i can clock ai writing so fast. it’s painfully obvious (and bad) . if you need a bot to do your creative writing that’s honestly pathetic. the whole point of writing is to feel something and a machine can never replicate true human emotion.
wc: 2,998
pairing: Quinn Hughes x f!reader
warnings: reader is very self-disparaging in her POV, Quinn’s overthinks a lot, language, let me know if I missed anything.
Winters in Minnesota, she’s learned, are unforgiving. She’d been lucky enough thus far, the weather taking pity on her to not impede on her ability to make it to and from work however she thinks that pity is running out.
Her stomach coiled as she stood in Quinn’s dining room, watching the snow fall in heavy flakes. She begins contemplating on sending him a text to make sure he’s able to make it home safe however she doesn’t want to bother him. The news on the tv doesn’t help her anxiety but she can’t bring herself to turn it off.
“With temperatures continuing to drop well below freezing, snowfall is expected to continue throughout the rest of the afternoon into later tonight.” The weatherman advises. She takes in the screen, a traffic camera shows the highway completely obscured by the thick blanket of white. “Officials have started the beginning stages of road closures. We’ll be sure to keep you updated as things progress.”
He’s probably already on his way home. His practice was probably cut short; there’s no way anyone in their right mind would keep them when it’s so dangerous to drive. She tried to convince herself to stay calm. Vancouver didn’t get snow all that often. Her own hometown got snow but not like this.
Turning back to the kitchen, she finishes washing the dishes from prepping lunch and dinner. Quinn requested soup for both meals since he feels like he’s starting to get sick. She made sure to add many ingredients that not only boost his immune system but warm his bones. His off day tomorrow came at the perfect time, now he can spend the next three days taking it easy before his next game.
The savory aroma of the soup simmering on the stove adds to the already serene living space. Her book laid open to a page she knew she’d have to reread, her mind occupied by numerous thoughts. She reads the first sentence again, eyes skimming over the words that aren’t sticking to her brain. Distracting herself isn’t working, the knot in her stomach fails to loosen.
By the third or fourth time repeating the page, she’s unable to stand the nerves. She sends him a text, using the soup as an excuse to see when he’ll be home. To her relief, he responds almost immediately.
Quinn: Can’t wait. I’m getting ready to leave the rink in a few minutes. The roads are starting to close but I can make it.
Y/N: Please stay safe. Drive carefully.
The typing bubble pops up but then disappears. She stirs the soup, waiting for a response but it doesn’t come until minutes later.
Quinn: I’ll be okay, I promise.
Satisfied, she pulled two bowls from the cupboard and sliced some of the bread she made earlier in the week. Since the night they had dinner together about a week ago, Quinn has asked her to eat with him ever since. Their friendship has slightly gone past the standard pleasantries and surface level conversation.
In the beginning, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to consider her boss her friend. At any other job, she wouldn't, however this job is slightly unconventional. In her eyes, the developing connection wasn’t inappropriate, just out of the ordinary.
She’s happy to eat with him, she would usually just sit alone at her apartment, only accompanied by the dull hum of her tv.
Once Quinn got home, he gave her a gentle smile and told her the soup smelled amazing. “I can feel my bones and they hurt.” Black sweats hang off his hips and his arms are stuffed into the pocket of his Wild hoodie. His voice sounds hoarse and scratchy as he grabs a soup bowl before plopping down on the abnormally large couch. She follows right behind him, asking if anyone else got sick. He shakes his head, “Not that I know of. I think it’s just the weather.”
She sighs, knowing now is usually when he starts to feel the weight of everything and it manifests itself into a cold. “I think you’re just at that point of the season where you’re exhausted and the weather isn’t helping.” They sit in silence, slurping their scalding soup as best they can without burning their tongues.
After a few minutes, “Do I feel like I have a fever?” He leans close to her, his head tilting down.
She drops her spoon into her bowl and places the back of her palm against his forehead. He’s clammy and warm to the touch. “A little.” She mumbles, sliding her hand to his cheek and neck. He’s feverish everywhere. “Your body is definitely trying to burn out whatever is making you feel icky. Do you have medicine?”
He nods, “Yeah in my bathroom. I’ll take some after I eat. The soup is really good by the way.” She hums a ‘thank you’ in response and goes back to eating, watching the news in the comfortable quiet that had become so familiar with Quinn. The meteorologist continues to warn against driving in the snow and mentions some road closures. It slowly dawns on her that specific closures could prevent her from getting home.
“H-how was the drive? Do you think my car will make it?” She cautiously asks. If I can’t drive, I’d have to walk home. Her apartment wasn’t far, a twenty minute walk on a good day but with the storm, it could easily take an hour and a half.
It’s almost as if he expected her concern. “Y/N, I’m not going to make you dive in this. If I had known it was going to be this bad, I would’ve told you to stay home.” He casually dips his bread in his broth.
Her head snaps to face him. “My car can’t make it?” She dreaded the idea of walking home; her socks and shoes getting soaked, her being thigh deep in fresh powder… The idea alone sends a shiver down her spine.
