#pyrex set

[junkologistsgoods]

Set of 4 Vintage Pyrex Primary color Nesting Mixing bowl set - Oven safe - USA - Yellow Red Blue Green

[whetstonefires]

Measuring cups! The flat ones with long handles, if they have a spout, a lefty has to choose between the lack of control of pouring out of the edge with no spout, and the lack of control of pouring with one's off hand.

and my personal favorite:

i love getting validation as a lefty but also learning about new fun ways it continues to suck

[buckysleftbicep]

heavy lifting 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (domestic au)

warnings: fluff!!!

summary: moving is hard, but teasing bucky about his knees and getting kissed breathless on the floor makes it all worth it.

word count: 1.2k

author's note: hi loves! its been a very long day, but here i am with another fic based on this request 💓 love ya guys and stay safe out there ❤️

The box labeled KITCHEN – VERY FRAGILE!! teetered dangerously in Bucky’s arms.

“You know,” you said from across the room, one hand on your hip and the other holding your phone like a clipboard, “I did say we could hire movers.”

He narrowed his eyes at you over the top of the box.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?” you teased. “You’ve been sighing like a victorian widow for the last twenty minutes. Pretty sure I just heard you say ‘my knees’ when you bent down.”

“That was one time,” Bucky muttered, gingerly setting the box down on the countertop and flexing his vibranium fingers. “And it was the heaviest box in here.”

“It was dish towels.”

“Yeah, well, you roll them up weird, sweetheart”

You grinned, watching as he straightened up with a dramatic grunt — the kind of exaggerated groan that only made him sound older than he already pretended not to be.

His Henley clung to his back in damp patches—not gross, just unfair—the kind of warm, sleepy domestic sweat that made your stomach flutter.

You could see the shift of muscle underneath, the way his shoulder blades flexed with every movement, broad back tapering into a trim waist in those worn-in jeans you were starting to think should be illegal.

Strong arms, one flesh and one vibranium, worked in quiet rhythm as he moved—solid, capable, and completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like the poster boy for “hot guy helping you move.”

“You good, grandpa?”

He shot you a look that was all bark and no bite. “Watch it.”

“Oh no,” you said, wiggling your fingers playfully in the air, “am I provoking the super soldier? Is he gonna get all big and scary because I teased his joints?”

Bucky stalked toward you with exaggerated menace, footsteps slow and heavy like a cartoon villain. “You’re gonna be real sad when I let you carry the mattress up yourself.”

You laughed, backing away with the same deliberate slowness. “I knew you’d crack eventually. Maybe we should call some actual movers.”

He caught you before you could duck behind the couch, arms wrapping securely around your waist like you were the most precious thing in the room—which, to him, you were.

You squealed, high-pitched and delighted, legs kicking in the air as he spun you once and then dropped you gently into the mountain of blankets on the floor that used to be your bed.

“Take it back,” he said, hovering over you, smirking like he already knew you wouldn’t.

“No.”

He raised a brow.

“Not unless you admit you said ‘ow’ picking up a box of tupperware.”

“That tupperware was packed dense,” he said, nudging your nose with his. “You put the pyrex in with the lids, didn’t you?”

“Obviously. I’m not a monster.”

“You are a menace.”

“You’re in denial about your age.”

Bucky laughed, low and warm in his chest—the kind of sound that made your heart ache in the best way—and kissed you mid-giggle, his mouth brushing yours like it was the only thing that mattered.

The kiss was sweet and lazy, the kind of thing you could sink into and stay in forever. His hands were warm against your waist, steady. He smelled like fresh soap and worn cotton, and you felt completely and stupidly in love.

“You’re real mouthy for someone who hasn’t lifted a single book box,” he murmured, lips brushing yours.

You gasped, all mock scandal. “Excuse me, I’ve been organising! And labelling! And supervising!"

“Supervising, huh?”

“Yeah. Making sure you don’t, I dunno, break a hip.”

He lunged again and you shrieked, scrambling away on all fours. He chased after you with no shame at all, laughing as he snatched at your ankle, dragging you back into his arms while you both dissolved into helpless giggles.

You ended up tangled together in a pile of pillows and limbs, cheeks flushed and smiles wide. He tugged you close and kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheek—like he couldn’t get enough of touching you, even in the middle of a chaotic mess of moving boxes.

“We are never going through this again,” Bucky declared, arm flung over his eyes.

“You said that last time.”

“Because I meant it.”

“And yet here we are.”

There was a pause.

“I did it for you, you know,” he said softly, peeking at you from beneath his arm, cerulean eyes soft in a way that always made your breath catch.

“What, moved into a shoebox with peeling cabinets and suspicious light switches?”

He rolled onto his side and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Moved into a shoebox with you.”

Your heart squeezed. The air shifted—a little quieter, a little heavier with the kind of affection that lived in the small, quiet moments. He always slipped it in like that. Like love was a throwaway comment. Like it wasn’t everything.

You reached over and smoothed a piece of lint off his chest. “I like it. Even if the sink screams when you turn on the hot water.”

“It’s got good bones,” he said, imitating the landlord.

“Terrible windows.”

“Charming character.”

“A light switch that sparks.”

“A fire hazard,” he grinned.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I love our little fire hazard.”

He hummed and pulled you closer, hand spreading over your back, holding you like he didn’t want you to leave—like he never would. You let yourself melt against him, your nose tucked into the curve of his neck, his fingers stroking gentle circles at your waist.

The floor was stiff and the apartment was still half-unpacked, but none of that mattered. Not when his thumb brushed over the hem of your shirt. Not when the light from the crooked blinds painted your skin gold and dust floated in lazy spirals around you like a snow globe.

“You know,” he said after a long beat, “next time, I am hiring movers.”

“Oh? So you are admitting you’re not strong enough.”

He made a soft noise of protest, shifting until your noses touched. “No. I’m saying I wanna save my strength for better things.”

“Like what?”

He kissed the top of your head, voice low. “Like carrying you to bed.”

You smiled against his shirt. “Smooth.”

“I try.”

There was a pause.

“…Do you remember which box the coffee maker’s in?”

“Top of the stack in the kitchen. Behind the one labeled Definitely Not Just Snacks.”

“You’re amazing.”

You sat up together, both groaning in unison like the prematurely elderly couple you were proudly becoming. Bucky stood first and offered you a hand, which you took—mostly to watch the way his arm flexed, which he definitely noticed.

“Still strong,” he said smugly.

You patted his chest. “Sure you are, babe.”

He narrowed his eyes, and you took off, barefoot, laughing as he chased you around the room again like you were kids playing tag in your first home.

Later That Night

You were both completely wiped. The mattress was on the floor, the sheets a mismatched pair of cozy old cotton sets, soft, worn, and comforting.

Bucky walked out of the bathroom in grey sweats and a black tank top, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp and curling just slightly at the ends.

He caught you staring.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you said sweetly. “Just thinking about how strong you looked carrying that lamp earlier.”

He snorted and dropped the towel on your head.

“Hey!”

“I am strong, for the record.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, pulling the towel down and tugging him in by the waistband of his sweats. “Strong enough to lift a box of pyrex and my entire heart.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile. “That was worse than your 'supervising' joke.”

“Shut up and kiss me, grandpa.”

He did—slow and sleepy, like he had all the time in the world. Like he didn’t mind that you were both surrounded by chaos, by boxes and dust and a half-eaten bag of trail mix somewhere under the dresser.

Somewhere in the background, a box labeled LIVING ROOM STUFF PROBABLY?? fell over with a soft thud.

Neither of you moved.

Unpacking could wait.

[heltontool]

Helton Tool & Home

While Helton Tool & Home is based in Arizona, we were born on the Internet, starting on eBay in 2003 and growing rapidly from there. After 20 years of doing business online, we know what our customers want: high quality products at an affordable price with speedy shipping from a company they can trust to treat them right. At Helton Tool & Home, we deliver it all.

[topteneverworld]

Pyrex 3 Piece Glass Measuring Cup Set: The Perfect Kitchen Companion

Introduction:

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Pyrex, a brand synonymous with high-quality glassware, has a rich history dating back to 1915 when they introduced their iconic glass bakeware. The Pyrex 3 Piece Glass Measuring Cup Set continues this tradition of excellence. Crafted from non-porous, clear borosilicate glass, these measuring cups are incredibly sturdy and resistant to stains, odors, and thermal shock. Unlike plastic or ceramic alternatives, Pyrex glass won’t absorb flavors or colors from the ingredients, ensuring that your measurements are always precise and consistent.

Three Sizes, Versatile Usage:

Buy Now Pyrex 3 Piece Glass Measuring Cup Set

Microwave and Oven Safe:

One of the key advantages of the Pyrex 3 Piece Glass Measuring Cup Set is its versatility. These cups are safe for use in the microwave, allowing you to easily heat liquids or melt ingredients without transferring them to another container. Moreover, they are oven-safe, making them perfect for recipes that require precise measurements and baking.

Easy to Clean:

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Space-Saving Design:

This measuring cup set has a stackable design, allowing them to nest together neatly in your kitchen cabinet or drawer, saving valuable space. This feature is especially beneficial for smaller kitchens where storage is at a premium.

Read Full Review Click Here>>

[jo-harrington]

Antiquing v. Thrifting (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Summary: You have a little booth at the local antique market and the owner of the neighboring booth tends to get on your nerves.

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: Slight enemies to lovers, meet cute, misunderstandings, fluff, banter

Note: This is a late birthday gift to one of my fandom loves who has become an amazing friend IRL too. @bettyfrommars. Betty thank you for being one of my weirdo soulmates, loving old gameshows, wishing we could live in a mid century modern house with all of the original fun appliances. You are one of my favorite people and since I can't send you my bowling ball (one day) I've written this for you. Love you.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

--

There was not much to drive you to want to murder someone. In fact, you would say that you were probably one of the most easygoing people you knew. And you knew plenty of people.

But the person at the receiving end of your ire, and the target of your bloodlust, was one of the most inconsiderate assholes you knew.

Actually, you didn’t even know who it was.

You’d been one of the vendors at The Little Traveler's Antique Market for years. You had a booth along the back wall, acquired when you realized your love of vintage Pyrex was getting a little too overzealous for your shoebox-cum-condo. Besides, the thrill of the hunt was the real thing that you enjoyed: estate sales and rummage sales and thrift stores were filled with treasures just waiting for you to find.

So a few shelves of Gooseberry and Butterprint went up, and eventually it turned into a haven for all sorts of vintage pieces. It was a shrine to your whims, rather than any real desire to find monetary value. Of course, people seemed to flock to it, so the cash you made from it was nice..but that was neither here nor there.

It was something you were good at, and something you loved. You'd met some very interesting people--and some of your closest friends--because of it. Heard the best stories.

Unfortunately, you'd also met some of the most insufferable people because of it too. Or rather, in this case, one insufferable person you pointedly had not met.

