#gordon ramsay x reader

[misterfic]

A/N: Honestly, I have no idea why I wrote this. I saw a Gordon Ramsay edit on TikTok and just had to channel my inner chef! 🍳😅 This is just a work of fan fiction. It is not intended to offend anyone.

Title: Unrequited No More

Summary: A secretary's hidden love for her boss, Gordon Ramsay, is met with jealousy and desire, leading to an explosive revelation.

Pairing: Gordon Ramsay × Fem! Reader

Tags: Jealousy.

________________

You watched as Ramsay posed for the photographer, effortlessly exuding confidence and charm. The famous London magazine had chosen him for a feature, and it was no surprise. He looked every bit the part of a successful, sophisticated chef. As his personal secretary and driver, you stood on the sidelines, silently admiring him.

Why did he have to be so handsome? you thought, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his jaw, the way his blonde hair caught the light, and the ease with which he commanded the room. You had to keep reminding yourself that he was out of your league, and that left you a little discouraged, but that was the reality. You were nothing, just a secretary, while he could date any woman he wanted—rich, tall, beautiful, and blonde.

Your gaze lingered on him, watching the way he interacted with the crew, his voice carrying easily across the room. He joked with the photographer, his laughter infectious, and you couldn't help but smile. But that smile quickly faded as you remembered his date scheduled for that night with some model. You had written it down in his diary that morning, as he had asked you to.

"Make sure to remind me about dinner tonight," he had said, flashing you that charming smile that always made your heart flutter. "I've got a date with that model—what's her name again?"

"Claudia," you had replied, trying to keep your tone professional. "Dinner at 8 pm at The Savoy."

"Right, Claudia," he had repeated, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Thanks, love. Couldn't keep my schedule straight without you."

You had forced a smile, nodding as you made a note in his diary. "Of course, Mr. Ramsay. Anything else you need?"

"That's all for now," he had said, giving you a wink. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

Now, as you watched him, those words echoed in your mind. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy and sadness. He had everything—a successful career, wealth, and the ability to charm anyone he met. Meanwhile, you were just the one keeping his life organized, silently longing for something more.

He could have any woman he wanted, and it wasn't difficult for him to have whoever he desired. The way he carried himself, the way he looked—everything about him screamed confidence and success. You felt small in comparison, insignificant.

The photo shoot wrapped up, and Ramsay walked over to you, a grin on his face. "How did I do?" he asked, his voice full of playful arrogance.

"You were perfect, as always," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Thanks, love," he said, patting your shoulder. "Couldn't have done it without you."

You smiled weakly, your heart aching with unspoken feelings. "You're welcome, Mr. Ramsay."

"Don't forget to remind me about that dinner tonight," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Wouldn't want to stand Claudia up."

"I won't forget," you promised, feeling a heavy weight in your chest.

As you drove him back to his next appointment, you couldn't help but steal glances at him in the rearview mirror. Why did he have to be so perfect? And why did you have to fall for someone who was so clearly out of your reach? The reality was harsh, but it was all you had. For now, you would continue to be the best secretary you could be, even if it meant hiding your true feelings behind a professional facade.

Hours later, you said goodbye to Ramsay, making sure he was ready for his date before you left. "Don't forget, Mr. Ramsay, dinner at 8 pm with Claudia at The Savoy," you reminded him, forcing a smile as he adjusted his tie in the mirror.

"Thanks, love," he said, giving you that charming smile that always made your heart skip a beat. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You nodded and left, feeling the weight of the day's emotions pressing down on you. As you tiredly entered your apartment, you threw yourself on the couch, letting out a deep sigh. The apartment was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of Ramsay's world. You closed your eyes, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts of him.

Suddenly, your cell phone rang, and you picked it up instantly, hoping it was Ramsay. But it was just your group of friends, planning to go out that night to a nightclub. They were asking you to join them at the new club that had opened recently, a place that had been crowded the last few weeks.

You hesitated, biting your lip. It had been a while since you went out to have fun, being too worried about work and the bills to pay. But you deserved to have fun once in a while, didn't you? Maybe it would be good, maybe it would get your mind off Ramsay and the damn date he was having.

You typed out a quick response, accepting the invitation. "Alright, I'll join you guys tonight. What time are we meeting?"

"Fantastic! Meet us at 9 pm at the club," came the enthusiastic reply.

You glanced at the clock, realizing you had a couple of hours to get ready. Standing up, you felt a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness. It had been too long since you'd let loose and enjoyed yourself. Tonight could be a chance to forget about Ramsay, if only for a few hours.

Heading to your bedroom, you rummaged through your closet, looking for the perfect outfit. You settled on a sleek black dress that hugged your curves just right, pairing it with your favorite heels. As you applied your makeup, you felt a sense of anticipation building. Tonight, you were going to focus on having a good time and leaving your worries behind.

With a final touch of lipstick, you looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a newfound confidence. You were more than just a secretary; you were a woman who deserved to enjoy life. And tonight, you were going to do just that.

Grabbing your purse, you headed out the door, ready to meet your friends and embrace the night. The music, the laughter, and the energy of the club awaited you, promising a brief escape from the reality of your unrequited feelings. As you walked down the street, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe tonight, you would find a way to move on from Ramsay and discover a new side of yourself.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside the club with your three friends. The neon lights illuminated the bustling street, and the thumping bass of the music from inside the club sent vibrations through the ground. As you approached, you were met with a long line of people waiting to get in.

"Wow, look at that line," one of your friends, Emily, exclaimed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "There's no way we're getting in with that huge line!"

Your other friend, Sarah, rolled her eyes and grinned confidently. "Relax, ladies. I know the bouncer. He owes me a favor. We'll get in, no problem."

The three of you exchanged doubtful looks but decided to trust Sarah. She led the way, weaving through the crowd with determination. The line seemed to stretch on forever, and you couldn't help but feel a little skeptical. But as you got closer to the entrance, Sarah's confident stride didn't waver.

When you finally reached the front, the bouncer's stern expression softened as soon as he saw Sarah. "Hey, Sarah," he greeted her with a nod.

"Hey, Mike," Sarah replied with a wink. "Think you can do me a solid and let us through?"

Mike glanced at the line behind you and then back at Sarah. "For you? Always," he said, lifting the velvet rope and motioning for the four of you to enter.

You and your friends cheered excitedly, your earlier doubts melting away. "Thanks, Mike!" you shouted as you walked past him, laughing and high-fiving each other.

Once inside, the club's vibrant atmosphere enveloped you. The flashing lights, the pounding music, and the sea of dancing bodies created an intoxicating energy. You felt a rush of excitement as you made your way to the dance floor with your friends.

"This is amazing!" Emily shouted over the music, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We have to find some hot guys tonight!"

"I second that!" your third friend, Lily, chimed in, her smile wide. "Let's dance and have some fun!"

You laughed, feeling a sense of liberation wash over you. The weight of your feelings for Ramsay seemed to lighten with each passing moment. "Let's do it!" you agreed, raising your glass in a toast. "To a night of fun and forgetting our worries!"

As the four of you hit the dance floor, the music pulsed through your veins, and the worries of the day faded away. You moved to the beat, letting the rhythm take over, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly free. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless. And maybe, just maybe, you'd find a way to move on from Ramsay and embrace a new chapter in your life.

You had fun with your friends, drinking, talking, and laughing, but you couldn't help feeling a little jealous at how easily they found guys to talk to while you were alone at the table, nursing your martini. Watching Emily and Sarah flirt and laugh with a couple of handsome men, you felt a pang of loneliness. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't shake the thoughts of Ramsay that kept creeping back into your mind.

"Why am I thinking about him?" you muttered to yourself, scolding your thoughts. You downed the entire glass of your martini, feeling the alcohol's warmth spread through you. "No more moping," you decided, standing up with newfound determination. "I'm here to have fun."

You made your way to the dance floor, the music thumping through your body. You let the rhythm take over, moving to the beat and losing yourself in the crowd. The flashing lights, the pulsing bass, it all felt liberating. You danced with abandon, not caring about anything in the world.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands on your hips. You turned around to see an unfamiliar but handsome man smiling at you. He had dark hair and a chiseled jawline, and his eyes held a mischievous glint. You didn't care who he was; you just wanted to keep dancing.

The dance became more sensual as you ground against him, his hands firmly on your hips. You felt a rush of excitement and adrenaline, letting go of your inhibitions. The man's grip tightened slightly, and you felt a thrill at the connection.

But just as quickly, his hands let go, and you were pulled into a solid chest. You protested, turning to see who had interrupted your dance, but your words caught in your throat when you looked up and saw Ramsay. "What the hell are you doing here?" you blurted out, your surprise mingling with the alcohol-induced haze.

Ramsay's face was a mask of fury, but his anger wasn't directed at you. He glared at the man you had been dancing with, his eyes blazing. "Stay away from her," he warned, his voice carrying over the music. The man raised his hands in surrender, stepping back.

"Sorry, mate," the man said, his tone apologetic. "Didn't know she was accompanied."

As the man walked away, you looked up at Ramsay, confused and still a bit drunk. "Why did you do that?" you demanded, your voice slurring slightly. "I was having fun!"

Ramsay didn't answer immediately, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. "Come on," he said, pulling you off the dance floor. "We're leaving."

"No!" you protested, trying to pull away. "I want to dance!"

Ramsay stopped and looked at you, his eyes intense. "You're drunk," he said, his voice softer but still firm. "And you're coming with me."

You pouted and walked away from him, heading back to the dance floor, determined to have a good time. You heard Ramsay's irritated sigh behind you, but you ignored it, losing yourself in the music once more. Moments later, you felt his hand grip your arm again, more forcefully this time. He bent down, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke.

"You are fucking coming with me," he growled, his voice laced with anger. "Even if I have to carry you out of this damn club."

You pulled away from him, glaring up at him defiantly. "Why the hell are you here, Ramsay?" you shouted over the music. "Weren't you supposed to be on a damn date with that model?"

Ramsay's jaw tightened, his eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and jealousy. "Yeah, the worst fucking date of my life," he admitted, his voice dripping with disdain. "That woman couldn't hold a decent conversation if her life depended on it. I was bored out of my mind."

You felt a pang of confusion and a flicker of hope. "Then why did you even invite her?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and curiosity.

Ramsay’s expression darkened, a mixture of anger and something else—something more vulnerable. "I invited her because I was trying to make you jealous, you idiot," he admitted, his voice low and filled with bitterness. "But you didn’t even fucking react. I left her at the table, bored out of my skull, just to come here and drown my sorrows. And what do I find? You, dancing with another man, looking like you’re having the time of your life."

The intensity of his words made your head spin. "You wanted to make me jealous?" you asked, incredulous.

He leaned closer, his voice a harsh whisper. "Yes, damn it. I wanted to see if you felt anything for me. But here you are, letting some random guy put his hands all over you." His eyes flashed with jealousy. "I won’t have it. Not when I…"

You frowned, confusion and hurt warring within you. "Not when you what, Ramsay? What do you care who I dance with?"

His grip tightened, and his eyes bored into yours. "Because I care about you, you idiot. I’ve cared for a long time. Seeing you with someone else makes me want to rip my hair out."