“My truck barely made it. I almost got stuck twice. Plus it looks like,” He points to the screen, drawing her attention to it. “They’re going to call for an all road closure. No one will be allowed to drive.” Sure enough, a bright red box fills the lower portions of the screen. ALL ROADS CLOSED.
Her pulse quickens as she stands to check outside. From her vantage point, she estimates that the snow is as high as her knees. “I’m going to have to head out soon if that’s okay. If I’m going to walk, I want to get a head start before the snow gets higher.” She crosses her arms around her waist, hugging herself at the thought of snow settling onto her hair and shoulders, soaking her to the bone.
He raises an eyebrow and almost scoffs. “You can’t be serious. Just stay here for the night.” He shrugs. She stares at him in disbelief. No, he can’t be serious. Seeing the reservation on her features, he doubles down. “You’ll freeze to death if you walk or if your car gets stuck.”
It’s not like they haven’t slept under the same roof before. She stayed at his and Jack’s lake house over the summer but there were other people in the house. Her staying tonight would only be the two of them. Deep down she knows he’s right. Deep down she knows it’s logically the only option. But staying with him at his apartment just felt so out of character for her.
“Look, I’m not going to let you walk in the snow. The guest room is made up. I have extra sweats and a toothbrush.” His eyes glisten from the brightness of the snow reflecting off the walls. She hesitates before finally agreeing.
They finish their soup quietly before Quinn goes to his bedroom, saying he’s going to take some medicine. She decides that while he’s occupied with that, she’s going to wash their bowls and try to not overthink her staying the night.
It’s only 3pm however the idea of taking nighttime cold medicine quickly turned itself into me gulping a capful of it and rinsing my mouth out.
“What the fuck were you thinking Quinn?” I whisper-yell at my reflection. I can still feel the soft flesh of her hand on my cheek from when she checked for a fever. I can’t help but feel like it looks like I planned this whole thing and I feel sleezy. And then offering her my clothes? I would love nothing more than to see her in my clothes but under different circumstances.
God what if she’s weirded out and uncomfortable? What am I going to do? Do I just turn in early and leave her alone in the living room? Don’t be a bad host, Quinn. I can hear my mother’s warning bouncing around in my head. Okay so then do we just sit on opposite ends of the couch in awkward silence? I don’t want to go above and beyond to find something to do when I’m sick because then it’ll look like I invited her to stay the night just to make a move on her.
I fumble my phone out of my pocket, clicking on Kirill’s contact. After a few rings, I hear his voice in the distance like he has his phone on the other side of the room. “What’s up?”
I didn’t realize how shallow my breathing had become until I tried to talk. “Y-Y/N’s staying the night because she can’t get home in the snow. Any advice on how to not look like a complete weirdo?”
He chuckles. “Have you guys talked about being friends?” Other than Jack, Kirill is who I talk to about Y/N since, like me, he thinks getting together with her presents moral dilemmas.
“I mean, I consider her a friend. We’ve known each other for years.”
“Okay but Quinn, do you think she’s your friend more than you’re her boss?”
My answer tumbles out of my mouth before I have time to process his question. “Yes.”
He hums. “Does she know this?”
If I’m being totally honest with myself, probably not. We’ve slowly been blurring the lines between having a professional relationship and a friendship when she stays for dinners. I try to steer the conversations away from work as much as I can but I’ve never explicitly told her I think of her as a close friend.
“You not answering is my answer. Stop overthinking.” Kirill breaks through my thoughts with a giggle. “I think tonight you should just talk to her. About her. What she does when she’s not at your place, ask about her life.”
I ponder his recommendations. He’s right. I just need to get out of the mental quicksand I always seem to get stuck in when I think about her. “Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything. And I share hotel rooms with you, try not to snore tonight. You don’t want to scare her.” With that, he disconnects the line.
I sigh, knowing that with the cold medicine, snoring is inevitable.
The movie Quinn suggested runs in the background of their conversation in the dark living room. It’s just past dinner time, empty bowls of reheated soup litter the coffee table with tissues and fever reducers.
He laughs as he leans his head against the back of the couch while facing her. Her embarrassing story from her childhood always makes her laugh when she thinks about it, she’s glad Quinn found it endearing. “Wait so how did you end up getting unstuck if your feet couldn’t reach the ground?”
She covers her face with her hands to hide her reddened cheeks. “Drunk sixteen year old me had to do the only thing she could; I had to call my dad.” His eyes widen and she continues before he can ask. “No, I didn’t get in trouble. That’s why I called my dad. My mom would’ve been livid seeing me dangling from that fence by my beltloop. My dad was just glad I was safe and bought me french fries after.”
He snorts, “He sounds like a cool guy.” She agrees, reminiscing on the many times they got in trouble. She’s pretty sure her and her dad are responsible for the early graying of her mom’s hair. Their laughter dissolves into the peaceful quietness.
Her eyes drift to the tv, the colors of the screen flood and dance along the blank walls that Quinn hasn’t had the chance to cover. Her fingers play with a loose excess thread on the sweatpants he lent her while his long sleeve shirt hangs loosely at her wrists. She had changed just before the movie started, not wanting the physical discomfort that comes with sleeping in compression leggings.
