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waddingham · 9 months ago

Note

oH Ted as the 'someone coming every week to cook and stock her fridge with meals'!! your brain does so much good work and I am so thankful we get to reap the benefits <33

yeah!!!!!! and i couldn't think straight until I got rid of it!!! here take this it's killing me!!

She begs Phillip to keep her on. She begs him, tries to double his fee even, to keep him from total retirement, but he's steadfast in his decision.

The thought of hunting down another chef is horrific. But he gives her no choice.

She blows through them like tissues for three months, suffering over-complicated meals, over-powering flavors, chefs clearly trying to impress as if she wants a Michelin star meal every night. She doesn't – if that was what she wanted she knows exactly where to get it.

When she's at home she just wants good food, that's easy to reheat and easy to eat. Which is how she ends up finally succumbing to Leslie's repeated insistence that she give his man a chance.

“He comes over once a month,” he tells her, more than once. “Puts together some things we can freeze and just pop in the oven. Simple enough for the boys to do it, so Julie and I can have at least a couple evenings where they can feed themselves.”

He brightens when she gives and asks for his info, and when she gives him a call, she's struck dumb hearing his American accent.

She's running out of options, so she takes a chance on him.

She taps her fingers on the counter, waiting for the doorbell, checking her watch when she finally hears it. He's perfectly on time, but she feels like she's already searching for a reason to be disappointed with him.

He has a pleasant smile for her, though, and a friendly demeanor and a firm handshake and a handsome face – none of which she can immediately find fault in as they introduce themselves.

“I'm sure you're busy,” he says as she leads him to the kitchen. “So I appreciate you taking the time to let me peek at the kitchen and ask you a couple questions.”

“Of course,” she says, used to the procedure by now. Most of them have some kind of sheet they have her fill out, usually via email, but she doesn't mind taking a moment to meet the person who's going to be cooking her food.

“Oh, this is nice,” he compliments, looking around the kitchen, as he sets down the backpack hooked on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says, gesturing for him to claim a stool. “Though you can probably infer from your presence that it gets little use.”

“That's okay, I'll go easy on it,” he chuckles, pulling a binder from his bag and opening it up on the counter. “First, though, I wanna make sure I know what I'm cooking.”

He doesn't have a questionnaire or the like, it seems. The lined paper in front of him is blank before he scrawls her name at the top.

“How many people am I cooking for, first of all?” he says without looking up.

She licks her lips, her gaze shifting.

“Just me.” She keeps her tone matter-of-fact. She hopes.

The way he glances up makes her doubt whether she managed it.

“Makin’ it easy on me already,” he says with a soft smile, adding a 1 to the corner of his sheet. “You have any allergies or dietary restrictions?”

“No,” she says, then adds, “Though, I do have the tendency to drop meat for a while every so often.”

“A part-time vegetarian?”

She cracks half a smile. “Sure.”

“Okay,” he chuckles. “What kinda meals are you after? Breakfast, lunch, dinner?”

“Dinner, mostly, though I won't say no to the occasional breakfast. Mostly out of curiosity.”

She doesn't think any of the chefs she's hired have offered to make breakfasts.

“I make a mean frittata,” he grins. “What do you like, then? What are some of your favorites, so I can get a feel for what you want?”

“When I eat at home, I want quick and easy,” she says. “The less steps for me, the better. I don't want extravagant, elaborate meals. Shepherd's pie, any kind of pasta, soups, salads. Fish, chicken, red meat on occasion, not every week preferably. Anything veg heavy will probably be a hit with me.”

He nods, taking rapid notes in what must be a very familiar format to him. He fires off a few more questions for her, elaborating a bit further on what she likes before switching gears.

“Anything you absolutely don't want?”

“Not especially,” she says. “I don't like to limit a new chef too soon. I'd rather you make me your best and I'll let you know.”

“Uh oh,” he smiles.

He does that a lot.

“Am I on trial?”

She opens her hands up, giving him a small smile and he chuckles.

“I've had six chefs in ten weeks,” she tells him. “So yes, maybe a little bit.”

“Why didn't they fit the bill?” he asks curiously. “So I can avoid a similar fate.”

“I don't think they quite believed me when I told them how simple I wanted things,” she says. “Too many sauces and sides and heat this up separately and put this on this. If I want a five course meal, I know where to get one. When I get home from work, I want to throw something in the oven or dump it on a plate and microwave it, not anything glamorous.”

He looks pleased to hear it – he seems to actually relax slightly, as if he'd been uncertain he could deliver on what she wanted.

“Well, I can guarantee you that going too fancy will not be a problem with me,” he says, writing a few more things down. “I'm used to basic.”

“Good.”

“I've got Tuesday afternoons free, if we're doing every week.”

She nods.

“Between noon and four, if that works for you.”

“I'll be at work, so you'll have free reign,” she says, opening a drawer on the island and pulling a house key from it. “Make yourself at home.”

“Alrighty,” he says, taking it from her. She watches him pull a roll of masking tape and a ring of maybe half a dozen keys from his bag. He rips off a piece of tape and labels it with an RW before adding it to the keyring.

“If you ever have any requests, that number you have is my cell. Shoot me a text before Tuesday if you want it that week, or you can leave me a note.”

“Okay.”

“And let me know if you think of anything else you want me to know,” he says, starting to pack everything away again. “If you hate olives or can't stand Bleu cheese.”

“I love olives,” she says emphatically. “And there's no kind of cheese I will refuse.”

“Cheese is the best, right?” he remarks. “They're all good. Yellow, white, hard, soft. Even stinky, moldy…still good.”

She snorts a bit, but fully agrees.

“I'm pretty much always stocked with fresh mozzarella to nibble on so feel free to help yourself.”

“Oh, don't tell me that,” he says, shaking his head. “I'll clean you out every week.”

She chuckles as he throws his backpack over his shoulder.

She sees him out, intrigued now to see what he cooks up for her.

When she gets home on Tuesday, there's a delicate cacophony of smells hanging in the air and she remembers for the first time today – after a long, trying weekend – that Ted was meant to come.

And apparently did.

The kitchen is spotless (thank God – chef number two had a tendency to slack on the cleaning up bit) and she eagerly makes her way to the fridge.

Each covered pan has a strip or two of tape on top – 35 minutes @ 175° the small square one requests. Thank God. One singular step.

