#Texas food recalls

[freshfocusnews]

I found this on NewsBreak: ALERT: Food Sold At H-E-B In Texas Recalled Due To “Foreign Material”

I found this on NewsBreak: ALERT: Food Sold At H-E-B In Texas Recalled Due To “Foreign Material”

[recallsdirect]

Food Recall: Texas Pete Habanero & Sriracha Sauces:

[e1ysianvisions]

Cowboy Like Me

Part 1 - Dancing Is a Dangerous Game

Pairing: Cowboy!Tommy Miller x fem!reader

Summary: You've finished your final year of college and summer is about to begin, but you've got no home to go to. So, your friend Sarah invites you to stay at her family ranch back in Texas. That's where you meet Tommy Miller. He's handsome, charming and your best friend's uncle.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, MDNI, Age gape (unspecified but reader is in her 20s while Tommy is in his 30s), No outbreak AU, Grief, Mentions of loss (reader's mother), Pet names, Praise, Jealous Tommy, Unprotected piv sex, Fingering, Hand job, alchahol consumption, cowboy hat rule (iykyk), duel POV

Word count: 3.9k

You knew you were in trouble the moment you first saw him in the airport. Tousled curls, freckles, and dark circles. And the smile that graced his lips when you and Sarah approached… just magnetic.

“Uncle Tommy!” Sarah squealed, rushing to fling her arms around the man.

“Hey kiddo,” He mumbled, squeezing her tight. “It’s good to have you home.”

You stood awkwardly behind Sarah, your arms wrapped around your torso as you watched the interaction.

“And you must be our new ranch hand,” He joked over Sarah’s head, Sarah playfully slapped his arm in response. 

“She’s our guest.” Tommy only laughed, and you didn’t know whether it was due to your tiredness from your flight, but it was the loveliest sound you’d heard all day. 

“‘Course,” He peels the girl in his arms away and took a step towards you, “Tommy Miller.” He introduces himself. 

“I know.” 

“Been talkin’ ‘bout me?” He turned to Sarah. 

“All good things.” She reassured, holding back a laugh. The man glared at her before shaking his head. Sarah talks about her family a lot, she’s close with them. And from what you’ve heard, or been warned, her uncle Tommy is a real charmer. 

You tell him your name, and he echoes your response of “I know.”, and you put your hand out for a polite handshake. Tommy ignores that and pulls you into a hug instead. You leant into the embrace, he smelled of soap, coffee and something else, something masculine, something uniquely him. Tommy gives you a final squeeze before announcing, “Welcome to the family, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” 

“Hey!” Sarah laughs, playfully squinting her eyes at her uncle. 

“C’mon lets get your shit and get outta here.” 

The ride from the airport was quiet, mostly. Sarah fell asleep almost instantly, finally succumbing from the tiredness she’d been fighting all day. Leaving you and Tommy in a silence that was awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. You talked about your course, what you wanted to do now that you’ve graduated, you said you weren’t sure. In truth you hadn’t been sure of anything, not since your mom died. 

“You’re young. You've got time.” Was what Tommy said, smiling at you through the mirror. 

Later on that first day you all sit around a dining table for dinner, you sit next to Sarah and across from Tommy, and Tommy’s words from earlier ring in your ears, “Welcome to the family, sweetheart.” And for a second it almost feels like you're a part of one, passing condiments and engaging in conversation. Sarah is now fully awake and excitedly recalling everything she’s done since last being home. You find it unexpectedly easy to be around them, especially Tommy, who makes the effort to make you feel included. You feel a familiar, painful, emotion swell in your throat. You take a gulp of water. 

“Thankyou for dinner, and for letting me stay here for a while.” You say when everyone’s finished with their food. 

Joel smiles at you. “No need to thank us, kid. You’re welcome here as long as you need.” You smile back at him. 

After dinner you’re helping Sarah with washing the dishes when Joel comes out to the kitchen with a groan. You and Sarah both turn your heads to look at the man. 

“Tommy forgot to take these,” Joel says, holding up folded bedding. Sarah shakes her head as Joel goes to put his jacket on. 

You wipe your hands on a towel. “I’ll take it over.” You say, stepping towards him. 

“Sure? He’s just in the barn, I’ll be back in no time.” You gently pry the linens from him. 

“I don’t mind, it’s the least I could do.” You say with a smile. “The barn, yeah?” 

When you walk inside the barn, you find Tommy polishing a saddle. His brows furrowed as he concentrated on the task at hand. You allowed yourself to enjoy the view of his arms as he buffs the tan leather. 

“Hey,” You say in a small voice. Tommy looks up, eyes dragging up your frame, smiling when he reaches your eyes. 

“Hey there.” He replies, standing up. And for a moment, just a moment, you feel as though you’re drowning in his brown eyes and the honey-like drawl of his voice. 

You clear your throat. “Joel said you forgot these.” You say, handing him the clean sheets. 

“Yeah, s’pose I did.” He said taking them off your hands and walking to a back room. You don’t know why you follow him, but you do. The room is pretty small, a few storage boxes, a desk and a pallet of crates with a mattress on top. “You sleep here?” You ask.  

He looks over his shoulder as he places the folded sheet on top of the mattress. “Not usually. But we needed somewhere to put ya.” 

A sense of guilt gnaws at your gut. “I took your room?” 

“Didn’t take it,” He said, turning to face you. “I offered it.” He took a step towards you. 

“Sorry I’m putting you out.” 

Tommy just shakes his head and flashes you another one of his charming smiles. “S’fine, sweetheart.” You look to the ground, Tommy puts a finger under your chin, making you look at him. “Really. S’fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me.” You can’t help but flush at his southern charm. God, you are in such trouble. 

He then walks out the room, you suppose to continue the task he was doing before you showed up. And you should go and leave him to it, but then one of the horses peaks its head out and you help but stop where you’re standing and look. 

“I’ve never seen a horse in real life before.” You whisper, mostly to yourself, but Tommy hears. 

“Really?” You turn to face him and his eyebrow quirks up. 

“Really.” You confirm. 

“Alright then, c’mon.” Tommy nods his head, gesturing for you to follow him to the stable. The horse pokes his head out further and Tommy insensitively reaches his hand out. 

“His name’s Bandit, he's mine.” Tommy tells you, the low timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine. 

“Gimme your hand.” You don’t think twice about obeying him. You reach your hand up and Tommy guides it to the horse. Tommy’s larger hand on top of yours as you feel Bandit’s velvet-like dark coat. The horses nuzzles into your touch, causing you to smile wide. You turn to see Tommy smiling just as wide, watching you. 

“He likes ya,” He starts. “He’s a good judge of character. And like his rider he can appreciate a beautiful woman.” He whispers that last part in your ear, the shivers from before turning into waves of excitement. “I’ll teach ya to ride ‘em, if you want?” 

“I’d like that.” Your gaze moves from his brown eyes to his lips, and when they reach his eyes again his pupils are blown wide.

Tommy clears his throat.“It’s getting late,” He says, removing his hand from yours, and moving away from your side, your body missing the warmth he provided. 

“Yeah, should head back. I’m getting tired.” You say, turning to face Tommy before you walk out. 

“Enjoy sleeping in my bed.”  He says with a wink. Oh god, you really are in trouble if you have to live with a man who makes you feel so… makes you feel. And when you climbed into bed that night  all that played in your mind was the playful glint in Tommy’s eyes as he said those five words. And you did. The sheets spelled like fresh linen but if you imagined hard enough you swore you could smell Tommy’s soap and coffee scent. 

Tommy had said that line to make you flustered, he noticed throughout the day you blushed awful easy ‘round him. But he didn’t expect it to keep him up instead. The vision of you in his bed, in his sheets. Tommy knew you were off-limits, being Sarah’s friend and all. She would never forgive him if he made a move on you. And his brother… God he’d be so angry he couldn’t keep it in his goodman pants for once. It just made the thought of you all the sweeter, a forbidden fruit to admire, and admire only. But still, it didn't mean he couldn’t make you flustered, if only to see you flushed and biting your lip. Because that’s all he’ll allow himself to indulge in. 

You liked Tommy from the first time you saw him at the airport, but you felt especially drawn to him after that first evening. Consciously seeking him out in every room you entered, asking after him, walking over to the barn to sit and drink coffee with him in the mornings. And he didn’t seem to push away your attention, which was nice. And the way he looked at you with such intensity made you feel wanted. 

You took Tommy up on those riding lessons. Bandit was a gentle, steady horse. But as soon as Tommy’s hands gripped your hips to place you in the saddle, you lost all focus. The way he touched you felt natural. Like his hands were molded specifically for the curve of your hips. And the praises he’d give when you’d got something right. “Atta girl, that’s it,” “Doing so well f’me,” “You can do it, sweetheart, that’s it,” God, it’s a surprise you haven’t fallen off the damn horse with him talking to you like that. 

It’s been a couple days since your latest riding lesson and you’re getting all dressed up for a garden party the Miller’s were hosting to celebrate Sarah’s graduation. You wore a simple white dress, a denim jacket for the chilly night air and some boots Sarah gave you once she realised you did not have the right foot wear for a ranch. You ruined your white sneakers helping with mucking out the horses your first week at the ranch. 

Once you left the house your senses were immediately filled with the smell of meat on the grill. 

There was a tent-like thing providing some shelter incase of rain and you made your way underneath where people were dancing to the music blasting from the speakers. 

In between eating and drinking Sarah introduced you to her friends and the other people attending the party, other ranchers, business owners from town and a ranch hand that was way too charming for his own good. His name is Brody or something. 

As the sun begins to set, the music slows down and couples begin to dance. Sarah goes and dances with her dad, leaving you to be a wallflower. That is until Tommy comes up to you, asking you to dance. 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” You confess. 

“I don’t mind takin’ the lead,” He teases. You flush, though you blame it on the alcohol in your system. It definitely has nothing to do with the panty-dropping smile he just flashed you. Nope. Not at all. 

“I’m not so sure,” You mumble. 

“C’mon, just one dance. Nothing dangerous.” Everything to do with Tommy Miller is dangerous, you’ve concluded. But you decide to humour him, anyhow, taking his hand and giggling as he leads you to the designated dance floor.

Tommy slides one hand on your hip while guiding one of your arms to his shoulder, before taking your spare hand in his. “See, just a dance. Nothin’ dangerous.” 

“I think with you, Tommy, dancing is a dangerous game.” He flashes you another one of those panty-dropping smiles and if it weren’t for Tommy’s firm hold of you, your knees would’ve buckled beneath you for sure. 

The song ended and one dance turned into two, two turned into three, and after four dances the two of you grabbed some more beers and left the tent. The two of you ended up sitting in the bed of his truck, talking, laughing, drinking. You end up taking off his cowboy hat at one point and putting it on your own head. You tip it slightly, and adding a drawl to your voice you say, “Look. I’m a cowboy like you.” 

Tommy laughs at you. “That right, hm.” 

“Mhm.” 

Tommy licks his lips and leans in slightly. “Y’know we have a little rule ‘round here when it comes to takin’ a cowboy’s hat.” 

“Really.” You muse, bringing your beer bottle to your lips. 

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” You nearly spit out your beer. “I’ll let ya off this time, not knowing and all.” 

“Maybe I did know,” You reply after a moment of silence. Tommy shakes his head. “Brody told me all ‘bout it earlier.” You tease, finishing off the last of your beer. Brody didn’t but after a couple weeks of Tommy teasing you, you’re enjoying giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

“You stay the fuck away from that boy, you hear me? Already told Sarah that too.” 

You give Tommy an innocent look, enjoying the look on his face too much. “Why?” 

“‘Cause he’s a good for nothing piece of shit, that’s why. He acts all charmin’ but I know how he treats women. Don’t want’ya brokenhearted.” 

You look at him for a moment. “You looking out for me, Tommy Miller?” 

“Always.” He replied. 

You put the hat back on Tommy’s head, a little lopsided, but on. “Alright. No riding tonight, I guess.” You sigh.

Tommy laughs. “You’re trouble, girl.” 

By the end of the evening your and Tommy’s conversation took a more serious turn. 

“This has been a lovely evening. I’m sure Sarah’s feeling very loved by you two, what an amazing way to celebrate her achievements.” You can’t help the slight pang of jealousy stabbing your heart, you're happy Sarah has a family who loves her so fiercely. You just wished you had your people to celebrate these milestones with still. 

“You too.” Tommy replied. You look at him puzzled. “It’s been for you too.” He nudged your shoulder. “You graduated too.” You feel yourself begin to tear up. 

“We’ve not known ya very long, but we’re celebrating you, and your achievements, just as much as Sarah’s.” The alcohol in your system is not helping with your emotional state at this very moment. 

“I don’t know what to say, thank you.” You try to blink away the tears but one falls. 

Tommy gives you a look, his dark eyes full of emotions you can’t name. He brings a hand up to your cheek, wiping away your tears. 

“C’mon let’s get you to bed, been a long day.” With that he walks you to your room. You opened the door, and you don’t know whether or not it was due to the alcohol in your system or all the emotions you’re feeling, but you turned back to Tommy and kissed him. A soft peck on the lips that can’t have lasted more than a second or two.  