It had started when a bunch of Royal Doulton character mugs showed up in your space. And they weren't terrible, but they just weren't yours. Your hand-picked selection of Hazel Atlas glasses had been carelessly shoved to the side on a vintage mahogany sideboard you'd painstakingly hauled in, and in their place were Paddy and Toby and George Fucking Washington, all staring goofily up at you.

Ok, so maybe the Anne Boleyn one wasn't bad.

It was the principle of it. There were unspoken rules in an Antique Market. You just didn't encroach on someone else's space.

You painted the kindest smile you could manage--which, in all honesty, probably looked more like you were baring your teeth--and headed up to the front to confront the manager of the market.

"Margie," you began with a saccharine tone. You set the Anne Boelyn mug down on the counter. "May I kindly ask who Seller 86 is?"

"Oh, that's our new guy," she laughed, oblivious. "Ed. Great guy. He's got some fun stuff."

"Yeah, real fun."

"We did a little shuffle over the weekend," she continued, diving into one of her rambling midwest-isms. "Jim wanted to downsize, which opened a bigger space for Michelle to move into. One thing led to another, and I put Ed in Chelle's old space, next to yours. Hope you don't mind."

What could you say except a cordial of course not? Even as you were left to grumble and mope back to your booth to move all of the Royal Doulton back to Ed's new space. You set them out on a folding table he had in the corner, very nice and neat, which was your standard.

You might have also left a little, tiny, friendly, scathing note.

No big deal.

And you wouldn't lie, you snooped a little.

Come on, everyone else would, too. It was just...shopping. Not snooping.

You couldn't judge the wild array of things he had for sale; much like you, it seemed that everything in Ed's booth was suited to his tastes, because there was just a vibe of "who in their right mind would put some of this shit together." Little taxidermy animals playing poker, postcards from the most random places, vintage beer and coffee cans that, though empty, looked as new as the day they were bought. Garfield and Snoopy memorabilia. And mugs...so many mugs, as far as the eye could see.

It was charming, you could admit that, as long as it all stayed on his side of the vaguely-defined boundary between your booths.

Unfortunately, it did not.

It was never anything major but it was enough to annoy you. Books left out on a table, vinyl records in a crate in a corner, gaudy biker costume jewelry thrown in one of your mixing bowls. Each time you went to restock your booth, you'd have to find whatever treasures he left behind and return them, along with another note.

It was like finding the secret little corner where your cat pissed because they were mad at you. Admittedly, this might've been worse because you were proud. So very proud of your booth. It was a snapshot of you, after all. But that was sullied by little pieces of Ed, a guy you didn't even know, who seemed to enjoy pissing strangers off.

Every week, he metaphorically photobombed your snapshot at the last second and your perfect polaroid had bunny ears.

Or a crude gesture.

Or sometimes even his whole, bare ass.

And you were simply not vindictive enough to do anything about it.

It just wasn't worth the trouble to actually return the favor to him, or better yet, get him kicked from the market altogether. What if his little booth was his livelihood? What if this was how he made ends meet? Your pride wasn't worth ruining something for someone else.

Yes. You were a pushover.

You, surprisingly, got a reprieve for a few weeks.

Each time you'd gone to restock your booth with fun new treasures, there were no hidden trinkets waiting for you. Actually, Ed's booth didn't even look like it had been restocked or touched at all. There were holes in his displays where his wares had been purchased but not replenished. Was he on vacation? Maybe he was under the weather.

You took it upon yourself to spend a few minutes shuffling his mugs like a good neighbor would.

It was a disappointment relief.

Why wouldn't it be a relief? It wasn't like you'd started looking forward to what and where you'd find Ed's little surprises. It wasn't the thrill you'd get when the adrenaline spiked with your anger.

No, not at all.

"What's got you so pouty?" Margie asked as you trudged through the doors about three weeks after Ed's initial disappearance. "Did Dunkin get your coffee wrong again? That's how I know my morning is gonna be shitty."

"Must've woken up on the wrong side of the bed," you gave a weak excuse and headed towards your booth.

You were juggling an armful of tote bags and your coat, so you didn't notice the stranger standing in your space as you approached, until they turned around and spotted you.

"Oh, hey, lemme help you with that," came the rasp of a friendly voice as you rounded the corner. You looked up, surprised, as a set of hands hoisted the heaviest of your tote bags from your grasp.

He was like a relic, frozen in time. In a good way, though, like a well-kept polaroid from the 80s. Faded band tee, bootcut blue jeans, leather jacket that looked butter-soft from eons of wear. His hair was on the longer side and tied back; salt-and-pepper streaks proudly confirmed his personal antique status, along with the crows feet surrounding his deep, warm brown eyes.

He was a gentleman...and he was cute.

You felt like an idiot as your eyes slid down to his left hand on instinct. But there was no ring, so that self-loathing feeling disappeared. Well, no wedding ring, actually. He had a gunmetal band on his pointer finger, and a silver signet ring on his pinky.

Time returned to its appropriate speed as he hauled the tote onto your folding table just a few feet away.

"Jesus, what've you got in here? Bricks?" he laughed. "Are you trying to put Home Depot out of business?"

"Uh..." You floundered for words. "P-pewter tea pots. One of my regulars is getting married. Asked me to keep an eye out for them for her centerpieces."

"Never seen that at a wedding before."

"How many weddings have you been to?" You questioned.

"Well, my buddy Gareth alone has gotten married 3 times." He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against your sideboard. "So I think I've got a pretty good chance that I've seen it all.

"Is there anything I can help you find today?" you asked, laying your best customer service voice on thickly. You busied yourself with unpacking your bags so you wouldn't have to look at the charming, crooked smile that settled on his mouth. "Was there anything that caught your eye before my hopeless self stumbled over here?"

"Ah," he pushed off the sideboard and tilted his head up so he could scratch along the length of his neck. "I, uh, was looking at your cookie jars, actually."

"Oh yeah?" You looked up at that and glanced over to the hutch in the corner that held an array of Pillsbury doughboys in various, charming poses. "Can I tell you a secret? I used to hate watching commercials with Poppin' Fresh. That claymation was frightening. I think he's pretty cute now, though."

You abandoned your unpacking and approached the hutch to try and figure which cookie jar he'd been intrigued by. You picked up a jar that had its lid askew and were about to ask if he wanted you to bring it up to the counter for him, when you lifted the lid and looked inside.

And found a rubber-banded stack of Metallica cassettes carefully nestled inside.

You felt your face get hot as you stared at the track listing and colorful cover art of Ride the Lightning. Coincidentally the same album that was on this newcomer's t-shirt.

"So," you huffed and slammed the lid on the cookie jar, careless of any damage it might cause. "You're Ed, huh?"

He chuckled behind you, "Eddie, actually. I prefer to go by Eddie. But yeah, that's me." You pivoted on your heel and glared at him; he faltered under your burning gaze. "Nice to, uh, meet you. Neighbor."

And with that, you let him have it.

You might've blacked out at some point during the absolute barrage of a verbal dressing down you gave him. How dare he not respect the etiquette of the market and stay within the confines of his allotted space, how dare he waste your time week after week as simply minded your own business and sold your trinkets, and how dare he ignore every single note that you left behind.

The fucker had the audacity to look amused with every word that fell from your lips.

In the end, you stood there, huffing and puffing as you caught your breath and felt several months of anger finally extinguish.

"You done there, killer?" Eddie asked with a smirk. "You feel better?"

"Yeah," you shouted one last time, then lowered your voice. "Yes I do."

"Alright, good." He nodded. "Gotta get it out sometimes, otherwise you might get an ulcer. Or develop alcoholism."

"Might be close to both, to be honest," you muttered.

"Shit, then I'm extra, extra sorry that I put you through all of that, sweetheart." He laid a hand over his heart. "This is my first rodeo selling in a place like this, I didn't realize that everyone was so...territorial."

"Yeah, well. Most of the time I'm not." Lies. You were a liar. "I think the thing that pissed me off more is that I kept leaving notes for you and you kept ignoring them and messing with my shit."

Eddie looked bashful all of a sudden. "Oh shit. See I thought you were just flirting with me."

Talk about a record-scratch moment; what...what had he just said?

"Flirting?" you asked.

"I mean, yeah, not to sound cocky either because I was definitely flirting right back at you. What do they call it in the movies? A...meet cute moment? I thought it was fun. You leave me a sarcastic, threatening note, and I leave you a little treasure hunt to solve. Like a...fucked up version of You've Got Mail."

"That's nothing like You've Got Mail," you pointed out.

There was a beat.

"I think this is a really good time to mention that I fell asleep halfway through You've Got Mail," he explained with a laugh. "Regardless, I read things wrong. That's on me. But I'm sorry. I'll never do it again."

He held his hand out to you and his brows shifted upwards and behind his dated bangs.

You worried at your bottom lip for a moment and tried to claw at the vestiges of your anger for a second, but this guy...he looked like such a kicked puppy...and you suppose that it was a cute way to flirt with someone you'd never met.

God, you really needed to work on that pushover thing.

"It's alright," you told him as you slid your hand into his and accepted his apology. "As long as you don't do it again."

"Cross my heart," he nodded enthusiastically.

You introduced yourself, formally, and offered your help in the future if he needed it. He introduced himself and told you that he would appreciate any pointers that you had to give.

"I'm pretty new to this whole...thrift thing," he shrugged. "I've had a bunch of this stuff in storage for a while. I used to move around a lot, you accumulate a lot of junk. And then my uncle...some of this stuff is his. Was his. He passed away last year. Finally decided I couldn't keep hoarding it all anymore. Turns out, I had a lot more shit than I thought I did."

"Story of my life," you laughed and offered your condolences. "It's hard, deciding what to keep and what to get rid of."

"Tell me about it."

"But, I do have one main lesson for you," you offered.

"Oh yeah?" he smirked. "Already? Just when I thought I couldn't fuck it up any more."

"It's an Antique Market," you told him. "Not a Thrift Store."

"There's a difference?" Eddie asked sarcastically, although a blush bloomed on his cheeks. "Guess the learning curve is much steeper than I thought."

"It's alright. You'll get it sooner or later." You smiled at him, trying to be as friendly and supportive as you could.

He stared at you for maybe a few seconds too long, then shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked forwards on his heels.

"Maybe you could explain it to me, in-depth?" he questioned. "Antiquing, thrifting, whatever."

"Of course," you agreed, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

"Over lunch?" He asked with a nervous smile. "There's a great diner up the road. And I figure I owe you one for all the anguish I put you through anyway."

You stared at him in shock for a second, wondering how to respond. First there was the comment about the flirting...and now this. What if he was a creep? But he didn't seem like as much of a jackass as you thought he was...and he was cute.

Oh, what the hell.

"You know what? Why not? I'm a girl who loves a free patty melt," you winked at him bravely. "It's a date!"

