#canned fruits suppliers

[freshsupplies]

Fresh Supplies stands as the best food services company, offering a comprehensive range of services and products to cater to the diverse needs of our clients. With an expert team, partnerships with renowned brands, a commitment to quality, and personalized customer service, Fresh Supplies sets the standard in the industry. Whether it's dairy products, chocolates, or other food items, Fresh Supplies is the go-to choice for businesses seeking excellence and reliability in our food service partner.

[sunrisesyner]

Breaded Vegetables and Appetizers in the USA - Sunrise Synergies

These breaded Vegetable and Appetizers are the perfect veggie-based appetizers to put out for your dinner guests before a tasty meal or can be paired nicely with cocktails. Not only are they simple to mix up for a party, but you'll feel good about serving healthy appetizers to help everyone eat more vegetables deliciously with frozen food. To know more, visit us or call us at +1-201-904-5795.

[bbyhellfire]

playing the part

eddie munson x reefer rick's ex!fem!reader

[series masterlist] [e.m. masterlist]

➠ summary: eddie gets distracted during a prison call from rick

➠ word count: 1.6k

➠ warnings: 18+ only, smut, outdoor sex, p in v, oral (r receiving), misogynistic/sexist comment from rick, flashbacks in italics

“And those cock sucking COs took it! Y’know how long I spent makin’ that batch?”

Five days. It took Rick five days to ferment his most recent batch of hooch. Two weeks if you include the time spent waiting for the commissary to restock oranges. 

“Five days! Not to mention waitin' for commissary to bring back oranges. Lazy fuckers. Two weeks for some goddamn fruit…”

Eddie mutters a lifeless “That’s fucked up, man”, but Rick is already lamenting about prison contraband. In about two minutes, he'll transition to complaints about his cellmate, a young kid who is horrible at prison poker.

He knows. This isn't the first, second, or even third time they've had this conversation. But once Rick starts, he doesn’t stop. No matter how little time is left, which inmate is yelling at him to stop hogging the phone, or what excuse Eddie has. Nothing works. All he can do is play along until Rick drops the charade.

“I tell ‘im, he’s gotta show me respect. He can't bet my toilet paper 'cos he lost his...”

Running a hand through his hair, Eddie flops back into his chair as his patience ticks away with each passing second.

It's not like they were close before Rick's sentencing. Sure, they were friendly, but they were never friends. They were as close as a drug supplier and their dealer could be, but even that isn’t enough to justify these biweekly calls. Rick claims it's so he remains connected to the outside world, which may be partially true but it's not the complete truth. He doesn't call to shoot the shit, and he doesn't act without an ulterior motive. Eddie has something he wants.

“You have one minute left.”

The automated message has Eddie bolting straight up as if there is a drill sergeant breathing down his neck. Thank fuck, he thinks as he taps his rings against the linoleum table top.

"Well, that’s my cue to go. Good luck with your celly, man.”

“Wait, wait! We got time. How’s my girl? She staying out of trouble?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, slumping back in his seat with an exasperated eye roll. She’s not your girl. That's what he wants to say.

“As far as I can tell.”

“She still working at Benny’s?”

“Yeah, saw her there last week," His eyes flicker towards the kitchen clock, the minute hand creeping past the number 4 as another minute is consumed by Rick's yapping. “Rick, I really–”

“Any customers making a move?”

Now that makes his mind white out, only the memory of his last visit to Benny's Burgers flashes behind his eyes.

“Eddie, I don’t have a lot of time.” Your warning was at odds with your actions. With your skirt shucked up to your waist, you pulled your underwear to the side to expose your puffy pussy.

“Relax, sweetheart,” His words dripped like honey as he tugged down his own pants just enough to get his cock out. “We’ve got ten minutes.”

Fucking in the woods behind Benny’s wasn't ideal, but with his band’s equipment taking up the back of his van, your options were limited. It wasn't ideal, but it would do. The woods offered enough coverage to keep your lewd actions hidden, but close enough to hear Benny calling for you if there was a rush of customers.

“I’ll need to fix my ha–” Your words were interrupted with a rush of breath as he fed you the first inch of his cock. “Hair! Oh, fuck, Eddie.”

“I know. Just let me take care of you, ‘kay?” 

Every nerve in his body thrummed as he pulled back before pushing back into you. While you scrabbled for purchase into the tree in front you, Eddie clung to you like an anchor, both arms wrapped around you as he thrust into you.

It's when you choked on his name that he knew he was dragging against your sensitive spot. He pushed a hand down so his fingers could rub quick circles against your clit.

“There you go, baby.”

The lewd, sweet slaps of his hips against your ass echo through the trees. He’s almost hoping someone hears. It's a perverted show of pride, one that would make him cringe if not for the suffocating cloud of pleasure. But he wants people to know that it's him, the town freak, that is making the pretty waitress feel good.

Another automated warning comes to pull Eddie back to his uncle's trailer. The familiar feeling of lust creeps in his lower abdomen.

“Not that I've seen. She’s keeping to herself.”

“Well, what about at night?” Rick presses. They have less than 30 seconds left and he is intent on using every last one. “Maybe she's got some limp dick keeping 'er warm at night?"

Eddie can't help put raise his eyebrows at that. Well...

He wasn’t planning on spending the night, but the Indiana weather had other plans. A storm rolled in, thundering with such chaos that it knocked out the power and flooded most of the major roads.

Not that he was too upset.

All that was waiting for him back at the trailer was a can of soup and the ten o'clock news. But here, he got to revel in the sight of you laid out on Rick's your living room floor, your pretty legs spread open to invite him in. Tender and inviting, he pressed slow and respectful kisses down to your cunt, acting as if he wasn't the messiest pussy eater in Hawkins.

“That feels nice,” You breathed, watching him with blown out pupils. His stomach twists, and he hopes it's because of him and not the downed power lines.

“I want it to,” He murmured, his messy curls tickling your inner thighs. “Fuck, you taste so good.”

He closed his eyes to feast like you were a delicacy. He took his time, licking and prodding, until another wave of arousal coated his tongue. You mentioned Rick rarely went down on you, and if he did, it wasn't anything extraordinary. Eddie was determined to make up for that.

“Y–yeah?”

“Mhmm. Like candy. Messy too. Think I’m gonna have to stay here a while, make this little hole all drooly. Maybe get your clit to come out and play, too." He trailed the tip of his tongue through the mess you were making, warm and wet, moving up to flick against your clit.

"She loves it when I play with her, doesn't she?" – kiss – "Likes it when I kiss her" – kiss – "love her."

“Oh God,” Your hands covered your face, but your giggles still seeped through your fingers. “I can’t believe you refer to my pussy as its own person.”

“Gotta give her the respect she deserves, sweetheart.”

“Eddie? You there, man?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, just a bit…distracted.” He stammers, palming himself through his boxers. No way is he chubbing up while on the phone Reefer fucking Rick. His heartbeat speeds up to a heavy thumping that he hopes can't be heard through the phone. "No, I drove by last night and didn’t see any cars.”

But Rick just can't take no for an answer. "You check inside?"

Now Eddie's patience is running on empty. "Jesus H. Christ, no man. Fuck no! The town already thinks I'm a satanist, don't need to add Peeping Tom to it."

"Yeah, yeah you're right," Rick concedes, although the disappointment is palpable. "I know she's not doin' anythin', she loyal. But you never know with females. It's their hormones, makes 'em stupid. But shit man, you gotta lay off the weed! You're spacin’ out like that, no wonder you’re still in school.”

Yeah, no. Eddie is done. His fingers tighten around the phone, squeezing tight until his knuckles turn white. He shouldn't. He really fucking shouldn't.

“...You know? Repeating senior year isn’t gonna attract the ladies. How you gonna find a good girl like mine if you’re still in school? Gotta be a man and finish. Don’t wanna turn out like your daddy or your uncle–”

“Fifteen second remaining. Please hang up now.”

He should bite his tongue, just grin and bear it, but Eddie isn't exactly known for keeping his head down. Just yesterday Uncle Wayne was joked how he needs a padlock installed on his mouth because right now, his mouth is moving too quickly for his common sense to catch up.

“You know what? You're right. I need to find a good girl. I actually have one in mind. You might know her, really pretty. She works at Ben–"

Click!

"The call has ended. Thank you for using Securus Calling Service."

"Jesus H. Christ," He mutters. It's a surprise the phone isn't ripped off the wall considering how hard he slammed down the receiver. He runs his hands over his face, rubbing hard as if he can scrub away his words.

It was a dumb move, childish impulsivity at its finest.

So why doesn't he care?

A few months ago, he'd be spiraling. Piercing stabs of anxiety poking him all over until his skin felt raw. Chain smoking until there was a mountain of cigarette butts he could bury his head in.

But now.

Now the needles of anxiety are more of an annoying pinch. It's been months since you and Eddie started...whatever this is between you. The strict rules you initially set have relaxed from a mixture of exhaustion and simply not giving a fuck.

Eddie parks his van right out front where anyone driving along Holland Road could see. You're no longer quiet when Eddie is on the phone with Rick. Hell, last time you stood in front of him dressed in only a Hellfire shirt, calling his name like a song and curling your finger towards his room. Rick still thought it was bad reception that abruptly ended the call.

It's stupid dumb how obvious you are. Something straight out of an afternoon sitcom, all that's missing is a laugh track. And, sure, the logical thing might be to re-evaluate the situation and remember that the both of you are playing with fire, but it's too much fun. You're too much fun. And beautiful and funny and clever and kind and —

And if it means Eddie's life is now a tv show, he just hopes it ends with a happily ever after and not tragedy.

banners by @/adornedwithlight

taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@bl00d-puppy @demibats

[enchantedwitchling]

Respecting Nature: How to Be an Eco-Friendly Witch.

🌿🌎✨

Witchcraft and nature have an unbreakable bond—one that invites us to celebrate and protect the very world that inspires our craft. As stewards of the Earth, it's essential to practice our craft with the utmost respect for nature. Embracing eco-friendly witchcraft not only honors the environment but also deepens our connection to the magic that surrounds us.

In this blog post, we'll explore the art of "Respecting Nature: How to Be an Eco-Friendly Witch," discovering the importance of eco-conscious practices and offering alternative, sustainable tools to traditional witchcraft practices.

🌟✨

1. Sustainable Altar Decor 🌿

Consider incorporating natural and biodegradable altar decorations like leaves, flowers, and twigs instead of synthetic materials. These elements not only infuse your space with a touch of the Earth but also return to it without harming the environment.

2. Eco-Friendly Candles 🕯️

Opt for candles made from sustainable materials like soy or beeswax. These alternatives burn cleanly, emit fewer toxins, and support eco-conscious practices. You can also repurpose candle stubs into new candles, reducing waste.

3. Ethical Crystal Sourcing 💎

When collecting crystals for your practice, research ethical sources and suppliers. Be mindful of the environmental impact of crystal mining and choose to support companies that prioritize sustainability and fair labor practices.

4. DIY Herbal Magic 🌿

Grow your own herbs and harvest them responsibly for spells and rituals. This not only ensures their freshness but also reduces the carbon footprint associated with store-bought herbs. Consider creating your own herbal oils and teas, infusing your magic with the essence of your garden.

5. Natural Incense and Alternatives 🌬️

Explore natural incense options made from herbs, resins, or dried flowers. You can also choose sustainable alternatives like dried sage or palo santo sticks from ethically sourced providers. Remember to set your intentions and respect for the environment.

6. Biodegradable Offerings 🍃

If you offer food or other offerings to deities or spirits, choose biodegradable options. Fruit, bread, or grains return to the Earth without harm, symbolizing your gratitude for nature's gifts.

7. Sustainable Journaling 📓

For your magical journal, opt for notebooks made from recycled paper or even explore digital journaling to reduce paper usage. This mindful practice also preserves trees and forests.

🌟✨

Being an eco-friendly witch aligns our practice with the very essence of witchcraft—an appreciation for the natural world and a commitment to living in harmony with it. As we tread lightly upon the Earth, our magic deepens, and our connection to the elements flourishes.

