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mrprettywhenhecries · 5 months

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a little bit of sugar [s.h]

Steve Harrington ✘ f!Reader

⇾ w.c. 1.8k words ⇾ warning(s). f!reader, oral (f!receiving), fingering, teasing, semi public sex ⇾ a/n. Day Two of HoHoHoe Week. Prompt - Holiday Baking. Read part one here!

Things get steamy in the kitchen while decorating cookies, but Steve craves something even sweeter.

[ masterlist ]

“Where’re you guys going?” you asked, noticing your parents getting bundled up as you searched through your mom’s recipe box for your grandma’s butter frosting recipe.

“To the mall for a little last minute holiday shopping,” your mom answered, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “What are you two up to?” she countered, lifting an eyebrow at you and Steve.

You couldn’t shake the feeling she knew your boyfriend had gone to visit your room the night before.

“We’re gunna decorate some cookies,” Steve answered, slipping one of your mom’s frilly aprons around his neck, earning an amused grin from you.

“Oh, fun!” your mom chirped, before reminding you where all the sprinkles were, even though their kitchen setup hadn’t changed since you’d lived there.

“See you in a bit,” your dad said, waving as he pulled the door shut behind him.

“Alone again at last,” Steve chuckled, winking at you, and you grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Focus, Steve,” you warned lightly. “We need to get these cookies frosted if we wanna eat any,” you insisted, smacking his hands away playfully when he tried to pull you closer. “Steve!” you laughed, trying to be stern and failing.

“Alright fineee,” Steve sighed, propping his hands on his hips like he usually did when he was being sassy. “What do we need for the frosting?” he asked, looking over your shoulder at the recipe card.

“Powdered sugar, milk, butter, and vanilla extract,” you read off and Steve went to gather the ingredients. “Next cupboard over,” you prompted as he pulled open the wrong one, stretching to search for the powdered sugar and you couldn’t help but admire him from the back, biting your lip as your thoughts returned to the events of the night before.

Catching you staring, Steve cleared his throat as he pulled the canister of sugar down, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Focus, remember?” he taunted, cocking an eyebrow at you, and you stuck your tongue out in return.

“Oh, I’m focused alright,” you assured him, putting the room temperature butter into the mixing bowl and measuring the vanilla extract. “You just look really good in that apron,” you teased.

“I’m starting to question your taste a little, hun,” Steve chuckled, measuring the powdered sugar to run through the sifter.

“Well, I am undeniably attracted to you, so what does that say?” you said with a shrug, watching the smile on his face out of the corner of your eye.

The Christmas music your parents had left on in the other room drifted to the kitchen as you worked, adding the milk slowly while Steve sifted the sugar. Once he was finished shaking the last bit into the bowl, you turned on the mixer, letting out a gasp as powdered sugar flew everywhere, dusting you and the counter, while a white cloud hung in the air, drifting lazily downward like the snow outside.

Too stunned for a moment, all you could do was blink while your mouth hung open. Steve’s laughter washed over you and you turned to gape at him, grabbing a handful of sugar to toss at him in retaliation.

“What was that for?” he spluttered, his turn to gape at you and your turn to laugh.

“That was for laughing at me!” you exclaimed, still giggling at the fine white powder that coated his face and hair.

Scrunching his nose up, Steve dipped his fingers into the wet frosting at the bottom of the mixing bowl to smear across your nose, earning an incredulous gasp.

“Steve Harrington!” you cried, giving him a taste of his own medicine, or trying to–your boyfriend catching your wrist before you could reach his face, his lips wrapping around your finger, sucking it clean, leaving you flush faced and gaping for a different reason.

Pulling your finger from his mouth with a soft pop, he arched an eyebrow at you, a smug grin tugging at his lips and before you realized what you were doing, your mouth was on his, kissing him hotly as you backed him against the counter.

“Thought we had to finish this first,” Steve teased, grinning against your lips, though his grasp on your waist said he wasn’t letting you go.

“We can finish that after,” you breathed, the heated ache between your legs now too intense to ignore.

Steve chuckled, swapping places with you and lifting you easily to the counter before stepping between your legs.

“You taste so sweet,” he mused, his hands slipping under the hem of your skirt and up your thighs, his palms warm against your skin.

“That’s probably the sugar,” you giggled, helping him work your panties down, watching as he tucked them into his back pocket.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, his brown eyes flicking up to yours as he licked his lips. “Bet there’s something else that tastes even sweeter,” he drawled, a playful smirk tugging at his lips that sent a shiver through you.

Without waiting, he pulled your hips right to the edge of the counter before parting your thighs and kneeling, holding your gaze until he dove under your skirt.

“Steve!” you yelped with a laugh, pulling your skirt up so you could see him.

“Yes?” he asked expectantly, pausing to kiss your inner thigh, his eyes once more flicking up to yours.

“You may continue,” you chuckled fondly, running your fingers through his thick hair. “I just wanted something to hold onto,” you purred, giving his roots a gentle tug.

“That’s what it’s there for,” Steve teased, bobbing his eyebrows at you before eagerly kissing his way higher, til his breath ghosted over your aching sex. When his tongue delved between your folds, his nose nudging your clit, you didn’t bother to stifle the moan that spilled forth and your head fell back against the cupboard behind you with a soft ‘thunk’.

“Shit, you okay?” Steve asked, pausing to check on you and you nodded hastily.

“I’m fine, please don’t stop!”

Steve chuckled, obeying with a soft groan as he spread your folds to lap a broad stroke all the way up to your sensitive bud, circling it deftly with his tongue as he urged you to hook your knees over his shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” you whined, rocking against his mouth as much as you could while held in his grasp, desperate for more.

He moaned into your cunt, his eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks as he focused on your pleasure, his fingers digging into your hips where he held you, seeming to enjoy it almost as much as you were.

Knowing your parents could return at any moment to find you like this, squirming under your boyfriend’s tongue atop their countertop only made the whole thing even hotter.

Steve’s lips wrapped around the hood of your clit to gently suck, his tongue unrelenting against your bundle of nerves and you clenched around nothing, wishing he’d fill you with his fingers at least.

“F-fuck, oh please!” you managed to whimper, barely conscious of the mess you were making, your juices mixing with Steve’s saliva, rolling down your folds and dampening the back of your skirt. He hummed in response, but didn’t slow and you knew you were getting close, your release hovering just out of reach.

“M’close,” you gasped, your fingers tightening in Steve’s hair, nails biting into his scalp as you held him against your cunt, desperate to cum against his tongue.

“Please, Steve–” you begged, your head once more falling back and he granted your wish, his tongue lashing against you as he slid two fingers into you, curling to stroke that spot inside that made you see stars, and you fell apart with a desperate cry, your body going rigid as your mind went blank.

Steve lifted his face, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as you came down from your high.

“I was right, much sweeter,” Steve teased, a wide grin tugging at his lips as he peered at you from under his tousled mane of hair.

Unable to keep your own smile hidden, you brushed his hair from his forehead and leaned in to steal a kiss, moaning softly at the taste of you on his lips and tongue.

“And I think they should change the definition of ‘best boyfriend in the world’ to ‘Steve Harrington’,” you mused, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Glancing down, even beneath the apron covering him, his arousal was quite noticeable, and your grin deepened coyly.

“Eating me out made you this hard?” you asked, slipping your hand down the front of his jeans, feeling him through the thick denim and Steve’s breath hitched, his hips giving an involuntary jerk.

“What can I say? Seeing how good I make you feel does that to me,” he chuckled.

“You’re so good to me,” you sighed, wondering if you’d have enough time to help Steve get off before your parents got home. “Would you like some help?” you asked, biting your lip as you continued to caress him and Steve was about to open his mouth to gladly accept when the garage door motor kicked on and your heart leapt into your throat.

“Shit, they’re back!” you hissed, slipping off the counter. “We need to clean this up,” you exclaimed, springing into action to wet a washcloth and grab some dry towels, tossing one to Steve.

By the time your parents walked into the kitchen, laden with shopping bags, you were just cleaning up the last of the sugar, Steve standing on the other side of the island so no one would notice the bulge in his jeans.

