HAPPY FOR OSCAR.

it's really unfair towards him that everyone is overlooking his win, not celebrating him for the amazingly talented driver that he is, and are instead pitying Lando, talking about mistreatment from the team and so on (both of which are true and fair, but it seems like everybody is overlooking the fact that he won his first F1 race in his SECOND season).

I am a Lando fan, I was at the race as well, and I am just as sad that I didn't get to watch him win, but let's not forget how compliant Oscar has been ever since the start of the season when it comes to Lando's races.

he has sacrificed many of his races in order to help Lando defend his position and has not once complained about it. he has been nothing short of a stellar team player without complaints. i can imagine the way he must have been feeling, knowing the team was prioritizing Lando in races, which is not a great conclusion to come to.

Lando knows how much Oscar has helped him, and he knew that if he hadn't let him past, he would have lost his support and help down the road. he would have found himself fighting for results by himself, which is not something you want when you're close in the championship. he knew he needs Oscar, that's why he ended up obeying to team orders.

now we arrive to the real root of the problem and the real bad guy. McLaren.

i understand that they wanted Oscar to win, to give something back to make up for the situations he had been put in, but this was not the way to do it. had they wanted Oscar to win "fair and square" they should have pitted him first. he would have come out behind Lando, and then they would have pitted Lando and he would have come out behind Oscar, thus creating Oscar P1 and Lando P2 from the very beginning.

the audacity of Will to say those things to Lando over the radio, the audacity to straight up blackmail him into giving away a win to Oscar was so not the way to speak to someone who has been with the team for 6 years and committed at least 3-4 more years of his career to the team. it's not fair towards Lando because the situation was not his fault, it was the fault of their strategy team.

don't ever blackmail someone into doing your bidding when you've put them in the wrong spot ON PURPOSE and the entire situation is your fault.

the sole fault here lies with McLaren. Lando and Oscar have no fault in this. Lando should have never been given the opportunity to lead the race in the last stint when everyone was aiming for an Oscar win. the strategy failed, the blame lies with the team orders.

McLaren, I love you, I love your drivers, and I'm a papaya girl through and through. BUT GROW THE FUCK UP AND GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER.

We deserve better.

Lando deserves so much better.

Oscar deserves so much better.

With that being said, don't let this take away the joy of winning a race from Oscar just because you made a mistake.

He deserves the win, he should feel that indescribable joy of winning. He deserves to be happy.

He’s a winner, let’s celebrate him accordingly. 🧡

#hungarian gp 2024 #hungarian grand prix #mclaren formula 1 #lando norris #oscar piastri #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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pha55ed · 4 months ago

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Bam Yang Gang | F1/F2 (kimi bday celly!)

type :: h/c, fluff tw/cw :: imposter syndrome (kimi), contains :: kimi!, carlos, paul request :: hi! i wanted to request the bam yang gang prompt for carlos and paul along with kimi, these are tough and trying times for us sainz and aron fans 😭🥲 (yessss! my favs from both series!!! and ik :( well get through it tho,,, i hope) link to kimi bday celly!

Kimi Antonelli | 04

He didn't lose the race, he did much better than others - but he was still harsh to himself. He got P14, which wasn't god awful since he beat many drivers. But compared to his other results, he was so disappointed with himself. He didn't even want to speak to you out of embarrassment from his results.

But you just have to force yourself in, since he most likely won't talk to anyone. So when you knock gently on his driver's room door, sneaking in, he tries his best to turn away from you. He doesn't like pity or false-comfort.

His results mean the world to him, there's always so much pressure on him. Although he basically has a good future secured within Mercedes, he's still terrified of it being ripped away from him one day. He feels a constant pressure to perform at his peak, to prove his worth to the world.

Imposter syndrome is something he feels often, he just never opened up about it to anyone. Anyone but you. You knew the best way to help was to assure him that it was just one bad race, not a bad career.

Staying near him and reassuring him he has more races is the best thing you can do. He likes cold hard facts over emotional help. So instead of saying he did amazing, tell him how he almost got fastest lap or tell him how his average position is still around P7.

Also, acts of service helps him as well. Taking any stress off of him that you can makes him feel special, he sees all the effort you put into making him feel better. So, cleaning his driver's room, fixing his hair, or wiping that gross sweat off his forehead means the world to him.

Carlos Sainz | 55

The race was going great for him, he was staying in P2 which was amazing compared to his last races. But it went downhill so fast when he unable to control his steering wheel, making him crash into the barrier and DNF. The entire car was broken, wheels popped off, metal scraps flying everywhere, and even a small baby fire that went out on it's own. The crash was scary, but wasn't his biggest crash.

To say he was disappointed was an understatement. He was angry, disappointed, guilty, and so much more. Instantly, he just ran to his drivers room, wanting to lock himself out of everyone. But when you come in the room, he's unable to say no to you.

The best way to comfort him is just remind him of all his good wins and achievements. His self doubt will build up if you don't remind him of how amazing he is. Physical touch also calms him down and reassures him more.

"You did amazing, Carlos" You say as you brush his sweaty hair to the side and plant a kiss on his forehead.

"You don't need to lie to me." He says as he tries to gently push you away, but you knew he wanted you close. "I was so close to winning, so close..."

"You'll be even closer next time Carlos, you've been improving every race!" You say, knowing you had to stroke his ego a little, "You started in P9 and went up to P2! Who cares if you DNF, you'll probably be driver of the day."

"Ah, I don't care about driver of the day." He says with a hand wave, but you could see the small relaxation his eye muscles made, softening his eyes. You knew he didn't mind the idea of being driver of the day.

"This is just one bad race! Think about Austria or Monaco! Those were great" You say, playing with his hair slightly despite the sweat. You see him give a small smile as he remembers those races.

It was a constant back and forth, of him downplaying himself and you. reassuring him. You knew he already felt better, but you could tell he just wanted more praise for his hard work.

Paul Aron | 17

After Silverstone, Paul was a mess. Mentally, he was screwed - but physically he was doing his best to hide it from others. He knew it was "just a race" but it means so much more to him. He doesn't just want to win, he needs to. With so much pressure to succeed, no academy behind him, and his family pouring this money into this dream of his: he feels the guilt and pressure to succeed 100 times more than any other driver.

He locked himself into his drivers room, too scared to lash out at someone or even worse, cry in public. But you sneak in, how could you not? Seeing him so stressed out would worry anyone.

When he sees you, he can't help but try and hide away for a bit. He needs space for some time to gather himself and assure himself first. It's nothing against you, he loves your company and reassurance, but he also likes to assure himself. His mental is surprisingly calm and collected despite how chaotic life can be.

Once he's ready to face you, most likely after 10 or 20 minutes of being alone, he'll want to move on from the topic. He's not one to dread on the past much and focusses more on the future. The best way to help him is to mention the race once, only once. Otherwise he'll start to think about the race again and feel embarrassed.

Something that helps him is physical touch and quality time. So after the race, just shower him in kisses and hugs and then take him to dinner. He's a very spoiled boyfriend, he is 100% part of the sassy-man apocalypse but he just hides it well

"Thammk you" Paul says in a mumble as you continue to drown him in kisses all across his face. He can't help but smile as you continue to go insane on his face, like a wood pecker. As you pull your head back to take a breathe, he gives you a rude side eye. He clears his throat dramatically, "I didn't say stop, did I?"

He says as he places his hands on your waist, making you sit on his lap as you continue to drown his entire face in kisses. He doesn't even care if you have lipstick or lipgloss on, if anything he prefers it. It makes him smile to see all of those kiss marks on him, it fuels his ego slightly.

#f1 #f2 #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #paul aron #paul aron x reader #f1 x reader #f2 x reader #formula 1 #formula 2 #formula 1 x reader

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charles-eclair16 · 2 years ago

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~The 5 times Charles talked about you publicly~

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x actress!reader.

Warning- it's my first time ever writing so please be kind. English is not my first language so please ignore it if there are any mistakes.

1. The first time Charles was caught talking about you was pure accident and it wasn't even him who brought you up. It was an overly competitive Carlos who couldn't keep his mouth shut. It was during a C² challenge of who knows your teammate better and it was all going pretty much in Charles favour because the questions were too easy according to him. So when the score was 6 to 4 he was feeling pretty confident about winning but what he didn't expect was the next question to throw him off.

"Who's your current crush?" Was honestly not a difficult question to answer and Charles knew he would nail it. He totally knew who Carlos was crushing on.

"It's Y/N! He watches her interviews and giggles because she's so beautif-oww mate stop hitting me!“ Charles knew he had to make his teammate stop talking before he spilled anything more.

"Is it true?" Now this was a question Charles didn't know how to answer, should he own up that he was hopelessly crushing on her and that it was true that he watched all her interviews. But then again who could blame him she was so beautiful and he honestly loved the way she spoke, something about the way she spoke made Charles want to listen to her for hours.

"Yeah it's true. I really like her as an actress and she's very pretty but I don't giggle watching her!" He thought that was a decent answer.

"He does! He does it! He even watches fan edits of h-" Carlos was cut off by a wildly flinging hand of Charles.

" I do not!" was what Charles could come up with as he tried to stop Carlos. The next day he woke up with thousands of mentions of fans telling him that they understood...he didn't knew if he should feel embarrassed or laugh at some of the memes. He even liked a few of them.

2. The second time Charles mentioned you it was after you had soft launched each other for two months without the fans knowledge. It was nice to share secret moments with each other and bask in the privacy of home dates. It had been 7 months of dating and Charles was on the moon. His car was great, he was leading the championship with 10 points and he had a wonderful women supporting him. The only thing which bothered him was him not being able to shout his love and show you off to the world. So a mutual decision was taken between you two to not hide anymore but what you didn't expected was Charles to come running towards you as he got out of the car after coming p2 in the Silverstone Grand prix. You weren't even able to utter a word before he was kissing you. It wasn't a peck it was Charles expressing his love and gratitude for your unwavering support.

" How does winning feels now? Much sweeter than before?" Was the teasing question he got as he went to the post race interviews. He wasn't surprised. He knew he was going to get questions after a public kiss.

"Yeah, it feels great winning here with Carlos coming p1. It's a great weekend for our team" he laughed as he answered the question.

" So I'm sure you have plans to celebrate tonight. Any special plans?" He knew what the interviewer wanted to hear so he gave it to him with a smile so big he knew his dimples were all out.

" Yeah there's a plan to celebrate tonight definitely, the teams been throwing different ideas but honestly I would just prefer to spend my time with my girlfriend and have a quiet night. She came directly from her shooting so I'm sure she would want to stay in. And we can party with the team next time!"

It was safe to say that they both were trending worldwide.

3. At first Charles didn't know why he was trending and before he could check it he was asked to hurry up and get in the car. It was the worst race of the season for him. He was leading the race with pole position in France but he lost traction in his rear tyres and crashed into turn 11 which caused him the race. He was frustrated and tired. He just wanted to go back and not think about the horrible way he got out of the race. He wanted to cuddle you and forget about the day so when he was told to to attend a group media pen he was annoyed. When the question came he was speechless at first his brain shutting down from the ridiculous question.

" It's a very bad time for you Charles with the dnf and your recent breakup so how do you seperate these things from your work? Did your breakup caused you maybe to lose?" He wasn't aware of his break up.

"My what?!" Charles was shocked he didn't knew he was broken up because he was not planning to break up anywhere in the future.

"You didn't tell me you broke up?!" Perrie was genuinely confused now. If it was true wouldn't Kika tell him that? He knew the girls were close and he was sure that Charles would tell him that, wouldn't he?

"What did you do?" It was Lewis who glared at Charles and he finally got his wits to answer.

"No! We are very much together and happy! Who told you that we broke up?! Is that why I was trending Today?"

"Yes there was news that you broke up with your girlfriend and that you were heartbroken." The interviewer nervously let out a chuckle which caused the drivers to laugh

"Oh my god! No! We are together and I plan to be together for a long time so there's no need to worry about that ...I don't think I would survive without her pasta to be honest and her too." He reassured.

When he finally got the chance to check his notifications later in the night he could only laugh as he looked at the memes and the threats he got for fumbling a baddie like Y/N. He showed her some too as she layed on his chest on their bed.

4. The fourth time Charles gets asked is the first time he felt nervous talking about you ever in the entire 5 year relationship. It was because he knew he was absolute shit at lying. So when all the fellow drivers continue to tease Daniel for throwing the wedding party of the year. He remains quite and laughs at appropriate times.

" Charles you're quite there! So now that your friends are settling down with Daniel and Max getting married is it safe to assume that you're next?" Oh shit! He was sweating. He didn't know how to answer that without revealing that he had already picked a ring and was going to propose very soon. He had even taken her father's approval last month on their family trip together.

"Yes mate when are you getting married?"

"He's definitely getting married next!"

"With how whipped he is for her how do have any doubts about that!“ Charles tried to tune out the teasing remarks of his friends to formulate words to answer.

" Uh yeah, I would very much like to but we are focusing on the present at the moment but there's no doubt that I plan to marry her because honestly I can't imagine anyone else by my side when I think of my future. I want to start a family with her and get old with her. She completes me in the true sense and is my piller of strength. I don't think I have ever felt this much love for anyon-"

"And this is why we don't question Charles because then he doesn't stop!" Charles laughed at that as if Max was any better when talking about his wife.

"So yeah marriage is definitely on the cards on the future " he concluded.

And after 2 months he knew why he was trending and he couldn't be more happier. He now laughed at the mentions and yes he knew how to fight for his fiance.

5. The fifth time Charles was asked about you he was smiling ear to ear and anyone who looked at him can see that he was glowing.Others would say it was because he was starting the new season as a world champion but he knew it was because of Y/N and what she had told him the night before and later to their closed ones. So he felt quite happy answering questions.

"How are you feeling for the new season? Excited? Nervous?" the interviewer couldn't stop himself from smiling too. Charles happiness was contagious.