Your heart pounded in your chest as his words sank in. "You… care about me?" you repeated, struggling to process his confession.

"Yes," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "And seeing you like this, with another man’s hands on you, makes me lose my fucking mind."

You stared at him, the world spinning around you. The club’s loud music and flashing lights seemed to fade into the background as you focused on Ramsay’s intense gaze. "I didn’t know," you whispered, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I thought you didn’t see me that way."

His grip softened, and he cupped your face in his hands. "How could I not see you that way? You’re everything to me," he said, his voice tender now. "I’ve just been too much of a coward to tell you."

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you leaned into his touch. "Gordon, I…"

Before you could finish, he pulled you into a fierce kiss, his lips capturing yours with a desperate need. The kiss was rough and possessive, filled with all the emotions he had been holding back. You responded in kind, pouring all your pent-up feelings into the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Let’s get out of here," he said, his voice husky. "I don’t want to share you with anyone else tonight."

You nodded, feeling a sense of clarity and relief. "Okay," you whispered. "Let’s go."

As he led you out of the club, you felt a rush of anticipation. This was the beginning of something new, something real. And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[celestie0]

gordon ramsay x reader where he slaps the raw chicken in demonstration of how he will be slapping your ass later tonight

[fairiesthrum]

need sukuna to be gordon ramsay and i’m the poor, aspiring chef that he’s berating for the millionth time cause i can’t seem to wrap the meat inside the wellingtons puff pastry right. so, he gives me a hands-on lesson that involves my puffy pussypastry wrapping around his meat over and over ‘till i get it drilled into my head ;)

[dipperscavern]

speaking of assertive cregan and neck stuff, i think if he ever sees you being bratty, a glove is coming off and that paw he calls a hand is going straight to covering your whole neck. the wolf instinct comes over him and he's holding you like a direwolf holding a pup by the scruff. his thumb creeps into your hairline and rubs circles there while his grip gets tighter. the first time he did it was mid-convo in front of other people and it was so humiliating for you. not because it's embarrassing that he's scolding you like this but because this is what he does when you're on your knees crying from wanting to blow him AAHHH i need him 🫦

i had to put down my phone and genuinely run laps around the block after reading this. “the paw he calls a hand” 🫦🫦 i’m naming you gordon ramsay anon because this is DELICIOUS. THIS IS SO YUMMY. ARF ARFA RF (btw i stole a sentence from u i’m sorry it was too good become a writer)

sometimes the glove doesn’t even come off. you just make a snarky comment, or start giving attitude in the middle of something important & he just reaches over, leaning closer to put a gloved hand over the back of your neck. its not even to embarrass you, it’s truly your reset button. it’s just habit for cregan, when a direwolf pup is acting up to hold them by the scruff. and what do you know, you’re the same way.

he doesn’t even break eye contact with the men he’s speaking with, and the men he’s speaking with don’t say anything. they barely bat an eye. someone asks you a question, and you hesitate in your response, lost in his touch. his thumb creeps into your hairline, beginning to rub small circles as his grip tightens to elicit a response front you. you eventually pull yourself together, stammering a response that you hope is sufficient to get their attention focused on something else. they exchange small looks, before clearing their throats and continuing. cregans grip loosens slightly, going back to just comfortably resting.

his hand is big. the weight of it & warmth seeping through his glove makes you dizzy. you get distracted, remembering the last time he had a hand on your neck was when you were on your knees in front of him.

[creepytortellini]

Jeff the Killer: GO TO SLEEP

Gordon Ramsay: Fuck off

Jeff the Killer: Yes chef

[misterfic]

Hey there! Hope you’re doing great. I have a fun one-shot idea for Hell’s Kitchen Season 6. In this story, Gordon’s wife is the third sous chef. She’s 26, and she and Gordon got together when she was 20, marrying at 22. Because of her kind and caring nature, she’s really close to Heather and Scott, who are just as protective of her as Gordon is.

In this scene, Joseph takes things too far by insulting and even threatening her, which sets off a big confrontation. Gordon’s ready to jump in to defend her, and Heather and Scott’s protectiveness escalates the situation. I’d love to see how this plays out with all the usual Hell’s Kitchen intensity! Thanks so much for considering this—I’d really appreciate it!

But if you don’t feel comfortable with it, please let me know!

A/N: As I’ve said before, I don’t watch Hell’s Kitchen🥲, so I hope this pleases you.

Title: Hell Hath No Fury Like Gordon Ramsay's

Summary: A contestant's attitude toward Gordon's wife pushes the fiery chef to his limit, proving that some battles are more personal than professional.

Pairing: Gordon Ramsay × Reader

Tags: Conflict

It was the sixth season of Hell’s Kitchen, and you were living right in the thick of the action. As Gordon Ramsay’s wife and third sous chef, you had your hands full, moving between the red and blue kitchens, helping wherever you were needed. Your soft, nurturing approach balanced the kitchen’s intensity, especially in contrast to Gordon’s fiery persona. Your role was often the one to soothe tempers and diffuse the storm Gordon would sometimes whip up. Despite his bark, you knew your husband well enough to see through it; when it was just the two of you, he was nothing but a gentleman, and his touch was tender, leaving you breathless in ways only Gordon Ramsay knew how.

The heat was on as the dinner service began, and the teams were floundering. Gordon, already wound up, was pacing back and forth, shouting instructions with his usual unfiltered intensity. “Come on! Move it! You call that cooking?” he roared, his blue eyes flashing as he berated a contestant. You saw the tension ripple through the kitchen, and you sensed it was time to step in.

Gordon shot you a look as you approached him, a glint of irritation in his eyes, but you caught his arm, your touch firm but gentle. “Gordon,” you murmured, your voice steady, “they’re trying. Let’s give them a second to catch their breath.” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his blond hair, but softened just slightly under your touch, your quiet presence calming his storm.

“Alright, love,” he muttered, pulling back as he gave you a begrudging nod. “But only because you’re bloody distracting me.” His tone was low, carrying a playful hint, and you felt a blush rise to your cheeks as he let his hand linger on your waist for a moment longer than necessary.

Moving over to Scott in the blue kitchen, you caught him shooting Gordon an amused glance as he leaned in. “Always the one keeping him in line, huh?” Scott teased, smirking as he looked at you with a mixture of respect and admiration. You chuckled, giving Scott a playful nudge. “Someone has to, right?” you replied with a wink.

Heather was equally protective in the red kitchen, always hovering close to you, watching the contestants carefully, especially when they’d make snide remarks about your role in the kitchen. “Don’t let them bother you,” she’d whisper, shooting you a reassuring smile. “You’re the only one who can handle him,” she said with a chuckle. And as she said it, she wasn’t wrong.

That night, the pressure seemed relentless. With tempers flaring and mistakes piling up, Gordon’s patience finally snapped. “Are you lot trying to kill me?” he barked, his face flushed as he slammed his hand on the counter, startling everyone in earshot. You saw him glance toward you briefly, a flicker of something softer passing over his face as he took in your calm expression. It was as if your very presence grounded him, tempering his frustration.

As the dinner service heated up, Gordon’s attention shifted to the red kitchen, leaving you in charge of rallying the blue team. It was a challenge, given the tension hanging in the air, but you had managed to build a quiet respect with the contestants over the season. Most, at least. Joseph, however, had always been prickly, and tonight he seemed particularly agitated.

As you moved past him, helping another contestant with his station, Joseph huffed loudly, his voice dripping with irritation. “Could you quit hovering? You’re getting in the way,” he snapped, his words biting. You kept your composure, brushing off his tone with a calm expression. After all, this wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with outbursts on Hell’s Kitchen.

You turned to face him, maintaining your professionalism. “I’m here to help you succeed, Joseph,” you replied steadily, “so let’s focus on getting these dishes out.”

But he wasn’t having it. “Helping? You’re messing things up. If we lose tonight, it’ll be on your head,” he sneered, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. The insult stung, but you took a breath, refusing to let him see your frustration. The other chefs shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension escalating.

Before you could respond, Scott stepped in, his expression cold as he positioned himself between you and Joseph. “Back off, Joseph,” Scott growled, his protective nature flaring up. “If you think this is her fault, then maybe you need to take a good look at yourself. She’s here to help, and she’s doing more for this team than you have all night.”

Joseph’s face reddened with anger. “Oh, I get it now,” he spat, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re all just here to back her up, aren’t you? Doesn’t matter if she screws us over; you’re ready to throw yourselves at her defense. Pathetic.” His words were sharp, meant to rile you up, but you felt your confidence waver as his insults grew nastier.

Heather, who had been watching from across the kitchen, noticed the confrontation building and immediately darted over to Gordon, who was busy berating the red team. Tugging his sleeve, she leaned close and muttered something in his ear. His face darkened instantly.

Gordon’s blue eyes flashed as he dropped what he was doing and marched straight toward the blue kitchen, his presence like a thunderstorm. “Joseph!” he barked, his voice echoing through the kitchen. “What the bloody hell is going on over here?”

Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but Gordon cut him off, his face a mask of fury. “You think it’s alright to talk to her like that? You’re gonna run your mouth at my wife?” His voice was like steel, every word laced with barely contained anger. “You’ve got some balls, haven’t you?”

Joseph tried to stammer a response, but Gordon stepped in closer, towering over him. “You’re gonna insult the one bloody person in this kitchen who’s keeping you from falling apart?” he growled, his tone dangerously low. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but she’s here because she’s good at what she does—better than you’ll ever be if you keep running that big mouth of yours.”

As Joseph shrank back under Gordon’s withering stare, Gordon’s expression softened only slightly as he turned to you. “Are you alright, love?” he murmured, his voice dropping, almost gentle. His hand found your shoulder, his touch grounding you, reminding you of the care he kept so carefully concealed when others were around.

You managed a nod, your heart racing from the intensity of the moment. “Yes, I’m fine,” you whispered, but your voice shook slightly, betraying your nerves. Gordon’s face hardened again as he turned back to Joseph.

“Listen here,” Gordon hissed, his voice a low growl that only Joseph could hear. “You don’t speak to her like that. Ever. You’re lucky she has the patience to put up with a hot-headed twit like you. If it were up to me, you’d be out of here already.”

As Gordon straightened, his gaze still icy, he looked back at the rest of the blue team. “Now, all of you,” he commanded, his voice booming, “get your arses in gear and start working together. You don’t like it? There’s the bloody door.”

As Gordon stormed back to the red kitchen, the tension in the air was thick, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Scott and Heather both gave you reassuring nods, their silent support meaning more than words in that moment.

As the night wore on and the kitchen’s frantic energy settled, Gordon pulled you aside for a moment of privacy. “You don’t let anyone talk down to you, yeah?” he murmured, his blue eyes warm as they met yours. “You’re far too damn good for that.”

You managed a smile, your pulse quickening at his protective words. “Thank you, Gordon,” you whispered, your voice soft. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his touch sending a familiar thrill through you.

“Any time, love,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that familiar, intimate tone that only you knew. “And next time anyone tries it, you just send them to me. I’ll remind them who they’re dealing with.” He brushed a kiss against your forehead, his affection clear even amid the chaos around you.