“What happened in here?” your mom gasped, setting her shopping bags down to survey what was left of the damage.

“When we turned on the mixer, the sugar flew everywhere,” you explained with a laugh.

“I see that,” your dad mused, noticing the white powder in your hair and on your cheeks.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” your mom asked, nearly rounding the island to join you.

“Nope! We’ve got it!” you exclaimed quickly, noticing the flash of panic in Steve’s eyes.

“Alright,” your mom relented, holding her hands up in surrender. “We’re gunna go wrap the rest of these presents then, if you need us,” she said, grabbing the bags and heading for the stairs. “But no peeking!” she warned.

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” you assured her, waiting for them to disappear upstairs before letting out a heavy sigh. “That was close.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve groaned, throwing you a flat look.

Flashing him an apologetic grin, you ambled toward him, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“It was your idea in the first place, remember?” you cooed, arching a wry brow at him, earning you that unamused head tilt while his hands planted on his hips.

“Yeah well, I, for one, would like some help now,” he said pointedly and you couldn’t help but laugh, teasingly feeling him up again, earning you a breathless moan.

“I think I could do that,” you purred, taking his hand to lead him to the downstairs bathroom. “But you’ll have to be quiet.”

⇾ taglist. @hohohoeweek2023 @b1tchy3lf @heartbreak-sandwich @afestivelegend @hawkinsglasscloset @sugarcookiesteve @birminghamshelbyboys

#hohohoe23 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #joz.fic

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unrequitedloveletter · 1 year

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decorating a christmas tree

baking cookies with xavier

wc.... 1.5k ish?

More Than Perfect- Xavier Thorpe

Okay! This is my first Xavier request, and I apologize in advance if he’s at all ooc!

This is also the first day of the Five Days of Christmas Queue! Happy Wednesday everyone, and let the mini-event begin!!

Fic type- this one is just,, it's straight out fluff oh my g o o d n e s s

Warnings- none

"Okay," Ajax said, nodding as you cracked the first egg into the bowl. "Yep. This is going to delve into chaos within minutes. I can already see it."

You were in the dorm kitchens, which really wasn’t more than a long island with a dishwasher on one end, an oven on the other, a sink smack dab in the middle and more counter space than you could ever have needed on any side. Cabinets went from floor to ceiling, stocked with cutlery, bowls, plates, cups, and various foods and ingredients for baking, and two large fridges and freezers were off to the right.

A group of you had gone in, though it was originally going to be a date night for you and Xavier. In the room with the two of you were Ajax, Rowan, Wednesday and Enid.

Xavier glanced at the recipe as he stirred, one hand holding the bowl and the other holding the spatula. “Butter, sugar, the egg,” Xavier whispered. “That leaves flour, baking powder, salt and vanilla and almond extract. We’re not missing anything yet.”

“What, Xavier does the work?” Rowan asked with a teasing laugh. Wednesday, who’d been leaned against the fridge to the left, nodded.

“He should, considering that Y/N made him dinner the other day.”

“I second that, actually,” Xavier said, nodding his agreement. “And, anyway, we’re splitting the responsibility. Y/N adds the ingredients, I stir. I’ll roll out the dough and they’ll use the cookie cutters. We split things 50/50 a lot of the time. It’s how relationships are meant to work, Rowan.”

“I second that notion,” Wednesday said as she moved away from the fridge she’d leaned against, grabbing the eggnog from one of the shelves as Enid grabbed two cups. You shot Enid a grin, which she returned before glancing at her girlfriend once more.

“And who makes the icing?”

“Nobody,” Xavier said. “Royal icing is difficult, and we’re trying to have a fun date night, so we bought it pre-made.”

Ajax laughed. “Sorry for crashing,” he said. You shook your head, wrapping your arms around Xavier and hugging him from behind.

“Eh, not everyone lucks out in romance department,” you said. “Not everyone is as lucky as Xavier and I, honestly.”

“The only match I’ve seen that’s as perfect as the two of you has been Wednesday and Enid,” Rowan noted. “Surprised Enid hasn’t convinced Wednesday to bake sugar cookies yet.”

“She got me me to agree to a gingerbread decorating contest, though I remain unsure if that counts. It’s a double date with us and them,” she pointed in your direction, and you nodded.

“Oh, it absolutely does,” you said, adding the vanilla extract and following it by the almond. Xavier stirred the mixture quickly, adding the baking powder and a pinch of salt before giving it another spin. “I’m excited to see the murder scene you create when we decorate them Christmas Eve.”

“I’m excited to see how many of Xaviers sweaters you’ve stolen,” Wednesday rebutted, referencing the fact that the contest would be held in your dorm room.

You rolled your eyes and let them close as Xavier portioned out the first half cup of flour, tapping it into the bowl as you stirred slowly. You opened your eyes, making sure that the flour had been incorporated into the dough before adding more of it.

Things stayed like that for the next two minutes. You and Xavier were quiet, enjoying the time you’d gotten to spend together and knowing that there was more time to be spent even still.

Once you’d made and decorated the cookies, you’d take them back to the dorm room that you, luckily, had gotten to yourself. You’d end up eating them while you watched some old, cheesy Christmas movie or one of the ones to be found on Hallmark, which you and Xavier would watch only so that you could laugh at the cheesy dialogue and point out how a clear line of communication would’ve solved every issue the protagonists faced.

Once the dough had been fully combined, you separated from Xavier to grab cookie sheets and parchment paper, where he put flour onto the clean countertop and grabbed the cookie cutters and a rolling pin.

The two of you made idle conversation as you went through the motions. Xavier rolled out the dough, placed the cookie cutters and cut the excess away while you placed the cookies onto the sheets. Throughout the whole ordeal, neither of you paid much mind to those around, though you did hear them begin conversations of their own.

Xavier passed you the oven mitts and you put the cookie sheets into the oven, closing it and taking the mitts off as Xavier moved to you, hugging you from behind as he set a fifteen minute timer on his phone.

“How can the two of you make baking sugar cookies shaped like christmas trees, snowflakes, snowmen, and freaking reindeer turn into something that makes me feel more single than I do on Valentines day?” Rowan asked. You shrugged, the two of you beginning to sway as Enid passed you both glasses of eggnog.

“Moments like this one are easy to find when you’re with the right person,” Xavier said, shrugging. “It’s just a matter of finding them, really.”

Rowan scoffed. “You make that sound so easy.”

“It was, in my case,” Xavier answered simply, shrugging as he spoke. “You’ll find them at the right time, Rowan. Don’t stress about it too much.”

Rowan shrugged, air-cheers’ing his glass with yours and Xaviers.

The room quieted as Ajax, Rowan, Wednesday and Enid filtered out bit by bit, and eventually it was just the two of you.

You mostly just existed with one another in the quiet, content to play a slow song from Xaviers phone and sway along to the music as it played.

Moments with you and Xavier were like that often; you found yourselves able to exist in the quiet without needing to say anything. Comfortable, content and enjoyable silences were commonplace for you, happening nearly daily.

The timer went off, and you took the cookies out, making jokes and laughing with one another as you waited for the cookies to cool.

You caught yourself feeling all lovey-dovey as you watched him. He was smiling slightly at you as you reached out and tossed some flour that hadn’t been wiped from the counter onto his face.

He got you back, blowing flour over yours as he mocked the act of blowing a kiss. You both laughed, and Xavier found the bag from the grocery store you’d visited in the city, warming the royal icing a bit as the cookies finished up the cooling process.

“I love you,” Xavier mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone as you took one of the piping bags. You leaned up, pressing one to his forehead.

“I love you too,” you responded. “I catch myself falling again every time I look at you for a beat too long. I love you, my dear artist.”

“I love you, my darling muse,”

With that, the two of you got into decorating, spending the next thirty minutes focused on just that. When Enid returned again, she had hot cocoa, which you both took with grateful smiles.

“Perfect, right?” You asked her, noticing she’d been wearing one of Wednesdays knitted sweaters. She noticed the hoodie of Xaviers that you’d donned and, as Xavier walked to a distant cabinet to grab spherical sprinkles to act as ornaments for the Christmas tree shaped cookies, she nodded.

