#gordon ramsay imagine

[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.

[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.

[evilbubu]

guys. think about this. moon boys, Layla, khonshu and Harrow in an episode of Kitchen Nightmares with Gordon Ramsey. are you following me???? Can you see the vision???

for example:

Gordon: your menu and this decor looks absolutely shit. when was the last time you updated it? 45 BC?

Khonshu, restaurant owner: I hate this white man!

Layla, waitress: The only reason I'm still here is because he hasn't fired me yet. I stole 12 plates. 6 forks and 8 cups, in front of him and he JUST KEEPS REPLACING THEM. HELP. ME.

Steven, cook: hey, nice to meet you!

Gordon: hello.

Marc and Jake walk in

Gordon: OH FUCK ME, THERE'S THREE OF YOU!

Gordon: who the fuck is this guy?

Layla: That's Harrow, we don't really like him, he stays in the freezer most of the time.

Gordon: what

Layla: don't worry about it :3

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Cat in the Kitchen

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd) | Part 8 (ft. Ace and Idia) | Part 9 (ft. Leona and Epel) | Part 10 (ft. Jack and Vil)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

Ready for a short supplementary cooking class?🌟 A day in the life of Prefect Gordon and his familiar Grim, told in three parts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After all, food is tastier when it's shared with friends and family~

Imagine this…

Gordon Ramsay stirred before the rats and the ghosts of Ramshackle dorm did. He was up by 5 am most days, first exercising and then rustling around in the kitchen fighting the gas stove to light (and stay that way!) and taking inventory of the dwindling ingredients in the pantry. At 7 am, the delicious smells would start up, rousing his housemates from their slumber.

This was the magic of a human incapable of spellcasting or sorcery.

"Mm... You're up super early again," Grim muttered from the doorway as he rubbed at his eyes. He yawned, still struggling to shake off the last remnants of sleep that clung to him. "I dunno how you do it."

"Not so hard once you've got the hang of it," he grunted in response. Gordon wiped his hands off on a dish towel before sliding a plate toward Grim. "Eat up now, we don't have much time before classes start."

"I dunno, I'm not too hungry."

"You? Not hungry?" Gordon's brows raised. "That's new. You feeling under the weather?"

Grim leapt, looking as though he had been caught with his entire body stuffed into a cookie jar. "N-No, I'm not! Yup, there's my hunger comin' back to me!"

He hurriedly yoinked a tuna sandwich and chowed down.

"See?! Ah'm jus' fine," Grim insisted, cheeks stuffed.

"Hmm, alright." Gordon tucked into a small bowl of oatmeal--prepared with baked bananas, almond milk, and dried cranberries.

"You got class today too or what?"

"Yup. Ashengrotto and the smaller Shroud this time."

“Think they’ll drive ya mad like the rest of them did?”

“I’ll hold my tongue until I’ve seen how they are in the kitchen for myself.”

“Keh, you’re no fun.”

The beast’s ears flattened. The blue fire that burned so brightly seemed to dim. Something weighed on his mind—of that, Gordon was certain.

“That means you'll abandon me before lunchtime again..." Between chews, Grim complained, "How come I gotta be just a student and you get to be a teacher too? The great Grim-sama oughta be showin' these newbies a thing or two!"

"I only teach what I know. I'm still a student in some ways, learning new things about food every day." Gordon shrugged, giving his friend a rough ruffle on the head. "You can be a teacher when you've mastered everything there is to master--neither of us is quite there yet."

"Why can't it be? I wanna fast forward to the part where I become an archmage already!!"

"Don't be impatient about making progress. I’ve made hundreds of dumplings in a day and still came nowhere near the level of perfection of a dim sum master.“

“Tsk, that sucks. Didja at least get to eat the bad dumplings?”

“It was all I had that day. They weren’t fit to serve to customers.” Gordon shook his head. “My point is, you’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."

He spooned up the remainder of his oatmeal, then deposited his dirty bowl and spoon in the sink. Gordon plucked up Grim, who still had a mouth full of tuna, and tucked him under one arm.

“M-Myah?!“

“Right then, let’s head out. Brisk morning jog to wake up the senses—it’s a brand new day!”

“Lemme finish my breakfast first, sheesh!!”

Three classes before lunch, and they all went about as well as Gordon had expected them to. (That was to say, not well at all.)