[rezwrites]

If it is okay, can I request Agatha x innocent reader + corruption kink?

Agatha wants to be Reader's everything, she has opted for the slow way and tries to be patient but when she discovers that Reader has not yet had her first kiss, Agatha can't help but spring into action. Agatha teaches her how to kiss (a tongue kiss) and then more

Plsss

Agatha and corruption, hell yes.

Warnings: MDNI+18, dubcon, gaslighting, coercion, legal age gap, fem-bodied reader, reader wears a dress, fingering(r!receiving) nicknames(dear, honey, baby, babydoll, princess)

taglist: @harknessshi

The doorbell sounded at Agatha’s front door, with an accompanied rap of soft knocks. Agatha swiftly opened the door revealing you, bearing a huge smile on your face holding a pyrex dish in your hands, “Hi, Agatha! I brought cookies.”

“Hiya, dear. That’s very sweet of you.” Agatha stepped aside, letting you in her home. The two of you met through your mom, Agatha being your mother’s friend from spin class. The two of you started an unlikely friendship after bonding over a movie franchise. Due to your mother being out of the house so much you mostly spent your spare time at Agatha’s. She would help you with your schoolwork when she could, and you’d offer to help her with anything in return, however Agatha would always insisted that you didn’t have to do anything.

Offering Agatha the container, you slipped your shoes off by the door. Opening the air-tight lid Agatha picked up a cookie, taking a bite. She let a low groan out as soon as the sweetness of the cookie hit her tongue. “So how are your classes? Oh, how is it going with that girl you like?”

“Classes are good. Things are going well, but it’s getting to a point where she wants to start being.. intimate.” You sat down on the plush gray couch, moving the pillow out of your way.

“Well, that’s good isn’t it?” Agatha sat next to you, setting the cookies down on the coffee table.

“Yes, but I’ve..,” you trailed off clamming up, shoving a cookie in your mouth. Tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Honey?” Noticing your demeanor, a frown appeared on Agatha’s face. She took your hands, placing them in her lap, “you know you can tell me.”

“I don’t know how to kiss, or do anything of that nature, so I’ve been avoiding it,” The tears started spilling as you shied away from Agatha, “It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, honey.” Guiding you into her lap Agatha held you until you calmed down, periodically sniffling. Agatha’s mind was sent into overdrive upon hearing this revelation of yours. She figured you never had sex before, but now knowing you never even had a kiss elated her. Leaning back Agatha wiped away any stray tears, “I can show you, so you have a little experience. Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Your eyes widened, breath stuttering as you looked at her. Opening and closing your mouth you struggled to find an answer, heart pounding in your chest. It was such an out of place invitation. Yes, you wanted experience but with Agatha? She’s your mother’s friend, but she was also your friend. You could trust her, right?

Once you gave a soft nod Agatha’s smooth hands cupped your face, her eyes flickering between your lips and eyes watching your reactions, “If it gets too much, tell me.”

You gave a weak whimper in agreement, closing your eyes. Agatha slowly moved in closer, allowing you time to change your mind. Her nerves are jumping with excitement to be your first kiss. Dejection hit her like a truck when you told her about your crush on your classmate a few months ago, however she persevered trying to sow tiny seeds of doubt about your crush. Now that she has you like this, she refuses to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. The overwhelming urge to be your first pushed her forwards, soft lips melting into yours.

Due to her close proximity her light perfume invaded your senses, the heat of her body radiating around you. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you placed them on her jean covered thighs for stability. Slowly, you fell into a steady rhythm. Her tongue lightly tapped at your lips asking for entrance, startling you.

Agatha kept her hands on your face, keeping you from going too far, “It’s alright. You’re fine, honey.” Relaxing, you slightly parted your lips allowing her tongue to slowly wriggle its way into your mouth. It was strange having her warm, wet muscle rub against yours, but not unpleasant.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Agatha pulled back, swiping her thumb across your bottom lip. Agatha enjoyed watching the dazed look on your face as you processed everything, “It was nice, right?”

A slight nod was all you could muster. You looked so small avoiding her gaze. She watched you shift, thighs flexing and rubbing each other. Oh, this was too perfect. She held back a sinister smile. Even if you didn’t know it, you were practically offering yourself to her on a silver platter.

“Would you like me to help you with that, too?” Agatha whispered, gesturing to your fidgeting.

You prominently shook your head, pulling your dress skirt down to your knees. The kiss was enough as is. It was nice, but anything more would be wrong. Shame bubbled up in your chest, desperate for a way out.

“It’s natural for your body to react like this. It’s not wrong, or weird.” Agatha’s hand fell on yours, fingertips grazing the skin of your inner thigh.

“Sweetie, I wouldn’t want you going into this kind of situation freaking out. Girls don’t like inexperience,” Her voice full of concern matched with a pout, “You don’t want to push your crush away do you?”

“No.” Your eyes widened in fear of that possibility. More thankful now that Agatha is willing to show you, but you still have doubts, “What if I don’t like it?”

“That’s why we need to find out. Would it make you feel better if you saw how I’m touching you? It might not be so scary then.” Before you are able to get an answer out, Agatha picked you up from your spot on the couch carrying you to the back of her house.

Crossing into her bedroom Agatha placed you in front of her full-body mirror. “Go ahead and take your clothes off, sweetie.” Agatha ordered, striding over to her nightstand.

Releasing a shaky breath you pulled your dress over your head, keeping it close to your body. Watching Agatha approach with a bottle of lube in her hand, a pit began to sink in your stomach. Setting the bottle down, she helped you unhook your bra. Tossing your clothes onto her bed she admired you in the mirror, releasing a low gasp, “Babydoll, you’re so beautiful. Your crush will be so lucky.”

Not lucky enough to be your first though, she thought.

Pulling her sleeves past her elbows Agatha sat on the floor with her legs spread, patting the spot in front of her. The softness of her purple sweater met your back as you settled down. Lithe digits slipped under your chin, tilting your head towards her, lips meeting again. Finger pads gingerly danced across your shoulders, traveling down your arms, and across your chest. A soft moan fell from your lips once they ghosted the top of your breasts. Agatha fully fondled you, pinching your nipples. Opening your mouth to squeak, Agatha took advantage to push her tongue into your mouth, swallowing any noises.

One hand continued twisting your nipple, while the other trailed down your torso. Once Agatha’s mouth left yours you sucked in as much air as possible. Her nose dragged along your neck, before attaching her mouth to your throat, sucking hard.

Agatha stared intently at the mirror taking in every dulcet sound, and movement you made. Her hand stopped on your lower stomach just above your panty-line, azure eyes fixated on the growing wet patch over your cunt.

Releasing you neck with a quiet pop, Agatha spoke in a honeyed voice, “You got this wet from kissing, and some touching? It must’ve felt good, hm?” The tips of her digits ghosted over your the seems on your panties, teasingly, “Let me take these off, babydoll.” Lifting your hips Agatha’s thumbs looped into the sides, dragging the material down your legs.

Once your panties were off you kept your legs shut, shyness getting the better of you. Agatha’s hands crept to your inner knees as her body leaned closer to you. Her breath fanned over your earlobe, “Don’t hide from me, princess. We’re already this far. It’d be a shame if we stopped now.”

Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, allowing her to part your legs. Her hands fell to your hips, drawing circles for a moment. The bottle cap snapped open, hearing her squirt some lube on her hand, “Watch me, baby. Take note of what feels good.” Eyes fluttered open, gazing at Agatha’s hand creeping closer to your core. The cool liquid spread over your pussy, between your folds, slickening them.

Her fingers ran up your lightly circling your bud. Sucking in a sharp gasp, you grasped the hand that was resting on your hip. Agatha halted her movements, “Calm down. It’s just your clit, it’s very sensitive whenever you’re aroused.”

Mumbling a “felt good,” Agatha hummed in acknowledgment, resuming patterns on your hip; helping to relax you. Feeling your body slump back against her chest she continued exploring your pussy, noting each hitch of breath or facial twitch. She’s sure you can feel her heart pound in her chest, excitement seeping down to her own core. How she wished she had her strap on, the perfect position to watch your pussy split around her cock, but her fingers will have to do for now.

She rubs the entrance to your cunt before easing a slender finger in, your hole tightly gripping her finger. You shut your eyes, squirming at the new sensation, odd and uncomfortable. Quickly you slammed your legs, trapping her hand. “Come on, princess, open up for me,” Agatha urged.

You shook your head frantically, a low cry erupting from your chest. She watched the tears prickle your eyes, despite them being clenched shut. “Baby,” Agatha sighed, with a hint of disappointment, “you need to relax, or it will hurt worse.” She slid her finger out cupping her hands behind your knees, placing your legs on top of hers. Her thighs prevented you from closing your legs, from hiding yourself from her. Beginning to weep, tears fell down your face, landing on your chest. Agatha shushed you, “No, princess, there’s no need to cry.” She kissed your tears away, licking the saltiness from her bottom lip, fingers returning to your entrance, “Deep breath.”

Not waiting she sunk her pointer finger in halfway, before adding a second digit. Groaning at the stretch and slight burn, more tears slid down your cheeks. Placing her other hand on your chest, Agatha assures, “I know it feels weird for the first time. It’ll feel good soon, I promise.”

Her fingertips grazed over a textured spot, causing your hips to jerk backwards. Agatha’s hand on your chest stilled you, “Shh, princess, it’s okay. Just keep breathing.”

Overjoyed she found that spongy wall, Agatha swore to bully that spot until you’re crying through your orgasm. She wants you to see that your little infatuation won’t be able to give you this kind of pleasure mixed with pain. That’s even if you continue seeing that girl after this encounter.

You forced yourself to release a long slow breath, accompanied with a shiver down your spine. Her fingers plunged back into that same spot, expelling a squeal from you. The end of each deep thrust was coupled with a curl of her fingers, working in tandem of her thumb circling your clit. The coil in your lower stomach tightening.

The pleasure built up too fast for your mind to comprehend. Attempting to pull away and close your legs, Agatha spread her thighs wider. A hard slap rang in your ears as the pain in your breast radiated. Agatha’s tone turned to stone, ”Stop squirming. Don’t make me have to hold you down.” You froze in fear, knowing Agatha is the type of woman to always follow through. Noticing this, her voice immediately softened, “I don’t want to have to do that, princess.” She used the back of her hand to soothe the stinging pain.

Her thrusts started up again, pace switching from slow to fast every few minutes, keeping you on edge. Breaths became ragged and short, hands flying to her thighs; unintentionally pushing yourself back against her chest. “Good fucking girl,” Agatha grunted, picking up her pace, heavily focused on that sweet spot of yours. Overwhelmed with pleasure, tears streaked down your face. Unrestrained moans resounded from you as your legs shook, coil breaking. Agatha watched you fall apart in her arms, pride swelling knowing that that no one could ever top this.