So, let us continue to embrace the magic of nature while protecting it, weaving eco-conscious practices into our craft's tapestry. By honoring the Earth, we honor ourselves and the beautiful world we call home.

🌿🌎✨

[buffetlicious]

We didn’t buy from Bee Cheng Hiang (美珍香) this year, instead sis made use of her NTUC Linkpoints to redeem one piece of White Lotus with Bakkwa Mooncake (肉干白莲月饼) for free. They are selling this single piece of mooncake without egg yolk for a shocking price of $25.50!!! The baked mooncake is filled with velvety smooth white lotus paste, crunchy melon seeds, and delectable bits of Gourmet Bakkwa. Somehow, I still preferred their Bakkwa Mooncake (肉干月饼) which is filled with melon seeds, nuts and bakkwa but no lotus seed paste.

InterContinental Singapore’s Man Fu Yuan (满福苑) unveils four innovative snow skin mooncakes, featuring citrusy and tropical flavours with vibrant hues, alongside a series of low sugar variations of their beloved baked mooncakes. The exclusive Snow Skin Mooncakes: Blossom and Botany (芬芳馥郁) are inspired by the vibrant hues and exquisite flavours of tropical fruits; the innovative creations promise an enchanting experience for the senses; all delicately paired with a chocolate truffle centre. Choose from Mangosteen and Flax Seeds with Pomegranate Chocolate Truffle (红紫山竹亚麻籽伴石榴松露球冰皮月饼), Coconut and Black Sesame Seeds with Passionfruit Chocolate Truffle (雪白椰子黑芝麻伴百香果冰皮月饼), Jackfruit and Quinoa with Lime Chocolate Truffle (青绿 菠萝蜜藜麦伴香柠檬松露球冰皮月饼) or Golden Peach and Pumpkin Seed with Lychee Chocolate Truffle (辉煌黄金桃南瓜籽伴荔枝松露球冰皮月饼).

For those who do not like their mooncakes too sweet, Man Fu Yuan (满福苑) is proud to introduce low sugar variants of their baked mooncakes, retaining the authentic flavours of the beloved classics while offering a more health-conscious option for the festive indulgent. Received this Low Sugar White Lotus Seed Paste with Double Yolk (低糖双黄白莲蓉月饼) from one of our office’s suppliers. The mooncakes came in a Blush Elegance Leatherette Box featuring a delicate blush pink exterior with a sophisticated soft grey interior complemented with coral packaging that hold individual mooncakes, while Ivory Opulence Leatherette Box showcases a pristine ivory finish with a striking red interior that complements the radiant gold packaging.

Finally sliced up this Low Sugar White Lotus Seed Paste with Double Yolk (低糖双黄白莲蓉月饼). Without knowing the yolks placement within, I just blindly sliced it into quarters. As the knife reached the bottom of the mooncake, I can see the orange-coloured oil from the salted egg yolk staining the kitchen towel. A sign that the yolk is properly prepared and not dried out. The glistening yolks are a uniform orange and the lotus paste smooth looking with a thin crust around it. The lotus paste is smooth and velvety with gentle sweetness while the lightly salty yolk crumbled and melted away in the mouth. Overall, it is a nice snack to pair with my cup of less sweet milk tea.

Selected images courtesy of Man Fu Yuan.

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday - Bucky Barnes

Summary: After your mother's death, you're adjusting to life with your autistic younger brother. Thankfully Bucky, your most regular customer, can brighten your day.

Warnings: Caretaker stress, Insecurities, Mentions of death. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

It was the same every day. You come in and work a full day at the café and go home to try to sleep. You swear you absorb caffeine via osmosis throughout the day leaving you unable to sleep. A doctor might say it's because of blood pressure and stress issues, but you don't have the time to confirm that.

As soon as you're done with work you have to go home and take care of your little brother. He's gotten better since he had to move in with you. You've got a structure, routine, to your days and that helps him greatly. The staff from the Centre for Independent Living even said he might be able to get some part-time work soon. Very part-time, of course, but still something to help him out.

Before Mom died, his self-confidence really came through when he worked. It never even had to be anything noteworthy, he was just proud of himself for doing a good job. But after she died, and he had to move in with you, getting a job right away was not in the cards. Still, progress is progress, right?

The chime goes off, indicating a customer's arrival. You look up and have to fight to keep your control as you see the handsome regular. The man you've had a crush on for months, if not longer.

“Hey Bucky,” you beam. “The usual or something different today?”

Bucky smiles back and you swear you could melt. “Just the usual to drink but are those new pastries I'm smelling?”

“Well, new recipe,” you nod. “They changed up supplier for the fruit filling so it's got a slightly different scent when heated up.”

“In that case, I'll take the usual to drink and eat. Best way to let you know if the new supplier is worthwhile, right?”

“Sure thing, Bucky.” You ring up the order and move quick. The less time you spend getting the order together, the more time you and Bucky can chat. It's really the highlight of your days.

What you don't know is that seeing you smile is the best part of Bucky's day as well. He knows he can be a grumpy old man. He doesn't have a lot of friends. Doesn't have much to offer. But if his presence makes you smile, he'll make it a priority to show up every day. And from what he's seen, you don't smile for the other customers the way you do for him.

But he can't make a move. He's just an IT guy. He doesn't know how to sweep you off your feet. He doesn't know if you actually want more than conversation from him. And what if you see his scars and are scared away? He can't risk that. So he'll cherish the conversations. Your smiles.

As you're handing him his drink his phone chimes. Apologizing to you he sees it's a text from Steve so he reads it. Your smile drops as he frowns and grumbles, “damn it.” Turning to you, “I'm so sorry, I gotta run back to the office.”

“Yeah, that's work,” you chuckle. “I'll see you later?”

“Of course.”

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82 ; @ronearoundblindly

[sprout-fics]

And On the Wind, It Howls

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Seven of Snowblind

Rating: Explicit MDNI 18+ Wordcount: 7.3k Tags: Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, There's Only One Bed, Awkward Sexual Situations, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Female Masturbation, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Fluff Warnings: N/A

It’s a soft, overcast Wednesday when you and Ghost set out to Scotland.

You watch the sprawling landscape from the window of the passenger seat, captivated with a small bit of childlike wonder as the car navigates the aging, cracked roads of the Scottish countryside. A dove gray sky- brumous but not yet threatening rain, arches over the tall, rugged peaks of the hills that flank you on either side. Even in the damp cold of early spring the wild, untamed beauty of the Scottish highlands breathes magic bleeding into your veins.

There’s a rawness, a brutality to the Cairngorms that aches heavy in your heart. You feel it in the way water trickles down from the hilltops in small springs, carving its way through dark stone and allowing infant growth to spring forth in green fronds that unfurl like a wistful sigh. Despite the jutting rocks atop the hills, the intimidating slope of the mountains that give rise to the highlands above, the landscape around you breathes with the barest whispers of fresh life. Beautiful, unrestrained, beckoning you to hike higher into the hills.

You take it all in, daring to lift your face to the crack of the window that allows a sliver of wind to slip through. It fills the emptiness inside you, allows you to fill your lungs with air that seems scarce inside the silence of the car.

Beside you, Ghost does not speak as he drives.

You cast a sidelong glance at him. It’s unclear if he ignores your stare or simply doesn’t see it, eyes trained on the road that curves higher into the hills. There’s a murmur of tension in his shoulders under his jacket, the hood drawn up despite the balaclava that covers all but his eyes. Without the smear of paint and the hard plastic skull you can see the pale skin underneath, the awkward curve of his nose that speaks of a bone broken one too many times. If you look closely enough you can see the silvery pink of a jagged scar that runs from the bridge of his nose to his right eyebrow, the traces of burn scars, and the smattering of soft freckles under his eyes.

Even in the daytime, the vision of his moonlit face haunts your dreams.

It’s not entirely a coincidence the two of you are together, but it certainly is unexpected. When Price had brought up the topic of leave following the team’s most recent deployment, you’d felt the men around you silently take a breath of relief. It felt like ever since you’d gotten back to the team you’d barely had more than eight hours of rest before being sent out again. You’d barely gotten six hours of sleep after getting back from your disastrous helicopter mission before Price had the five of you boarding a chopper to go hunt down an arms supplier south of Georgia.

The next week and a half was spent existing on MREs and substandard rations while you camped out in spider infested safehouses, counted your limited ammo supply and spared precious radio hours to inquire about supply drops. You’d found your target, eventually, and thankfully he’d croaked not too long into the makeshift interrogation. It had only taken Ghost two of the man’s separated fingers before he’d finally given you the lead on your target.

Eighteen hours later you’d returned to base with the same AQ captain that had slipped through your fingers on the night your helicopter had crashed. Even then, the weeks that followed were spent skimming actionable intel for something worth the fruit of your labors. Back to back missions meant you were catching what little sleep you could in transit, often nodding off on one of your comrade’s shoulders despite yourself.

When Price had announced leave for all of you (without failing to firmly state “None of you are allowed off base until I get your after-action reports, you complete your physical exams and read the dossier of our next objective. Phones on at all times when off base. Be prepared to be back sooner than you think.”) You’d been looking forward to a strong cup of tea and a book as you curled up in the corner of whatever airbnb you’d managed to secure for a few days off base.

Gaz and Soap had different ideas.

As soon as you had mentioned staying in the UK for your break, the two sergeants jumped at the chance to drag you along on a complete tour of London and Glasgow respectively- taking turns hosting you and ensuring you had seen the true side of each city (minus the tourist traps). The idea charmed you, admittedly, but when you’d asked Price and Ghost if they’d be interested in tagging along, Price had levied the three of you a tired, bemused sort of smile and declared he had alternative arrangements.

Ghost, on the other hand…

“I’ll be up north, hunting.” He declared flatly despite the slight tilt of his head, the small glimmer of interest in his eyes. “If you get sick of these two tossers, come find me.”

You were certain he was joking of course. In the days that had followed the reveal of his face to you, the breathless, almost tender exchange that had occurred at the safehouse, you’d managed to go back to convincing yourself Ghost was nothing more than a teammate, perhaps a friend.

It didn’t stop you, however, from eyeing him from afar. It’s hard not to notice Ghost despite his moniker. The sheer breadth of him is hard to miss. He towers in door frames as you sweep houses, takes up space in the back of the confiscated truck rolling through the countryside, exists purely as a sweeping obsidian shadow just in your periphery- there and gone again in pursuit of the target.

Off the field he’s imposing, an undeniable presence in any room. You’ve gotten used to sensing him through footsteps alone, by the way his massive weight shifts behind you. You’ve caught sight of him at the gym more than once- sleeves pushed up to reveal the swirl of dark ink tracing up his left forearm as his biceps bulge under the weights. You feel his eyes linger on you in turn- burning coal dark into your spine. Watching. Waiting.

They haunt you at night, in the darkness of your room. You try not to, but sometimes you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those eyes bore down into you from above, the warm exhale of his breath fanning through the mask and onto your face. You think about his scarred hands, the knuckles uneven from the number of times he’s broken them. In your mind the calloused palm of him slips down over the meat of your thigh, hauls your leg open and his voice murmurs darkly into your ear:

“Fix.”

In the morning, you awake sweaty, heart racing, the whisper of a dream clinging wet between your thighs.

So, despite yourself, despite the knowledge it was a poor decision, you’d gone to him.

Now, six hours into your drive, the silence in the car sits as a low pit of regret in your stomach. Whatever meager conversation the two of you had managed died off long ago, and now instead you turned your face to the open countryside where the barest slivers of sunlight slice through the clouds above.

Four days, Ghost had said. Four days tucked up in a hunting cabin at the edge of some Jacobian estate atop rolling hills and rocky crags where red elk and roe deer roam at the tail end of spring. Four days alone, away from civilization with nothing but the howling wind and the superior that you long to touch to keep you company against the vast wilderness between you.

In hindsight, you’re beginning to think maybe that grand tour wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.