As the dinner service finally drew to a close, you knew that no matter how intense things became, you’d always have Gordon by your side, ready to defend you with that fierce loyalty and passion that left you breathless every single time.

[drunk-cryptic-witch]

Gordon Ramsey: Look I don’t yell at kids

Gordon Ramsey: *holding up bakugo like a cat* This little fucker is an exception

[roguelov]

I get the feeling that hob looooves to cook, especially for the people that he loves. so there would be so many dinner and cooking dates at his or y/ns place or in the dreaming

also if y/n struggles with eating? he would be sooo caring and would always make sure they eat enough throughout the day, making little lunches for them to take with them to work🥰

I wholeheartedly agree with you! Hob loves to cook and he can cook really well!

Hob with all his years being alive has picked up on quite a few skills and passions and cooking is one of them. He definitely goes through phases of trying new techniques and flavor combinations which you will taste test and they always manage to be so good

Sometimes you’ll come into the kitchen and maybe just watch him cook because he looks so at ease and maybe sometimes you’ll just hug him from behind never letting him go. If you do hug him from behind he doesn’t care, he loves it, and will turn his head to kiss your cheek or top of your head then ask how you’re day has been and that dinner will be done shortly (you may even do an odd shuffle dance if you don’t want to let go but Hob just laughs and lets it happen)

If you are a picky eater or certain textures don’t sit right with you he will accommodate you and still manage to make the best meals imaginable. If you want to try something new he’ll make it but he’ll never force it on you. Dietary restrictions? Not a problem for him he takes it all in strides and he loves doing this for you, to take a little weight off your shoulders that you now don’t have to worry about

If you are struggling in anyway, he’s making small snacks to get something in your belly and praising you for eating and will comfort you and love you tirelessly

Cooking for Hob is showing his love, and he loves you so dearly

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Lady x Reader

I swear I thought I uploaded this but apparently not. Highly cursed so enjoy.

Lady

You and Lady were at devil may cry, waiting for Dante so he could give Lady what he owed her. In case he went down fighting you had a sealed jar of olives and a water gun filled with holy water. You had been standing there for 20 minutes and said "I'll go see what's taking him so long." and you then climbed up the stair case. You knocked down the door with your boot and held the water gun in the air only to drop it and stare in confusion and horror. To your disgust, Dante was making out with his body pillow of Guy Fieri and was moaning something about going to flavor town. Your eyes made contact and then you ran back downstairs to where Lady was. Before she could ask what happened you shouted "INTERVENTION. NOW!".

You weren't sure on how to go about this so Lady called Vergil and informed him of the situation. Suddenly there was a flash of light as something made a cut in the air and the older twin popped out. "I can't believe I'm doing this..." he grumbled. You all waited until Dante was sleeping and then ambushed his room. You held the water gun and yelled "DON'T MOVE OR I'LL SHOOT!". Dante was about to question what was going on when Vergil sat down next to him. "Brother... Your friends called me and I think it's time we had a talk. You know Guy Fieri is never going to get rid of the restraining order don't you? Why don't you just hand me the pillow."

Dante hugged his body pillow tighter and yelled "YOU TOLD HIM?! YOU TRAITORS!". Vergil put a hand on his brothers shoulder. "It's alright Dante, we're not here to laugh at you. I understand. I used to have a crush on Gordon Ramsay.". Dante laughed at his brother and said "man you have shit taste in husbandos huh? Well then, if you want it, then you'll have to take it!" Vergil unsheathed Yamato and said "That's fine by me." and then quickly stabbed his brother in the chest.Lady picked them up by the back of their coats  and said "Fighting is for outside, you know the rules! Now you're both being put in the time out room!" She dragged them to the bathroom and set each twin in a corner. "Now think about what you've done" she said as she locked the door. Vergil then started to claw at it pleading for her to let him out because Dantes toilet was clogged and he refuses to be in a room with "two pieces of putrid waste". Dante then sniffed at his armpit and yelled "HEY! I HAD A BATH LAST WEEK, I'M NOT THAT DIRTY!"

They both began to squabble and the two of you decided you would just rob Dante and take some money out of the cash register. You opened it up only to be greeted by spiderwebs. Lady then dragged you outside and got a can of gasoline. She lit a match and soon all of devil may cry was burning. You looked at Lady and said "Good thing Dante has house insurance."

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Gordon Ramsay x Reader Slow Burn Dom/Sub FF

Yes, I'm serious. It has about a million reads on assorted fanfiction websites, so trust me and them when I say you'll love it

Click for the previous chapter

Monday, June 24th, 2013

The other contestants and I gather at the entrance to the airport, waiting inside for further instructions–Monday airport traffic is no joke. Cars line up outside and throngs of people weave their way through each other, toting suitcases. That's not to say the airport lobby of Los Angeles is not stunning; the tall glass windows allow for the beautiful day's sunlight to shine through.

I take this time to examine my competition. There are fifteen other chefs aside from myself that are going to be competing against each other this season–eight men and eight women. Most of them are sitting in the airport lobby chairs, idly chatting to one another. I stand to the side of the chairs, leaning on the handle of my rolling suitcase. Thinking back to past seasons, I wonder which chefs were put here to stir up drama. My wondering is cut short with an uncanny interruption.

A woman with bleached blonde hair, dressed in a low-cut floral top and a short white skirt gathers everyone's attention. Or at least, the attention of the people who weren't already staring at her nearly exposed breasts.

"Oh my GOD can you guys believe it!" She bounces in place, her boobs jiggling, "I'm like, actually here. Of all the applicants I got picked! I can't wait to see which of you makes it to the final five with me."

She pauses, then grins wickedly like the Cheshire cat.

"Should be real easy, my competition doesn't look very... fierce." Her eyes quickly flit about the contestants, stopping on me for what seems to be a second longer than the others.

One of the few to not be at a loss for words is a middle-aged, stout, and bald man who scoffs at her.

"This is Hell's Kitchen, not Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Unless you keep your cooking skill in those tits then I doubt you'll make it to the final five with that self-absorbed attitude. This is a team game."

His voice is commanding, and surprisingly the blonde looks sheepish at being talked down to. By the time that a tall man in a suit approaches us, she hasn't managed to come up with a snarky retort.

"Hell's Kitchen contestants?" He questions the group. After seeing our collective nods he continues. "Please follow me." He turns and walks towards the sliding glass doors, exiting the airport.

Our bustling group happily follow him to a sleek black limousine with the initials "HK" branded on the side parked outside the loading gate. We all look giddily at each other. Excitement buzzes through my body as I lock eyes with the girl next to me, her brown curls bouncing in place as she jitters. We both give a shy grin, recognizing the other's excitement. As we approach the limo, the driver opens the door and lets us inside.

The limo is plush and cozy and there is an icebox with a bottle of champagne situated in the middle. The driver introduces himself as Paul and passes out champagne glasses to all of us before he takes his seat at the front and begins the drive to Hell's Kitchen. A few eyes lock onto the champagne bottle, but no one seems to have the confidence to crack it open.

The girl who had stood next to me earlier slides in next to me with a breathless, "Hey!"

"Hi!" I grin. "I'm (Y/N), and you?"

"Taylor." She returns the smile. She has a string of piercings up her ears, some hoops and some studs. Her hazel eyes shine with joy, the browns nearly matching her light tan skin tone.

"Are you as nervous as me?" I ask, my heartbeat in my ears as we pull up to a red light.

"Totally. This doesn't feel real, I've never been in a competition, much less on TV. I know my bro won't let me live it down if I don't do my best, so I'm trying to ignore my jitters. Can't let nerves interfere with my work." She lets out a puff of air and glances around the limo.

One of the younger men; green-eyed, thin, with messy ruffled brown hair, takes hold of the champagne bottle. "We can't let this go to waste, guys!" He says, opening it swiftly and pouring glasses for everyone with finesse. His winning smile is contagious as he confidently leads us all in a discussion of where we'd come from to get here, and cracks a few jokes. Soon enough all of us are smiling and laughing.

After about thirty minutes of driving the lights of the tinted window limo go out, leaving us in partial darkness. The chatter dies down and everyone looks around confused. A small TV flips open above the window between the driver and us contestants. On that TV is none other than Chef Ramsay, wearing his striking white head chef jacket with his arms crossed over his chest in his signature pose.

"Good afternoon, Hell's Kitchen contestants! I hope you all are enjoying yourselves on your trip to Hell, because things are about to get a lot less luxurious. As soon as you arrive, I expect you to hop in the kitchen and begin work on THE signature dish of yours that you are," he adamantly shakes his fist, "MOST proud of." The passion in his eyes burns in a way that can be felt through the screen. All of us are silent, at rapt attention. I feel my heart flutter at how fervently he encourages us. If he's anything like this in person, it'll be easy to be motivated by his words alone.

"You have forty-five minutes from the moment you arrive to complete your signature dish. The red and blue team will be competing, so be sure your dish impresses if you want your team to win. I will meet you all as soon as you've finished. Good luck, contestants." He turns his back to us as the screen folds up and the lights turn back on.

We are silent for a few seconds when the woman sitting next to the screen says, "Gee, he sure is intimidating."

She is so small that–when squished into a stretch limo with fifteen other people–she may as well get lost in the cushions. Her curly red hair frames her pale white face, and she has freckles across her nose that stand out when her skin drains of color, as it is now.

The man to her left, somewhat built, brown-eyed and black-haired with a buzz cut wraps his muscled arm around her shoulder, rapidly bringing color to her cheeks.

"Chin up Red!" He exclaims. "Ya wanna be brave when you talk to Ramsay. Even if you're scared, don't show 'em that ya are."

She nods delicately, curling her shoulders in to avoid touching his arm as much as possible. He doesn't seem to notice and leaves it around her for the duration of the ride.

[hisbuni]

for my gordon ramsay lovers, mwah. know some of my moots love him and i have to support my friends <3

[m00ns0ng]

i’m gonna need y’all to read this reaalll slowly

fanfic writers do not need to to cater to you or your tastes

if YOU want to see a certain type of fanfic more, YOU should write it instead of complaining

fanfic writers do NOT need to cater to you or your tastes

if YOU🫵🏾 see shit in fanfic you don’t want to, then don’t read it. not every fanfic is going to match your taste.

stop acting like it’s the end of the world just because certain fanfic fads are popular. it’s not that deep.

FANFIC WRITERS DO NOT NEED TO CATER TO YOU OR YOUR TASTES

you want to see more of something? write it and then post it. maybe you’ll inspire others and see more fics of what you want.

[a-cryptid-called-magetha]

oh. my. stars.

THE TALENT????? this is genuinely one of the most fantastic, moving, emotional fics i have ever read!!!! op, you are such a marvelous writer!!! i hope this gets all the notes and recognition! i. CRIEDDDDD. this genuinely depicts and invokes such raw emotion, and i loved every second of it!!!! the delusions were real for our favorite spectacled clone!!! this is poetry and torture at the same time. THE WAY I BELIEVED SHE WASNT COMING BACK AND IT WOULD END WITH TECH’S DEATH BUT BOOM. I WAS SO RELIEVED WHEN SARAD SHOWED UP.