If it tastes like shit, she's going to cry.

It reveals itself to be a lasagna and she flips the oven on, lets it get hot while she peeks at the rest of what he's made, then pops it in the oven while she goes upstairs and gets comfortable.

She notices the extra pan by the kettle when she comes back down, this one without a lid, left on a trivet.

Three neat rows of shortbread lie within it, a note flat on the counter in front of it.

A little extra treat – maybe a bribe so I don't end up being Disappointing Chef Number 7 – and a thanks for giving me a shot. I'm told these are a winner with a cup of tea.

He's signed it with a mustached smiley face that makes her chuckle.

They smell divine. She can't resist prying one up and taking a bite.

“Oh, fuck me,” she mutters to herself, looking at the biscuit with a bit of wonder as it melts on her tongue, perfectly sweet and salty.

Oh, wow. She glances at the oven, then the pan in front of her.

She might have struck gold.

Everything is delicious. He's clearly not a professional five star chef, but every bite has her in disbelief.

It's just so good. She was skeptical, but he even nails a shepherd's pie for her, dumping cheese on top without her even requesting it. Nothing is unpleasant or poorly made, nothing has her thinking to text him and tell him she didn't love it. His portions are more than enough for her and she frequently takes what's left to the office with her. She has never taken lunch with her to work. Ever.

His cooking tastes like dining at a friend's house, like family made it, like he loves cooking for people and puts it in every bite.

And the biscuits. She finished the pan before the week was even out, unable to help herself.

She's a little bit devastated when there are none on the following Tuesday.

She leaves a note the next time she expects him.

Any chance for biscuits again?

She's ecstatic to find a fresh pan when she gets home.

She's nursing her last three by the weekend, determined to make them last long enough to request more.

I hope no notes is a good thing?

She's been meaning to text him, tell him how pleased she is with everything he's made, but it continued to slip her mind.

How am I doing?

No notes is a very good thing, she sends back. Everything has been absolutely delicious.

Oh good :)

I love to hear it

The biscuits have become a problem though

No biscuits next week then?

God no

I'm hooked on them

Don't do that to me

You got it boss

She almost laughs at herself when she gets home.

She's turning down dinner dates and good-looking men in favor of a date with the container labeled prosciutto stuffed chicken breast in her fridge that she's been thinking about all day.

He'd probably get a kick out of the fact that his food is so good it's ruining her dating prospects, but that's most definitely not something she'll be telling him.

She gets herself a little bit of this week's salad while she waits on the oven – romaine with candied walnuts, dried cranberries, gorgonzola, sliced green apple with a deliciously sharp vinaigrette. She peruses the fridge in her typical Wednesday fashion – on Tuesday evenings she's made a habit of grabbing the first thing she sees and letting him surprise her – looking for the small container of sauce that the lid of the chicken makes mention of.

She chuckles when she sees it. Some of his notes on things have gotten more elaborate, sometimes teasing, sometimes with a wine pairing suggestion, sometimes just with a little smiley face. The lid for the sauce only says creamy pesto, but there's masking tape wrapped in a spiral over its sides, covered with writing.

I know, I'm gonna get in trouble for making a separate sauce for something but all you gotta do is dump it on when it's done! It's worth the extra step I promise!

She snickers around her salad, setting it on the counter.

It's well, well worth the extra step.

When she gets home on Tuesday, she's unexpectedly greeted by a strong, delicious smell and noise from the kitchen. She leaves her heels and her coat before turning into the kitchen.

Ted's at the stove, looking almost mortified as he immediately starts apologizing.

“I'm sorry, Rebecca, I'm so behind today, but this is my last one and then I'll clean up and get out of here–” he rambles, but she's taking him in more than listening. Namely, she's taking in his tired bloodshot eyes and his disheveled hair and the way his hands shake as he gestures to the mess of the kitchen.

“I'm sorry–”

“No, Ted, it's alright,” she insists. “It's not a problem.”

“I'm almost done.”

“Are you okay?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I just need to finish this…”

She frowns and rounds the island, unconvinced and unsettled – he's almost frantic with energy.

“Come here.”

He frowns as she pulls him away from the stove.

“No, it'll burn–”

“In which case I'll survive with one less meal,” she says firmly, pushing him to the dining table. “Sit.”

He does – reluctantly – and she gets him a glass of water.

“Take a deep breath. Relax,” she insists before stepping to the stove. The pan there has a sauce in the making, a plate of meatballs next to it, as well as a pot of water getting hot.

“What needs done here?” she asks.

“I can–”

“Stop,” she commands, lifting a brow at him before he can rise. “Sit. Just tell me.”

“The, the cream needs to go in,” he says. “Give it a second, then the other two little bowls there, the Dijon and the Worcestershire and then the spices.”

“Okay,” she says, keeping her voice steady, hoping it'll relax him, show him she's far from upset that he's still here.

She follows his instructions, pouring the measuring cup of cream in and mixing it with the little whisk that's already there. She lets it get hot, then adds the rest, stirring it in.

“What am I making?” she asks with a small smile.

“Swedish meatballs,” he supplies, sounding distracted. “One of my favorites.”

“Swedish, hmm?”

“Well, I can't speak to them being authentic,” he says. “Recipe was my mom's. And she's definitely not Swedish.”

It smells delicious – whatever spices she just added were warm and aromatic and it makes her mouth water.

“What next?”

“Uh, turn the heat down and let it simmer,” he says. “Needs to thicken.”

She dutifully turns the stove down and then joins him, taking a seat next to him.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he deflects, “I'm fine. Just…didn't sleep so good and then this morning was…I'm fine.”

She doesn't push, seeing how much effort he's putting into forcing a smile and changes course.

“Do you have anywhere else to be today?” she asks.

“No, no, you're my last client on Tuesdays.”

“Then stay,” she insists, gesturing to the stove. “Looks like enough for two.”

“I shouldn't,” he tries, shaking his head. “I should get out of your hair.”

“You're not in my hair,” she asserts. “I would enjoy the company and I'm most certainly not complaining about getting a meal fresh off the stove.”

He looks her over for a moment, presumably looking for any hint of falsehood before he nods a bit haltingly.

She smiles.

“Should, uh, should put the meatballs back in to finish ‘em,” he murmurs. “And get the noodles on.”

“Yes, chef,” she says, giving him a wink when he finally smiles.