Ghost guides the car off the A9 just as a passing rain shower splatters against the windshield. It feels as if you’re driving to the ends of the earth, not a car in any direction as you slowly pick your way up the road and higher into the hills. You eye Ghost from the corner of your eye, watching him fixed on the road ahead and gently avoiding potholes along the way. He catches your glance at him, and you feel warmth rise to your face as you quickly look away, even as the silence lingers.

“Soap is going to be pissed we didn’t invite hi up here.” You offer mildly, and Ghost grunts.

“Too loud. He’d scare the deer off with all that barking.”

You snort.

“What, you’ve never hunted with hounds before, Ghost?”

“Mm.”

That seems to be all the response you’ll get, and you turn again back to the window, watching a soft sheet of rain pass you by.

“I used to go out hunting with dogs.” You say softly, not even entirely sure if he’s listening. “In the summer as a kid. We...my parents had a caretaker who had two bluetick coon hounds. The kind that you use to tree raccoons and black bears.”

Ghost is quiet, but when you glance at him the fission of tension in his shoulders seems to have loosened. It’s an odd gesture, miniscule except to your studious eyes that track every flinch, every movement, the tiniest indication of displeasure or contentment.

“If I ever went out into the woods, those two dogs would always come with me. Especially on hunting trips.” You go on, smiling. “If you think Johnny is loud, you should have heard those two howl.”

Ghost taps his fingers against the steering wheel for a moment. You try not to think about how much larger they are than yours. “Didn’t realize you could hunt that close to Washington.”

“West Virginia.” You correct him, averting your eyes once more. “At least in the summers. Up in the Appalachians.” You look out the window, to the rolling, ancient hills where mist hangs like a reverent sigh. “Same mountain range, you know. Just millions of years and thousands of miles apart.”

“Going t’tell me you’re Scottish?” Ghost intones dryly, keeping his gaze ahead, and you grin.

“Haud yer wheesht.”

“English.” Ghost replies, but there’s no real bite to the warning, and it only makes you giggle. Except it’s muffled by the sudden sound of a low, concerning rumble from the engine followed by an irritated clicking. Your eyes shoot to Ghost, who curses low in his chest and carefully manages to navigate the stuttering car off to the barely-there shoulder just as the engine begins to sputter.

“How much did you pay for this rental?” You ask innocently, and Ghost slams the steering wheel with his hand with a growl.

“Too much.” He seethes before putting the car in park and swinging outside in one fluid motion. You follow him just as he pops the hood and peers irritably at the engine inside. You manage to lean in and gaze down next to him, looking over the components just as Ghost towers beside you, annoyance radiating clear off his form.

“There’s a toolkit in the trunk.” He states, making no motion to retrieve it. You recognize an order for what it is, and despite the fact that you’re no longer on the field the familiar weight of Ghost’s leadership feels almost second nature. You reappear with the toolkit in hand a moment later, and rather than hand it to Ghost, you begin to unpack it yourself- ignoring the sideways glance Ghost casts at you.

“By the sound of it, it’s the starter.” You tell him, and when you gently nudge him aside for more space he makes way, stepping back to watch you bend over the engine with tools in hand. “Would you mind trying to turn over the engine for me?”

Ghost doesn’t respond, and when you glance behind you his eyes suddenly dart up to your face after looking elsewhere. “Ghost.”

He holds your stare for a moment before nodding and making towards the driver's seat. A moment later the engine attempts to turn over, the car shuddering and coughing before silencing once more. You poke your head a little further into the hood, trying to locate the source of the noise. Ghost reappears at your side a moment later, just as you fiddle inside the toolkit for a wrench.

Ghost is quiet, observant as you slowly work at the engine, peering over your shoulder close enough you can almost feel the warmth of him spill into your back. It takes everything in you to suppress a shiver at the fact he’s so close. Yet he offers no commentary as you work, no snide comments or dry humor. It would be unnerving if it weren’t for the fact you’re well used to it by now.

“Got it.” You declare a few minutes later, straightening up quickly- colliding with Ghost’s hand that shoots out to cushion your head from impacting the metal hood. “Oh- thanks.”

You hold up the retrieved spark plug victoriously, corroded and rusty from age. “Probably caused a misfire.” You declare. “It needs to be replaced, but we’d have to drive into town for a repair shop...” You trail off, face falling with realization before digging in your pocket for your phone.

No signal.

You look at Ghost, who stares back at you. Nonplussed, done.

and then, without another word, he turns around and starts walking.

It takes about three seconds of you gawking at his back before you’re running to catch up.

“W-where are you going?”

“Town.”

“That’s...15 kilometers away?”

“We’ve hiked farther with our gear.” Uphill. In the snow. You mentally hear him add.

“Shouldn’t one of us stay with the car?”

“No one is going to steal a car broken down on a country road.”

“What about our stuff?”

“Did you lock the car?”

“Well...yes. But-”

Ghost’s pace doesn’t falter, purposefully long strides as he hikes further up the winding incline. You follow him, casting a forlorn little look at the little green car parked on the side of the road. You’re loath to leave it, but between the choice of staying alone on the side of the road or going with Ghost, you know you’ll always choose Ghost.

The hike is quiet, just as it was in the car, and you find yourself focusing on the broad expanse of Ghost’s shoulders rather than the stunning scenery around you. You’re so used to Ghost bringing up the rear on long distance missions with the team, watching his own six, and by doing so watching everyone else’s, including your own. You’ve always trusted him to watch you, knowing that any possible threat from behind would have to go through him first. Now, you stare at the wide expanse of his back cloaked under his dark jacket and wonder if maybe he feels the same.

and you try not to imagine the bare expanse of his rippling muscles underneath.

“Kinda reminds me of Nepal.” You murmur after clearing your throat and quickly pushing away the image, and wonder if Ghost can hear you over the wind.

Ghost raises his head a little, but doesn’t turn. “Going hypothermic again, are ya?”

You huff, breathing warmth into your fingers chilled by the slicing wind. “A little.”

You nearly run into his back when Ghost suddenly stops, turning towards you. Before you can object, you watch as he shrugs off his thick leather jacket and uses a hand to drape it over your head.

Then he promptly turns and resumes walking.

Heat blossoms across your face, hot enough to warm you down to your toes. The smell of Ghost, of gun oil and charcoal and sweat permeates your very being. You try not to dizzy yourself with a lungful of it, try not to be obvious about scenting the blissfully warm and rain resistant jacket that you quickly wrap yourself in with zero complaints. Your heartbeat flutters against your ribs breathlessly, and you try to tell yourself the warmth you feel is just from the jacket, and not the helpless feeling of longing you keep secret there inside your chest.

You catch Ghost pause just long enough to look over his shoulder, but whatever choked thanks you can offer feels swallowed up by the wind.

At the top of the hill, you pause to take a breather, clutch the jacket a little tighter around you and let the wind ruffle your hair. Below lies a lush, green valley cast in soft hues from the gray shadowed sky, a tiny village tucked away at the edge of the long, sloping hills. It’s nothing more than a collection of houses, a shop or two, a petrol station, and a pub of some sort, but to you it’s the closest thing to civilization that you’ll see for the greater part of the day.

You don’t notice Ghost’s eyes on you until you turn to him.

“Olright?” He asks, and you pause for a moment, looking at his smoky brown eyes to wonder why they feel so heavy on your form.

A sound catches both your attention, and you turn to observe the sight of a small factory Ford making its way up the sloping valley road.

After a moment, you shoot Ghost a grin.

“Ever hitch-hiked before, LT?”

Before he can answer you sway to the roadside in sight of the oncoming car, jutting out your hip and sticking out your thumb before glancing back at him.

“Stay back a little, might scare them off with the whole serial killer get up.”

Ghost squints at you, hard, and you feel a little laugh bubble up your throat at the fact he looks almost offended. But he obediently takes a step or two back before crossing his arms and staring at the oncoming driver. If anything, you think he looks more intimidating than he did before.

Fortunately it isn’t enough to dissuade the driver, who honks at you both before slowing and pulling up beside you facing the wrong way.

“Do ye need some help, lass?” The woman in the passenger seat asks, accent thick. She’s a homely sort, round in the face with graying curls and rosy cheeks. Her gray-green eyes dart between you and Ghost behind you nervously, and it takes all your resistance not to shoot Ghost a look that says “I told you so.”

“Yes, actually, if you don’t mind. Our car broke down a while back and we were wondering if we could have a ride to town?” You ask politely, putting on your best smile and explaining quickly. “We tried fixing it ourselves but we need a mechanic.”

“Oh!” You see the woman visibly relax and flutter a hand at the driver, an equally older bearded man you assume to be her husband. “An American! You’re not that common around these parts. Archie dear, don’t you think we can give the nice girl and her fellow a lift?”

You nearly choke at that, opening your mouth to correct here when the husband, Archie, you presume, arches a thick eyebrow at you and looks at Ghost for a long moment.

“Aye, hop in.” He offers gruffly, jerking his head, and you thank him profusely before nodding to Ghost and sliding into the cramped backseat. Ghost takes up almost the entire space in the tiny car with his breadth, but manages to not squish you against the door despite having to tuck his legs a bit sideways to fit. You have to make it a point not to look at him lest you give yourself away.

It takes Archie a minute or two to point the car in the direction of town again, by which point his wife, who introduces herself as Ainsley, has begun to talk your ear off.

“Are you two on holiday?” She asks cheerily, all previous suspicion gone. “Visiting family?”

“We uh-” You spare a glance at Ghost, who’s stony silence offers no help. “We’re- yes. On holiday. Up to Balfour Manor?”

“Oh lovely! It’s quite the romantic spot, Balfour. We get lots of couples up that way. Archie and I had our handfasting ceremony there, ye ken.”

Oh.

You glance at Ghost, a little aghast at Aisley’s bold assumption. Yet when Ghost returns your stare, he looks oddly amused.

You feel your face warm, clearing your throat and attempting to speak. “O-oh well we’re not-”

“Balfour isnnae all that far from here. We might as well drive you all the way. We know the manager there, Lorna. She’s as sweet as they come. She’ll get you all set up and send someone for your car.”

She pauses, looking at her husband. “Aye, Archie?”

Archie grunts, looking at you in the rearview mirror before shrugging and nodding.

“That’s...very kind. Thank you. But you really don’t have to, we can wait at the petrol station-”

Aisley waves her hand at you. “Dinna fash yerself. We were going out for a drive anyway, got to stretch the ol’ bones. Now we’ve a story to tell at the pub!”

That seems to make Archie perk up a bit. “Aye.” He drawls, chuckling as he navigates down the valley road. “Bout the polite American girl and her burglar beau.”

“Archie!” Aisley gasps, swatting at him before turning to you apologetically. “He dosnae mean anything by it, lass.”

Ghost huffs beside you, offering Archie a withering look, but gives no indication of a reply.

“It’s alright.” You try. “He’s just-”

“Shy.” Ghost deadpans, and you arch an eyebrow at him. You can see his eyes laugh. Something breathless flutters in your chest.

“I was going to say ugly.” You whisper teasingly, low enough for him to hear- and Ghost leans in, crowding your space.

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Fix.”

Jesus.

He pins you with his coal dark stare, and you feel the sudden urge to look away from the intensity of his gaze. Your heart is racing in your ears, and the backseat suddenly feels too small, too close with the way Ghost suddenly is almost on top of you, heedless of your company.

Fortunately, it seems Aisley is too busy chastising her husband to notice the way Ghost has to practically crowded against the opposite door, his hand planted over the middle seat just close enough so his gloved thumb grazes against your hip through your jeans-

Only to sit back in a blink when Aisley pokes her head back again and begins to prattle on about the care rental salesman down in Perth and his shady marketing tactics. It takes all your composure to calm your racing heart and nod along politely despite the warmth flooding your face.

Beside you, Ghost looks oddly smug.

In the miles that follow, you find yourself glancing at him, and trying to match the memory of his moonlit face against the impenetrable mask that you’ve begun to see the cracks in.

- - -

Aisley and Archie end up driving you past town and into the hills where the manor rests upon a rolling, green slope that sits on the other side of the valley. Shadowed in mist, the ancient brick manor house overlooks the village below with tall windows and a tall, imposing archway which shelters a thick iron door. Carefully tended ivy crawls upwards along the brown brick towards the chimney, where a whisper of smoke is carried away by the gusting wind.