“Can I ask you a question?” His voice is light, as if treading the idea of not wanting to speak up at all. She nods. “What do you do when I’m not here? Or like on your days off?”
She’s taken aback by his question. She couldn’t fathom the thought that anyone would care enough to ask about her outside of work. “Um, nothing much. If I’m here, I usually listen to an audiobook or read on my phone. Unless you’re playing, I’ll turn on the game.” She doesn’t notice it, but Quinn’s lips tug upwards. “But if I’m home, I like to write or crochet. I’m basically a grandma.” She jokes but Quinn doesn’t laugh.
“What do you write?” He asks in all seriousness, it sounds almost as if he’s invested in who she is outside of his apartment.
For several seconds, her mind seems to have gone on vacation. “Short science fiction stories. Mostly space horror or dystopian.” He nods his head, waiting for more information. “Uh like the most recent one, the main character wakes up in a spaceship with plants and she’s on her way to Mars to establish a colony but her crew that was supposed to be with her are all dead and she can’t contact Earth. On Mars, she finds the plants in places she never put them.”
He slightly leans forward, completely engaged. “Oh my god, was someone else on the ship?”
She giggles. “No, the plants are genetically altered and they evolved. The plants, engineered to survive at all cost, killed the crew. She woke up just in time before the plants were going to kill her.”
Something in his demeanor urges her to want to tell him about everything she’s ever written but it’s probably just her being hopeful. “Does she kill the plants?”
She shrugs. “Not sure. I haven’t finished it yet.”
He throws his hands up in exacerbation. “Please let me know when you finish it. I want to read it.”
He’s just saying that out of obligation because I kept blabbing about it. She nods her head, fully aware that he’ll end up forgetting about it and she’ll keep it unseen in her drive forever.
They spent hours just like that, sitting on the couch facing each other, asking questions the other didn’t expect. He tells her about his latest book he’s reading, going in depth on the plot. She tells him about how some of the people she sees at the park when she goes there to people-watch when he’s on road trips. He asks her about her hometown, what she did growing up. She listens to him about his time in Toronto with his family.
Eventually Quinn’s eyes start to droop with his head propped against the couch. She knows the cold medicine is doing its job and his body is starting to surrender to rest. She gets up, careful not to disturb him. Grabbing the blanket from its home on the couches matching loveseat, she gently drapes it over him. She plugs the charger connected to the couch into his phone, making sure he can see it when he wakes up.
The domesticity of it doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, for a brief moment she allows herself to embrace it. Her heart races at the thought of having someone to take care of, of someone taking care of her. Not just someone but Quinn. Someone she’s known for awhile yet feels like she’s constantly being introduced to him again and again.
After cleaning up the table and dishes, she leans against the counter and looks around the apartment. The apartment she spends most of her week in. It’s become so familiar to her but in that very moment, it’s like she’s seeing it for the first time.
He had let her walk into the apartment first, trailing behind as if he was gauging her reaction to it. She immediately went to the kitchen, excited to work in it once she got into the flow of things. To her, it was perfect. Then he did something she hadn’t expected, he gave her the ‘grand tour’ as he called it. She indulged him, smiling at the proud look on his face.
She recalls the memory of him showing her the rooms as she tiptoes her way to the guest room. Being in New York at the time of the trade call, he didn't have time to prepare for such a big move. They had talked about it in advance, of course. Quinn knew a trade would be happening and he was adamant that he wasn’t going to leave her hanging. He gave her a couple options; she ultimately settled on relocating alongside him to continue her employment.
She brushed her teeth and settled into the plush bed, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in her chest. I can’t believe I almost decided to talk home in this. The window next to the bed showed a cascade of white. She’s beyond grateful for Quinn, a friend helping a friend. She just wonders how she can repay him for his generosity.
——————————————————————————
Authors note: Thank you so much for the support on the first two parts! I've decided that I don't want to write things in chronological order for this universe - I don't want to put myself in a box and have to work on things from point a to point b. I'd rather draft out ideas, edit them, and post them so that they can be read as either stand-alones or all together.
I did get a couple requests which I'm super excited to work on 🤍 Keep 'em comin'!
- Honey🪽
Hi! I was wondering if you were going to write a part 3 for Quinn x chef? No pressure to and if you don’t want to that’s okay, I was just curious.
I lived both parts!
Hey anon! Yes if all goes according to plan (i.e. my test reader reads it tonight) I will be posting the next part 🤍 I'm so excited for you guys to read it! - Honey🪽
You've reached my masterlist 🤍 It is a work in progress, I just ask for patience. Please send me a request if there's something you want to see from me specifically!
Bad writing means you took the time to write something, you, a real human being. It means you created something! And you have the awareness to see that there's room for improvement, too!!!
Bad writing is wonderful!!! Bad writing is a platform from which you can build your masterpiece! Bad writing is the backbone of good writing!