“Thank you.” You whisper against his lips. Tommy shakes his head and goes to argue but you silence him by putting your lips on his once again. This time you grew a little bolder with it. You snaked your hands up his arms and tangled them in his curls, moaning into the kiss when his hands landed on your hips. 

When you broke apart and you looked into his eyes, Tommy looked at you as if you’d just given him the stars. An overwhelming feeling bloomed in your chest. 

“Goodnight Tommy.” You said, turning to go into your room. 

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” That should’ve been it, you should’ve walked into your room. But you hesitated before crossing the threshold. 

Tommy should have stopped you. Wasn’t right on his part to let you come onto him in that state, drunk and emotional. But he was only human. Your soft lips, the taste of beer and cherry lip gloss as he explored your mouth. And the way you seemed to lean into his touch… he was only so strong. And he’d had a few to drink himself. His lips crashed into yours once again as he pushed you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. The two of you kissed each other with such hunger, hands exploring each other's bodies. This would be a good way to get you out of his system, he thought, before all this sexual tension caused him to do something stupid... well something more stupid. Besides, you both can blame the alcohol in the morning. 

Tommy’s hands gripped the fabric of your dress. “Off, now.” He commanded. You watched his gaze dance across your body as you let the fabric pool around your ankles. He stares at you, pupils blown wide and with such intensity it leaves you breathless. You pull him in by his big, silver belt buckle. “Your turn.” You say, keeping eye contact as you undo the belt. All the while Tommy starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. It’s an intimate moment and the world outside these four walls fades away. You continue to strip him until the both of you are in your underwear. 

Your lips are attacking each other once more as you fall into the bed, cowboy hat long gone somewhere on the floor, Tommy’s lips move to explore your jaw, neck and when he reaches your chest he unclasps your bra in one swift, practiced motion. 

“Fuck,” He mumbles, leaning into to suck on your nipple. Your back arches, pushing into him as you tug the curls at the nape of his neck. His hands slowly slide up your thigh. Pushing them open before moving your panties to the side. Tommy groans at the feeling of you. 

“You’re so wet, sweetheart.” You gasp as you feel his fingers move between your slick folds. 

“S’all for me.” His brown eyes bore into yours with such passion it compels you to look away, flustered. Tommy uses his free hand to grab your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Look at me as I’m fucking you with my fingers, honey, or you don’t get my cock.” 

You moaned as he dipped his first finger inside of you. Tommy’s hand moves to clamp over your mouth almost as quickly. 

“Quiet, sweet girl,” He whispers in your ear, “Know from experience these walls are thin,” You don’t have time to ask him what that means when he’s knuckle deep, massaging that sweet spot inside you. 

You writhed beneath him as his thick fingers began opening you up, his thumb toying with your clit. Your hips moved in rhythm with his fingers. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He praises. You clawed at his shoulders, urging him to move faster as you grow closer and closer to your peak. And when you finally cum, you cum hard. Moaning into his palm as Tommy coaxes you through, singing praises into your ear. 

“That’s a good girl.” You hear Tommy whisper as you come down from your high, he kisses that spot behind your ear, finally removing the hand on your mouth. You grab ahold of his face, bringing him in for a kiss. Nails scratching his back as he presses into you. You feel him, he’s hard and dripping and wanting. It makes you feel good, knowing you’re the cause of it. 

Tommy removes himself from the kiss, finally sliding your underwear down your legs, before he stands up to rid himself of his. He’s big, bigger than anything you’ve taken before. When Tommy crawls back on top of you, “You’re so fucking beautiful,” He muses, using his calloused hands to spread your thighs, kneeling between them. Then he’s thrusting between your slick fold, coating his cock with your wetness. You whimper when the head brushes your sensitive clit. 

“Wait,” You breathe out before he enters you. You move him so that he’s on his back, you straddle him and take his cock in your hand. “The rule was I ride the cowboy, right.” You smirk, going to place a chaste kiss on his plush lips, pumping his thick length in your fist. 

“You need to wear the hat, sweetheart.” He groans. You fish the hat from off the floor placing it on your head. Tommy flashes you one of his lopsided, boyish grins and you can feel yourself getting wetter and needier by the second. Tommy has made a real mess of you. 

“You gonna ride me or what, cowgirl.” He murmurs against your lips, taking a hold of your hips, guiding you to sit on his dick. Using that same, steady grip he uses in your riding lessons. You kiss him hard as he stretches you out, muffling all your moans with his lips. As you begin to move, his hands digging into you impossibly tighter. Tommy’s head tilts back, cursing through gritted teeth. The feeling of you gripping him is almost overwhelming. You use this opportunity to attack his neck, your hands exploring his big shoulders, his chest and his soft tummy. 

As you get closer to your second orgasm, the more your body begins to ache. Tommy’s hips meet yours in every thrust and one of his hands came down to where your bodies joined to play with your sensitive clit. You came for a second time, biting into Tommy’s shoulder as you fucked yourself on his cock. 

As you were coming down, Tommy rolled you onto your back as he started fucking you hard into the matress, chasing his own high. The hat is once again discarded, in truth you had no idea when or where it went, the only thing you can think of is Tommy. His scent filling your lungs, his lips on your flushed skin, his cock filling your pussy perfectly. 

When he’s close and his thrusts start to become sloppier he pulls out, fucks his fists before coming on your stomach. You welcome the weight of him as he collapses on top of you. The two of you catch your breath as your fingers draw patterns on his back. 

“Shit, sweetheart.” Is all Tommy can manage to say through laboured breaths. 

“Good?” You ask. 

“I’m in fucking heavan.” He mumbles nuzzling into your chest. 

Once the two of you caught your breath, Tommy went to fetch a damp towel to clean you up. When he was done he started to collect his clothes. You sat up and reached for his arm.“Tommy.” You whisper. He gives you a half-smile. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I gotta go if we don’t wanna get caught.” You know deep down that he’s right, but it still stings. You tug at his arm. “Stay,” You plead. “Just until I fall asleep. Please.” 