“I'll do it,” he says, and she lets him this time for how much calmer he seems. She occupies herself by offering him a drink and pouring herself a glass of wine. He accepts a couple fingers of a scotch he's apparently had his eye on for the last few weeks and she watches with interest as he takes a sip.

“Oh, that's nice,” he mutters.

“The only one I buy anymore.”

“You have excellent taste, I have to say,” he remarks. “Thank you.”

She helps him get the rest of the dinner together and is glad to see him relax more and more, until he's smiling easy as they both sit at the island with bowls of noodles and meatballs.

“Well, it smells fantastic,” she says, eagerly stabbing a forkful of noodles and half a meatball.

It's delicious. Creamy and warm and truly everything about it screams comfort food.

“Oh, Christ,” she mumbles around it.

“Yeah? That one a winner?”

She nods emphatically, eyeing him as she chews.

“Nothing you make is bad,” she mumbles, watching him take his own bite.

“That's ‘cause I only make what I know I can make good for you,” he chuckles.

“Why's that?” she asks. He can take a chance on her – he's built up plenty of faith in him already. One bad meal isn't going to have her canning him.

“Oh, to impress of course,” he says with a crooked smile that she returns.

“You've already done so,” she says. “I haven't had a single thing I didn't like.”

“I'm very happy to hear it,” he says, sounding very genuine about it.

They eat slowly because conversation comes very easily. Whether it's the drink or the distraction of her company, he's light-years away from the frazzled ball of anxiety she was met with.

“Safe to assume you don't enjoy cooking much, huh?” he asks her as they both scrape their bowls.

“I don't think I would mind it if I had ever learned,” she muses. “But I've had a cook for most of my life and learning how now just to feed myself seems more trouble than it's worth.”

“You've had a cook most of your life?”

“My parents kept one when I was a kid, and then when I was married, my ex-husband insisted on a cook,” she says, half rolling her eyes. “Thank you, by the way, for not inundating me with pork pies and sausage rolls and roasts and dousing everything in gravy.”

“I enjoy a good gravy, but, oof, that's heavy eatin’ right there.”

“Too heavy,” she agrees. “Though my tastes were rarely taken into account.”

He hums as he wipes his mouth and she finds understanding in his eyes.

“How long were you married?” he inquires.

“Twelve years,” she says slowly.

“That's a lot of gravy,” he says more seriously than the words might call for. She hears his meaning plain enough.

“Yes. It was.”

“Well,” his tone brightens a bit, “now you got me to make whatever you please.”

“Too right,” she chuckles, sipping her wine. “And it's always spectacular. I don't know how you do it, what you're lacing everything with…”

“Oh, I just make sure I put a little love in everything, that's all,” he grins.

She takes in the sight of him, smiling and content, his creased eyes warm, and she likes this. She's enjoying this. She likes him.

It's so hard to know though, even as his eyes move over her face, the quiet stretching long, if she likes him or if she's simply missed enjoying a comfortable meal at home without having to do it alone.

Her eyes drop, aware of how intensely she’s looking at him. She's not sure when it happened but they're both turned completely towards each other on their stools, leaning on the counter, and his fingertips are right there at the edge of hers – the mere straightening of her fingers would bring them into contact.

“I appreciate you letting me stay and have some of your dinner,” he says softly.

“You made it,” she offers with a grin.

“You paid for it,” he returns.

“It's not a problem at all,” she says, meaning it wholeheartedly. “It's nice to have some company.”

“I'm gonna be honest with you, Rebecca, you don't seem like a woman who would have any problem finding company.”

Her brows lift alongside the corners of her mouth, a little internally delighted by his boldness.

“I think I'll take that as a compliment,” she grins.

“As it was meant,” he assures.

“In which case…I'll amend to say it's nice to have such comfortable and easy company.”

His cheeks round, his gaze dropping in something akin to bashfulness and she thinks it really might just be him that's growing on her.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she says, her smile slanting crookedly. “Even if I pretty much made you.”

“I didn't wanna impose. You were very kind to give me a second to…calm down.”

She's not sure if it's embarrassment, exactly, or shame that has him toying with his glass instead of looking at her.

“Felt like I was trying to catch up to myself all day,” he admits.

“I know the feeling,” she sympathizes.

He's quiet for a moment before he responds.

“My ex-wife was supposed to come out with our son in the next couple weeks here, but she called and they pushed it back until the summer.”

His frown is back and his gaze is faraway, but she doesn't speak.

“Been here for almost a year now and they still seem to be getting on just fine without me.” He sounds like he wishes he could say it with detachment, but it comes out rather devastated.

“They're in the States?” she asks gently, pulling him back to here and now as he shakes himself a bit.

“Yes.”

“Why don't you go see them?” she tries, though she's very aware she's got the bare minimum of facts.

“‘Cause I'm still stinging from her snapping that she just needs some goddamn space,” he says, giving her a twisted, wry little grin.

She frowns but he shrugs, lifting his drink to his lips.

“S’pose it's about time to just get over it,” he mumbles.

“That's not easy to get over,” she says kindly. “Especially from someone you love.”

“No, it's not,” he agrees. “Ain't much love to lose these days, though. You're probably right, should just take matters into my own hands, hop over the pond.”

“Don't go too long,” she says, only half teasing. “I shouldn't be left to feed myself for a prolonged period of time.”

He smiles again and the sight has warm satisfaction melting in her.

“Oh, if I go anywhere I'll set you up, don't you worry,” he assures her.

“Thank goodness.”

It's odd how difficult she finds it when she rises and steps away. A part of her wants her to stay put, keep the space between them minimal, but she writes it off as a result of just how long it's been since she had sex.

“Now, I don't see any biscuits,” she says. “But I suppose I'll give you a pass this week.”

He rises with a soft chuckle, following her with his own dish to the sink.

“No, no, I'll do it,” he says as he starts to clean up from dinner. “Unless you need your kitchen back.”

She starts gathering dishes – he must clean as he goes, because it's not nearly the mess she'd imagine would come from cooking four whole dinners.

“Oh, for what? You think I have a chef on the side coming over tonight?”

He turns, expression scandalized, a hand landing on his chest as if he's been shot.

“Tell me you'd never.”

She chuckles, joining him at the sink, hands full.