I loved all of the repetition with the “it wasn’t fair”s and “it was the logical thing to do”s!!

had to put my fave lines under the cut bc these shook me to my CORE.

He loved you. And now he was never going to see you again.

Tech had never liked anger. It was messy, disorganized, and dangerous. It had been a long time since he had last felt the full force of his anger, but now it was back, and it was worse than before. Because, unlike before, his anger was mixed with grief.

The memory ended there, and Tech blinked, realizing that his vision was blurry. A single tear had escaped his control, and he reached up and wiped it away with the back of his hand. He missed you.

THE ENTIRE RECORDING BIT DESTROYED ME.

“I'm safe, and I'm alive. I'll find you again. No matter what happens, I love you. Sarad.”

“But…why?” “Because I love you.” He'd been speechless. "Oh," he'd said. You'd laughed, and he had been able to do nothing but stand there and stare at you. "I'm sorry," you had said. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." "No, no," he had managed. "It's...'m fine. Just...you..." "Love you?" "Yes." "I do." "Oh." -> WATCH HOW HARD I CAN CRY!

“I find you to be odd in a pleasant way,” he had explained. “You’re…different. In a good way.”

That was where his memory ended. But the words came back to him, and he found himself repeating them. "I love you," he whispered.

And, when his tears were spent, he would close the file, and he would put his emotions aside, and he would move on. He would have to. Because that was the logical thing to do.

Your name came out as a strangled cry, and he stumbled towards you, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear his brothers calling out behind him, their voices distant and muted. He barely registered their words, or their presence, or anything other than the sight of you in front of him. You were real.

“You changed your hair,” -> THIS ONE GETS ME EVERYTIME ISTG…

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I should have said it. Every day."

Infinite Possibilities of the Universe

Pairing: Tech x fem!Reader / Tech x Jedi!Reader

Words: 9,466

Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, grief/death/mourning, brief description of anxiety attack/autistic meltdown, reader is referred to as Sarad

Summary: You fell on Kaller, and Tech is the only one who can't let you go. But he knows what the others don't: you're alive, and you're coming back to him. All he has to do is be patient.

A/N: This is sad right up until the end I'm sorry. Thank you @baddest-batchers for the prompt!

Dantooine’s sun shone down on the fields, glinting off of the armor and helmets of the Batch as they relaxed in the afternoon rays. Wrecker and Omega had run off a few hours ago to go find some animal or another, so it was just the boys and a few crates of spare parts that needed to be sorted and put away.

They were in no hurry, and so Hunter and Echo took up a spot by one of the few Blba trees around for miles and started going through the boxes, pulling out pieces that they could repair and reuse, setting aside what needed to be scrapped. It was mindless work, and so it wasn't long before they started up a game of saigok to pass the time.

Tech, as always, was holed up inside the Marauder. The rest of the squad could hear him tinkering around in there, and had learned to tune out the quiet sounds of clinking and clicking from inside.

This time, though, Echo heard the quiet murmur of his voice, and glanced over at Hunter.

The Sergeant was leaning back against the tree, arms folded and legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed as he basked in the sunlight. He looked perfectly at peace, but Echo knew that he was very much aware of everything that was going on around him.

And yet he hadn’t said anything.

Echo frowned and turned to look over his shoulder, but all he could see was the open ramp of the Marauder, the top of which was hidden by a row of tall, green plants.

He turned back to his game with Hunter, trying to concentrate on the board and the pieces, but he couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.

It didn't take him long to lose his second piece. Hunter, ever the tactician, didn't comment on it, and so the two played on, both lost in their own thoughts until Echo couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

"Do you think Tech's alright?"

Hunter opened his eyes, looking at Echo. His expression didn't change, but he sat up straighter. “I'm sure he's fine."

Echo wasn't convinced. "He's been up there for a while. I don't think I've ever seen him this quiet."

Hunter shrugged. "He's probably tinkering with his new project, the one he keeps in his bunk."

"But—“

"I can hear him talking," Hunter interrupted, closing his eyes again. "He's just not talking to us. You know he does that sometimes."

“That's not the point." Echo looked back over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of whatever Tech was doing. "Something doesn't feel right."

Hunter was quiet for a moment, and then let out a sigh. “He’s talking to her.”

"Who? Omega?"

"No."

Echo thought back over the past months. He'd overheard Tech muttering to himself several times, but it was never about a her, as far as he could tell. Then it hit him.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"But she's—“

"I know," Hunter said. He sighed again and shifted, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back against the trunk. “But that's how Tech copes. He talks to her. She's not gone, not for him."

Echo wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, and so he didn't. Instead, he got to his feet and headed over to the Marauder.

Inside the cockpit, he could see the back of Tech's head as he sat in the pilot's seat. The door was open, and so Echo didn't feel the need to announce his presence. He walked down the hall, listening closely.

"—and the power converters in the shield generators have been giving me trouble lately. I'll need to do a more thorough investigation soon."

Echo ducked next to the wall of the cockpit, listening. Tech was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was a little softer.

"You would love this planet, Sarad. There are hundreds of new species of creatures and flora to document. It's very beautiful here. You would enjoy the sunshine."

Echo felt a sharp pain in his chest. It wasn't just his mechanical parts, though those often ached with phantom pains, especially when it rained. This pain was different, and it made him pause. Your loss had hit them all hard, and even now, months later, he could feel the lingering effects.

Tech had taken it the hardest. Your relationship hadn't been a secret, and he'd spent nearly every waking hour with you when he could. And then...

Don't, he told himself, pushing the memories away. Just don't.

But he couldn't stop himself from looking up, his gaze landing on the little shelf that hung above Tech's bunk. On it among the scattered parts and tools sat a little model ship, a small clay flower, and a holo-pic.

It was a photo of the six of them, back on Coruscant, when things had been simpler. You were sitting on a crate, legs crossed, hands on your knees, a grin on your face. The others were gathered around you, and you couldn't tell by their smiles how much you had begged and pleaded with them to sit still for five minutes.

"What's the point of taking a holo-pic if we aren't going to smile?"

"A holo-pic isn't worth the hassle."

"Come on, it'll be fun! Tech, come here. I want you to be in it, too."

"But I'm busy."

"Please? For me?"

"...Very well."

Tech wasn't even looking at the camera, he was too busy watching you.

You had noticed, and you had reached over and gently nudged his arm, and the holo-pic captured the moment perfectly.

After the click of the camera you had jumped to your feet, excitedly showing off your own copy. Tech had tried to act indifferent, but Echo had noticed him looking at it often, and more than once had caught him smiling softly as he did so.

It had been Omega who suggested that the photo be added to the little shelf, despite never knowing you. And after a little persuasion from the rest of the crew, Tech had finally relented.

And now the picture was tucked into a frame next to the little clay flower you had made, the ship hanging above it. They were the only two things on the shelf that didn't belong to Tech, and they were the two things that Echo had never seen him without.

Echo hadn't thought much about it, but the memory was suddenly crystal clear. Tech, his arm around your waist, a soft smile on his face. The look in his gaze was unmistakable.

He loved you.

And now he was never going to see you again.

Echo looked away, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat. He didn't want to intrude any more than he already was, and so he retreated back down the ramp.

When he got back to the tree, Hunter had abandoned their game and was now sitting cross legged, elbows resting on his knees. He watched Echo approach and raised his eyebrows.

"Well?"

Echo sighed and sat down. "You were right."

"What did he say?"

Echo looked down, picking up a loose twig and turning it over in his hands. "Just...talking to her. About what they would do, if she was here."

Hunter didn't reply, and so Echo continued, "She'd like it here. It's peaceful. No wars."

He could feel Hunter's eyes on him, but kept his own eyes on the twig, running his thumb over the smooth bark.

"He's still waiting for her."

"I know."

Echo sighed. He hated not knowing what to do, especially when it came to Tech. "I wish he would talk to us about it. She's been gone for nearly four months. You'd think he would have let her go by now."

Hunter shook his head. "You and I both know that he's not going to let her go. Not as long as there's a chance she's still out there."

"But there isn't a chance," Echo pointed out, "He saw her fall, didn't he?"

"That's not what he believes."

"Why not?"

"You know why not," Hunter replied. "She was the only person who saw the galaxy the same way he did. They understood each other, and not in the way that we do."

"So what, we just let him go on thinking that she might still be out there? It's not good for him, you have to know that."

Hunter didn't respond right away.

"Tech knows what he's doing," he said finally. "If he wants our help, he'll ask for it. For now, we have to respect his boundaries. And that means no talking about her, not even in passing. If Tech wants to think that she's still out there, then that's what we have to let him believe. That's how he copes."

Echo wasn't thrilled, but he didn't want to go against Hunter's wishes, and so he stayed silent. He turned his attention back to the box of spare parts, and for a while the two of them worked in silence. But every once in a while, Echo would glance up at the Marauder and the tiny figure that was hunched over the navicomputer.

He knew that Hunter was right. There wasn't much that he could do to help. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Tech stared at the datapad in his hand, but his mind wasn't really on the screen. Instead, his thoughts were turned towards the planet outside and the sun-soaked fields that he had left his brothers in. He knew that it was a beautiful day, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and go out there.

Not while Sarad wasn't with him.

His fingers tightened around the edges of the datapad, knuckles turning white. A sudden surge of anger coursed through him, and he wanted nothing more than to hurl the datapad across the cockpit, but he managed to reign it in and set the device down on the console, his grip still tight.

He didn't know why it bothered him so much, having to spend this day alone. The anniversary of your first meeting had never seemed like a big deal to him before. Of course, that was because you had been there. Now, though, with nothing but empty space between him and the rest of the galaxy, he had never felt so isolated.

He had been trying to distract himself, but none of his usual tinkering projects could hold his attention. Nothing seemed to be able to block out the emptiness, and his anger.

Tech had never liked anger. It was messy, unorganized, and dangerous. It had been a long time since he had last felt the full force of his anger, but now it was back, and it was worse than before.

Because, unlike before, his anger was mixed with grief.

You had talked about it once, when you were lying in his bunk, curled up against each other, your head tucked against his neck, fingers tracing absent patterns over his chest.

"What would you do, if something happened to me?"

He had frowned, not understanding why you would ask him such a thing. "Nothing will happen to you."

"Just pretend," you'd insisted. "If I were gone, what would you do?"

He had tried to imagine it, and the thought had sent a chill down his spine. He had never felt that way about someone before, and the thought of losing you was too terrible to even consider.

"I'd find you," he'd said.

"But what if you couldn't?"

"That is not possible. There is no place that you could go that I would not follow. Even if we were separated by the entire galaxy, I would still find a way."

"Tech, come on. Pretend with me. If you couldn't find me, and you thought I was gone, what would you do?"

He had considered your words for a moment, then answered, "I would keep looking. You wouldn't leave me. Not without telling me first."

You had lifted your head, a small, sad smile on your lips. "How do you know that?"

"I just do."

The look in your eyes was indecipherable. "You can't know that. There are no guarantees, Tech. If I'm gone, then I'm gone. I'm part of the living Force, and eventually I'll return. You can't stay stuck on me. You'll have to move on, one way or another."