Tommy knows he shouldn’t give in, he’s already done that too much tonight. But you’re looking at him with big, hopeful eyes and he knows he can’t say no to you. And so he stays, until you fall asleep. And a bit longer after that. Probably too long. But he likes it too much, you in his arms, in his bed, the gentle rise and fall of your chest and you dream. Tommy’s dreaming too, of the two of you meeting under different circumstances. One where you’re not Sarah’s best friend and off-limits. One where he can openly want you. 

~~~

Ahh this is my first time writing on here, I hope you enjoyed it!

[evolnoomym]

Valentine, Texas 💌🌹

Neighbor!Joel Miller x F!OC

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: The first date with your neighbor falls on Valentine’s Day.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 1.2k

Authors note: Hello MoonSlut’s, this little treat is for the wonderful writing challenge hosted by @msjarvis @i-own-loki @happypedrohours 🩷 It’s also a follow up to “Good Neighbor 🚚” so if you haven’t read that, check it out as well <3

Also biggggg thanks to both @joelmillerisapunk & @sunshineispunk for beta reading. 🫂❤️

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, Moon as always, food, a sprinkle of OC backstory (based off of real events), let’s pretend it’s warm in February in Texas, teasing, hinting to previous smut, Joel is a perv but also a gentleman, age-gap, Mama Mia is mentioned once and then never again, fluff. If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics for the dividers ❤️

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. I’m totally here for constructive criticism or feedback on how to improve. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

You are in the middle of unpacking yet another box filled with more clothes, when there is a knock at your front door. You look through the peephole, it’s Joel, so of course you open.

“Hello Neighbor,” you smile cheekily remembering the events from the previous day, whilst leaning against the door.

“Good Mornin’, hope ya slept well,” now he’s matching your expression, probably thinking of the same thing.

“Wanted to know if ya would like to have breakfast at mine, since, you know, you don’t really have a kitchen.” Suddenly he seemed all shy and nervous, looking at the ground and rubbing his neck.

“It would be an honor to have breakfast with you, Joel.” you step closer to him, touching his arm gently.

“Can I kiss ya?” He asks.

“Please,” you give him the green light and he presses his lips to yours in an instant.

He leads you over to his place and you settle into the seat at his dining table. Joel served you a delicious omelette with Feta cheese, onions, and topped with Parma ham. To your delight, the food is accompanied by a freshly brewed coffee and a herb peach tea infused with chamomile. 100% princess treatment.

When both of your plates are cleared, you and Joel easily fall into conversation.

“So, tell me darlin’, what brought you here?” He sips his Black coffee. “I assume s’ your first apartment by yourself?”

“Yes it is,” you bob your head “It’s difficult to explain everything but I guess I can try to summarize.”

Joel can tell by the way you get quiet that this is hard. “Baby, you don’t have to tell me.” He knows that reassurance is what you need right now.

“No, it’s okay, I think maybe speaking about it can help.” You nod to yourself.

“I was in a deep depression for 2 years, in that time my…” You sigh. “Mother went insane.”

“She started believing in all sorts of wild conspiracy theories and lost herself in that world. I don’t know this person anymore, whoever she was is gone. Apparently she stopped paying rent, without my knowledge, and one day I was awoken by loud banging on the door and that was it.”

“They kicked ya out?”

“Yes, I was in shock. I could only laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation.” And you laugh now too while recalling those traumatic moments.

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been.”

“I try to see good in it, I would have probably never gotten out of there.”

“Moon, ya are incredibly strong for surviving all of this.” He grasps your hands.

“Thank you Joel,” you whisper and wipe away some stray tears.

Luckily, he stirs the conversation to more pleasant topics.

“Okayyyy, let’s talk about somethin’ else, what d’ya like to do in your free time?”

“I love photography.”

“You do?”

“Mhm, I love capturing the beauty in simplicity,”

“Would ya ever show me those pictures?”

“Of course I would.”

He smiles giddily before it’s replaced by a frown.

“You know, we did it all wrong,” he suddenly says and you look at him curiously.

“I mean, I should’ve taken ya out before…” Joel Miller blushing might be the cutest thing ever, “you know.”

You laugh. „Oh, yes, I know,”

“But then, wasn’t this our first date?”

“Excuse me,” he scoffs, “this was not our first date, I’ll be damned if breakfast goes down as our first date.”

“Well, I think the breakfast was already pretty good,” you shrug.

“No, pretty girl, I’m gonna make it more special.”

“Okay and when?”

Joel takes a moment, to deter the best time.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is…”

Joel finishes the sentence for you, “Valentine’s Day, yeah, I know.” He gives you a cheeky smile.

“Mooni, would ya want to be my Valentine?”

No one had ever asked you to be their Valentine, yet here is this stunning man and he wants you. You’re overwhelmed with happiness, having found something good after all these years.

“Ahh, yes, I’d like to your Valentine, Mr.Miller.”

You lean over the table and kiss him with urgency.

The next day, you get ready for whatever surprise Joel has planned for you.

You put on minimal makeup, wine-red lingerie, a black blouse and a simple plaid skirt.

After you spritz a bit of your vanilla perfume on your neck, there’s a knock at your door. It’s Joel in all his glory. When you whip open the door, his jaw drops open at your beautiful appearance. He went with a plain simple outfit but not any less enticing. You think he looks super sexy in his black T-shirt and those dark washed jeans.

You kiss him. “Hi! Happy Valentine’s Day, Texas.”

“Ya ready, pretty girl?” He asks as he holds out his hand.

“Lead the way Joel,” as you put your hand in his.

He opens every door for you up until you are seated in his truck. His hand on your thigh. You could get used to this.

After 30 minutes, you arrive at the destination and find out that what Joel had planned was watching a movie at the local Drive-In Theater.

Joel parks, tells you to stay put, and gets out to prepare the bed of his truck. After 5 minutes, he opens your side of the car, leading you by the hand. There’s a bunch of soft blankets, pillows, some snacks he must’ve brought and 2 cans of Vanilla Coke.

“Oh my god, Joel, this looks amazing. Thank you, this is the best Valentine’s Day and first date I’ve ever experienced.” You turn to him and lean up to kiss him.

“Baby, any good man should’ve treated ya like this.” He momentarily gets mad at those other guys for not treating you with the respect you deserve.

“Okay, come on let’s lay down. Get comfy.” He helps you onto the bed and then snuggles in beside you. Mama Mia starts playing, in the beginning you really try to pay attention but that turns into a make out session with Joel. The kisses are sloppy, his tongue exploring your mouth, teeth clacking together and the air only leaves you two in short huffs. Your hands are all over him, however now paying certainly more attention to his swelling length.

You know he probably wants to fuck but you have a little surprise to make it more interesting.

You pull away, Joel begrudgingly parts ways with your pillowy lips.

“Listen, since we are doing this the old-fashioned way, it would be scandalous to have sex on the first date.” You have to fight laughing at how Joel’s face falls, he looks like a kicked puppy.

“But, you know, I still have a gift for you, since it’s Valentine’s Day and all.” You smile at him sweetly.

“Go on,” words he regrets immediately when you start unbuttoning some buttons of your blouse. Until the wine-red lacy lingerie hugging your chest beautifully comes into view. He’s fucked, you play dirty games.

You make it worse when you grab his hand, slide it under your skirt till he feels the matching lacy thong. He closes his eyes as if in pain and grunts. He pulls his hand away though.

“Ugh, baby, s’ gonna be hard, but if ya wanna wait that’s fine with me.”

Then he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“The way I see it, bein’ patient, makes the reward jus’ so much better,” a dark chuckle tickles your ear, “and I promise ya I will wreck you for bein’ such a tease, naughty girl.”

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[callsign-cacti]

Bet on it

Finn x F.Reader 5.3k words

Summary: A missed meeting, a drugstore bag with a fake pregnancy test, a forgetful Kenny Roper, and intimate knowledge about a bet made by the STU baseball team. What could go wrong?

Rating: Mature: drug use, drinking, future chapters will be 18+.

Warnings: Mentions of faking a pregnancy for a prank/ revenge. If this triggers you, please don't read!

Part Two

You had made it a point to never step foot in either of the South Texas University Baseball houses. For any reason, be it for work or, other recreational purposes. However, here you stand, hand seconds away from banging on the front door of the house.

The neighbors probably thought that you were yet another scorned lover, come to beg for yet another piece of the baseball boys. Yet that couldn't be any farther from the truth.

Taking a moment, you recall all the anger from early as you had sat in the library, waiting for Kenny Roper to show up. And he never did.

As the minutes turned into an hour, and your anger continued to grow with the passage of time, you became more and more sure that today was the day. You had been holding onto this little nugget of information for when one of them truly pissed you off, and you knew that the bunch of idiots, would in fact, do something dumb enough to warrant this.

Kenny Roper was just the poor soul that pushed you over the edge.

So you felt no remorse as you banged on the door, not hesitating to throw it open, as you knew the dumbasses never locked it. You bit your lip as some of the boys yelped, all turning to see who was storming in. As soon as you crossed the threshold, you were assaulted with the stench of stale beer, weed, burnt food and B.O.

Wrinkling your nose, you scanned the room, taking in about half the team lounged about the living room. And then you found Roper, tucked behind McReynolds. Looks like he wasn't so dumb after all, if he immediately knew that you were here for him.

Finn recovered first, "Well look who it is, I thought you had taken a solem vow to never step foot in this cursed house!"

"Shut the fuck up Finn!" You snapped, eyes never leaving Roper. "Roper, where the hell have you been?"

As Roper pales, the rest of them start snickering.

"Actually, I don't give a shit where you have been, 'cause I don't want to hear your dumbass excuse! Upstairs, now!" You barked, knowing it would be easier to compose yourself in front of Roper then it would be with half the team watching you. And lord knows you would need some composure for what you were about to pull off.

As Roper silently led you to his bedroom, passing a door with a sign that read, Fornication. Under. Consent. of King, you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

Behind you, the boys began to whoop, Plumber was even dumb enough to shout, "Get it Rope!"

At that, you whirled, ripping the sign off the door and chucking it at Plums head, promptly shutting him up.

As Roper closed the door behind him, you heard shuffling coming from downstairs, the boys being as subtle as a pack of elephants in their snooping.

"I cannot believe that you didn't fucking show up Roper!" You yelled at him, beginning to pace back and forth. "I literally rearranged my whole schedule for you, and you don't even have the gall to show up! This class is quite literally the only thing that is keeping your ass off the bench!" You're screeching now, knowing that you need to be loud enough for the entire house to hear.

"Listen, I'm sorry I didn't show, but practice ran late, and then coach wanted to talk to me after. By the time I finished at the field, I figured that..."

"You figured what?" You bit out. No need to fake your anger for this part. You knew that the baseball boys felt entitled due to the treatment they recieved from students and professors alike, but this was on another level.

"You just figured that since you were a little late it would be okay to make me sit for an hour waiting on you? That since your on the goddamned team I would do the entire thing for you? That I would bend over backwards for you, yet again!"

"Just calm down!" He tries to placate, rising up off of his bed, hands outstreched in front of him as if you're a wounded animal that he's trying not to scare. You can practically hear the collective intake of breath from his teammates.

You're not sure if even Brumley is dumb enough to tell a woman to calm down when she's this mad.

"Calm down, you want me to fucking calm down?" You hiss at him, tone dangerously low. The realization that he is well and truly fucked washes over him, his face going pale, limbs tensing. Now he's the one taking a step back as you advance on him. Eventually, his legs hit the bed, leaving him to fall back onto it.

"How in the ever loving fuck am I supposed to calm down when I am stuck with your dumbass for the considerable future. When you can't even show up for a meeting for a class that would keep you on the team. Now that I know for sure that I can't trust you as far as I can throw you!"

Throughout your little speech, you had been gripping the bag tightly, using it as an extension of your hand as you waved it around. Now, you brought it up to your chest as you lowered your voice, Ropers eyes squinting as he tried to figure out it's contents.

"How am I supposed to calm down, when I just took this!" And with that, you fling the bag towards him. He just barely manages to catch it, holding it slightly away from his body as if it was going to bite him.

Cautiously, he opened it, squinting as he reaches down to pull it out. It's barely out of the bag before it's being dropped on the floor as if it's poisionous.

"What the hell is that" Fear has edged into his voice as he finally looks at you.

"You know exactly what it is!" Crossing your arms, you glare at him, not giving him an inch.

"But it's not mine right?"

"Well do you see anyone else in here with us dipshit?" You spat, pinching the inside of your elbow, desperatly trying to keep the laughter that was clawing it's way up your throat down.

"But, we've never... we didn't... did we?" He's reached back down to tenatively pick up the pregnancy test. He looks at you, then back at the test, then back at you, then shakes his head, as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

"You're shitting me Roper. You mean, you don't even fucking remember sleeping with me?" Your voice is dangerously high at this point, and your hoping that it will pass as you trying not to cry instead of you trying not to laugh. In the other room, something crashed, and you heard the whisper yelling at whoever had knocked it over, but your eyes never left Roper.

“I can’t believe this!” You screeched, throwing your hands up into the air.

“How the hell am I supposed to trust you with a baby if you can’t even remember the simplest fucking thing like a meeting, or the night that you fucking impregnated me!”

And with that, you threw the door open, not at all surprised to see the guys strewn about the hallway, desperately trying to look as if they hadn't been eavesdropping, and failing miserably.

You rushed down the stairs and flew through the back door, barely holding yourself together. It was only once you were outside that you allowed the laughter to escape.

This was the part of the plan that had taken you the longest to decide on. You knew that the money would come out very quickly, but did you want to let Roper stew in what was surely a full on crisis?

As tempting as it was, you also didn't want the rumor that you were pregnant getting around, let alone with Kenny fucking Ropers baby.

So, as soon as you composed yourself, which took a couple minutes, as the look on Kenny Ropers face was not something that you would be forgetting any time soon, you let yourself back into the house, went to the fridge, pulled out a beer and popped the top of.

Unfortunalty, you wouldn't get the full amount today, as only half the team was here, but you had the time to collect, and a pocket full of blackmail material.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled your camera out, and began to head for the stairs.

Once you got within eye sight, you began taking pictures. Finn was collecting the money, McRenyolds was sitting next to Roper on the bed, who was still clutching the pregnancy test in his hand. Plum and Dale were both on the ground laughing, and Coma was pulling out his wallet and counting bills.