She removed her fingers, slowly rubbing your clit as you came down from your high. Once your breathing evened out she helped you stand up on your shaky legs. Guiding you to the conjoining bathroom she stopped you in front of the sink, retrieve something from the closet. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you spotted all the tear tracks that ran down your face, how disheveled you looked. Agatha dropped a small cloth in the sink, running water over it.

“It was really good, but a lot.” You spoke up, voice hoarse. Agatha thought you were the cutest thing looking up at her with big, wet eyes and a little pout.

Agatha sported a small pout of her own, hands cupping your face, “I know. I got carried away. I’m sorry, princess.”

Wringing the washcloth out, Agatha gently ran it over your face; the warmth making you feel a little cleaner than you were before. Agatha didn’t bother cleaning between your legs. She wanted you to go home feeling your stickiness the whole way.

Agatha had a light smile when the washcloth was pulled away from your face, “You did very well for me though. I’m so proud of you.” As she planted a soft, slow kiss on your lips, warmth grew in your chest. A whine of displeasure followed when she stepped away, leaving a chilled space around you. She came back with your clothes in hand, helping you redress; pressing butterfly kisses to your face.

“It’s gotten late, sweetie. You should get home before your mother does.” She states, walking you to the door. A steady hand stayed pressed to your lower back as you put your shoes on. Hold the door open for you she planted a quick peck on your lips, before sending you off.

[strange-little-spy]

Popcorn

summary: You teach the recovering Winter Soldier how to make popcorn

Warnings: post-hydra Winter Soldier ~ recovery from trauma ~ domestic fluff ~ soft!winter soldier ~ general fluff ~mention of trafficking, nothing more

AN: Personally, popcorn is one of my favorite snacks, so I wondered what it would be like sharing with the Winter Soldier. Also this is dedicated to @embarnes for their amazing little series of which this cannot compare to.

Word Count: 1693 words

It had been so long since he had come to you for most things, he was pretty self-sufficient when it came to normal things, his own care, feeding himself, all good things. But you had come to crave the days he came to you with a shirt and asked if you could help him. He was very minimal in his speech, making it rather childlike and quite adorable when he did come to you with small or simple tasks.

It was good, his progress. You could only hope now he could be left on his own sooner rather than later…

Anyways, you had only three weaknesses. Black-and-white movies, popcorn and him. Mix all three together? Oh boy was it the time of your life.

You enjoyed showing Bucky— or as he referred to himself, Soldat, how to make things like cookies or bread. But he was fascinated when you had first returned to the living room with a bowl full of buttery flaky goodness you called popcorn. And when he tasted it, oh my, he was hooked. He practically begged you to make more when the bowl was empty. To which you happily complied.

He loved it, he watched you make it, taking in breathes of the buttery scent from the kitchen. You sometimes even made it just for him even when he didn’t ask for it. You just saw that look and headed for the kitchen.

One slow evening, he approached you silently, the jar where you kept the kernels in his mismatched hands.

“Hi.” You greeted, offering a smile. “Whatcha got there?”

“Popcorn.” He looked to the jar. “Make, please.”

“Alright, bring that into the kitchen then.” You stood up and turned on the stove as you passed the knobs. Grabbing the large pot in which you made the snack in, you set it on the burner. You never liked microwave popcorn, too buttery in your opinion, so you stove-popped yours. It gave it sort of a homemade flavor.

“Tell you what,” You looked to the soldier as he gingerly set the jar on the wooden countertop of the island between you two. “I’ll show you how to make it, how does that sound? That way you can do this yourself, I’ll watch you, of course just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

He gave you that bug-eyed stare of confusion and surprise. “I can make it?”

“Sure, why not? I think you enjoy it more than I do.” Granted he probably hadn’t had it in over 70 years,  but still. He was enthusiastic about it.

“Okay…” He rumbled, slowly inching his larger frame over to the stove. He almost saw it as a taboo area, only you could work the knobs and the hot burners. But you had slowly coaxed him into working it under your supervision and guidance.

“So you take the ghee butter.” You pointed to the small jar of the butter before handing him a spoon. “Take a few scoops of it with the back of the spoon and lather it on the bottom of the pan, but be careful not to touch the pan.”

He obeyed without word, being extra attentive of where his hand was to the pan. The butter began to melt as he rubbed the back of the spoon onto the pan, adding three scoops of butter.

He looked to you with anticipation, the spoon and jar in his hands still.

“Good, good, now put the spoon in the sink and put the jar back there.”

He did so as you pulled the measuring cup out and poured around 1 cup of kernels into the Pyrex glass. You handed it to the soldier as he turned back to you and the stove.

“Now pour this in the pan and put the lid over it, we don’t want popcorn everywhere.” You teased. That was one of your odd bucket list items; Make popcorn without a lid.

He made sure the lid was on as he peered through the glass, waiting for the first pop. You hauled yourself onto the counter and waited, watching. You smiled when you remembered the first time he saw the little white puff appear in the pan. His eyes had gotten as big as baseballs. He didn’t leave your side when you made it afterwards, enthralled by the steady appearance of white puffs in the pot as the kernels vanished. Your enjoyed the transparent lid as well, it was a shared stimulation.

Pop! He jumped when the first kernel popped into existence, leaping toward the lid and falling back down, followed by another which soon became a snowstorm of popcorn.

“Start shaking it so they won’t burn.” You instructed, grasping the handles of the pot and giving it a shake back and forth to show him. He grabbed the handles and shook it a few times before stopping to let you lift the lid just enough to let the steam out.

In a few moments, the pot was full with fluffy goodness.

“Take it off the burner,” You said while grabbing the bowls from the cabinet and setting them next to each other on the island. “And pour it in these.”

He looked at you before taking the lid off and carefully pouring the puffs into the bowls.

“Good job!” You smiled, taking the still hot pot and putting it back on an empty burner. “Now pick one of the bowls and how ‘bout finding us a movie?”

He stared at you again, surprised. “Mine?”

“Well, yeah, you made it, you should be entitled to have your own bowl then.” You shrugged, sliding the bowl on the left toward him. “You want salt?”

“Please.” He rumbled, his hands cupping the bowl.

You sprinkled a few shakes of salt onto the bowl and some on your own. “If you want more salt, I’m putting it right here, okay?” You planted the glass shaker on the island before grabbing your bowl, turning off the kitchen light and heading into the living room.

He followed you closely, already picking a few pieces out of his bowl.

“You wanna pick the movie?” You asked before plopping onto the couch and grabbing the large blanket you always had. He nodded and crouched beside the DVD rack that you kept the extensive collection of older movies on, mostly gifts from your parents. You were what you might call a classic’s snob.

“This.” He handed you a case.

“Ooh, I like your taste.” You commented, taking the movie and turning on the DVD player. “I like 101 Dalmatians.”

He didn’t reply but dug into his popcorn, relishing the buttery flavor.

You kept the movie at a low volume just to keep the louder or more sudden noises from startling him. He’d watched this movie before, but you knew he wasn’t the biggest fan of loud noises. You weren’t either, matter of fact. You always had a pair of noise-canceling headphones around.

“Want the blanket?” You offered when you felt his nudge his metal shoulder next to you. You knew his arm could get cold and it would agitate him when it did, so you were a source of warm and comfort for these moments.

He nodded, chewing slowly.

You smiled softly and wrapped the queen sized blanket around his legs and pulled it closer to you both. You loved, loved, loved it when he practically demanded attention. You couldn’t rush him, but when the day came when he willingly snuggled next to you, it was as if your heart shattered when he finally showed his trust.

He still pressed himself into a corner every so often, his eyes empty as he relived something terrible from his past. You thought it best not to pry about these episodes, but you offered many sources of comfort for him in any way you could.

You were careful. It wasn’t as if you didn’t trust him, but he was still dangerous in his own sense. True, you had the sedatives to put him under if such an incident occurred, but you felt sick to your stomach when you thought about what might happen to him if you actually needed to use them.

He’d actually kind of grown on you. It wasn’t as if you resented him when the Avengers first offered you the task of harboring the literal world’s finest assassin. Brainwashed, not to mention. Why had they asked you when Steve was the better option?? One. He seemed to like you when he saw you. Two. Steve was always busy with missions and figuring the cases out. Three. You had experience with victims of sex-trafficking along with two foster teenagers who claimed you were quite the wonder.

Even then, over the last year, he’d grown attached to you. You were the only one he sought out after an episode. He searched specifically for you when you brought him to the compound for Steve’s birthday, he had stuck by your side the entire time after he found you. He reminded you very much of the rescue dogs your friend from college fostered. They had likes, dislikes, triggers and such, but they were incredibly affectionate and loyal once you gained their trust and showed real kindness and simply human love. It was only natural he would crave your presence.

You blinked awake and realized the movie was almost over, the sound of gentle snoring beneath you. When you looked down, you couldn’t help smiling at Bucky who was sound asleep, his arm wrapped up in his own blanket along with the larger one over you as he pressed himself close to you, seeking your warmth even in his sleep. The words ‘Teddy Bear’ came to mind when you saw him.  The two empty bowls were set on the coffee table, apparently set there by the sleeping soldier on your lap. You muffled a quiet squeal of excitement and carefully resettled yourself so you and Bucky would be more comfortable. The scent of the minty shampoo you let him use wafted between the buttery scent of the popcorn creating a rather soothing mixture as you feel back into the lull of sleep

Thank you for reading! Dividers by @strangergraphics

Tag list: @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent ~ @oh-to-be-a-murderer ~ @thebestmerc-1 ~ @itzzkaylaaa ~ @twoarrsandonesea

[kitchenwitchtingss]

50 KITCHEN WITCH TIPS TO MAKE YOU FEEL MORE WITCHY

(And other useful things I've learned over the years)

Hi! This is a list of dos, don'ts, tips, tricks, and other fun things that I've learned over the years. I always love finding more effective and efficient ways of doing things so if you have any cool things you'd like to add, leave them in the comments or reblog. I'd love to read it.

Anyways... On with the list ^_^

Light candles around your kitchen space (just make sure nothing flammable is near you)

Annotate your cookbooks with the correspondence of the ingredients.

Mediating is really good to calm the mind before cooking.

Cut oranges and lemons thinly, dry them, and hang them with twine around your kitchen

Need a cleansing tip? Open all your windows near your kitchen. Let some fresh air in.

Cutting sigils into apples, pie crusts, and carved potatoes.

Save lemon and orange rinds, freeze them, and then use them to clean the garbage disposal.

Make infused oils and honey: Things like garlic honey, lavender honey, herb oil, sun oil, moon oil, dandelion oil, and other different edible oils are very fun and useful to make.

Hid sigils in pages of your cookbooks and kitchen witch journals.

Add some plants! Snake plants and spider plants don't need too much light, and growing your own herbs in your kitchen is awesome too. Basil, lavender, thyme, aloe vera, rosemary, etc. are good fits. You could also add some plants that require more sunlight on the kitchen window sill. Like cacti and succulents.

