#buffalo-themed hanky

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

Forever Bison Buffalo School Spirit Hanky

Show your unwavering school spirit with our "Forever Bison" hanky! Featuring a creative design where the buffalo head proudly replaces the "O" in "Bison," this hanky is perfect for students, alumni, and fans. Made with soft, durable fabric, it's a versatile accessory for cheering on your team, displaying school pride, or gifting to a fellow supporter. Celebrate your love for the Bison with this unique keepsake.

This is a 16 × 16 square, lightweight, soft, and stitched at the edges for a durable, polished finish. Perfect for cheering on your team, displaying your pride, or gifting to a fellow supporter.

We recommend not to wash, but to spot clean and air dry.

#ForeverBison #SchoolSpirit #TeamPride #BuffaloDesign #LightweightHanky #CottonHandkerchief #SupportYourTeam #GrannyAndGrandpasCreations

Cheer on your team with the "Forever Bison" Hanky, crafted from lightweight, soft cotton with a bold buffalo head design. Perfect for school spirit! Discover Granny and Grandpa's Custom Creations, a family-owned small business dedicated to crafting unique and personalized treasures. Shop online or visit us in-store to explore boutique clothing for all ages, custom t-shirts, and personalized gifts.

[zmediaoutlet]

I love when you do answers in dean or sam!! So fun to read! My ask from your list would be 14,29,38,43!!

14. Have you ever been interrupted during sex? Who or what interrupted you?

DEAN: How's this for a buzzkill? You're pants-down in the kitchen of your own house with your dick getting taken care of by a very enthusiastic giant with an oral fixation when the door swings open upstairs and your mother is surprising you with a visit, when she was supposed to be five states away hunting a banshee. SAM: I thought we agreed-- DEAN: If I have to remember that, so do you. I thought I wasn't gonna be able to get it up for a year after that. But we managed, huh? SAM: Go us.

29. Is there a real life friend you would like to have sex with?

SAM: [snorts] DEAN: Uh. Well -- there's -- look, the short answer is yes. But there's a... pretty big roadblock. SAM: Our friends all know who we are. Most of them wouldn't be that understanding about the whole 'brothers' thing. At least -- I don't think so. And it's probably best not to ask. DEAN: We've got some enemies who wouldn't mind. SAM: Don't remind me.

38. What’s the worst possible time to get horny?

DEAN: From experience, middle of a shifter's nest when you've got a couple teen girls still to save and you don't know where the damn thing's hiding. First of all, way too much goop. Everywhere. Why do they collect it? Second, when all the blood's gone south you're not exactly at your most agile, and then you might step in goop. Also from experience. SAM: How the hell were you horny in there? DEAN: He had that postcard from Topeka. I remembered we worked there -- that motel with the buffalo theme? -- and you made me -- SAM: Oh. Yeah. I guess that'd do it. DEAN: What about you? When would Sammy be thinking about cold showers? SAM: When you're hunting vampires. Elevated heartbeat, they'd be more likely to find you. DEAN: You are the biggest nerd I know.

43. What was the weirdest place you’ve had sex?

DEAN: Heading this off right now: I have a firm 'no banging on the job' policy. SAM: You can't really concentrate when a ghost might appear and choke you to death. DEAN: Plus it's just damn unprofessional. You know, there's a job to do. Any hanky-panky you do on your own time. SAM: Hanky-panky? DEAN: Shut up. That said: we did nail in a haunted house one time. SAM: Oh, right. In -- Arkansas? Right, there were reports that it was an actually-haunted haunted house but it turned out their PR was just really great. So we waited all night in that little utility closet where they ran the lights and watched the cameras and nothing happened, and all the employees went home, and at dawn no one had gotten killed, and you were bored and, quote, had seen 'too many slutty costumes not to do something about it'. DEAN: That chick was dressed up as slutty Freddie Kreuger! How do you make that sexy? Well, she managed. SAM: She... did. So. On the gross dusty floor of a cardboard rent-a-haunted-house where a bunch of kids had pissed their pants, right next to the dismembered farmer display. Memorable. DEAN: Don't pretend like you weren't hot for it, Mr. Serial Killer Fetish. SAM: I'm just saying, we could've moved to the ghost room and then I wouldn't have been washing corn syrup blood out of my hair the whole next day.

[hoffmannwrites]

You Better You Bet

Previous - PART EIGHT - Next - Masterlist

Author’s Note: We are back in business BAYBEEE!! I posted a full detail update if you want to read that for all my juicy secrets. Thank you ever so dearly for being to patient and so kind. I can’t even fathom that so many people actually like this. It’s really crazy. Y’all are the best. Stay safe and stay home if you can. 

Pairing: Riverdale, FP Jones, and 19-Year-Old Reader

Description: A bet with Jughead leads to so much more than winning.

Warning: Language, Adult themes, Age Gap, Teenage drinking, Sex talk (but no actual hanky panky here), Wholesome female friendships, Pining, Brief mention of female masturbation

Song Inspiration:  Savage (Remix) by Meg Thee Stallion Ft. Beyonce (Nothing to do with the chapter, but this has been on repeat for 24 hours)

It’s been 7 days. One whole week since you last saw Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second. The morning after your last little rendezvous proceeded much like that after the first, however when you finally returned home, you stayed there. No texts from a taunting Sweets. No follow up calls from the man himself. Not even a disapproving glare from dear old Juggy. A whole week had passed and nothing changed at all. It seemed to be that the entire world had forgotten you fucked FP Jones (many times). School crawled on as usual. Betty and Jug were off playing Holmes and Watson. Archie and Veronica were fucking on every expensive piece of furniture they could find. Cheryl bought a new red lipstick. Kevin decided that Spring Awakening was his latest Magnum Opus. Homeostasis achieved. Right? 