As Coma put the bills in Finns hand, Plum collected himself enough to pull himself up off the floor.

"I mean, really dude, how the fuck did you forget sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, especially with that much money on the line." Coma chimed in, reluctantly placing his bills in Finns hand.

"I mean,first of all, she's hot as fuck..."

You raise your camera again as you speak and began to snap away.

"Well thanks Plum!" You say, a grin spread wide across your face. Most of the heads in the room, except for Roper and Plum snap towards you, and you beam as you capture the pure fear and confusion as it flits across their faces.

Plum, bless his heart, just continues on. "I mean, you guys literally told me about this bet on the first day of practice!" And just as the guys begin to violently shush him, he connects the dots on his own, his head whipping towards you.

Once you get a picture of his face, you lower the camera, tucking it into your bag as you take another sip of your beer. They all watch as you walk across the room towards Finn, taking the money from his hand and putting the beer in it's place.

Once you make sure it's all there, you shove it into your bag, and take your beer back from Finn.

Brumley, the dumbass, is the first one to break the silence.

"I don't think your supposed to drink if your pregnant. It's bad for the baby!" He exclaimes, nodding at the beer in your hand.

Rolling your eyes, you look around the room. You can see it in there faces who has figured it out, Finn, Dale and McRenyolds being the only ones who have figured it out. The rest are still looking between you and Roper in confusion.

"I'm not pregnant dickheads!" You hiss. "I mean, you think I'd touch him with a ten foot pole? Not fucking likely!"

When you don't get a response from anyone, you take one last drink from your can before shoving it back into Finns hand.

"Well, this has been fun, Roper, I'll see you Friday for our presentation!" And with that, you head for the stairs, pausing to look back over your shoulder. "And I expect to see you with the rest of my money. I know the whole team was in on it!"

And you left as pandemonium broke out upstairs.

-

They found you the next day in the dining hall at lunch. Heather, your roommate, had literally just walked out for her class, and you remained behind, having a few more minutes before you needed to leave for class.

Opening your book, you pulled out your pens as you lifted a fry off your plate, only to have your fry snatched from your hand as you watched someone else slide your book out from in front of you.

You looked up to see Finn munching on your fry as Dale closes your book. You smirk as Roper and McRenyolds pull out chairs in front of you, and flinch as the chair Nesbit is dragging over squeals on the tile floor.

They have you completely surrounded.

"Hello boys," You smirk, picking up another fry. "Come to give me the rest of my money?" Popping the rest of the fry into your mouth, you summon a smug smirk as you lord your win over the boys.

Finn chuckles as he throws his arm around the back of your chair.

"We'll give you the money."

'Perfect," You interrupt him, holding out your hand.

"If, you tell us who squealed to you about the bet." McRenyolds finishes for him as Finn high fiving you before reaching to steal yet another one of your fries.

"Nice try, a reporter never squeals on her sources!" Batting Dales hand away as he reaches for your plate.

"Come on, you owe me!" Roper states, leaning across the table to take your drink. You scrunch your nose as he puts it back down in front of you, and reach over the table push it back towards him.

"You can have it, I have no interest in catching whatever diseases you may carry!" Beside you, both Finn and Dale chuckle, and you lean back to cross your arms so that you can effectively death glare at Roper.

"And I owe you, owe you for what exactly?" You let all traces of humor drain from your tone.

"Umm, for yesterday?" Roper offers up weakly, well aware that he just fucked up.

"Oh, I owe you for completely rearranging my schedule to fit around yours, only for you to stand me up and leave me to do all the work on a project worth thirty percent of our grade. Oh, and lets not forget about the little bet that you started with the entire baseball team about who could sleep with me first. I owe you for that?"

"Well, I didn't fucking start it... W..." McRenyolds kicked him under the table, promptly shutting him up.

"What he means to say, is that he is truly and deeply sorry, that he regrets all of his actions. And that we would all truly appreciate it if you could, just this one time, fudge your morals a little bit, and tell us who ratted on us!" Finn proclaimed, as Roper nodded along with him.

"In fact, I think we all owe her an apology!" Finn stated, a grin stretching across his face.

"Y/n, I am very, very sorry about the bet! It was very wrong of us, and we will never do it again!"

"Your damn right you won't!" You mutter rolling your eyes at Finn. Dale and McRenyolds scoff at him, as Nesbit smothers "Asskisser" in a very fake cough.

“C’mon guys, you gotta be better then that, y’all gotta butter her up. Right now, she’s fifty bucks richer and still riding the high of Ropers embarrassment!” Finn chastises.

“She already took our money!” Dale whines. “C’mon, don’t you wanna be a good friend and tell us who squealed?”

You snort at this, throwing a fry from your plate at him. He catches it and winks as he throws it into his mouth.

"It's cute that you think we're friends!"

Now, Nes chimes in. “It was obviously someone who was least likely to win that squealed!”

“So, you!” Finn says, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Guys,  it was probably someone who already graduated. Figured they would sabotage the bet because they didn’t win.” Roper adds, looking at you with suspicion.

“I mean, statistically speaking, I’m the one who would win.” Finn says, tightening his arm around you. “Right honeybunch!”

This sends the guys into an uproar so loud they don't notice your low hum.

“Why the fuck do you think you would win!”

“Bullshit”

“Shut the hell up Finn!”

“Tell him he’s wrong!”

You scoff. “As if I’d touch any of you with a 10 foot pole. I’m very content not having any STDs thank you very much!”

“I mean, look at the rest of the guys she slept with…” Finn starts, before your turning to look at him.

“Keeping tabs on me Finnegan?”

And he doesn’t even hesitate. “Course I am. Gotta see who floats your boat, so I can imitate them, and subsequently win the bet.”

Rolling your eyes, you shove him off you. “You’re all disgusting!”

And as the rest of the guys begin to protest, you snatch your book off of Dales lap, shoving it into your bag, and ignoring Finns eyes on you as you walk away.

-

Your not even the least bit surprised when Finn finds you the next day, even though your tucked away in your little corner of the library.

“Ok, I know you’re the type of person who appreciates the whole, no bullshit thing,” which Finn and the team had learned the hard way when they had all attempted to flirt with you on your first team interview after a game last year.

Your response, listing off all of the simple mistakes they had made, and insinuating that they were all very, very small because of those dumbass mistakes.

That was the night the bet was born.

“So I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’re a liar. A hypocrite, if the shoe fits.” You narrow your eyes as he finishes his statement with a flourish, bringing that stupid pipe to his lips. Leaning forward, you snatch it from his hands, throwing it down onto the table.

“You can’t smoke in the fucking library dipshit. And also, how dare you call me a liar. You don't know jack shit."

“But you don’t deny being one?” Finn was smart, you would give him that. It was a damn shame that he wasted it all on beer, baseball and pussy.

“And why would I lie Finn? Isn’t being with one of the baseball boys the goal? From what I’ve heard, I’m supposed to shout it from the rooftops, maybe even get it tattooed on my forehead. I slept with one of the baseball boys!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s way too long to fit on your forehead. It would probably be better on your lower back, you know, like a tramp stamp!”He grins as he says it, leaning back into his chair, propping his feet up on the table, and crossing his arms behind his head. You try to ignore the way it makes his biceps look, and you definitely don’t notice the way it makes the veins on his forearms stand out.

“Did you come here for a reason Finn, or do you just find enjoyment in bugging me?" You snap at him, looking back down at your paper.

“Well, I clearly came for the pleasure of your company! And also, to… sate my curiosity, if you will.”

“Well, you asked your question, and I gave you an answer, now you can leave me alone so I can work on my paper!” It was a clear dismissal, but he didn’t move a fucking inch, continuing to stare. You kept your eyes on the paper, your hand moving to write down shitty sentences out of pure spite. You were definitely going to have to rewrite part of this paper.

“You know, I can go away real easy for the low price of just two words, a name is all it takes sweetheart!”

“I told you Finn, I have never slept with anyone on the baseball team, ever. Now leave me alone!”

“See sweetheart, the thing is I don’t believe you when you say that. You hesitated for too long yesterday, and quite frankly, we are all good looking guys. Well… most of us. And you cannot tell me that watching us play doesn’t get you all hot and bothered!”

“I have literally never been less turned on then I am when I am watching y’alls games.” You deadpanned. Which was a lie of course. He wasn’t wrong. The team had some very good looking guys, and those pants did wonders for their asses.

“Sweetheart, please, you can’t bullshit the bullshitter!” Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to your work, hoping that maybe if you stopped giving him your attention, then he would go away. He was silent for a few seconds, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand, only for him to pull out the chair your bag was in, drop it to the floor, and seat himself.

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way…”

“Shut the fuck up Finn, we aren’t in one of your stupid spy thrillers!”

“Please!” He begs, so loud that a few other students turn to look your way. The attention doesn’t seem to phase Finn, although you should have known that it wouldn’t. If anything the new eyes just egg him on.

“Why do you even want to know so bad huh? The bets over, no one won, it doesn’t matter!” You spat.

 A part of you debated on just telling him. He was as hard headed as you were, and the likelihood of him giving up was slim to none. There was always the option of just giving him the name of one of the seniors that had graduated, no harm no foul, but this was also Finn. If he found out that you had lied, then it was just going to make things worse.

You could revisit the idea of telling their coach. The probability of any of the players getting benched was slim to none, but you did have a little bit of pull, as you were the one writing half the articles the scouts were reading. You would never actually write untrue things about the guys and their game, for several reasons, but they didn’t need to know that.

You were jolted out of your thoughts by Finns snapping by your ears, flinching at the loud sound.

“How am I supposed to make my argument if you’re not even listening to me?” He pouted, leaning back in his seat once he was sure he had your attention.

“I don’t know Finn, maybe you could take the goddamned hint and leave me alone so I could get some work done?”

“I’m just saying, you had to find out from someone, and the team has been sworn to secrecy to never tell! The only thing I can think of was if someone was pussy..." He trailed off, remembering who he was talking too as he snapped his mouth shut.

“So you just wanna know who blabbed. This has nothing to do with me?” You innocently ask, batting your eyelids at him.

“Mm, exactly. See, you’re a smart girl, I knew you would…”

You lean forward, gesturing for him to come closer. Trailing your hand up his arm before cupping it around his ear as you leaned in to whisper a name.

"Walt Finnegan."

And that shuts him right up, allowing you to quickly shuffle your papers together and gather your bag, leaving a shocked Walt Finnegan left behind.

-

After Finn found you that morning in the library, Dale cornered you as you were coming out of class, demanding to know who told you. Then it was McRenyolds, who had shoved a girl off of him, before marching up to you, spouting some bullshit about the sancitity of secret keeping on the team, and how, as captain, he needed to know and some other crap.

The next day, you saw Nez coming out of the cafeteria, and you had to put up with his badgering the entire fifteen minute walk to class. The class that you shared with Coma. And you might as well have skipped it, seeing as you spent the entirety of the fifty five minutes shoving the notes from him off of your desk.

After class, you met up with Heather on the green, practically collapsing onto the blanket she had laid out.

"Rough day?" She asked, a smirk fully gracing her face as she took in her misery.

"Their tenacity is surprising. They have been bugging me all day!" You whine. "It almost makes it not worth it. Almost!"

After you explain your day to her, the two of you lay on the green in silence for a few minutes, before she begins packing up. She still has one more class to attend before she's released for the weekend. Once you confirm your plans for later, she is off.

Flopping back down onto the blanket, you pull out your book, letting out a content sigh.

It’s the first time in days that you aren’t doing homework, or writing articles, or being assaulted by the entire baseball team, or stressing about all three. Your laid out in one of your favorite corners of the green, sun shining down on you as you open your book.

You get five minutes of peace and quiet before Finn sits down next to you, effectively ruining your alone time.

“No!” You shout, the frustration in your tone clear. “No, not right now Finn. This is the first time in days where I haven’t been busy. I've been alone for like, five freaking minutes and…”

"Well, I could give you some peace and quiet if you just tell me the truth!" He says, that signature shit eating smile of his firmly in place. When you stay quiet, he nods. "That's what I thought!"

And then he surprises you, shifting so his back is against the tree next to your blanket, and lifts your legs, pulling them onto his lap. Without another glance at you, he pulls out his own book before opening it to the dog eared page.

Quickly, you snatch your legs back, moving to nail him in the leg, but he's faster then you, wrapping your ankle in a steel grip.

"Ah ah ah, you want peace and quiet don't you?" Then he's gently placing your legs back in his lap.

You gape at him, not quite comprehending what was happening, or what angle he was trying to play. But his focus never strayed from the page.

Now you were torn, if you said something, he would probably start in on you, and you were too tired to really fight him on this today.

Maybe you should just leave it alone, and not look a gift horse in the mouth. You really didn’t want to get up and go inside, and if he was being quiet, then who were you to protest. It also didn’t hurt that he looked really, really good with his dumb fluffy hair and stupid tight shirt that strained across his biceps.

Your decision was made for you as his hand begins sliding up your calf, kneading at the muscles there. You're barely able to catch the moan that threatens to escape.

Suddenly, your assaulted with visions of running your hands through that hair, finding out if it was really as soft as it had always looked invaded your mind, nails raking down that toned back…

“I can feel your staring!” He teased, breaking you out of your trance, and made you snap your attention back down to your book in an attempt to hide the blush that heated your face.

And you tried to focus on your book, you really did. Finn didn’t seem to have any problems paying attention to his. At least, that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to explain why his hand was crawling up your leg. His fingers moving higher as the patterns he was tracing got larger.

Yes, that was it. He was just distracted, and he didn’t realize what he was doing. And he also didn’t realize that you were making absolutely no effort to stop him.

But when you looked up from your book, you found his eyes on yours, a smug smile plastered on his face as he trailed his fingers dangerously high on your inner thigh.

“So, we’ve slept together huh?”

You hum, refusing to break eye contact with him. “Shame you don’t remember, although, with your performance, I’m not surprised you blocked it out.” You had fully intended for the comment to be biting enough to get him to back off. However, your voice came out unexpectedly breathy, undercutting the snark of your words.