"It feels good to be back to the racing. The car feels good and after last year we are quite excited for this season too. We are looking forward to the races and with new tracks added to the calendar the excitement levels have increased. Yeah there's nervousness too-ah only little bit but that's totally normal...But I am quite confident! Also now I have to be a little careful because now that we are going to have new addition to the family I can't risk it! I have to-"

"New addition?" He stopped talking eyes widened and looked at the camera.

"What?" He was fucked, so fucked. She was going to kill him. He knew.

"You told new addition? Is it true? Are you going to be a father? Congratulations!" He could only nod and accept the hug he was receiving. They were supposed to announce it with a cute insta post and he had ruined it. He was the one to suggest it, he had even thought about the caption.

"Tell us more! Is she going to come to the races now? I'm sure everyone would like that?!" The interview continued

"Oh yes! Yes she wants to come to the races but I think we'll keep it a little private and only between family to enjoy this moment together. It's a new beginning with my person so I want to be there for her at every step. Its- it's definitely a blessing for us and I'm so grateful for her."

The next thing he knew he was trending along with y/n as parents and he couldn't ask for anything more.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 instagram au #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 #formula 1 #fic rec #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 imagine #pierre gasly #max verstappen f1 #cl16 fanfic #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader

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vinvantae · 1 year ago

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Unmasked

Part 12/16

<<< previous part

Word count: 3.7k

*******

You sat in the cockpit for a moment longer than someone who just got a podium should have, but you got third. It had felt like a kick in the teeth because had your team given you a chance, you could have won. You would have. You had got the fastest lap and your pace was unmatched but the team had favoured Charles - better strategy paired with team orders meant he had got P2 to your P3, moving him even further ahead of you in the championship.

Part of you didn’t want to face Charles, he’d undoubtedly have your outburst thrown back at his face - telling him just how unreasonable you were, what a bad teammate he had. That you were too emotional. When in reality, if any other driver had been told to hold position when they had more pace - they’d be just as frustrated. You sighed and climbed out of the car, throwing the crowds a thumbs up before going over to be weighed. Charles was standing across parc ferme, nodding as he was being Maxsplained to, his back to you.

You took off your helmet and placed it on its stand before approaching your boyfriend, placing a hand on the small of his back to get his attention. As his green eyes fell to you, all of your guilt melted away - sure he didn’t know about your radio message but this was Charles, he wouldn’t care. He grinned and pulled you into a hug, squeezing you with all his might.

“I’m proud of you, Charles.” You whispered, nuzzling your face into his neck.

You felt his arms tighten around your middle, his voice low - his words were for your ears only. “I’m sorry, this should’ve been your win.”

You frowned and pulled back a little - just enough to lock eyes with him, his gaze was soft. “I… what do you mean?”

“My pace was shit come the end, my tires were gone, they told me you weren’t going to attack. You could’ve won this if they let you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead before stepping away to do his post race interview.

Your cheeks flushed dark, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly as Max approached you to give you a congratulatory hug. “What a race, happy to be sharing the podium with you for real.”

“First ever post-race interview before then, wish me luck.” You couldn’t help but cringe as you slowly approached Charles, being handed a microphone ready to speak to the crowd for the very first time since your interview. You took a moment to collect yourself as the interviewer thanked your boyfriend - this was a big step, you’d never spoken to the masses like this before and before you knew it, your name was being called so you stepped up to face them.

As loud as cheers were, you couldn’t help but hear the boos hidden beneath - the dissonant harmony rang through your ears as you put on a smile and waved to the crowds, doing your best to ignore them. “Congratulations on your first podium as you, y/n! How does it feel?”

“Unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.” You laughed, trying to put on your best brave face as you spoke. “Finally being able to put my name to my achievements is something I’ve always wanted to do and now I’m doing it.”

“Team orders meant you couldn’t race your teammate, you didn’t sound too pleased about it - any more to say now?”

You shook your head. “I understand why they gave the orders and we ended up with a double podium - Charles’ tires were vulnerable and if I had gotten past who knows who else might have.”

“Thank you for your time, I hope to see a lot more of you.”

After one more thumbs up to the crowd you dipped into the cool down room to join Charles and Max who were seemingly engrossed in conversation - you placed your things on your pedestal and grabbed your third place cap, sitting it atop your head. Eyes flickering up to the screen as they replayed clips of the race and you couldn’t help but wince when your radio message popped up at the edge of the screen, ending the conversation in the room in a moment.

“...awkward.”

You narrowed your eyes at Max, not wanting to look at your boyfriend as you willed them to hurry up and take the comms off of the screen. It felt like an eternity before someone spoke again, and you felt Charles’ hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “We’re good, I already told you how I feel. Okay?”

The breath you didn��t know you were holding escaped your lips as you nodded, as you opened your mouth to apologise he simply smiled and shook his head - the three of you being summoned to the podium. This time around, Charles heard the crowd when you stepped out in front of them. After his interview he had gone pretty quickly into the cool down room but there was no denying the chorus of boos that were, despite being quieter, threatening to cover up the cheers. There was something about that horrible sound that seemed to overpower its counterpart.

He wanted to cover your ears, cheer louder than he ever had before to cover it up but once the champagne was in his hand - he opted to distract you by pouring the cold liquid down the neck of your race suit. “Fuck, that’s cold!”

Charles grinned as you laughed, returning the favour by spraying the contents of your bottle over him before taking a big swig. It took everything he had not to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you - but he knew the press of it would be too intense so instead for the podium photo, he pulled you tight into his side.

He was going to have your back, no matter what.

***

You chewed nervously at the skin around your thumb as you stood in the media pen with your PR manager, waiting for an interviewer to be free. This was your first time in the pen and you could see just why all of the other drivers hated it - you felt like you were in some weird petting zoo. Before you could quietly protest, saying they’ve never interviewed you before, why start now, you were ushered over towards a very excited looking lady - she was the first to get a post race interview with you. After a final deep breath you stepped up to the barricade and gave her a smile.

“Hi y/n, thank you for speaking with me. Great race today.”

“Thank you, it’s a really good result for the team and keeps us in the game for the WCC, we’re ahead right now and we’d like to keep it that way.” You said with confidence, hopefully trying to explain the team orders without shitting on the strategists - as much as you disagreed with it, you wanted to come across as the team player.

She scribbled something down in her notepad before glancing at you through her mascara coated lashes. “Reckon you would’ve won without those orders? You had better pace than Charles and you sounded irritated in your radio message.”

You shrugged a little. “Maybe but there’s no point speculating what could have been. I just need to focus on the next race and hopefully get back on that top step.”

“Thank you, good luck.”

From then on you were ushered from interviewer to interviewer - barely getting a second to breathe before you were asked again and again about the team orders. For the most part they were respectful and you could throw up your media trained answer but as you approached a woman, her carved brow raised and her painted lips curved into an almost evil smirk. You didn’t like where this was going, that was for sure.

“Afternoon, y/n, disappointed by the result?” She went straight in, offering the first jab - which you shook your head at.

“A double podium at this point in the season is key. I’m very proud of the team today.” You refused to break eye contact, the blues of her eyes were intense - like she could read every thought that crossed your mind.

She held up her voice recorder and pressed play - your radio message playing loud over the speaker before she popped it back into the small handbag tucked under her arm. “You didn’t sound too pleased during the race. Don’t you think that after Charles’ performances this season, he deserves to be prioritised by the team? That perhaps you were being a little ungrateful.”

You held your tongue for a moment, the burn of your PR manager’s eyes bore into the side of your head. “In the heat of the moment, I was frustrated, yes. But I understand and respect the team’s decision.”

“You’ve been beaten by Charles in practically every race so far this season - does this mean that you will be second driver from here on out? He is the best shot of winning the championship for the team.” You could almost taste the venom on her words as she taunted you - challenging you to break, so there was proof that you were just this emotional, bitchy woman.

“I will continue to try my hardest in this championship battle, it's not lost yet. We’re barely a third of the way into the season, there’s no telling what’s gonna happen. Thanks.”

You stepped away from her before it got ugly, you knew no matter how calm you were - people were still going to find ways to tear you down. You hadn’t won. You’d complained about Charles. The people who didn’t like you never would - it was hard to accept, especially when they were so damn loud. You felt trapped in your head, their cruel words caging you in as you walked back to the ferrari motorhome for the end of the day.

And as soon as you were alone, you did the worst thing you could have possibly done… and went online.

Charles had already seen some of the responses to your radio message and post-race interviews, for the most part people were on your side but he just knew that for the hundreds of nice comments - there were 10 negative ones that would catch your eye. He got caught up in the media pen longer than he would’ve liked, protecting you from the snark reporters were tossing in your direction, trying to get him to bite back at you. But he was frustrated for you. You were right in your message, you could’ve beat Max and as much as he wanted to win the championship, he didn’t want to do it at your expense.

He lightly rapped his knuckles on the door of your driver’s room, hearing a soft shuffling from inside before the lock unclicked and you peered around. “Hey, been waiting for you… come on in.”

“My interviews dragged on a little more than I would have liked. How are you doing?” Your teammate hummed, stepping into the room - allowing you to lock the door behind him. He crossed over to the couch, draping his arm across the back as you sat beside him.

“...They really don’t like me, Charles.” You mumbled, leaning into his side. “I feel like no matter what I do they’re going to criticise me.”

“Baby, they criticise all of-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, shrugging his arm off of your shoulder - and standing. “Don’t you dare compare criticisms you get to how they talk about me. You don’t get it. You’ll never get it.”

“Then talk to me, y/n!” Charles finally snapped. “How am I supposed to be there for you if you won’t tell me what’s going on in your head! You’re shutting me out. I’m your boyfriend, your teammate… if you can’t talk to me then who can you talk to?”

“I don’t know! Okay?! None of you get it. Lewis maybe but none of you have never and will never be a woman in this community. And I get why now. It’s not because we’re not talented enough because there’s some girls out there with more talent than half this grid in their pinkies but because no one will ever see us the way they see you.” You really didn’t mean to take all of this out on Charles, you knew his intentions were good but he’d opened the can of worms and now he was dealing with the mess. “It doesn’t even matter if I had won the race today, they would’ve accused me of stealing it from you.”

Your teammate stood up and approached you, taking your shoulders in his hands. “I know I won’t ever understand… I’m very aware of how privileged I am. But, I am your number one supporter y/n. I know it’s hard to ignore but we’ll get through this… you’ll get through this. You’re bigger and brighter than they’ll ever be.”

He watched as a tear rolled down your cheek. “I’m… I’m just not sure if I will get through this. I knew there’d be backlash but this? Physical violence… boos everytime I get in front of a crowd? It hurts so much.”

Charles wished he had the right words to say at that moment but instead he wrapped you up in his arms, burying his face into your neck and just holding you close. He felt your arms rest against him weakly, your chin hooking over his shoulder. It was hard for him, you were right - he’d never get what you were being put through. All he could do was defend you, but he was scared it wasn’t enough as you extracted yourself from his hold and started gathering up your things to head home for the day. The spark of hope you had about being revealed had been fully extinguished and he wasn’t sure what to do.

But he knew he had to do something.

***

“So what’s this all about?”

Charles stood in front of the grid, Lewis and Sebastian either side of him, Seb had somehow managed to pull everyone together for a briefing without you finding out and now 16 pairs of eyes were staring him down.

“It’s about y/n.” He said, fiddling with the edge of the table he was perched against. “All of this criticism is getting too much and we need to back her.”

“All of us get criticism, I don’t see why you need to waste our time with a meeting about this.” Fernando rose from his chair. “I’m sorry, but I am not interested in whatever you have planned… she needs to learn to deal with it herself.”

He shook his head and left the room, muttering to himself in Spanish. Charles stood there quietly for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would follow the driver out of the room but thankfully the rest remained in their seats - he wasn’t sure if it was Lewis and Seb's gazes from behind him keeping them in their seats or if they genuinely wanted to help.

“Look, the criticism we get is nothing compared to the backlash that y/n has been getting…” Lewis said, pushing himself off of the wall to stand beside the younger driver. “I like to think we’ve all stood together before for one of our own. You all stand or kneel with me when I’ve asked before, so I hope this cause is as important.”

“Just because she’s a woman, it doesn’t mean that what she’s achieved is any less.” Seb spoke next. “You all know that. We’re not asking for you to set the FIA on fire, we just want you to stand with her.”

Max leant back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I mean… I’ve got a lighter somewhere.”

Lando shoved his friend’s shoulder lightly. “Idiot. What did you guys have in mind?”

“Just a simple shared statement posted onto our instagrams.” Charles tried to make eye contact with each of his rivals, in an attempt to gauge what they were thinking. “Just saying how we won’t tolerate the bullying and actual violence.”

The Dutchman frowned. “That’s it? She was attacked, Charles… I’m in but you’ve got to have a better plan than that.”

“What did you have in mind?” Lewis said. “We didn’t want to go guns ablaze and scare you guys off.”

“I think a blanket statement is sensible.” George spoke up next, leaning forward in his chair a little - Max still didn’t look impressed. “I think a message like that from all of us will go a long way.”

Max scoffed. “Yeah sure, it won’t come across as a PR move at all. You guys can do whatever you want but I’m not just going to sit here whilst there are people out there who think they can hurt her and get away with it.”

The room fell into a stunned silence as he stood up, he stopped in front of Charles - eyes flickering across his childhood friend’s face. “I’m disappointed in you. She deserves better than this.”

The Monegasque was lost for words as the current champion left the room, the door shutting behind him the only sound in the room. He had no idea how vehemently Max felt about what you were going through.

What surprised him next was Esteban, despite his publicly tumultuous relationship with Max, he didn’t even hesitate to follow him out of the room - muttering something in French about fighting for you. He had never really considered that your other childhood karting rivals would be just as passionate as Max about standing up for you - especially as, unlike the Dutchman, he hadn’t known your secret prior to your reveal. Esteban was never one for bold statements either so the fact he was willing to do something like this surprised most of the drivers in the room.