Bring crystals into your kitchen space such as rose quartz, clear quartz, amethyst, or whatever you want the space's intentions to be.

I keep a small money tree on the sill, along with cacti for luck and protection.

Make a simmer Pot! Mostly because it makes the whole house smell good, easy, and fun.

Stir clockwise for best results!

Learning how to pickle things is actually pretty witchy. Plus, anyone could do it as it requires absolutely no kitchen experience. You could pickle any vegetable, even if you don't like pickles. I originally learned this after having to take shelter from a natural disaster. A person brought a bunch of stuff and taught us how to pickle things with different spices and herbs. Very fun!

Decorate your kitchen with your favorite stuff. Crystals, decor, heat mits, that cool mushroom cake stand you've been eyeing at the World Market for the past 2 weeks, cool looking curtains, sun catchers. Why stop there? Paint the walls, hang shelves full of marked-up cookbooks that are a little too well-loved and thumbed through.

Wanna be the person that has the amazing-smelling house every time people come over? Syrups take some time to simmer down, it's actually a pretty good time to leave it on the stove to simmer. Since syrups have a lot of aromatic ingredients, it acts as a really good-smelling simmer pot.

Hang up herbs to dry with twine from cabinets that are rarely used.

Invest in that new set of plates and cups.

Homemade jams, butter, sauces, and syrups are your best friend.

Crochet or knit your own dish rags, pot holders, etc.

Don't pour extremely hot things into a glass that's not Pyrex, it will break, and you will be very sad about it.

Don't cook anything while extremely upset or emotional (For safety reasons)

Make recipes you want to make, not just because you'll like the effect. Make it because you think it's tasty.

Chinese Five Spice works in place of herbs for protection and luck spells a lot of the time! It's cheaper to buy 1 spice than 4 different spices that total up to 15 dollars when you could just spend 3-4 dollars.

Take a shower before cooking (I don't know how to explain this one other than it makes you feel better)

Don't use microfiber/plastic material clothes on hot burners, it will fuse to the burner and melt. It is VERY hard to get off.

I don't know if I need to put this one but I did see someone do it so nonstick pan = wooden utensils and plastic utensils, metal pan = metal utensils. Do not use a metal spoon in a nonstick pan, please. It can make you very sick.

Keep your pets away from hot oil, open ovens, and hot pans.

You can proof bread dough in the fridge overnight if you don't have the time to bake, or want to eat fresh bread right in the morning.

Need a quick witchy meal for dinner in 12 minutes? Use premade tomato pasta sauce and doctor it up with thyme, rosemary, and garlic, for protection and distilling stagnant energies. Serve with pasta of your liking.

You can substitute Butter for Crisco/shortening, buttermilk for 1 cup of milk + 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar or lemon juice, and heavy cream for 1 cup of half and half plus 2 tbsp of butter.

Use leftover animal bones to make bone broth

Teach yourself the art of bread scoring (It's fun, and you can show it off to your loved ones!)

Collect and hoard your own and others' family recipes.

Sometimes the food doesn't have to be a spell, sometimes it just makes you feel good and you don't know why.

Listen to your favorite music in the kitchen, it makes the monotonous things like chopping veggies move faster.

Invest in a vegetable chopper if you don't like chopping vegetables.

Find a really good hot cocoa recipe and make it once a week. Master it. Just for your own happiness because hot cocoa is really good. You could also be the friend/family member that makes the best hot cocoa ever.

Focaccia Bread Lasts a very long time, and it's very easy to make!

Keep a first aid kit near where the oven is, in case of burns, cuts, or serious injuries where time is everything.

Quick Bread and no-rise loaves are simple for beginners, tasty, and take little time. They also feel very witchy to make.

Study a bit of Herbalism! It's fun and really helps better understand the herbs you're putting into your food.

While something is boiling, put your wooden spoon over the pot to minimize the chance of something boiling over.

Try a bit of coffee magick, it's simple to get into, and gives you a boost of energy to take on the day!

If you're over 21, wine-making is a very interesting way to celebrate the sabbats. Just with that, make sure you KNOW what you're doing. With anything fermented, there's always a risk if you don't store things correctly. Apple wines, strawberry wines, dandelion wines, etc. all very cool to experiment with. If you're not over 21, vinegar is a similar way to experiment.

Hang up some witchy things, sigils, photos, cool magnets, and other things that give you joy on your fridge. (Sometimes if you are lucky they have some fun magnets at five below)

If you live in the US, for some reason, there are a lot of books in the book section dedicated to witchcraft and spirituality. At least where I live. And they are all under 5 dollars!

Teas are the cheapest and easiest things you can practice being a kitchen witch.

[slash-me-please]

Hello! A question: How would the Slashers react to seeing that their partner prepared a dessert with a somewhat sadistic theme? (Context: I saw a video where there is a person who makes a cake with details of a face, and when you cut it juice comes out of the red fruit, he also makes cookies with eyes [Clearly they are not real])

Sorry if my spelling is wrong, but it's because I don't know many English

Slashers Reaction to their S/O Decorative Baking.

A/N: I got inspiration from 3 different tiktoks here. A bit sillier and fluffier than I wanted it to be. Michael's is a bit steamy

Thomas Hewitt

Luda Mae's kitchen is about ten degrees hotter than it usually was. You had dusted off her old gas stove and set it alight, going to town on the limited ingredients the off-the-grid household had collected throughout all the victims. Usually you put together small desserts, cookies, cake, but today you had really thought of an idea. You molded together the dough you had in your hands- pulling at the substance until it slightly resembled the nose bridge of a victim.

The pie was cherry today, tomorrow it could be something else but today it would be cherry. You giggle to yourself, the facial features of an uncanny valley freak of nature decorating your pie crust.

A light tapping breaks you out of your daze, you blink away the concentration to look at your husband. He gives you a concerned look. "I want you to feel like... I'm taking an interest in your hobbies." He turns away for a moment, but he looks back quicker than you would've thought. You wonder what he' s thinking but not for long before he's waiting at the table for you to finish.

Thomas has always wanted a family, a wife, someone to take care of. He forgets the improbabilities when he comes in from a long day of work and he smells your creations.

He thinks you're funny. He watches from behind sometimes; you're focused and locked in on some facepies. You shape each and every nose with love, and he turns his head away from Luda Mae when she briefly questions if maybe- he traumatized her a little bit.

Jason Voorhees

"Jason!" You called him from the other room, ecstatic with your new creation. You shift back and forth on both feet until he finally drags himself into the kitchen area for you to show him your treat. He blinks down at the Pyrex pan you are holding towards him, the red drip of- blood? rolling down- what would seem to be intestines? You still don't have his attention; this is a day job for him. "They're cinnamon rolls!" You beam at him, and that's what gets his attention. He nods with approval, and you begin to make him a plate.

As the two of you settle onto a water-logged, oak dining room set, he lift's his mask and eats at your snack slowly. You watch intently, proud of yourself for the decorating skills- and - for taking care of your boyfriend so well. He finishes up, looking back up at you and never mentioning that he hasn't tasted anything in a few decades.

His mom used to bake for him, she didn't use such... expressive techniques... but you're still appreciated.

Will eat everything you bake, he has no aversion to your decorating, but they don't affect him either way. He's got larger fish to be afraid of, like underage drinking.

Michael Myers

You sit at the dining room table, eyes trained on the wall clock in front of you. 3:17am. Your eyelids droop and you debate throwing in the towel and taking it upstairs for a moment before you finally hear the soft click of your screen door shutting. Michael makes his way into the kitchen, head tilting at the display on your kitchen table. Doll head covered apples? He reaches forward and grabs one off the table. The white chocolate crumbles underneath his fingertips, he looks at it for a moment. You know better than to say anything to him if you actually want him to try it.

He hikes the bottom half of his mask over his mouth, bringing the apple forward to take a bite. You watch, half lidded as he chews and swallows. His mouth upturns slightly and you feel your chest burn with pride. You had spent all day trying to get these right and he liked them. You reached onto the plate and grabbed one for your own, taking a bite and leaning your head back with a pleased moan. "I really outdid myself this time, didn't I?" He takes another bite, licking his lips of the white chocolate specks.

The two of you finish, looking hungrier than before. "What do you want me to make for you next time?" His eyes narrow, pulling the mask back down onto his face. "Maybe a tart?" Your eyes drag down. "Something glazed?"

Biggest sweet tooth ever! This skill of yours has saved you from the blunt edge of a knife quite a few times. There's nothing that keeps him coming home more than the edible arrangement of his favorite body parts you have made up for him.

He relishes in the attention, carefully examining each treat you create for him with precision. You watch him take down whatever you throw at him with such adoration, he tells himself that he only comes back for the food, but he can't help but anticipate the look on your face when you see him enjoy your gifts.

[0310s]

golden retriever hybrid! leehan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, suggestive themes (start of a scene)

wc: 0.8k

a/n: i literally have no experience writing smut scenes, so here’s a tidbit of smut (the most i could write lmfao) at the end of this imagine! will be working on future parts soon, let me know if you liked this <3 thank you to @dollvrse for implanting hybrid leehan thoughts into my brain...

𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

Letting out a weary sigh, you unlock the door to your apartment. As much as you wanted to leave early on a Friday to get a jumpstart on the weekend, it was near impossible to leave the office today due to the sheer number of revisions the entire team had to work on. Your team leader announced with a heavy heart that she needed to assign everyone extra workload due to abrupt changes in the event timeline. How urgent it was you weren't exactly sure about, but you give your team leader the benefit of the doubt because she typically lets the team off early on Fridays. You try your best to finish your tasks as fast as you can—not your best work, honestly, but it would do.

Still, it's 12am when you enter your cozy apartment. Given how late it is, you expect the living area to be dark and unlit, but to your surprise, the lights are still on. You can vaguely see a figure slumped on the sofa. "Leehan, is that you?"

There’s no answer. You slip off your shoes in the entryway and set down your bag on the shelf, padding over to the figure. It’s indeed Leehan—he’s sitting but leaning on the side of the sofa, eyes closed. Crouching down to his height, you admire how long his eyelashes are and how peaceful he looks while napping. Everything about Leehan warms your heart, from his soft, fluffy ears, to his gorgeous face, his large but not intimidating frame, and his adorable, feathery tail that never seems to stop wagging when you’re near.

“Leehan, wake up,” you whisper, gently shaking him awake. It takes a minute for Leehan to register his surroundings as he blinks groggily, yawning twice.

“... Did I fall asleep on the sofa?” His voice is deep and comforting. It’s something you’ve fallen asleep to on multiple occasions. 

You laugh softly. “Yes, you did. Why aren’t you in bed? It’s already so late.”

