#ungodly machine

[mishima-in-places-he-shouldnt-be]

Kazumi Mishima shouldn’t be in the ungodly machine from Escape The Night

Kazumi Mishima shouldn't be in the Ungodly Machine from Escape The Night!

[sweetmapple]

A typical "I got carried away while practicing anatomy and the allure of rendering shiny gold was too great" WIP

Also jesus christ he's holding the little cloth that's attached to his belt. I am putting this here just to cover my back in case anyone thinks I am much bolder than I actually am. That's not his dick, I'm just bad at rendering bunched up fabric

And even then, I will always maintain leaving things up to the imagination is infinitely more tasteful like 65% of the time

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 09

PREVIOUS

Thanksgiving dinner really wasn’t that bad. It’d been years since FF had been to one as lively as this.

Kevin is loud and demanding when it comes to what needs to be on the TV and the exact perfect schedule to catch all of the Exy games being played. Wymack brought bourbon and has put it on the highest shelf in Abby’s kitchen right next to where Abby put the second pie for the exact same reason: Keep Andrew out of it. The Monsters and FF all get roped into helping Abby prep the meal.

He’s told that usually there are more people staying over Thanksgiving but this year more had gone home or gone to friend’s homes to celebrate. The only ones there are the Monsters, FF, and Jack.

Jack sits sullenly on the couch no matter what task Abby tries to give him.

Eventually, potatoes are mashed, turkeys are carved with appropriate knives, corn is creamed, macaroni is cheesed, canned cranberries have been de-canned, and the stuffing is…there on the table.

“Dig in!” Abby says not bothering with grace.

It’s good.

FF still misses his grandma’s cooking. It’s nice to have this loud Thanksgiving like he used to get but there’s something special about helping his grandma in the kitchen and the two of them sitting down to eat.

He definitely misses his grandma’s company when Jack starts to loudly complain about every last food item that Abby has so graciously laid out for them.

Wymack & Captain Neill both tell him to knock it off and threaten grueling exercises when practice starts back up while Andrew just threatens him with a knife multiple times to shut him up but FF can see Jack looking in the kitchen as he sits in silence after Andrew not so stealthily held a knife to his ribs.

Jack is looking at his grandma’s pie up on the top shelf.

Jack is going to complain about his grandma’s pie.

He looks at the Monsters and knows that there is only one person at this table who can POSSIBLY stop him is the person that FF fears the most.

Still….

He figures Andrew owes him a final request before he’s murdered in a basement, secondary location or (a new option he thought of on the way over to Abby’s in Andrew’s absurdly nice car), a secondary location’s basement.

“I want you to stop Jack from having any of my grandma’s pie.” He says in German drawing the attention of Aaron, Nicky, and Neil. Andrew blinks at him but says nothing so he continues. “If he says something mean about it then I’ll lose it.” He says.

FF means that if Jack insults his grandma’s pie that she had managed to get to him through some sort of grandmotherly wizardry then FF will burst into tears. He’s got what doctor’s call leaky eyes and there is no cure for these bad boys. He knows he’ll try to defend his grandma’s pie from whatever issue Jack will take with it but he also knows that he will be sobbing during that defense.

Andrew hears that and thinks that he might finally get to witness what FF looks like when he’s angry. From Kevin’s screaming, to Jack’s taunts, to Andrew’s own barbs, he has yet to see FF get mad. FF’s ability to stay in his own lane and regulate his emotions is one of the reasons that Andrew considers him a friend. He thinks about the bags under FF’s eyes and how desolate he had looked staring down at the ‘CANCELLED’ notification on his phone.

Andrew is getting into the art of doing something nice. For a friend.

He gives FF a singular nod and pulls one of his knives out of his arm bands and makes his way over to the pie. He ignores some various questions from the other, irrelevant.

“I want a slice at least!” Nicky demands and he nods as he cuts up the pie into seven normal sized slices. He puts each on a plate and Neil, every understanding of Andrew’s intentions, hands them out to the Monsters, FF, Wymack, and Abby.

“Good, finally get to try this stupid pie.” Jack says and Andrew levels a knife that has an apple slice slowly sliding off of it at Jack’s face.

“People who can’t appreciate the free dinner don’t get to have dessert.” He says and watches as Jack’s face goes through an entire range of emotions, “You saw what I could do to a turkey. I have no problem doing it to you if you try anything.” He says and Jack goes white before he trudges out of the dining area entirely.