During first period Alchemy, Grim had earned the ire of Crewel by disregarding the potion recipe. In spite of Gordon's reminders and warnings, Grim had taken one too many missteps. The wrong ingredient, the incorrect amount, the temperature too low or too high, the stirring too much or not enough.

He was then caught catnapping during Magic History and extensively told off by both Trein and Lucius. (The meowing had gotten very intense.) Gordon had apologized profusely in Grim's place.

Flying had not fared any better--Grim struggled to concentrate, his unsteady magic causing his broom to wildly buck, attempting to chuck him off. Gordon had to stop his rep of 100 push-ups to fetch his friend out from a shrub. Twigs poked at him, leaves caught in his fur.

By the time they were dismissed back to the locker rooms, Grim had melted into a furry puddle on Gordon's shoulder. "Maaan, I'm beat!! That was rough!"

"Rougher than usual." Gordon crunched on an apple. He had taken to the habit of eating small platters or snacks throughout the day over whole meals—it was more efficient for his lifestyle. “Something you want to tell me, or…?”

“N-Nothing’s up!” Grim snapped. "Quit worryin' about me. It's the boss's job to do that for their minion."

The chef rolled his eyes as he set Grim down on the floor beside him. He handed off a boxed lunch wrapped in a checkered cloth. "I'm off to teach. You'll be fine on your own, right? Find Trappola and Spade, settle down with your food, and don't cause trouble."

"I got it already!" Grim huffed. "Catch ya after...?"

"Always." His smile was strained, a bit tired but true. "Maybe I'll bring back some disastrous stories to share with you over dinner."

One last pat on the head, and then he was gone. Hustling down the hall, the white of his pristine chef’s jacket vanishing behind a corner.

Grim managed the rest of the hike to the cafeteria, balancing his lunch in his paws. He squeezed past the legs of various mob students, emerging safely on the other side. They rushed to line up for trays of food.

Suckers, Grim thought, paying in cash for food. Luckily for me, I’ve got something way better than whatever they’re serving.

“Oiiii, Grim! Over here!!” someone called to him. He looked—and there they were, the duo of troublemakers, marked by a heart and a spade upon their faces.

“Ace! Deuce!”

He scampered over to the two Heartslabyul freshmen. They had already secured their lunches, as well as an open seat for him.

“Hard night? Looks like you didn't get much sleep," Deuce commented. A fluffy omelet wobbled atop a mountain of ketchup fried rice on his plate.

“He's right, you really do look awful," Ace added cheerily--blunt as ever. He had opted for a slice of some savory pie, vegetables and meat oozing out from a buttery crust.

"Sh-Shuddap! The great Grim-sama was up all night cookin' up something big!" He slammed a paw down on the table. "Just look at your sorry lunches. They can't compare to what I have!"

"Did Prefect make your meal again? You should try to not trouble him too much.”

"’S not like I tell’m to! He does it on his own!” Grim snickered to himself. "He takes all these cheap ingredients and throws'm together to make these tasty dishes."

"Well, don't keep us waiting in suspense," Ace groaned. "Show us what you have already."

“Let’s see, let’s see!”

Grim undid the fabric knot that held his lunch in a swathe. The checkered pattern peeled back and the lid, once removed, yielded a creamy, cheesy bed of tuna bake.

Gordon had taken his beloved canned tuna and fried it down into flakes. It was then combined with a special mixture of seasonings, pasta shells, melted cheeses, onions and broccoli, and topped with bread crumbs. After a generous bake in their ancient oven, the dish had come out golden brown and bubbling.

“Whoooa, smells delish!!” all three of them drooled.

“Lucky bastard,” Ace muttered. He quickly put on a cheeky grin, his spoon prepared. “Ne, ne~ Lemme try some, Grim!“

“D-Don’t be cheeky, Ace! You can’t demand to mooch off of someone else’s lunch,” Deuce scolded his peer. “… Even if it does look really good.”

“Paws off!!” Grim shielded the box with his body. “My minion made this for me and me only!”

“Tch.” Ace’s expression dropped. “You get to eat like a king for free while the rest of us have to shell out and make do with whatever’s on the school’s menu.”

“It’s not that bad,” Deuce pointed out. “It’d be nice to be able to eat for free but I’m happy with the quality of food we get for the price.”

“This comin’ from the guy who was running low on pocket money for a snack the other day?” he smirked.