He hadn't liked that idea. He couldn't even fathom the possibility of her being gone.

"No."

"Tech..."

"No," he'd said, more firmly this time. "You wouldn't leave. You wouldn't. And I will always find you."

Your eyes were shining, and he didn't understand.

"Why are you talking about this?" he'd asked. "There's no reason for you to leave. You'll stay with us."

"You don't know that. There's a war, Tech, anything could happen."

"No."

"But—"

"We are not talking about this anymore." He'd said, cutting you off. He couldn't bear to think about it, and he was beginning to feel uneasy. You were the first person who had ever cared about him, and the idea of losing you was unfathomable.

"But—"

"Stop," he'd said, more harshly than he'd meant to.

You'd stopped, staring at him. Then, slowly, your head had lowered, and you'd pressed your face against his neck again.

"I'm sorry," you'd said quietly.

"It's alright," he'd replied, feeling bad about the way he had snapped at you. He hadn't meant to get angry, but the thought of losing you was terrifying. He needed you.

You'd pulled yourself closer, arms wrapping around him, holding onto him as tightly as you could. He'd hugged you back, and the two of you had laid there together, and eventually, you had fallen asleep. 

Tech lied awake that night, staring at the ceiling, trying to imagine what it would be like if you were gone.

He hadn't been able to do it.

And yet, here he was, barely keeping a tight grip on his emotions, the ache in his chest threatening to consume him.

It wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

Tech had always tried to accept things as they were. It was easier, and he had never found it worth the effort to question his reality. Sarad, though, had been different.

Sarad had never accepted the world as it was. You had never allowed yourself to settle for things that were. And so you had changed everything, just by being there. But now you were gone. And so the galaxy, and his life, had returned to its previous state.

Tech's eyes burned, but he was able to keep the tears at bay. It was the same way that he had done every day since you fall.

It isn't fair, he thought again. It isn't fair.

If only you were here, Sarad. You could fix this. You could fix anything.

His thoughts drifted back to his brothers, who were undoubtedly wondering what was wrong with him. He knew that they had questions, but they would never ask him. They had an unspoken agreement to never talk about you, and while he appreciated their respect, he couldn't help but wish that they would break it, just this once.

Then maybe he wouldn't have to sit here alone, the cockpit cold and dark around him, as he tried to keep his anger under control.

Sarad would have known what to do.

A memory surfaced, and for the first time in months, he let it come.

It had been early in the morning, and they had been on an unknown planet, waiting for a storm to pass before they could leave. They had all been asleep, except for Sarad, who had decided to go outside to get some air. You had asked him if he wanted to come with you, and so the two of you had stepped outside into the cool darkness.

The storm clouds had blocked out the stars and the moonlight, and it was pitch black outside. You had held onto his arm, and he had kept a hand on the blaster at his hip, as neither of them could see more than a few feet in front of them. And when you were far enough away from camp, you stopped.

"Isn't it amazing?"

Tech had looked at you. "What is?"

"The universe," you said, staring up at the sky. "All the planets, and the stars, and the endless possibilities."

"It's certainly a vast place," Tech had replied, "but what exactly makes it amazing?"

"The fact that it exists."

"Many things exist. Most people wouldn't find that particularly exciting."

"True," you had said. "But it's different when it comes to the universe."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"I suppose I could compare it to an individual," you had mused, "If you had lived your whole life knowing only the inside of one small house, and then suddenly you found out that there was a whole galaxy beyond it, wouldn't you be excited to see the stars?"

"I would be curious, yes."

"I feel the same way, but with the universe. Every time I look up at the stars, I know that there are millions of other planets, with thousands of other species. The sheer chance of a person like me existing in a place like this is astounding. So many things have had to go just right, and even then, the probability of my being here, now, is almost infinitesimal."

"The chances of a life such as ours are incredibly slim," Tech had agreed.

"I think that's what makes it special."

"What do you mean?"

"The universe is infinite," you had explained, "So the chances of my ever meeting someone from another part of the galaxy are infinitesimally small. But because the universe is infinite, that means that there are an infinite number of possibilities. And so there's a possibility that we could meet, that we could work together. The chances are so slim that they're practically nonexistent, but the possibilities are infinite."

"I don't know that I would have ever thought about it that way."

"Well, then, maybe we could explore the infinite possibilities of the universe together," you had suggested with a shrug of your shoulder. "It'll be fun. Just the two of us."

"And what if our infinite possibilities are limited to the confines of a single ship?"

"That would be fine," you had told him, smiling. "As long as we're together, then it doesn't matter where we go."

The memory ended there, and Tech blinked, realizing that his vision was blurry. A single tear had escaped his control, and he reached up and wiped it away with the back of his hand.

He missed you.

There were so many things that he wanted to say, so many words that had never been said. There was so much that you had left unfinished, so many plans and ideas that you had yet to accomplish, and now he feared it was too late.

Tech turned his focus back to his datapad, scrolling through the files. He stopped on one in particular, and for a moment, just looked at it.

Then he hit play.

It was a video, recorded shortly after his brothers had left you alone for the night. He hadn't been sure why he had made it at the time, but looking back now, he could see the reason. He had wanted to remember you.

The video began to play, and his breath caught in his throat as he watched you, bathed in the pale light of the computer, eyes shining as you spoke. You looked at the camera, and for a moment, Tech felt as though you were looking straight at him.

He couldn't hear the words, not anymore. But he knew them by heart, and so his mouth moved silently as he watched the recording, committing every moment, every gesture, every expression to memory.

“What are you doing?” Sarad asked, looking at the camera.

Tech had shifted, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"Just...recording."

"Recording what?"

"This," he had answered, gesturing around him. It hadn’t been a very good answer, and you had laughed.

"Why?"

"To...to document our trip."

"That sounds very scientific."

"It is."

"Well, I don't really understand," you had replied, "But I suppose you could always explain it to me later."

"I'll have to. I'm sure you'll have plenty of questions."

"Then you'll have to tell me everything," you had said. "And don't leave anything out. I want to know every detail."

"That will take quite a while."

"Then we'll just have to spend a lot of time together."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Perhaps," you had replied. Then, smiling, "Yes, I suppose it is. I would like to spend a lot of time with you, Tech."

"Then perhaps I will tell you," he had said.

You had smiled, and he had smiled back.

"I look forward to it."

When the video ended, he started it again, watching the familiar image, memorizing the way your hands moved and the curve of your smile and the brightness of your eyes. He watched it until his eyes burned, and then he watched it once more.

And when the pain became too much, and the anger rose up and threatened to overwhelm him, he played it again, and again, and again.

And eventually, the pain subsided, and the anger was pushed aside, and all he felt was you.

"I look forward to it," the recording said.

"I do, too," Tech murmured.

“You’ll have to tell me everything.”

"Then we'll just have to spend a lot of time together."

He could see the love in your eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t seen it then, hadn’t even considered the possibility. But looking back now, the memory of your love was so clear, and it took his breath away.

"Yes, I suppose it is. I would like to spend a lot of time with you, Tech."

He watched the video once more, and when it was over, he closed the tab and stared at his reflection in the blank screen.

He could still feel the anger, but it had lessened, and was no longer directed at the universe. It was, instead, aimed at himself.

You should have known, he thought, his fingers tightening around the edges of the datapad. You should have seen the signs. You should have said something.

It isn’t a logical thought. He couldn’t have known what would happen on Kaller and everything that followed, and he had had no reason to believe that anything would change.

And yet, his mind was convinced that he had missed something, that he could have prevented you from ever leaving his side.

It isn't logical, but he still feels it.

Slowly, his grip on the datapad eased, and he turned his attention back to his reflection. He saw his eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair was tousled from where he had run his hands through it.

Sarad would have liked that.

You would have teased him for his messy hair, and then you would have smoothed it out and laughed. You would have been the only person he would have let do something like that.

His hands were shaking, and he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax.

It will pass, he told himself. It will pass. I will see her again. It will pass.

He repeated the phrase over and over in his mind, letting the words fill him and block out the anger. He had lost you, but you weren't gone. Not forever. 

There, buried in the scores of data files and programs that made up his datapad, was the last message he received from you. Dated nearly three months ago, it was heavily encrypted, and he’d required a cypher to unlock it.

Inside, there was a simple message:

"I'm safe, and I'm alive. I'll find you again. No matter what happens, I love you. Sarad."

Tech had spent the first month after Kaller trying to decipher the message. It had taken him days, but when he finally figured it out, the words had been like a lifeline. There were no coordinates, and no indication of where you had gone. All Tech had was your promise, and his belief that you would always keep your word. He knew that the message was a risk, but you had known that he would never stop looking, and so you had sent him something to hold on to, and it had been enough.

He had held onto your words since, keeping them close to his heart. He had read the message hundreds of times, and had never gotten tired of it. And whenever he felt lost, or alone, or angry, he would read it once more, and allow the words to guide him back.

They were a promise, and so he would wait.

He would wait, and when you came back to him, he would be ready. He would never let you go. 

Then, as the sun began to set outside, he put the datapad aside and looked up. Outside the window, the stars were beginning to appear. And, he thought, if his infinite possibilities were limited to the confines of a single ship, then he would spend the rest of his life traveling with you.

And so he turned the lights off and sat in the dark, the stars reflecting in his goggles as he gazed out at the galaxy.

And he waited.

Tech waited until the others had fallen asleep before settling into the cockpit. He didn't want any distractions, just as he didn’t want his brothers to worry. They would, though, even without him saying a word. They were good at that.

He didn’t mind, though. He only wished he could tell them the truth. But it wasn’t his secret to share. They wouldn’t believe him anyway, he knew, and so it was better this way.

So, when the lights were out and the engines had quieted, he slipped away from the bunks and down the hall, taking his place at the pilot's seat.

He sat down and leaned back, getting comfortable before he took out his datapad and typed in the code. A single message appeared on the screen, and Tech read it one more time, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

"I'm safe, and I'm alive. I'll find you again. No matter what happens, I love you. Sarad."

Satisfied, he closed the message and lifted his hand to the recording device on his goggles, and started a new file.

"Hello Sarad. Today, we logged a total of 17 hours in hyperspace, which brings our total log to 18,802 hours. The others have grown tired of counting, but I have continued the process. In fact, I believe we will be able to exceed 20,000 hours by the end of the year."

Tech paused, and then took a deep breath.

"There isn't much to report today, and so I have decided to share a few memories. First, I would like to remind you of the time we were stranded on Mygeeto, when we got lost in the mountains and spent three days trying to find our way back to the others."

Tech smiled, remembering the snow and the cold and the laughter. It was the first time the two of them had ever argued, but by the end of it, they were laughing so hard she could barely walk.

"I recall that I had told you several times to wear warmer clothing," he went on, "but you had insisted that the extra layers would hinder your movement. I am pleased to report that you eventually listened, although not until the second day, and the result was that you had to wear half of my gear and could hardly move without assistance."

He smiled at the memory, and then continued, detailing the various mishaps and misadventures of that mission. “You didn't mind, though, and you even thanked me. I have never heard anyone thank me for being right before, but I suppose there's a first time for everything."