The car rolls to a stop in the long, gravel driveway that encircles a bubbling fountain and a collection of signs that likely details the land’s history. You long to peruse them, but Ghost is quickly shuffling out of the car with a murmur of polite thanks and quickly heading up the front steps. You scoot out behind him, remembering to turn and wave at the couple. Before you can trot after Ghost, Aisley makes a quick, urgent gesture for you to come closer.

“Have patience with him, lass.” She whispers with the window rolled down, halfway leaning out. her eyes dart to Ghost, who stands a ways behind you. “My Archie was a stiff, quiet one too. Give him time, he’ll let you in when he’s ready.”

You blink, and once again open your mouth to once again try and dissuade her of the notion that you and Ghost are a couple, but Aisley’s gray eyes shine knowingly, and in the end you smile quietly to yourself and give her a small whisper of thanks before turning to follow Ghost inside out of the slicing wind.

The interior of the manor appears to have blended well with the ages, renovated but kept at its bones a true token of history. The carved banisters and railings are worn with age, and the walls maintain their wood carved paneling. Yet the furniture is distinctly modern, and the grime of centuries past has been sanded down to nothing.

There’s a freckled, ginger-haired woman who greets you at the desk labeled ‘check-in’, and upon seeing Ghost you watch her instinctively raise her hackles at his mask and gigantic, looming stature.

“Reservation for ‘Riley’.” Is all he offers as his shadow falls over her, and it takes her a moment to process before she’s furiously typing at her computer.

You peek your head out from behind Ghost, and the woman who you assume to be Lorna instantly looks relieved at your smile.

“Sorry for the late arrival, we ran into some car issues on the road and had to hitch-hike. Do you have a way to call the repair shop in town? Neither of us have a signal.”

“Oh!” Lorna chirps, looking befuddled, then mildly distressed. “That makes sense. I tried to phone you, Mr. Riley. I’m afraid that we’ve run into a wee problem with your reservation.”

She swallows thickly, typing away at her laptop for a few moments. “We- we’re terribly sorry. We had a stag party booked prior to your stay, you see. The guests before you were a bit of a rowdy bunch. We’re still cleaning the walls after the…” She trails off, looking a little green. “...Well.”

“Does that mean the reservation is canceled?” You ask, brow knotting. Beside you, Ghost stiffens. You hear his gloves creak as his fists clench.

“No, no! We’ve just been forced to switch you over to a different cottage. It’s slightly smaller, but this one comes with a fireplace at least. We’ve also charged you the lesser price due to the issue, but we won’t be able to put you in your original booking seeing as we’re all booked up.”

You glance at Ghost, who appears mildly annoyed but otherwise calm. “O’lright.” He eventually offers after a beat, and Lorna’s shoulders relax visibly.

“Lovely. Let me finish checking you in, and then I’ll see about your car. I know the repairman in town, he should be able to drive out and see what the issue is.”

“It’s one of the spark plugs.” You tell her, stepping forward a little and ignoring the way Ghost’s bulk stays warm at your back. “Should be a simple change, but we’d like to at least get our luggage if possible.”

Lorna nods seriously, which is a bit of a humorous expression on her otherwise mousey features. “I’ll be sure to let him know. We’ll try to get your bags to you by this evening.”

Lorna quickly gives you a series of pamphlets and map of the surrounding grounds, pointing out the small trail that leads off into the woods towards the cottage you and Ghost will be staying in.

“There’s breakfast and dinner served in the dining room at seven am and seven pm, plus tea service at three. Otherwise you’ll have to run into town for lunch or groceries.”

Ghost nods stoically, eyes tracing over the hunting pamphlet, which Lorna sees him eyeing.

“Oh, and the hunting range is northwest of us. You’ll need to check in with us before you set off to make sure your hunting permit is in order. We do process any deer you hunt for a fee, otherwise you’re welcome to take it back home yourself.”

Ghost nods again, and murmurs a small thanks before tucking the pamphlet in his hoodie pocket and turning. You give Lorna a smile and a wave before following after him out the thick iron doors. The clouds outside have darkened to an ominous gray, with a whisper of moisture lingering in the air. You huddle deeper into Ghost’s jacket, falling in step with him as you begin to make your way towards the forest cottage.

You eye him out of the corner of your eye, finding his gaze directed forward. Yet he softens his stride, ensuring that you don’t fall behind him as you walk. One of a thousand silent things to fit further into the puzzle of him.

“Riley, huh?” You ask after a minute or two of walking, and Ghost glances at you before making a small, noncommittal grunt.

“Laswell gave you my file, didn’t she?”

She did, but the file had been so redacted that you’d only managed to get bits and pieces. SAS selection, top of his class, record breaking scores, details of his skills in covert infiltration, sabotage, and clandestine tradecraft. There was a mention of an extended leave, but after that? Black. Nothing. The words POW stood out among the endless redactions, but until his recruitment into the 141, Ghost’s file was an enigma, an anomaly, leaving you to fill in the gaps in between with the scarce glimpses behind the mask he offered you.

Then again, there were things in your file that you refused to share as well.

“You’re a mysterious man, Mr. Riley.” You smirk at him, and if you look close enough, you think you can see his mask tug at the corner with a smile.

“You sleep with that mask on?” You ask teasingly.

“Like a log.” He drawls.

“Might scare the deer off with that.”

“Brought a camo one.”

You gape at him. “You’re joking.”

Ghost looks at you, silent, deadpan. “I’ve been told I’m a comedian.”

You bark a laugh, out of pure surprise more than anything, only to quickly dissolve into a fit of giggles.

In the woods now, a thick grove of twisted trunks that shields you from the worst of the wind, you and Ghost enjoy a comfortable, mutual silence. Despite the fatigue from the day’s travel, the lingering unease from ruined plans and impromptu decisions, there’s a small warmth that curls inside your chest as you walk beside him, huddled in his jacket several sizes too big as the moorish wind sweeps across your cheeks.

“Well.” You say at last. “Broken car, nosy neighbors, and a just barely rescued reservation. They say bad things come in threes. I think we’re past the worst of it.”

As if on cue, a raindrop falls right on your nose.

You look up just in time for another to land on your cheek. Ghost pauses beside you, cocking his head, listening. There’s a distant rumble of warning from the sky above....

and seconds later the bottom drops out of the clouds and onto your heads.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Ghost swears, glaring up at the sky with putrid annoyance. Then he looks at you as you hold his jacket over your head to try and shield yourself from the worst of the downpour.

You gulp.

“I...might have jinxed it” You confess, and you think you see a vein in his neck throb.

Your clothes are soaked through by the time you get to the cottage, teeth chattering loudly as the cold quickly sets in. Ghost’s tension is palpable, a low rolling thunder that mirrors the stormy skies above. You try to remind yourself you are not the source of his ire, rather that the events of the day draw heavy on his shoulders and rest as a tightly coiled tension under the soaked fabric of his hoodie.

You drip water onto the mat of the entryway, hugging the jacket tighter around your shoulders as you survey the interior. It’s quaint, cozy. The entryway feeds into a small kitchen with old wooden cabinets complete with brass handles. Beyond is the living area, and without thinking you walk over to the old stone fireplace and crouch before it, heedless of the puddles you leave in your wake.

“It’s an actual fireplace.” You smile at Ghost, nodding to the wood stacked on the edge. “Do you remember your boy scout lessons?”

Ghost scoffs, striding past you to survey the living space with keen, wary eyes. You know what he’s doing on instinct- marking entryways, noting escape routes and barricade points, possible fire hazards and other threats. Like you, he’s able to leave the battlefield, only for it to exist in his mind.

As he checks the locks, you wander over to the two doors opposite of the fireplace, peeking inside one to find a bathroom, and the other to find the bedroom.

Except...

“Oh.” You whisper, and you sense rather than hear Ghost instantly pause behind you, crossing the room to hover tall and dark behind your shoulder as he looks at what’s caught your attention.

A single bed, neatly made. Between the pillows, a red rose.

You feel Ghost go stiff behind you just as heat warms your face all the way down to your toes.

“Did you...” You ask quietly, without turning towards him. “...Book us a single bed?”

“No.” Ghost replies, a little too quickly, terse, and scoots his massive frame past you to grab the red rose on the pillow and briskly toss it in the garbage pail. You hear him mutter an annoyance under his breath that you think sounds like “Bloody stag party.”

There’s a laugh bubbling in your chest akin to hysterics. You’ve slept close to Ghost before, sure. Hell, he kept you alive with his body heat before, but that...that was different. That was on the field, in the presence of teammates, things necessary for duty and survival. Here, in this quiet, romantic cottage where it’s just the two of you, where everyone seems to be operating on the understanding that you’re a couple...

“I’ll take the couch.” You say before you can catch the thought. “You- you’re too tall to fit comfortably. You can have the bed.”

Ghost looks at you, dark eyes meeting yours, and you’re reminded just how intense his gaze is. You feel untethered, unbalanced, caught in the gravity of his stare alone. For a single, daring moment you pray that he’ll find a reason to disagree, that he’ll insist you both sleep together, but eventually he blinks and nods.

“Olright.” He cedes at last, finally turning away from you, and it feels as if there’s something left unsaid between you both, something you’re not brave enough to voice yet. It curls under your skin, and you shiver hard, curling your arms around you for warmth.

“You’ll catch a cold.” Ghost nods at you, and proceeds to unzip his wet hoodie so it lands on the floor with a wet splat. “Should change out of those.”

You don’t respond for a second, too distracted by the way Ghost’s shirt clings to every plane of his muscled torso, the soft flesh of his belly, the dip between his shoulders. Eventually your brain catches up with you, and you blink, swallowing back the dryness in your throat.

“Into...what, exactly?”

Ghost looks at you for a beat, before grabbing a quilt off the end of the bed and tossing it at you. You gape at him, equal parts baffled and aghast.

“Y-you can’t be serious.”

“If you’d like to catch your death that way, by all means.” Ghost returns, and turns from you to begin stripping off the shirt that clings far too tightly to his massive frame. You stand frozen to the spot, hands clutching too tight to the quilt as the pale, scarred flesh of Ghost’s torso is slowly revealed. The ink on his forearm swirls all the way up to his shoulder, and from there you trace a long, jagged scar that forms a ‘T’ across his pecs with their pale pink nipples. You don’t miss the blonde thatch of hair that coils just below it, curls down his stomach towards his waistband as his fingers go for his belt, only to pause.

With dawning horror, you look up and meet Ghost’s heavy, lidded stare.

“Looking ‘respectfully’, Fix?”

You can feel the instant your neurons misfire, electrocuting into nothingness as you stand paralyzed with your mouth open, caught ogling him in a way that’s so far removed from what might be considered ‘respectful’ you may as well bury yourself alive. You try to speak, to say an excuse, to offer an apology, anything, but the way Ghost’s eyes burn into you, the way you can’t seem to budge from his stare roots you to the spot, staring at the pale expanse of his bare torso and forgetting how to breathe.

The clink of his belt as he resumes undressing sends you scrambling out of the room and slamming the bathroom door behind you.

As you bury your burning face in your hands, you swear you hear Ghost chuckle from the other room.

You lean hard on the door, waiting for Ghost to finish doing...whatever it is he’s doing, and desperately trying to ignore the torrent of images that flood your brain of his scarred, pale shoulders, the smattering of freckles at his clavicle, the wisp of hair trailing below his waistband...

It takes effort to silence the groan bubbling up in your throat, caught somewhere between desperate desire and baffled embarrassment. Still sitting in your sopping wet clothes on the bathroom floor, the water slowly puddling beneath you, you try vainly to compose yourself and think of something...anything other than the vision of Ghost’s bare, rain-slick body hovering mere feet away from you with nothing but a wall to separate you both.

It’s the shivering chill of your soaked limbs that eventually forces you up, carefully peeling off your wet layers and wringing them as best as you can in the sink before hanging them to dry. By the time you step under the hot stream of water in the shower to warm up, you’re shivering head to toe from the cold.