Give yourself permission to write badly. No, actually- give yourself permission to write something TERRIBLE. Give yourself permission to write such drivel that you can barely read it.
Nothing comes out a masterpiece the first time!! You think Isaac Asimov never wrote a total stinker he had to rebuild from the ground up? You think Jules Verne never wrote utter slop for a first draft?
WRITE SOMETHING AWFUL!!! Write something so bad you cringe about it years later!!! And then when that's done, write some more!!!!!
Disclaimer: I accidentally deleted this part when I was trying to fix an error (I know, I'm a dummy). Nothing has changed story wise. Please see the AN at the bottom.
masterlist
Quinn's POV
wc: 2,146
pairing: Quinn Hughes x f!reader
warnings: basically none other than mild language and horrible writing.
The quiet lull of the music blanketed the apartment around her as she spooned butter from the bottom of the pan on the salmon laying beside it. Only illuminated by the stove and low warm ceiling light, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. Contentment settled into her chest and it allowed her joints to ease from the tension that plagued them.
After finishing the entree, she pulled the sheet pan of potatoes out of the oven, ensuring that she still had enough time to finish the vegetables before her client returned home from his game.
The day he interviewed her in Vancouver, Quinn advised her that he had a tight after-game routine he followed once he got home. Being rigid in her own schedule, she understood. After a few years of cooking for him - mostly every day during the season with some weeks during summer - they’d molded to each other’s routines.
In the beginning, he only needed her to cook breakfast and prep lunch as needed during the mornings he had home games. Eventually he requested her to cook for him every day; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She had to leave her other clients, something she didn’t want to have to do, however the substantial pay increase Quinn had offered was too enticing to turn down. He invited her to continue her employment with him once he was traded to Minnesota and she graciously accepted.
Since working for him full time, she’s worked for him nearly every day during the season when he’s not on roadies. She can’t complain, she finds comfort in constant work and consistent paychecks. After knowing him for as long as she has, she can’t lie that she also finds comfort in his company.
The vegetables - roasted seasoned broccolini and squash - take their place in the oven. On the two plates that Quinn had requested, she placed a salmon fillet alongside the potatoes.
She tried to ignore the small twinge of jealousy when he asked for a second plate to be made, the assumption of company not lost. She’d ignored it for the most part of the day, distracting herself with picking up groceries or her book. He’s my boss. She constantly had to keep reminding herself any time there was a subtle reminder and that stopped any further overthinking.
He’s had family, friends, girlfriends, and teammates over for countless meals. Pretty girls sideeying her as she made polite conversation or laughed while serving their food. Teammates and friends would joke alongside her, always playfully teasing Quinn to make her feel more at ease. His parents and brothers would compliment her cuisine and take a genuine interest in talking to her while she cooked for everyone at the lake house.
It could literally be anyone coming over. Even if it was a woman, it’s none of my business. Her heart still races regardless.
As she plated the food, her phone buzzed in her apron pocket. Like clockwork with his late night games.
Quinn: On my way home. Did you make extra?
She confirmed with him that she did indeed make double servings before taking both plates to the table with a water pitcher. She didn’t want to be seen by a woman if he did bring a date home; not because she wanted to avoid a potentially awkward introduction, but because her stomach couldn’t possibly handle it.
Her phone lights up again.
Quinn: Perfect.
By the time she was almost done cleaning the kitchen up for the day, she hears the unmistakable sound of his front door unlocking followed by a dull thud and a sigh.
“I’m home, Y/N.” His tired voice carried down the hallway like a gentle ripple in a calm ocean. She had forgotten to check to see how the game went so she quickly checked the score on her phone before he could get to the kitchen. Minnesota Wild - 3. Florida Panthers - 2. “It smells delicious in here.” He rounded the corner and greeted her with a smile.
His mess of chocolate brown curls are pushed away and framing his face perfectly and he’s in the same clothes he left in; dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt. To her, he’s never changed even though she knows that’s not true - he’s always been handsome and soft.
She mentally prepared herself to see whoever’s behind him. I did my job, the rest isn’t my concern.
“Lemon salmon, roasted sweet potatoes, with broccolini and squash.” She tried not to overthink her greeting. “Great job tonight. Florida can suck it.”
Quinn chuckled, glancing at the plates as his smile faltered. “Thanks.” He looks back to her, meeting her eyes before he shifts. “Oh you did plate it.” She peered behind him to glance down the hallway but didn’t find anyone. It was empty.
She ignored the knot loosening in her chest, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I assumed you wanted it plated.”
“It’s okay. I was going to have someone over for dinner but plans changed.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. The knot that was loosening is now tightening like a boa constrictor. Gosh she feels so pathetic.
She asks if he wants her to put it away. “I can skip making lunch tomorrow and you can take it with you to the rink?” She suggested, trying to sound cheerful enough to avoid embarrassing him more.
He quickly interjects. “Have you eaten yet?” He knows the answer already, she usually skips out on dinner during late night games.