They clean up together and then she pours them both another drink before she claims a stool, content to watch as he puts together a batch of biscuits. She watches him move comfortably around the kitchen, chatting easily with her, and it's making an impression, one she's blatantly ignoring.

She half expects him to try to leave her once they're in the oven and has her excuses for him to stay at the ready, but he sits again, waiting the half hour they need to bake at the island with her. He asks her about her job, how she came to own the club, and conversation wanders to and fro.

“I'm intrigued to see what you've cooked up for me this week, chef,” she remarks at one point.

“You know I ain't really a professional chef, right?” he chuckles. “I dropped out of culinary school actually.”

“Really? Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I wasn't having fun. I love cooking, I love making food and feeding people, but I didn't wanna do it the way they train you to, you know, cooking in a restaurant or joining the race to be the next big something. I like doing it this way. Getting to know people and cooking what they like. Feels like I'm paying the bills by cooking for friends and that's…” He clicks his tongue with a nod. “That's just perfect for me.”

“Well,” she says, smiling at how clearly he loves what he does. “You're still a chef. Definitely to me at least.”

He rises when the oven chimes, giving her a smile.

“That's enough for me.”

The biscuits have filled the kitchen with the warm scent of vanilla – the same scent that's usually still barely lingering when she gets home.

He stays long enough to let them cool slightly and cut them and she watches as he arranges them on the trivet by the kettle, just as he always does. He packs his things up then and she sees him out, exchanging smiles and goodbyes.

She's still smiling when she finally goes upstairs to change for the evening and it takes her a while to identify the feeling.

She feels like she just got home from a really, really good date.

It wasn't a date, so she doesn't know why she's disappointed when she doesn't hear from him again over the week. She doesn't contact him either, trying to recategorize the evening in her mind.

She's very pleasantly surprised, in that case, when she comes home the following Tuesday and he's still there. She knows by the smell of something sweet and nutty filling the air before she even gets to the kitchen.

It's spotless this time. He's not all anxious energy this time either – he smiles when she peeks in, looking rather uncertain about his welcome, but it still makes something deep in her chest ache.

It's rather nice. To come home to a smile from someone.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello.” She lets her smile ease his uncertainty and her tone ask her questions for her.

“I, uh, wanted to say thank you,” he explains. “For last week, when I was…when I wasn't feeling so great, for being so kind, letting me hang out for a while.”

She starts to wave it off again, but he continues.

“I made a little something special for ya. Something I can't really leave for you to reheat later,” he says, gesturing to the ovens. “If you want a little snack?”

She nods eagerly, kicking her heels off toward the stairs before she joins him.

He pulls a dish from the oven and sets it on the counter. He fiddles with something there, but she doesn't see what until her turns, sliding a round plate to the center of the island between them.

Whatever it is is perfectly golden brown, looks delicious and smells heavenly.

“Honey baked brie,” he informs her. “With some walnuts and some fig jam, tiny bit of rosemary.”

“Oh my god,” she almost moans. “And it's what, wrapped in pastry?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he smiles. “Thought it might be something you like.”

“I can tell you already you're correct,” she says, rounding the island to find them some forks. “I can't wait to taste it.”

“Let me know how you like it.” She frowns, but he's got a small smile when she looks up. “I'll let you…”

“You think I'm going to eat that entire thing myself?” she asks, lifting her brows as she pulls two forks from the drawer.

“Well, I know how much you like cheese,” he chuckles.

“I'll share,” she says, handing him a fork. “With you.”

She doesn't even have the patience to sit down – she slices her fork through the pastry and creamy brie begins to ooze out. She scoops it up with some pastry, catching a nut and a bit of fig and shoves it in her mouth.

“Careful, it's hot–”

“Fuck me,” she mutters without thought.

It's delicious. Creamy and sweet and savory, the pastry flaky and buttery. It's rich and indulgent but not sickeningly so and she’s in love.

She's bringing another bite to her mouth when she realizes he's just smiling at her, pleased as punch.

“Please eat some,” she begs around her bite. “Because I can not eat all of this and I will if you leave me alone with it.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, cutting off a bite for himself.

He hums, pleased with his handiwork. “Mm. Not to toot my own horn, but that's good.”

“Mm!” she hums, getting an idea. She steps away to the wine cooler, squatting down to look for one of her less frequent whites. She comes back with a pair of glasses and an off-dry Riesling.

“This was a bit too bright and citrus-y for me, but it might be gorgeous with this.”

“Okay. You’re the sommelier here, not me,” he says as she pours, then slides a glass to him.

“Oh, please, your pairings are always spot on.”

It does go nicely, complimenting every bite.

“God, this is lovely,” she tells him.

“I'm glad you like it,” he mumbles around his own bite.

“Did you make the pastry?”

He shakes his head. “No. Normally I would, but I didn't decide on this until I was shopping today and that takes some time.”

“How long did this take?”

She listens with interest as he explains how he made it, amazed at how straightforward it sounds.

“Christ, it sounds like I could make it.”

“Uh oh,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I talking myself out of a job?”

“Oh, hardly. Even if I figured out how to make everything you cook for me, I'd still keep you around,” she admits. “You’re good company.”

“Well, that's nice to know,” he smiles, eyes soft.

“Also, knowing how to definitely doesn't mean I actually have any desire to cook any of it myself,” she chuckles. “So you still have plenty of use.”

She winks with her teasing as his warm laugh has him tucking his chin, his crows feet deepening.

“I see how it is.”

She can't help but take him in, delighted by how carefree he is today. God help her, she really does like him – she wants to know him better. He's so genuine, so unselfish and generous, and she wants to keep him smiling.

“Thank you,” she says when she finally really can't eat any more, maybe a quarter of the round of brie left on the plate. “That was very kind of you.”

“No, thank you,” he echoes. “It was nice last week, to sit and eat with someone and I needed it.”

She nods get agreement, leaning her hip against the counter.

“I won't, uh, make a habit of just hanging out here, though,” he says, presumably to reassure her.

Her brows tip, eyes on his as she lets out a disappointed, “No?”

His lips part, but he doesn't manage to form a response. It hardly matters – they're communicating plenty in their gazes, trading glances at each other's lips. The moment stretches, and stretches, her breath changing to suit the surplus beats of her heart at the intensity in his warm eyes.