Steam curls around your bare form just as the sounds in the other room gravitate towards the living room, and once more you try to brush away the thought of Ghost striding around the cottage completely naked with little success. There’s a coiling sort of tension that runs southward at the image of your lieutenant’s muscled, bare figure just steps away from your own naked form. It’s not the first time you’ve caught yourself with such thoughts- thoughts you usually reserve for your bunk at base, alone, lights turned off as your hand slithers below your waistband.

Even now, your fingers glide southward, cupping your bare cunt with a shuddering little sound. You’re a little wet just by the sight of seeing Ghost dripping, shirtless, hands fiddling brazenly with his belt with little regard for your presence. You can’t help but think about what might greet you if he had pulled his pants just a little further down, letting you see the bulge there. Ghost is massive, towering over your frame, and you wonder if whatever he hides there is at the least proportional.

You spread your cunt a little, fingers slipping between your folds as you tip your head back against the tile with a soft little sigh. You’re not sure if it’s the water or the burning heat of your own skin that coils warm in your veins, sending a murmur of pleasure electrifying across your hips and up towards the small of your spine. Your fingers trace slow, languid circles around your clit, your other hand raising to cup your breast just as you surrender and allow the vision of Ghost to engulf your hazy thoughts.

Ghost, bare, strong, built like a tank and able to rip men apart with his bare hands. Ghost, with scars littering his skin that speak of a lifetime of brutality and yet his eyes- eyes that fix you with a stare so intense you wonder sometimes if you’ll crack under the weight, burn so brightly you turn to glass, obsidian as dark as his voice that purrs in your ear during missions. Ghost who’s dark, swirling ink traces shadowy tendrils across your mind and drags you down, down into the abyss of his phantom touch.

You keen a little behind your teeth, hips pushing up into your hand just as you shudder at the thought that it’s not your nimble fingers, but his.

You have to keep quiet. The last thing you need right now is Ghost knocking on the door and asking about the barely stifled whimpers and moans you’re swallowing down with deep lungfuls of humid air. It’s hard not to make noise though, especially when you think about the idea of Ghost walking in on you like this, caging you with his towering frame against the shower wall and purring down in your ear.

“Fix.”

“Ghost.” You whisper, barely audible as your breath hitches, eyes squinted shut with pleasure. There’s a whimper bubbling up your throat, and you bite the back of your hand just to silence it, fingers working your clit faster now, the dawn of your climax ascending rapidly. You think about him, about Ghost trapping you against the shower with nowhere to run, sinking two, broad fingers into you deep enough for you to feel his knuckles broken one too many times to be even. You wonder if even that is little compared to the cock that hangs heavy between his toned thighs, ruddy and pink and leaking at the thought of sinking himself into you.

“Fuck-” You gasp, a little too loud, but you don’t care because you’re close, close enough that you can feel yourself teetering on the razor’s edge, ever nerve in your body drawing taut, tighter.

You want him. You want him here, in the shower. You want his fingers inside you plucking at the sensitive point of pleasure inside your gummy walls that clench down on him with every retreat, trying to keep yourself full. You want him to split you open on his cock, to haul your legs up to his shoulders and fold you in half as he fucks you down into the bed, growling, snarling in your ear. You want to feel yourself bow off the bed with a little cry, walls rippling over his cock just as he huffs warm breath into your ear: “Good girl, Fix. Good fucking girl.”

When you cum, you have to swallow down a sob.

As the liquid warmth of your release unspools through your veins, you tip your head back against the tile, panting, trying to catch your breath. Your legs quiver as they hold your weight, muscles weak. It takes concentration to just remain standing in the afterglow of your shattering orgasm, shoulders heaving and brow pinched as you try to regain yourself.

You raise a hand to wipe the water from your face, holding the heel of your palm to your forehead and whispering out a little curse that’s muffled by the water. Outside, you can hear Ghost shuffling about in the kitchen and living room, and you pray by some grace of god he heard absolutely nothing from inside the shower.

It’s only after you’re steady on your feet again that you remember you have no clothes.

You groan then, heedless of the sound, burying your face in your hands and praying for some type of divine intervention or damnation. Inside the mist of your mind, Ghost’s chuckle haunts your thoughts.

You’re so fucked.

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[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 3]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.4K

When you woke up, you saw Wooyoung in your kitchen, standing over the stove. Seonghwa was still asleep in your bed and you assumed Jongho was also passed out in the guest room where he shared a bed with Wooyoung.

"You're up early..." You yawned.

"Hi, love~ Good morning." Wooyoung smiled sweetly. He poured coffee into your mug and slid it over to you, as well as a small bottle of hangover cure.

"Thanks." You took a sip of coffee first before drinking the hangover cure. Then you shuffled over to him.

"What are you making?" You peered over his shoulder.

"Sopa de fideo, our usual hangover cure. I would have made avgolemono (Greek soup with lemon and chicken broth, thickened with eggs) but you're out of lemons." He said.

"Oh, I better remember to get some when I go to the shops again. And I'm always down for sopa." You smiled.

"Better add fideo pasta then. I just used the bag up." Wooyoung informed. You nodded with a hum and went to the fridge. You started to make a mixed fruit juice for Seonghwa, knowing he liked sweets to help him get over a hangover. He also didn't like bitter things and didn't like coffee.

"Hwa might only wake up later. After his drunk nagging and making fun of me, I only managed to get him to sleep at like 6 am." You clicked your tongue.

"He is so funny when he's drunk." Wooyoung snickered.

"If he's so funny, next time, you take him. The both of you were messes, Jongho and I wanted to just leave you both out here."

"Let's do that next time." Jongho spoke, letting out a loud yawn and stretching his arms over his head. He had an arm on his neck as he stretched out the stiff muscles.

"Jong, your hair." You laughed, reaching out to help him tame his messy bedhair.

"Wooyoung hyung kicked me in my ribs. I think I have a bruise." Jongho hissed, glaring at Wooyoung, who turned back to the stove and whistled innocently. You went to pour Jongho a big mug of coffee and get a small bottle of hangover cure.

"Alright, later, let's try to compile a list of produce suppliers we can contact for the restaurant. We'll probably have to use our own equipment until Yunho can get them in." You said.

"Yes. We'll definitely need our stand mixers." Jongho nodded.

"Ugh, those things are so heavy though. It's going to be a nightmare to transport them back and forth." Wooyoung whined.

"And at the same time, we can discuss a menu so we know what equipment we need." You added. When Wooyoung finished cooking, he portioned everything out.

"Pepper mill, please." You asked. Once Jongho finished garnishing his own bowl, he handed it over to you.

"Is Hwa hyung unconscious?" Jongho asked. Wooyoung snorted as he took a bite of food.

"I think so. He's too talkative when he drinks. I might have smothered him with my pillow in my intoxicated state." You shrugged. You said that with such a straight face that others who didn't know you might have thought you were serious. But Jongho and Wooyoung knew you long enough to know you were joking.

"Thanks for cooking, Woo. It was just what I needed." You said, starting to do the dishes. When Jongho was done, he came to help you dry the things and put them away.

"We'll have to wake Hwa soon." You yawned, laying over the couch.

"Ah, let him sleep more." Wooyoung grinned, coming over and laying his body on top of yours, making you grunt.

"Don't squish her, hyung." Jongho said, sitting on the armchair after refilling his coffee tumbler.

"Yah, Choi Jongho. I'm not that heavy." Wooyoung scolded and made no effort to remove himself from you. He even snuggled closer to you, letting out happy sounds.

"I'm so glad we're past the stage of you wanting to claw my eyes out." He giggled.

"Who says we're past the stage?" You mumbled.

"Okay, I'm going to take a warm shower. My brain is fogging." Jongho stood up and went to the room. You poked Wooyoung in his ticklish spots, making him yelp and yell until he got off you. You smiled victoriously and went to your room.

"Hwa!" You jumped onto the lump under the blanket like an evil cat. Seonghwa groaned at the impact, shifting under the blanket. You wriggled your body, squishing him.

"Darling, I'm not going to go deeper into the mattress." Seonghwa murmured, his voice muffled by the blanket.

"Wake up, Hwa. There's things to discuss."

"Well, I can't with you on me, can I?" He chuckled. You didn't even have a chance to get up before the door opened and a very loud Wooyoung barged in.

"Cuddle pile?! Where was my invite?!" He complained as he fell on top of you. You and Seonghwa winced.

"This isn't a cuddle pile! I'm trying to wake Hwa up." You squirmed.

"And not doing a very good job at it." Seonghwa said, reaching out from under the blanket to stroke your head while you shot him an offended look.

"We can just stay here all day." Wooyoung wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in to hug you, burying his face into your back. As you laid between them, Seonghwa shifted slightly so you had space but was still hogging your duvet. He was wrapped in it like a comfortable burrito.

"You should eat something, Hwa. I made you mixed juice in the fridge since you don't drink coffee." You said.

"What's the food? Did you cook?" He asked, voice slurring ever so slightly, an indication that he was falling back asleep very soon.

"I made sopa. Miss (y/n) here needs to go to the shops soon, she didn't even have lemons in the fridge." Wooyoung replied. You reached behind and slapped his hip.

"Hmm..." Seonghwa hummed. His eyes were the only thing you could see peeking over the blanket and they were closed.

"Hwa's so tired." You whispered to Wooyoung. Seeing Seonghwa so tired, you didn't really have it in you to wake him up again, wanting to let him sleep.

"And hungover." Wooyoung added.

"Yet both of you were the ones who didn't want to stop drinking last night." You said softly, turning your head to see Wooyoung just press his lips into a thin line. He clearly didn't remember what happened last night, none of the boys do. Even Jongho.

When you turned around again after a while to see why Wooyoung was so quiet, you realised that he had fallen back asleep too. You carefully slipped out of his grasp.

"Where's everyone?" Jongho asked when he saw you emerge. He had a towel on his head, used to dry his hair.

"Sleeping in my bed." You sighed and sat down beside him.

"Want to go to the shops?" He suggested. That wouldn't be a bad idea. Jongho was objective and didn't get as distracted as Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

"Sure. Just let me go change." You stood up, heading into the room to get some clothes.

-

Yunho let out a tired sigh as he came out of his father's office. He spent the night drafting a contract between himself and your cooking team. Then the moment it hit morning, he drove to his father's law firm to have him look it over. Mr Jeong made some edits but nothing major before sending his son off.

'Where are you? Want to go get brunch with Yeosang and I? - San'

'I just came out of my father's office after letting him look over the contract I drew up last night... Sure, I'll eat then go home to sleep. Text me the address. - Yunho'

After receiving the location address, Yunho drove over to where San and Yeosang were.

"Hey, sorry for the wait." Yunho said to his friend as he approached their booth. They shook their heads, San sliding in for Yunho to sit.

"How did it go?" Yeosang asked.

"It's fine. My dad made some minor changes but nothing too major. It's just a 1 year contract anyway, which I know how to draft." Yunho shrugged, looking through the menu.

"I meant with the cooking team. Must have went well for you to draft a contract right away." Yeosang laughed.

"Oh! It went well. Hongjoong hyung's friend, Seonghwa sshi, he is like their manager or some sort. But the main chef is this girl, (y/n) sshi. She's really cool, you'll see what I mean when you meet her tomorrow." Yunho grinned.

"Do you already have a crush on her?" San raised an eyebrow.

"No! I don't. She's just cool... I want to be her friend. And the other two guys in the team are cool as well, they're all cool! Seonghwa sshi and Wooyoung sshi are sous chefs. Jongho is a prep chef."

"That's nice, Yunho ah. But can the 4 of them handle the workload or bakery items and dinner service?" San asked.

"Well, that seemed to be their concern too. But I think they worked out a schedule." Yunho shrugged.

"That's why there's a contract?" Yeosang clarified. Yunho nodded.

"Oh yes, I was going to text (y/n) to tell her the contract has been drawn so they can sign it before work tomorrow." Yunho took his phone out to text you with an excited smile.