A smirk grows on his face as he shifts his weight, bringing his face closer to yours so that he’s whispering right in your ear, his fingers dangerously high close to where your thighs meet.

“I know that’s a lie sweets. You wanna know how I know it’s a lie?”

You know you should push him off you. Finn was a fuck boy, and more then that, right now he was motivated, not to sleep with you, but to get some answers. But instead, you found yourself nodding, the sensible part of your brain having left the second his fingers made contact with you.

“There’s a few reasons. One, you could quite literally cut the tension between us with a knife, but somehow, your managing to keep your hands off me, which means I’ve yet to work my magic on you!”

Your moving to swat Finn away, the moment ruined by the return of Walt FInnegan to his natural state, a cocky asshole. But one again, he's moving too fast for you to comprehend, swinging your legs off of his lap and leaning over so that he's hovering above you, faces inches away from the other.

“Besides sweets, if we fucked, there’s no way in hell I would forget that.”

And then he’s standing, brushing off his jeans and winking before walking away.

You sit in shock for a second, watching as he fades into the throngs of people milling about campus.

Finn won that round, you can admit to that. But there’s no way he’s winning the war. Gathering your things, you plot the entire way back to your room, practically throwing the door open, grinning manically when you see Heather beat you back.

“Get up! Change of plans, we’re going out tonight!”

-

I still don't get why you won't just sleep with him!" Heather whines are she puts the finishing touches on your hair. With a flourish, she spins your around to the mirror, and you smile at what you see there.

"Thanks babe, your a godsend!" She just winks at you before moving to start on her own makeup.

Your original plan had been to stay in and do a movie night, but after Finns stunt earlier, you weren't content to let him have the upper hand for long.

So now, the two of you were getting ready for the Sound Machine, knowing that was the baseball boys party of choice when they weren't throwing their own or out of town.

And, to top it all off, James, a smarmy asshole from your English class had told you he would be there tonight. Which made him the perfect unknowing accomplice in your little game with Finn.

In the back of your head, you knew that you were walking a fine line, especially with Finn. When you had chosen to play that little prank with Roper, you severely underestimated the boys need to know who had told you.

And you never thought that Finn would take this much interest in getting to the bottom of it.

Although now, you were beginning to question if you would have done anything differently.

Your snapped out of your thoughts when Heather emerges from the bathroom, still ranting about the baseball boys.

"At this point Heath, it's a principle thing. I can't go sleeping with the athletes! I would lose all my credibility. Also, I have spent the last three years of my life insulting their very manhood. It would be hypocritical of me to fold now."

"And Walt Finnegan has spent the last three years panting after your ass babes!"

"Oh has he now, is this before or after he's stuck his tongue down three quarters of this school's female population?" You spit back at her.

Walt Finnegan didn't want you. He wanted to win the bet to rub it in his friends faces. He wanted you because he felt like you were unattainable.

And most importantly, he couldn't have wanted you that bad, because he had already had you, and he had forgotten about it.

[beardedmrbean]

The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has issued a Class I recall—the highest risk level—for Yellowstone Brown Sugar Molasses Baked Beans.

Vietti Food Group of Nashville recalled 4,515 cases from shelves in 23 states after it was found that cans, mislabeled as the Brown Sugar Molasses variety, instead contained Beef and BBQ Baked Beans with undeclared soy, putting allergy sufferers at risk.

Newsweek has contacted the Vietti Food Group outside of regular working hours via email for comment.

Why It Matters

The FDA's Class I designation applies to recalls where there is a reasonable chance a product could cause serious health consequences or death. An undeclared allergen such as soy poses a life-threatening danger for those with allergies and points to the critical importance of food labeling. Expansive distribution of these beans amplifies risk for families and individuals across the U.S.

What To Know

The recall affects Yellowstone Brown Sugar Molasses Baked Beans in 15-ounce cans, identified by UPC 071846187071 and labeled with a best if used by date of February 17, 2028, on the bottom of each can.

Vietti Food Group initiated the recall voluntarily on May 2, and the FDA assigned a Class I classification to this recall on May 16, 2025.

Class I recalls are reserved for the most severe cases, where there is a credible threat of serious health consequences or death. In this instance, the risk comes from consumption of an allergen (soy) by unsuspecting individuals who rely on label accuracy for health management.

The recalled baked beans were distributed to retail outlets in the following states: Arizona, Colorado, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, New Hampshire, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, and Virginia.

Consumers in these states who purchased the product with the recalled lot code were advised to check their pantries and return affected cans for a full refund.

No illnesses or adverse reactions had been reported as of the last FDA update.

What People Are Saying

Dr. Ravi Viswanathan, a professor in the Department of Medicine at the University of Wisconsin School of Medicine & Public Health, told Newsweek: "If you are truly allergic, meaning you make allergic IgE antibodies against the soy protein, then you can experience: hives, which are raised or puffy areas of skin that are itchy, flushing, swelling, especially of the face, eyelids, or lips, trouble breathing, wheezing or coughing, nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, feeling dizzy or passing out, looking sick, seeming sleepier than usual, or not acting normally in babies and young children. The symptoms often start quickly, usually minutes to 1 hour after having soy. When an allergic reaction is more severe, it is called anaphylaxis. This can make you very sick, very quickly. If not treated, it can lead to death. But this is rare."

He added: "Some patients can have a food sensitivity or food intolerance whereby they experience some isolated gastrointestinal symptoms only rather than many of the above ones. But you will need to talk to your doctor about the history and decide if testing is appropriate to differentiate this."

The FDA said on its website: "Food allergic reactions vary in severity from mild symptoms involving hives and lip swelling to severe, life-threatening symptoms, often called anaphylaxis, that may involve fatal respiratory problems and shock.

"While promising prevention and therapeutic strategies are being developed, food allergies currently cannot be cured. Early recognition and learning how to manage food allergies, including which foods to avoid, are important measures to prevent serious health consequences."

It added: "To protect those with food allergies and other food hypersensitivities, the FDA enforces regulations requiring companies to list ingredients on packaged foods and beverages. For certain foods or substances that cause allergies or other hypersensitivity reactions, there are more specific labeling requirements."

What Happens Next

The recall remains ongoing, pending further updates from the FDA. Consumers who have purchased the affected canned beans are urged not to consume the product if they have a soy allergy or sensitivity. Instead, they should return it to the place of purchase to receive a full refund. For further assistance, Vietti Food Group is available at (513) 682-2474 weekdays from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. CT or by email at recall@zwanfood.com

[fairyboygenius]

everywhere, everything

simon “ghost” riley x original female character

prev | next

a/n: have a morsel- more introspective of a character study than you might have expected but i felt it fit lmao and the sexual tension is still there for sure

@dwarvenagenda come get ur food

cw: in depth religion thoughts for both simon and allie, allusions to child abuse (on simon’s side)

Allie had feared that the first mission she went on with the group would be something bombastic, like Chicago and everything that represents.

It was bombastic, technically- capturing an assassin for the CIA- but it wasn’t emotional, wasn’t battlefield dramatics like so many of her missions with the Shadows. It was a helicopter ride to Marbella, squished between Soap and Gaz like they were children going on a road trip. Lola sat on the floor, obediently at Allie’s feet, ear protection fixed on her floppy ears.

Allie slipped on her own ear protection and busied herself with Lola’s bulletproof vest, letting the sound of the helicopter drown out any errant thoughts. She could feel her body slipping into mission mode: withholding everything, from the sense of justice she carried inside her to the empathy that crushed her when she did things like rescue a spider from her room. A pistol hung heavy on her hip- to be used for self defense, or to shoot back if an injured soldier was shot at. In the breakdown afterward, that very gun would be locked up with the rest of her equipment as a precautionary measure.

Helping those that are injured is unquestionably good, she repeated to herself the way she did before every mission. No matter what those people have done, no one can fault you for helping someone who needs help. Thinking too much about being an accessory to any immoral acts the 141 may commit would make her fearful and nauseous. But that’s not what they needed.

So she packed the most traitorous parts of her bleeding heart away for now and pulled on the armband that should- ostensibly- protect her. The kind of people the Shadows (and now, the 141) were hired to take down didn’t exactly care about things like the Geneva Convention, but the gesture calmed her. The armband reaffirmed that she was just there to help her soldiers.

Allie could hear Soap, reciting a rosary under his breath. A silver cross dangling from the same chain as his dog tags glinted in the dim light. She wondered if he was still practicing or if he was more like her- trying to find his own version of God among the rubble of deconstruction. Standing in a rotting church, still able to recall specific passages of the KJV by heart. Picking through shards of stained glass for simple paintings of Jesus as he lived, feeding the poor and washing sinners’ feet.

Her dad had texted that morning. (Hope you’re doing okay, baby girl.) They talked more now that he had quit being a preacher and was putting himself through nursing school. He had left the megachurch job when she’d come out to him, and had been bouncing around to several smaller churches in her teens and 20s. The last few years- when he had seen her with Philip, someone who so loudly claimed to be Christian, and saw the way he treated her even in public- had shaken his belief, plain and simple.

“You and I, we’re kindred spirits,” he had told her ever since she realized her interest in healthcare. “We’re helpers. Servants of the Lord.” He gestured to the supplies on the table- he was packing backpacks of food for hungry children in their town. The governor of Texas had just voted against free school lunch again. “I help from the pulpit, and I help in the community. And my girl will help people feel better.” He kissed her forehead before turning back to the lunches. “You’re making God proud, baby girl.”

He’d said that same thing when they realized she’d have to go into the military instead of college and nursing school. You’re making God proud. “What about you?” she had asked. “Are you proud?” He hesitated, facing her.

“I will never stop being amazed at how smart and kindhearted you are, baby girl. Especially growing up with the mom you had.” He smoothed his hand over Allie’s hair then. “I am worried for you, being out there in warzones, but I have faith. And I’m disappointed that I can’t pay for your college, where you’ll be safer. But I’ll pray for you every day. God is calling you to this, I think, and while we don’t think it’s fair, it’s what God has planned.” That was his refrain when horrible things happened to people in his congregation and even when Allie’s mom had killed herself the year before: everything was God’s plan. Looking back, she understood why her dad would repeat this. It gave him a sense of peace to know that these things weren’t random. It was the same reason he wrote her a prayer, Psalm 91, on a piece of loose-leaf paper and tucked it into her belongings the day before she left for Fort Sam Houston.

Allie was used to the idea of being a soldier, having been raised to be a member of “the Lord’s army”. She had never believed in anything that strongly before or since- the idea that she would lay down her life for her God if He asked. Her dad sent her into that battle, gave her that martyr complex buried deep in her bones. He tucked it into her tactical vest of flesh and blood, next to her weapons of faith. Would she die for the US military? Maybe incidentally, never on purpose. Allie wasn’t even sure if she’d die for that version of God anymore. All she believed in was kindness and compassion, the two things she had control over. Treat her patients with kindness, and receive small kindnesses in return. No real friendships for her. Just giving and receiving.

She sent him a text back from the base that morning: All good here. Miss you. Hope you’re doing well.

The text that popped up next caused her to choke back a rush of hot tears.

Godspeed, soldier.

It had become somewhat of a joke between them once he had quit preaching. Her dad always joked that God would appreciate this particular use of his name in vain. Sometimes it was lighthearted, but mostly it was a plea- Come back alive for me. She sent back a simple heart emoji before turning her phone off and climbing into the heli.

Simon was looking at her and Soap, she realized, and she wondered if he could see what they had in common. She wondered if Soap knew what bound them- though Catholics and Southern Baptists didn’t seem to have much in common besides a love for imagined persecution.

She couldn’t quite decode the flash in Simon’s eyes- that took energy she didn’t have. Bloodlust, maybe? Jealousy at the way Soap’s knee knocked with hers? That second one felt more like wishful thinking than anything. Same with those glances at the pub the week before. Giving her his jacket felt more platonic by the second. He had stopped wearing the crutches after getting the all clear, but Allie could see the outline of the nose splint under the balaclava. The boot still sat heavy on his foot. She wondered if his ankle was bothering him. Wondered if he’d ever admit it if it was.

Philip used to rile up the Shadows on the way to missions. They’d play school bus games and sing drinking songs, like they weren’t about to go murder civilians. (Let’s be real, they did more of that than anything else.) The 141 were quiet- at least this time. She knew with the way they bantered on base they could keep things lighthearted. Maybe it was the early hour, or maybe they were just in a quiet mood today.

Philip also led a group prayer before some of the more dangerous ops. It wasn’t technically mandatory, but “highly encouraged”, and he would look down on Shadows who chose not to participate. He knew her feelings about religion- was there when the congregation of her father’s church was extensively slut shaming her- and yet he would still glare if she wasn’t in the circle, head bowed.

It wasn’t like that here, and she was glad for it. She pulled up Psalm 91 and started reciting it in her head.

O Lord God Almighty, Please deliver me from hidden traps and diseases. Father God, cover me with Your camouflage; Hide me under Your wings; Let Your truth be my shield and buckler Against the fiery darts--the lies--of the enemy.

Compartmentalize. Help your men stay alive.

Stay alive.

If he hadn’t been sure it was gone a long time ago, Simon would be losing his mind right now.

Competence had always been a big turn on for him. It had spurred his attraction to dancers and bartenders, people good enough at their craft to get his heart racing and his pants tight. But seeing Allie, in the field, in gear… fuck.

He shook his head a couple of times, hoping to lock back into mission mode and get away from the dirty corners of his mind. He watched her load the pistol and nearly passed out as she wrapped her hands around the barrel. Fuckin’ hell, this is pathetic.