“Uhm, anyone else?” Charles asked quietly, eyes flickering across the room. He could see a couple drivers looking a little fidgety, like they wanted to go but not knowing what Max had planned - Charles’ idea seemed like a safer bet.

He barely noticed Lewis’ strong hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Are you still happy doing it like this? We can do something else if you don’t feel like it’s enough.”

Charles frowned a little but nodded. “Yeah. I mean, people can customise things as they see fit but I feel like the more of us they hear from the better. If you’re interested can you leave us a place to send the blanket message to? Thanks.”

He gave handshakes and bro-hugs to each of the drivers as they left the room, not noticing the way that Pierre was hanging back - still sat in his chair. The Frenchman had a feeling in his stomach that Max was right, that this wasn’t enough. He was as guilty as anyone for assuming that Thirty was a man and just like some of the others, he’d known you since you were a kid, he knew what you were capable of but has always taken your story as gospel, never questioned it. The fact he hadn’t recognised you when he joined F1 was just the final nail in the coffin, he’d ignored you more than he cared to admit- even objectifying you like many other women in the paddock.

“Pierre, you okay, man?” The Ferrari driver sat beside him. “Looking a little spaced out.”

“Max is right. I don’t… mate, I don’t have a fucking leg to stand on here.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t exactly an advocate for women, for her, being in the sport.”

“C’mon, you didn’t know.”

Pierre’s frown deepened. “That’s not an excuse. I grew up with her and since we stopped racing together I spent more time staring at her fucking tits and ass than taking a second to use my brain.”

Charles went to speak but his childhood companion rose suddenly from his seat. Pierre walked over to the door before stopping with his hand wrapped around the handle.

“Do you not remember before her reveal when you were coming out of that team thirty meeting and I didn’t even consider her? I have to find Max. I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque sat there for a little while longer as he thought about what Max and Pierre had both said. They were right, you did deserve more than just some statement but he was nervous. He was the Tifosi’s golden boy - meanwhile, he was sure Max could get away with anything and well Pierre was a nuisance so he did what he wanted regardless.

And he loved you, he did but his reputation mattered too right? He just had to figure out the best way to do it without putting up the picket signs and actively tearing down the FIA HQ to get them to protect you. His eyes flickered to the door where the grid had since left him to his thoughts. Should he have followed Max, Pierre and Esteban? Or should he stick to Sebastian and Lewis’ sage advice?

He knew you were the only person who would know exactly what to do right now - that you would give him the perfect answer. But he also knew that if you knew what he was up to, you’d say that you weren’t worth all this fuss.

But you were worth it, more than.

As his phone buzzed in his pocket he fished it out, a text from you bringing a smile to his face. The public didn’t need to love you like he did - he wasn’t sure they ever would - but you deserved as much respect as the rest of your rivals. And if meant blindly following Max, Pierre and Esteban as they acted out whatever craziness they had planned…

He was going to do it.

***

Next part >>>

Thank you all for being patient!! Last weekend was so good 🏎️ hope you enjoy!!

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cheriladycl01 · 9 months ago

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Better than me - Charles Leclerc x Reader P8

Plot: You are a rookie in your first f1 season, adding to the ever-growing amount of Brits performing in the grid

Everyone was panicking. Alex was out of his car pacing back and forth in the Audi garage as Lily tried to calm him down. They refused to show the reply or any current footage of what was going on. But Lily had seen it live and even she was struggling to not cry herself.

Lando was sat with his head in his hands, crying over the reason for such a bad crash. He wouldn't forgive himself, no matter how bad the crash had been, even if you just came out with a small scrape. You were on track to winning the race as well. Not that that really mattered as your unconscious self was being hauled out of the burning car that had started to catch alight when the fuel tank burst and leaked.

One courageous marshal managed to pull you out, as they were pulling you out they weren't thinking about any broken bones they just wanted to get you out the car.

They laid you down on the floor, not taking your helmet of but flipping the visor up to see if you were awake, which of course you weren't.

They held your wrist looking for a heartbeat screaming for a medic to come over and help you. In record speed time, emergency services had managed to get a helicopter to airlift you to the best hospital in Belgium.

When the drivers saw the helicopter fly off, they could tell it was a bad crash, not that they couldn't tell before but the fact you needed to be airlifted had them worrying.

Lando was near close to being sick, Oscar at his side rubbing his back as he dry-heaved into a bin.

"Oh my god, I've killed my best friend" he cried and Oscar right now had no idea what to actually say to him.

"No you haven't, she's going to be okay!" Oscar says rubbing his crying friends back.

Charles was num, he didn't know what to think and he actually couldn't talk to Carlos. Was this his fault... no it was the rain, and your team, and your radio, and your car, and Lando's fault and he was so terribly angry when he thought about it fully.

Joris had talked him out of the abyss that was Charles mind and the whirlpool of thoughts he was flowing down. He told him off when Charles started to angrily play the blame game, explaining it wasnt anyone's fault and that you knew the risks of racing.

The race wasn't continued, with only two laps to go. Lando won, Lewis in P2 and Charles in P3, that should have been your first race win and it was a dull celebration hearing your shared national anthem with Lando when it was supposed to be you up there.

He didn't do his usual champagne pop, none of them actually even popped the champagne just handing it off to their teams to enjoy who just passed it back as no one was really in the mood to drink.

Interviews were even more dull.

"Hello Charles, pleasure to have you here!" the interviewer smiles, trying their best to lighten the mood but you'd become such a presence around the paddock over the last few races that it was strange not having you around.

Charles just nods and she awkwardly looks down at her note pad.

"So obviously not a great race with the end there, but you had a spectacular race despite the rain and that long pitstop. Can you comment more on that?"

"Yeah, I think not only the drivers find working in those conditions tense and they want then best for you. Obviously the long pitstop had me loosing a few positions but like normal you just push harder and gain those places back, P3 was better than we hoped for and I shouldn't have been up on that podium today" he nods and his interview is wrapped up insanely quickly.

"Any last comments on Y/N, any insight on her condition and how she's doing?" she asks tentatively.

"No, sorry I don't!" he says with a grit in his teeth before his PR manager takes his arm and guides him away with a final nod to the interviewer saying this was over.

Lando and Alex couldn't even do any of their media duties, too upset by what happen to you that they went straight back to the hotel. Alex and Lily actually travelled to the hospital where you were at now with your family and personal trainer to see if they could find anything more out.

They arrived at the hospital in record time considering the one and a half hour drive it took to get from the race track to Brussels where you were being treated.

"Hi, we're looking for Y/N Y/L/N?" Lily asks knowing Alex had been a little choked up the whole time and could barley get his words out.

"Ah, yes are you immediate family?" she asks looking over the two of the with an eyebrow raised.

"No, but I'm her team-mate she's a race car driver and she" Alex blurts out only for the woman to interrupt him.

"Got into an accident at the race, I'm aware. Her family are on the 2nd floor outside a private suite near the trauma unit. You can go talk to them but there's no visitors in her room right now!" she exclaims and they both nod, running towards the lift to make their way up.

"Do you think she's going to be okay?" Alex choked out looking to Lily. He didn't know what to do if they came up and she wasn't okay.

"She's a strong girl, the halo did an amazing job protecting her. She'll be okay, I'm sure of it!" Lily say pulling her boyfriend in for a cuddle which he accepted nuzzling into her comforting smell.

The lift dinged and they stepped out, immediately stepped out seeing various doctors and nurses rushing around, even though it seemed like calm and organized rush.

They spot a group of people and your personal trainer, which Alex deducts easily that its your family. Both him and Lily tentatively walk over seeing your mother crying her eyes out into your father and your whole family looked the farthest thing from okay.

"Erm, hey" Alex smiles towards your personal trainer who also looks worried rubbing the back of his neck. Both your parents snap their head towards Alex, your mother immediately sobbing harder pulling him into a kind and gentle hug.

"Oh she loved driving with you so much, Alex right? She talked about you and how welcomed you made her feel!" she cries and Alex feels sickness building in his stomach and throat.

Your mother was using the past tense as if you were already dead and he didn't dare ask the question. He just continued holding your mum as she continued to cry.

Your father, who was trying hard to hold back his tears but ultimately was failing gave Alex a kind smile before reaching for his wife to pull her back.

"H-how is she?" Lily gulps, knowing Alex didn't have it in him to ask.

"Sh-she died on the way here apparently and she'd flatlined again once she was here. But she's in emergency surgery and their doing everything for her" her dad says and sighs not really knowing what else to do.

They all sit and wait, waiting for any news on your condition.

It felt like hours before a nurse and doctor cam trotting over to all of them.

"Family of Y/N Y/L/N?" she asks and looks around at each of them and your mum stands up grabbing your dads hand.

"Yes that's us, we are her parents" she says pointing between the two of them.

"Can we talk to you privately please?" she asks noticing the big group that included children.

"Alex, darling you should come with us so you can update her friends" your mum reaches out for him and he nods following the doctor into a private consultation room.

"So, is my daughter going to be okay?" your mum asks the pending question.

"We did everything we could, and she's a very strong girl considering her injuries. She'll be okay but she wont be racing for at least 3 months, might be the whole season depending on how much she pushes herself in physio therapy when she's up and moving" he smiles and your dad starts to fully sob hearing his little girl was going to be okay.

"What happened to her. Why did she flat line?" your mother asks.

"Her injuries were extensive. She fractured her spine, broke 3 ribs which caused her left lung collapsed which deprived her of oxygen. Which didn't help the minor head and neck injuries she suffered, and of course the fuel leak caused burns on her arms and legs" he listed of her extensive injuries that seemed to be non-stop.

"Holy shit" Alex admitted and took a seat.

"You can see her now, she's still under anesthetic and it wont ware off for a few hours but you can see her" he smiles and lets your family all hug before running out to the rest to tell them you were in fact okay.

Alex explained to Lily everything that happened and she also felt relieved. He asked if she was able to send a message to the Whatsapp chat while he got a drink of water to try and calm his heart rate down.

He ended up talking them through your condition and the fact that only your immediate family were allowed in right now but he and Lily could go in after and that your parents had expressed that they were all more than welcome to come see you.

All of them agreed that they would of course come and see you tomorrow. Your family and Alex all tweeted about how you were doing and that they would ask you to make a video or statement when you were awake and with the world.

Everyone was just glad that you were alive... and were starting to plan their trip to come see you.

A/N: Y/N going to be out of racing until after the summer break? Oh no! ... what will she do!

Also my google search history is wild after this chapter where i had to look up the healing time for all her injuries....

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #cl16 one shot #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine

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papaya-queen · 7 months ago

Text

THE ALCHEMY – Paul Aron x Y/N

Hey ! I've written some new stuff ! This is a Paul Aron x reader inspired by the song The Alchemy by Taylor Swift. As always, if there's any mistakes please tell me. Hope you like it :)

word count : 1011

Paul was one of the best rookies the F2 championship had seen in a while. Having at least one podium every weekend, leading the championship... The list of achievement was long, enough to make Mercedes regret their decision of letting him go. Having one the F1 team practically begging for you to back to their academy was a great feeling but something was missing. Something that would make enough impact for him to be considerate in the F1 seats for the next season.

His maiden win

He wanted to come out on the market as a winner and not only a good driver. He would prove to everyone that he could go to F1. He wanted to bash Mercedes and go elsewhere. He had the car, the talent, the confidence, he just needed the moment. Now, for the Silverstone Grand Prix, he was more determined than ever. Especially with his girl in the crowd.

Y/N and Paul were high school sweethearts. They met in an assemble one time, becoming friends, best friends. Eventually, one time after class, Paul had the confidence to ask the girl on a date. You could say it went well. They were now together for almost 3 years. When they graduated, Y/N started going to Uni, she wanted to become an engineer in motorsport. She could not attend all of Paul’s races, but they made it work. She went to one or two weekends and Paul would always fly back to Tallinn. They supported each other like no one. Paul would always talk about your great achievements in Uni and Y/N could not stop yapping about her boy leading the F2 Championship. She was more than exited to finally come to a race. The finals ended and she was enjoying her break. Paul and she choose Silverstone as their together race weekend.

They took the plane to London early in the week to spend a few days off. Enjoying the beauty of England, shopping, chilling together. They got I ❤️ London matching shirts, took pictures, ate in restaurants. Living like a normal couple. Sometimes, a fan or two would interrupt their time but they were the kindest heart, always took the pictures and chatted a little.

Friday came fast. Paul was in the Hitech motorhome, preparing his qualification session, putting his fireproofs on, training his reflexes, revising the track. Y/N was chilling on the couch, watching her boy. He settled newt to her, leaning in her touch as she started brushing his blonde curls.

“You’re going to kill this, love!” she said. They cuddled on the couch for a long time before the quali. Inevitably, Paul had to go in the car. Y/N followed him, helping with his helmet, reassuring him as much as she could.

He went out in quali, easily passing Q1 with the best time. He continued the quali confident, setting yet again the best time in Q2. Then in Q3, he pushed the car to the limit, setting an incredibly good lap. Ollie came with a better lap just after. With only 1:00 left, Paul went and pushed the car again. He gained time in every sector, hopping it would be enough to take the pole. As he finished his lap, his engineer screamed in the radio:

“AND THAT’S POLE POSITION,1.2 SECOND AHEAD OF P2!”