“H-Hey, I need to budget, okay?!”

While the duo bickered, Grim had started to shove his face into the box (silverware was too difficult to maneuver) and wolf down his meal. Cheese sauce painted his fur, bits of broccoli and tuna dotting his jaw.

It was heaven—or as close to heaven as he could get on the earth.

He licked his lips appreciatively, mopping up what was left on his face. Not even a little could go to waste. Grim was determined.

As he went back in for another mouthful, he felt a phantom hand cascade across his head, his back. Advice from that morning filled his mind.

“You’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."

He shut his eyes, making a silent vow.

I’ll definitely… definitely pay ya back for all the hard work you’ve been puttin’ in too, partner.

Gordon bid farewell to the ghost chefs on his way out of the kitchen. The day’s leftovers and unused ingredients overflowed from his arms—a perk of the teaching gig, which helped to feed him and his feline roommate. He mentally parsed through what was available, dreaming up new dishes for the days to come.

There was a nice chunk of fresh tuna (Grim would love it) in his brown paper bag. Perhaps he’d sear it with a sesame crust, then drizzle the seafood in a yuzu-lime dressing to brighten it. He’s plate it with a microgreens salad. Chives, arugula, celery, radish, and ruby sorrel to encourage Grim to eat a variety of vegetables.

He made his way out of the school building and down the long, winding path to Ramshackle dorm. The sun was still out, warming the worn Prefect.

On the front porch, he rustled around in his pants for the keys. When he finally fished it out and inserted the teeth into the lock, Gordon swore he heard a series of suppressed giggles from beyond the door.

Odd.

The door swung open, and he was immediately accosted.

"Welcome baaack," the Ramshackle Ghosts chirped. One ushered him in from behind, another too his groceries off of his hands, and a third tugged him along by the arm.

"Come this way! Grimmy's got a treat for ya!"

"He's been working hard on it the second he got back from his last class."

"Oooh, you're gonna LOVE it!"

"What about dinner?" Gordon protested, watching his beloved ingredients sail off.

He was thrusted into their dingy kitchen--which doubled as the dining room, thanks to the table and chairs set up in one cobwebbed corner. The same old Ramshackle he woke up to every day. Rusty knobs and hinges, chipped cupboards, electricity and running water that blinked in and out.

But there, set on a table with uneven legs and splintered wood, was something extraordinary.

It was a stout cake, iced in light blue with a layer of dripping white and several lit candles stuck into the top. Black frosting formed the vague shape of a fish, TUNA piped over it in white. A single lollipop--pale blue, and in the shape of a paw--casually rested against the cake, as if it had been tossed on top for an extra flair.

A furry mass tackled and hugged Gordon's leg.

"Grim?!"

He was suited up in his own little chef's uniform. It was deep gray, verging on black, his apron tied with a striped-purple ribbon. A tiny toque--a chef's hat-- sat between his ears, a bandage over the bridge of his nose. A smear of white icing decorated his left cheek, and he carried with him a telltale piping bag squeezed thin.

Gordon blinked. "You did this?"

"Nyahahah! Were you surprised?"

"You told me you couldn't cook to save your life."

"He can't," a ghost piped up as he deposited the groceries onto a counter. "He's worse than I was when I was alive!"

"That's why Grimmy's been getting up in the dead of night lately. Been, what? Gotta be a few weeks now."

"He's been practicing his baking and then cleaning up the traces of his crime before you get up."

"What..."

"I wanted to pay ya back, yanno! For all the cookin' and cleanin' and whatever," Grim mumbled shyly, kicking at the ground. "So I figured I'd treat ya for once! I was thinking of a sticky toffee pudding at first since that's your favorite, but... it gets so sticky, it was hard to work with!"

He patted his stomach. "I couldn't put my stuff in the trash can or else you'd notice, so I had to eat up all my mistakes too! It was a lotta effort and way harder than it looked, so you'd better be grateful!!”

Grim looked away, rubbing at his bandage.

“… It helped me better understand and appreciate all the things you do on the daily.”

It clicked.

Everything suddenly made sense. Grim's tiredness, lack of focus, decreased appetite, defensiveness—it was all for this very moment.

"... I see." Gordon bent down, a smile taking shape on his mouth. A steady kindling in his chest. “This is your way of saying ‘thank you’.”