“More than that, I would say,” she said. “It’s like, perfect but better? It’s more than perfect, honestly. I’m really happy a lot of the time, I have to admit.”

“Love and happiness correlate like nobodies fucking business,” you said with a laugh as you sipped the hot chocolate she’d brought you. “Xavier and I have been together since we were fourteen. Three years in, and damn it all if it doesn’t just better as time goes on.”

Enid grinned. “I really hope it does,” she said.

“People always say that the honeymoon phase sizzles out after the first few months, but it doesn’t, really. You’ll think it has and then you’ll be baking and decorating cookies for a movie night with Wednesday the week before Christmas. You’ll look at her or she’ll look at you, and you’ll fall in love all over again.”

Xavier grinned as he walked back into the area, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he dotted the spherical sprinkles onto the christmas tree shaped cookies.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you responded.

Enids eyes flickered between the two of you and her face broke out into a grin. You took a sip of the hot chocolate and made a note to get her some of the eggnog she liked when you and Xavier were in the city again.

“More than perfect, right?” She asked, glancing between the two of you again.

“A hell of a lot more than perfect most days, yeah.”

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #the five days of christmas queue

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kassies-take · 9 months

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If You Felt the Effects of the “La Push Cult”

You and Jared: *enters grocery store*

Everyone: *turns to look at the door and whispers*

Jared: *reading the list* why does blueberry muffins need lemon juice?

You: you have never tasted the zestyness?

Jared: I eat, I don’t question

You: well you did now *takes the list and rips in half* you grab these *hands him half the list*

Group of girls: It’s Sam’s cult

You: *reaches to grab vanilla extract*

Group of girls: look at the tattoo

You: *grips the basket handle tightly*

Group of girls: I heard that (Y/n) is only there to have sex with them

You: *marches to find Jared, pushes the basket into his hands and exits*

Cunts

Jared: *enters the car later, stunned*

You: took you long enough

Jared: I- I imprinted on Kim *smiles*

You: …at least one of us got something good out of this trip… *holds up the exterior door handle* I also broke your car

Jared: (Y/n)!

You: it was that or wolfing out

Jared: what did those girls say?

You: said I was in the cult to have sex with the guys.

Jared: *laughs* oh man that’s a classic. You don’t even swing that way.

You: I use to be friends with those girls…

Jared: *quiets* fuck

~~~~~

You, Jared, Paul and Kim: *in school hallways*

Jacob: *glares*

Embry: *saddens*

Quil: *confused*

Jacob: who do they think they are

Embry: Hall monitors on steroids

~~~~~

Black’s residence: *having a pasta party*

You: *in room* god I should have left before people came *gets up to use bathroom and runs into Leah* Leah

Leah: *rolls her eyes and tries to leave*

You: *follows her outside*

Bella: that’s your sister?

Jacob: unfortunately

You: Leah

Leah: no. *stops in the yard away from the house* You fucking left me when I fucking needed you! You fucking left me when I was at my fucking lowest. I needed you! And you weren’t there! And a real fucking friend, someone who loves you wouldn’t have done that! *crying*

The Pack: *shuffles in the forest*

Leah: My fiancé left me for my cousin! I had just had a miscarriage! And my fucking best friend leaves me to follow around that same fucking guy who broke my heart! Are you going to say anything!

You: you wouldn’t believed me if I told you

Leah: What! That Sam accepted you?! That he gave you security?! That he made you belong?! I did that for you! I did that for you when you came out to me!

The Pack: *shouting your name*

You and Leah: *turns towards the tree line*

You: *shouts* not right now! *to Leah* Look Leah I’m sorry my actions hurt you. I wasn’t thinking and when I did it was too late. Trust me. I would never have jeopardized our friendship if I knew this was going to happen. I hate myself for it

Leah: *frowns*

The Pack: *calls your name*

You: *shouts* okay!!

Leah: *grabs your bicep and whispers* are you in danger?

You: *defensive* it’s not like that. Sam’s… helping

Leah: *scoffs* it seems like you’re needed *lets go of your arm*

You: *sighs and starts to walk*

Leah: but if you go, we’re no longer friends *walks back towards the Black residence*

You: *stops with tears in your eyes and walks towards the pack*

#if you series #twilight saga imagine #twilight saga #twilight imagines #twilight #Leah Clearwater #Leah Clearwater imagines #Leah Clearwater x platonic!reader #quileute pack #quileute pack imagines #quileute pack x reader #Jacob black sister #quileute shapeshifters

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swampstew · 1 year

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KIᒪᒪEᖇᑕOOK - ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ 2

Welcome to Raven's Reading Nook - a small corner of this blog dedicated to cozy story times. Join us in the family room as we sit around and browse our phones, and eat some Girl Scout cookies as we begin tonight's story. Rated Mature for language.

Going Live in 3…2…1…

“What’s up everyone, Killer here. Today we’re going to be making a delicious Tiramisu that I like to eat whenever I’m having a hard time. My friend and coworker Quincy has been having some bad luck lately so I’m making one for her.”

The live chat was already spitting out messages more than Killer could read them. Most of them asking if he could send them baked goods for bad days too. He chuckled softly under his helmet, pulling his hair back into a low ponytail to avoid it going into the baking process. The fabric of his polyester blend muscle shirt stretched to accommodate Killer’s muscles without riding up his stomach and revealing his tight abdominals…too much. His jogger pants hugged his hips, perfectly framing his glutes and thighs.

“I can’t possibly make a dessert for every single person but take comfort in knowing that I’m rooting for you through your personal struggles. You got this,” pointing finger guns at the camera.

Turning around, he walked away to grab some ingredients and baking tools. The sound of pinging and comments going wildly in the background, a tad louder than the music on the speaker.

“This is a refreshing and savory dessert. I always feel like I’m biting into an espresso cloud and suddenly I’m a little bit happier, if only for a brief moment.”

Pulling out one mixing bowl, “First, we’re going to make our creamy filling. I’ll be using room-temperature mascarpone, cream, sugar, and vanilla extract. We’ll whip it until it gets nice and stiff. In between the whipping, I’ll also be dipping these lady fingers in this bowl of liquids – now I like to soak the fingers for about a minute to really soak in the espresso and liqueur. Makes the whole dessert just gush in your mouth.”

Killer was prepping the glass pan he was going to stack the layers in and he heard the transactions and notifications chime endlessly. What the hell was going on in chat today. He finished prepping the tools and ingredients before rushing to his phone to read everything.

Oh shit.

Oh fucking shit.

Killer did not mean to make any of his instruction sound as sexual as chat had perceived it to be. Oh no, the things he can’t unread. The blonde was incredibly grateful he kept his helmet on during all content creation, feeling his face break out in flushed flames. The echoing sounds of Kid and Wire’s cackling from inside the house only made it worse for Killer.

God damnit.

“Hng, er-uhm, as I was saying, once we get the…base ingredients prepared, we can get into some architecture. I think a good balance is about uh—2 to 3 inches of filling between biscuit layers, depending on how…erm…bloated the biscuit has become.”

As he loudly poured ingredients into the stainless-steel bowl, he quickly and quietly addressed the highlighted messages, not daring to repeat his answers before starting up the rotator blade. The machine Killer bought was a high-end model, it was a good quality standing mixer with a low humming drone when in use. Killer treated it as if it was a roaring engine.

“IT’S GETTING NOISY SO I’M GOING TO TURN UP THE MUSIC TO DROWN IT OUT. WON’T BE ABLE TO SEE MESSAGES FOR ABOUT 10 MINUTES,” he spoke loudly as he used the remote to turn the speaker up.

Killer’s mouth was dry. He rushed to the fridge to pull out ice cubes for his water, plunking a swirly straw in the glass and draining his cup in seconds. Three times.

Feeling relieved, he made his way back to the island tabletop. He started soaking the lady fingers in the bowl and slowly layering the glass pan bottom with a row of soaked fingers. Once the bottom was covered, he checked the mixer. The creamy filling was looking stiff. Turning the machine off, Killer also lowered the volume of the speaker.