He leans closer, tipping his head, and something jolts through the center of her when he kisses her. She returns the gentle pressure, daring to part her lips to close them against his. Her fingers curl into her hand at her hip with restraint, fighting the urge to sink into his hair or pull him closer.

It's too delicate, this lovely feeling, and draws a tenderness up through her she hasn't been able to find for months.

He eases back slowly and she catches the breath he stole. Her eyes open, finding his still closed and she watches his parted lips begin to tighten as he fights a smile. The sight inspires one of her own, pulling at her cheeks as he opens his eyes, the smile winning and straightening his mustache out.

“I, um…”

She rolls her lips into her mouth, not even trying for words. She has none.

He can't find any either.

She drives forward again, prepared this time with a little extra breath in her lungs, a little more confidence. He kisses her back with a little more something too and she can't restrain her hands anymore from rising to hold his face. She tries to imbue the motion of her lips with plenty of invitation, but it's not until she pulls back and he follows, wavering toward her, that he steadies himself with a hand on her hip. Her attention goes straight to the heat of it through her dress as it slides to a more respectable height on her waist.

“You are very welcome to linger here as much as you like actually,” she exhales.

“Oh, I feel welcome,” he says, voice low.

She grins, pulling him in again. “Do you?”

“I sure do.”

He barely gets the words out before they're kissing again. She opens to him, tastes the brie and honey and the dry sweetness of the wine and finds it appropriate that he should be so indulgent. His hands finally make their way around her, narrowing the space between them even more. She's not sure when her arms found their way around his neck but they tighten there in response.

He doesn't let her go far when they part again, dropping a kiss on the corner of her mouth, her cheek. Her eyes close with the sensation, the scratch of his mustache and his warm lips.

“I really like cooking for you,” he murmurs.

The way he says it makes it sound like a deep confession and she feels silly for how fluttery it makes her to hear. She smiles against his lips and discovers this isn't new information to her. It's in every bite.

“I know you do,” she says low in his ear. “I can taste it.”

“Can you?” He sounds surprised and pleased.

“Yes.” She guides him back to her lips. “I can.”

#i don't know how you accidentally write five thousand words of fanfiction but it happened to me...#a gift for you anon. just cause 💌#also sorry the formatting sucks here but i don't feel like titling and tagging and summarizing and posting on ao3 rn #anon #tl drabbles

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zinkysworld · 3 months ago

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so many disabilities in one image, wowie (/j)

#dandys world #dandys world dandy #dandys world astro #dandys world brightney #dandys world flutter #dw dandy #dw astro #dw brightney #dw flutter #i wanna get used to doodling them #so i doodled them #then i coloured them #and i had to make astro a colour palette cuz his design sheet was in a different format #so slay girlboss #anyways flutters design grew on me it was def the art that sucked for the design sheet #darn u canvas size #also dandys def way too tall here but ignore that

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essektheylyss · 8 months ago

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I know I joked about DVDs but in all seriousness, I'm really glad that there's an option for watching VODs that isn't on Twitch and YouTube. It's been mentioned a few times today, but both of the interfaces of these platforms have been increasingly enshittified. I simply do not use YouTube anymore because of how horrid the interface is. I caught up on campaign 2 entirely on YouTube (and sometimes via podcast) in 2019 with no issues, but it is straight up maddening trying to use it now, and I don't know that I would have made it through the campaign if I was trying to catch up today.

I absolutely understand being tired of additional streaming services and I am absolutely in the same boat, but I also don't know how many people really recognize how gutted media distribution has become in the last ten years in the name of convenience. We all kind of realize it, but it's hard to grasp just how extensive it is. We can talk about independent business choices separately, and we should, but when the only platforms on which you have the option to distribute your work are at best frustrating to use and at worst hostile to human life, when monetization services can censor anyone they please with little explanation and have been cracking down on any content they arbitrarily deem inappropriate, when it is not clear that centralized conglomerate social media sites will continue to exist in the next year let alone decade, it is genuinely crucial for independent creators to start building alternative avenues of distribution that they control now.

#this is not about discussing the independent business choices but just for the record #i do think the way this has been handled thus far is solid and extremely reasonable.#and also i do think people would've lost it if dropout had not started largely subscriber-only and made that decision later.#just saying. I 100% think dropout's model is reasonable but they are STILL more restrictive in subscriber-exclusive content than this is #frankly at this point I do tend to favor creators who actually exhibit some business savvy cuz like #I don't necessarily presume that others will be in the space long term and i just don't have that much time to get invested in things #also cuz imo those people also tend to understand format better which is my vibe lol so there are other reasons but #i did work at a digital media company for five years and felt like fucking cassandra over literally this issue exactly so like #I'm not here to claim that I'm an expert but I do get it #the current situation SUCKS and trying to get through it is like threading a needle during an earthquake. while you're on fire.

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transsexual-divinity · 11 months ago

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Scans from my 2005 dvd copy of Totally Fucked Up 1993 dir Gregg Araki that came in the mail saturday

#tumblr formatting sucks so I guess y’all just have to deal w it #also I’ve never scanned anything before so this was fun #havent even watched it (the actual disc) yet since it was like loose flopping around in the case and I don’t want to be disappointed if it’s #-all scratched to shit #m talks #totally f***ed up #totally fucked up #totally fucked up 1993 #gregg araki #I do have a couple others but didn’t wanna cram em in here

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ragnarokhound · 5 months ago

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For the au ask game!

OKAY I wanted specifically to get to the pokemon au from the ask you sent, it's been cooking a bit so it's time to see what comes out of the oven, so... @azol-otl ty for the ask!

Crossover au's are all about the fused worldbuilding for me and speculating on how characters from universe A would fit into universe B heehee hoohoo - and for Batfam especially it's fun to think about the equivalent of their roles as vigilantes! What kind of people have the same level of celebrity, the same sideways seeking of justice?

Naturally this leads you to the gym leaders because a) it's the most fun and b) they are like. Quasi-law enforcement/educators/professional athletes depending on how you try to translate the innate child's perspective on the pokemon universe into something that makes sense as an adult lol ilu pokemon. [insert 'compels me though' gif here]

SO with this in mind, here's 5 fun facts (that are mostly backstory lmao) from a jaytim pokemon au I would write

I'm deeply ill about pokemon so this one goes under the cut lol:

Jason Todd used to be the Champion. He won the role after Dick Grayson quit a year or two before (Dick had been getting older and chafing under the League rules - meaning he'd been chafing under how Bruce ran the League) and was a fierce competitor who didn't believe in going easy on anyone. His Houndoom was a force to be reckoned with, and despite running a mostly Dark-type team, his Honchkrow cleaned up anyone thinking their Fighting-types could sweep. He looked after the League and Gotham with a cocky, self-assured attitude and the win record to back it up. .