"Wow, tomorrow is opening." San said in disbelief. After seeing Yunho work so hard for the restaurant, it was finally going to open.

"I know, it feels weird to say that it's opening tomorrow. I can't believe it, really. Time passes so fast with all the construction and sourcing of things to put the restaurant together." Yunho rubbed the back of his neck. Just thinking about it made his heart race with anticipation, all the fatigue melted away.

"Let's order. I'm starving, I need my protein." Yeosang said. The both of them were gym rats so their post gym meals were always large. Yunho, Hongjoong and Mingi were always too lazy to go.

After the waiter took their order, they continued their conversation. Yunho glanced at his phone when you replied.

'Thank you for preparing it in such a timely manner, Yunho sshi. What time should my team and I be in tomorrow? - (y/n) sshi'

'You're welcome! 😊 It was no big deal at all, actually. Part of the job. How long will you and the team need to start preparing the pastries for opening? 🤔 - Yunho sshi'

'Depends. We will need to source for ingredients since the fridges and cupboards are empty. - (y/n) sshi'

'Sorry about that 😞 - Yunho sshi'

'I didn't say that for you to apologise to me. It is understandable since you didn't have a kitchen crew until yesterday. If possible, can I drop by later today to bring some equipment and ingredients for storage to be used tomorrow morning? - (y/n) sshi'

'Of course! What time is good? - Yunho sshi'

'Say 4pm? - (y/n) sshi'

'That's perfect! I'll see you then! 😼 - Yunho sshi'

Yunho had been so busy talking to you that he didn't notice Yeosang and San stopping their conversation to stare at him. He had a dopey grin on his face.

"Earth to Yunho?" San waved his hand in front of the taller male's face, making Yunho blink and look up.

"Who are you talking to...?" Yeosang leaned on his hands.

"Oh, (y/n) sshi asked if she can drop off ingredients and equipment off later at the restaurant. So she doesn't have to bring them in with the team at 5am." Yunho informed.

Yunho didn't know why he looked forward to working with you. Maybe because you seemed so wise when it came to food. The last person who awe'd him with food knowledge was his own grandmother, the whole reason why he loves food and eating, and wanted to open his own restaurant.

"Here you go." The waiter came back with their food and drinks, giving out the plates.

"Thank you for the food." The boys chimed and dug in.

"I'll help you behind the coffee counter tomorrow, Yunho. We can barista together." San smiled. Out of the group, Yeosang and Hongjoong were the worst with handling food.

"Mingi's going to try and sneak into the kitchen to steal food." Yeosang chuckled.

"He does love bread and pastries." Yunho rationalised.

After that brunch, Yunho went home to catch up on some much needed sleep. He made sure to set an alarm, he didn't want to be late to meeting you.

Yunho was on time, but when he pulled up into the parking space beside the restaurant, he saw you waiting there, leaning against a van and fiddling with your phone. His eyes widened in panic as he rushed to remove his seat belt and got out.

"Sorry I'm late!" He ran over.

"You're not late. I was early." You raised an eyebrow, standing up and tucking your phone into your pocket. Compared to yesterday, you were dressed a lot more casually, in sweats and a hoodie.

"Are you on your own?" He tilted his head when he noticed there was no one else in the van. You gave a nod and a hum, tugging your hoodie down.

"I'll get a trolley from inside. Hold on." Yunho went into the restaurant and grabbed a trolley.

"Oh wow." He was stunned when you pulled open the van door, revealing all the ingredients and equipment inside.

"We should move the cold stuff in first. It's these." You pointed to the cartons butter, milk, cream and other things that needed to be in the refridgerator immediately.

"Sure." He picked up the cartons and stacked them onto the trolley, wheeling them in.

"Why don't you stock the fridge while I bring the rest in? I'll bring the produce first." Yunho suggested. You nodded and went into the walk in, which was already turned on and cold. You began to stack everything inside, making a mental note to get bins and labels to organise it better.

"(y/n) sshi?" Yunho called you and you stepped out to see that he really brought in all the produce on his own. You were impressed by his energy and strength.

"That's fast." You chuckled. His ears turned red at your words but he maintained his grin.

"What should I do next?" He asked, enthusiasm in his voice. You imagined if he had a tail, he would be wagging it.

"Well, let's organise these first then. Before bringing in the equipment." You told him. He nodded and helped you bring the vegetables in.

"Shall I put these here?" He asked. You gave a nod and he put the vegetables neatly. He hummed softly to himself as he worked.

*RINGGGGGG

"Excuse me." You left Yunho and stepped out to answer the phone. Since you just stood in the kitchen, Yunho could hear bits and pieces of your conversation.

"Hwa, you were sleeping so I went to the shops with Jongho... No, he is not with me now. He had to go to his parents' place... I'm at the restaurant with Yunho. I brought some produce and equipment for tomorrow..." You said.

"Well, I tried to wake you. You went back to sleep... I borrowed a van from my neighbour and brought everything over... Don't worry, I can manage. Yunho did most of the lifting." You sighed.

"Alright... Make the bed before you go, I don't like my sheets in a mess." You hummed and ended the call.

Yunho's eyes widened. Were you and Seonghwa in a relationship? Judging by how caring and protective Seonghwa was of you, he shouldn't be surprised.

"Apologies." You came back and Yunho shook his head, acting like he had been busy.

"That's done. I won't need the meats in the freezer since we are serving them tomorrow." You said.

"So we bring the equipment in?" He asked. You nodded and walked out with Yunho trailing behind you. The equipment wasn't much but you did bring yours and Jongho's stand mixers.

"These are heavy." Yunho grunted as you lifted them from the trolley and onto the counters.

"They need to not move when mixing." You replied. Other than that, you brought in some pots, pans, a sous vide machine, a vaccum sealer and smaller essentials like mixing bowls, cutting boards and other cooking utensils.

"Let me know how much these are. I'll pay you back." Yunho said as he unwrapped the new set of measuring cups while you sorted the cooking utensils.

"It's fine."

"(y/n) sshi, these are for use in here so please, let me pay you back for them." He begged with a small pout.

"Alright." You nodded. Yunho glanced at you as your organised the kitchen in a particular way. He guessed it was the way you and your team worked comfortably.

You didn't try to make conversation with him but you could feel his eyes on you. You just continued arranging what you needed.

"S-So what did you have in mind for the menu tomorrow?" He stuttered.

"For the bakery, looks like it'll be lemon poppy seed madeleines, strawberry basil tartlets and palmiers. For the cakes, we're thinking a cheesecake of some sort, yuzu drizzle loaf and red velvet." You listed out, having brainstormed with Jongho at the market earlier so you could buy ingredients.

"Oh wow. That all sounds so good." Yunho's jaw slackened slightly at your words.

"If there's time, we'll push more stuff out since we want to test to ovens and equipment." You explained.

"Then is there any prep stuff that you need to do now?" Yunho only knew that some dishes needed to be prepared early because his grandmother used to marinate meats and vegetables overnight.

"Are you able to assist with food prep?" You eyed him.

"I have not done it before but I can try!" He grinned excitedly.

"Never said you will be." You stated, going to get your apron. You grabbed a spare apron and handed it to him.

"Actually, I'll help you sanitise and wash the stuff first. I might not be much help." Yunho rubbed the back of his neck when he saw you take your wrap of kitchen tools out, including your knife.

"We haven't even started yet..." You scoffed.

"Yeah but I feel like I might be in your way. When I was granted my food license, the intructor told me he hopes I'm not actually going to put my food license to use... I'm better washing dishes than actually cooking..." He said in embarrassment, his ears turning red. But you noticed the small pout on his face.

"Just try. If you can't, you can't." You turned to the counter space to continue setting up. Yunho smiled softly, grateful for your indirect way of encouragement?

"Okay, so we'll start with a blackberry apple tuile. We can leave it in the dehydrator overnight." You said.

"I'll get the cutting boards washed." Yunho said while you went into the walk in to get the ingredients that you would need.

You laid out the ingredients and used the sink on the other side to wash the fruit that you would be using. When they were done, you stood next to Yunho and started working on the apples.

"Umm..." Yunho didn't move. He didn't know what to do. For a moment, you forgot he was new to this.

"Sorry. Here. Use this." You handed him one of your spare utility knives.

"Hold the knife like this and slice the blackberries in half like this." You demonstrated. Yunho nodded and began doing the task. You watched him for a bit, worried that he might cut himself since he seemed a little wobbly.

"Like this...?" He winced, not that he cut himself. He was worried that he was doing a bad job. But you really can't do a bad job at cutting berries in half.

"That's fine." You prepared lemon water in a bowl. Then you took your pairing knife and began to peel the green apples that would be used.

~

Series masterlist

[freshsupplies]

Bakery Solution Providers

[master-john-uk]

YES you can!

I am not sure how to check the origins of baked beans, but most of our daily food intake can be sourced from local growers/suppliers.

I was a little alarmed/surprised/annoyed when I read last week that only 17% of fruit consumed in the UK is grown on British farms.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Sensei, I know you're into classic cars, how many do you own? I hear even Sam has a hard time fulfilling your orders of rare parts. Have you ever rewarded him with a free ride?

Sorry, I couldn’t not have Crewel talk about his car like he’s dating it/j

Sometimes you’re just so passionate about your interests that it comes off as weird to people who don’t Get It… I wanted to capture that feeling here.

If he doesn't scare you, no evil thing will.

Crewel held up a single finger. “I’ve tinkered with and stolen glances at other classic cars, but in my heart, I’m a committed man. There’s a favorite of mine, my one and only.”

“Oh, the red one?”

“The very same, yes.”

The image of it was almost automatic in your mind. Numerous times you had witnessed Crewel pulling onto campus in that iconic car. Deep crimson, like the skin of a fruit forbidden. For a vehicle so vintage, it was in mint condition, free of dirt and dents, shining like a brand new medal.

“It’s a real beauty,” Crewel continued proudly. “I’ve of course lavished it with plenty of TLC—tender love and care. Sam is my primary supplier of parts, though even he can find it a challenge to meet my demands.”

“Wow, you give him a real run for his money!”

Crewel gave a soft laugh. “I never find a bad thing to say about him though. The goods Sam procures are of the highest quality and he is always willing to work with me to find a compromise. He’s highly competent, and that’s something I can appreciate.”

“It sounds like you two have a strong relationship. That’s good, because I was beginning to think you had beef with all your colleagues!”

Trein and Crowley automatically came to your mind. Crewel often butted heads with them in the hallways—like a cat and dog, you thought, or a dog chasing down a bird.

“Sam is an exception. I don’t mind his company.” Crewel shook his head. “The other day, I happened to find him walking along the road in the direction of the town. He said he was taking ‘the scenic route’ to enjoy the springtime, pointing out the lily pads and the frogs.

“… I immediately ordered him into my car and drove him the rest of the way. Typically it’s just my dogs that ride with me, but I couldn’t let him make that steep trip on his lonesome. I consider the lift payback for his painstaking efforts to acquire rare parts for me.”

You chuckled to yourself, and Crewel noticed.

“What’s so funny, pup?” he demanded.

“Nothing, it’s just…” you swallowed your giggles, composed yourself. “It’s nice to see your soft side come out. Crewel-sensei can be as kind as he is cruel.”

He folded his arms, but he did not look displeased. Instead, he offered a sly smile. “Damn right.”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Fic Recs - Joel Miller (series)

fic recs for completed and ongoing series starring Joel Miller

Key: 🏴 = dark, 💕 = fluff, ⛓ = rough/bdsm elements, 💀 = dead dove do not eat

Mind the warnings, and please read responsibly. you control your own media consumption.

All Fic Recs | TLOU Fic Recs | Joel one-shots pt. 1 & pt. 2

dark!Joel

*note: if fics fit multiple categories but contain dark!Joel, they will go here only.

🏴💀slasher!joel by @toxicanonymity (ongoing)

summary: serial killer Joel Miller picks you up with his tow truck and you end up fighting (and fucking) for your life.