“N-not really. Just ate lunch at the store after you left.” She stammered. His apartment is pretty much her 9-5 office. Regardless of what time his games or practices are, she’s there in the mornings to make breakfast. Then depending on what time he has to leave for whatever reason, she’s either making lunch then headed to the market for dinner.
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” The only time she and Quinn have ever had meals together is when Ellen insisted on her joining them for dinner during weeks she’d spend with them during summer. He would always make sure to sit next to her to interject if anything made her uncomfortable. Nothing ever did but it was nice to know he was there as a buffer.
What is the protocol on sharing a dinner with your boss without other people around? Would it be inappropriate? Or is it a friend asking a friend? Her previous clients never offered to have her at their tables and when she ate during work, it was always secluded in the kitchen.
He must’ve noticed some hesitation. “Unless you have somewhere to be-”
“Are you sure? You’re probably tired and want a quiet dinner. I don’t want to be a bother.” Okay, give him a chance to get out of this in case he doesn’t mean it.
Instead he looked almost… relieved. A small smile played on his lips. He walks over to the table and pulls out the guest chair before his own. “Not a bother at all, Y/N.”
She discarded her apron and slowly made her way to the seat next to him. He stabs at the vegetables before taking a bite, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he groans. She giggles while picking up her fork. “I’m glad you like it.” She pops a bite of salmon into her mouth and feels the unusual appreciation she has for her cooking skills. The lemon mixed with the seasonings that are crusted onto the fish is just heavenly.
“It’s so freaking good.” He tried the salmon next and looked at her. “Can we add this to the weekly rotation?” Laughing, she nodded.
He asked how her day was, something he usually does after coming home. It’s out of politeness and a way to fill the gaps of silence. “Really good. The market finally had the fresh dragonfruit you like in your smoothies so I grabbed some of those.”
He nodded, “Oh nice. I think we were almost out of the frozen pieces.”
“Yeah because you keep eating them by the handleful.” She joked and he lightly kicked her leg in response. “How was your day? Was it a rough game?”
“Florida always plays rough.” He shrugs. She knew they did all too well. Since working for Quinn, she’s just barely kept up with the hockey world. She’ll put the game on here and there when the silence of the apartment becomes too much and the music isn’t helping.
“I don’t know how they get away with what they do. Did they hurt you?”
He pauses a moment, fork still in hand. The corner of his mouth tilted up for just a moment. “A little in the second. Nothing too bad though. Their chirping kept getting on Zuccarello’s nerves. Refs had to keep stepping between him and their players.” He chuckles.
She shakes her head. “You’re okay though?”
“Yeah, they just slammed me on the boards and messed up my shoulder for a bit. It’s nothing. Other than the market, how else was your day?”
After telling him you finished your book, you guys talk a bit until your plates are cleared. Quinn leans back in his chair and stretches his arms. The front of his shirt lifts slightly, showing the pale skin of his bare stomach just above his waistband that slightly lowers…
She shook her head at the invasive thoughts. Oh my gosh I need to go home. What is wrong with me? She quickly grabbed both plates and took them to the sink to wash. Quinn’s chair scrapes against the hardwood floor. The clink of the water glasses ring loudly in the quiet kitchen.
She hoped Quinn couldn’t hear her heart, it was racing so fast she was sure she could see it through her chest. He came up next to her, his arm slightly brushing hers and sent a hum of electricity through her. Her breath coming in uneven puffs masked with soft humming she uses to fill the silence.
He watches her scrub the plates, she can feel the weight of his gaze. She tries to move her hands quickly as she scrubs the plates, not wanting him to see how much they’re shaking.
“Thank you for staying. It was nice to have company.” Quinn’s raspy voice sends a shiver down her spine. He grabs the plate from her hand, ready to rinse it off.
She clears her throat, “O-of course, Quinn. Thank you for offering to let me stay.”
A noise comes from deep in his chest that sounds like an acknowledgement. She knows it's her mind showing her what she wants to see; the way his hands linger near hers while grabbing the utensils to rinse, the unnatural stillness of his chest like he’s holding in his breath, his shoulders leaning towards her ever so slightly. She knows it’s not what’s actually happening no matter how much she wants it too. Remember, he was going to have someone else here. Even if it wasn’t a date, this is just out of politeness.
She dries off her hands and her eyes catch on his long fingers as they finish putting the washed dishes in the drying rack. She takes notice of his shoulder, the way his shirt sits along his neck, the pinkish hugh of his skin just under his ears.
Oh dear God. He’s already looking down at her by the time she meets his eyes. Her breathing stops entirely and her palms get clammy. He saw me looking. He thinks I’m a creep, I’m out of a job, I’m going to have to move back home in shame.
He smells of gentle soap and mint. The bridge of his nose shines just enough under the sink light, a stark contrast from the stubble that textured his jaw. Due to the busyness of the season, shaving has been put on the backburner while his hair curls around his face to the base of his neck.
He holds her gaze before closing a bit more room between them, as if testing the waters and daring her to do something they both may regret. Suddenly he seems to have come to his senses and pulls back.