Jason disappeared suddenly at the age of 15. Many assumed him dead, after a Rocket (Or whatever Gotham themed gang name we want to go with lol could be Team Joker) bombing in the area he'd last been seen, but he's officially declared missing. Bruce Wayne took back the duties of interim Champion as he once did for Dick Grayson, but he's not quite the mentor he once was. It's obvious he's grieving, and that he doesn't want to mentor any more twelve year olds. Dick signed up to be a Gym Leader shortly after this, returning from his trip about a year early to help out in the chaos following Jason's disappearance. .

Enter Tim Drake. Tim's gym challenge wasn't all that interesting in the circuit at first; he had a rocky start and had to retake a few gym challenges. He wasn't exactly sweeping on his first try every time like Jason had done. He didn't have the meteoric rise that caught the Champion's attention early, didn't get one-on-one mentorship or face-to-face meetings, cautionary advice and congratulations all rolled into one from Bruce Wayne himself - but Tim had patience and grit, and he paid attention. He was gunning for the Championship, and it wasn't just so he could prove himself. Team Rocket/Joker was still out there, and Bruce needed all the help he could get. He was always better for Gotham when he had a Robin. .

Dick had been nicknamed Robin for his all-Flying-type team and especially his Natu-then-Xatu; Jason followed up with his Murkrow-then-Honchkrow; Tim's Rookidee was one among many (Robin-esque pokemon were popularized by Dick and the trend remains through Tim's day) so he wasn't considered a possible Robin successor until it was a Corvisquire and he was about to face Dick Grayson himself, a badge away from Victory Road. By then, Tim and his team were a well-oiled machine (he runs mostly Steel-types lol but also Normal-types for the unexpected adaptability and the 'underestimate my rattata i dare you it's in the top peRCENTAGE--' of it all. FEAR.), and his loss-record had all but frozen while his win-record ticked higher and higher. .

Shit finally goes down about three years after Tim has become Champion and all but bullied Bruce into mentoring him (he basically said 'if you don't watch me, i'll go find Team Rocket/Joker on my own' and triggers all of Bruce's child endangerment traumas simultaneously) and the mysterious Rocket/Joker leader Red Hood shows up, bringing the gang out of the shadows in pursuit of a hidden agenda. Identity shenanigans and "wait is that a Houndoom? But he's only been using Ghost-types, it CAN'T be..." and heel-face turns abound. .

(BONUS FACT: Something something, Jason went into deep cover with Looker or whoever he is, that Interpol guy from X & Y (WAIT. LOOKER MIGHT ACTUALLY BE TALIA AL GHUL IN THIS AU HOHOHO), infiltrating the Rocket/Joker gang and going public as Red Hood is the first step in the last phase of the sting. Cue a million tense Jaytim interactions in which Tim is legitimately trying to take Red Hood down and Jason desperately tries to shake him so that he doesn't do anything that forces Jason to blow his cover. There is at least one 'tugged into a tight space to hide them both from the actual bad guys, "wait, did you just HELP me...?" "Think whatever you want, babybird"' interaction because I am a slut for the first sprinkles of a redemption arc that is rife with UST fufufu)

#did i make this pokemon au actually an undercover spy action movie? yes. yes i did #also their full team comp i will leave to the imagination haha #everyone has their preferences for what's appropriate so i'll name a general typing preference and leave it there mostly #but I will defend Dick 'the Flying' Grayson(s) forever. all flying types for him change my mind #I like the idea of city-boy through and through street kid Jason having a stereotypical inner city team at first #but his team changes and expands as his pokemon journey really kicks off #i always think of that one short from the start of Pokemon 2000 with the inner city tire castle that pikachu finds #and the houndour that FUCKS IT UP LOL #so to me houndour is like. okay it's one of my favorite pokemon (COULD YOU TELL *glances at my banner) but it's a def an urban pokemon to m #so i like the idea of scrappy street kid Jason finding a houndour 🥺 and that was his first pokemon 🥺#so he kinda falls into dark-types in part because of the stigma around them being difficult to raise and him calling BS #and then of course he switches to ghost-types after he 'dies' in part to separate his identity as Red Hood from Jason Todd #but also for the joke of it all lmao look the dead boy uses ghost pokemon. who also have a stigma for being creepy/unlovable. i cry forever #Tim's team i am the most *shrug* about but i do think he has either a competitive team or a meme team lol #but for him i do like the aesthetics of steel- electric- normal- because Tim is the robin with secretly unhinged normal boy swag #he's out here doing the math and making you underestimate him look at his big tanky aggron lol so slow and then BAM #pikachu with light orb and x6 agility x6 double team u can't touch that rat electro ball to the face #Does his wigglytuff know thunderpunch? ice punch? fire punch? good luck guessing he switches its move set after every battle mfer #OKAY ANYWAY #ty azol for the ask!! i love pokemon i have many brainworms owo #edit: had to fix the formatting a bit to make this READABLE. God help me if it sucks to look at RIP #jaytim #not fic #my writing #ask game #asked and answered #pokemon #dc

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myfairkatiecat · 3 months ago

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Okay I’m going to say it, some of y’all treat the KOTLC tag like it’s a tumblr community instead of an organization system that gathers together everything people post and tag as KOTLC