🏴⛓💀 raider!joel by @toxicanonymity (ongoing)

summary: Stockholm syndrome on your end, it isn't time that does it on his. Joel saves you from bad men, but claims you for himself and takes you with him. You're his, and he won't let anyone forget it. His survival persona starts to crack, and he gets softer with you, but even more possessive and protective. Emotionally, this is quite a slow burn. Smut wise, not so much.

🏴💀 bullet for you darlin' by @kewwrites (ongoing)

summary: After surviving on your own for so long, when you're no longer useful for trade Joel decides to take something a little more personal from you.

🏴💀 blessed be the fruit by @romana-after-dark (ongoing)

summary: A few decades into Gilead’s conception, you head into your first posting as a handmaid after an affair with a guardian landed you in trouble. Determined to keep your head low in order to keep your son safe, you take on the moniker of OfJoel. Commander Miller has very little to do with you and mrs. Miller regards you with disgust, however you find solace in an unlikely friendship with Commander Miller’s daughter from a handmaid 14 years ago, Ellie who just got done with wives school. You and your friend, Ofthomas start teacher her and her friend Reilly under her mothers nose. Slowly, Commander Miller begins spending time with you and you begin to learn more about the man he was before and an affair begins outside the confines of the ceremony. Although initially you go along with it out if survival, you find yourself falling for the version of Joel you saw in these late night rendezvous.

Which Joel is really him, and how will he react when his own daughters secrets are revealed?

🏴💀 vampire!Joel series by @toxicanonymity (ongoing)

summary: vampire!Joel kidnaps you and tries to keep you.

🏴💀 smother by @beardedjoel (ongoing)

summary: can you hold a man as both your savior to be worshipped and the monster that he is?

🏴 carnal by @pascalsbby

summary: You thought you had it all figured out before him. Animals. Tender, primal flesh. That’s what we are at the end of the day, no? Fucking, testing one another, and then eating each other alive, heart first. Maybe the heart is the sweetest part of the body- or maybe it’s just the easiest to get to. You knew you wanted to be completely devoured by him. You wanted to fill the space between his teeth.

bdsm

fics with explicitly d/s dynamics or play, not just rough sex/kinks, dom!Joel unless otherwise noted

⛓ strawberry by @joelsgreys (ongoing)

summary: a series of connected stand-alones following daddy dom!Joel and sub!reader through different elements of their dynamic.

⛓ you wanted this by @alwaysmicado (complete?)

summary: Joel and you have a fun dynamic going. You provoke him, he punishes you - you both get off. When you meet him after you’ve fucked someone else, he decides to show you who you belong to. It’s all fun and games, right?

qz!Joel

something wretched about this by @covetyou (complete)

summary: Your father has been sick since before the world went to shit, but being sick now just made things even harder. Ration cards were few and far between, and the pills to keep him comfortable were even scarcer. When he can't pay up, what lengths will you go to to protect your entire world? Featuring Joel Miller; self appointed pharmacist, medication supplier, drug dealer and total, utter slut.

the menu by @tightjeansjavi (ongoing)

Joel Miller has a menu concocted just for his customers. Pills? He’s got ‘em. Guns? Ammo? Name your price. Booze to warm the broken souls and hearts of the QZ? give him a holler. Everything comes with a price, of course. Joels got somethin’ special on his menu. Somethin’ that he doesn’t advertise freely. Y’gotta want it. Y’gotta have a desire that matches his own, only then will he offer what you seek.

jackson!Joel

A Safe Haven by @joelsgreys (ongoing)

summary: When Joel Miller and Ellie Williams return to Jackson, Wyoming to begin their new lives, the last thing Joel expects is to catch the eye of the thriving community’s equine veterinarian. Young, beautiful, and married, Joel knows that he should stay away from a woman like you, but he can’t help but to be drawn to you like a moth to a flame. As you start growing closer to both Joel and Ellie, you find out all about the secrets they both carry—and they find out you’ve been hiding a secret or two of your own.

mall rats by @strang3lov3 (ongoing)

summary: you and Joel are assigned to scavenge an old mall. (well, you're assigned and Joel has to accompany you for backup). sarcasm, bickering-as-foreplay, and more ensue.

Mr. Miller series by @tremendum (ongoing)

summary: six months before you ran yourself into any trouble with somebody - that’s no easy feat, considering your track record, so you like to call it a win anyways. but boy, talk about a rocky start with someone. Tommy’s goddamn brother, no less.

slow hands by @tightjeansjavi (ongoing)

summary: Joel Miller thinks that your coffee shop in Jackson is a bit too “frivolous” for his taste until Tommy tells him one day that it’s the best cup of coffee that he’ll ever have. Little does he know..he’s going to get more than just a cup of coffee when he finally meets you. You soon find out that the grumpy old man with a rambunctious teenager, is hiding sugar sweet softness under layers of hardness.

Fear of God by @netherfeildren (complete)

summary: What was monstrousness? What was it, but a certainty that there existed within you multitudes of desires, needs, guilts, impulses – humanity? At the end of the world, when the dust has finally settled, Joel grapples with what it is to take hold of your own monstrosity – your own humanity – and live with it. And what it is to bear that truth in the palm of your hand held towards the person you love, offer it to them, and have it be accepted for what it was. Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

angst

clouds by @softlyspector (two shot)

summary: Joel comes home to find you telling your daughter a bedtime story.

Pink by @netherfeildren (complete)

summary: Humanism: an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

dinner and diatribes by @tightjeansjavi (ongoing)

summary: you’re the kind of love that Joel Miller has been dreaming of all his life

fluff

[yikes I do not read enough fluff. send me your faves pls. coming soon?]

no outbreak/AU

New in Town by @justagalwhowrites (ongoing)

summary: When you move to Austin for work, your best friend Sarah recommends that you hang out with her dad, Joel, to get to know the area. Sarah just never mentioned the fact that her dad is just your type.

ravish by @psychedelic-ink (complete?)

summary: Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

a lover's pinch by @hier--soir (ongoing)

summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. joel miller is entirely off limits. but now that you’ve had a taste, will you be able to keep your hands to yourselves?

sugar daddy joel by @notjustjavierpena (ongoing)

summary: Joel Miller, a walking menace, buys you pretty things in exchange for shoving his cock in you. 

the checklist by @thetriumphantpanda (ongoing)

summary: Your new boyfriend Joel finds your hidden stash of porn, full of pages with their corners folded over, marking the things you like the most. Expecting him to feel bad about finding things you’re into, things you haven’t asked for from him, you’re surprised when he offers to help you tick them off.

meet me in the back series by @atticrissfinch (ongoing)

summary: When the gas station clerk refuses to sell you alcohol after a shitty day, you need to get creative

Divine Dynasty by @cavillscurls (ongoing)

summary: Your father had been a loyal asset to the Miller Clan for his entire life. After his passing, Joel feels a responsibility for you and your safety; inviting you further into his world, and your desires.

Law of Attraction by @mandoisapunk (ongoing)

summary: you and your criminal law professor have an undeniable attraction toward each other. so, it's only natural that you both explore that attraction... but navigating a dynamic like that is never as simple as it seems.

online friends by @walkintotheriveranddisappear (complete)

summary: hot single dilfs in your area want to chat, and you're more than willing to comply (aka: anonymous sex chatting with joel)

Catalyst by @ezrasbirdie (ongoing; ft. Frankie Morales)

summary: After falling into bed together on the night of Frankie’s 40th birthday party, you, Joel, and Frankie start a relationship.

[autumnmist101]

Hermit Head-cannons

Hello! I've been wanting to share some of my hermitcraft head-cannons and seen @silly-st4rrr was wanting to see some. So, thank you to them for giving me a reason to share. <3

General Head-cannons:

Hybrid hermits can morph forms on command or intentionally keep certain parts of each form on them at all times. However, they can also morph or go into full form involuntarily from things like nightmares, flashbacks, or just being around similar creatures for too long.

All mammal hybrids must get vaccinations yearly.

Hybrids can form in a number of ways. Some formed from contact with a creature’s DNA, some are born with the form, while others have been. . . magically infused with a form.

Traffic life victors recall all memories and emotions and trauma from the games. Non-victors recall major parts and major emotions, however, forget most of what happened.

When someone perma-dies in the games, they are immediately teleported back to hermitcraft/empires.

All worlds are connected via void, however, can be traversed via rifts, portals, teleporting, and through a main hub with shopping areas. (how do you think hermits get new clothes?) Group/duo head-cannons:

Pearl and Grian were inseparable the first week she was on the server.

Hermit Parent Club (HPC): Doc, Keralis, Joe Hills, Impulse, Skizz, Tango, Bdubs, Stress, and Beef (newest member) meet once every 2 months.

Gem, Pearl, and Mumbo will make up problems for when anyone in the Hermit Parent Club needs to feel parental.

Mumbo still wants a tower building rematch with Gem, who refuses to give him one.

Boatem still has sleepovers together monthly.

Scar and Pearl have an avoidance of chorus fruit and refuse to explain why to Grian.

It is now a rule that the ZITS crew must take a minimum of iron armor to ‘naked whatever raiding’.

Mumbo and Pearl will secretly eat red-stone torches together. Mumbo is the supplier.

Joe will supply Mumbo with redstone when he needs it. (He doesn't ask why he needs it.)

Doc and Ren have been trying to create the perfect dog treat. Problem is neither of them can bake.

Pearl and Bdubs will confide in each other on days where they feel too tall/short.

Afab hermits meet for Ladies Night at least once a month.

Bdubs and Scar still call Cleo 'Mom' from time to time.

Cleo and Pearl will talk about the games and how they wish things could have been different in DL.

That's all for now. I do have individual hermit head-cannons, but this post is long enough. Hope you enjoyed! <3

[reasonsforhope]

"As countries around the world begin to either propose or enforce zero-deforestation regulations, companies are coming under growing pressure to prove that their products are free of deforestation. But this is often a far from straightforward process.

Take palm oil, for instance. Its journey from plantations, most likely in Indonesia or Malaysia, to store shelves in the form of shampoo, cookies or a plethora of other goods, is a long and convoluted one. In fact, the cooking oil or cosmetics we use might contain palm oil processed in several different mills, which in turn may have bought the raw palm fruit from several of the many thousands of plantations. For companies that use palm oil in their products, tracing and tracking its origins through these obscure supply chains is a tough task. Often it requires going all the way back to the plot level and checking for deforestation. However, these plots are scattered over vast areas across potentially millions of locations, with data being in various states of digitization and completeness...

Palmoil.io, a web-based monitoring platform that Bottrill launched, is attempting to help palm oil companies get around this hurdle. Its PlotCheck tool allows companies to upload plot boundaries and check for deforestation without any of the data being stored in their system. In the absence of an extensive global map of oil palm plots, the tool was developed to enable companies to prove compliance with regulations without having to publicly disclose detailed data on their plots. PlotCheck now spans 13 countries including Indonesia and Malaysia, and aims to include more in the coming months.

Palm oil production is a major driver of deforestation in Indonesia and Malaysia, although deforestation rates linked to it have declined in recent years. While efforts to trace illegally sourced palm oil have ramped up in recent years, tracing it back to the source continues to be a challenge owing to the complex supply chains involved.

Recent regulatory proposals have, however, made it imperative for companies to find a way to prove that their products are free of deforestation. Last June, the European Union passed legislation that prohibits companies from sourcing products, including palm oil, from land deforested after 2020. A similar law putting the onus on businesses to prove that their commodities weren’t produced on deforested land is also under discussion in the U.K. In the U.S., the U.S. Forest Bill aims to work toward a similar goal, while states like New York are also discussing legislation to discourage products produced on deforested land from being circulated in the markets there...

PlotCheck, which is now in its beta testing phase, allows users to input the plot data in the form of a shape file. Companies can get this data from palm oil producers. The plot data is then checked and analyzed with the aid of publicly available deforestation data, such as RADD (Radar for Detecting Deforestation) alerts that are based on data from the Sentinel-1 satellite network and from NASA’s Landsat satellites. The tool also uses data available on annual tree cover loss and greenhouse gas emission from plantations.

