#hells kitchen x reader

You hum quietly, stirring the strawberries that were slowly reducing in a pot. You dipped your finger in, bringing it to your lips. You exclaim to yourself in delight, surprised that you were pulling off the recipe you had chosen. You turned the pot off, spinning around to pour the syrupy strawberries over the now-chilled pound cake. 

You set the pot down, leaning on the counter to take a small break. You smiled to yourself and took a deep breath. Everything was going good. 

Nothing is wrong, you remind yourself as thoughts in the back of your head nag at you. 

You had struggled with anxiety for a while, and had become accustomed to random racing thoughts and heart acceleration. You were proud that you were working through it, even if you had a bad day once and a while. 

As far as you could tell, today was a decent day. Baking was a safe escape for you, and you weren’t too bad at it. At some points it could be stressful, but being able to get rid of worries and focus on what was in front of you was therapy, in your mind. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the doorbell ringing, causing a smile to spread across your face. You wipe your hands on a dish towel nearby and jog to your front door. When you make it there, you throw it open. 

Gordon. 

“Hello, Darling.” He steps in the door, hanging his jacket up on the rack and toeing his shoes off to the side. He sets the other things he was holding down and reaches towards you. 

You step into his arms, your head briefly resting on his chest. 

“Gordon! It’s been so long.” 

He releases you, gently grasping your shoulders to hold you at arm's length. 

“You look good,” he pauses, “And what’s that delightful smell? You’ve been baking again haven’t you?” He smiles down at you. 

You smile bashfully. “I have. It’s strawberry shortcake this time. Nothing earth shattering.” 

“Well I’m no pastry chef but if you made it I know it will be amazing love.” 

You blush a little, realizing he’s still holding onto you. You roll our eyes, trying not to seem flustered and reach for the bags he had previously set down. 

“What’d you bring me, old friend?” 

“Old you say?” He follows you into the kitchen. 

You set the bag down on the island, glancing up at Gordon as he nudges you aside and starts taking containers out of his bag. 

“Skillet Cod with lemon and capers. It’s from the Tahoe location I’ve recently opened.” He moves around you with confidence, finding the cupboard you keep your plates in and pulling two out. 

You grab forks, making your way to the table and setting two spots. Gordon joins you, placing plates down and plating the food from the “to go” boxes. It’s still warm, and somehow he manages to make it look like it just came out of the pass. 

“This looks great Gordon. How’s the restaurant faring?” 

He sits beside you, passing you a napkin. The whole thing seems too domestic and you almost hate how much you love the idea of life being like this every day. 

“Just fine darling, my head chef is fully capable but it doesn’t stop me from making frequent trips up here,” He looks up from his food and gives you a sly smile, “Tahoe is truly a world treasure.” 

You laugh. You have lived in California your entire life and oftentimes forget how lucky you are to have Lake Tahoe at your fingertips. 

“I certainly don’t mind all the company I’ve been getting. Speaking of, when are you going to take me to your crowning achievement, hm?” 

He laughs.

“Very soon, I promise.” 

-

Conversation continues easily between you two, simply catching up. Occasionally one of you would look a little too long at the other, but fleeting glances would scare your gazes away. At some point, wine was brought to the table and you had a few drinks in (you swear it was only a few) and your head was swimming in a very pleasant way. 

That was, until a smoke detector went off. Your heart rate accelerated almost immediately, eyes widening. Did you leave the stove on? Was it something else? Oh god, was your house about to burn down? 

A million thoughts race through your mind and suddenly your throat seems very dry and tight. 

You bolt up from your seat, rounding the corner. The stove was fine, and there were no flames anywhere else. The cake was still safe on the counter. Suddenly you realized there was smoke in the air and it was coming from the oven. 

You had left it on after you took the cake out. You opened it after clicking the cancel button, a mass of smoke billowing out.

“Y/n? Isn't everything alright?” 

You almost don’t hear him, too busy looking for what exactly was burning so badly. When the smoke clears a little bit, you see the now black batter at the bottom of the oven, realizing how stupid you currently felt. You had spilled some earlier when putting the cake in the oven, and had tried to remember to clean it up once the oven had cooled. 