She adverts her eyes and stares at the ground. He coughs, trying to break the silence. “Thank you for dinner. It was really good.” He mumbles awkwardly. Oh my God I made him uncomfortable. Fuck how am I going to fix this?
“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning?” She hangs her apron on the hook he installed as soon as he moved in. Grabbing her purse, she looks at him but he just stares at the wall above the sink.
“See you in the morning, Y/N. Drive safe.” She takes her leave, worried she fucked up.
——————————————————————————
Author's note: I'm a goober - please see disclaimer above fic. I still don't know where this is headed. I'm trying to work on multiple ideas at once (I'm thinking of doing a collection of fics that can be read together or as standalones). OK, luv u bye 🤍 - Honey🪽
judging from the chefs pov and quinn’s pov i am more than confident that something will stick in regards to future ideas and that it will be absolutely amazing
awe thank you! i’ve taken a bit of a break from writing because i don’t like my writing style, the chef!reader posts were heavily (like severely) edited haha so they took awhile.
i’m thinking maybe he invites her to a game OR he invites her out with a few of the Wild for a birthday dinner or something and we can see their interactions from other peoples POV? idk yet
Fuck my shoulder hurts. Medical took a look and said it wasn’t anything to write home about, no need to miss practice or any games. It's just going to be sore for the next few days.
The locker room was loud and boisterous. Coach’s talk was kept short, thank goodness. I just want to take my gear off and let my skin breathe.
“What’s Y/N making for dinner tonight, Huggy?” Faber came up fully dressed.
I’m suddenly reminded of the fact that Y/N is making extra food tonight and I want to curl up in a hole to never be seen again. I was going to have a date over however I cancelled soon after making the plans to begin with. It didn’t feel fair to have Y/N work so hard to cook for me just for another woman to eat it. I don’t even know why I entertained the idea of having company over in the first place, maybe to just not sit in empty silence after Y/N leaves.
However I forgot to not have her cook double so my idiocy came to bite me in the ass. It’s not like the extra food won’t get eaten, I’ll eat whatever she makes me but I know she still went through the effort.
“Uh salmon, I think. Why?” Maybe Brock could be my guest.
“Just wondering. I still think about those ribeyes she made us a few months ago. Still the best one I’ve ever eaten.” He smirks and something in my chest tightens. I’ve had a few of the guys over since becoming a part of the team and they all raved about her cooking after.
I don’t think it’s necessarily jealousy that settles in my stomach whenever they talk about her, it’s just that now they know how her food tastes, and how her laugh sounds, and how the light in her eyes sparkle when you compliment her cooking even if she herself doesn’t think it’s good.
“She’s making extra food tonight if you want to come over.” I offer.
He raises an eyebrow. “Why is she making extra? Is she finally staying over?” My eyes widen and his smirk turns into a grin. “No way. You finally asked her out?”
From across the room, Boldly whoops. “Kirill owes me a Rolex, thanks Quinny!”
I groan, sliding my hands over my face in an attempt to wipe away my shame and jealousy. “I didn’t ask her out! I just asked her to make extra tonight. I was going to have someone over but cancelled. So if anyone wants salmon for dinner, you’re more than welcome to come over.” I open the invite to any of them.
“Why haven’t you taken her to dinner yet?” Boldly questions, clearly sad he isn’t winning any bet.
I sigh. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I’ve spent more time with her than my family in the past few years and have considered her a friend since the very beginning. Every time I’ve so much as entertained the idea of a possible future with her, my morals stop me in my tracks. “I’m her boss. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.” I look at Kirill who’s changing out of the holey shirt he’s always wearing. “And why do you have a bet?”
He laughs nervously but Matt claps him on the shoulder. “He doesn’t think you have the balls to tell her how you feel. I have 100% faith in you,” He beams proudly. “I’ve seen you pick up women, total lady’s man.” I glance between the two, heat creeping up my neck.
“Like you said Quinn,” Kirill sheepishly smiles. “You’re her boss.”
I’m almost too quick to agree. “Exactly. Wildly unethical.”
Brock raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t, some other guy will. And that guy will be the one she tries her new recipes on first, not you.”
I know he’s trying to get under my skin. Not maliciously, just chirping. But he’s successful. “Why the fuck would you say that?” I groan. “Why even bring it up?”
He laughs. “Because you need to hear it. She watched you bring so many girls home so the least you can do is hear about it. Didn’t Jack even try to get at her?” Dear God, that's the last thing I wanted to think about. He did last summer and even though she politely turned him down, citing me as the reason, I still didn’t talk to him for a few days. “It would be some random guy next.”
“We’re not saying that it couldn’t end horribly but it’ll end that way for you regardless.” Matt shrugs before bidding his goodbyes.
Finally finished getting my gear off, I head to the showers. “I’m not listening to you guys anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hear Brock and Kirill giggle as I walk away.
After showering the stench of sweat and frustration off, I feel my muscles begin to unknot. As I take my sweet time in getting ready to leave, I check my phone. Nothing in particular stands out other than a text from Jim and one from Y/N before the game started.
Y/N 🙂: Good luck tonight!