The result of the sprint race was okay. With the reversed grid he was starting P10 and finished P7, grabbing points for his standing. The feature race was starting. From the Hitech garage, Y/N was staring at the screen, hoping that nothing would disturb her boy’s race. He was leading, putting time between him and the second driver. The pit stop was quick, and he did not lose any position just time between him and Ollie who tried to get him. She was holding her breath for the last ten laps. Everything was going so well. Ollie was far behind. Y/N knew it was over for him to try for P1. Paul was pushing even more than before, getting the fastest lap and even more time on Ollie. He crossed the finish line as first and Y/N started crying. She ran outside the garage with the engineers and team. They started chanting his name as he parked behind the P1 sign. He ran over to the team, lifted in the air by all the mechanics. Ollie and Kimi arrived in P2 and P3 and joined the celebration. Even if they were rivals now, they still are teenage boys and best friend. Paul was so involved in his team and friends’ celebrations; he didn’t saw his girlfriend before he climbed the first step of the podium. The tears were still flowing Y/N’s cheeks as the Estonian anthem resonated. She was so proud of her boyfriend. As soon as the anthem ended, Ollie and Kimi grabbed their Champagne bottle and opened them in sink to spray the winner. Paul was drenched in champagne by his friends, eyes closed, stepping down the podium, blinded by the alcohol. He finally managed to dry his face, opening his eyes again. He saw his girl with his team, and he knew he could not wait any longer. He ran down the stairs to the track, leaving Ollie, Kimi, his trophy on the podium. He grabbed Y/N and put her down in front of him. Her hand on his cheeks, his hands in her hair, the slight smell of champagne in the air, the people watching.

“I’m so proud of you, love” she said pressing her forehead against his.

“You’re my lucky charm, Kallis!” He responded before kissing his girlfriend.

The moment was truly magical, like a Disney kind of kiss. All romantic with their friends, the team, the public cheering for them. All of this ruined by Kimi’s idea of pouring the rest of his champagne bottle on the young couple from the podium. Paul and Y/N laughed it off, they could not care more when they were having the moment of their life, looking at each other with the biggest heart eyes.

#paul aron #paul aron x you #paul aron x y/n #paul aron x reader #formula 2 #f2 #ollie bearman #andrea kimi antonelli #Hitech Pulse-Eight #silverstone circuit #the alchemy #taylor swift #taylor swift ttpd #ts ttpd #ttpd #ttpd era

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f1-ferraero · 9 months ago

Text

Over these last few races there has been a lot of people saying that "Sainz doesn't need to give a f about Ferrari anymore, he's driving for his future" which is so so contradictory.

Sure, his results on paper are going to be important for contract negotiations, but HOW he gets those results is more important.

The situation Sainz will be in next year is either 1st driver at a midfield team, or 2nd at a top team (with only RBR and Merc potentially having open seats, and Verstappen and Russell will be prioritised there).

If he wants to fight for wins he will need to accept a 2nd driver seat, and to get there he needs to show that he can be a team player, regardless of his situation. Otherwise a midfield team is his only option. Even then, there is no driver's championship in the midfield, only the constructor's matters. Look at Magnussen in Jeddah, and all the praise he received for putting the team first and helping Haas score their first point. That's what the midfield teams need and want.

Sainz is a good driver, yes, but while the media might like the "he's only driving for himself" narrative, the teams would be a lot more impressed by a "he's putting the team first, despite not having a seat with them next season" narrative.

Besides, he's not the only one without a seat. Essentially half the grid is jobless next season, but they are playing the team game, and that actually makes them much more attractive candidates (even if Sainz might be the faster driver).

And if we look at RBR and Merc. Checo is doing exactly what he needs to do: finishing and qualifying p2, while also having a history of being a brilliant team player when need be. Even if Sainz does get signed, he won't be challenging Max. Max is the 1st driver, and the car will be designed towards his preferred extreme oversteer (which we know Sainz struggles with, given the beginning of 2022 and the end of 2023). And with Sainz being older than Max, and with Lawson coming up in 2025 he'll probably not be given more than 1-2 years with RBR.

Mercedes is struggling, and are in no way in contention for titles or wins. The drivers know that right now the team needs to focus on just maximising their joint results (e.g. Hamilton asking if he should let Russell pass in Suzuka). Merc has also already made it clear that they want Antonelli, either for 2025 or 2026. Toto has said that they might just give up on 2025 and use it as prep for 26, and in that case they'll probably sign Antonelli.

If they decide to sign Sainz it'll, again, only be for 1-2 years (with 2025 being a write off and 2026 being a total unknown). Sauber is definitely Sainz best option: he'll be the 1st driver and they might be competitive with Audi in 2026.

It doesn't matter what he or his fans think he "deserves". This is the truth of the situation, and he's not doing himself, or anyone, any favours by driving only for himself. And besides, despite the media claiming that Sainz is hot property, he is not actually that much more desirable as a driver than anyone else.

On one hand there is the matter of his age. Sure, he's not old (considering Alonso and Hamilton are driving into their 40s, but that's ALONSO and HAMILTON) but he is turning 30 this year, which means that while he might be in his prime he won't be getting any better. He doesn't have the potential that a young rookie has. He is delivering what he should be so far in 2024 considering he's in a Ferrari, but so has everyone else who is in contention for a good seat.

The second thing is his racing cv: 3 wins in 10 years and a highest championship position of 5th. I know people are arguing that he simply hasn't had the car to do more than that: "he was stuck in midfield cars for 6 years (7 if you include the 2021 Ferrari)". Let's rephrase that: "he didn't perform strongly enough to be promoted to a top team for 6 years".

Between 2015 and 2021 Bottas, Leclerc, Verstappen, Gasly and Albon received promotions to the 3 top teams and Sainz did not (Bottas after 4 years and the rest after 1 year (Albon a bit earlier and Verstappen a bit later)). Sainz IS a good driver, I'm not denying that, but he doesn't have championship potential and that's okay. He's not being "underrated" by the teams. They know exactly what he is capable of, and he WILL get a seat next year, but he isn't being disrespected by anyone because they aren't signing him.

#f1 #carlos sainz #f1 2024 #scuderia ferrari #chinese gp 2024 #thoughts and analysis

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gilverrwrites · 7 months ago

Note

Can you write some more Captain boomerang, fluff head cannons I loved your last one, and really would love some more 🥺🥺🥺

Abso-friggin-loutly! Fluffy/domestic HCs P2 [P1 Here]

CWs: Jealousy, guilt tripping. None graphic mentions of unrination. Rating: General

On days off from work (I use the term work, lightly) he is such a lazy git. He’s lounging on your couch in nothing but his undies and socks, both of which are ridden with holes and thoroughly stained ‘but they’re still good tho, here, have a whiff of that’ drinking beer and watching mindless action films or guilty pleasure sit-coms.

If you join him, he will happily spend the whole day there, unmoving until one of you has to eat or pee.

I hope you like physical touch because he will not keep his hand off you the whole time either. Playing with your hair, stroking your skin, sneakily trying to tickle you in order to force you into a more provocative position.

He also loves to be touched in return. Likes it when you trace your fingers over his tattoos, play with his hair. Scratch his scalp and he’ll start twitching his leg like a dog when you hit just the right spot.

Use a pen to play dot-to-dot with his freckles and he’ll get the result tattooed permanently.

Absolutely hates doing chores, and will try just about any underhanded tactic to get out of them.

Oh sorry, love, I forgot. I know you did ‘em yesterday, and the day before that, but I swear if you do them tonight we can do that thing you like. But you’re just soooo much better at it than I am, I always do it wrong.

No weaponised incompetence, I swear down if he fucks it up, it's because he genuinely is that dumb/has never been shown how to do it.

Claims to be outdoorsy, but if you ever take him camping or hiking he will complain the whole time that his feet hurt (because he’s wearing inappropriate footwear) and there’s dirt on his (already filthy) coat.

He would never admit it but he’s more reliant on his creature comforts than he lets on.

Does, however, genuinely enjoy playing sports together, mainly footie or frisbee boomerangs.

Can say some pretty nasty stuff during an argument. He will almost instantly regret it but is too stubborn to be the first one to apologise. Instead, he’ll do everything but say sorry until you say it first or you come to an unspoken agreement that you’ve both moved past it.

I did the dishes, an’ I went down to that food place you like and bought back dinner. Come on babe, don’t be like that, you can’t stay mad at this face, I know ya’ can’t.

Is very much the petty jealous type, doesn’t mind you having friends/being close with people, but takes it as a personal insult when you compliment them.

Funniest person you know, I thought I was the funniest bloke you know, remember that time I made you laugh so hard your drink came out of yer nose?

I’ve got a shirt like that, you never say I look good in it. Yes, I did, I said… Oh, well I don’t remember that.

But when the shoe is on the other foot, he’s such a hypocrite, he loves it when you get jealous. Especially if he’s still stinging from his own envy, he will actively try to make you jealous.

Loves kissing you, all the time. Got his arms wrapped around you while you’re trying to get stuff done, planting kisses up and down your neck, on any piece of skin he can reach.

You’re not allowed to go to a different room without giving him a quick kiss before you go. Even if he isn’t in either of the rooms.

Oi, I’ve got a bone to pick with you, you left the bedroom to get a drink and you didn’t kiss me on your way. You weren’t in the bedroom or the kitchen. Yeah, and?

He’ll take whatever kisses he can get but his favourite are the sloppy ones, tongue halfway down your throat, saliva leaking, noisy kisses.

Brags about you constantly. Every criminal, law enforcement officer, cashier, random lady at the bus stop way more about you than they ever should. Stories are often accompanied by many candid photos of you, photos you would cringe to see if he ever revealed them to you. Man wonders why he’s so easy to find by the law, when everyone from here to Sydney knows what you look like, what you do for a living, your favourite places to eat etc.

He also keeps polaroid pictures of you, they’re always either loose in his pockets (cause he never carries a wallet) or pinned to the wall of whatever prison cell he’s locked up in. Many of which he’s drawn on. Some doodles are pornographic but most hearts, stars, halos, and speech bubbles with illegible writing that’s supposed to say things like ‘I love you Digger’ or ‘Miss you every day’.

He doesn’t really know how to convey it but he really does cherish you.

#gilverrwrites #headcanons #captain boomerang #captain boomerang x reader #george digger harkness #digger harkness #george digger harkness x reader #digger harkness x reader #scheduled post

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chelseeebe · 1 year ago

Text

gasoline.

so this was supposed to be like a the bear au and then i just got carried away and now it’s just whatever the hell this is lmao it’s been sitting in my docs since july and i thought it finally needed to see the light of day :)

this is two parts in one bc i hate doing two seperate parts but it’s highlighted where p1 ends and p2 begins

wc: 12k+ oops

‎♡‧₊˚

Look, the sleazy, deteriorating walls of Frank’s had never been his idea of a dream. But flunking high school and a failed band had meant limited this is where he’d ended up. Running the line at the frankly failing restaurant was more like his idea of hell but it paid the bills and with a solid team of other degenerates, meant that it wasn’t all that bad.

Well, that was until the devil incarnate came along. And by devil incarnate he means you.

Eddie couldn’t grasp why someone of your stature would ever take a job at such a shitty restaurant, with your fancy knives and kitchen lingo that really meant nothing to him, why wouldn’t you look for something else? Something better?

You’d ended up here because… well, despite going to culinary school, getting the big job after you had graduated and doing everything by the book so to speak, you’d missed that burning passion that could only be found in the shittiest, dirtiest kitchens.

Well that, and the fact you’d been let go. But that wasn’t relevant.

“Honey, I’ve been here for years, I really don’t give a shit about anything you’ve gotta say,” flapping his arms around at your suggestion of maybe washing his hands when he got back in from smoking, “Helen never had a problem with it, so why do you?”

“First off, I have asked you not to call me honey or whatever other stupid pet name you wanna give me… it’s chef,” brows furrowed, the rest of the kitchen pretending not to listen to your latest bickering, “and secondly, Helen is gone, so whatever rules she implemented mean nothing now, okay? You wash your hands when you come back in or… or…” struggling to come up with a suitable punishment.

“Or.. or what?” he mocks, turning to his colleagues for a little backup, “you gonna fire me? ‘Cause I’d love to see you try,” refusing to back down.

It was the principle, you see. Eddie really would’ve had no issue with washing his hands if literally anyone other than you had asked. He was positively fuming that you had just flounced in here and started laying down a bunch of bullshit rules that no other soul had cared about in his five years working here. Not only that, you’d beaten him to the head chef role. He was certain that he was a shoe in the second Helen announced that she was moving on. Only to walk in one morning to your grinning face, your uniform crisply ironed and this certain energy only Eddie had seemed to sense.

You sigh, you never liked to be the first one to resign after an argument but Eddie was relentless and would’ve kept at it all day if you didn’t, “Just wash your hands.. chef,” it was entirely too busy to spend all day going back and forth with the man child.

“Say please and I’ll think about it,” he’s smirking now, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wanted you.

“Please,” you frown, hand firmly on your hip as you stare back at him. You felt pathetic begging for the tiniest bit of respect in your damn kitchen but it was simply the only way to get him to cooperate.

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” he goads, brushing against your shoulder as he makes his way to the sink, the rest of the kitchen is in complete silence, watching and waiting to see how this one would end.

You readjust your collar, pressing your lips together in a firm line, choosing to ignore his childish remark. There would come a day that he’d regret every horrid thing he’d said to you and maybe that day wasn’t today but it would come and you could not wait.

It’s another month of butting heads with the long-haired prick before things come totally to a head. His inability to just follow simple orders had you at wits end, because Eddie truly believed that he knew better. A suggestion to add thyme to the mash potatoes had caused all out war in the kitchen.

“No, we add rosemary… not fuckin’ thyme,” he spits, aggressively stiring the pot, his back to you, guarding his precious dish from your grabby hands.

“And I’m saying to add both- actually no, I’m not saying, I’m telling,” grabbing the container of thyme and attempting to sprinkle it into the pan, “move out of the way, that’s an order.”

“Oooo,” he mocks, knuckles turning white from his grip on the handle, “An order.. I’m so scared,” chuckling as he blocks you from reaching over his shoulder, “why d’you think you know better, huh? You don’t know shit about this restaurant, we’ve done it my way for years and that’s not gonna change now.”

“Because I’m the fucking chef and I know better than you,” finally snapping at the man, slamming the container down onto the stainless steel countertop, “move. now,” you bark, widening your eyes as he twists around to meet yours, you could feel the disgust radiating from his glare.