Andrew watches him go before picking up the remainder of the pie (nearly a quarter) and making his way over to the fridge.

FF pipes up, “Try it without the ice cream first.” He says because even if he likes his pie à la mode the first bite has to be pure pie.

Andrew shrugs and eats the apple pie filling off of the knife.

It’s immaculate.

It’s the best pie that Andrew has ever tasted in his life and he has tasted some pies.

He has no idea what Jack would have complained about other than the fact that FF had an entire one of these all to himself. This pie had travelled across the continental United States and tasted like this. Andrew can only imagine what it is like when it is coming fresh out of the oven.

He grabs the ice cream from the fridge and watches everyone else try the first bite of FF’s grandma’s pie.

“I want to meet your grandma and shake her hand.” Wymack says eyes closed even as his hand reaches for some bourbon.

“I want to your grandma to adopt me.” Nicky says.

“She can adopt both of us if it means pies like this.” Aaron agrees.

“This is good.” Kevin says as he continues to eat it.

“Really good.” Neil agrees.

“Maybe she could share the recipe with me. I’d love to make this.” Abby says as she drinks a glass of milk.

“Thanks, she’ll be happy to hear it.” FF’s shoulders loosen as he puts away his own slice quickly.

There is some grumbling as Andrew hoards the rest of the pie himself and only gives bites to Neil. “I wonder if we should get the whipped cream out for it?” Neil asks him in Russian.

Andrew frowns and considers it for a long moment, “We have plans for that whipped cream tonight and the stores will be closed.” He says back in the same language. FF has paused in eating the last of his slice. “Problem?” He asks.

“Last bite.” FF responds back immediately and Andrew lets it go unaware that FF had spent 2 seconds wondering how whipped cream would play into whatever torture device Andrew was going to shove him into the second they arrived in Columbia before realizing that it was a sex thing.

He lets his hand go into his pocket and rub the paper of his grandma’s note to him.

It’s not a bad last meal.

NEXT

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If you’re tagged, i spelled it right, and it’s not pulling you then you might have:  Conversational notifications turned off in your settings.

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

motorcycle sketch featuring cross!! >:)

[devildarlindumbass]

Idk why I got all whimsical with the background and colours

[britcision]

So this week in “the universe makes a concerted effort to give me more panic attacks”:

- my sewing machine has broken for the second time this month. Last time it fixed itself. This time it will not. Tried replacing the plug in just in case it wasn’t the whole machine - no good

- went hunting for mother’s sewing machine, which needs an extra huge transformer to be plugged in in this country without burning down the house

- found mother’s machine. No transformer. Pooled the family brain trust. The transformer may have been thrown out (mother’s machine also despises me and was why I never picked up sewing again for a decade)

- partner’s mother’s sewing machine is 3 hours drive away each way, and they do not currently have anywhere we can stay over while retrieving it (this machine also HATES me and will not sew for more than 2 inches without jumping)

- we have at least 3 costumes to finish by mid May, all of which are at least 6 different garments - and another 2 by mid June

- my disabled ass has finished two costumes in May before, both much smaller and I nearly died

- just found out I need to entirely redo the lining on one of them from scratch because one of my panels was too small but I trimmed the goddamn seams early to try and french seam the fraying fuck

- for some ungodly reason the embroidery thread I was using to try and make a lil doll face is bleeding black dye across the fabric that will not wash out

- just found out I’m not getting anymore billable hours at work, possibly until mid April

- my insurance company has now decided to stop covering half my meds up front, correctly deducing that it’s gonna be way harder for me to submit receipts for reimbursement because their online portal is a hellscape. Unrelated to sewing crisis, just not helping

Fortunately I do not stand alone against said universe and between us partner and I were able to sneak in on a huge sale today and afford an actual new sewing machine, which can be repaired by the shop we bought it from if it also dies

(If we’d waited another 2 days no chance we could not have afforded it, woulda had to get a dinky baby machine and hope it was as powered by dark gods as the last one or go thrifting

One friend who went to sewing school has told me multiple times my previous machine should not exist (sewed 8 layers of insulated padding on tension setting 2) - the model is completely discontinued and I couldn’t even find refurbished

Another friend has now acquired 3 thrift/given machines, none of which actually work and are all missing parts

This was somehow literally the best week this could have happened if it had to happen at all)

So yeah hyperventilating still happened but I am learning new tricks to stop that and didn’t get a full blown panic attack, we remain triumphant

And we made pancake cookies

[rollfordexterity]

Are you suggesting the creator's Wade's parent?

mayhaps

[dateamonster]

(id: screencap of my post count, which is 20,000. end id)

wait a second what the fuck?? when did this happen?