“You’ll see that the texture is ready when you can raise the blade and the filling is light, fluffy yet firm. You should be able to hold the blade upside down without the peaks falling or losing integrity. Now to make my life easier, I’m going to transfer this into a piping bag to fill the layers and then smooth it out before adding the next layer of lady fingers.”

Killer started to read out messages as he filled and stacked.

“_LickMeImurLollipop says,” he almost chokes, “’Marry me and I’ll make you a stay-at-home husband. You can bake to your heart’s content, filling doughnuts and whatever you want with your cream😏.’”

He took a long sip of water, “That’s a very tempting offer, Lollipop. I’ll keep it in my back pocket for a rainy day, ok sweetie?”

Using a flat blade to smooth the creamy layer, “JustAsking says or I guess asks, ‘Will you ever do a face reveal?’ The answer to that, as its been every time since my first upload, is NO. Please respect my boundaries, I’m a human being.”

“SchoolPunkRock says, ‘Been watching you since day 1 and I love your personality and attitude. And also your food. If you ever make a cookbook, I’d buy it in a heartbeat. I’d buy 10 copies.’ That’s really nice, thank you. That’s not something I’ve thought about but a great idea, nonetheless. I might explore that later. In the meantime, please keep supporting me on this platform by liking, commenting, and following!”

Killer squeezed the last of the filling over the lady fingers and started smoothing the surface. His finger curled under the table to press Kid’s call button. The redhead came through the door as Killer finished dusting a layer of cocoa powder over the dessert.

“Excellent timing! Now normally you’d want to let this sit in the fridge for an hour to let the flavors sort of sit there and blend together for a nice balance. Tiramisu is great at any time of the day,” Killer cut a square from the glass pan and slid it over on a small plate with a fork. Killer turned to put the pan in the fridge for later.

Kid was grinning into the camera, “’Sup everyone. Hope you enjoyed my buddy’s lesson today. In addition to potential book deals, KillerCook may soon be offering private cooking lessons over Vimeo, just you and him for up to an hour discussing…cooking or whatever,” his grin turned sly.

Killer choked in the fridge.

“All details to be forthcoming!” Kid finished with a wave of his hand over his shoulder.

Then with precise and exaggerated motions, Kid began a slow descent to pick up his plate and fork. His own gym shirt strained over his broad chest, muscles rippling underneath as he moved. Holding his plate in the air, arms flexing tightly as he used his prosthetic to lift the fork to his mouth, he winked at the camera before taking a bite.

As soon as he closed his mouth, a very thin line of dark liquid dribbled from between his lips. Kid’s eyes opened in shocked as he chewed.

“Whoa, that’s juicy!”

The pinging on the phone was going wild again. Killer quickly stood next to Kid before the knucklehead dared to answer a single message.

“What else?”

“Mmm shit Kill this is fucking great. The coffee and liqueur have that nice, bitter kick to the sweetness of the cream. The filling itself is fluffy but thick and flavorful. The balance between bitter and sweet is perfect man.”

“A perfect balance between bitter and sweet, what more can you ask for? With that in mind, we’ll be taking the Tiramisu I made first thing this morning to our friend. Tune in next time when I make a fun comfort food that’s also perfect for a sports ball pregame and/or tailgate – Philly Cheesesteak Dip. It’s easy to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

Before Killer could turn the camera off, Wire and Heat burst through the kitchen doors. Heat opened the fridge to grab the insulated travel pack that contained the pre-made tiramisu, hoisting it over his head in triumph.

The 4 men stared into the camera while waving goodbye.

“See ya soon Quincy!”

“QUINCCAAAYY!!”

“You better be resting and not doing shit!!”

“Hope you like it, Quincy!”

End Livestream.

“Really, a fucking private Vimeo class?” Killer whipped his baking gear off and tossed the dirty dishes in the sink.

The three other men began howling with laughter.

“AYE! You shoulda seen the comments dude! You can really capitalize on this, whole frontier’s unexplored,” Kid explained through his tears of laughter.

Killer clicked his tongue, “Nooooooo, you’re not going to live vicariously through me because your OnlyFans account got shut down again.”

Bonus: The comment section

GaybellineNY347: In theory, if one wanted to send you money in exchange for…photos of you with your finished desserts, how much would you charge? Not that the photos you post aren’t tasteful😳 They can be tastier with…you…in them👉👈 KillerCook: Uh well, I kind of want to keep the focus on my food…good to know though😳

VoidEssence: Who was the tall glass of water?👅💦 Scream_Maim_Fire: His name is out of your area code.

ShootingMyShot_89: Sooooo the vimeo deets???????????? PunkNeverDied69: I said FORTHCOMING! It’s COMING on the FORTH!

Read on Wattpad | Read on AO3

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joshriku · 8 months

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prompt: 'can you write erik struggling to bake and frost a cake for someone he cares about? i think it'd be hilarious like magneto girl dinner (or girl desert?'

yes i can. vaguely au-ish. what if they were slightly normal during the brotherhood. loosely based on kworei's series re: magneto and the twins except this one is a lot more ridiculous

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“We are not buying a cake,” Magneto says.

“But it’s our birthday!” Pietro exclaims. He waves his hand around. “It’s a whole thing, you know? I don’t expect you to know what happens at a birthday party, but usually, there’s cake.”

Magneto arches an eyebrow at him. Pietro meets it readily. “I know the details of a birthday party, Quicksilver.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s totally a normal thing to say,” Pietro mumbles very fast. Magneto begins saying what? so Pietro pushes on, “Yeah, well, anyway, if we’re not buying it then we’re baking it.”

“I think your free use of we is rather preposterous, Pietro,” Magneto puts down the newspaper he’s reading at last. A glance at it tells Pietro he gave up on the crossword for the day. “Happy birthday to you and your sister. I am not involving myself in your plans. If you want to bake, you are responsible for whatever happens.”

“So you’re leaving me? In a kitchen? By myself?” Pietro points behind him. “What if I set the kitchen on fire?”

“It’d be your problem.”

“Oh, so you’d let me burn down your operations base? What if I poison Toad? What if, I don’t know, Mastermind walks in and an egg lands on his head? Surely that would cause some in-fighting in the Brotherhood. Not as if we don’t do that already, but—”

“Fine,” Magneto snaps. He stands up, cape dramatically flowing as he does. “Get yourself to that kitchen. I will do it with you. Do not make me regret it.”

“You’ll regret this day for the rest of your life,” Pietro announces proudly. “But it’s fine because it’s going to make Wanda happy, and we like Wanda.”

Magneto stares at him, pointedly doesn’t say anything, and keeps walking evenly to the kitchen.

“Where is your recipe, Quicksilver?” Magneto begins as soon as they arrive. “You cannot come to the battlefield without a plan of attack.”

“You’re so weird,” Pietro mumbles again. He does have a recipe written down—he asked a shopkeeper to tell him the recipe, and he’s been safe-keeping it for the past two months. Wanda was going to be so thrilled. “It’s sponge cake. So, um, pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees—” Pietro hears the oven turning on. “Oh, can your magnetism do that?”

“Yes.”

Pietro holds back the compliment. But it is kind of cool. Regardless—

“Okay, so, we have to butter up the—” the pan already flows to the kitchen table. “See, this is kind of cool, but you’re ruining my process.”

“You asked me to be here.”

“I guess I did,” Pietro speeds off to grab the butter, at least, so Magneto doesn’t get to flex and be all cool with his powers the whole time. “We need, um, sugar…? Eggs. More butter. Vanilla extract. Self-raising flour.”

“I presume you got all of this already?”

“More like stole it, but yes,” Pietro opens the cabinet. He takes it all out, and before Magneto gets to do anything, he’s already done—the sugar and butter are already whisked, he’s cracking the eggs and beating them as they come, in the next second he’s already adding the vanilla, the flour, and just a dash of milk. Not like anyone else drinks milk here. “Okay, so, that’s that.”

Magneto frowns at him, but perhaps he’s a little impressed at how fast he is. “Why exactly did you call me, Pietro?”

“Honestly?” Pietro leans on the counter for a second before he pours the mix in the pan and puts it inside the oven, all before blinking. He comes back to Magneto again and continues leaning on it. “I’m terrified of the piping part. I’m not delicate. I just want to write ‘Happy birthday Wanda’ on it.”