“No.”

You huff, wanting nothing more than to wrap his fucking ponytail around your hand and slam his head into the worktop, “Step out chef,” a simple order that you thought was far more gracious than he deserved.

His mouth falls open, still gripping onto the now-overworked potatoes, “What the fuck?” frantically flailing for some comradery from his fellow workers, it seemed that they’d all fallen into place, no longer the bunch of grimy assholes he once knew.

“Step out,” you persist, teeth gritted as you stand strong on your order, tilting your chin to meet his harrowing gaze. Eddie didn’t frighten you per say, but he was intimidating and if it came down to it, you probably weren’t going to be the one to win that fight.

“Fuck this,” he exclaims, slamming the pan down onto the stove top with a loud bang before storming off out of the fire escape door, not before grabbing his cigarettes from the shelf you’d repeatedly told him not to keep them on.

There’s now mash potato all over the hob that would probably need some extensive scrubbing and would ensure that your kitchen would absolutely reek of the stuff all night. If you could have it your way, you’d have made him scrub the entire oven with a dang toothbrush until you could see your face in the metal.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your cheeks burn as the rest of the kitchen watches on in utter amazement, even the old, hardened chefs had taken to your ways even if it had taken a little bit of pushing. There was no understanding as to why he couldn’t just listen, just shut up and get on with his job without trying to constantly argue and bite back. Maybe because you were a woman? You were younger than him? Or maybe it was simply because someone was finally up to the job of challenging him and he hated that fact.

Whatever it was, it was getting on your last nerve.

Eddie wasn’t by any means a bad chef, he was innovative and knew how to make shit taste good, he was just incapable of accepting that maybe his way of doing things wasn’t the only way.

You smooth your clammy palms down your apron, nodding at Tina. A subtle way of telling her to carry on and take charge while you dealt with the pathetic man outside.

The door slams as you step outside, looking around the dark alley for the man, following the trail of smoke to his slouched position around the corner. Now, this was the difficult part, you weren’t really looking to fire him but what choice did you have if he couldn’t just accept that you were his boss now.

“Have you calmed down?” breaking the silence, fingernails pressed into your palm leaving tiny crescent moon indentations.

You never were one for confrontation.

He scoffs, refusing to look in your direction as he puffs on the cigarette, “I’m calm.. are you calm?”

Even now, he couldn’t just smile and nod, always had to say something else, “I’m calm,” swallowing the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, “do you want to work here?”

“Nobody wants to work here, shit- even you don’t wanna be here,” chuckling to himself, smoke falling from his lips.

“Yes I do. Do you? Because I can help you if you don’t, trust me I am not scared to just let you go.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, tossing the cigarette to the ground before finally meeting your gaze, “you’re firing me?”

“No,” relaxing your shoulders, “but I need to know that you want to work here. That you aren’t going to keep arguing with me about stupid shit because I truly do not have the energy for it anymore,” watching as his expression falls, at a stretch you’d say he looks remorseful but that could very well just be the moonlight reflecting on his face, granting him more grace than he deserved.

The alley falls into silence, the only sounds being that of the bustling city around you and Tina’s faint voice barking instructions inside the kitchen.

His eyes avert to the concrete, with a pained expression he breaks the silence, “I do… wanna work here,” it’s like that tiny sentence caused him physical pain to get out.

“Good,” you nod, his words may mean nothing but it’s a relief to finally hear that he gives somewhat of a shit about this place running smoothly, “Eddie, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a really good chef… but even the best chefs have to take orders sometimes and you are no exception to that.”

Eddie untenses his jaw for what must be the first time in ten years, that tiny bit of affirmation was exactly what he was looking for, “...thank you,” he turns his head towards yours, “I think you’re… you’re an okay chef,” the tiniest traces of a smile on his face as he pushes himself from the rough brick.

Your eyes roll instinctively but you’re not mad, for once, “get back inside,” waving him off towards the door without turning to look at him.

Taking the moment to gather yourself and your thoughts. Who knew if Eddie had meant what he said or if it was even going to change anything but it had definitely meant something. It wasn’t a burning desire of yours to come in and be the new evil boss in fact, it was the very opposite of what you’d pictured. There just wasn’t much lee-way when you were given a team of stubborn assholes that had gotten far too used to slacking off.

Frank’s could really become something if everyone wanted it and were willing to put in the effort required to get there. Sure, you probably weren’t going to earn a Michelin star but you were sure you could make it worthy of something.

Eddie had mostly kept to his word. Finally washing his hands and keeping his hair out of his face, even if you had had to nag at him a little. There wasn’t as much kick back as before. Sure, he’d roll his eyes and huff and puff but he’d actually do it.

It’s another Saturday night, you’re not so busy but enough to keep you on your toes. Just longing for the moment you collapsed into your bed and didn’t have to think about this place until Monday morning.

Eddie sidles up to where you’re working, going over the rota for the next two weeks. Weighing up if waking up at the ass crack of dawn was actually worth all this.

“So I was thinking..”

“Uh oh,” you add, snapping the book shut before turning to him, he’s hopeful. Well, that or he’s about to say the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Yeah great thanks.. so I was thinking, it’s getting warmer, right? I think we should put sandwiches on the menu, and not just boring old sandwiches.. like, like good ones,” his vocabulary is limited but you get what he means.

You ponder for a moment, staring into his wide, optimistic eyes. It was a good idea to be fair to him, you just weren’t sure if you had the time to conjure up a whole new sandwich menu on top of everything else on your plate.

“Okay, I actually think that’s a great idea,” you two were civil, not exactly the best buds but you think maybe now you could trust him. “If you can come up with some ideas and make them for me.. I’ll think about it.”

His grin is infectious as it spreads across his face, “I got you… what are you thinking? Something with chicken or..” fishing for ideas.

You throw your hands up, a shadow of a smile on your lips, “that is entirely up to you, okay?”

He nods knowingly, slowly backing away, eager to get started on his first individual project since your arrival.

“I’m trusting you with this!” you holler after him, getting back to the mess of a rota in front of you.

“Yes boss,” he calls back from somewhere in the kitchen, “I mean chef,” catching himself.

Your heart warms a little. Maybe your lectures hadn’t gone so unnoticed after all?

No matter how hard you stare at the screen, willing for something to magically appear, it doesn’t. The line marker blinking at you, taunting you, pleading with you to just write something. Anything!

There’s a quiet wrapping of knuckles against the door causing your head to fly up, finding a surprisingly clean Eddie standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” spinning your chair slightly, “shit, sorry I forgot to say you’re good to go, I’ll see you tomorrow,” flashing him a tight lipped smile.

“Oh no… most of ‘em have already gone,” vaguely motioning to the now empty kitchen, “uh… a few of us were gonna grab a drink and wondered if you’d wanna join us?” He resembles a shy child, fingers tapping along the battered door frame.

“Oh!” you must’ve sounded shocked as his eyebrows travel up his forehead in surprise, getting invited out by your crew had just.. never really happened before, “I’m sorry, I actually can’t tonight,” pointing at the blank word document, “the menu is due next week and I uh- I have nothing but you guys have fun,” shooing him off.

It was a Thursday night and you couldn’t think of anything worse than waking up tomorrow with a blinding hangover.

“You need help with that menu shit? I mean, my sandwiches are a hit so.. maybe I could help?” placing his jacket on the old cabinet in the corner, prepared to help no matter what you replied.

You’re not exactly in the position to say no to help at this point..

“I mean.. yeah, if you can think of six amazing, brilliant, showstopping new dishes then be my guest because I sure as shit can’t,” unintentionally coming off a little rude.

It’s just frustrating, the first big step you were taking for this restaurant and you were still somehow managing to fuck it up

“Okay, what’ve you got?” he peers over your shoulder at the blank screen, “ah, right,” he sucks his teeth, “not great.”

“No.. no it’s not,” slouching down the chair, “I’m completely fucked,” pushing the loose strands of hair from your forehead.

“You’re not completely fucked- not yet,” dragging the spare chair around to the other side of the desk, “I’m sure we can think of something tonight,” pulling the laptop closer to him.

You smile at him, grateful for his positivity even if it was fake.

The pair of you throw some shoddy ideas back and forth for a half hour. None of them good enough to make it to the word document, instead getting scribbled onto a ripped out page from your notebook.

“I am fucked, aren’t I?” you frown, rubbing your sleepy eyes.

He chuckles softly, “nah.. there’s some good stuff here,” running his finger down the messy list.

You feel completely vulnerable with him here, it might have been the lack of sleep or just the fact that you appreciated his presence so much but you foolishly begin to let your thoughts wander.

“I just feel like I’m fuu-,” immediately regretting opening your mouth, “no, you know what? Doesn’t matter,” you look at the clock on the wall signalling that it had gone well past midnight, “you should get going, it’s late,” pretending to scroll on the still-bare document.

“No, what were you gonna say?”

You keep your eyes on the screen, tapping your foot against the leg of the chair, “I said it doesn’t matter.”

“It obviously does,” he pushes, egging you on.

You take a sharp intake of breath to signal that you weren’t willing to go any further with this. Why couldn’t he just fucking drop it?

“Oh my God, you started this conversation and now you don’t wanna finish it,” frustrated that it had seemed like you were finally beginning to seem like you were somewhat human, he grabs his discarded jacket, rolling his eyes as he starts to exit the office.

“I’m scared I’m not doing a good job… you all obviously care about this place and I’ve just come in here and ruined it,” biting down onto your bottom lip, “and as much as you all pretend to like me, I know you don’t and- and that’s fine,” you shrug, exasperated with the weight of a thousand bricks hanging onto your shoulders, “I don’t care about being liked, I just want this restaurant to work but it feels like I can’t even do that,” slumping forward, confounded and slightly in shock that the first person you’d spilled all of this to was fucking Eddie.

“I do like you,” he says quietly, stopping in his tracks, throwing his jacket back down, “everyone does… you’re making this restaurant better,” rejoining you at the desk, “we’re all just stubborn and mean so no one’s told you but you’re doing good,” a reassuring smile overcoming his lips, his hand wavers, unsure of whether to reach out to touch your shoulder or if that was a step too far.

He flops back into the chair and you offer him a genuine smile for his words. It was really all you could muster without starting to cry. Coming into an already established restaurant with new ideas and ways of working was never easy but to be met with such pushback from him had made it even harder. So to now have him say in front of you, telling you that what you’re doing is right, well it meant the world.

“Thank you,” you mouth, blinking earnestly as you flip the laptop lid shut, it was too late and you were far too tired to even try to continue. “That really means a lot from you,” attempting to turn your vulnerability into a joke.

“I mean it, though,”scooting closer on the chair, “I just enjoy arguing with you too much to admit it.”

You roll your eyes playfully, that much was true, he definitely enjoyed getting under your hair and pissing you off as much as he could.

“We should go, it’s super late and I’ve got all day tomorrow to do this,” sliding the pen into the pot, feeling his eyes still boring into the side of your face.

You stand from your seat, expecting him to follow but he stays firmly planted in his chair. Hand reaching out to grab your wrist as you grab your bag. Jolting away as you’re not expecting the sudden contact.

He swallows, standing up before deciding whether to just fuck it or if this was about to get him fired. You’re blissfully unaware that this internal battle was even happening until his hand is on your cheek, tilting your chin upwards before closing the distance between your bodies, smashing his lips to yours.

Oh shit.

It takes a second for your brain to process what was happening but you don’t.. dislike it. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, sliding his tongue into your parted mouth with a quickness.

Leaning into the kiss, your hands hesitantly coming to rest on his shoulders. You’re taken aback by how easy it feels, moving together just right. The small of your back crashes into the rigid desk, pulling you out of the kiss and back into reality. Staring back at his darkened eyes with a slight bemused expression.

“No.. not here,” squeezing his shoulder. His hand paused on your shirt button, getting ahead of himself. Maybe you had found yourself wanting to fuck Eddie but not here. You weren’t that stupid.

His hand falls, swinging to his side, “oh.. you didn’t- did I fuck up?” still mere inches from your face, so close in fact, you could feel his breath on your flushed cheek.

“No.. no, I just..” deciding to just bite the bullet and go for it, “do you wanna go back to my apartment? It’s not far,” blinded by the haze of lust that was filling the small room to the brim.

His eyes grow wide, realising exactly what you meant, buzzing with impatience and excitement. “Yes.. yeah I’d love to,” his plump lips still wet with the remnants of your mouth.

You nod, letting go of his shoulder to gather your things, and yourself, before pulling him out of the restaurant. Eddie is more than willing to leave his van in the parking lot, jumping into your car with an primal eagerness.

The car journey is quiet and you wonder if this maybe wasn’t the best idea. What would everyone at work say? Maybe they didn’t have to know? This could be a one time thing and you’ll both just never mention it again. Well, you hope anyway.

You think your head might just burst the second he walks into your apartment, somewhere you had never expected Eddie to ever appear.

You’re quick to continue the abandoned kiss, not giving him any opportunity to make wise cracks about your apartment. It somehow felt easier if it was just mindless sex where you didn’t speak.

Guiding him towards your bedroom because the couch felt just a tad too casual. His hands are everywhere, sneaking underneath your blouse and then back down into the waistband of your pants. You shove him backwards onto your bed, clambering on top quickly so as to not give him a chance to start speaking or to do anything stupid.

Eddie’s obviously not keen on giving you the higher ground, gripping onto your waist and flipping the both of you so that he led on top. He’s got this devilish grin on his face that is so smug, you just want to slap it off of him. You chase the taste of his mouth with yours, becoming accustomed to the mixture of cigarettes and mint. God, you hope this doesn’t become a regular thing.

He pulls away from you to gawp down the space between your bodies, mouth hung open, gasping for breath while his fingers skillfully unbutton your pants, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips, “woah… when the hell d’you get that?” staring at the black ink covering your thigh, a rose curling around the length of your flesh.