Following the analysis, the tool displays an interactive online map that indicates where deforestation has occurred within the plot boundaries. It also shows details on historical deforestation in the plot as well as data on nearby mills. If deforestation is detected, users have the option of requesting the team to cross-check the data and determine if it was indeed caused by oil palm cultivation, and not logging for artisanal mining or growing other crops. “You could then follow up with your supplier and say there is a potential red flag,” Bottrill said.

As he waits to receive feedback from users, Bottrill said he’s trying to determine how to better integrate PlotCheck into the workflow of companies that might use the tool. “How can we take this information, verify it quickly and turn it into a due diligence statement?” he said. “The output is going to be a statement, which companies can submit to authorities to prove that their shipment is deforestation-free.” ...

Will PlotCheck work seamlessly? That’s something Bottrill said he’s cautiously optimistic about. He said he’s aware of the potential challenges with regard to data security and privacy. However, he said, given how zero-deforestation legislation like that in the EU are unprecedented in their scope, companies will need to sit up and take action to monitor deforestation linked to their products.

“My perspective is we should use the great information produced by universities, research institutes, watchdog groups and other entities. Plus, open-source code allows us to do things quickly and pretty inexpensively,” he said. “So I am positive that it can be done.”"

-via Mongabay, January 26, 2024

--

Note: I know it's not "stop having palm oil plantations." (A plan I'm in support of...monocrop plantations are always bad, and if palm oil production continues, it would be much better to produce it using sustainable agroforestry techniques.)

However, this is seriously a potentially huge step/tool. Since the EU's deforestation regulations passed, along with other whole-supply-chain regulations, people have been really worried about how the heck we're going to enforce them. This is the sort of tool we need/need the industry to have to have a chance of genuinely making those regulations actually work. Which, if it does work, it could be huge.

It's also a great model for how to build supply chain monitoring for other supply chain regulations, like the EU's recent ban on companies destroying unsold clothes.

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 8)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew & Reader-Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: None (besides yandere behavior, but this is part 8 and you get the picture by now).

If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this series and block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as relevant tags such as 'one piece yandere'.

Remember, you guys (at least some of you) voted! And your actions have consequences 😘

Word Count: 1,268

To say Twin-Blade leaving for a ‘mission’ was dramatic would be an understatement. He cried woefully into your shoulder, picking you up several times as though he was going to take you with him.

“—and don’t forget to eat while I’m gone! My division is the best but I know it won’t be the same with me not cooking!” Twin-Blade cried out, receiving a smattering of offended blustering for his ridiculousness. Marco shoved his head away from you with an irritated sigh.

“The sooner you leave the faster you can come back, Thatch. Quit freaking them out.”

Twin-Blade pouted, arms still firmly locked around your shoulders.

“But they haven’t said goodbye yet! Or told me how much they’ll miss me when I’m gone! How can I leave my newest sibling in such conditions?!” Twin-Blade begged. You reflexively cringed.

“Yeah… I’m not doing that. Please let go, Twin-Blade.”

He froze, eyes wide as he blinked. Slowly, he looked at you with teary eyes.

“At least call me by my name!” Twin-Blade cried out desperately.

“No.” You huffed, pressing both hands against his chest to no avail until Marco shoved his finger into Twin-Blade’s forehead and pushed.

He stumbled back with a pitiful sputter before grabbing his pack. Taking a low stance and pointing at you accusingly.

“Fine! But I want a hug when I come back! With a happy smile and everything!”

“Why? Do I get to leave when you return?” You asked dryly, receiving an irritated sigh from Marco beside you as Ace cackled.

“No! Because you’re happy to see me, damnit!” Twin-Blade huffed.

“Oh…” His face brightened for just a moment. “Then no.”

He grumbled, waving to the rest of the crew that was seeing him off with a small party to retrieve medication for Whitebeard.

“…It’s kinda weird you guys don’t have a regular supplier.” You commented as the small crew sailed off with no additional fanfare or waterworks.

“We haven’t managed to get an island under our protection that manufactures the medicine we need. And it would bring undue attention to go to a specific pharmacy not well within our territory. This is easier, though a little convoluted. It’s not like it’s rare medication.” Marco commented.

You made a noise of understanding.

“The marines have several labs hidden away for all their research and medical needs. Never been to any of them myself, though they considered sending me there when my devil fruit was discovered.” You pondered what that would have been like. You’d… never heard anything too telling about it. But considering how intense the discussion was you gathered that there was some… issues with the labs.

“…Do you even know what they planned to do with you?” Ace asked curiously. You looked at him and made a ‘so-so’ gesture.

“I got the impression that I was going to be assigned to someone specific as a partner before they started wondering if there were side effects to my devil fruit. At that point, even I wasn’t sure what it could be. Whoever it was, they didn’t want to risk anything unexpected.” You sighed. “I went through a lot of partners, but they were all kinda dicks. Before and after being exposed to my fruit. I thought that maybe a side effect was like… an over-inflated ego trip but you both have been in contact with me for some time and you’re not—well, I mean—you’re weird but still weird? Maybe it depends on the person’s psychological profile…” You shrugged.

“Dicks? Hm… did your ‘partners’ have anything else in common?” you blinked at Ace.

“Actually, yeah. They did. None of them were high ranking or especially strong, likely in case something went wrong with their power, but there was one specific thing they all had in common with their devil fruits.” You admitted.

--*--

“Commander Thatch! We’re being followed by a pirate ship!”

“Heh! Well, let’s say ‘hello’, boys!”

--*--

“They had to do with heat.”

--*--

“Is that?!”

“No way!”

“C-Commander! That’s a devil fruit!”

--*--

“A-Admiral Akainu, sir! Here’s the file you asked for!” A nervous ensign stuttered out. Akainu looked over his shoulder, cigar butt grinding between his teeth as he hissed.

“Leave.” He growled, snatching up the remarkably thin folder. Despite his temper, he kept his hand cool—or as cool as it ever was underneath his leather glove. His opposite hand however, dripped small bits of magma onto the carpet. The fire snuffed out under his heel as he threw it onto the desk.

The file fell open, papers scattering across the surface with a picture clipped to the main page.

This glasses reflected light underneath the standard marine cap, a bright beaming smile captured for the record keeping boys.

Akainu had thumbed through a copy of the file several times, keeping a close eye on any updates as they occurred. Minor injury reports, transfers, the works. But none pissed him off more than the status box stamped in red.

CAPTURED.

WHITEBEARD PIRATES, XX/XX/XXXX – [-/-/-].

STATUS: UNKNOWN, PRESUMED COMPROMISED.

At his own insistence, there was an addendum added to the file permanently.

IF FOUND, REPORT DIRECTLY TO ADMIRAL AKAINU FOR RETRIEVAL.

His cigar burned into nothing but ash on his lips as he sneered.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be back soon, my dear. And I’ll make sure it never happens again.” Akainu hissed, plucking up your picture with his melting fist clenched tight behind his back to prevent any damage. “We’ll bring real Justice to those filthy pirates. And I plan to make them scream for thinking they could corrupt you.”

He flicked his wrist, flinging molten lava against the far wall where a collage of Whitebeard Pirate bounty posters were pinned. The whole collection bursting into fire and falling to the floor in a rain of ash.

Soon.

--*--

Thatch watched as the Moby Dick came into view, their mission successful. Several months worth of medication in the hull as well as a smattering of general supplies to bulk up with just in case.

Marco promised him a party and Thatch was arriving with a whole new reason to celebrate.

The massive fruit nestled under his arm, purple spikes and green leaves poking into his clothes. He wondered if you’d know what it could do or if he’d have to look it up himself. He was hopeful you could both bond over it at the very least, though he was still on the fence about eating it. It was a big decision to make. And he’d made it this far without a devil fruit.

Who knows, maybe it did something really cool?

--*--

You looked out at the sea with a frown. You couldn’t see where it was coming from exactly, but you felt a devil fruit at the edge of your senses.

“What is it, my child?” Whitebeard asked. You had stopped rubbing Stefan and Kotatstu’s bellies, standing up straight as you shivered.

“…I-I don’t know.” Your heart stuttered in your chest as the devil fruit grew closer. Swallowing hard, you looked up at Whitebeard. “I think it’s a devil fruit? But…”

You looked back out at the sea again as Stefan whined.

“What do you sense?” he asked again, tone serious and almost worried.

“… It feels hungry. Hungry and dark. Like the shadows under your bed or at the end of a very long hall.” You replied faintly, cold sweat breaking out.

It felt like the edge of the void.

And the void was looking back at you. Reaching out with tendrils long and twisted and starving for more.

[hannahbarberra162]

Struck Twice By Lightning, Chapter 2

On Ao3 All Chapters

Sitting next to Shanks and listening to him talk was infuriating. He wouldn’t shut up long enough for you to say what you needed. It seemed like he wanted to tell you - in detail - everything that had happened since you last saw each other. You tried to cut him off. “A little after that, I was in Foosha Village for about a year -”

“Shanks.”

“And I met this kid, he was really annoying but funny -”

“Shanks.”

“Anyway, he ate this Devil Fruit I got. I actually gave him that old straw hat I had, do you remember-”

“SHANKS.” You had put your hands on either side of his face and squished his cheeks. “Stop. Talking.”

Shanks tried talking through his smooshed face.  “Whath up?”

“I need you to do something for me.” You let go of his face and turned so you were facing him and looking him in the eye.

“Name it, sugar bear.”

Your eye twitched but you didn’t take the bait. “We need to get divorced.”

Shanks laughed. Your eye twitched again.

“Is that all? No.”

“What do you mean no.”

“No.”

That was… not the answer you had been anticipating. You two hadn’t been together as a couple in over a decade. You hadn’t seen each other and had gone on to live separate lives. The fact that he was refusing was unexpected to say the least.

“Why on earth not?” you sputtered.

“I don’t want to divorce you.”

“Well, I want to divorce you” you hissed. This little song and dance was starting to anger you. 

“Too bad,” he said with a shrug as took another sip of his sake.

You were going to kill him. This is how he was going to die and then you wouldn’t need to divorce him. To prevent murder, you took a deep breath.

“Shanks, you need to agree to divorce me.”

“I don’t.”

He paused with his sake cup near his mouth. “Why do you want to divorce anyway? You’ve been fine being married all these years.” He inhaled a gasp and said “do you want to marry someone else?” 

He was acting in mock outrage, but you knew Shanks. He wasn’t really joking.

“It’s none of your business.”

“As your husband, it is absolutely my business.”

“You’re not really my husband, and no it’s not.”

“If I’m not really your husband, you don’t really need to divorce me.”

You were getting angry and this was going nowhere. You were arguing in circles with a man who did this for fun. The sooner this was over the sooner you could go back to your relaxing little house on your relaxing little island. You took a moment, counted to five and started again.

“I don’t want to get married again. I want to get a business license in my name. Since we are married and you’re a wanted pirate, all my revenue would get taken by the government. So, we need to divorce so I can run my business. ”

Shanks put down his cup and rubbed his chin in thought. “Why do you need a license? Can’t you just run it on your own?”

“Not all of us are Yonkos who do as they please. I was offered a contract to be a supplier to a bigger island. That kind of thing needs a license.”

“A supplier of what?”

“You’re drinking it.”

Shanks looked down at his ochoko. “You made this? It’s so complex, such an excellent floral flavor on the tongue. I should have known only someone as brilliant as you could make it.”

“Thanks,” you said with a wry smile. “It has a seal of approval from Red Haired Shanks. Now, can we please get divorced?”

“Hmmmm. I’m considering it, if it gets me more of this alcohol. How about this - spend six months with me on the Red Force, and I’ll divorce you.”

“No.”

“Guess you won’t be selling your alcohol anywhere else then.” Shanks took a big sip. He had you backed into a corner, and he knew it. 

“A week.” You thought that would be the maximum you could take.

“Three months.”

“A week and a day.”

“A year.”

“One month.”  That was your final offer - otherwise you’d just make do with your current sellers.

“Welcome back sweet pea,” he said, grinning his true smile. 

Fuck. Your. Life.