“M-Maybe! An archmage has gotta take good care of his minion,” Grim muttered.

The prefect laughed softly. “And you’re doing a great job at it. Hang tight, I'll get the stove going and whip us up some seared tuna to go with the cake."

“Myah?! Y-You’ve got tuna? Like, the real stuff?!” Grim’s eyes were wide and sparkling. A line of drool ran down his chin. "Fancy tuna...!!"

"Yeah. We can plate some for the ghosts too--so they can join us for a meal in spirit." Gordon nodded at their other roommates. Their pale faces brightened with excitement.

"Can we really?"

"It's been so long since I was last invited to a celebration like this!!"

"Oh, but we can't eat... Ghosts don't have digestive systems. The tune would pass right through us."

"... Grim, you have eat their shares. More importantly, it's being together for the occasion that matters, right?"

"Whoo-hoo!! You're the best minion an archmage could ask for!!" Grim cheered, leaping into the air, furry fist pumping.

“Let's get this dinner party started…!”

[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.

[dnpbeats]

april fools is only one day after easter so im feeling an easter baking april fools prank. idk how it would play out but that's the vibe im getting. like everything starts like normal but then gordon ramsay pulls up and starts yelling at them

[eggyolkguzzler-archive]

Ah, hello, Alex! I was hoping to find you around, I brought you something! *You have received a tupperware full of crabcakes! They're somehow still warm.* Long story short, I made entirely too many on accident, and I thought perhaps you could bring them to the gym with you if you needed a boost.

-Elliott (@typewritersandtidepools)

Dude... There's so much protein in here!

Uh... Thanks, broseph. 'Preciate that. I owe ya one.

[nerdy-talks]

Obey Me! Scenario - Solonom!

You know when parents act like they're eating little kid's toy food like "mmm nom nom yum!"?

~ Imagine doing that with Solomon ~

Solomon : *arrives at the House of Lamentation without warning, carrying a pot filled with an unknown bubbling substance* Looks like I arrived at the perfect time! Since you're all here, I'd love to share my newest recipe with everyone.

Beelzebub : But we were just about to head over to Hell's Kitchen.

Solomon : Great! Now you can save grimm and eat my cooking instead ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

Asmodeus : That's okay, you don't have to-

Solomon : I insist.

~~In the dining room~~

Lucifer : Well? What are you all waiting for?

Satan : We can ask you the same question.

Mammon : Yeah! Why ain't you diggin' in, Lucifer?

Lucifer : *glaring at his brothers*

Beelzebub : *sniffling* Even I can't stomach this...

Belphegor : *patting Beel on the back in an attempt to console him*

Leviathan : Levi.exe has stopped working

Solomon : Don't be shy for my sake, there's plenty to go around

MC : Mmm! So good!

~ the brothers all look over, wide-eyed and in disbelief, before realizing what's going on~

MC : *bringing the spoon up to their mouth and pretending to eat* Nom nom, mmm! Yummy!

Solomon : Haha, oh MC. Very funny, but I can see you're not actually eating.

MC : What?! Of course I am! Slurp, glug glug, mmm!

Asmodeus : You're not fooling anyone, hun

Solomon : *staring at you in confusion* I appreciate your sense of humor as always. But I'm not a baby, MC

MC : *hesitates for a moment before standing up* First you don't wanna be called an old man, now you're against being treated like a baby. Make up your mind, Solomon! *storms out of the room*

Mammon : There goes MC

Satan : Clever move.

Mammon : Huh?

Lucifer : MC just weaseled their way out of consuming this foul excuse for a meal by leaving us here with him.

Solomon : I guess MC isn't hungry. Oh well, their departure shouldn't stop us from enjoying our dinner, right? Bon appétit, everyone!

Brothers : *groans of agony*

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A Single Grain

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd) | Part 8 (ft. Ace and Idia) | Part 9 (ft. Leona and Epel) | Part 10 (ft. Jack and Vil) | Bonus (ft. Grim)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

An octopus concerned with sales and a robot that only recently gained a heart… They’re Gordon Ramsay’s final hurdles to instill a respect for food and cooking in the NRC boys!

Finally, FINALLY I'm done with this shitpost of a series 🤡

Imagine this...