He paused, and his voice grew quiet.

"You were the first to admit that you had been wrong, and the first to apologize. That was something else that I hadn't experienced before. Your apology was accepted, of course. I never held the incident against you, and I have never been able to be mad at you for more than a few minutes. That hasn't changed, either."

Tech sighed and adjusted his glasses.

"We're almost to our destination. The others are asleep, and the ship is quiet. I know you would enjoy the peace and quiet. There's no sound quite like the hum of the engines, and the silence of space."

He fell silent, thinking about what he wanted to say next. He took another breath, and his next words were spoken almost reverently.

"I miss you, Sarad. I hope you are well. I know that you will contact me when you are ready, and I am confident that it will be soon. But until then, I will keep the record, and I will share it with you when you return. For now, though, I will wait.

"I love you, Sarad. And I will see you soon."

And, his eyes fixed on the stars outside, he reached up and switched off the recording.

For a while, he just sat there, staring out the window at the stars. They blurred, and he blinked, the tears gathering on his eyelashes. He wiped them away, and then looked down at his hands. They were still shaking, and he curled them into fists, trying to stop the tremors.

Eventually, the shaking stopped, and Tech looked up at the stars again. He didn't know why he was shaking, or why his hands were sweating, or why his throat felt so tight.

Perhaps it is because I am afraid, he thought.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it was true.

He was afraid, because he didn't know when, or even if, you would contact him again. He didn't know if he would see you again. And even if he did, he didn't know what would happen.

So many questions, and so few answers.

He was used to working with facts, but he was finding that this situation was lacking. And that meant that he didn't know what would happen.

It was frightening, the not knowing.

Tech was used to being in control. It was his job, as the technician and navigator of the team. He had to know how to fix things, and when to do it, and where. But he had no control over you, and no control over the galaxy, and no control over the future.

And that scared him.

But then, suddenly, he remembered something you had said to him, long ago, on a different planet and a different day.

You'd asked him about a strange phenomena occurring on the horizon, and he had floundered in his answer. The best he could ascertain, it was some sort of magnetic field, caused by a large mass of rock below the surface. He hadn’t been certain, and it had bothered him.

He had been frustrated, but you had only smiled and placed a hand on his arm.

"That's okay," you'd told him. "It doesn't have to have an explanation. It can just be. If we try to figure out the cause of everything, we won't have time to enjoy it.”

He had tried to argue, but had eventually given in.

"Besides," you'd added, "I'd rather spend time with you, and not on finding the answer.”

Your words had surprised him, and for a moment, he hadn’t been able to respond.

"You...want to spend time with me?"

"Of course I do," you had replied.

"But...why?"

"Because I love you."

He'd been speechless.

"Oh," he'd said.

You'd laughed, and he had been able to do nothing but stand there and stare at you.

"I'm sorry," you had said. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, no," he had managed. "It's...I'm fine. Just...you..."

"Love you?"

"Yes."

"I do."

"Oh."

Tech had had no idea how to respond. The words didn't seem real. But when you had smiled, and reached for his hand, he had finally begun to understand.

"I'm sorry," you had apologized again. "I've wanted to say that for a while, but I wasn't sure how. I thought that you would find it odd."

“You are odd, yes," he had agreed, "but not in the way you think."

"What do you mean?"

"I find you to be odd in a pleasant way," he had explained. "You're...different. In a good way."

"That's very poetic, coming from you."

"I was not being poetic," he had corrected you. "I was simply stating the truth."

Sarad had laughed again. "So what is it, then?"

"You are unique," he had told you. "There is no one else like you. You are an anomaly, and a rare one at that. I am glad to have met you."

You had been quiet for a moment.

"I'm glad, too," you had said.

And then you had kissed him, and he had felt something new and exciting and wonderful.

"I love you," you had murmured.

He had been unable to say the words back, but he had known that he would say them one day. And, after that, every day.

And so he had kissed you, and the two of you had watched the lightshow together, and it had been perfect.

Tech looked up at the stars now, remembering the way the sky had glowed, and the warmth of your hand on his arm.

That was where his memory ended. But the words came back to him, and he found himself repeating them.

"I love you," he whispered.

The words seemed small and insignificant compared to the vastness of space, and the galaxy, and all the planets and stars beyond. But they were real, and they were true, and that was all that mattered.

They were real, and so were you.

And the not knowing was terrifying, but Tech was patient. He would wait, and he would see you again. And the words would mean more then, because he would be able to say them, and you would hear them, and everything would be alright.

Tech believed in the infinite possibilities of the universe, and this was his.

This was his, and so he would wait, and he would remember, and he would know that the words were true, and someday, he would say them to you again.

Every day, Tech waited for a signal.

And every day, there was nothing.

His patience began to wane, and every time the Marauder made a stop, he would search the area for a sign, a clue, anything that would lead him to you. But he never found anything, and he would have to go back to the ship empty-handed.

His recordings to you were becoming short, and less frequent. He couldn't hide the bitterness and disappointment from his voice, and so he recorded fewer messages.

He didn't know why you hadn't contacted him. Maybe it was because you didn't want to.

But no. You loved him.

He didn't want to consider the alternative.

You loved him. You wouldn't have left him.

Would you?

He didn't know, and that scared him.

What if you didn't want to see him? What if you had found someone else?

What if you had realized that you were better off without him?

No.

You loved him. You would never leave him. Not forever.

And yet, he was beginning to wonder.

What if it had been a mistake? What if he had been wrong, and you weren't safe, or alive?

No.

You were alive. You had to be.

And yet, as the days wore on, he found himself doubting.

The distance between them was supposed to keep her safe, but maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe something had happened. Maybe you had changed your mind.

He tried to reassure himself. You were a capable Jedi, and if anyone could handle themselves in the face of danger, it was you.

But the longer you were gone, the harder it was to convince himself that you were still alive.

It didn't help that he hadn't received a single message since that first one. He'd had no word, no hint of your location, or condition, or state of mind.

It was frustrating, and he hated it.

He hated the waiting, and the uncertainty.

And so, as the months went by, and the number of his messages began to dwindle, his doubt grew. Much had changed in his life in the last months. They’d stopped fighting, stopped running, and had moved on to a new place to call home.

They had moved on, and so had he.

Well, most of him.

Some part of him was still waiting, and some part of him was still looking for a sign, for a message, for anything that would let him know that you were alive.

And, as the months went by, he realized that this wasn't going to change.

So he recorded one final message.

"Hello, Sarad. I know that this will be the last recording I make, as I am unsure when, or if, you will ever return. But I want to assure you that I am doing well, and so are my brothers.

"We are settled on a planet called Pabu, and we are all enjoying the peace and quiet. I know that you would enjoy the atmosphere here, as well. The sunsets are particularly beautiful, and I can't help but wonder if you have seen any yourself."

He paused, his throat constricting slightly.

"I miss you," he said quietly. "But I hope that you are happy, wherever you are. I know that it isn't fair of me to ask, and I don't expect an answer, but I do wish you would tell me.

"Tell me if you are safe. Tell me if you are well. Tell me if you have forgotten me. Please, Sarad, just tell me something. Anything."

He was quiet for a moment, and then shook his head.

"But you won't answer, will you? And you won't tell me. And so I will have to move on. It is the logical thing to do, and I am certain that it will benefit me greatly."

Tech fell silent again. His throat felt dry, and his eyes were burning. He didn't know why, but it was getting hard to breathe.

"I want to apologize," he continued, "for being so impatient. And I want to tell you that I don't blame you, and that I still care for you, and that I understand if you have chosen to forget me. But I want to thank you for the time we spent together. It was an experience unlike any other, and I am grateful for it. I will not forget you, Sarad. I hope that you will not forget me."

Tech's hands were trembling, and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

"I hope you are well. And, if we never meet again, I wish you luck. I wish you happiness. And, most of all, I wish you peace."

Tech paused, and then, in a small voice, added:

"I love you."

The last message uploaded to his datapad, and Tech stared down at the file, his heart aching. He could feel the tears beginning to fall, and he wiped them away angrily.

Why was he crying? There was no reason to.

But still, the tears continued, and Tech let them come. He would cry for Sarad, and for the life that he would never have with you. He would cry for the love that he had lost, and the pain that he had endured, and the hope that had slowly died inside him.

And, when his tears were spent, he would close the file, and he would put his emotions aside, and he would move on.

He would have to.

Because that was the logical thing to do.

Tech looked up, and the stars were blurred by the tears. He blinked, and the image cleared.

He would have to move on.

He would have to, but not yet.

His finger hovered over the message, and then he pressed delete.

The file disappeared, and Tech watched the screen for a moment, the only sound the beating of his own heart.

He would have to move on, but not yet.

Not tonight.

Not while the sky was so full of stars. Not while the night was so quiet, and the wind so gentle, and the grass so soft beneath his feet.

Not while the memories were so clear.

Tech leaned back against the cool metal of the ship, his eyes fixed on the stars, and he let his thoughts drift.

He remembered the way you had looked at him, and the way you had touched him, and the way you had loved him. He remembered the way your hair had shone in the starlight, and the way your hands had felt against his skin. He remembered the way your lips had tasted, and the way your arms had held him, and the way your laughter had sounded, so sweet and joyful and free.

And he remembered the way the moonlight had danced across your features, and the way the breeze had ruffled your hair, and the way your smile had made him feel alive.

Tech closed his eyes, and let the memories wash over him.

And for a moment, just one brief, shining moment, the darkness was filled with starlight.

The day started like any other.

Tech woke up at the same time, dressed, and made his way to the kitchen, where Hunter was already making breakfast. He sat down at the table, and began scrolling through the daily news on his datapad, searching for anything of interest.

"Anything interesting happen yesterday?" Hunter asked, placing a plate of food in front of him.

"Not much," Tech replied, taking a bite of his breakfast. "A few minor scuffles, and a large cargo transport crash. It seems that the pilot was intoxicated, and he managed to take out half a block."

"Sounds fun," Hunter replied dryly. "Anything else?"

"Just the usual," Tech replied.

Hunter hummed in acknowledgement, and then asked, "How about last night? Did you stay up late recording more of those messages?"

Tech hesitated. He hadn't told Hunter about the messages, or any of his brothers. He assumed they knew, but they couldn’t know their purpose, and so he had kept the messages private.

"Yes," he finally answered. "I did."

"How many do you have now?"

"A few," Tech answered, his tone noncommittal.

"How many is a few?"

"Several."

"Dozens?"

"Yes." He twisted his mouth. “Hundreds.”

"Have you ever thought about sharing them?"

"No," Tech answered immediately.

"Why not?"

"Because they're private," Tech replied, his voice a little sharper than intended. “Because they're for her, and only her."

Hunter sighed, and Tech could feel the disappointment in the sound. He knew that his brother didn't understand his actions, but Tech didn't need him to. He knew what he was doing.

"You're still waiting, then."

"Yes."

"Tech, it's been over a year," Hunter said quietly. "She's gone."

"She's not gone," Tech replied, his grip on his fork tightening.

"Tech," Hunter repeated, his voice firmer.