A dumb decision you’d made the first week of culinary school. You felt out of place alongside the other chefs who were absolutely covered in tattoos and felt the need to join them. Except, you hadn’t exactly thought about it and just went along with the first thing the dodgy artist had suggested. He’d also quite purposely left out just how much such a large piece would fucking hurt, especially for a first tattoo.

You join him in looking down at it, curling your lips in disgust, “when I was like… eighteen, it’s ugly and I hate it so thank you,” continuing your task of getting his jacket off, ignoring the fact that he was still ogling the inking and slightly starting to regret your decision to bring him here.

“It’s fucking sick, what are you talking about?” he’s smirking, running his fingers along the thick lining as your pants hang around your knees, “I thought you were like… boring,” finding the hem of your lacy underwear and tugging on it.

Your lips hover above his, eyes hooded as you glare at him, “can you just shut up before I regret everything and make you leave?”

He nods instantaneously, connecting your lips with a quickness, shaking his jacket off of his arm and onto the floor with a thud. Repositioning his knees to either side of your thighs, you’d done a good job of getting your shirt half-off, his fingers fiddling with the rest of the buttons as you break from his lips, leaving wet kisses along his stubbly jawline.

“Holy fuck, you’re joking?” his eyes just about popping out of his head as your pierced nipples spill out of your bra. Another spontaneous teenage decision you hadn’t got round to getting rid of yet.

His hand is immediately drawn to your exposed breast, full of pure glee, “you’re a dark horse, you know that right?” thumb running over the erect nipple as you fumble with his tattered old belt.

Your mouth opens to protest his ogling but is quickly replaced with a soft gasp, his thumb working miracles on the sensitive bud. Head falling back against the pillow when his lips replace his thumb, licking and sucking on your nipple with a wicked grin.

“Shit,” you moan, his growing erection rutting against your core, “can you- please hurry up,” it sounds strangled coming from your throat, embarrassed that you’ve completely melted into a pile of putty beneath him. If you’d have known that his mouth could be put to such good use, maybe you’d have tried this earlier.

Thankfully, he takes the hint, leaving one last kitten lick to your chest before rushing to get his pants down. Kicking them off to the side somewhere, the clunk of his belt buckle hitting your bed frame on the way down.

“Oh baby, that all for me?” remarking on your absolutely sodden underwear, hurriedly pulling them down your thighs, before using the same hand to position himself at your dripping entrance.

You’re too desperate to think of anything smart to say back, knowing that if you opened your mouth you’d probably just start begging.

His face mere inches from yours as he pushes himself inside, a groan from somewhere deep in his chest falls out, “Jesus Christ,” he stutters, willing himself not to cum right now. Sex is always better with someone you detested. Now why is that?

Your arms loosely knot around his neck, intertwining your fingers with his hair, trying your utmost to hold eye contact as his hips begin to move. Slow at first, reaching the hilt before pulling back and sliding in, it’s excruciatingly slow and your legs tighten around his waist, begging for more.

“Faster.. please Eddie,” whining as his pace quickens, eyes fluttering shut.

“Yeah yeah.. yeah, say my name,” he blabbers, one hand sliding between your, thumb tapping against your swollen clit before rubbing tiny circles to the sensitive surface.

“Shit,” you breathe, feeling incredibly full as his tip nudges against that soft, spongy spot. Your eyes squeeze shut, illuminated with an illustration of stars and white hot light. Your heart wasn’t eager to just adhere to his demands like that but shit, when he sounded this desperate, you couldn’t help it.

Chanting his name like an oath in time with his thrusts. The filthy sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, accompanying the strained groans coming from his throat. It was far too late and your neighbours could surely hear every single thing.

“Fuck,” he breathes and you can feel his hips stutter, “you gonna cum for me? Huh?” dropping his forehead to rest against yours.

Your thighs squeeze around his torso at the words, feeling yourself grow closer to your impending orgasm. His thumb still expertly rubbing your clit, slow but deep thrusts as he nears his own end. Your brain too hazy to think coherently about anything as you tighten around him, overcome with the blinding pleasure of your orgasm.

“Yesyesyes,” you garble, trembling as you come undone completely, back arching from the mattress which brings your bodies impossibly close. Tugging gently on his curls as a means of encouragement, not that he needed it.

“Ohhh fuck yeah.. shit,” unable to stop himself in time, spurting thick ropes of cum inside of you. You’re too fucked out to truly think about the implications yet, still gasping for air as he pumps his cock a few measly times before pulling out and sitting up on his knees.

His wild hair stuck to his moist forehead as he looms above, trying to catch his own breath between your knees. “I’m so sorry.. you’re not.. you can’t get pregnant, can you?” one hand coming to rest on your thigh.

Your eyes roll on their own, accelerating back to Earth at an insane pace, “no,” reshuffling so you laid comfortably on the pillow, “but you can’t do that again,” glaring up at him without any realisation as to what you just said.

“Again?” his brows raise, still poised between your legs, “there’s a next time?”

You huff, turning on your side, away from Eddie and his stupid doe eyes and that ridiculous smirk. Reaching down to grab a shirt from your bedside table while he chuckles to himself.

Ashamedly, your heart skips a beat when he slides in behind you, pressing his body into yours. You were losing it, and embarrassingly quickly too. Ah fuck.

A hand snaking around your waist pulls you from your sleep and for a brief moment you start to think someone had broken in and decided to crawl into bed with you. Until said hand creeps down to your hip and those lips you’d hung off last night press a small kiss to your shoulder.

“Morning,” you grumble, placing your hand atop of his to stop it creeping into the waistband of your shorts.

“Ah c’mon..” frowning against your back, “best way to start a long day.”

“I have to get ready for work, so do you actually,” keeping your head firmly on the pillow, there were no real intentions of getting up. Not yet.

“Hmm.. five minutes,” hand descending even with yours on top, his smirk evident, dripping through his words. You shudder as his hand reaches your cunt, leaning backwards into his chest, ever so slightly parting your legs.

“Five minutes,” you agree, fully acknowledging that you were slipping into dangerous territory here.

“Did you fuck Helen too?” you ask, not really wanting to know the answer but just having to know if you were right in your stereotyping.

Every kitchen had one. The one that seemed to make their way around everyone eventually. You were sure Eddie was that one and you were the last on his hit list.

“What? Helen was like fifty dude,” messing with the volume dial on the radio.

“So? Did you?”

He’s silent for a second, throwing his hands into the air, “it was one time,” raging that you’d caught him out on such a baseless accusation.

“I knew it,” nodding smugly to yourself, he most definitely has the aura of the kitchen bike and that was for sure.

“Yeah but… you’re like actually hot and I know what you’re thinking but no, I am not a slut… it was once and we were drunk and that was it, so you can shut up,” deciding to turn the stereo off, not a fan of your choice of Taylor Swift records.

“I’m like… actually hot?” mimicking his tone.

His eyes roll into the back of his head, of course that’d be the only part of the sentence you picked up on, “hon, you don’t notice me pop a boner everytime we argue?”

Your face screws up, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or if you should be speaking to HR, “wasn’t generally looking in that direction if I’m honest,” swinging round into the car park, just past Eddie’s abandoned van, “thanks though… I think,” smiling at him as you gather your things.

“It was a compliment, by the way,” stepping out of your car, tapping the doors of his rusty old van before walking inside, going on and on about Peggy (his van) and how important she was to him.

You’re not entirely paying attention as you walk into the kitchen, startled by the presence of somebody already clattering about in there. Eddie follows closely behind, just as confused as you that anybody sane would be here this early.

“Hello?” you call out, rounding the corner to spot Marcus who had taken it upon himself to come in early to start prep, making a monumental mess of the counter.

“Oh yeah, hey… I wanted to start now ‘cause I need to leave early- you two came in together?” perplexed by the sight of Eddie peering over your shoulder, the batter covered wooden spoon pointed at the pair of you.

“Right… er- his van broke down last night and I said I’d give him a ride,” nodding at your obviously fabricated story, looking to Eddie for some back up.

He nods along happily, “I’m gonna take a look at ‘er later, fingers crossed or you’ll be givin’ me rides all week,” slinking away into the locker room with a sly smirk on his face, thankfully hidden by the shoddy wall as he winks.

“God forbid,” you quip back, scrunching up your nose as you leave the two of them and make your way to the office, throwing your bag onto the cluttered desk and collapsing onto the desk chair.

You had to get this damn menu done by Friday or you were completely, utterly fucked. Already three days behind on the schedule, you’d be lucky if you even made it home tonight. Flinging the discarded laptop lid open to be met with the very much blank menu once again. An email pings through that makes your heart jump. It must’ve gone unseen when you were otherwise occupied last night.

Hello,

I hope this email finds you well.

I just wanted to confirm that Joan will be in attendance on May 18th as per your invitation. She is looking forward to trying the new menu and will subsequently write a review expecting to be published on or around the 20th.

Thank you,

Imogen Smart, The Indianapolis Star

Oh shit oh fuck oh balls.

It had slipped your mind that you’d even invited her along to try the new menu. What a colossal mistake this would turn out to be.

Stupid, stupid girl.

You’re slouched over the desk, head in your hands when Eddie creeps through the open door, startling you when he speaks, “you good?” making his way to the desk, leering down to look at the screen as if it was any of his business.

“I really do not have time for you right now,” smoothing out your new-found forehead wrinkles. You never had time for his bullshit but you certainly did not have time for them now.

“Eh, what the fuck? I was inside of you like three hours ago and now you’re being weird again?”

“Shhh- shut up,” you whisper-shout, the chair rolling back as you stand rather ferociously, staring at the gap in the door and just praying that Marcus was too busy doing whatever the fuck he was doing to hear.

“Jesus… chill out,” his hands are on your shoulders, soothing your nerves irregardless of how much you cared to admit it.

You blink at him, cheeks burning, “I just- I have so much to do today, this critic is coming and I still haven’t finished the men-”

Your sentence is rudely interrupted with his soft lips pressing against yours, caressing your cheek with his rough hand. It’s automatic, but you’re leaning into it, finding yourself gripping onto his bicep as he nudges you back towards the desk. It’s probably a good thing that your tailbone smacks into the sharp edge, pushing him from you as you come back to planet Earth.

“Stop.. stop,” gently squeezing his arm, the other consoling your throbbing spine, “I need you out there today, okay? You’re gonna have to take charge, get shit done and do not bother me unless that kitchen is on fire or you’ve cut your arm off, okay?” lowering your head to meet his eyeline.

“My arm? That’s a bit extreme,” deciding to turn your high stress situation into a joke.

“Yes your arm, finger you can deal with, capiche?”

“Yes ma’am,” hand lingering on the small of your back, “you sure you’re good?”

You exhale slowly and perhaps a tad too harshly snap, “yes.. I’m okay, now unless you have a brand new menu for me.. get out,” sweetening the blow with a sickly smile, motioning for him to leave.

“Okay okay..” he begins walking to the door, “I’m in charge, right?” ever the opportunist.

“Yes, but do not make me regret it,” flashing him a warning look.

“Sweet,” winking at you as he slips out of the door, rubbing his hands together like the little demon he is. You roll your eyes but can’t deny the way your heart thuds with affection.

Whatever was blossoming had the potential to fuck up every single good thing you’d done for this place, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to at least see how far you could go before total chaos.

- p2

You had meant for it to be casual. Like a few times a month sorta thing. And yet somehow you’re sat with your head on Eddie’s shoulder, half asleep as the gory horror film he’d picked plays on.

It had started that way, to be fair. After a stressful day or on a quick lunch break you’d catch him and pull him into the office. It’s no surprise really that it didn’t take long for the rest of the kitchen to catch on.

But back to right now, you’re only supposed to be resting your eyes as you lean into his shoulder. He smelt like kitchen, cigarettes and the new cologne you’d bought for him as his old one was quite frankly disgusting and had irritated your nose. He jolts upright when the screen flashes, knocking you from his shoulder and rudely pulling you out of your slumber.

“You’re a prick,” you mumble, glowering in his direction before opting for the opposite side of the sofa, the side that wasn’t rude.

He snorts but quickly realises that you are very serious and very much not happy, “I’m sorry.. come sleep on me again,” pleading with you, “or d’you wanna go to bed?” clicking the pause button on the remote.

“I wanted to go to bed an hour ago,” grumbling into the cushion as he’d ignored your request and swore that you’d just love this new movie. You didn’t. It was fucking boring.

“Okay okay, let’s go to bed,” he shuts the television off before standing from the couch, towering over your curled up body, “I’m not fuckin’ carrying you,” already wise to your tricks.

You groan something incoherently, something deeply offensive to his entire bloodline, before pulling yourself from the couch. “You know, if we’d gone to bed when I’d asked, I would’ve let you put it in my ass,” shrugging innocently before leading the way to your bedroom.

“Wait what? You didn’t say- I didn’t know that was an option!” speed-walking to catch up with you, incredibly eager to figure out if this offer was still on the table.

It was not.

“Yup, shame really.. you should probably listen to me more,” clambering into the unmade bed with the tiniest smirk on your face.

He’s not far behind, leaping into your bed, “we can still do that though, right? It’s only..” glancing at your alarm clock, “..two” he doesn’t even sound sure of himself.

“Nope,” pulling the blanket over your shoulders, purposely choosing to face the other way, “you missed your chance buddy.”

Whoever had done the ordering (you) had royally fucked up and left tomatoes off of the list. So as a consequence of your stupidity, you were now in Bradley’s trying to balance ten packets of stupid fucking tomatoes in your arms.

You’re not even looking where you're going, too focused on not dropping the damn horrid red things as you skulk through the store. It’s already too late when you bash the elbow of some innocent bystander, knocking multiple packets to the ground.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you grumble, grabbing at the discarded fruits with your spare hand.

The kind gentleman had already started to try and balance them back in your arms. You look up to thank the stranger to be met with a face you hadn’t seen since high school.