“And you think of me as delicate.”

“Not really, but like, the tips are made of metal, so I assumed you’d have more accuracy and neater handwriting than me,” Pietro explains. “I think so, at least.”

Magneto makes a sound—a chuckle? Something somewhat positive. “Such a task is nothing for the Master of Magnetism.”

“Sure, sure. I guess we just… wait…?” Pietro hates this part. Why can’t time move fast? “So… saw how much you sucked at the crossword today—”

“We can wait in silence,” Magneto says, leaving no room for argument. Pietro isn’t even offended—hey, he isn’t the one being bad at the newspaper.

Longest hour of his fucking life.

“We’re not decorating on a hot cake, Pietro, have you no sense of anything?”

“But waiting sucks so muuuuuuuuch—”

“Okay, here,” Pietro says, taking out the frosting from the fridge. He loads it on the little bag and adjusts the tip before handing it to Magneto. “Remember, just: ‘Happy birthday Wanda’.”

“Are you not writing your name?”

“Nah, it’s for her. So, Happy birthday Wanda—”

“I heard you the first time, Pietro,” Magneto says as the pipe floats to him. “Now, if you may be quiet—”

“And after you add the letters maybe you can do the rest of the decorating around the border—”

“Boy, that is not what we agreed—”

“Well! To be fair, you did not agree to this either, you—”

Uh-oh. Pietro hears a splat, and next thing he knows, the entire decoration is one huge pile on top of the cake, and of course Wanda is back from her day off just then.

She stands at the doorway, looking torn between laughing at them and being horrified. “...I’m back?”

“Happy birthday?” Pietro tries. “We baked you a cake.”

“And got in a fight with the piping bag?” Wanda asks as she steps closer, scooping it up with her finger. “This is very…”

She looks at Magneto, then at Pietro, then at the cake. “It’s very ugly.”

“If you are going to be ungrateful—” Magneto begins, but he’s cut off by Wanda.

“But it tastes fine!” she gives Pietro a hug, and he easily returns it, proud. Magneto watches them interact, and if Pietro didn’t know any better, he’d say he’s embarrassed of his decoration accident. “Thank you both.”

“Next time,” Magneto says, floating a knife to him, cutting the cake, “Next time, I am just letting Quicksilver buy a cake.”

#writing #is this.. what the kids call.. dadneto..#erik lehnsherr #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff

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blue-pearl832 · 5 months

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Chapter Four of Pearl’s perfect plan

Confrontation and cookies

After coming home from school Grian confronts Pearl about casting scar as his love interest in the play he finally lets out his emotions and Pearl and Grian make cookies and talk about there emotions .

When both grian and pearl arrived home after drama club Grian immediately confronts Pearl “Pearl what have you done!”Grian said in a distressed tone “what do you mean Grian I did a lot of things today I went to the library I got I a coffee name something specific.” Pearl said teasing Grian she know what he’s talking about but she thinks it fun to mess with him.”Oh I don’t know casting scar as my love interest!” He said anger in his voice”Oh come on he was perfect for the role and it’s not like you to can’t stand each other right?” Pearl said trying to cool grian down “Well yeah we can work together…but that’s not the point in act two both of our characters kiss !” Grian said grasping at straws as to why he was so distressed with playing scars lover.”And..do you have a problem with that gri”Pearl said trying to let grian just pour his emotions out “no it’s just how… am I going to kiss him knowing he’ll never love me in that way knowing it’s all pretend.”he said finally letting is emotions out and letting pearl see what was hurting him as he slumped down on the table . “And how do you know he doesn’t love you in that way too Gri maybe he does.” Pearl said trying to be there for her brother “I don’t want to find out what if he doesn’t I and ruin one of the best friendships I’ve ever had.”Grian said just letting it all out “I don’t want him to see me as weird and push me away he makes my so happy I don’t want him to leave “ Grian said tears running down his face bottled emotions being released.“It’s okay gri I still think he would like you back but take your time and until then I will always be there for you.”Pearl said gently holding her brother in her arms “why don’t we make some cookies like mum used to make when we’re kids .”She said still comforting Grian “T-that sounds nice …” he said tears still rolling down his face “ok then we’ll bake some cookies together like we used to.” Pearl said standing up with grian and heading to the kitchen.

”Alright grian we need Flour , 3 eggs , baking soda, salt , brown sugar , vanilla extract , butter , regular sugar and chocolate chips.”Pearl said reading off a recipe from an old cookbook “Here I think that’s everything what’s next “Grian said setting everything down on the counter “ now we need to get a large mixing bowl and combine all the dry ingredients together whisking each time” Pearl said trying to make sense of the yellow paper and faded letters “Then I’m pretty sure we add melted butter, and then the eggs one at a time”Pearl said stringing together the ingredients in the bowl.”The butter is melting Pearl can you start preheating the oven.”Grian said putting the butter into the microwave to melt”Ok what temperature do I set it to?” Pearl said putting down the bowl and walking to the oven .”Here let me look um..176 Celsius so one second…. 350 degrees.” He said reading over the old recipe “Ok now add in the butter and eggs to the dry ingredients mix in each egg on at a time then add in the chocolate chips.” Pearl said after mixing everything together the put the cookie dough on a baking sheet and let it bake for 25 minutes.

”who new how much work making cookies was ..”Pearl said very tired as they wait for the cookies to be ready “Definitely not us .” Grian said as Pearl gave a slight chuckle “Aw looks like someone feels a little better.”Pearl said smile at Grian’s improved mood.“Hey Pearl….do you think scar likes me…?”Grian said hesitantly he was wondering if scar might actually like him back.”Oh yeah at least I think so the look in his eyes when he looks at you tells me so .” Pearl said turning to grian and giving him a reassuring smile “I still don’t think so , but it would be incredible if he did… off of that topic who else do you want in your play?”Grian asked trying not think about that right now. “I really don’t know but I know who I’m playing the narrator.”pearl said smugly “Oh really I’m center stage and you get to be behind a curtain?”Grian said in a playful voice “Yup sounds about right.”Pearl said as both siblings started laughing . As the sent of chocolate chip cookies fills the air a little ding alerts the two that the cookies are done .

Alright here you go new chapter I probably won’t be able to post as much when school starts back up but I will post at least once a week. How did you like this new chapter? I wanted just a little angst not to much and so you got the cookie baking (: Btw the new chapter is up on AO3 my ao3 is Blue_pearl832 .

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cleverclove · 1 year

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#polls

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spooniechef · 1 year

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Homemade Caramel Candies (1-2 spoons)

This one was tough to give a measurement in the number of metaphorical spoons it takes to cook it, because it honestly depends on what kinds of metaphorical spoons we’re talking about. ADHD spoons? Just the one; it’s a really simple recipe and is actually pretty good for people who’ll hyperfocus on a task fairly easily. Physical exertion spoons? Depends on the day. I didn’t pick the best day for it when I tried this one, but my mother likes caramel and Mother’s Day was last weekend so I wanted to make her something nice, so I found a caramel recipe on I Heart Naptime. I left her out a tester piece when she came to pick them up and when she ate it, she made that noise that means “OMG THIS IS SO GOOD AND I NEED TO EXPRESS THAT BUT MY MOUTH IS FULL”. You know, the one that sounds vaguely indecent. So it’s probably worth it. It makes a lot of caramel, so you’ll get a lot of use out of just one batch. (I had a lot of leftovers and am pondering caramel apples.)

Here’s what you’ll need:

2 cups light corn syrup (Karo, basically)

2 cups brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 cups whipping cream

1/2 cup salted butter, cubed

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

That’s for ingredients. For tools, you’ll need a 9″ x 13″ baking dish, greaseproof paper, and a candy thermometer. These are relatively cheap, and fairly useful for when you’re having a good day and want to make treats for the rest of the week.