Wrong. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t seem to pry your mind away from thinking about The Serpent King. You’d find yourself in the middle of a class, biting on your pen, absentmindedly thinking about the way his brown eyes looked right before he was about to...until someone called your name loud enough and often enough to snap you out of it. You’d get a shiver down your spine getting a flashback of his hands on your hips. The worst, though, was the smell of him. It followed you around and cling to your hair and clothes no matter how much time had passed. When the wind blew the right way or you turned your head quick enough, you’d get a strong gust of him that was enough to make you whimper. 

No one tells you this, but it sucks when someone you don’t particularly want to date is the best lay you’ve ever had. It’s not so much that you didn’t want to date FP, but you couldn’t. He’s more than double your age, and a father of 2 children (one of whom is your best friend), AND he’s the leader of a gang. Imagine brining that home to mom. As much as you didn’t have any feelings for him, you couldn’t very well track him down anyway. You didn’t have his phone number (and weren’t planning on trying to get it from anyone else) and a trip to the Wyrm alone again would look needy at best. Instead, you were stuck alone, rutting against your fingers or your pillows, chasing after a high that only FP could give you. 

Saturdays were for the boys, sure. But Sundays? Sundays were for the girls. Pops on Saturdays was a ritual of catching up and hanging out and making plans for the week. Sunday’s were for shit talking and chicken wing eating and face mask applying. This Sunday was extra special, considering you had bailed on last week’s event due to a mild limp and the overall body ache. When Betty and Ronnie showed up at your house, already in PJs with Twilight DVDs, buffalo wings, and the finest Champagne Veronica could steal from her parents’ liquor cabinet without being noticed, you knew this was just what you needed to get your mind off FP. 

Or so you thought. Soon the wings had been devoured, the Champagne bottle was emptied, and Edward was left sparkling in the sun. All that was left to talk about was the elephant in the room. “So (Y/N/N)... care to spill some sinful details to your doting BFFs?” Veronica inquired with a shit-eating grin. 

“I have no idea what you could ever be talking about, my dearest Lodge,” you replied, sad that your I-don’t-need-no-man bubble was being popped. 

“(Y/N), come on, girl. Even I want to know what happened.” Betty pleaded with you. 

“Betty just wants to know if big dicks and praise kinks run in the family. For her sake, spill!” Veronica teased, earning a bright red blush from Betty. 

And so you did. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, or maybe you just needed someone else to know it was real too. You told the girls everything- no detail spared- gossiping like a bunch of, well, teenage girls. 

“Fuck.” Betty was the first to break the silence after your monologue was over. 

“But he hasn’t called you?” Ronnie asked, indignant. 

“Nope.” you replied. 

“Men are such fucking trash. They can cum in you for 48 hours straight, but god fucking forbid they pick up a phone!” She continued her rant. “You should call him. Show him you’re more than just a two-night stand.” 

“By doing what?” you questioned. “Asking him to fuck again? Plus. It was just a fling. It was a bet. Remember? And I won. So it’s over now. Done. Finito. Terminado. Fertig. Ip-shay has Ailed-say.” 

“Oh yeah you sound real happy about that...” Betty giggled, pulling her knees up to her chest with a smile. You shot her a glare. “I’m just saying! Those Jones men are addictive. I think you should shoot your shot.” 

“How would I even do that? I can’t go to the bar AGAIN. People are gonna think I have a problem,” you deadpanned. 

“Well...it just so happens, that I am dating your paramour’s son. So it would be justifiable that I would have said paramour’s phone number, in case of emergencies.” Betty said, chin resting on knees. 

“It’s an emergency,” Veronica declared, holding out her hand for Betty’s phone. 

She obliged and soon your phone screen was looking up at you, with FP’s number in the contact line and a blinking line waiting for you to type out the perfect message. 

“Okay. What do now?” you asked, looking to your friends bug-eyed. “I don’t talk to people.” 

“How about ‘Hey it’s (Y/N). with a little smiley face,” suggested Betty. 

“OUH!! Or you could send him a nude!” proposed Ronnie.

Your brow furrowed and you turned to the brunette “...no....” you said, almost concerned for your friend‘s mental stability. “How about something...flirty. Something so he knows it’s me. Like an inside joke or something. OH. Wait i think i got it.” You tapped on the screen excitedly, like a child writing a letter to Santa. You showed the girls the finished message before you sent it. 

“Hey, Jones. You up for another round of pool? Promise I won’t make you dance this time.” 

With their approval, you pressed the little blue send button and practically threw your phone to the ground like it was a hot potato. 

You waited. 

And waited.

And waited. It felt like you were staring at the screen for hours before three little gray dots made their debut. You screamed. You couldn’t bare to look. Veronica did it for you. Men never made you act this nervous or childish. (Women did, but they had boobs and nice hair, so it was a completely different set of rules. Girls are pretty, yo.)

You heard it. The faint sound of a message hitting your line. Veronica picked up the phone and read the text quickly. “Bitchhhhh...” she said, handing the phone over to Betty. “Oh my god...” the blonde whispered into the palm of your hand, before handing the phone back to its owner. 

You read the screen. 

“Wyrm’s closed on Sundays, baby girl. But my door is always open for you. Don’t you practically live here anyways?” 

Somehow, all the air you had was sucked out of your lungs, while an anvil lifted itself off your shoulders.  

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