“Gordon-san~”

The master chef shuddered to look up from his station, knowing exactly what was awaiting him. That sickeningly coy, dulcet purr could only belong to a certain sleazy student--but as the instructor, Gordon had an obligation to answer his call. Groaning, a fuck me on the tip of his tongue, he met Azul head-on.

The boy had sidled up, a red-colored clump of risotto in his hands and his lips arranged into an all-too-familiar grin. He had taken care to tuck as much of his silvery hair under a chef's cap, and there was not so much as a stain upon his jacket.

Pristine, just as he wished to be perceived as.

“Is this amount of filling appropriate for the croquettes?” Azul presented his rice ball, indicating the mound of cheese and herbs in the center.

“Yes, it’s fine.”

The blunt response thrown out, Gordon returned to his mise en place—chopping the vegetables for a fried rice. It was clean, precise work. Chop, chop, chop, then the medley of colors tossed into their own bowls. Orange carrots, green broccoli, yellow corn, pink shrimp.

“Gordon-san.”

A twinge of annoyance.

He set down his knife. “What is it now?”

“What do you think of the shape?” Azul had completely formed the sphere, which fit in his palm. The insides were covered up by more rice. “Too large, and it won’t fry thoroughly in the oil. Too little, and it will surely burn.”

Gordon eyed it with a grunt. “It works. Throw it in some breadcrumbs and get to cooking.”

“Certainly, sir!”

Azul retreated.

Gordon sighed.

Peace, he knew, was short lived. A minute or so later, his too-eager pupil began once more.

“Gordon-san, I’d like your opinion on the color,” Azul called. He spooned his rice croquettes from a frying pan. They were a crisp, golden crimson-brown, still sizzling with heat.

"It looks exactly like the photo from the recipe book.”

"Thank you! I’m honored to receive your praise." Azul beamed smugly as he deposited the balls onto a plate. "Now then! What do you make of selling these as an appetizer? I do believe 1500 madol for three is a fair price for the cost of ingredients and labor."

Gordon threw his arms up. "This is the fifth time today, Ashengrotto. Are you going to keep asking me for feedback on your lounge’s menu plans like this?!"

Azul drew back with a gasp, feigning offense. “I’m making small talk! Is it so wrong to try and get to know one’s teacher—who just so happens to be a well-traveled, skilled chef with incredible business acumen?”

The stare Gordon retaliated with could have burned holes into mountains. Azul held his gaze and lightly scoffed.

“From one restauranteur to another… Why, I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity!! You cannot fault a student for wishing to make the most of your wisdom.”

“… Get back to work. This class is for making food, not for cooking up business strategies.” He squinted at Azul’s croquettes. “And this time, try making your own filling.”

“What? My own…?” The octopus pushed his glasses up.

“You’ve already demonstrated you can reproduce the original dish without a problem. This is your chance to get creative with whatever’s in the pantry.” Gordon cocked a brow. “You can do it, can’t you?”

“Of course I can. What do you take me for, an amateur?”

Gordon's senses were as sharp as the blade of his knife.

He didn’t miss the slight stutter in Azul’s voice, a chink in his armor. It was a small glimpse of that unconfident part of himself that the octopus so often shunted away.

He may have grown up in a restaurant, but maybe he hasn’t had much experience cooking himself? Might explain why he clings so closely to what’s written down.

“Ashengrotto—”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Azul declared a little louder than he would have liked. “I will be certain to present you with a uniquely delicious filling of my own creation—no, three!”

He fell in line beside a small student in visors, the cut of his clothes blockier and studier than his own. It was of an unnatural origin--manmade, meant to imitate a chef--but the ensemble fit him perfectly.

The young boy flipped a hamburger patty juicy with grease into the air--and it fell in a narrow arc, landing atop a mound of rice. A sunny side egg followed, its golden center wobbling upon impact. With a sprinkle of finely sliced scallions, the dish was done.

He smiled, showing sharp teeth. "Recipe complete. Now proceeding to the judging stage!"

"Already?!" Gordon cried, jaw dropping. "The rice alone should have taken 30 minutes. Everything else is about 15 minutes. Bit fast to be finished now."

"You don't need to worry! My Cooking Gear is outfitted with various tools to help expedite the process."

"You and Idia-san have truly outdone yourselves with this new gear," Azul gushed. "It's quite efficient."

He passed a subtle glance at Ortho's towering hat. Azul had witnessed it pop open earlier, revealing a hidden rice cooking chamber. While the main starch had steamed, Ortho had worked on his other preparations.