I smile at the message, liking it before flicking through the others. The girl that was supposed to come over tonight sent a dm but I decided it's not worth the trouble anymore, blocking her. I text Y/N to let her know I’m on my way home before gathering my things.
The walk out was filled with silence and counting the cement squares that it takes for me to get to the garage, like always. The idea of Y/N still playing in the back of my mind, warmth spreading through my chest before guilt creeps in. Even if she’s not aware of my feelings for her, which I go out of my way to make sure doesn’t happen, I shouldn’t have invited someone over and had her cook for us. It makes me feel gross and sleezy.
My phone starts ringing as I get in my truck causing me to sigh. I don’t want to talk with anyone right now, I just want the peace and quiet I get on the way home to let my ears ring out and my adrenaline to come down. My phone connects to my Bluetooth and I see Jack’s picture pop up.
“What’s up, Jack?”
“Nothing. Just got out of a game. How’d yours go?” Based on the background noise, it sounds like they won.
“A win. Headed home.” He hums in acknowledgment. I should talk to him about Y/N, I know I should at least get it off my chest before seeing her. “If I ask you about Y/N, would you be straight up with me?”
There’s shuffling on the other end before the chattering fades out, like he went somewhere quieter. “Yeah of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I chuckle despite myself. “Because you made a move on her when she was at the lake house. Well, tried to before she painfully shut you down.”
He laughs. “Yeah but I wasn’t trying to actually get with her. I was just trying to see how you’d react but you never said anything so I thought I just embarrassed myself for nothing.”
“I’m her boss, Jack. Do you think anything about this would be right?” I confess. “I’d lose the best chef just because I can’t get her out of my head.”
He sighs. “Bro you’re already acting like she’s rejected you.” He takes a beat to think his answer over. “Quinn I wish you could see the way she looks at you because that would answer any doubts you’re having. She looks at you like you make the sun rise just for her to wake up.”
Breathing starts to become something I have to think about. Deciding that the parking garage wasn’t the place I wanted to have this conversation, I threw my car into drive and pulled away. My jeans dry my sweaty palms before I grip the steering wheel as my heart rate speeds up. Boldly was right, regardless this won’t go in my favor. “I’m either going to mess up a really good friendship or she ends up with another guy sooner or later.” I mumble.
“Or,” Jack quickly interjects. “She feels the same way you’re feeling right now. Like she’s thinking her feelings for you aren’t right because she works for you. But what if once you both acknowledge it, that feeling of it being wrong goes away?”
Even though he’s my younger brother, Jack’s always been my voice of reason, always brought my thoughts back to reality and gave me alternate points of view.
“What do I do?” For once in my life, I don’t have a plan. I don’t even know where to start. Since I was born, my life had been mapped out for me by everyone else. But the only thing that wasn’t considered was something like this. The street lights and neon signs pass in a blur of mixing colors while I make my way home.
“You’re already her friend dude. Not just the guy who signs her paychecks so she can keep her lights on. How often do you guys hang out when you’re not at your apartment?”
I try to think of the last few months since the season started and then moving to Minnesota. We really haven’t had the time. Both of us uprooted our lives for the sake of our careers and each of us have been trying to settle ever since. “Alone? Probably not since summer when I took her out on the boat for the day.”
“Oof that’s rough.” Luke’s voice chimes in out of nowhere. “This about Y/N?”
“Yep.” Jack confirms. “He doesn’t think she’s into him.”
Luke scoffs. “Yeah okay pal. I thought you were the smart one.”
“Oh dear Lord.” I park my truck into the designated spot next to Y/N’s and sit there. “Alright Einstein, what do you suggest I do?”
“What do you think you should do? Let’s see if we have matching answers.”
I ponder for a moment before drawing the only conclusion my doubt will let me come to. “Confess and look for another chef when she inevitably quits because I made it too uncomfortable.”
“Bingo.” Luke clicks his tongue.
“Luke! Not helping!” Jack scolds. I laugh regardless.
“What? Dude was a total chick magnet like 6 months ago then he realizes that he’s in love with Y/N and forgets who he is! That’s on him.” Our youngest brother defends himself. “Listen, tap into the Quinn from before you got big boy feelings. Where you were hoeing yourself out. What would he do?”
‘Past Quinn’ wouldn’t hesitate to make a move. He’d also have a line of other women behind her ready to go. “That’s not who I am anymore.” I whisper as the cold creeps into my car.
“That’s not the point.” Jack says. “Take what he would do but just make sure it doesn’t lead to anything short term like every single one of your other relationships.”
“So that means drop your manwhore ways. Use the charm to let her know you’re interested, see if she feels the same WHICH SHE WILL,” Luke emphasizes. “And build the relationship from there. There doesn’t have to be this grand gesture, it can be gradual. ‘Past Quinn’ wouldn’t be scared.”
“‘Past Quinn’ doesn’t deserve this woman.” I mumble into my jacket. “But I get your point.” Maybe current Quinn deserves a chance.
“Finally. Come on Jack, I’m starving.” Sometimes Luke is the most little brother that’s ever little brothered.