Allie soon went off to go wait, setting up camp somewhere in the vicinity. She gave them a friendly wave, jogging off with a two-finger salute. His ankle throbbed as he shifted his weight, and he considered following her for a moment. Hate to see her go, love to watch her leave. Her ass really did look great in the fatigues.

Simon shook his head once. You’ve got a job to do, he told himself. You’ll see her at the end if all goes well. He set his shoulders firmly, loaded his own rifle, and sauntered off to his station.

He sat in the helo afterwards, watching Allie bandage a cut on Johnny’s arm.

“‘M comin’ up, God,” Johnny dramatically declared. His face screwed up in pain.

“That’d be really embarrassing for you. Haven’t you been shot multiple times? Why would this be what takes you out?” Allie’s voice was steady, with the slightest twinge of mirth. Simon thought the assassin would be laughing too, if he could, but he’s gagged and bound in the back.

“Shit, lassie, dinnae make me laugh,” Johnny wheezed, clutching his chest.

Allie just nodded. “Remind me to check on your ribs when we get back to base.”

Simon found himself impressed, once again, with the deft way she handled Johnny’s… everything. She seemed to withhold parts of herself from all of them with a practiced ease. He did the same thing, he knew, but it felt different watching her. Like he was being denied access something he had to earn, when he was used to holding it all back from others.

Ever since the pub, he had lain awake trying to figure out where the fuck to go from here. Would she have shared all of the things about Philip if she hadn’t been drinking? Did she want to talk more when she was sober, or was that just a one-time thing? Was he ever going to get his fucking jacket back? (He didn’t particularly care either way- in fact, he almost hoped she’d keep it. It was so sexy on her, the way it grazed the tops of her thighs.)

He didn’t believe in a god the way Johnny did. “God” didn’t exist in houses like his. Wherever and whatever He was, Simon thought his house was the opposite. A vacuum for all things holy and good.

Simon’s mother was Jewish. He felt more of a connection to that than his father’s loosely held Christianity- mostly used as a weapon, like everything his father ever said or did. People liked to describe Simon as a living weapon, and he knew they were right. He mirrored his father in that aspect because his father had molded him that way. Roba had only sharpened his blade.

He had never been to Hebrew school, never had a bar mitzvah. He had never even stepped foot inside a synagogue until a few years ago, when they visited one on a mission to rescue some refugee children. Despite the circumstances, something tugged at his heartstrings that day. A feeling of belonging. His mother would light a single, secret candle around Hanukkah, whispering stories into his and Tommy’s ears before blowing it out quickly. His father found them once. Simon still had the scar from the candle being pressed to his temple.

Could he even claim a religion based in peace after spending his whole life at war?

He looked at Allie again, eyeing her straightforward and flat expression with curiosity. She felt his eyes on her, gave a small smile without making eye contact. Once again, a blush crept up his cheeks. If anyone saw, he could blame it on the heat of the helo.

The moment swept away like a breeze, and she went back to petting Lola. He just blinked and stared intently at the wall.

[freshfocusnews]

I found this on NewsBreak: Popular Condiment Recalled In Texas Poses Risk Of 'Fatal Infection'

Popular Condiment Recalled In Texas Poses Risk Of 'Fatal Infection'

By Logan DeLoye, 4 hrs ago

KHKS

KHKS 106.1 KISS FM

Photo credit: https://img.particlenews.com/image.php?url=0wEPdm_0uS2xZ3E00

Photo: iStockphoto

AB World Foods US, Inc. voluntarily recalled their Al’Fez Natural Tahini, distributed across Texas , on Friday (July 12) due to possible bacteria contamination. According to the United States Food & Drug Administration , the tahini, sold in 5.6oz glass jars, has the potential to be contaminated with salmonella: "an organism which can cause serious and sometimes fatal infections in young children, frail or elderly people, and others with weakened immune systems."

Symptoms of salmonella poisoning include "fever, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting and abdominal pain" in addition to more serious conditions, like arterial infections, endocarditis, and arthritis, should the bacteria reach the infected individual's bloodstream.

The recalled product features a UPC code of 711464506778, and Best Before dates of "2024 JL 11 or later." Other affected lot numbers include “3031, 3080, 3270, 3297 with corresponding BEST BEFORE: 2024 JL 31; 2024 SE 09; 2025 MR 27; 2025 AL 04."

Customers who previously purchased a contaminated 5.6oz jar of Al’Fez Natural Tahini can return the product to the place they purchased it for a full refund. If you are unable to return the product, dispose of it and avoid consumption.

AB World Foods US, Inc has since ceased distribution and is urging customers with questions to contact Adifi Burman at info@alfez.us and 647-218-0081 from Monday through Friday 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. ET.

Original link to story here👇👇👇👇👇

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

[official-wonho]

K-pop star Wonho talks about kicking off fan meetups in Houston and new single 'What Would You Do'

Wonho has a sweet message for fans who have been waiting for his return.

"I love music. I love Wenee," he says, referencing the name of his fandom. "I always try my best."

K-pop star Wonho's What Would You Do' music video already has 3.5 million views.Highline Entertainment

A new English-language single, silky pop jam "What Would You Do," dropped last month. The music video has tallied 3.5 million views in less than two weeks. During an early morning (U.S. time) Zoom call, Wonho recalled his memories of Texas, getting through military service and what he listens to on the treadmill.

K-pop star Wonho talks Houston memories and singing in EnglishK-pop star Wonho kicks off his fan meetups in Houston and has a new English-language single called 'What Would You Do'.Joey Guerra

How does it feel to be returning to the U.S. for the first time in five years?

I'm very excited because it's my first time visiting U.S. fans as a solo artist.

What are some of your favorite things about coming here?

I like everything. When I first came to the U.S. fans made me feel great.

You finished your military service in September. What has the transition been like back to everyday life and music?

International fans don't know that much about military service, so they must have been very worried. But it was a special experience for me to learn a lot from. It felt so easy because I was always talking to my fans about what was next while I was in army service. It felt good to think that I would be meeting them soon.

Do you have any memories of being in Houston? What comes to mind when you hear Texas or Houston?

Texas has very delicious food. And it's very hot, I remember. Is it hot there now?

It's been up in the 80s until recently.

Wow. That's amazing. It's very cold in Korea.

Do you like hot or cold weather?

Hot weather. So I like Texas.

What can fans expect at these meetup events?

I'll be singing and dancing. I will also do some challenges and games with fans. I miss you so much, Wenee. I'm coming to you soon. So please look forward to it. And let's have fun.

What was the process like of recording your new song "What Would You Do?"

English is my second language. It's not easy for me to say the words. It's hard every time. But when I try singing, I always think of Wenee and imagine them listening. I'm preparing an album that will probably come out next year. I'm working hard on it.

Is it easier talking or singing in English?

Singing is easier. When I'm talking, I don't always remember (the words). I'm so nervous, and I forget everything.

You're known for staying in shape. How do you do it on the road?

My routine doesn't change. I try to go to the gym after the show and try to eat healthy food. I'm always going on a diet. I don't want to diet but I do it for my fans, of course. I like the leg press. Do you like it?

I should work out a lot more. But I do like the treadmill.

I hate treadmill. But I have to do it.

Who do you listen to when you're on the treadmill?

Charlie Puth, Billie Eilish and Conan Gray.

You're not afraid to change up your look. Where does your sense of style come from?

I like fashion, so sometimes I search for new styles on my phone. I usually look for Japanese brands and designers. I like oversized things, like a big hoodie and wide pants, because they're comfortable.

Source: houstonchronicle.com

[peachetteprice]

Mister Commander | Phillip Graves

Chapter 2 - Tiger Rag

Chapter Summary:

The Collins sit down for a family meal with their new-found guest. Only, he hasn't arrived at the table as of late.

Word count: 3.3K (ish)

CW: Crass language, written by a Brit with no knowledge of Texas...

Sunday was hot. Hotter than hell's boots.

Phillip had been with the Collins - somewhat distanced - for the past week.

Every day, he would go into the woods with Winnie's father with a pocketful of cigarettes and a flask of tequila, and they'd come back in the evening with game, wild hog, deer, rabbit, fish, or any other wild animal they could get their hands on - though, much to their chagrin, Mrs. Collins refused to cook any and all of them. And every evening, as the sun continued its descent behind the hills to the East, Winnie brought an aluminum-tin full of food to Graves' doorstep.

On Sunday, however, there was none of that. Mr. Collins said it was too hot for Phillip to be staying in that 'sauna' and suggested it would be a ripe enough day to have dinner as a collective, Graves included.

Mrs. Collins didn't think herself brave enough to break the news to Winnie, however, so at six - as they took up their seats at the table - Winnie found herself staring at a bare plate and a set of cutlery that had never been there before.

"Momma... are we havin' another guest?"

"Nope. Phillip's eatin' with us tonight." Mr. Collins cleared his throat. "He'll sit there."

Winnie glanced at her father, who was too busy scratching at a rust stain on his fork to notice her ample grievance. Mrs. Collins, however, caught her eye during her round of napkin-passing and surely spotted it.

"Stop with those eyes, Winnie. Phillip Graves is a guest."

She huffed. "Sure. Phillip Graves hasn't once tried to be a guest. Every evening, I walk over to his cabin, and every evening, he slams open his door and grabs his dinner like it was a damn burden for him to even bend down--"

"--You keep those comments in your own head, little miss Collins." Mr. Collins grumbled. It was a terrible grumble, the sort of grumble only a father with waning patience could muster. "Pro'lly is a burden for him to bend down with that shoulder. That's why he's out with me most of the time... gets his mind off the wound, alright. Can't blame him for bein' anti-social."

"Can, and absolutely will for as long as he's--"

"Phillip!" Mrs. Collins exclaimed joyously, wafting a ladle as if it were an Olympic baton. "How nice of ya to join us! Gosh, I didn't even hear ya come in! Take a seat, please, get comfy. It's grilled steak and potatoes on the menu tonight."

Winnie didn't dare look him in the eye. He didn't deserve it. Not after his treatment of her own mother, refusing her cooking until it was too late in the evening to eat it comfortably.

It was too easy to recall her mother's flustered state, scrounging like a rat in a pantry for cutlery and crockery - not forgetting the can of Cola - only for Winnie to bring it to his doorstep as if she was his servant.

As if it wasn't thirty-two steps from his door to their front porch and another twelve to the kitchen.

Even after he sat, she paid him no mind. No attention. Only once did her eyes cross his path, in passing, and as soon as they did, they promised never to meet it again.

"Hot outside, ain't it? Inside, too..." Mr. Collins licked sheepishly at a glass of Scotch.

Winnie, wine.

Graves, beer.

"Sure is." Graves leant against the table.

Winnie felt the wood tilt beneath her elbows - she wrenched both arms into her lap instead.

"Wonderin' where Bonnie is with the food..." Mr. Collins hummed. "Gonna have to move the sheep to the East field at some point... got a Chevy needin' repairs in the barn, too." His lips smacked after every sentence. "You gon' help me with that, Phillip?"

"Bastard, makin' me do all that shit that I don't wanna do..." He scoffed.

Mr. Collins raked with laughter.

Winnie didn't watch it happen, of course, but she heard it - a button popped. Another sliver of Graves' sternum appeared into view, beneath his blue cotton shirt. A sparse number of hairs tickled his chest, though he was mostly bare.

If she didn't have such a kink in her eyebrows, she might have noticed the better half of his looks. The way the evening sun caught his tan. The way it grabbed him by the hollow of his cheeks. The way it caught the strands of blonde in his hair and turned them golden.

"Where's Momma with the food? I'm starvin..." Winnie swallowed half of her wine glass in just two gulps. "Y'know, I can help ya with the sheep, Daddy--"

"--When d'ya need 'em movin' then? Next week?"

Winnie clawed at her table mat. She clobbered a mean silence.

"No rush. Few weeks." Mr. Collins shrugged. He then delved a pinky into his ear canal and gave it a twist. "You say somethin', Winnie? You know I can't hear well out of my right. Those IEDs pack a punch, don't they, Phil?"

"Sure do." He approved.

Winnie watched Graves' chest inflate with a breath - though nothing much above - then, after a few seconds, deflate.

"Doesn't matter, Daddy. I was just... I can help ya with the sheep if you need it."

"Why don't you and Graves do it together? Now, there's a million-dollar idea. Y'ever wrangled sheep before, Phil?"

His groan suggested he had never.

Then, and only then, did Winnie decide to gaze at his face. And, much to her bafflement, he was already watching her right back. Hazel blues, pierced and primed for her stern attitude to dissolve. Even still, he didn't much acknowledge her, for what it was worth. His eyes moved across, up, then somewhat down, before they cast off entirely to the right, where they narrowed with lust.

And, with a tight jaw, he whistled. "Ouch-- Bonnie - those steaks are lookin' fine. God, I've missed your cookin'."

"Who would'a guessed..." Winnie chided, much too suddenly and quietly for anyone to hear, except Graves. Whether he understood what she was referring to at all was beyond her level of care.

The table sparked with conversation once everyone had had their fill.

All four beef steaks had since disappeared, leaving a bloodied puddle of juice on the plate from whence they came. The remaining potatoes had been set aside for potato salad for the next day's lunch, and a mound of grits collected a crust in the bottom of the pan. To set delight along Mrs. Collins' lips (she was never much of a grits connoisseur, having grown up in Georgia), Mr. Collins went about churning spoonful of it into his stomach.

And when he'd finally exhausted the room in his pouch, to the extent of unbuttoning his jeans and making his shirt slack, he stood to help his wife swap the dishes out for dessert.

Chestnut pie - picked straight from the woods. Mrs. Collins hadn't ceased about how perfectly they'd behaved when grinding them down for butter. It was a stunning pie. Caramel brown; it steamed as she segmented it carefully, slice after slice, into equal triangles so as to not spoil anyone's temperament.

It was such a lavish dinner that, as they silently indulged in the woody scent of baked chestnuts and the sharpness of fresh dollopped cream on top, Winnie had forgotten what she'd sworn to herself earlier that evening.

As the spoon hit her tongue, her gaze meandered. Up, up, up, and right to rest on a vein along Graves' forearm. She hadn't known how firm they were - not that it should have been a very common thing to notice - until then, when the sun had dipped beyond its reach and simmered the dining room in all manners of orange.

It made the valleys, the rivers, and the streams of his arms appear taught, free-flowing with blood. The veins coasted about his skin as if they had been eroding him for millenia. When they dipped past his wrist and over the mound of his knuckles, they split into brooks and disappeared along his fingertips.

How a man of his calibre - his age, no doubt - could boast such raw beauty - of such a vexing degree - similar to that of the crests, peaks, troughs, basins, and gorges of her life in Texas, was simply astounding.

So astounding, in fact, that for all of three minutes, Winnie hadn't mouthed a word. Not a peep from her lips until the ambling drone of her father cut through the static, muffled laughter ensued, and her mother asked, as clear as the glass in the greenhouse;

"Phillip. When are you going to get a wife, already? You're eating us outta house and home every time you come 'round."