[existentialcrisisfish]

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

A man who is pure at heart and says his prayers by night

May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright

If you could only see the beast you've made of me

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound

I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

[apocalyptic-dancehall]

pre-sequel gave me the impression that claptrap has some hardcore father figure issues

[otaku553]

Fire (part 3)

<- (PREV) (NEXT) ->

(Spade Pirate Sabo AU Masterpost)

[hertwood]

me forcing myself to stay awake for qualifying

[familyvideostevie]

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 

You’ve only been open for two hours. 

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 

Your coffee shop. 

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired. 

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 

You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him? 

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

__

Joel stops by again. 

And again. 

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying. 

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 

“I’m honored,” he says. 

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash. 

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Miss me?” 

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags. 

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.” 

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 

They both wave at you as they drive away. 

__

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted. 

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

__

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 

And you still barely know him. But you want to. 

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says. 

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.” 

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says. 

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 3

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Hate Sex - Changbin

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Why is he always there? And why is he always using the equipment you need? How is it Seo Changbin knows exactly when to hog everything you need at the gym? It’s time to piss him off as much as he pisses you off.

————————————————————

It’s a 24 hour gym. That’s why you joined. 

There’s nothing worse than dragging yourself to the gym only to find every machine that you want or need to use is taken. 

But since this one is open 24 hours a day, you can get there at ungodly hours of the morning and everything should be open for use, right?

Wrong. 

He is always there. The bane of your existence: Seo Changbin. 

You swear this man practically lives at the gym. 

If you show up after dinner, he shows up after dinner. If you park your car in the lot at noon, you best believe his sleek black sports car is already there. When you walk in around breakfast, there he is– always hogging the single working foldable weight bench. 

There were other weight benches in the gym, he just chose to always use that one. 

And he does even use it properly! He doesn’t fold it up for back support, no, he uses it as a regular bench. 

“Do you mind using one of the other benches so I can have this one?” You tried asking him once. 

Changbin huffed and moved his headphone off one ear, balancing the 50 pound weight on his thigh. “What?”

“Can I use this bench please? I can bring one of the others over for you.”

“Can’t you see it’s being used?”

“Yeah, but it’s the only folding one that works and you don’t even need it like that.”

“I might.”

You rolled your eyes, “Do you really?”

“Maybe. Now, if you don’t mind.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled his headphones back on and looked away from you and at his form in the mirror. 

You groaned and walked away.

Ever since that day, you know he’s been going out of his way to get that bench whenever he can. 

His ass is always firmly planted on that weight bench. His perfectly round, muscular ass. 

It infuriates you to no end. 

Each time you look around for the bench and make eye contact with him, the only response Changbin has is a dark smirk. 

Slowly but surely, it became more than just the folding bench. 

The tricep strap for the cable machine was never there when you needed it. Changbin was using it. 

Where’s the ab roller? Changbin has it in front of him. 

The fifteen pound kettle bell? In fucking Seo Changbin’s hands. 

It’s like he has your routine memorized.

Your rage meter can only fill up so much before it bubbles over like a volcano erupting. 

Were you being ridiculous now? Perhaps. 

But at 3 AM, you’re certain there’s absolutely no way in hell Seo Changbin is going to be at the gym. 

Could you just join another one? Sure. But is your pride going to let you? Absolutely not. 

No one goes to the gym at three in the morning, at least no sane person does. 

So, why the hell do you see a black, luxury car in the parking lot. It’s the only car in the entire lot. 

Frustration gets the better of you and you slam your hand on the steering wheel. 

“What the hell!”

You furiously park your car. This was your last straw, you barely remember to yank your gym bag out of the back seat before setting on your war path into the building. 

Why the fuck was he here so early? Does he live here? Is he bound to the building by some curse? Is he bound to you by some curse?

You rip the door open, it practically flies off the hinges. There’s no one at the front desk. Of course there isn’t, who the hell would come here at this time?

Changbin is in the back where he usually is, sitting on that fucking weight bench. 

He doesn’t seem to have noticed you storm into the gym yet. He’s too focused on the bicep curls he’s pumping. 