We hang up and I make my way to the apartment. The words of my brothers are beginning to sink in. Be her friend. Use the charm. I feel like once these feelings started to develop, I slowly forgot how to be charming. Whenever I brought girls home, I didn’t even try. They already knew me as ‘Quinn Hughes’ and that was the selling point. To Y/N, I’m just Quinn.
I don’t like feeling like I don’t know what to do. I always know what to do but now I get nervous like a teenage boy right before his first kiss. Y/N is just a woman I’m interested in, why is she taking away my ability to think?
Luke’s right. My feelings for her grew over time so there’s no reason a relationship has to start any differently. No more dating apps. No more dm-ing girls. That’s the start.
I unlock my front door and gently close it right behind me. I toe off my shoes next to Y/N’s, it’s all so domestic. “I’m home, Y/N.”
The scent of a home cooked dinner lightly lingers in the hallway but it gets stronger as I walk closer to the kitchen. Lemony fish with smoked spices have me floating around the corner like Yogi Bear. “It smells delicious in here.”
She’s standing behind the island in her apron. The kitchen is clean around her, she must’ve just finished cooking. I can’t help but grin seeing her with the game stats clearly on her phone even though she’s trying to hide it.
“Lemon salmon, roasted sweet potatoes, with broccolini and squash.” She beams. “Great job tonight. Florida can suck it.” She’s always hyping up our wins and sympathetic when we lose. Hearing her praise never fails to give me heart palpitations.
I laugh before my eyes drift to the dining room and see two plates with water glasses set on the table. “Oh you did plate it.”
She looks behind me expecting to see someone but finds no one following me. Her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I assumed you wanted it plated.” She sounds almost relieved.
Recovering quickly, I told her someone was supposed to come by for dinner but things didn’t work out. “Have you eaten yet?” Alright Quinny, didn’t think you’d ask this soon but here goes nothing I guess.
“N-not really. Just ate lunch at the store after you left.”
“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” Asking her feels like my lungs releasing all air in my body at once, my heartbeat climbs to my throat. She leans against the counter for a moment, shocked. Okay, maybe I came on too strong. “Unless you have somewhere to be-”
She cuts me off, a mercy I will thank her silently for later. “Are you sure? You’re probably tired and want a quiet dinner. I don’t want to be a bother.” I did want a quiet dinner but a dinner with her sounds so much better.
To show her I mean it, I pull out her chair and then mine. “Not a bother at all, Y/N.”
Dinner was incredible as always, heavenly if I had to give a better description. It feels like I haven’t had food like this in years but she cooked lunch for me earlier and I said the same thing then too.
We converse lightly about our days. Hearing about her day is always the best part of mine so I always make sure I ask even if my day was shit. It feels so normal that I catch myself so relaxed and at ease that I don’t even overanalyze every little movement I make. However I do make a note to overthink about her making sure I’m okay after I tell her playing hurt my shoulder.
Y/N carries our empty plates to the sink and I follow behind her with the cups. I lean to place the cups in the sink under the water and when I do, my bicep grazes her shoulder. I stand against the sink, almost frozen in place and entranced by the way her fingers run over the plates and squeeze the soap out of the sponge…
Quinn, get it together. My mouth is as dry as cotton even though I was nearly salivating moments prior. “Thank you for staying. It was really nice to have company.” I say, mostly as a way to distract myself. I start to rinse off the soapy dishes.
She stammers, “Of course, Quinn. Thank you for offering to let me stay.” God her voice is so angelic, and has a way of bringing you closer to her because you want to hear whatever she has to say just as long as she keeps talking.
She finishes up, drying her hands while she still stands close to me. Her warmth radiates off of her like a heater. I don’t want to look like a creep but I can’t help staring when her hair falls out of her ponytail that way. And she’s looking at me too, her eyes trailing up my shoulders before meeting my own.
It’s like the world stills even though I can hear the hum of the heater kicking on. A warm blanket draped over me, tugging me closer to her.
Do I want to do it now? Oh God what if she’s uncomfortable and I’m just a pervert? If I kiss her, what happens when she doesn’t like me that way and that power dynamic just creates more problems?
Before I could do anything, I cleared the thoughts from my head and stepped away. “Thank you for dinner. It was really good.”
“Of course. I’ll see you in the morning?” I can’t tell if her sweet voice sounds hopeful or embarrassed or scared. But I can’t chance a look at her or else all my resolve will melt and who knows what I’d do or say to get her to stay the night. I stare straight ahead, suddenly finding the tiled wall extremely interesting.
“See you in the morning, Y/N. Drive safe.” I don't see her leave however I hear the door shut and the lock click into place. “I’m so royally fucked.”
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author’s note: Oh my goodness I didn’t expect such a positive reaction with reader’s POV. If I’m being totally honest, this was just an idea I bouncing around in my head - I don’t have any idea where this is story headed (if anywhere). I do have some ideas for other parts that I’ve been throwing at the wall but nothing is sticking unfortunately. I’m sure I’ll figure it out ☺️ - Honey🪽