Leehan gives you a sleepy smile. “I was waiting for you to come home.” Your heart clenches at this, and you feel a hundred—no, a thousand—times more guilty for working overtime, even if it was out of your control.

“Come on, it’s only been a day! Don’t tell me you missed me that much,” you giggle. 

“Still,” Leehan insists, grabbing your hand and nuzzling his cheek into your palm. “Missed you so much, (y/n). I’m always thinking about you when you’re not here.” He presses a gentle kiss to your palm. The touch of his petal-soft lips make shivers run down your spine. His eyes look imploringly at you, and you have an inkling that you would say yes to anything he’d ask of you. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did, baby,” you exhale. Leehan hides a smile at this, but his tail gives him away—it starts wagging furiously, thumping loudly against the seat of the sofa. You raise your eyebrow at him knowingly. At this, Leehan’s smiles even harder, his dimples appearing. 

“You should call me baby more… I like it,” Leehan murmurs. 

“Okay,” you agree. Leehan waits patiently. “Okay, baby.” He nods in satisfaction. You stand up, your hand slipping from his cheek. “Let me heat myself some food first, I’m hungry.” Not even a couple of steps to the kitchen, you feel arms wrapping around your waist. Leehan’s scent, woody and comforting, envelops you as he settles his chin on your shoulder. “Leehan!” You both waddle to the kitchen with a relative amount of success. “Any chance of you letting me go anytime soon?”

“Don’t want to,” Leehan admits petulantly. “Need to be near you.” He keeps his arms wrapped around you as you open the refrigerator and take out last night’s leftovers, neatly stored in Pyrex containers. He noses at your neck, inhaling your scent and sighing contentedly. 

You feel a little embarrassed at this. “Leehan, please, I haven’t showered… I’m all dirty. We can cuddle after I take a bath.”

At this, Leehan tightens his arms around you, burying his face into your neck. “No.”

“No what, Leehan?”

“No, you don’t smell bad. Smell nice. Don’t want to let you go.” You eventually accept your fate—you’re too weak for him. But it becomes a much more arduous challenge as he presses feather-light kisses where your neck and shoulder meet, laughing under his breath when you tremble. Then he starts sucking at your neck, and you feel a wave of arousal shoot through you. 

“Leehan. Baby. Please… I need to eat.” You almost moan as you set the Pyrex down almost a little too hard in the microwave, You quickly set the timer and wait for your food to warm. How embarrassing! But Leehan grows more insistent and presses his body as near as he can to your back—that’s when you feel it. “Are you…?”

At your acknowledgement, Leehan lets out a loud moan and ruts harder against your ass. He’s hard and thick against you, and you feel your thighs grow sticky with want. “Missed you… need you so bad. Please?” 

It’s always a losing game with him. “Okay, baby.” Your food grows cold in the microwave, long forgotten as you’re carried to your bedroom by your very happy (and needy) boyfriend.  

[burgojo]

jeon jungkook ♡ series masterlist

wc. 2.3k

tags. smut | dom top!m!reader, exhibitionism, handjobs, edging, begging, name-calling, high and dry

jungkook's eyes shine at the sight of the meals the waiter unloads from his arms. he leans forward eagerly, peering down into the clay pot dishes and bright, fresh greens. he wiggles beside you, so much excitement leaking out of him that you can practically taste it. you smile as he brings his hands together to clap quietly, thanking the waiter so genuinely that the man can't help but return his smile.

"wow, you really went all out," jungkook comments, rearranging the dishes for the best dish-to-plate distance for both of you. he nudges your shoulder with an endearing crinkle to his eyes. "is this an attempt to gain my favour? what'd you do?"

"i didn't do anything," you protest. "i can't spoil my man a little after a hard day's work?"

he giggles, lifting your plate to spoon a portion onto it. you sneak your arm under his elbow and steal his plate, giving him a generous mound of fried rice and a few rice paper rolls. "you never spoil me, you stingy rat. i know something's up. did you chip my favourite pyrex container? bend my steak knife? lose my charger?"

"you live with me," you snark, "so those are technically my things. and no, that didn't happen. i'm not a clutz, unlike somebody here."

"i bought them – therefore, they're mine. what's so hard to understand?"

"they're under my insurance, so therefore – they're mine. fuck you."

he smirks. "you'd like to, wouldn't you?" a corner of his lips quirks up as he places your plate in front of you. "by the way, you don't need to say 'so' and 'therefore' one after the other like that." he hums as you set his plate in front of him. he leans over and pecks your cheek. "what a dummy. ah, at least you're handsome... you need to get out of the house more often."

he's such a brat. he's also incredibly clingy, which makes it difficult to do any work from home when you do finally give in to his wishes. every fifteen minutes you get a surprise visit from your boyfriend with another bowl of sliced apples. even tonight, in this fancy restaurant with too-dim lights and black-and-gold décor, he chose to shuffle in shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh in the u-shaped booth rather than sitting across from you like a normal person would.

he even sat there originally, raising your hopes that he would act like a prim and proper date. he then slid over the smooth leather seats while you ordered, laying his head on your shoulder and beaming up at the poor waiter, who was definitely not being paid enough to suffer through jungkook's lovey-dovey antics.

not ten minutes go by without incident. jungkook props his chin on your shoulder. his cologne smells light and fresh, like clean linen. he points at a slice of duck meat. "i want."

you put it on his plate. he pouts at it, hooking his shoe behind your calf. slowly, it slides up the back of your leg. "no, hyung-ah! want you to feed me. ahh..."

you glance around, warm in the cheeks and not from the heat of the busy restaurant or from the starchy suit. he blinks up at you expectantly, mouth open.

his eyes are just a little too lidded to not remind you of situations far dirtier than this. you clear your throat and shove the duck meat into his mouth until he almost chokes. he pulls away from your shoulder, and so does the creeping hand across your belt.

he grumbles as he swallows. "you coulda killed me, hyung. why'd i have to fall in love with such a mean guy?"

"because i'm handsome," you say nonchalantly, "like you said. apparently, it's my only good trait."

he hooks his arm through yours with a soft whine, food forgotten. you spoon another slice of duck into his mouth – you're paying for all of it, regardless if it goes into his stomach or the bin. he would definitely appreciate it a lot more. "hyung! that's not true. i love you for other reasons, too."

"mm, is that right, darling? name one." you slide a mouthful of glass noodles between his teeth. he winks when he notices how closely you're watching, making sure to be extra slow when he drags his lips over the spoon.

how he can make that attractive, you have no idea.

"well," he hums after swallowing, "you have a big dick!"

you nearly knock over the table in your haste to slap a hand over his mouth. your face burns. you hiss, "shut up! shut the fuck up. please, we are in public."

he waits until you lower your hand. he smiles innocently. "make me, hyung."

he goes right back to eating, unhooking his arms from yours and tucking his feet under himself. he wraps his lips around the chopsticks, glancing slyly in your direction to see if you're watching. you are. his lips shine slightly with oil from the fried dishes, plump and pink from the chilli powder. they curve up into a smirk as you place a firm hand on his knee.

popping a piece of chicken in his mouth, he lets out a soft moan, eyes closing gently as he savours the taste. "so good, baby. see? i knew you had some good qualities – you always manage to choose the best dishes on the menu, even if you've never tried it before. open your mouth for jungkookie, please. here comes the aeroplane."

he lifts the chopsticks, hovering a palm under it. you maintain eye contact as you accept it begrudgingly, doing your best to slam mental understanding through to him. you're in a restaurant that celebrities frequent – if you two are seen doing anything so much as a hair too risqué, you'll be kicked to the curb and your faces will be blacklisted forever behind reception. he's already pushing it, practically sitting on your lap.

his hand brushes over the front of your pants when he draws back. the glint in his eyes tells you that it's no accident.

fine. you'll play his game.

your hand slides up his knee to his thigh, squeezing in warning. you knuckle the edge of your hand into his soft bulge, concealing the movement with a shift on the booth seat. you feel his knee jerk, nearly hitting the table.

he clears his throat and continues eating, taking your nearly-empty plate and giving you another portion of every dish. how kind of him.

his trousers are beltless – ruins the lines of his jacket, he argued – and you glide your fingers over the front, finding the cold of his zipper easily. you palm his cock, hiding your smirk behind a quaint little appetiser as his hips shuffle discreetly.

he's always loved this game, touching when he shouldn't and where he shouldn't. you try to be mature about it, knocking his hands away or kicking his feet under the table when they get too close to their mark, but he's your baby, and you don't punish him nearly enough for any of your stern lectures to truly take root in that pretty little head of his.

you drag his zipper down.

your fingers slip into the gap under the button top, tracing gentle lines along his cock. it twitches with interest.

his pants are high-waisted, which makes it easier to hook your fingers into his boxer shorts – you have to personally thank whoever made loose-fits popular again – and fish out his cock. when he feels your fingers wrap firmly around him, his head snaps towards you and his eyes widen.

you smile sweetly back at him. what did he think would happen? you turn back to your meal, and after a still moment, he follows, his movements stiffer than before.

you stroke him lazily. you don't have to do much to get him riled up – the setting seems to pluck at his seams. he shuffles around so often that you barely have to move your hand; he does it for you.

you lean in, lips by his ear. "quit moving so much, baby. you'll get caught."

jungkook's throat bobs harshly as he nods, quiet and obedient as he stares down into his plate. as a reward, your fist quickens, and his breath hitches, eyes shutting briefly as your finger slides over his wet tip, smearing his precum down the length of his hard shaft.

"what's wrong, darling?" you ask with faux innocence. "you haven't touched your dinner in some time. want to order something else? a drink?"

he shakes his head, sucking on the ring through his lower lip. his cheeks are beginning to tint pink, and his wide eyes dart around the restaurant. eventually, they fall on you. "n-no, thank you, hyung," he replies in a small voice, lifting his hands and placing them palm-down on the dark table. he raises the spoon to his mouth.

he's so good for you! your heart melts a little. maybe it's the weight of being caught with his dick out – literally – but he's been quelled, his sneaky feet and sly glances left behind entirely.

it's bad for your ego. you have him in the palm of your hand – just a few fingers and you have infamous college bad-boy jeon jungkook melting into a hot, sticky puddle.

your hand pumps him steadily under the table. if he was in his right mind, he might recognise it as the classic pop 4/4 time signature, which you do for your own amusement. he lets out a shaky sigh, listing heavily against your side. you rest your cheek against the top of his head and tighten your fist, scraping along his veins rapidly to a bouncing beat, and his knuckles turn white around his chopsticks.

you glance over them in amusement. "going to stab me with those, jeon?"

 he loosens his grip and holds them properly, rather than like a stake he'd enjoy driving into your heart. he shakes his head, uttering a weak "uh-uh" as he turns his face into your shoulder. his breaths are hot and heavy, unsteady and stuttered.

you bite back a satisfied smile. "not such a tease now, are you?" you murmur into his ear. "i wonder how long you can hold it..."

he chokes out a tiny whimper. "no – no, please, hyung, please don't make me—"

"well, what else are you going to do? come all over the bottom of this table, all over your trousers and your shoes, like a needy whore?"

he jerks into your fist with a swallowed gasp. he doesn't even bother to try and look as if he's eating dinner – he's just trying not to moan too loudly.

poor thing. you stroke his hair kindly.

his cock is soaked. you can hear your wet movements under the table. he whimpers into your shoulder, a death grip on your forearm as he humps your fist. 