His fork clattered against the plate, and Tech pushed his chair back, standing up.

"She's not dead," he snapped, his hand curling into a fist. "She's alive. She has to be."

"Tech, please," Hunter pleaded. "Don't go. I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," Tech shot back. "And I don't need you to tell me what to do. So, if you'll excuse me, I have a message to record."

He rounded the table, brushing past his brother. But as he did, Hunter reached out and caught his arm. Tech glared at him, but Hunter didn't flinch. He just looked at him, and Tech felt his anger falter.

"Vod," Hunter said, his voice low. "Please. She's not coming back. And these recordings are just going to make things worse. "I know it's hard, but you have to let her go."

"I will," Tech replied. "But not today."

"Tech..."

"No," Tech cut him off. He pulled his arm from Hunter's grip and straightened his shoulders. "I won't do it."

"Tech, please," Hunter said. "I just want you to be happy."

"I will," Tech replied, his voice tight. "But not today."

"Alright, Tech." Hunter sighed and stepped back, his hand falling to his side. "Alright. Not today."

"Thank you," he managed. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I will see you at dinner, I assume."

"Of course," Hunter replied, his voice equally quiet.

Tech left the kitchen and made his way back to his room, ignoring the stares of Wrecker and Omega as he passed. He was sure they would ask Hunter about his outburst, and he was sure that Hunter would tell them. He didn't care. Let them talk. They didn't know anything.

He knew that they thought he was delusional. That he was clinging to false hope. That he was denying reality. And maybe they were right. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't just give up. Not when there was a chance, no matter how small, that he would see you again. And until that chance was gone, he would continue to wait.

The door slammed shut behind him, and Tech dropped onto his bed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His leg bounced restlessly at his side, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

It was too loud, too bright, too much.

He needed to calm down. He needed to focus.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He focused on his breathing, on the sound of his heartbeat, on the feeling of the sheets beneath his fingers. You had helped him practice this exercise before, and he could remember the way you had guided him, your voice soft and gentle as you sat next to him on the floor of the cockpit.

Tech inhaled deeply, and then exhaled, slowly, letting his breath out in a long, steady stream. The sound of his breathing filled the room, and he felt himself relax. He continued the exercise, repeating the motions until his heart rate had slowed, and his breathing had evened out

He could still feel the anger, but it was lessening. He could still hear the voices of his brothers, but they were becoming muffled. He could still see the sunlight filtering through the window, but the glare was beginning to fade.

He breathed, and the world around him settled. He felt drained, and he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to see you again. You were supposed to be happy. You were supposed to be safe.

You weren't supposed to be gone.

Tech didn't move for a long time, and when he finally did, it was only to get up and check his datapad. He had no new messages, and so he placed it on the nightstand and turned away.

The day dragged on, and Tech did his best to keep himself occupied. He tinkered with his new projects, cleaned the kitchen, and reorganized his storage of supplies. He didn’t speak at dinner, and no one commented. By the time evening rolled around, he was exhausted, and he found himself back in his room, alone with his thoughts.

He didn't know what to do, and so he sat on his bed, the datapad in his hands, and waited.

The day had been uneventful, and the hours had passed slowly. The sun had set, and the stars had come out, and still, he had no answers.

It was late now, and he was tired. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. Not with the anger and frustration and hurt gnawing at his heart.

He didn't know why he was feeling this way, and it only made him angrier.

He wanted answers, but there were none.

There were no messages, no clues, no sign of you.

Just the stars, and the darkness, and the silence.

Tech sighed, and placed the datapad on the nightstand once more. He resigned himself to another sleepless night, and was about to turn out his light when a hard knock pounded on his door.

Tech jolted upright, his heart leaping in his chest. He hadn't expected anyone, and for a moment, he could only sit there, his mind racing.

The door swung open, and Wrecker came barreling in. The force of the door hitting the wall sent a shower of dust raining down from the ceiling, and Tech held his breath as he saw Sarad's clay flower teeter on its perch.

"Tech!" Wrecker bellowed.

"Wrecker, keep it down," Tech hissed, leaping forward to steady the flower. "The others are asleep."

“You need to come outside. Now."

"What?" Tech turned, the flower in his hands. "Why?"

"Just come," Wrecker replied.

"Fine," Tech sighed, carefully placing the flower back on the shelf. As soon as it was back in its place, Wrecker wrapped a hand around his arm and dragged him from the room.

"Wrecker," Tech protested. "Let me go."

"Sorry, can't do that," Wrecker replied, practically shoving him down the hall.

They were nearly at the front door when Hunter and Omega appeared, their eyes wide and hair messy.

"What's going on?" Tech asked, trying and failing to pry his brother's hand off his arm.

"Echo just landed," Hunter replied. "He says there's something we need to see."

Tech’s brow furrowed in confusion. They hadn’t been expecting Echo to return for several weeks, and he had no idea what could be so urgent.

"What is it?"

"He wouldn't say," Hunter replied. "But he sounded pretty shaken."

Tech felt a twinge of worry. Echo wasn't the type to overreact, and if he was acting strangely, there was probably a good reason.

"Then we should hurry," Tech said, his voice tense.

"Right," Hunter replied. "Come on."

They followed Hunter out the door, and up the path that led to the landing pad. They didn't speak, and Tech was glad. He didn't think he would be able to carry a conversation right now. The village was dark, and the streets were empty. The only sound was the echo of their footsteps as they hurried along.

Finally, they reached the landing pad, and Tech saw the outline of the Remora in the distance, its lights glowing softly.

As they approached, Echo strode down the ramp, his face drawn and pale.

"Hey," Hunter said, his voice worried. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Echo replied, his voice shaky. "I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Echo said, his voice trembling slightly. "But I think you should see this."

He gestured to the ship, and Tech and his brothers stepped forward, following Echo up the ramp.

The inside of the Remora was dimly lit, and Tech squinted, trying to make out the details. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that there was someone sitting in the navigator's chair.

"Echo, what—“

His question died in his throat as the figure turned around, and Tech felt the world tilt beneath his feet.

It was you.

You were here.

You were alive.

Your name came out as a strangled cry, and he stumbled towards you, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear his brothers calling out behind him, their voices distant and muted. He barely registered their words, or their presence, or anything other than the sight of you in front of him.

You were real.

"Sarad," he breathed.

Your lips curled into a smile, and you reached out, your hand resting gently on his cheek. Your touch was warm, and soft, and familiar, and he felt the tears spring to his eyes.

"My love," you whispered, and he closed his eyes, allowing the sound of your voice to wash over him. It was music, and joy, and home, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"Sarad," he murmured, leaning into your touch.

"I'm here," you replied softly. He felt the tears spilling over, and you wiped them away gently.

"You're here," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.

"Tech." You said his name like a prayer, and he opened his eyes, gazing at you. "I'm sorry it took me so long."

He didn't reply. Instead, he closed the distance between you, and his arms were around you before he even realized what he was doing. He pulled you to him, his grip tightening as he felt the solid warmth of your body. You were here. You were real.

"You're here," he breathed, his voice muffled by your shoulder. "You're alive."

"Yes." Your voice shook, and your arms tightened around him. "I'm here. I'm alive."

He held you for a moment longer, and then drew back, his hands cupping your face. He studied your features, taking in the sight of you. You looked tired, but there was no mistaking the warmth and affection in your gaze.

“You changed your hair," he said, running a hand through the short strands. The words came out hoarse and broken, and he swallowed thickly, trying to regain control.

"Yeah," you murmured, your fingers curling around his wrist.

"It suits you," he said. He was having a hard time forming complete sentences. He wanted to say so many things, but the words were stuck in his throat.

You laughed, the sound weak and breathless, but it was a laugh, and Tech found himself smiling.

"Tech, I'm sorry," you said, your voice shaking. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know how to contact you. I couldn't—“

"It's alright," Tech said, his voice quiet. "It's okay. You're here now."

"I missed you," you said, tears welling in your eyes.

"I missed you too," he replied, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “I can't believe you're here. I didn't think—"

He broke off, his voice faltering.

"You're really here," he whispered.

"Yes," you replied, your hand curling around his.

"I was so afraid," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought...I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm sorry," you murmured, pressing a kiss to his palm. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," Tech said, his voice steadying. "I don't care about the past. All that matters is that you're here. You're alive. You're home."

"Home," you repeated, your eyes meeting his. "That sounds nice."

He kissed you then, and he felt your arms wrap around him, pulling him close. He poured every ounce of love and longing and joy into the kiss, and when you finally drew back, both of you were breathless.

"I love you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

"I love you too," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

"I didn't say it enough." Tech's voice was thick with emotion.

"That's okay," you said, a smile spreading across your lips. "I knew."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I should have said it. Every day."

"You can start now," you said, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

"I love you," he breathed. "So much."

"I love you, too," you said, tears welling in your eyes.

Tech drew you into another kiss, and this one was softer, more tender. It was a promise, and a vow, and a declaration of love, and when he pulled back, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Your eyes were bright with tears, and your lips were trembling, but you were alive. You were here, and you were safe. And he loved you so much, it was like a physical ache.

"Don't cry," he murmured, brushing them away.

"I'm sorry," you laughed weakly. "I just can't believe it. I never thought...I'm just so happy. So, so happy."

"I am too," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "So happy. And I have so much to tell you. So much has happened. But...there is time for that later. For now, I just want to be here. With you."

"Yes," you whispered. "I'd like that."

You leaned in, resting your head against his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. And, as you clung to him, and the tears began to fall, Tech couldn’t help but be grateful for the infinite possibilities of the universe, and the chance it had given him to be with you again.

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia @heidnspeak @Kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @baddest-batchers @cw80831 @lovelytech9902

[requiemforthepoets]

overcooked 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: play overcooked they said, it’ll be fun they said.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i just can’t help write about the idea lando playing overcooked, so i did. hope you’ll enjoy this! :)

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNINGS: typos and ferrari strategy meme

Lando’s twitch stream was in full swing, and the chat was buzzing as you settled beside him, controller in hand.

“Alright, babe, let’s see how well we work together,” Lando teased, flashing you that signature grin. You rolled your eyes, already sensing that this game of overcooked might be more than what you bargained for.

You both dove into the first level, the kitchen chaos unfolding on the screen as you both tried to chop, cook, and serve orders with as much coordination as two people shared a life, but perhaps not a kitchen.

“Lando, the onions! You missed the onions!” You shouted, pointing at the screen as the virtual kitchen teetered on the brink of disaster.

“Relax, I’ve got this!” Lando replied, but his character was already running into walls, the pot burning on the stove. You could feel the frustration bubbling up, your competitive nature kicking into high gear.

You took charge of the kitchen, barking orders like a seasoned chef, while Lando scrambled to keep up. “Chop the onions faster, Lando!” You yelled as the kitchen timer ticked down. Lando, flustered, accidentally tossed the onions into the trash instead of the pot.

“Oops,” he said, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Oops?” You shot back, incredulous. “Lando, we’re running a restaurant, not a garbage disposal service!” The twitch chat exploded with laughter, and Lando couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to manage orders, avoid fires, and stop Lando from accidentally throwing perfectly good ingredients into the trash, you both managed to complete the level. The result? Two stars. You stared at the screen, eyes narrowing.