Winnie was back before she knew it, before she'd even taken her eyes off that one pesky vein on Graves' arm and before she'd even gained control over her eyes and the aching kink in her neck from staring him down for the better half of Al Green's Love and Happiness.

He raised his glass. "It's cause you're a damn fine cook, Bonnie. Can't get away from ya. I love a woman who can fix together steak and grits like it's the last meal she'll ever make."

Winnie smiled. She'd finally clued in, eyes lighting with recognition that wasn't present earlier - and it was best to be genial. "That's momma, for ya. She loves her food."

"Yeah, and it doesn't like my waistline..."

Mr. Collins, naturally, began his tirade that his wife was just as, if not more, beautiful as the day they'd met. Mrs. Collins, on the other hand, perked with laughter and gave him a coy clap across the chest.

Then, for at least forty seconds, maybe longer, the pair of them were cutthroat for the matter of humility. Mr. Collins chided that Mrs. Collins was as dainty as a daisy in a field, which she denied, and Mrs. Collins insisted that Mr. Collins was as dependable as the statue of Adam, which he also denied, and neither seemed to want to relent any time soon.

It was a plain argument, the stuff nobody would tip a pot over.

So they jousted for a while, as Graves and Winnie scraped the last of their pies. In good time, when Mr. and Mrs. Collins had at last come to the conclusion that neither was more or less stunning than the other, did Graves, beneath the commotion, ask;

"You cook much, Winnie?"

For the second time only that evening, Winnie met his gaze. Something inside it felt inviting - if only he had that glint in his eye on the porch last week. Perhaps it was the first time he'd extended an olive branch - it was certainly the first time he'd addressed her solely - but nothing about the depth of his eyes felt insincere, nor disinterested, nor anything malicious of the sort.

It was the kind of gaze that might have liked to be explored.

"No... no, not much, sir." She murmured.

"Sir?" He retorted, light as a feather. And then, with much raucousness, laughed to her father and asked, "You got her to call me sir, Steve? You're that much of a little shit to your own daughter, huh?"

"You're a veteran in my books, Graves," Mr. Collins took a healthy glug of Scotch to wet his throat, even if he had to give it a minute for the burn to settle, "a good woman has to know her manners."

"Manners?" Phillip scoffed.

Winnie slid out a smile, if only for the fact that her father had a smear of cream along his chin. "I know my manners just fine, don't I, Daddy?"

"Do ya?" Graves uttered. He didn't bother to meet her emphatic stare. Instead, he pawed and scraped at the mushed remains of his chesnut pie, wolfing it down like a starved man - as if he hadn't gorged himself on steak and potatoes prior to dessert.

Seconds trickled by as the ever-so-ignorant Mr. Collins turned to Mrs. Collins for a napkin - so that he might wipe the whipped cream from his face - at which point, Graves snuck once more into conversation, with a voice so hushed it could have only been meant for one person, "Might wanna teach a woman to knock a lil' quieter..."

It was the sort of comment her Daddy couldn't have heard.

So, Winnie's gaze flickered up. Not so far up that she met his face - she didn't want to make it the third - but not so far down that her eyes chased that one vein beneath his sleeve. Safe enough between the two extremes that, from the tilt of his chin, she could tell: his eyes were on her.

It seemed, after a while, that service was not over. Pie had been gorged on, sure, but conversation trickled as it had done for hours, with no end in sight. It had been so long at the dinner table that, much to Mrs. Collins' future disagreement, the remaining chesnut pie had lost its warmth, the whipped cream had since deflated and ran liquid, and, even still, nobody had realised the faucet was running from before dinner had initially been brought out.

"You never said, Winnie. What did y'do before comin' back here?" Graves sipped at his Scotch. There was a pool of condensation beside him, that he wouldn't touch with a napkin. If his glass wasn't sliding across the table, he wouldn't drink from it.

"Worked up in Dallas. Lived there, too. Used to be a financial accountant, you know, dealin' with numbers."

Graves stuck a thumb into Steve's face. "Like your Daddy after he retired from the field? You take after him pretty good. Heard ya... heard y'had a boyfriend or somethin' back there, too? Things turn' sour?"

"Not... not sour. Things... just happened." She corrected, stabbing a few asparagus onto her fork. "He tried me, once. Y'know how it is... never turned back after the second time."

"An' he let a pretty lil' thing like you get away?" An eyebrow twitched; he reached for another swig of scotch. Winnie would have said something, perhaps, if his tone wasn't so dismissive, and if he hadn't rushed right along the connotations. "You'll have suitors around the block for you in no time. Ain't that right, Bonnie? You were a bit-of-a catch in your day."

"Still is." Mr. Collins elbowed Graves.

"I am not." Bonnie caught a hand at her hip. "But, I admit, you should'a seen me ten years ago. You would'a had a go at me, too, Graves--"

He scoffed, holding his hands in mock defeat. "--You know what, I just might have done."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't've." He clapped a hand on Graves shoulder. The good one - he knew better than to kick a man when he was down. "I'm glad our Winnie took after Bonnie, here. Wouldn't wanna be chasin' a man down with this face."

Graves chuckled. "Yeah, cause they'd be runnin' the other way--"

"--You shut your mouth." Mr. Collins slapped the back of Graves' head.

The table was quiet for some time as the raucousness died. Only after a few minutes did someone say something, and like most times before it, that person was Phillip Graves.

"So, you take after your mother, Winnie?" Though he was still reeling from his laughter, shoulders sagging with every beat of amusement.

"No, I--"

Bonnie, mid-scoop of pie, wildly thrust the ladle toward Winnie. "--She does. Won't let her deny it. Wants to, 'cause she thinks she ain't pretty, but she takes after me!"

"Alright." She chuckled. "Momma says I look like her when she was young." Winnie shrugged. "Though she says my hair ain't as curly and my nose ain't the right shape--"

"--And she doesn't have my gums. She has her father's gums."

Winnie snorted. "Yeah. Daddy's gums, momma's... teeth, supposedly."

Graves shrugged. "Whatever gets y'there..."

Mr. Collins asked for another round of pie, next, even if she explained that it had long gone cold and the cream was flat - but there was too much left and he didn't want it causing Bonnie any upset - and they went circling the table for another few rounds of red wine, beer, and scotch (whatever matched their penchant), until they'd all but exhausted the modicum of vacancy in their stomachs, collectively slumping back into their chairs as the delirium of late-evening settled in.

That was, until, after some time - wishing to crack open a window and get to washing up - Mrs. Collins clamboured from her seat. "Well, I better start gettin' some of these dishes in before the sauce crusts down."

"I'll help ya with that, Bonnie," Graves stood.

Winnie stood after him, catching his curiosity. He was busy hoisting the belt of his trousers after being sat for so long, and stretched out his shoulders like her father did when it was time to dust the house.

"Sit." Winnie chimed. "Guests are guests. I'll help ya, Momma."

Mrs. Collins glanced between the two of them - it was a feast for her eyes. "Goodness. Well, one a' you help me!"

"Y'want me to sit around while you ladies clean the table? Can't do that. My Momma raised me better." Graves held his hands on his hips, half-intent on sliding plates along plates, and cutlery over those same plates - the sort of passive-aggressiveness Winnie despised from a man.

"Yes." She swatted his hand away, catching a twinge of provocation. "Now, sit."

Mr. Collins whistled. "You better just si'down, Phillip. She's got a temper on her like nothin' you've ever seen. Worse than her mother."

To which, Mrs. Collins shouted back from the kitchen, a muffled but audible, 'I heard that!'

By nine, Winnie regretted even opening her mouth. The exponential pile of dishes that stretched from one end of the kitchen to the other could have rivalled that of a hoarder's. For one meal for four people, out of the three that she'd cooked that day, she managed to use a mandolin and each of its attachments, of which there were six. Crinkle cut, straight cut, slivers, chunks, thin slices, and thick slices.

And all were a bitch to clean.

Winnie was on the 'slivers' attachment when she heard footsteps at the door. "Momma, how'd ya manage to use this many appliances? I'm half expecting the coffee machine to appear outta nowhere..."

A gruff voice replied - one she'd learned the sound of, though didn't like to hear. "Sorry, sweetheart. I ain't y'Momma."

"Well, can ya get her, please? I wanna ask how she managed to use both of our Dutch ovens." She gestured wildly at them on the drying rack; soapy water dribbled down the ankle of her gloves. "Seriously. How does one woman use both of 'em for beef steaks, potatoes, grits, and chestnut pie..."

Graves chuckled, and soon, he was beside the drying rack, back against the cupboards, towel in hand, swiping away the remnants of water.

"Thought my Daddy told you to si'down."

"Your Daddy's out back, choppin' wood for Bonnie's kiln, although I ain't seen her use it in years." He arranged the dinner plates into a neat stack. "And I'm sick of smellin' the remnants of dinner when I could be helpin'."

"Well - thank you, but I don't need your help."

"I know that." He dried another plate, and added it to the pile.

Was this some sort of a challenge?

A moment's silence, then; "Y'got a hair in your eyes."

"I know that." She spat his words right back, huffing the piece of hair away, just for it to fall back against her nose. "Damned... thing."

Graves dried his hands and hooked the rag over his belt. "C'mere. I got it." He reached for the strand, and Winnie paused with bated breath, waiting until he'd hooked it over her ear before she inhaled, lest she catch a whif of his cologne. "There ya go."

"Thanks." She mumbled, though it came out more like a disgruntled slur - because she couldn't quite get over the softness of his fingertips against her temple.

| Chapter Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[profnicsnort]

I want to share a story from the first Trump term.

In 2018, I used to work as an adjunct lecturer in central Texas. The place I worked at was a First-generation, Hispanic-serving institution, and I had a handful of students that I knew were Dreamers - undocumented but brought over as children and raised in the US. If you don't recall, during this time, Trump first started to do massive ICE raids and started the family separation policy at the border. This was the time of "children in cages," but it was the raids that people in my community were more concerned about.

During this time, at least two of my Dreamer students were arrested by ICE. One day, they were in class, and over the long week, they never returned. I can only confirm that ICE took those two because I asked some of their friends in class who told me what happened. That year, several other Hispanic students suddenly stopped coming to class - I am unsure of what happened if it was part of the normal drop-off rate or ICE as well.

Even before the two students were taken, I was riddled with anxiety about ICE raiding my classes and taking my students. I literally would wake up due to nightmares. But that anxiety drove me to figure out what I would do to protect my students - it wasn't much, but I figured out what I could do (the answer was to delay the officers and help the students escape).

With ICE starting raids again under the 2nd Trump regime, I wanted to share this story. It is scary what is happening right now. I get that, but if you are a citizen - especially if you are White - you need to use your privilege. Figure out what you will do if there is a raid near you. Make plans for your workplace.

How are you going to help the people most vulnerable in your community? You don't need to be harboring undocumented immigrants under your floorboards to help. There are many delay and distract tactics you can use, and providing support with food or transportation is critical. And certainly, never give information on someone's citizenship/immigration status out to anyone!

[significantfoliage]

Food recall:

Link:

Screenshot reads: The product impacted is Martinelli Apple Juice sold in its signature clear, round glass bottles with a white metal screw top lid. The recalled 10-ounce apple juice bottles were sold in 4-packs contain a UPC of "O 41244 04102 2" and have a best-by date of December 5, 2026. They were sold at retail locations in the following states: Alabama, Arkansas, Arizona, California, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia lowa, Ilinois, Indiana, Kansas, Kentucky Louisiana, Michigan, Missouri, Mississippi, North Carolina, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Carolina, Texas, Utah, Virginia and Wisconsin.

[lightofraye]

All About Glen

I'm in the mood for something... easy.

Or, rather, I thought this would be easy. Then I went deep diving and have yet to surface. This post will likely edited a few more times in the next few days (maybe? I'll let you know either way), so keep an eye out!

So... who is Glen Powell? Besides a possible new rising star in Hollywood. (Certainly his upcoming projects say he's in high demand!)

Come with me, and I shall tell you!

Also, I had so much fun diving into his background! Learned more about this guy than I realized!

(And I also turned my daughter into a Glen Powell fan! I'll explain why/how in a bit!)

Raised in Austin, Texas, born on October 21, 1988, to Glen Powell Sr and Cyndy Powell, he's the middle child of three. And the only boy. He has an older sister named Lauren and a younger sister, Leslie. Named after his father, the Original Glen (no, seriously, that's his Instagram!), Glen was a child actor. He started performing with the Austin Musical Theater program when he was in the fifth grade, learning to tap dance--according to Leslie, there is video evidence--and appearing in The Music Man and 42nd Street.

Oh, he explored all sorts of extracurriculars' growing up. Football, lacrosse, all sorts. However, his passion and fascination were movies.

The actor recalled that he would be “picking dandelions” in the outfield while playing baseball as a kid, and his parents, Cyndy and Glen Sr., were ready to let him try something else.

“I played violin for a bit, and all of a sudden, I was like, ‘No, not into this anymore.’ They let me give it up,” he continued, noting they were supportive until Powell found something he “really loved.” That’s where his acting career comes in.

At the precious age of 5, his father took him to see Steven Spielberg's megahit, Jurassic Park, in the summer of 1993. Glen ended up watching the movie multiple times in theaters, and again on home video, trying to figure out the secrets of the film's special effects.

In an interview with Austin Monthly, Glen said he began making his own science fiction films growing up. He'd use a home video camera, computer, recruited his friends to be actors, and searched for props in his family's basement. Seeing this, his parents encouraged him to enroll in acting classes.

His second grade project was on Steven Spielberg's use of practical effects in Jurassic Park. In 2003, when he was 14, he got his first movie role as "long-fingered boy" in Spy Kids 3: Game Over. His location in Austin helped him land the role. Director Robert Rodriguez discovered Powell, then 14, while looking for "local hires" to accompany the primarily Los Angeles-based cast.

"You're just trying to find someone locally that won't get nervous, that'll give a performance that kind of measures up to the other actors. He walks in with a stature and confidence and just nails it," Rodriguez told IndieWire. "So now, it's no surprise to see [he made it as an actor], but he already had that quality at 14 and clarity of vision that that's what he was supposed to be."

Two years later, he played a paperboy in The Wendell Baker Story, a part that required him to get hit by a car, which he practiced with his mother in a church parking lot.

In 2006, everything changed. His mother, Cyndy, drove him five hours to Shreveport, La., to audition for Denzel Washington, who was directing and starring in The Great Debaters. Powell got the part--and a powerful agent: Ed Limato, who represented Washington.

Powell also starred in Fast Food Nation (2006), and The Hottest State (2006) over the next few years.