“Steve Harrington? I- what the fuck?” you remark, clutching onto the produce so as to not cause another collapse.

“Holy shit, it’s you,” he’s utterly dumbfounded, staring back at your face in amazement.

You’re suddenly extremely aware of your dirty uniform and messy hair, eyeing his well pressed suit and just general put-togetherness. His hair still perfectly styled though just a bit shorter now.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you lived in Indiana anymore?” the last you’d heard of him, his father had sent him away to his office in New York, desperate for his son to have the life he never had.

“Ah.. well, I do now, bit of a long story,” chuckling awkwardly as he takes the majority of your tomatoes to the counter, lightening the load.

“Oh well, that’s cool..” you nod to the cashier who asks if you’d like a bag or multiple bags in your case, “I’d love to catch up but I’ve got a bit of a tomato crisis, uh..” digging in your pocket for the company card.

“Yeah definitely… here let me,” he grabs one of the jam packed bags under his arm, “I’m gonna assume these aren’t all for you?” leading the way to the parking lot.

“Oh no, I fucking hate tomatoes.. I messed up at work so it’s my job to fix it,” loading the bags into your dusty old car, “here, take my number and we can plan something.. it’s been so long,” grabbing for your phone in your apron.

“I uh- I actually have your number,” he nods, not bothering to get his own phone out.

“I’ve changed my number since high school, Steve.”

“No, yeah I know.. I got it from Robin, I was s’posed to call you when I got back..” rubbing his thumb along his forehead and into his hair, “I’ll give you a call later and we can do something,” smiling softly as he closes your back door.

“Oh, okay.. yes please call me, I- uh I really have to get back,” sliding into the driver's seat, fumbling with your keys, as you roll the window down to continue the conversation.

“I will, I hope your tomato crisis.. gets better,” shrugging awkwardly as you start the engine. Wincing at his choice of words.

“Me fucking too,” rolling your eyes as you pull off, not entirely registering what had just happened, focused on getting these stupid vegetables back to the restaurant.

It’s not until an unknown number flashes up on your screen that you think about it again. He’d left it until you were right in the middle of stuffing dinner down your throat to call of course.

“Hello?” you muffle into the phone, chewing on the lukewarm piece of chicken.

“Hey! It’s Steve.. you said to call so.. I called,” he sounds nervous, like he was calling a stranger and not you.

“Oh hey.. sorry I’m eating,” covering your mouth as you loudly swallow, “how are you?”

“Yeah I’m good, hope your crisis turned out okay,” laughing into the receiver.

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad.. thank you for your help, you saved me from squishing a ton of tomatoes.”

“Of course,” he clears his throat, “would you wanna grab a coffee or something tomorrow? I take it you’re busy with your.. tomatoes but I’m free pretty much whenever.”

“Yes.. yes erm-,” you set the phone onto loudspeaker and flit through the bookings for tomorrow, it wasn’t insanely busy and you were sure they would manage without you for an hour or so, “does ten sound good for you?”

“Ten is perfect,” you can hear his smile through the phone, “I’ll see you there then, enjoy your dinner,” still sounding as awkward as ever.

“Okay.. I’ll see you then, then,” making a mental note for tomorrow that you’d probably end up forgetting anyway.

You end the call, locking your phone and finally giving all your attention to the cold plate of food in front of you.

“Who was that?” Eddie appears out of nowhere, frowning as he walks into the office.

“Hmm? Oh, my friend Steve,” devouring the chicken without a second thought as to why he was even questioning it.

“Your friend? That you’re going for coffee with…?”

“Were you listening to my conversation?” blinking up at him.

“No.. I overheard you- don’t change the subject, you’re ditching work for a date?” he’s scowling, coming to perch on the desk.

“It’s not a date,” you warn, prodding the fork into his rib, “he’s a friend from school and we’re catching up while it’s quiet tomorrow, is that okay with you?” shaking your head, not that you were genuinely asking for his approval.

He narrows his eyes, “I suppose..” he takes the fork from your hand, helping himself to your dinner, “it’s just coffee?” asking tentatively as his greedy ass tucks in.

“Oh my God yes, it’s just coffee,” he was incredibly jealous for someone who was not your boyfriend.

“Okay okay.. sheesh, no need to get defensive.. date whoever you want,” shrugging as if he couldn’t care less.

“You’re the one getting jealous, not my fault you never ask me to go for coffee.”

“Because we spend every waking moment together anyway,” repetitively banging his heel into the desk, irritating you to no end. “But I’ll make sure to ask you to go for coffee from now on.. don’t want some loser taking my place.”

You huff, pulling the plate away from his greedy hands, “are you done?”

He shuffles backwards, still picking at your food despite your obvious attempts to get it away from him. “Okay okay.. I’m done.”

Eddie, in fact, does not drop it.

He’s still pouting when you climb into bed, sighing to himself like a pathetic old dog. Except now, he’d become desperate and slightly weird about it. Making all sorts of promises and hypothetical dates for you two to go on.

“Why don’t we go for coffee tomorrow? I’ll even pay,” walking his fingers along your side.

“Eddie please, can you stop? Who am I in bed with right now? Because it’s not Steve, I can tell you that,” exasperated by his incessant attempts to piss you off.

“Okay.. okayy,” retiring this tired bit for the night at long last, “you’re still taking me to work, right?” settling his hand on your waist, cuddling into your back.

“Yes, you bum,” switching the lamp off before setting your head on the pillow.

“I’m not a bum,” feeling him frown against your back, “it’s not my fault you refuse to get in my van.”

“It’s a death trap, I’d rather risk walking along the highway,” smiling into the darkness.

“Yeah whatever, good night,” he mumbles, pretending to be pissed off until you feel the tiniest, sweetest kiss to your shoulder.

You’re running late, as usual. Something about the bookings being fucked for tonight meaning you were either going to have a full restaurant or have absolutely no one show up.

It didn’t matter to you, not right now anyway because you’re jogging along the sidewalk to get to the dang café before Steve thinks you’ve abandoned him.

You’re huffing and puffing when you shove open the door, making a royal fool of yourself as anyone would believe you’ve just sprinted in a marathon to get here.

Steve jolts up the second he hears the door go, giving you a small wave from his table in the corner. It’s a relief that he hadn’t just up and left considering you were fifteen minutes late.

“I am so so sorry,” you say hurriedly, sliding into the other chair, “another crisis and obviously I’m the only one who’s capable of fixing things so..” you stop your rambling to look at him properly, “sorry- you don’t care, shit did you order?”

He chuckles nervously, “yeah.. I didn’t know what you wanted so I didn’t get you anything,” he stands up, “what d’ya get?”

“Uhh a cappuccino would be great.. thanks,” setting your bag down on the vacant chair beside you.

You chat about nothing and everything for a while until Steve turns the conversation back to high school. Now, you and Steve had a weird relationship during high school; hung around the same group, had a massive crush on the guy and was pretty certain that he at least liked you too. It had just never amounted to anything.

“I remember in school, you always used to cook shit for us.. it’s crazy that you’ve got your own restaurant now,” shaking his head in slight disbelief.

You’d bring tupperware full to the brim with whatever random shit you’d cooked up the night before. Forcing your friends to eat it and share their opinions no matter how harsh they could be.

“It’s not really my restaurant,” sipping the cappuccino he’d kindly bought, “I just run it and make sure it doesn’t burn down or go bankrupt,” laughing to yourself.

“So it’s technically yours..” fingers fiddling around with the empty sugar packet, “I’ll have to come by sometime, I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

“I mean, I could probably get you in tomorrow.. if you wanted?”

“Well yeah, that sounds great,” smiling earnestly across the table.

“Great! I’ll text you the details later but you should definitely bring your wife, I’d love to meet her,” you vaguely remember seeing the extravagant wedding pictures on Facebook a few years back.

You hadn’t paid much attention as to who he’d married just recalled noticing the absolutely gargantuan manor house in the back and how stunning her dress was.

His smile fades and his mouth opens to speak but doesn’t manage to squeeze anything out. You get the feeling that that might have been the wrong thing to say. Immediately wanting to slide down your seat and hide under the table.

Steve takes it well though, laughing softly, “Ah.. not anymore but uh- thank you for bringing that back up,” playfully shaking his head.

“Oh no, oh my God.. I’m sorry,” grimacing because of your big fat mouth, “I thought I’d seen it on Facebook but maybe that wasn’t you.. oh fuck.”

“No.. it probably was me, we just- yeah not anymore,” wiggling his empty hand in your direction, only just now are you noticing the lack of a ring.

“I’m sorry,” smiling apologetically, “I’ve gotta ask though.. what happened?”

He sits back in his chair, preparing for the absolute novel of a story he was about to tell, “well, my dad moved me to New York, wanted me to learn how to be a man or whatever,” waving his arms about, “and I met the love of my life- I thought I met the love of my life.. we got married and it was great for a little while but she..” he inhales, recalling the still bitter memories, “..obviously didn’t feel the same way,” you’re sat eager eyed, waiting for the real gossip, “she was fucking her boss.. whole time.”

“Shittt…” baring your teeth in a pained expression, “that’s awful Steve, I’m so sorry,” gingerly patting his outstretched arm, “what a bitch.”

He nods along, “yeah she is,” his fingers drum a rhythm into the table, “that’s why I’m back here… I’m sick of New York.”

“God,” guilt rising into your chest for being the one to bring that back up, “at least you’re home now, right? Must be nice seeing everyone again,” your eyes flitting to your phone that had lit up for the umpteenth time.

eds:) : when r u coming back??

eds:) : helloooo?

eds:) : stop fucking ur boyfriend and come back 2 work

eds:) : i’m being serious now we need u

Steve follows your gaze to your phone screen, realising that you’d been sitting here for a while now and he’d just pulled you from your work to talk about his messy divorce. “Work?”

You look back at him, “yeah.. I’m gonna have to run, but I’ll get you a table for tomorrow,” pushing your chair back, grabbing for your bag, “bring whoever.. I’ll text you the details!” offering him a small smile as you rush out of the busy cafe not bothering to wait for his reply.

Eddie is just as irritating as expected when you get back, hanging off of your arm the second you walk in the door.

“So, you just had coffee? You were gone a long time, man,” an attempt to play off his jealousy, though it was hardly working.

“Don’t call me man, and yep, just coffee. Like I’ve said a hundred times before,” hanging up your bag and tying the apron around your waist.

“Right.. he wasn’t tryna do anything though, was he? ‘Cause I can tell him straight if you need me to,” hanging around your ankles like a lost puppy dog.

“He’s in the middle of a divorce. I don’t think you need to do anything, big boy,” gently patting his arm.

“Ohh so that’s why he’s back and trying to fuck you now.. I get his game.”

You turn to face him, sandwiched between his body and the rusty lockers, “will you just relax? Please,” running your hands down his chest.

Eddie frowns slightly, but nods, “he’s got nothin’ on me anyway..” a silhouette of a smirk forming on his face, “you know who’s givin’ it to ya good,” planting his lips on yours before you get the chance to express your utter disgust.

You’re smiling when he pulls back but push him away from you regardless, “do not ever say that shit to me again,” tightening the straps around your waist, walking away from the freak and into whatever hell awaits you in the kitchen.

It’s not very surprising that Steve comes in alone, your heart aches a little seeing him sat at the table on his own.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is watching your face with a foul scowl on his. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you announce that you’re going to see how he is, practically snarling at the thought.

He knows the dish in front of him is Steve’s order, he’d audibly criticised the fact that Steve had removed the mushrooms from his food, is he a fucking toddler or something?

His eyes dart around the room, pursing his lips as he prepares to maybe just let the glob of spit fall out of his mouth and accidentally into Steve’s childish dinner.

“Don’t,” Tina’s hand clamps over his mouth, stopping his despicable plans in motion.

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” he protests, glowering at his co-worker. He definitely was going to do it and she knew it.

“Leave him alone,” flashing him that universally understood look that tells him not to even dare, “can you blame her, though? Meow,” grinning as her eyes flicker to you and Steve through the tiny window.

Eddie kisses the back of his teeth, whipping the dish towel at her, “ha ha very funny,” she’s desperate to rile him up as much as possible, taunting him with her mean quips.

His eyes slide to the window, met with the image of you absolutely cracking up at something Steve had said. It was the kinda laugh he loved to force out of you, usually late at night when you were overly tired and a little hazy. Unheard by most people. It was a slight comfort to know that Steve definitely wasn’t that funny, he could almost bank on it.

It’s like torture watching the pair of you interact for what feels like forever. Pulling his eyes away, deciding to go for a cigarette instead of putting himself through any more of that.

The air outside is still, it’s getting colder again but it seemed like Indiana was still hanging onto the dregs of summer; the sky illuminated with streaks of pink and orange. Maybe that’s what he was doing? Desperately clawing to keep your thing alive all the while you were trying to wriggle out of it.

He’s harshly pulled out of his self-pitying cloud, “Eddie?” you call out of the door, bounding over to where he was slouched against the brick wall, “thank you for doing that.. he said it’s great,” your toothy grin making an appearance.

Eddie grunts something in response, trying desperately not to think of you smiling at Steve like that.

“What? You okay? Why’re you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” he shrugs, lying through his teeth. He couldn’t help it, his heart twisting and contorting with every mention of that prick's name.

“Yes you are,” sighing softly, “you’re actually jealous? I thought you were just joking,” stepping toward him as he throws the cigarette to the floor.

His eyes eventually find yours, “I’m not.. jealous,” curling his finger into the bow of your apron strap, using it to pull you in, “I don’t get jealous,” another blatant lie.

“Mhm is that right?” you giggle, his behaviour over the past few days had proven that statement to be false. Wrapping your arms around his waist as your cheek begins to rest on his chest.

Desperately trying to convince himself that this is a sign. That if you’d really wanted to, you’d be in there, doing this with Steve. But you’re not. You’re here. You’re clinging onto him and everything is fine.