Maybe if you weren’t blinded by your rage you would’ve taken the time to stop and stare at the way his arms flex in that compression shirt. 

Your bag drops onto the floor. That’s when he looks up in the mirror.

Changbin’s face goes through several different emotions. 

Surprise, shock, confusion, then finally, arrogance. 

He places his weights on the floor and takes his headphones off just in time for you to open your mouth. 

“What’s the big idea, huh?” You start, “Do you enjoy making my life miserable? Why are you here?”

Changbin stays sitting on the bench and arches an eyebrow at you. 

“Now that I’m here do you want me to go grab all the equipment I plan on using? Should I gather it all by your feet and just leave? But even if I come back you’ll still be here, won’t you? Do you live here or something?”

His smirk only grows bigger and bigger. He tongues his cheek and stares into your eyes, which are burning with anger. 

A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face and drips onto one of his exposed thighs. 

Changbin says nothing for a long moment before he looks back into the mirror and preps himself for another set. 

“I always come here this early.” He says cockily.

“Like hell you do.” you snap back at him. Your fists clench at your sides in anger. 

“Sorry, Princess. Try again another time.”

“Have you ever tried not being a dick for three seconds?”

“Have you?”

Your jaw drops and you stand there dumbfounded for a moment. 

“I am perfectly pleasant! You’re the one going out of your way to make my life miserable!”

“You really think the world revolves around you, huh?”

“Two days ago, you sat with the lat pull-down bar next to you for two hours while I waited for you to actually use it, you didn’t.”

Your arms cross over your chest. 

Changbin winks at you, “So you’re saying you watched me for two hours? How was my form? Perfect, right?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Takes two to tango, babe.”

“Don’t—!“ Your own frustration cuts you off. “Don’t call me that! Fucking Christ.” 

And with that, you turn on your heel, snatch your bag off the ground and stomp towards the locker room. 

You’re positively seething with rage because of him. Who does he think he is?

You were not a dick! You were very nice in the beginning, explaining why you needed that bench; he’s the one that took it further than that. 

Ripping your jacket off, you practically launch it into the locker, pulling out the various things you will be using and slamming them on the bench. 

Since he’s still on the goddamn bench, it’ll be leg day, so you pull out your lifting gloves and pre workout. After dry scooping, you let it dissolve in your mouth with a big swig of water and adjust your clothes. 

The new matching GymShark set you ordered came in and it is doing wonders for your body. How great you look in this outfit is about the only plus for today. 

It’s a bright pink set that’s basically spandex shorts and a sports bra. 

And damn, you look good. 

As time ticks on in the locker room, your rage turns to a smoldering anger. 

He’s on the bench. Which means the Smith Machine is free. 

After filling your water bottle up to the top, you head out to the gym floor, headphones blasting pump up music. 

Changbin is still sitting on the folding bench when you come out of the locker room. He’s presumably in between sets since he’s looking down at his phone. His own water bottle held loosely in the other hand. 

You look away before he looks up and turn your music up louder. When you lift, you always need something that really pumps you up. 

When you get to the smith machine you put your things down and start to get it prepped. First, before squats or anything, you want to do deadlifts, and for that you need to get so much ready. 

You roll a bar out and slide on your preferred weight on either side. The entire time you can practically feel Changbin’s eyes following each one of your movements. 

Once everything is prepped, you put your gloves on and walk over to the bar. 

Your form is perfect, you know that, you’ve been doing this for years. Plus, there’s always that small bit of anxiety when you go to the gym that you’ll be doing something wrong.

So you poured hours of research into making sure everything you’re doing is right. Plus, this way, you also don’t need to worry about someone coming up and correcting you. 

At the end of your set you drop the bar to the ground. It hits the padded floor with a loud clang!. 

Everyone who lifts at this gym drops their weights, it’s nothing new at all. 

But, you see Changbin’s head snap over to you out of the corner of your eye.  

He can eat shit. 

You pace around a little in between sets, catching your breath and taking swigs of water. Bopping your head to the music a bit and thinking about what you’re going to do for the day. 

Time for set two. 

Same thing, you do all your reps and then drop the weight at the end. 

This time, though, you hear something through your music. 

Looking around, you see Changbin staring right at you with a sneer pulled at his lips. He motions for you to take your headphones off. 

You roll your eyes, but do so anyway. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Can you not do that?” he asks. By his tone, he is very obviously annoyed. 

“Do what?”

“Drop your weights.” 