Insofar as the vanilla goes, there are other ways of flavouring your caramel. Replace the vanilla extract with a couple of teaspoons of maple syrup (the real kind; you don’t want to be adding Mrs Butterworth’s to this) to make maple fudge, or with two teaspoons of cinnamon oil to make cinnamon caramels, or with two teaspoons of orange extract to make orange caramels ... really, just play around with flavour extracts and see what appeals. Also, you can replace the Karo with honey to make honey caramels. Oh, and you can use white sugar too, but brown sugar really is tasty in this.

Here’s what you do:

Setup first: line your 9″ x 13″ baking dish with greaseproof paper and set aside. Also keep a glass of cold water on hand.

In a large pot, mix your sugar, salt, and Karo syrup over medium-high heat until it’s bubbling and the sugar has dissolved.

Slowly add in the cream, being careful not to stop boiling. Afterwards, do the same with the butter

Keep the mixture at a boil, whisking constantly, for about 15-20 minutes or until it reaches “firm ball stage” (if your candy thermometer doesn’t have those marked, it’s somewhere between 240-245 degrees Farenheit (120 degrees Celcius or so). To check, drizzle some of the mixture into the cold water to flash cool it, then take it out and roll it between your fingers. If it makes a firm but pliable ball (kind of like stickier Play-Doh), it’s ready.

Take off the heat and quickly whisk in the vanilla (or whatever flavouring you’ve chosen).

Pour the mixture into your prepared baking dish and leave to set. (It’ll take a few hours, so it’s best to leave it overnight.)

When it’s set, cut into squares or small rectangles, and wrap those in greasproof paper or plastic wrap.

As you can see, it’s mostly the whisking and the wrapping that’s the issue with this one. But there are a few tips I can offer to make things a little easier, particularly when it gets to the clean-up stage.

For the whisking, take ‘continuously’ with a grain of salt. You do have to whisk constantly when adding the cream, but you can take a brief pause in the whisking while the mixture’s boiling if you need to. Switching hands often also helps. But honestly, since the mixture isn’t particularly thick, it’s not as hard as it sounds.

If you do need to use a handheld electric mixer, you probably can. Just use the whisk attachment and be careful of the candy thermometer.

While it’s generally recommended to leave the candy thermometer in the mixture until it reaches the desired temperature, that’s not always possible. For instance, my biggest pot isn’t big enough to clip the first candy thermometer I got to the side of the pot, so it very much gets in the way. I ended up buying a digital thermometer which can serve as a meat thermometer as well as a candy thermometer, and I just stuck the thermometer into the mixture at intervals to check the temperature, wiping off the sensor between times. It’s a good way of dealing with things if you’re using an electric whisk or just struggling to whisk without hitting the thermometer, but if you’re doing that, just be careful not to touch the bottom of the pan with the sensor, because it will mess with the readings.

For clean-up, put your pot in the sink, put all the utensils you used into the pot, and then boil a full kettle of water. Pour the water into the pot with just a little bit of washing-up liquid, stir briefly and let sit for about five minutes. Then dump the whole thing out and wash as normal. The heat from the boiling water will dissolve the candy and not oblige you to use a Brillo pad or an overly heavy setting on the dishwasher.

You do not have to cut and wrap all the caramel in one sitting. Do a half or a third or even a quarter at a time. Cutting the caramels is strenuous, wrapping the caramels is fiddly and irritating, and both one after the other is actually more painful than the whisking if you try to do it all at once. This stuff keeps its soft sticky for weeks, and even harder caramels are still tasty. There’s nothing wrong with having a carefully wrapped caramel brick in the fridge, to be cut into servings as needed.

This one’s a little more ambitious than most of the other recipes here, but I found it a lot easier than I was expecting to, so I thought I’d share. Just make sure your spoon budget allows for it, and when it comes to cutting out servings, don’t do more than you can handle.

#The Spoonie Chef #Recipes #sweets #snacks

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notalwayshappening · 1 year

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Feel Sorry For Girls Who Actually Like Science

(We are in seventh grade and taking an honors course. This course is at a ninth-grade level and worth a high school credit. Today we’re looking at specimens through microscopes. One girl has just taken out a tube of something I assume is Chap-Stick.)

Girl: “…and then you put the glitter on the base, and…”

Teacher: “Woah, woah woah woah woah! Stop it right there! Is that glitter glue?!”

Girl: *along with her friend* “Well, yeah.”

Teacher: “Why the h**** are you putting glitter glue in my microscope?!”

Girl: “Um, because it needed glitterizing…”

Girl’s Friend: “See? Now it looks more glamorous!”

(Thankfully, the teacher managed to wash the glitter glue off before it broke the microscope or something. The two idiots managed somehow to stay in the class, despite repeatedly pulling stunts like this. In one semester they managed to break the smart board, download a virus on the teacher’s personal laptop, and crack ceiling tiles. They also continuously did stupid “experiments” that usually involved One Direction, and continuously blasted Taylor Swift from their phones.)

Oh, a story about girls being allowed in a class they aren't qualified to be in? And their bad behavior and obvious lack of qualification is ignored? Revolutionary. Anyway, here's a poll:

#btw OP was the glitter glue at the base of the microscope or somehow inside it?#misogyny #Not Always Learning #NotAlwaysLearning #the poll is because this post needed to be more glamorous #think of it as glitter glue equivalent for posts #q

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weemsbotts · 1 year

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“Woman, my God, this ain’t no time to pray”: Memories from a Bethel Church Member

By: Lisa Timmerman, Executive Director

Living in the Town of Dumfries during the early 1900’s meant you relied on products available from traveling salesmen and local shops. Meet James Woodrow (Woody) Taylor, an active member of Bethel Methodist Church. Thanks to Mr. Taylor’s willingness to share his memories and experiences, we gain insight into an incredible variety of people and places he visited along with poems he composed! Enjoy some of the extracts of his extensive interview with The Prince William Historical Commission as we included a quick humorous story about a local couple along with his memories of visiting salesmen, their remedies, and travel on local roads.

TN: Tom Nelson, PWC

WT: Woody Taylor

Date: 09/30/1980

Subject: The Cannon Cocker

TN: Woody, we’re going to talk about a variety of subjects and let’s start off by talking about a Mr. Adams that you know.

WT: Well, Mr. Adams carried the mail out here for quite a while. He was a retired chief gunner’s mate in the Navy. Mr. Dallas Davis down at Woodbridge promptly named him “Cannon Cocker.” So he carried the mail. He was quite a character, and he had a wife that was as much Christian as he was on old rough-and-ready. One Sunday evening they went for a little ride in an old car they had. I think it was a Studebaker Roadster, and the roads around here then were right rough. And over here someone or other they got stuck and she got out and knelt down and started to pray. And he said, “Woman, my God, this ain’t no time to pray. Get behind and push.” And she promptly got behind and pushed and I think they finally got it out there. That was Mr. Adams.

Subject: Home Remedies, Traveling Salesmen, & Mules

TN: Did you ever have any home remedies or anything?

WT: Oh, we had a few little things we could take. A lot of people for indigestion you could take a slug of Watkins Liniment, and it was so hot and burned so bad that you soon forgot the indigestion. Another remedy was baking soda. That was for indigestion. And then if you had an epidemic of boils or something like that, which we had quite often, they’d make all kinds of poultices and put on it to draw that infection out of there. One of them was flaxseed meal. I forgot how they want about fixin’ that but they would slap that down over the boil and they would bind it. And you could feel that drawin’ that stuff out of there. Then for cuts and bruises, why they had all kinds of salve. One of them was Watkins. That was a product of some company out west, I believe, but we had our local agents that went around and peddled that stuff along with the liniment. That was about the end of the home remedies.

Then there was another old fella that would come around selling’ what they called “Pain Killer.” And that was supposed to be good for most any pain you had, but I told Daddy that anybody that had nerve enough to take a dose of that would have to havin’ some pain. But they all relied on it, they thought it was great stuff.

A lot of the stuff, I guess, that doctors prescribed wasn’t much better than the old home remedies. It tasted just about as vile anyhow, I can tell you that.

TN: Talking about salesmen, do you recall any of the early salesmen and how they operated in the area?