“Unacceptable.” You muttered, “this is unacceptable!” You declared, your voice suddenly dropping into a perfect Gordon Ramsay impression.

“Oh look, baby we got two stars! That’s not bad!” Lando said excitedly as he pointed on the screen.

“Not that bad? Are you kidding me, Lando?” You snapped, fully embodying the spirit of Gordon Ramsay. “We were all over the place! No communcation, no strategy. Honestly, what was that—your best effort? Do you want to serve that to people? Do you?!”

Your sudden intensity caught Lando off guard, but before he could say anything, you were now pacing back and forth in front of him. But before he could say anything, you were off on a tirade, launching into an elaborate explanation of your strategy. You gestured wildly, pointing at the screen, completely absorbed in your monologue.

“Okay, listen. First, you need to stay on your side of the kitchen. I’ll handle the chopping and the prep work—because clearly, you’re incapable of doing both without setting something on fire. We need to streamline the workflow. I’ll chop, you’ll cook, and we both plate. But!” You pointed at him, your expression deadly serious, “no more improvisation. We need to stick to the plan. No more running around like a headless chicken.“

Lando blinked and nodded at you, clearly taken aback by your sudden switch into full-on chef mode. He opened his mouth to respond but then quickly shut it, his eyes darting between you and the camera that was still live streaming every second of your tirade. The chat was exploding with messages, his fans throughly entertained by your unintentional transformation into a culinary dictator, and Lando knows better than to interrupt you when you’re in the zone.

“And another thing,” you continued, pointing to the screen like you were delivering the world’s most important TED talk. “Timing and synchronization is crucial. We need to strategize and work like a well-oiled machine, not a circus act, okay? I handle the chopping, you’ll cook, and we both plate. We’ll divide and conquer!”

The chat exploded, the fans losing it as she continued, hands flying everywhere in wild gestures. Meanwhile, Lando was trying his hardest not to crack up, the corners of his mouth twitching as he watched her go on.

“Babe…baby,” Lando finally managed to interject, struggling to keep a straight face. “You realize we’re live, right?”

You froze, eyes widening as you remembered the twitch stream, the hundred of his fans who had just witnessed your unhinged rant. Slowly, you turned to the camera, a sheepish grin spreading across your face.

“Oh…hi, chat,” you said, your voice suddenly much softer, the intensity draining from your expression. “I’m sorry for that. That was not very demure, very cutesy, and very mindful of me.”

Lando burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “I think you’ve been watching too much Hell’s Kitchen, love. Gordon Ramsay has become your new personality,” he teased, pulling you back down and sat you on his lap. You groaned, burying your face on his neck, as he put an arm around your waist, but even you couldn’t help laugh at yourself.

“Come on, let’s get you that three stars.” Lando said as he chuckled again. You settled down beside him and gave you a kiss on your temple.

The rest of the stream was just as chaotic as when you both started playing the game, filled with rage, frustration, and hilarious uncoordination. Orders were still missed, pots were still burning, and Lando’s character even managed to fall off the kitchen at one point, but you were both too busy laughing to care. By the end of the game, you hadn’t earned a single three-star rating that you had intentionally wanted, but the stream had been a massive hit, and the chat was flooded with memes of your intense strategy session.

As Lando ended the stream, he leaned over and kissed you on the lips, still chuckling. “We may not be the best team in overcooked, but I think we’re the most entertaining,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips as you rested your head ok his shoulder. “Yeah, well, next time we’re getting three stars. I don’t care how long it takes.”

“Deal.” lando replied, wrapping an arm around you as you both relaxed, your own competitive sprit finally at peace—for now. “And can I say, it really turned me on when you started yapping.” His eyes wiggling, suggesting something that you knew fully well as you slapped him playfully on the chest.

“Oh shut up you.” You both laughed.

The kitchen might have been a disaster, but at least your relationship had survived the heat—well, barely.

twitter posts

[jji-lee]

𖦹 .ᐣ.ᐟ₊ ⊹ cryptic crush

are you looking for something deeper than just superficial romance? of course you are! sm university presents : cryptic crush the only on campus app that is 100% anonymous. sign up now and we'll randomly pair you with someone ready to chat! who knows? they might be the one...

maybe you should've kept in mind that anyone looking to find love is allowed on the app even campus fuck boy mark lee

fuckboy!mark x fem!reader

genre : humor, neighbors/enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, slight slow burn, fluff, mark and reader are always at it bro (fighting not fucking LMAO),

warnings : sex jokes, death jokes, mean ass insults and comments, descriptions of sex and dirty acts, reader is a secret freak, lets see for how many chapters i can talk about sex for tbh...

notes : my 2nd smau! I wanna take my time with this one since there's not evil dad backstory lol... i apologize beforehand for the way these guys talk about women. feedback is always appreciated and don't forget to enjoy!

playlist : pony , ginuwine | s&m , rihanna | sex with me , rihanna | die for you , the weekend | the boy is mine , ariana grande | kiss me thru the phone , soulja boy | work out , j.cole | rodeo , lah pat | agora hills , doja cat | moonlight , kali uchis

status : completed !

profiles [1] | profiles [2]

intro

[1] pussy with emotion

[2] juliet o juliet

[3] jelena forever

[4] false alarm

[5] long dee

[6] zoo wee mama

[7] good boy

[8] nanami x reader

[9] GAGGED YOU

[10] constipation

[11] honesty and attention

[12] might like her sorta

[13] 10/10

[14] psych manipulation techniques

[15] burger king

[16] that's barbie bitch

[17] that sounds familiar…

[18] GET MARRIED?!

[19] haiiiiii >0<

[20] rizz

[21] bread and jam

[22] tap dancing

[23] she gotta be a lesbian

[24] brat

[25] the y/n way

[26] YOU SNOOZE YOU LOSE

[27] oh fuck no.

[28] gordon ramsay

[29] friendly bonding

[30] who tf is peter

[31] sweetie pie juliet

[32] skibbiddi toilet rizz

[33] he's molesting us

[34] @ilynanam1

[35] hairy balls

[36] are u my daddy?

[37] crack dry

[38] he's unemployed

[39] certified throat goat

[40] dream blunt rotation

END~

bonus :

[1] private but not secret

[2] ms. daisy

[3] finally on the priv

END~

[forzalando]

anyone can cook

max + cooking date - 3k celebration driver scenario for @foreveralbon !! liyah, i do not know what happened but somehow this turned into just jokes and banter. i am so sorry, i hope you still like it!!!! special bonus scene at the end that is the most unserious thing i have ever written and i apologize profusely for it but i was writing this past bedtime and couldn't get it out of my head this is the end of the 3k celebration blurbs, i am kind of sad but also feel accomplished🥹 i only had to write 6 but i am notorious for not finishing things. patting myself on the back today! pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader word count: 660 words tw: none, unless boxed pasta offends you

“MAX! I said salt the water, not create the sixth named ocean,” you said through giggles. “Here, let me help.”

You cupped your hands under his, leading him to the sink to dump a considerable amount of salt under the rushing water.

“Use about…this much,” you mumbled, tongue poking out and concentrating on dumping the granules into his hands without spilling any onto the floor. Jimmy and Sassy were weaving in between your legs and you didn’t want them tracking salt into every room or, heaven forbid, rolling around in your bed.

After guiding Max to the boiling water, you turned your attention back to your blistering tomatoes and garlic, but not before passing a cheese grater and block of parmesan over to him.

“Cooking is so much work,” he whined. “How do you enjoy this?”

“Max, you’ve literally done two things. You filled a pot with water and salted it, how many things do you have to do simultaneously while in the car?”

“That’s different, it’s fun!”

“Cooking can be fun! Cuisine is an art – it’s therapeutic, calming, and you get to eat something delicious after all your hard work!”

“Yeah, and do a million dishes,” he grumbled under his breath. You immediately shot him a steely glare and he smiled big enough that his eyes crinkled. “But I love doing dishes with you! Quality time, right?”

“Nice save, Verstappen.”

For the next few minutes you worked in tandem and in silence – Max furiously grating cheese and hissing every few seconds when he accidentally caught a finger against the sharp holes, you stirring and perfecting your sauce with ease.

The stove timer interrupted the peace and you called Max over from his place at the countertop.

“Ok, lesson number three of the evening – ”

“What were one and two?” He interrupted you, hints of hesitation and guilt in his voice. When you turned to look at him, your mouth open in exasperation, you saw the teasing look in his eye and rolled yours in return.

“If Gordon Ramsay were teaching you, you’d have been called an idiot sandwich twice and kicked out of the kitchen by now.”

“Lucky me, you’re way nicer, way more patient, and way prettier than Gordon.”

He tickled your ribcage lightly, causing you to flip a spoonful of pasta water across the room.

“New lesson number three – no tickling the chef when boiling water is nearby. Lesson number four, previously lesson number three – never trust the cook time on the pasta box. A true pasta chef also finishes cooking their pasta in the sauce, so we’re taking it out a few minutes early.”

“Wouldn’t a true pasta chef use fresh-made pasta?”

“You’re on thin ice, Max.”

He leaned in swiftly to kiss your cheek and stole the pasta spoon from your hand. “I’ll be dumping the water, I don’t want it to splash on you.”

“Don’t forget to – ”

“Reserve a cup of pasta water, where is your faith in me? I pay attention to everything you say, mijn liefje.”

It wasn’t long before you had served up plates of pasta as fresh as you could make considering you’d just gotten back to Monaco that morning, slightly burnt garlic bread because Max forgot to set a separate timer, and a mixed greens salad so Max’s trainer wouldn’t sue you for mistreatment and neglect.

“I’d say this was a very solid date night,” Max said between chews. “Thank you for teaching me and being patient with me – I take for granted how much you do for me when we’re home.” He pressed another kiss to your cheek, this one longer and messier than the one before.

You couldn’t help but grin at him, a devastatingly lovesick grin, and your stomach fluttered when he returned the exact look. He had a tomato sauce stain in the corner of his mouth and a droplet of spilled wine on his shirt but to you he’d never looked more beautiful.

bonus snippet (i couldn’t help myself, please accept my apology)

“Y/N, I cannot cook. I can count on one hand the number of times I have cooked for myself in the past ten years. I will blow up the kitchen.”

“Relax, I’ll guide you the whole way! You’ll never be near an open flame unsupervised, no sharp knives, we can even start with something simple! Pasta al pomodoro – you’ll love it!”

“When the rat said anyone can cook, he did not mean me, I promise.”

You looked at him quizzically – “Max, what rat?”

“The little French rat, not Esteban, the one who lives in the chef’s hat and makes soup for him.”

“…Are you talking about Remy? From Ratatouille?”

“I don’t remember his name, I just know you made me watch a movie one time about a French rat that could cook.”

“Ok, well, that’s an animated kid’s movie, and actually Chef Gusteau said anyone can cook, but he's right! Anyone can cook, Remy is proof, so get ready to cook on date night.”

“Thanks a lot, Remy,” Max huffed, crossing his arms in defeat.

--------------------

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