You now didn’t feel fear, just overwhelming embarrassment. Gordon had just witnessed you totally freak out over virtually nothing. Your throat felt tight and your eyes began to sting. You quickly shut the oven, bracing yourself against it. It was only getting harder to breathe, and it wasn’t helping that you were trying to stifle your emotions.

“Y/n darling-” 

You’re braced against the oven, chest heaving. You can’t really lie to yourself any longer and say you aren’t panicking, because you are and suddenly every coping mechanism your therapist taught you is thrown out the window and god you don’t want anyone- much less Gordon- to see you like this. 

Your anxieties are only piling on and you suddenly have tunnel vision, slumping even more onto the oven. You faintly feel Gordon’s hands underneath your arms, probably holding you up at this point. Your vision is swimming and you feel sick. 

For a moment or so there’s nothing, and slowly you begin to feel better as your vision returns. You only feel so, so tired as you realize you had just passed out. 

“There you go love, take it easy.” 

You blink a few times, looking at your surroundings. You're on your kitchen floor, in Gordon’s lap. He’s stroking your hair, his brows furrowed. 

“You look like you do when you get pissed on Hell’s Kitchen.” You let your head fall back onto his lap. 

“Jesus fucking christ you scared me. What was that?” 

“Just a panic attack, I think.” 

“I thought they were getting better, that you were making progress?” 

He looked genuinley worried and you realized how dumb your brain was for being overly anxious about having a panic attack in front of him. Which was ironic, seeing how more panic only made a bigger panic attack. 

“I was. Sometimes they’re still bad, never like that though.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay, should we go to the hospital?” 

You try to sit up, only for Gordon to put a hand on your shoulder. You half smile allowing yourself to lay your head back down. 

“Really Gordon, I feel better. It’s nothing but my brain overreacting a bit. I promise.”

He’s stroking your head again, and you can see he doesn’t believe you. You don’t blame him, he hadn’t experienced mental health issues in the same personal way you experienced them. This was something you had to deal with everyday, and he didn’t. You understood how concerning this probably seemed to him. 

“I think I should stay tonight, just to make sure you’re okay.” 

He helps you up, slowly, and being ever so careful with you. He leads you to your room, barely allowing you to change into pajamas. It was endearing how worried he was for you, but there was still a slight concern that you were being a burden. 

“Are you alright?” He peaks around the door when you give him the okay, and you see that he’s shed his jacket and is now in sweatpants. 

“Yes,” you sit on your bed, trying to hold in a yawn. “Are you sure you can stay tonight?”

“I would have been heading back to my hotel anyway. I don’t leave until Saturday.” He sits next to you on the bed, looking as if he’s gonna fret over you again. 

“You can sleep in here, if you would like. My couch isn’t the most comfortable…” 

“You didn’t think I was leaving you alone after that, did you?” He rolls over you, jokingly grabbing a pillow and bumping you with it. “This is my bed now too until I know you’re absolutely okay.” 

You flush, and roll your eyes once again.  “If you insist.” 

Your heart is racing again and you almost laugh. This is a different kind of anxiety, the kind that makes your heart swell with love and the butterflies in your stomach to flutter around gently. It was exciting.

You turn and turn off your bedside light, crawling under the covers. You feel Gordon do the same, situating himself. You’re about to whisper goodnight when he pulls you into him, your head resting on his chest. He gives you a kiss on the forehead, squeezing your shoulder in a comforting way. 

“Goodnight my love.” 

“Goodnight Gordon.”

You suddenly feel content. No anxiety in the back of your mind, only bliss and safeness. There’s an unspoken promise that Gordon wishes he could voice, the solid promise of love that neither of you were quite ready to explore yet. But all of that didn’t matter at the moment. The only thing that he could feel was your steady heartbeat and rise and fall of your chest. 

He unspokenly loved you, and that was enough for now. 

“You know, we never got cake.” 

“Cuddling you is dessert enough for me,”  a pause, “Actually I will be stealing a slice tomorrow.

- 

Thank you for reading!