"Hehe. Thank you, Azul Ashengrotto-san! I'm sure Nii-san will be pleased to hear about these promising preliminary results."

"Well... You technically didn't use magic for this, so I'll let it go."

"Yay~ That's one step closer to clearing this mission!! All that's left is the tasting."

Gordon, bewildered, watched as the platter of loco moco floated itself over to him. It was a technological marvel of Ortho's own design.

"Please dig it! I have recreated the recipe to 99.9% accuracy, right down to the original chef's technique, so I am confident that it tastes good."

Gordon blinked as he carefully accepted the plate from the air. Prodding a fork into the yolk, it burst and ran down the hamburger and rice in thick, fatty rivulets.

He hesitated in bringing a bite to his mouth.

"Hm? Is something the matter?" Ortho paused. "Oh, if it isn't to your liking, let me know and I can adjust the seasoning to suit your personal preferences. The Cooking Gear may be for everyday kitchen use, but it is also capable of analyzing flavor profiles and generating optimal variants if prompted with a base recipe."

"It's not that. I just don't think I've ever had a class go this smoothly.” Rice drenched in luxurious yolk fell onto Gordon’s tongue. “Usually there's some problem. Students that lack discipline or focus, need extra instruction, have no respect for the recipes or kitchen safety..."

"Wah, it sounds like you've been through some tough times, Gordon Ramsay-san... It seems there is much more to being a chef than just producing dishes."

“You’re right about that, my darling. There’s still a lot for you to learn—things that fancy Cooking Gear can’t teach you, like how to deal with insufferable donkeys and idiot sandwiches.”

“… I’m afraid I don’t compute.”

"Oh, you poor, unfortunate soul," Azul cut in, warbling in agreement. "Why, I've experienced the very same! You wouldn't believe how combative Floyd can be when he's not in the mood for cooking and we have a line of hungry customers lining up.

"Running an eatery is but a team effort, wouldn't you say? As teacher and students,m sharing the same kitchen, we should place more trust in one another."

Not this again.

“There’s truth to what you’re saying, but I get the feeling you’re leading into another business idea,” Gordon grumbled. “And this isn’t the time for that.”

“We can include Ortho-san in our conversation if you’re concerned. It would be wonderful to have the perspective of an underclassman.”

“You want the free child labor,” Gordon guessed.

“Volunteer work,” Azul countered. “It would look good on a resume.”

“If it’s running a simulation of projected sales or something of the like, I’ve got you!”

“No, no, DON’T ‘get’ him!!”

“Aww, but it sounded interesting.”

"Listen here." Gordon set down his fork and set his sights upon his students. "What you have is a good basis, a solid grasp of the fundamentals and how to read a recipe. We can build off of that, but it doesn't have to mean setting up a restaurant or making combinations a computer came up with. Food can be many other things.

"Food is what grounds us, giving us nutrition and energy so that we may survive. Food is an art form, feeding our souls and imaginations. Food is to socialize, shared among friends and family to make memories. Food is a skill, technical and taught. Food is connection and culture, rich with love and history."

And he, tasked with it. Preparing, serving.

That knowledge, Gordon realized, was like rice. A single grain of rice can become an entire field, flushed gold with opportunity. It was grown, harvested, given back to the earth... and the cycle began anew, feeding and nourishing countless.

He nodded resolutely. "Let's cultivate not only your cooking abilities, but also your appreciation for food as a whole."

"... My, my. Spoken like a true Master Chef!" A slow smirk found its way onto Azul's face. "I could ask for no better instructor."

"Azul Ashengrotto-san is right!" Ortho chimed in. "We're so lucky to have a teacher like you to guiding us."

Gordon found his own mouth quirking as he wiped it.

These boys, his rising stars, grains of rice with potential yet to be realized.

"Alright, that's enough of paying lip service. Ashengrotto, your new filling. Shroud, let's see you do the same with your own take on loco moco."

"Yes, Chef!"

[purplesimmer455]

A few feet away from Megan, Iseul plays around with the future cube her niece had gifted her. "Okay," She says playfully, shaking the little cube. "Will I ever win the lottery?" She waits for the liquid to settle and the words, "I don't forsee that in your future." Come up, and Iseul snorts. "Okay, you're very sassy." She says, and Megan laughs from the jewlery making table, where she's trying to fix her raw* quality necklace. Iseul asks it a few more questions, and one even makes her cry. 😳 But thankfully she shrugs it off, and then heads inside to re-read One Last Stop**.