“Everyone here drops their weights. Why is it different if I do it?”

“I hate it when everyone does it. You’re not special.”

You scoff and look away from him again, putting your headphone back over your ear. Changbin’s silent anger could be felt from across the gym. 

Set three. Same exact routine. 

And this time, you go out of your way to drop your weights at the end of the set. 

The mat on the floor vibrates and one machine next to you shakes a bit. 

“Yah!” Changbin yells through your music. 

Turning to look at him, he’s already walking towards you, fists clenched. 

You stand your ground, watching him stomp over to you. This time, you don’t even take your headphones off. 

Once he’s in front of you his mouth moves with whatever he’s saying. You watch him for a moment, pretending to listen to what he’s saying. 

Then you nod, putting on a show with exaggerating your movements, pretending to understand. You hold up one finger, his eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth shuts. 

You turn and grab your phone off the floor, lighting up the screen and holding it up to his face. 

“Cut The Cord by Shinedown.” you say loudly, showing him your music in his face. 

Changbin’s face contorts into an even angrier one. He bares his teeth and his shoulders raise a bit towards his ears as his fists clench more. 

All you do is smile innocently and turn around to go back to your set. 

A very large, strong hand grabs your wrist and you’re yanked back around towards him. You gasp when you’re pulled back towards him.

Changbin uses his other hand to yank your headphones off your head and throw them onto the floor. Your phone also tumbles down to the matted floor. 

“What the fuck is your prob—“

You’re cut off by Changbin grabbing your face tightly, fingers and thumb pressing harshly into your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker. 

“You just had to be fucking annoying, huh?” he asks, his voice dipping to a dangerous octave. “Always walking around here like you own the place, like you know everything.”

If looks could kill, he’d be dead. But then again, so would you.  

“Fucking let me go, Changbin.” you struggle against his hold. Changbin quickly releases your wrist to wrap his entire fist in your ponytail. He tugs harshly, bringing your face close to his. 

“I bet no one has ever put you in your fucking place before.” he growls and you’re so ashamed at the way your insides flip. 

You pull harder and harder against his grip, but it’s no use. 

“I asked you nicely to stop slamming your weights.”

“The fuck you did!” you quip back. 

He yelled at you to stop dropping your weights. 

His grip tightens on your face and he brings your body even closer to his. The heat radiating off his skin was insane. A bead of sweat drips down the side of his face. 

“Maybe someone should shut you up for once.”

“Maybe someone should—“

His lips slam into yours in a harsh meeting. Like a lightning bolt travels down your spine, your entire body feels like it’s tingling. The feeling goes straight to your cunt. 

A loud groan comes from the back of your throat. You kiss him back for about five seconds before you remember what the fuck you’re doing. 

You bite down on his lip, hard. 

Changbin yelps and brings his face away from yours. But his grip on your jaw remains solid. 

His deep brown eyes darken significantly and the only way to describe his stare is predatory. 

It’s like you just cocked the gun aimed at your own head, his finger on the trigger. 

In an entirely too swift series of movements, Changbin spins your body around and bends you over the back hyperextension standing equipment. 

The hand in your hair tightens significantly, he straddles the back of you, pressing his body completely flush with your back. 

His other hand comes around the front of you to cover your mouth. 

With no bit of gentleness, he shakes your face around and positions it forward. 

“Fucking look at that beautiful sight.”

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror in front of you. In the mirror, you can see Changbin’s eyes raking over your form. 

Against your ass you can feel his dick twitch in his gym shorts. 

Again, your cunt clenches around nothing at the feel of him against you. 

“So gorgeous when you shut the fuck up,” he whispers into your ear.

You should not be turned on by this. You should be fighting back with all your strength and slapping him across his perfectly handsome face. This is Changbin, the same guy who’s done nothing but be a thorn in your side for the past few months! 

But he’s also the same guy that looks fucking delicious in those black compression shirts. 

“Maybe it’s time someone teaches you a lesson on what happens when you talk back, little girl.” he sneers with a cocky smirk. 

You struggle against his grasp, it just makes him tighten his hold on you even more. Your scalp screams from his harsh tug, but it feels so good.

Squinting your eyes shut, you swallow a whimper from coming out. 

Both of your elbows are underneath you, holding your weight up on the pads. You’re trying so hard not to look into the mirror in front of you; you know that if you see the way his body is caged around you, you’ll lose it. 