 "h-hyung," he gasps softly, his voice cracked and hoarse. "hyung, ah, ah, i c-can't—"

"mm, darling? want me to stop?"

all he does is whine quietly.

"excuse me, sir?"

you look up into the concerned eyes of a waiter – the same one who served you earlier. he gestures to jungkook, whose hair covers just enough to hide the sex-addled haze of his blown irises. his red cheeks, however, are not. "is he alright?"

you chuckle, nodding. "yeah, he'll be okay after an ibuprofen and a big glass of water. not a big drinker – you understand." you gesture to your wine glass, which is half-finished. you probably won't drink the rest of it; you've got something far tastier to get yourself drunk on tonight.

the waiter nods with a sympathetic smile. he bows slightly. "right! sorry for interrupting your dinner, then. have a good evening."

you smile as he leaves. you turn back to jungkook, who finally parts his lips to let out a breathless, near-silent moan. your hand had never stopped. his fist tightens in your jacket.

"you're doing so well, darling," you whisper, his precum dripping down your knuckles. his cock pulses hotly with each quick, dragging stroke. "you're doing so well for me. doing so well for hyung. you want to be good for me, yeah?"

 he nods quickly, panting softly. "y-yeah, yeah, hyung, wanna be good f'you. 'm good jus' f'you."

the way he's slurring his words could pass him for drunk if it really came down to it. he wraps his arms around you, and you can feel his tremble even deeper now – it's not just his thighs or his hands. he's trembling all over.

he's trying so hard for you.

you twist your voice into something sweet and gentle. "that's right. you've done so well tonight – look, we've finished all of the food we ordered! want to go home now, baby?"

he nearly whines aloud, gazing up at you with dark, desperate eyes. he gulps hard. "y-yes, yes please, let's go home, let's go let's go—"

"okay, okay," you laugh, gently tucking him away into his pants. he shifts in discomfort. you give him your jacket as you slide out of the booth, and he grabs it gratefully and folds it over his arm to hold over the visible tent in his pants. "i just need to pay and we're all set. want to wait in the car?"

he flushes and nods, taking your hand in his own. "yeah, if you wouldn't mind..."

"of course. anything for my darling."

[heltontool]

Glass pyrex bowls: Are you in search of glass Pyrex bowls that can simplify cooking? Helton Tool And Home has the perfect round clear mixing bowl for blending cake batters, meat fillings, salads, etc. This bowl is a wonderful option for cooking and baking purposes due to its round form, which gives the user enough space for a full range of stirring actions. While the non-porous nature of Pyrex glass assures the bowl is stain and odor-free, the transparent glass bowl allows the user to observe the food as it cooks. 

[fbfh]

Tristin Dugray lore hcs

wc: 1k

warnings: mentions of broken/dysfunctional families, tristin's siblings both have drug problems, mentions of sexism and abortion (v briefly), mentions of cheating (also v briefly), tristin is not super close with his siblings, brief mention of DUIs (not tristin), I think that's it??

summary: lore on Tristin's family whipped up in my little plastic play kitchen by yours truly lol

a/n: I MISS HIM!!!! I SAW SOME GIFS THAT MADE ME SALIVATE!!!!! also!! in case it wasn't obvious the Dugray family is based on the real life Dupont family, just like how the Huntzbergers are based on the Sulzbergers

song recs: family jewels - Marina (ouch!), be here - palaye royale, everything is romantic - charli xcx

The Dugray family have made their fortune as far back as the American revolution, starting with immigrating to America and manufacturing gunpowder for the American soldiers

This eventually led to the Dugray family owning one of the largest and most established chemical manufacturing corporations in America, DuGray

They invented a number of household names like pyrex, teflon, styrofoam, and even superglue, and also make ppe for people who work with or around chemicals

A while back, they also acquired two bank chains on the east coast, one of which is for east coast businesses, and the other is expanding slowly across america. 

The Dugray family’s net worth is roughly 18.6 billion. I know. 

Also, the Huntzberger family’s net worth is roughly 21.7 billion. I know.

Tristin mentions at one point that he has a “matching set” of baggage with Paris, and we know Paris’s parents are not at all close to her, or each other

We also know that her father is the head of a pharmaceutical company, and when her parents divorced it was in the newspaper

So yikes!

Anyway the only family mentioned by name is Janlon Dugrey, his paternal grandfather (I’m assuming if Janlon was his mom’s dad he would have a different last name yk)

So OBVIOUSLY I had to flesh things out a little 

Looking at this family tree I made a while ago, Tristin has two older siblings: his oldest brother Royce, and his older sister and middle sibling Sutton

They’re both a bit older than Tristin, since his mom is their dad’s second wife

Truett DuGrey married Helena Holshire and had Royce, then Sutton

They divorced when Royce was around 7 and Sutton was almost 5 because Helena suspected Truett of cheating, and Truett suspected Helena of being a gold digger

Both were true

A couple years later, Truett is introduced to Blythe Ross while working on publicity for the banks his family as acquired 

Blythe and Truett didn’t necessarily get along, but she could handle him better than most other women he’s met 

They were actually introduced through Mitchum Huntzberger and his wife Shira, because Shira and Blythe are sisters

Surprise!

So Blythe gets pregnant and Truett can feel another Helena gold digger situation coming

That’s when Blythe tells him she can’t go to his work event because she has to go to a clinic

Truett stops in his tracks and realizes three things at the same time

Blythe is not in fact using a pregnancy to try and get access to his money

He loves his son Royce as much as he’s able to, but he’s already becoming apathetic and Truett can’t pass over the family business to someone with no drive or ambition

Royce is 10 by the way

Lastly, he realizes that this might actually be beneficial to him

So he convinces Blythe not to get an abortion and to elope instead

Once she gets her body back after the baby they’ll stage some wedding photos and claim it was from a little over a year ago so no one knows he had the baby out of wedlock

When she’s 18 weeks along, he schedules a private ultrasound to find out the baby’s gender

He tells her that if it’s a boy, everything will be fine

If it’s a girl, he’ll serve her annulment papers and nice fat alimony and child support checks to keep both of them out of his life

Blythe isn’t sure if she’s relieved or not when the doctors announce they’re going to be having a healthy baby boy, but Truett sure is

So he grows up watching his burnt out older brother and back bone of the family older sister navigate middle school and high school when he’s barely starting kindergarten

They don’t have any harsh feelings toward Tristin

Not really

They were just never that close yk

It’s like the pilot of umbrella academy, “we only see each other at weddings and funerals”

Except really, they only see each other when Truett forces them into whatever is going on with the family business, or to bail each other out of trouble

Royce is just waiting for his trust fund to kick in so he can fuck off and smoke weed in peace

Sutton is desperately trying to keep her image and life together while hiding her nicotine dependency and steadily growing pill problem from the public eye

And Tristin just wants to fucking feel something

His mom has been in and out of “med spas” and “wellness retreats” for so long he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t recognize him, and the only time he and his dad talk is when he’s making charges go away

Sutton is engaged to this guy Clint

And he’s fine or whatever, Tristin hasn’t really talked to him much before

But he’s keeping his ear to the ground to make sure he treats his sister right

Sure Sutton can be condescending and a total control freak and act more like a mom than his actual mom

But she’s still his sister

So Sutton’s been off planning this huge wedding and trying to start some lifestyle brand for luxury dog beds and organic phone cases or something

Royce barely managed to keep his latest DUI for driving stoned under wraps but Truett still found out and sent him off to rehab

So Tristin starts high school at Chilton feeling almost lonelier than ever

Tristin aches for consistency, for stability

Thanks to Duncan and Bowman he sort of has that

And people like Paris that he’s literally been in school with since he can remember

It’s not that they’re particularly close, but he just likes that she’s always around when he’s going to and from class

There’s a few other people like that too, loose acquaintances that haven’t dropped out or transferred

They make him feel like even if everything else has gone to shit, he still has his winning personality

And he still has Chilton

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Chapter 5 - Saturday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five]

He decides on spaghetti. Mostly because tomorrow is grocery day and all he’s got is spaghetti ingredients. He presets the oven before getting some water into a pot to boil. He slices some French bread to make cheesy garlic bread and sets it to the side to finish later. He’s too tired from the day’s events to make meatballs, though, so he just browns the ground beef and pours the spaghetti sauce over it to heat up, moving onto the noodles and then back to the finish the bread.

While waiting for the ding of the timer for the garlic bread, Steve sets the table. Two plates, two forks, two glasses of water. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before for Robin but this feels different to him. Munson is a stranger, someone he barely even registered in school. When he spoke with Munson yesterday, that had to be the most words they’d ever exchanged. Steve was in school with him all four of his years there and so self-absorbed for most of it that he didn’t give anyone his parents wouldn’t have approved of the time of the day.

And now here he is, being a creep because it feels like every time he blinks, he sees all of Munson on display in the bathroom, boxers barely leaving anything to the imagination. He’s also thinking about how Munson had been standing. Like he was trying to be on display, standing as tall as he could while trying to look like he was disinterested in his surroundings. A conclusion Steve comes to because he’d done the same kind of postering when he was in high school; a way to draw attention and gauge the interest of people around him.

“Smells good in here, Harrington,” Munson’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. Steve, who was staring down at his dinner plate, looks up. Munson looks more relaxed, or at least, less terrified. His hair is still wet, making the Henley wet where his hair touches, and it looks longer and more tangled than when he got in the shower. It’s painfully clear that Munson did not use the conditioner. He’s just a few feet away from the table, his clothes in a ball in his hands. Munson looks good in the Henley, looks good in Steve’s clothes, and something like possessiveness runs through him.

Steve says, “Hope you like spaghetti,” because he thinks his brain has quit working for a moment, and he needs to get that going again. “Uhh, washing machine’s this way.”

They get Munson’s clothes going, mixed with some of Steve’s because he’s not running an entire wash cycle for that minuscule amount of clothing. He leads the way back to the kitchen, picking up the pace as he hears the timer. Munson fades into the background as Steve gets back into cooking mode.

He rescues the bread from the oven, using a nearby fork to transfer the bread from the baking sheet to a dish, depositing the sheet in the sink. Drains the water from the noodles and plops them into a Pyrex bowl he knows has a lid. He takes those two out to the table and sets them within reach of where he set the plates before returning to the kitchen to pour the sauce into another bowl, grabs some serving utensils and heads back to the table. He deposits the spoon into the sauce and the tongs into the noodles before pulling out the chair for Munson, heading around to his own seat.