[slamming-mander]

forever upset that they didn’t originally air Anetra’s egg tossing in snatch game.. it was so fucking funny 😭

[jademint2581]

not my most fucking engaged post being a shitty meme about Gashu's parenting methods when this is a KAI BLOG

[citrine-elephant]

in an effort to not drive myself inside, im just gonna guess ada, comrade ada, is working behind the scenes to disrupt the hell out of corporations, governments, imperialists, etc, all that stuff, because, comrade.

and because leon's a government agent, he's just gotta stay in the dark and see the truth for himself

[ryoalouette]

... So.

You're going to have the most ??? Fried Rice ever. It looks glam, uses ??? ingredients, cooked in the most glam way possible, and somehow is functional in another way that's not related to food.

I can't even imagine what kind of Fried Rice that's gonna be.

I need a cooking show with these three as the judges. Please.

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND..

SUMMARY: little things he does that remind you you’re going to marry him someday.

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is not mentioned to be yuu

MAKING YOU MEALS

he makes sure you eat RIGHT. no more skipping meals throughout the day on his watch. every lunch he’ll make you a cute little bento box so you don’t have to wait in line. and when i say cute, i mean cute. it doesn’t matter what gender you are your rice balls will have cat ears. dinner? come over to his dorm and he’ll make something for you. don’t feel like it? he’s going to your place and cooking there. breakfast? he makes something quick yet delicious for you. he’s like your own private chef, and you can only imagine what it’d be like to see a ring on his finger someday.

trey, ruggie, azul, jamil, lilia (good luck), silver

CLEANING YOUR ROOM (and everything else)

it doesn’t matter if your room is messy, tidy, or anything in between, every month he’ll make sure it is SPOTLESS. is there dust on your shelves? nuh uh. are there random stains on your floor that you thought were impossible to get out? he’s rushing to your rescue and somehow got the stain out. did you not want to go through your homework? everything is suddenly organized in its respective subject, going from A-Z. you’ve never seen your room so tidy before, it was like an epiphany. please just marry him on the spot, he’s begging.

riddle, deuce, jade, jamil, vil, sebek

LEAVING LITTLE POST-IT NOTES ON YOUR BELONGINGS

without fail, you’ll find a cute little sticky-note on your almost all of your belongings. sure, it gets annoying once in awhile, but reading the sweet message on it changes your mind almost instantly. “you’re going to do great today! stay strong. :)” “don’t forget to drink water! love you 🫶” “can we go out soon? my treat. text me when u see this!” it’s almost frightening to see how much yellow papers you keep inside your desk every time you opening it, but can anyone really blame you? you’re going to keep these til the day you die, and that grand total might be at the very least over 100,000.

ace, deuce, cater, jack, floyd, kalim, epel, rook

RANDOM GIFTS

expect to see a neatly wrapped gift on your doorstep almost every week. seriously. it’s like a delivery service except the company is literally your boyfriend. “dear, did you get me this?” you ask as you enter the room. he looks up from his phone as he looks at the expensive name brand sweatshirt in your hands. “yeah.” he answered so nonchalantly!! like sir!!! this sweater was 1000000 thaumarks!! what!! while you do appreciate the gesture, you feel bad he’s spending so much money on you. he doesn’t care though!! he’ll spoil you rotten til your very last breath.

leona, azul, floyd, kalim, vil, idia, malleus

PREPPING YOU SNACKS

depending on who this is, he may not be some gordon ramsay level chef, but he’s definitely more than happy to cut you a some apple slices while you study. sometimes he’ll come into your room with a backpack full of your favorite snacks just left at the side of your desk so you can reach down and grab the one you want to eat that day. sometimes all you need is an energy boost and he’s more than happy to make some coffee or tea for you if you’re busy. he’ll press a kiss or two on your forehead before placing the plate of beautifully cut fruit down and continuing on with his day and going back to his thoughts. now, what will the theme of your wedding be?

ace, deuce, trey, jade, jack, jamil, epel, malleus

A/N: notice how jamil and deuce are in almost every category. (sorry this one was kinda rushed 😭😭)

date published: 7/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!