WT: Well, about the only salesman that we had to amount to anything was the fellow like I just mentioned, this Watkins products. Then there was another company by the name of Raleigh’s. We had a salesman for that, and they sold a lot of extracts like vanilla, lemon, and all that. And you could take that lemon extract and mix it with water and something else they added, I forgot what that made – it had a right good alcoholic content. We had one agent that traveled through, long since dead, by the name of Will Smith and he would take the extracts and mix that all up and when he’d get around to the house he had very little left to sell. It would get you a cheap drunk, in other words.

And of course, we had insurance, agents, a number of them. I believe the first one that I can remember that come down from People’s was a fellow by the name of Hoy. And he got everybody pretty well insured in the neighborhood and of course others followed him. The one that lasted the longest was Avery Reid up at Hoadly. He really made good at it. He kept that agency going for about 25 or 30 years until he got old enough to retire, and now he lives in a nice home up here the other side of Hoadly. That was about all the salesman we had.

Oh, we had some that went around and sold little old knickknacks. There was one old fellow down here that lived down at Smoketown by the name of Horace Turner, and he used to go around sellin’ little things they called “Mend-its.” And if you had a hole come in an old boiling kettle, that would fix that. If one come in the water bucket, you could fix it, put a “Mend-it” in it and have it fix that. They were right useful…

TN: Roads in the area, especially David Ford Road by your house here, have been changed considerably since those early years.

WT: Yes. In 1916, I believe it was, down at the corner of 123 on up to where the road forks up here at Hoadly, Davis Ford goes to the right and then the old Hoadly Road, we called it, went left on to Manassas. Well, they straightened this old road out and rebuilt. And there was a contractor by the name of Boatright, A.S. Boatright, that done that work. My mother and I were goin’ along to what is now Mr. Russell’s store. It was run by a man then by the name of Ed Dewey. Right down here at the bottom of the hill, just as we got there where they was fillin’ in, a team of mules come up over the bank hooked to what we called a “wheel scoop.” Just as he got his head up over that bank, he brayed and I’d never seen a mule. So I took off down through Mr. Glasscock’s old cornfield. My mother finally caught me and brought me on back. She said, “It’s only a mule,” but I wasn’t very well satisfied. Mr. Russell for a big kick out of that when I told him that.”

Mules were common in Virginia thanks partly to George Washington! Thanks to his persistence with the Spanish monarchy, he eventually acquired Spanish jacks, aka mules, for Mount Vernon. While the north continued to embrace horses and oxen, the south generally preferred the mule as their draft animal of choice.

(Sources: “An Oral History: “Woody” an interview with James Woodrow Taylor. “The Bethel Methodist Church and its Neighborhood” by Tom Nelson, 01/1982. Transcribed by Rhoda Durkan, Typed: Lynne Barbeau, Project Director: Roger F. Endert; Coe, Alexis. George Washington Saw a Future for America: Mules. Smithsonian Magazine, 2020, accessed 20221130)

Note: Ready to craft a gift for your friends & family or even yourself? Craft elegant holiday winter swag for your home using fresh greenery and pinecones from The Weems-Botts Museum. Walk away with the skills and swag after joining us for an hour of arts & crafts! All supplies included. Program scheduled for Merchant Park Pavilion if weather allows. If not, program will be held in the Annex. Masks are required for entering any HDVI building. Tickets here!

#localhistory #localrecords #oralhistory #rememberwhen #destinationpwc #namesplacesandfaces #historicmules #virginiahistory #familyrecords #thingsinourlibrary

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baking-with-a-gremlin · 2 years

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Some Nostalgic Baking

Chocolate chip banana bread has been a staple amongst the family since I was a child due to the number of bakers we have. The scent of the slightly sweet yet yeasty smells evokes a type of nostalgia from childhood, effectively thrusting me back to a time where my fleecy, off-white coloured Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pyjamas were still an option for me. “Where’s your apron Reesie?” I asked as I pulled her usual stool up to the countertop. “Mommy,” she said. “Mommy has your apron? Why does Mommy have your apron?” I questioned her. “It’s in the dryer,” her mother softly yelled from the study. With the apron on the monster, magenta coloured bowls on the counter, and all the ingredients at our grasp, I asked Reesie, “You ready for this one, goob?” “Oh Daddy,” she snaps back.

Picking up the blackened bananas and handing them to Reese, her confusion as to why they were mushy and not their regular bright yellow colour was evident through her head tilting to one side, along with her momentary frowning facial features. Slitting the top of the soft banana’s neck with a stainless-steel butter knife to easily access its gooey pulp, I offered them to Reese. She was of course still befuddled and somewhat disgusted from the fermenting fruit. “Peel them sweetpea,” I said as I measured the butter for her to pop into her trusty microwave once she had finished with the bananas. Reese held the masher in her tiny hand, ready to shove the stain-steel meshed head into the bowl of mangled bananas. She was quite successful, taking her pride with her all the way to the microwave with the measuring cup of butter in her hand.

“Carter, Daddy. Carter,” she said as we poured the silky white flour into the bowl of what looked like something she would make out of hand soap and toothpaste in the bathroom sink. Her mother’s affinity for Aaron Carter and his unfortunate passing meant his song catalog had been playing for the majority of the day. She’s still requesting Aaron Carter as of this posting. After she dumped both the crystally sugar and salt, the dark and aromatic vanilla extract, and the alkalotic baking soda, she went to town on the mixture, stirring it with every ounce of endurance she had in her little fair skinned arm. The final step was then to wrestle the milk chocolate chips away from the gremlin, or at the very least, get her to share some with the batter. Three quarters of a cup into the mixture and now we’re tasked with scooping out the batter into the dark grey aluminum bread loaf pan. After Reese sprayed the pan (and after I wiped it out because of all the excess), I held the bowl while she used her bamboo stir stick to pour it out into the pan. Her movements are becoming more calculated, leading me to be hopeful for the double layer princess cake we’re making soon. Off to the oven we go!

Tick, tock, tick, tock. Reesie checked on the mixture roughly every 10 times during the bread’s 50-minute bake time. The sight of a pacing 2-year-old waiting for food was something akin to watching Dennis the Menace. She’s definitely a gremlin. She decided she needed her rainbow-coloured Crocs on her feet to make the pacing more comfortable. “You wanna check on the bread, love?” I asked as I held out a smooth toothpick. The classical alarm clock sound rung out as I grabbed the new floral baking glove we picked up during the previous day. She exhibited a certain conciseness in ensuring the wooden splinter went in and out as smooth as possible. No residue on the pick means we’re good to go. The smell of it most certainly took me back to simpler times, though the little monster in front of me ensures my continuous stationary status. After 15 minutes of letting our banana bread cool off, we dove in. It was exquisite; light banana taste with a hint of cream and sugar along with the melty dark brown chocolate chips throughout. I had to cut Reesie off, especially given the fact bedtime was in 30 minutes at that time (sugar highs are real!). I’ve come to realize this routine may have to transcend the required blog duration and reach further into the future due to the joy it puts on her face.

Until next time everyone!

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strawbearytae · 2 years

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clay

boyfriend!Namjoon x artist!Reader word count: 1.7k genre/trope: crack, fluff, jealous joon synopsis: Namjoon is ready to make things official between the two of you but when an unexpected guest shows up on your date, he’s less than impressed.

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“Please tell me you didn’t eat that.”

Namjoon looked up from the clay cake that he had taken a bite of, eyes immediately dropping in horror. “What’s it made out of this time?” His voice was low as his chubby cheeks were filled with parts of your artwork. “Clay,” You bit back your laugh as Namjoon immediately spit the cake out, “And vanilla extract.”

Namjoon ran from your studio to (what you assumed was) your bathroom as he immediately retched up parts of your latest sculpture, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter. It was the part of Namjoon you loved so much and the part that surprised you most about him. Never did you think that the insightful and soft-spoken man that visited your gallery 2 months ago would have such a clumsy side to him. You smiled to yourself as you thought about that night.

You were nervously pacing; it was the first gallery you were able to secure since your hiatus after breaking up with your long-term boyfriend. A mutual breakup, but still devastating for you, nevertheless.