#unless something has absolutely nothing to do with kotlc #no one is in their right to tell you to not tag something at kotlc. just so you know.#you can’t clog up a tag. that’s not a THING #no one talks about this in bigger fandoms. we only have this problem bc it’s a small fandom and people are used to going to the tag #to find the content they want #and if they aren’t finding the content they want too bad so sad.#like I’m not saying you can just tag whatever as kotlc #but if it’s about kotlc in any way. you are well within your right to tag it as such.#Im ALL FOR properly tagging. like don’t improperly tag. that’s just mean #and that DOES interrupt tags :/#but there’s no way for you to post too much about any one topic #the kotlc tag is NOT a curated space. it’s not a place of all these assorted kotlc posts in similar formats #it’s a space for everything tagged as kotlc #so unless you look at the post and are like ‘this doesn’t even mention kotlc or any of its characters???’#you can scroll along your merry way!#kotlc #it’s something that’s come up in both the right and wrong contexts #during tam cam people told ppl talking about just the identity stuff to keep it out of the kotlc tag and that was CORRECT bc that wasn’t #about kotlc. but also during tam cam people put in my ask box that there were too many tam cam meme posts and that they were clogging up #the tag. to which I say A) I was only making like a quarter of those and B) those have to do with kotlc so you can suck it up! in the end I #didn’t respond. but yeah. i get that there’s a time and place for us to be like hey that doesn’t belong here #but whether or not something belongs in the tag has NOTHING to do with how much you want to see it or how many posts are being made about it #thank you and have a nice day. and if you want a curated space of similarly formatted kotlc posts you should make a community #Ik our tag often functions like one bc we are a small fandom. but we are NOT entitled to that.

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fallstreakfeathers · 2 years ago

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Human as you are

When you tell him you want to demat his hair, you're met with a scoff

"It'd have to be cut. All of it. Make me uglier than I already am" he snarls

You disagree, and sweetly push, reassure, promise

He rolls his eyes, fights, tries to intimidate

Mumbles a sarcastic "only if you're naked, too"

He hopes it shuts you up. Embarrasses. Deflects your horrible insistence

To his shock, terror, you agree.

You sit behind him, nude in water a little too warm for your liking, muscles undoubtedly to cramp in the small space of a tub not meant for two people, but that's okay

It's claustrophobic, suffocating

But that's okay, too, because he's letting you close to him

Letting himself be vulnerable

An honor even his sister rarely sees, you're aware, even if he's mostly hidden himself from you by the ridiculous amount of soap bubbles that surround your bodies like snowfall

Even if he refuses to let his weary eyes meet yours

Gentle hands soak his gnarled, broken strands with conditioner and detanglers

He flinches under your touch

Your touch, which has never hurt him, would never, could never

But the world has, the world will, the world takes wicked joy in it, and that is enough to justify the tenseness of his shoulders and the bobbing of his throat as he swallows, forcing himself to still

To trust his judgement

To trust you

You pretend not to notice, preserve his pride, devour your own

He swears it burns where your flesh touches his, wonders if you think him as diseased as everyone else does, wonders if you even care

Wonders if Daki allowed you this time away from scrubbing floors to spoil her dear brother

Wonders how you stand the stench, human as you are, of the blood and gore and the decomposing filth that may as well take up as much of his head as his dark locks do

A bladed comb cuts through the worst of it, straightening the rest as much as his hair allows

He watches your reflection in the water, watches your tongue poke through your lips as you concentrate on a particularly stubborn mat, watches you smile as you massage the falling suds into the spots on his shoulders- not to erase but to soothe

You would never hurt him

You work long, and pull so many unsavable chunks from his head he fears you really might cut him bald

You work hard, and resist the urge to playfully squish the inky dots below the corners of his mouth

There's no pain in your work, not enough for an Oni of his strength to notice, but you apologize every time the brush catches his knots anyway

It's cute

You're cute, he thinks

Eventually, slowly, he allows himself to lean into you

Relaxes in the warmth surrounding him

He tells himself it's only so you don't have to stretch so far to reach him

Wouldn't want you to hurt your weak human arms

Ignores the inner voice that snickers with the knowledge that if he weren't so ugly, prideful, scared, he may have even allowed himself to smile

And when you leave, finally, to let him to wash his lower half without the threat of you, and he's left to sit in cooling water, eyes wide in the confusion that someone dares to care for him in such a way, like he's not disgusting, like he's not a monster, like he's a person, he pretends the tears threatening to fall is just the water left from his hair.

#not obey me #gyutaro #gyutaro x you #gyutaro x reader #i dont remember writing this #found it in my notes after taking too much sleepy herbs to combat my insomnia #bathing and caretaking #undetermined relationship #but you and gyu are definitely super close #probably a little ooc #but it seems decently liked on ao3 so i thought id throw it here and bolt #not my usual style of writing #weird punctuation #i just want to demat and de-flea gyu and also take care of Urogi's wings but im stuck in THIS horrible reality #formatting on mobile sucks

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johnentwistlesbassguitar · 29 days ago

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Deciding to post some fic I wrote a while ago based off a horny idea I wrote on here 😅

Pairing/fandom: not sure how to classify this hm basically John just gets fucked by all his bandmates

Rating: explicit

Warnings: non-con, force feeding

Word count: 1k

John had expected to be filming a video for the Who's most recent single, he'd been told they were using a hotel room to film and didn't think much of it. He opened the door to find Pete, Keith, and Roger all sitting around a table with a massive cake on it...there was no film crew in sight. Instead of asking about it he assumed they were just late even if it was strange that the room seemed so plain. To John it didn't look like they were planning on getting any work done, which was fine but he had no idea what insane plot they'd come up with.

They all stared at John as soon as he stepped foot in the room, it made his skin crawl he felt like he was getting pranked or something. Nervously he slid into a seat at the end of the small table. Pete tapped Keith on the shoulder and motioned for him to lock the door.

John was much more off put now "what're you doing that for" he gestured at Keith.

"Oh, just so we're not interrupted" Roger answered reaching a hand out to touch John's thigh.

Quickly John slapped Roger's hand and slid a bit farther away he couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on. He looked around trying to see if Keith or Pete had noticed what Roger just tried to do but they were also looking at him very expectantly.

Pete nodded at the cake in front of them "you hungry?" He obviously had directed the question at John.

"Uhm no, not really"

Roger almost giggled but he hid his face with his hand. Keith grabbed a fork full of cake and leaned across the table to shove it in John's face.

John took a firm hold of Keith's wrist, telling him to stop. Roger captured John's strong arms, giving Keith a free pass to John's face. Across from them sat Pete, looking amused as ever at the sight of his struggling bandmates.

Roger restrained John's arms while Keith held his mouth open and slid the fork inside. His face was red now, John was still unable to tell what their intentions were but they definitely wanted to embarrass him.

John squirmed under Roger's tight hold of him, unable to flee keiths bullying. However, John didn't feel as bad as he wished he did, he wanted to think he just enjoyed the attention but it was much more than that.