“Did you… make this?” Munson asks, voice pitched a bit like he might be holding himself back from either laughing or having a mental breakdown. Steve's been there, he gets it.

“Hmm?” Steve hums as his brain starts to process what Munson said. Munson hasn’t sat yet, but he is approaching the table like it’s a startled animal that will bite him. Steve reaches across the table to drag the noodle bowl closer, removing the lid. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Like from scratch?” Munson has reached the table and is looking between the chair Steve pulled out for him and Steve himself. His face looks a little red.

“I guess?” Steve says as he drops a tongful of noodles onto the center of his plate. He then gestures at Munson’s plate with the tongs. “You hungry?”

Almost instantly Munson drops into his chair and pushes his plate closer. Steve drops a generous helping of noodles onto the plate, then ladles the spaghetti sauce on top, pushing Munson’s plate back to him before continuing to serve himself.

Munson eats like it might be his last meal ever. Or, more accurately, like it's the first one he’s ever eaten. He eats slowly, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of each bite. He closes his eyes when he takes a bite of the bread and Steve finds himself drawn to the look of bliss on his face.

When Munson’s eyes snap open suddenly, Steve doesn’t have the needed time to pretend he was looking at something else, so he decides to just be embarrassed about being caught, feeling his face heat in a blush but not looking away. If Munson is uncomfortable being stared at, he hides it well. “You made this?”

“You already asked that.”

“Yeah, but when you answered you sounded unsure so…”

Steve huffs a laugh, looking away and down to his own plate where he’s been twirling the same noodles around his fork for possibly the last five minutes. “Yes, I made this. Why are you so unsure of that? It’s spaghetti. Anyone can make spaghetti. There’s, like, two ingredients. Canned sauce and noodles.”

“I’ve never had anyone make me dinner before,” Munson almost whispers those words, but Steve hears them, head whipping up to look at Munson. His face is red, probably embarrassed by what he just said out loud. He doesn’t look at Steve, instead focusing his attention on the piece of garlic bread he’s shredding atop his plate for unknown reasons.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve remembers the mention of a Wayne, but he doesn’t know who that is. A person, clearly, since Max is going to ask him something if she sees him. So, Steve asks, “Wayne never made you dinner?”

Munson looks at Steve again, brows scrunched and with a slight frown on his face, like he can’t believe Steve knows who Wayne is. Which Steve doesn’t, but he realizes his question makes it seem like he knows a lot more about Munson than he truly does.

“Well, of course he’s made me dinner before but…” Munson trails off, eyes sliding away from Steve’s face to stare at a point behind him somewhere. “I guess it’s just been a while.”

“A while?” Steve isn’t trying to pry into Munson’s life, he’s just prone to asking most of the questions that come to his mind as soon as he thinks them.

“That’s just… how it goes, right? Growing up your family feeds you ‘cause you can’t do it yourself, but eventually you learn how to microwave a frozen dinner, right, and then they don’t have to worry about it. You can tell ‘em it’s one less thing they gotta worry about, feeding you, you know?” Munson says, then scoffs. “Or you don’t know. I dunno. Doesn’t matter. Wayne usually works doubles at the plant so he’s not home at dinnertime anyway. Besides, I meant like, someone not related to me hasn’t ever made me dinner, so thanks or whatever.”

Steve chooses to ignore the scoff and pointed words of ‘you don’t know’ and nods because he does know, actually, to an extent. When his parents were around his mom would make dinner. But the older he got, the less they were home. Steve had to learn to cook for himself. He took a cooking class in middle school just to learn the basics. Then, the more he learned, the less his mom cooked even if they were home. But Munson’s talking about his family, implying Wayne is family. One more thing on the list of Things Steve Knows About Eddie Munson.

It seems he’s been silent too long because Munson raises a questioning eyebrow at him. Steve doesn’t want to make assumptions or draw conclusions, so he avoids talking about family entirely and says, “Well, if you’re sick of frozen dinners then stick around. I’ll make you dinner every night. Breakfasts, too. You’re on your own at lunch time, though.”

“Why?”

Steve understands Munson’s baffled question. Why should Steve offer dinner to him, much less breakfast, too? They're strangers, still, and Steve’s not sure if Munson’s even accepted his truce. But Steve’s trying to be a better person than he was, and he’s got the means to help other people, so he’s going to. It also helps that Dustin cares an awful lot about Munson, and honestly? That alone would be enough for Steve to do anything in the world to make sure Eddie Munson ends up okay. He's not going to deny that the crush he's started to develop is playing a minor role in the offer, too. Saying all that out loud feels loaded, too heavy, so he decides to try a joke and says, “wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to not fix you breakfast the morning after, yeah?”

“Fuck,” Munson whispers, before meeting Steve’s eye. He heaves a sigh, like he’s lost a bet, but he’s amused by it and says, “yeah, Harrington, I’ll sleep with you.”

Steve almost chokes on his own spit. He shoots Munson a smile and then shoves the rest of his garlic bread into his mouth, so he doesn't have to verbally respond. The rest of dinner is silent.

Munson insists on helping clean up dinner. Steve tries to tell him that wasn’t necessary, since he is a guest in Steve’s house, but it seems unless Steve is going to physically restrain him, Munson is helping.

Being honest with himself, Steve really hoped Munson would just let him clean up alone. He needs a moment to collect himself. When Munson had just looked him in the eyes and said he’d sleep with him Steve’s brain had stopped functioning for a few seconds before he remembered that he’d offered to sleep in the rec room with him. He’s glad Munson’s taking him up on the offer, he’ll only be a few feet away if Munson starts to have a nightmare or something. However, he wants a moment or two to himself right now. When Munson said ‘yeah, Harrington, I’ll sleep with you’ his traitorous brain had supplied an entirely different meaning to that, making Steve hot under his shirt.

Not surprising to Steve, he's always had a thing for people who challenge him, that push back. Back in school he'd watched every single one of Munson's cafeteria rants, tracking his every movement with a carefully neutral expression on his own face. There hadn’t been attraction then, Steve found him kind of annoying, but he did admire him. Admired that Eddie wasn’t afraid to just be himself, or make his opinion on every little thing the entire cafeteria’s problem.

Or, maybe, he did have a little bit of a crush. Steve can’t really tell looking back. He likes Eddie now and that’s kind of scrambling his thoughts about the past.

“Where, uh, is the lid for this?” Munson asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts and reminding him of the situation. Munson, helping him clean up.

“The lid drawer is there, the one next to fridge,” Steve says. “There is no organization so, uh, good luck.”

Munson snorts and it sounds amused.

Under Steve’s instruction, Munson dumped the remaining noodles and sauce into a tupperware container and the bread into a Ziploc. Steve gathers the dirty dishes and washes them. This is done in silence mostly.

When Steve’s finished the last dish and set it to the side to dry, Munson has long finished his task and is leaning against the far counters. His arms are crossed and he’s looking down at the floor so all Steve can see when he tries to look at his face is hair.

“So,” Steve starts.

Munson doesn’t lift his head, but he echoes, “so.”

“To bed, then?”

Munson nods.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Blueberry Cinnamon Streusel Coffeecake

Made another variation on the usual, and this one worked out nicely. Had about a cup and a half of blueberries that needed using, so I decided to use them here.

I usually follow a general framework when I make one of these, and give myself poetic license to vary that framework when I know it will work. Today I used more butter, an extra egg, a whole cup sour cream and more brown sugar, and about a 1/4 extra flour over the recipe. I also used a 50/50 unbleached/whole wheat flour combo.

I made the streusel a little bit differently, even though it has an entire quarter cup of cinnamon, it's very light and "golden brown" and the spice level is just right. Still warm, it's pretty awesome.

Beforehand, you lay out 2 sticks of butter and 4 eggs overnight on the counter to come up to room temperature. THIS MAKES A DIFFERENCE. If your butter and eggs are too chilled, it changes the texture of the cake.

You can make up the streusel the night before, too, just seal it up in an airtight container to keep fridge smells out.

The Streusel:

The difference in ingredient ratios is where playtime happens. Today, I started with 3/4 cup white flour, 1 cup dark brown sugar, 3/4 cup granulated sugar, and 1/4 cup cinnamon. Stir those all together in your metal bowl until a uniform texture, then take a stick of cold butter from the fridge and chip it into 3/4" chunks...yes, the whole thing...and throw it in with the dry ingredients and get after it with your pastry cutter until you have basically wet sand. Takes me about 10 minutes of taking out my frustrations on it before it reaches that perfect point. Cover it and put it in the fridge.

The Cake:

Take a 2-cup Pyrex measure and fill the bottom of it with 1 cup of sour cream. Pour enough milk in to bring it up to 2 cups. Now add a big sloppy tablespoon of vanilla to it. Take a spoon and break up the sour cream into clumps. Set aside.

Measure out 4 cups of half unbleached and half whole wheat flours in another boal, into that dump a tablespoon of baking powder and a teaspoon of salt. Mix well. Set aside.

Now with your two sticks of softened-overnight butter, cream a cup of granulated with a cup of dark brown sugars, until fluffy. Then add your room-temp eggs, one at a time, beating well between each.

While keeping the mixer going, pour your liquid mix into the sugar/butter/eggs at a moderate rate, until it's incorporated. Stop and scrape the bowl here!

Now slowly, using a 1-cup measure, tap in that dry mixture about a cup at a time, gradually, until it's all incorporated. Stop/scrape/etc. Once all your flour and powders are in, it should be a really stiff cake batter. Set it aside for 15 minutes.

Rinse your blueberries, and while they're still wet, sprinkle them with about 2 tablespoons of flour and toss to coat. Set aside. (Ed. note: this actually causes the berries to "stay in place" suspended in the batter and not fall to the bottom.)

Grease your 9x13 pyrex cake dish with a goodly amount of crisco. After 15 minutes has passed, spread about 2/3 of the cake batter across the bottom of the pan, using a rubber spatula to spread a consistent thickness.

Now take the streusal mix out of the fridge, and sprinkle about half of it atop the spread cake batter. Press it in very lightly with your flattened palms, and then uniformaly scatter the blueberries atop the pressed layer of streusel.

Now spoon the remaining batter over the top of the blueberries, and then top with the remaining streusel mix. Now take a regular table-knife and use it to make swirls in your carefully layered batter. Be ruthless! Be brave! It makes for a groovy cake!

Oven at 325, bake for 50 minutes. Lower the heat to 305 and bake for 5 to 10 more. You want a cake that isn't sunken in the middle. Lowering the heat at the end and baking longer is the key to avoiding that.

Test by lightly pressing fingertips down onto surface of cake near center. If firm, it's done. If it's stil jiggly, leave it in the oven until it's FIRM.

Let it cool about 20-30 mins before you slice. Awesome still warm.