You remember chewing on your bottom lip as you observed the viewers who came to enjoy the sculptures you had created, each filled with a mirage of emotions from your heartbreak. Then you saw him. He had almost a demeaning aura about him, aristocratic despite his rather comfy outfit of cotton straight pants, oversized white tshirt and baseball cap. The way he had surveyed every line and each ridge that the clay had folded itself into from your hands had made you feel stark naked. Exposed. It didn’t help that he was surveying your least popular and most emotionally driven piece of the night. And conventionally: the ugliest.

He had approached you later that night, standing next to you in front of your popular artworks.

“Expressive. Not as much as the other one though.” He murmured to himself.

And you immediately hit it off after that. It was cliché and unexpected but the pair of you talked all night. About art, about philosophy, about nature, about emotions. He was surprised and delighted when you revealed that you were indeed that creator behind the clay objects that stood in the room.

He walked you out of the gallery as it closed for the night and asked you to coffee. Not to drinks, but coffee. Oh, how you fell for that man. Your relationship progressed naturally from there and he frequently came to your apartment on your off days to run errands with you, sometimes you let him in your studio. Today was one of them.

“I’m sorry.” Your head moved toward the deep voice behind you, seeing Namjoon with his hands clasped in front of him with his head bowed.

You shook your head, slowly making your way over to where he stood in reverence. You had to bite your lip in order to hold your laughter, you ruffled his hair, “Aigoo, this is why we don’t eat random things in art studios.” You teased lightly.

Namjoon looked over to the table where the clay-cake stood, “Is it salvageable?”

You shook your head, “Nope.”

Namjoon’s head dipped lower, making you giggle, you pushed the base of his neck forward so that his head laid on your shoulder,“Yah, don’t worry.” You played with the hair on his nape which you had recently learned soothed him, “It was just a practice piece anyway.”

Namjoon whimpered, “It looked so real, I’m sorry.”

“Yah.” He peeked up, “Don’t worry, okay? I really don’t care too much about it.” You reassured him, “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late.”

He removed himself from you, staring at his wristwatch before looking back to you, “You sure-“

You tsked, “No more, okay?” You shook your head, “It’s really fine, Joon.” He slightly smiled at the nickname, “It means that my technique is improving… at least to the point that you think that it’s a real cake anyway.” You grasped his wrist and pulled him out of your studio, “Now let’s go, you said you wanted to go to the river before the sunsets.”

———

Namjoon was pouting as he cycled behind you, not only did he make a fool out of himself in front of you (once again), but he also missed the opportunity to ask you to be his girlfriend.

It wasn’t that the pair of you weren’t dating, he knew that you had feelings for him, and he had them too (if the numerous makeout sessions in your studio didn’t show it). You ran errands together almost every week and you visited him frequently after work to grab dinner and settle down with coffee and books at your place or his. You had held him in your arms when he stressed over work issues, he kissed you while reading together and the pair of you had frequent, heated debates on issues that would be quickly forgotten with your arms around his neck, his on your waist as your lips molded against each other’s. He liked you. A lot. He wanted to make it official.

“Joon!” You called out making him cycle faster to get next to you on the bike lane, “Look!” You pointed to the river.

“Let’s park by the trees.” He pointed to the oak trees that were providing shade, Namjoon looked around to see the location of the sun. It was setting soon; he would ask you then.

———

“Woah.” You breathed in awe as the sun hit the water with shimmers of red and orange, dying the river in an explosion of warm colors, “It’s so beautiful.”

Namjoon held your hand in his as he stared at the scenery, you with the wind blowing in your hair lightly as the waters were colored into an exquisite pattern, “It is.”

You turned back to him and smiled, “I’m glad to exist here with you.”

Blush colored Namjoon’s cheeks, “You’re so cheesy.” He murmured, looking slightly embarrassed.

“And you love it.” You teased.

Namjoon felt that this was the moment, “Y/N, I wanted to ask. Even though I kinda assumed but I wanted to be sure-“

“Y/N?”

Your eyes widened as you saw the man who called out to you, “Hoseok? Oh my gosh!”

You stood up excitedly as Hoseok made his way over to you. Namjoon stood up when your hand slipped out his, his eyes narrowed at the man that broke the moment.

“Oh, my goodness!” Hoseok launched you into a hug, Namjoon’s jaw clenched at the action though it went unnoticed by you, “It’s been so long? Has it been around 2 months?”

2 months. Clogs were turning in Namjoon’s brain at the speed of light.

“Yes!” You clapped excitedly when he broke the hug, “How’s you dance studio, Hobi?”

Namjoon’s eye slightly twitched as Hobi proceeded to let you know about the new dancer on his team. 2 months. Dancer. Hobi. Namjoon bore holes into Hoseok’s head as he came to the conclusion that the jolly man that was excitedly letting you know about his healed ankle injury was your ex.

“Yeah! Namjoon, here, is a writer! Right, Joon?”

Namjoon slightly flinched as your voice had broken him from his train of thought, “Um.” He purposedly made his voice an octave lower as he glared at Hoseok, “Yeah, I’m a writer.”

“That’s really cool!” Hoseok smiled, “What do you write?”

“Nonfiction and historical fiction.” His answer was snipped.

“Ah! That must be why you hang out with, Y/N so much.” Hoseok playfully nudged you on the shoulder, “This girlie is such as history nerd.”

Namjoon saw red as you bantered with the man in front of him, he tried his best to keep quiet and non-possessive though the fact the matter was that he had a strong urge to pull you away from Hobi and maybe even give him a good, long lecture for ever making you cry.

“So, what are you guys?” Hoseok asked making Namjoon stare wide-eyed at his bluntness, “Y’all dating?”

Namjoon stumbled over his words, “We’re… I’m-“

“Oh, come on.” You wrapped your arm around Namjoon’s waist making him internally gasp, “Don’t be so blunt to my boyfriend, Hobi. You’ll scare him away.”

Boyfriend. Namjoon immediately smiled, you called him your boyfriend.

“Hey, I gotta be at least a little intimidating to my cousin’s boyfriend.” Hoseok wiggled his eyebrows.

Namjoon mentally slapped himself, cousin. Hoseok was your cousin.

You rolled your eyes, “I like this one, okay, don’t be so mean.”

Hoseok laughed, “I gotta go anyway, tell auntie I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself!” You yelled as Hoseok walked away with a wave. You turned to Namjoon, “What was that?”

Namjoon hummed absent-mindedly as he stared back into the setting river, “What do you mean?”

“You lowered your voice and glared; you only do that when you’re mad! You even clenched your jaw, you never do that unless you’re holding something back-“ You immediately stopped as your lips created an ‘o’ shape in realization, your worried expression turning into a amused smile, “You’re jealous.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Namjono hastily responded. You bit your lip to hold back your giggles, “You were jealous of my cousin.”

Namjoon groaned, “It wasn’t my brightest moment.” He rolled your eyes as you giggled, “But at least I heard you introduce me as your boyfriend.”

You stopped laughing, looking up at his brown eyes, “Well that’s what you are, aren’t you?

“You never asked.” He mumbled.

“Well.” You shrugged, “Namjoon will you be my boyfriend?”

He smiled, dimples deep into his cheeks before he pressed his lips against yours. You grabbed his shirt to pull him closer before he pulled away, “Do you even have to ask at this point?”

“Yah! You’re the one who said you weren’t!”

“I never said that.” Namjoon protested before he pressed another kiss to your lips, “And yes, Y/N, I will be your boyfriend.”

“Good.” You nodded, “’Cause I don’t have anyone else to taste-test my clay cakes.”

Namjoon’s deep laugh rang into the setting sun as you leaned against him to watch the sparkling river, this was definitely a moment you would never forget.

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a/n: I’m still going through the requests but these two caught my eye! I hope both these anons are happy with what I created! Thank you to everyone who sent a request (I promise that I am reading every one of them)! And please hit that rblg button as a pat on the head for me for a good job (•ᴗ•◍)!

#namjoon bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x you #namjoon x oc #namjoom x reader #namjoon drabble #namjoon one shot #bts rm #rm x reader #namjoon oneshot #jealous bts #bts scenarios #bts imagines #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bts requests #namjoon fluff

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avintagekiss24 · 3 years

Text

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics, gif by @evansensations

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced— oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

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