The door handle at the front of the store rattles a couple times before whoever is behind it gives up and knocks, you all look at each other slightly confused before Eddie takes the plunge and goes to answer. You’re standing behind the counter with a guarded expression, not prepared for whatever crazy was trying to get in at stupid o’clock in the morning.

Steve is standing behind the open door with an apologetic smile, holding up a takeaway cup obviously bought for you. Eddie is less than thrilled, skulking back into the kitchen with the most horrendous scowl plastered on his face.

“I’m sorry.. I should’ve text first,” kicking the door shut behind him, offering out the warm cup for you to take.

You breathe a sigh of relief, “yeah.. that would’ve been a good idea, thank you though,” gladly taking his offering.

“I just wanted to say thank you for last night, I didn’t catch you before I left so thought I’d stop by,” sipping on his own coffee, poised in the middle of the restaurant floor.

Eddie’s stood leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen from the front of house, arms crossed against his chest. Disapproving glare set solidly on Steve.

“Yeah absolutely, I’m glad you liked it,” smiling fondly at the man, sipping appreciatively on your cappuccino.

“I uh- I have a question for you,” his eyes flit to Eddie who was still stood with his eyes narrowed, scowling, “in private.. if that’s alright?”

You spin to look at Eddie, nodding towards the back, “I’ll meet you in my office in a minute,” shooing him off, “please.”

He snarls back at you, looking back over his shoulder to shoot daggers into Steve before eventually disappearing into the kitchen. For someone acting so jealous, you’d think you’d have been in a committed relationship for years.

Rolling your eyes as you trundle closer to Steve, “ignore him.”

“He a handful?”

“Mm and a mouthful sometimes,” perching on one of the tables, totally oblivious to your innuendo.

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, blinking ferociously as you finally catch on.

“Oh no- I just meant he’s like.. rude,” stumbling over your words, cheeks beginning to burn.

“I know what you meant,” Steve assures, though he looked a little flustered himself.

Your eyes squeeze shut, “just continue,” rolling your hand, desperate for him to forget you’d opened your mouth.

He clears his throat, “so I was talking to my buddy.. he owns Garson’s in the city and he was saying there’s a spot opening for a sous,” glancing at you, “I just mentioned your name and I’ll give you his number but he said he’d love to meet you,” his mouth twitching into a smile.

Well, that was not at all what you were expecting.

In fact, it was a massive curveball ball that you’d not rehearsed a response to.

Garson’s was insane, they’d just earned their first star and everybody who was anybody was trying to get a reservation. It would be career defining to even stage there.

“Oh wow… Steve I actually don’t know how to reply to that,” placing your coffee onto the table in fear of dropping it on the floor.

“Well obviously think about it, I’ll text you his details later, he seemed pretty eager to get someone in so.. don’t take too long,” drumming his fingers onto the table.

“Yeah.. right, holy shit,” you remark, trying to take it all in. It’s unclear what to even say to him in this situation, thank you seemed too small but slathering his face in kisses was probably a step too far.

“I gotta go, let me know what you decide,” his smile honest and genuine as he grabs his coffee and heads to the door.

Just before he slips out, you jump back into action, “thank you!” beaming with pure unadulterated joy.

He nods, disappearing into the street as the door slams shut behind him.

You can barely contain yourself, practically skipping through the kitchen to go and find Eddie who you were absolutely certain was not going to share the same level of excitement you possessed.

“What’s got you so happy? He ask you out on a real date finally?” turning up his nose without you saying a word.

“Noo..” you chime in, still riding the high, kicking the door shut behind you, traipsing over to rest your hands on Eddie’s shoulders, “so.. Steve said there’s a position going in Garson’s and it’s basically mine if I want it..” struggling to contain your grin.

His hands falter, brushing down your sides to now hang limp beside him, “what?” Unsure if what he had heard had been correct.

“There’s a job at Garson’s and it’s basically mine.. isn’t that great?” grabbing at the back of his neck. You were expecting a little more happiness than this, you can’t lie.

He looks almost offended. Features screwed up in pure confusion, as if you’d insulted his mother. “So you’re leaving? Some fancy job pops up from your fancy pants boyfriend and you’re suddenly abandoning us?”

“Wha- no? I’m not abandoning anybody,” removing your arms from his shoulder, “this is an opportunity to actually do something with my career, show everyone what I’m capable of,” you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just pretend to be happy for you.

He stands up, the chair making a god-awful noise behind him, “so you get to come in here, change everything and then jump ship as soon as something better comes along?” eyes that once looked at you with pure adoration now full of disgust.

You’re gobsmacked. Utterly speechless that he was acting like such a petulant jerk. You hadn’t seen this side of him since that night so many months ago in this very office.

“Eddie, what has got into you? This is good news! You didn’t expect me to stay here forever, did you?”

“I don’t know,” exasperated, “I just didn’t expect you to run to the next best thing so soon,” he looks venomous, mean.

“I’m not! He’s my friend and he’s helping me out.. why are you being like this?” he may as well have torn your heart from your chest and stomped on it in front of you.

Eddie scoffs, running a hand over his mouth, “your friend… who you haven’t spoken to in years suddenly has this great new job for you and has absolutely no ulterior motive? Ha, right.”

It finally clicks in your brain, he doesn’t really give a shit whether you stay or go. This was about hating Steve and being a jealous loser despite still not asking you to be his girlfriend.

“That’s what this is about? You think Steve.. what? That he wants to fuck me? You’re pathetic, do you know that?”

“It’s not about that,” raising his voice, chest puffed out. This was the Eddie you’d met and hated six months ago. You were sure you’d never have to deal with that prick again. “I don’t.. I don’t care what or who you do, I just think you’re a traitor and I don’t want anything to do with someone like that.”

Your face falls, blinking rapidly as the tears prick in your eyes. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat. He could be an evil prick when he wanted to be and before, it never would’ve upset you this much. But now it felt personal, like you’d let him in only for him to use everything you’d told him against you.

“Get out,” bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction at least, waiting until the door is slammed in your face to let them fall.

Humiliated and utterly pathetic as you flop into the chair, letting the tears fall free.

If he was trying to convince you to stay, then he’d failed. Majorly.

You’re hidden in the office for the remainder of the day. Courtesy of Eddie’s horrible words.

And he’s just a ray of sunshine in the kitchen. Clattering about as he drops pans, recklessly launching knives and utensils onto the counter.

Marcus has had enough of his tantrum, tapping on his shoulder, “let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” steering Eddie towards the back alley.

He slides down the brick wall, cigarette poised between his lips while Marcus mouths something to the rest of the beady eyed staff.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus asks, he’s genuine but stern. Has talked the boy down a multitude of times but this seemed different.

“She’s fucking leaving..” blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth, “some stuck up restaurant that dickhead Steve got her into.. that’s what’s wrong with me.”

Marcus’ mouth opens but doesn’t speak, deciding to get down to Eddie’s level, perching next to him on the floor, “and why’s that made you so angry? She break up with you as well or somethin’?” struggling to understand why he cares so much.

“No,” Eddie glowers at the floor, “you can’t break up if you’re not together. I’m just.. I’m pissed off, she came in here.. changed everything and now she gets to just move on like it’s nothing.”

Poor Marcus is trying to piece it all together in his head. Settling on the only sensible conclusion that maybe whatever was going on between you and him was perhaps a hell of a lot deeper than either of you were admitting.

“So.. you’re pissed that she made this shithole better? You sure that’s it?” questioning the validity of Eddie’s anger.

“What’re you tryna say?” Eddie snaps, gritting his teeth together. How dare Marcus not believe his incredibly flimsy words?

“That you’re not really angry ‘cause she’s moving on, you’re pissed because of this new guy and you think he’s.. he’s gonna take your spot or something? I can see right through you bro,” clapping his hand emphatically on Eddie’s shoulder, having caught him red handed.

Eddie glares at the man, snarling but unable to respond. Because he was right. Eddie is a pathetic, insecure loser who can’t bring himself to just admit to you that he was jealous of Steve. It was easier for him to just make you hate him than to be honest with you about how he felt, at least that way you didn’t have the opportunity to shut him down. You couldn’t reject him if you didn’t know.

“You’re gonna fuck this up forever if you keep acting like this,” Marcus sighs, getting up from the floor, “get in there and apologise or you’ll just push her right into his arms and I really don’t wanna deal with you if that happens,” flashing him a stern but well-meaning glare before disappearing back into the kitchen.

His eyes squeeze shut, and as much as he didn’t want to hear that, he knew he was right. Self-sabotage had always been his forte except this time he was truly terrified of the possibility of losing you. And he wasn’t going to let that happen.

There’s a quiet knock on your office door and you’re just about prepared to bite the head off of whoever dares to disturb you.

“Come in,” you bark, dropping the pen onto the desk in frustration.

A very meek Eddie peeks around the door, testing the waters to decide if it’s safe to fully come in without you throwing something at him.

Nothing collides with his head so he pushes the door open, holding onto a plate of pasta he’d made especially for you. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, still deciding on the right words to say.

“You haven’t eaten all day..” he decides on, gingerly placing the plate in front of you on the desk, “you don’t have to eat it but don’t throw it away,” stepping back from the desk with extreme caution.

You’re taken aback, not at all expecting the kind gesture, blinking at the delicious food in front of you. “Can I have a fork..?”

“Shit yes I got one,” digging in his apron pocket for the utensil, laying it down next to the plate gently.

“Thank you,” you nod, poking your fork into the food. It is delicious and it was still warm which is an even better bonus.

He smiles slightly, “I wanted to say.. I’m sorry for being an asshole, you should..” trailing off into silence, swallowing the lump in his throat, “you should go for it, it’s a great opportunity,” reassuring himself even if he didn’t quite believe it.

You chew slowly, apprehensive about his sudden change in attitude. This surely hadn’t been a conclusion he’d reached on his own and you wonder just who in the kitchen had given him a pep talk before sending him in here. You appreciated it nonetheless. As weird and complicated as you guys were, you weren’t quite ready to give it up already.

“Really?” you look up, trying to gauge his reaction. It was evident that he was putting on a brave front and he still had some apprehensions about it all but for you he was willing to ignore them.

Your heart swells. Which makes you feel a little sick. In a good way though, well, you think so anyway.

“Yeah.. you’re a great chef and you deserve better than this shithole,” one side of his mouth twisting into a smile. The words are heavy and difficult to get out, but they’re true. He means it and would really do anything to ensure you were happy. Even if it did mean swallowing his pride and letting you follow that douchebag Steve.

You stand from your chair, rushing over to wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you..” resting your chin on his shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist, placing a soft kiss upon your forehead.

He was going to miss these little moments the most, he thinks. Shaking his head slightly when his mind flits to the thought of you in some other kitchen doing this with someone other than him.

“You want some food? Don’t wanna eat this whole thing myself,” pulling away from his grip, motioning back towards your desk.

“Thought you’d never ask,” masking the ache in his heart with a sloppy grin.

If his uncle had taught him anything, it was that you had to make sacrifices for the people you loved. Or thought you loved. Whatever.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to show his stupid little face again and it irks Eddie to know that you were probably texting with him this entire time. Getting excited about this new position with another man. Blergh. It was knocking him sick.

You look over Steve’s shoulder to give Eddie a small glance, smiling ever so tenderly as you disappear into your office. That should be enough confirmation that he truly had nothing to worry about. It was just a job. Oh God, what if you find someone else to bicker with? Look what had happened to you two.

That sicky feeling returns and he wants to bolt. But he doesn’t, he’s big and brave and instead chooses to focus on finely dicing some onions until you reemerge from your office. Whenever the fuck that would be.

It must be a whole half an hour before Steve walks through the kitchen, giving Eddie a sly pat on the back on the way out. Smug prick. He just grips the knife tighter, waiting for you to confirm that you’d be gone next week and that he should really start moving on before you left.

“Ed’s can I talk to you outside?” your voice snaps him out of his pity party, giving the rest of the crew what looked like a sympathetic smile, you’d tell all of them the bad news later.

He knew this was it. You were about to lay it all bare, tell him it’s okay, maybe we can still be friends? I hope you understand but I have to go and work at this fancy restaurant with my fancy high school boyfriend, sorry!

Reluctantly walking into the alley way, the alley way you’d shared many sneaky kisses, reassuring words and that one time you’d got carried away and almost gave him a hand job right then and there. It was painful, the once comforting aura of the brick walls had since vanished.

He’s already bracing for the worst, keeping his back to you as he walks further down the path. It’s the only way he could be sure that he wouldn’t end up begging on his knees for you to stay. And even then he couldn’t guarantee that wouldn’t happen.

“Will you look at me?” your voice echoing through his veins.

He does, turning on his heel excruciatingly slow. Bottom lip starting to sting as his teeth cut into the skin.

“When are you going?” solemn and miserable, honestly trying his hardest not to start pleading with you.

“Never,” shaking your head, “I’m staying here,” feeling incredibly smug. You looked it too, nose scrunched up as you grin at him.

Fuck. He’s not even sure if he’s heard that right. But the blood rushes back through his body and he almost crumbles, falling to his knees to thank whichever being up there had answered his prayers. The glum look he’d seemed to possess had vanished, grinning like a fucking maniac as he bounds over to you. One minute you’re on the floor and the next you’re being spun around, his arms almost crushing you.

“What? Why’d you change your mind? I- fuck I’m so happy,” setting you back on solid ground, much to your relief.

“Well, the thing is.. there’s this guy who works here, he’s a bit of an asshole but for some reason I really like him and he’s convinced me to stay,” fingers digging into his biceps, still afraid that you might become airborne at any moment.

There’s not time to catch your breath before he’s crashing his lips into yours with great force, sending you flying backwards against the wall. His hands grabbing at anything he could touch, travelling the length of your body to brace your cheeks. Keeping you steady, making sure this was actually real. Christ, he thinks he loves you.

Scrap that, he’s fucking certain that he loves you.

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