Still in high school at Westwood, Powell even considered deprioritizing his acting career until receiving a pep talk from Denzel Washington during the filming of The Great Debaters. In the movie, Powell played Harvard University student Preston Whittington and impressed the two-time Oscar winner. "Denzel Washington really pushed me out of the nest a bit and said, 'You should double-down on yourself. You should give [acting] a shot'," Powell said.

A year later, Limato called Powell in his dorm room at the University of Texas at Austin.

"Ed said, 'If you're going to spin the wheel on an acting career, now is the time to do it'," Powell said.

Taking a chance, Powell dropped out of college and moved to Los Angeles in 2008. “Ed always told me, over and over, that the definition of a movie star is somebody who guys want to grab a beer with — fun, not threatening — and who women want to date and bring home to meet their parents,” Powell said.

Limato had a history of helping turn actors into big stars--among his clients? Mel Gibson, Richard Gere, and Kevin Costner. Limato also gave Powell a crucial career tip: Don’t take on a role in a big franchise too soon, however tempting the paycheck; stars are built in smaller movies of varied genres.

Unfortunately for Powell, Limato died two years later, leaving him without an advocate.

It was a rough and learning time for Glen. He supported himself through coaching community sports and small acting jobs (a Dockers commercial, an episode of The Lying Game, a cable series).

Not long after Powell moved to Los Angeles, Limato introduced him to Lynda Obst, a fellow Texan and a producer of hits like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Contact, and Sleepless in Seattle. She hired Powell as an intern, a job that involved reading scripts and giving feedback.

It helped him learn how Hollywood ran.

Obst recalled, "He was adorable--charm off the charts. But that is not what impressed me, and it's not why he's succeeding." She went on: "Actors can turn on charm, but they can't turn on intelligence. Glen is smart and learned about developing scripts and the structure in movies. It made him independent and wily."

He eventually got dropped by the William Morris Endeavor talent agency. He began to question whether superstardom was even achievable anymore. He took to writing scripts and sold several to help keep himself afloat during his shaky start.

Glen took Washington's advice and gradually began appearing in more prominent titles, including the Christopher Nolan-directed Batman movie, The Dark Knight Rises, in 2012 as an unnamed Gotham Stock Exchange Trader. He also appeared in the ensemble movie, The Expendables 3, in 2014, appearing alongside action stars such as Sylvester Stallone, Harrison Ford, and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

In 2016, he played astronaut John Glenn in Hidden Figures. Glen was cited as saying that upon viewing a rough cut of the film with unfinished special effects, he was critical of his performance. "I just remember being like 'I ruined this beautiful movie, the legacy of these amazing women'," he explained in an interview with Variety.

Fortunately, critics and the audience disagreed--the movie made more than $230 million at the box office and received an Academy Award nomination for Best Picture.

He took a detour into comedy for his next roles, including the teen movie Everybody Wants Some!! (2016), and the Netflix rom-com Set It Up (2018).

In between all that, he went onto a recurring role on Scream Queens (Ryan Murphy's show on Fox), and appear in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Pie Society. He's even done voice roles, such as the Netflix cartoon, Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous, and an episode of Rick and Morty.

How he got the huge leap to everyone's attention was something he nearly turned down. He lost out on blockbuster roles including Captain America, Han Solo in Solo, in addition to pieces in films ranging from Friday Night LIghts to Cowboys & Aliens and The Longest Ride.

His break was something he nearly missed out on.

When Miles Teller beat him out of the part of Rooster in Top Gun: Maverick, and Tom Cruise and director Joe Kosinski offered him the role of Hangman instead.

The problem?

"If I were editing this movie, I would cut him out immediately," Powell said to British GQ. The original version of the character was a lousy pilot who made it to Top Gun through nepotism, a storyline Powell thought did the film a disservice.

Luck was with him. Cruise and Kosinski decided to hear him out and ended up convinced, rewriting the character based on Powell's notes.

“What we were talking about is, how can Hangman service the story and give the flavour of the original Top Gun that you need?” Powell said.

“I said my piece to Tom about what I do and what I do well, and he listened. Tom’s a listener. He listens to the crew members, he listens to his collaborators, and he hears people.”

And good thing he did — Top Gun: Maverick went on to become a box office phenomenon, and Powell’s career got the kickstart he had waited so long for.

2022 was his year. He appeared in the war drama Devotion, the Netflix animated comedy Apollo 10 1/2: A Space Age Childhood, and Top Gun: Maverick. The latter, the sequel to the 1986 vehicle--became the biggest movie of the year, grossing nearly $1.5 billion at the global box office.

Powell underwent extensive training for the film, including underwater escape simulations and flights in F-18 aircraft to prepare for the G-forces he would experience on camera. Cruise even paid for the actor to complete flight school as a Christmas present, allowing Powell to earn his pilot's license.

We all know what happened after this. His role with Sydney Sweeney on Anyone But You brought him even more attention. His future projects will keep him busy for at least a couple of years. (He did tease he has a start date for Top Gun 3, but has refused to say more than that.)

He's been romantically linked to Nina Dobrev in 2017, Australian TV host Renee Bargh from 2018 to 2019. He began dating model Gigi Paris, starting in 2020. We know in April of 2023, they broke up for good.

Glen Powell Sr, his father, was an executive coach. His mother? A stay at home mom. Leslie is working on her career as a singer, and was fortunate enough to have had a song be used for the Olympics!

Both parents have trolled the hell out of Glen during the premiere of Hit Man. In a way, his family is what keeps Glen grounded.

Amusingly, Us Weekly described his parents as the first ever nepo parents.

“The greatest gift that my parents gave me is never making me sit in things I didn’t want to sit in and letting me chase the passions I wanted to chase, no matter what,” Powell, 35, told Us Weekly exclusively while promoting his new movie Twisters. “I am really grateful for my parents for not trying to deter me from a job that has such a low success rate.”

As his fame continued to rise, his parents have made various cameos in his movies over the years.

His Instagram is full of photos of behind the scenes, with family, and of course, Brisket.

There was a rumor that Glen was opening a restaurant in Austin. This has been researched and debunked. I did go into detail about his future projects here.

--

So how did I convert my daughter into a fan?

Because I was talking to her about the gossip regarding him and Sydney Sweeney. I showed her the photos, then I showed her how he was with his other female costars.

With Adria Arjona from Hit Man.

With Daisy Edgar-Jones from Twisters.

And her first thought: "He makes them comfortable. He's safe. That's why they're so relaxed."

In that instant, she became a fan. That's all it took.

So yeah. Got fans here.

We're looking forward to more about this green-eyed Texan!

--

BONUS: Glen also is rather hilarious on Twitter! Check this out!

Hilariously, he decided to run with it!

We love a star who can make a joke like this!

Sources (with blatant lifts when possible): New York Times (using web archive due to paywall) Entertainment Weekly Us Weekly Biography Los Angeles Time Variety *I freely admit/acknowledge I relied on existing writing to put all this together. I added, rearranged, edited, as necessary. I am grateful to the access of this information that allowed me to compile this biography!

[unhingedoveractivemuse]

Title: "-you left the yarn out for sex?"

Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Flufftober Day 19 Yarn

Tags: Established Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Implied Sexual Content, Eddie Diaz Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, Christopher Diaz Has Two Dads, Domestic Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz

===========================

Eddie finds himself regretting one of his most recent decisions.

It seemed like a good idea at the time alright? Christopher was in Texas, Buck was with his ex, and Eddie was lonely (not that it didn't take everything in him to admit it).

So, he got a companion.

A cat.

That, in and of itself, wasn't bad. He just had to make sure the litter box was cleaned, get a cat tree, get cat toys, make sure food was out, and have someone drop in to take care of it if he was on a 48.

Easy, right?

No, because there's a lot more that goes into raising a cat than he thought, but it was doable, especially when his son got back and his best friend came around more often after breaking up with Tommy.

What made the whole situation bad was another recent decision being added to the mix.

Agreeing to homemade scarves.

Look, he admits he didn't quite think it through. All he knew at the time was that his newly identified feelings were reciprocated and his son was back, spurring in the best time of his life.

It's not an exaggeration either.

He's never felt so much happiness. Buck has always been like sunshine, but now that he's Eddie's sunshine, that sunshine has permeated through every nook and cranny of his life, lighting up all the shadows and dark, dusty corners that have followed him for so long.

It doesn't even matter what they're doing. They could be on a date at a fancy restaurant or even just eating takeout at home. They could be comforting each other after a hard shift or cuddling on the couch with Eddie listening to the latest information hole Buck fell into.

Anything with Buck reminds him time and time again what love and happiness really is.

(Of course, there's the sex too. He’s always enjoyed sex, but having sex with someone who he trusts with everything and can let go around of?

It's out of this world.)

Needless to say, it's been absolute bliss.

So when his boyfriend/partner/lover (he still hasn't quite settled on one term - nothing is really enough to describe who Buck is to him) brought up attempting to make them matching winter scarves?

Eddie was all for it. He doesn't even wear scarves, but if Buck makes it, he'll wear it.

…He let the bliss get to him.

“At least Ginger had the time of her life?”

He rolls his eyes, feeling a rush of affection flow through him despite the mess he’s looking at. The cat in question is napping in the cat tree in the corner of the living room, paw twitching like it's still playing. “You just had to leave your project in the living room where she could get it.”

They are well aware that cats can get into a lot of things, but Ginger, the…ginger cat, was born with a birth defect that makes it less agile and unable to get to things that normal cats would be able to get to (which is partially why Eddie loved it at first sight). Since that was the case, they just usually make sure that they put things they don’t want her to get into out of her reach.

Until this.

“As I recall, I was distracted by a very handsome man in his good jeans,” Buck says, wrapping his arms around Eddie's middle from behind him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Should I be worried about this handsome man?” he asks while preening on the inside, easily falling into the flirting that’s been a new staple of their relationship.

“Well, he is the most attractive, sexiest man alive who is also a very competent firefighter and a great father. He's also-

Eddie can't take it anymore, turning his head to press a kiss on Buck's cheek. “Shut up. I don't think I can go again even if I tried. Besides, you left the yarn out for sex?”

Said yarn is everywhere, strewn around by Ginger either last night after he and Buck locked themselves in the bedroom or before they finished their morning activities. It's on the couch, on the floor, near the door, dragged into the kitchen…

He sees knots too. A lot of knots.

“It was phenomenal sex, and I didn't hear you complaining when I-”

“Christopher will be back any moment now,” he reminds his partner. While they both love the flirting, sex references, and sex not-so-references, they both agreed to keep the brunt of it from Christopher, and they agreed not to start something where Christopher could see them.

The idea of his son catching them in the middle of having sex is horrifying and not something he ever wants to become a reality.

Buck huffs but straightens out at the reminder, ”I guess we should clean this up before he walks in and trips himself on accident.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, moving to see if the yarn is salvageable. “You might have to restart your project, love. I don't think you're getting anything out of this anymore.”

His best friend pouts, picking up a strand of tangled yarn on the sofa. “I was doing so well too. It was only a little lumpy!”

Eddie loves this man so much and would wear a hundred lumpy scarves for him, but a little is an understatement. Buck sometimes can't sit still long enough to finish a row and will end up forgetting what he was doing. He also (according to Buck) somehow added, subtracted, or entirely skipped loops.

He's not going to say that, of course, but, instead of lying because he'd never lie to Buck just to make the blonde feel better, he says, “A second try just means it'll be even better.”

“I guess. Or maybe this is a sign telling me to do something else for us so I can work on my knitting skills for next year.”

Eddie thinks about it. “We could. Did you have something else in mind?”

There really is a lot of yarn, he thinks as he starts gathering up the carcass of the skein (at least that's what Buck called it). He would never have imagined so much from that thing.

Buck hums, “A blanket? There are some DIY ones. We could do it together too. If you want, of course.”

Blanket huh? That reminds him of something Adriana brought up the other day when he called her.

“I wouldn't mind, but we can also order one,” he suggests. “A photo blanket.”

Surprised, blue eyes whip around towards him, “You want to do a photo blanket with me?”

“Why not?” He moves to stand in front of Buck, both of them still holding the yarn they gathered. “I'm sure about us, Buck. A photo blanket is the least of the things I'd do with you.”

The happiness shining in Buck's eyes is worth a thousand photo blankets. “Yeah. Let's do a photo blanket.”

They end up kissing in the middle of the living room, yarn forgotten and so lost in their little bubble that they don't hear Christopher coming home.

“You two are gross,” the teen says, deadpan, interrupting them. Then, unimpressed eyes wander around, taking in the mess still around them. “Buck left the yarn out.”

“Your dad’s distracting,” Buck defends himself, a reply that deserves the light smack Eddie gives him and the nose wrinkle from Christopher.

“I did not need to know that.”

“Yes, you didn't need to know that,” Eddie says, giving Buck a look. “So, guess what? Buck won't be getting to pick the photos for the blanket we're doing.”

Buck gapes at him. “Eds!”

Christopher gives them a judging brow that Buck would say is all Eddie. “A photo blanket? Lame. But I guess it's better than having yarn around for Ginger.”

Like the sound of its name from Christopher's lips is a siren (it might be considering how much Ginger adores the teen), the cat meows as it wakes up, drawing their attention.

“Ginger, let's go pick some photos,” Christopher tells it. “Before these two pick the worse ones.”

He’s not even surprised that their son is excluding him, too, even as Buck sputters, “Chris!”

The teen rolls his eyes, amending, “Or it'll be a blanket of just me and Dad.”

That shuts Buck up even as Ginger saunters over to Christopher as they start heading to his room, carefully navigating through the yarn on the floor.

“Oh,” his partner breathes when the door to the teen's bedroom shuts. “This is so much better than the scarves.”

Eddie grins, pressing a quick kiss to Buck's lips. “And it doesn't come with yarn carnage.”

“Yeah. No yarn carnage. We should get a blanket every year instead.”

They will. They will get one that year. They will get one next year when they get engaged and married, having the only proper wedding the 118 has had despite it being a small affair. They will get it the year Christopher first leads his high school robotics club to a championship. They will get it the year surrogacy succeeds and they have their first baby. They will get it for many many years to come.

For now, though, they really have to clean up this disaster caused by a cat and yarn.