The more Keith fed him the less John wanted to fight, Roger sensed him getting weaker and moved his hands from John's wrists to his belly. Slowly Roger started to massage John's fat stomach causing a soft moan to escape John's lips. Roger felt his dick twitch in his pants, John was so cute being helpless like this.

"You like that?" Roger asked smugly, continuing to play with John's large tummy. It turned him on to think about John getting fatter and letting Roger do whatever he likes to him, he would get his fantasy soon enough.

The buttons on John's shirt felt like they were gonna pop any second, Roger gave up his tries at the buttons and let him over to Pete, who graciously undid his tight shirt. Pete took his time opening Johns shirt and sliding his hands down to undo his pants, Johns stomach spilled out over the top of his belt. Pete knelt down next to John and pressed the side of his face into his belly, sweetly listening to the sounds of him getting more and more stuffed with cake.

At this point John felt like he couldn't stand he was so full but he didn't beg Keith to stop, he just let himself get fed more and more. Keith used his free hand to cup John's face and pinch his chubby cheek. John just stared at him with glassy eyes.

So much attention was starting to get to John and he felt his dick harden agaisnt his thigh, he also had to admit he loved the feeling of being completely stuffed. The only downside was that he was unable to get up from his position. He was completely at his bandmates mercy, who seemed a little too eager to help.

Keith fed John the last of the cake and rewarded him with a little kiss for being such a good boy.

"Wow" Keith started, looking at John with soft eyes "I can't believe you ate all of that" his eyes moved down to stare at John's bloated stomach.

John leaned his head back and panted. Roger just continued to squeeze and rub John's belly, it was very warm and round after being filled up so much. He noticed some stretch marks on John's waist they were so pretty Roger traced them with his fingers. It was satisfying to just feel John's soft body under his hands he wanted to hold him for as long as possible.

Suddenly Pete had an idea, they were all so horny and well in this state John was pretty much defenseless. He walked up behind John and hoisted him up on to the table by his waist.

"Ugh, your so heavy..." Pete complained mockingly, he couldn't hide the lust in his voice.

Keith and Roger watched hungrily, they knew what Pete was about to do and were not interested in stopping him. John groaned and gave up his tries at lifting himself up, a wave of humiliation washing over him as he let himself be used as a toy.

Pete kept a hand on John's back to deter him from trying to move and just admired him for a moment. He really looked sexy all fat and helpless with his ass in the air. Satisfied with John's positioning Pete yanked John's underwear down to fully expose him, he gasped but didn't make any move to cover himself, he couldn't.

Finally Pete undid his own pants and and held John by his hips. Pete reached over at the now empty cake plate, scraping up the last of the glazing with his palm and rubbing it along his hard cock. He knew he should prep John but he was just so horny. It's not like John could do anything, he aligned his cock with John's hole and pushed in without warning. John's sudden scream filled the room, spurring Pete to go faster, thrusting deeper. John squirmed and whimpered against the table, the only object for his support.

Roger was grinning, he watched with sick pleasure as John whined. He walked around to the front of the table so he could get a good look at John's face Roger forced his chin up, making John look into his illwilling eyes. John wasn't able to focus on anything except Pete thrusting hard into his ass.

"My turn next" Roger said gleefully. John groaned loudly in response to both Pete and Roger, he looked so adorably vulnerable. He booped John on the nose and squeezed his cheeks, even his face was fat, how cute.

Roger pet John's hair as Pete climaxed, John felt Petes cum fill him up even more.

"Good boy" Pete remarked breathlessly, he reached around John's waist to jiggle his belly. Before pulling out Pete leaned down to place a kiss on John's back, he'd earned it.

Completely speechless John laid his head back down on the table, he was paralysed with exhaustion and needed some rest.

John could sense Roger approaching him from behind, he just wished Roger would be more gentle. His ass was sore and he wasn't sure he'd be able to walk tomorrow.

Carefully Roger slid into John's already stretched entrance, he tensed and gasped but didn't scream like he did for Pete. How rude Roger thought, he slapped John's ass hard, that made him yelp. Johns legs trembled he felt Roger thrust deeper and deeper into his guts far faster than he could handle.

Roger felt John go limp as he burst inside him. He had made a mess of John, cum was dripping down his thick thighs, his skin was shining from sweat and faint panting was heard from his parted lips. When he eased John back into his chair Roger noticed tear tracks on his face, he wiped them away with the back of his hand placing a kiss on John's cheek. Roger almost felt bad but but keith hadn't had his turn with him yet, and Roger was eager to see what he had in mind.

Keith plopped himself onto John's lap like an excited puppy. His pants were already off and he slid himself onto John's throbbing erection making sure to go slowly and tease John as much as possible. Wanting to be as close to John as possible Keith squished himself up agiasnt John's gut and put his arms around his shoulders using them a leverage as he found a good rhythm.

Being just a few inches away from his face, Keith could hear John's suppressed moans, encouraging Keith to keep going. He continued to slide up and down doing his best to bring John closer to release. John panted and groaned loudly in reply to Keith picking up the pace. Keith felt so tight and so good, He felt John's nails dig deeper into his skin, the pain causing him to whine loudly. His mouth remained parted as he urged to get John deeper into him. There wasn't enough friction, no matter how wildly Keith bounced and hopped it was never enough.

John's shriek marked his release, Keith calmed down and eased off John's now soft dick. He held Keith onto his lap though tightening his arms around Keith's waist. Both bodies slick with sweat.

"Awwww" Keith cooed at John's abnormally cuddly behavior.

Roger got jealous upon seeing this, he realized that John was already half asleep but how dare he hold Keith instead of him? He walked over and shook John back to consciousness with an indignant look on his face. John was confused but was able to figure out what he wanted from watching him try and pry Keith out of his lap. Pete was only observing he didn't want to get involved until Roger and Keith calmed down.

Tiredly John slid himself onto the floor and leaned up agaisnt the wall so that Roger and Keith could lay on either side of him. They seemed satisfied enough with this and snuggled up close to him. Pete decided to join them by laying on John's chest and wrapping his lanky arms around his warm naked body.

#if this sucks uhh #keep it to yourself #im not in the mindest to receive any criticism #also if the formatting is funky apologies #ive never posted fic on here before #the who #john entwistle #keith moon #pete townshend #roger daltrey #my fics ❤️#🍰

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