Changbin presses his cock into your ass even harder, the feeling goes straight to your core and down your legs.

“Always in these tight fucking shorts, galavanting around the gym getting everyone’s dick hard.”

You thrash around just a bit underneath him and he holds you tighter. Your eyes open and you turn your head a little to stare at the wall, lips pulled into a sneer. 

“What’s the matter, little girl? Hate knowing that everyone’s eyes always follow your bouncing tits around the gym? That this gym is the most packed when they know you have leg day?”

Over and over his hips roll into your ass, the friction feels delicious. You’re thanking the GymShark gods that their materials don’t show moisture through the fabric.

“Does the little princess have nothing to say now?”

When you let out muffled noises, Changbin only laughs.

“Fuck you, and fuck your stupid fucking folding weight bench.” 

He leans his head down and bites your neck so hard you’re sure his teeth imprint will be there for days. The squeal that comes from your mouth is muffled by his hand.

Changbin takes his hand out of his hair to reach down and yank your shorts down over your ass.

As soon as the cool air of the gym hits your exposed core, you hiss and squirm around in his grip even more. 

“Fuck… Look at that. The princess doesn’t wear panties to the gym.” When you look at him in the mirror, he’s staring at your cunt while biting his lower lip.

His eyes are looking at your glistening folds like he’s taking in a work of art.

The hand over your mouth comes around your neck to hold your head down by your nape. His fingers thread into your hair right at the base to keep a firm restraint on you.

Two of his fingers run through your soaking wet folds, “So fucking wet for me, babe. Who knew you got off arguing with me as much as I did?”

“Fuck you.” you spit out.

Changbin’s eyes meet yours in the mirror for a split second, his grip on your head forces you down even more. 

He reaches down and pushes his shorts down just enough for his cock to spring free.

Holy fuck, he’s fucking big. Prominent veins run up his length. Your eyes widen in shock and he looks so fucking smug about it.

At this point, you’re positively dripping wet. 

Fisting one hand on his cock, he runs the head up and down your cunt, catching on your clit a few times and making you gasp and squirm a bit.

“Jesus fuck, if you’re gunna fuck me, why don’t you do it already?” you bite at him.

Changbin spits directly on your cunt.

“With pleasure, princess.”

He bottoms out in one hard thrust and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Your eyes squint shut and eyebrows pinch together.

Changbin does not wait for you to adjust to him. He grips your hair as tight as he can and thrusts into you mercilessly. 

The wet slapping noises fill the air of the gym and echo off the bare walls; there’s no music or anything to drown out the lewd sounds of your bodies conjoining.

Every single thrust feels so fucking deep inside you it’s driving you fucking wild, it’s like he;s fucking through you.

“Holy fuck– hng– you’re fucking tight!” he grunts out.

In the mirror you can see his face screwing up in the angriest display of pleasure you’ve ever seen. He’s positively seething with how good it feels to have you clamp down on his cock.

All you’re able to do is pant and moan and practically drool with how amazing it feels inside of you. But despite the pleasure you’re feeling, you can’t allow yourself to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good it feels.

With each thrust, you do your damndest to keep the reactions to a minimum.

He notices. 

“Oh, fuck you.” he pants out. You both make eye contact in the mirror and hold it.

He pulls your hair to bring your back up against his clothes chest, his hand comes around to hold you by the throat.

This new angle allows him to bully your g-spot over and over again. You can’t help it anymore, your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth falls open with a strangled moan.

“That’s what I fucking thought, bitch. Feel how good my cock is making you feel, you can’t fucking lie to me, I can feel you clenching down on me, soaking my dick.”

Tiny whimpers leave your throat.

Changbin reaches his other hand down and begins toying with your clit, rubbing circles at the same rhythm that his thrusts were going in.

The combination of the two has you seeing stars.

“Shit–!” he moans out in your ear, “Pussy so tight when I do that, fuck!”

His hand around your throat squeezes a bit, making it hard to breathe, but my god it’s so erotic.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” you pant out in between each thrust.

“Fuck me?” he says incredulously, he grabs your jaw and forces you to look at yourself in the mirror. “Fucking look at yourself, getting fucked raw by my cock in the middle of the gym where anyone could walk in.”

Another clench down on his cock.

“Fucking bitch, you like that, huh?”

You can’t take your eyes off where your bodies are joined together, his cock slips in and out of you so easily, entirely coated in your combined juices. His thick fingers rubbing your clit, hurling you towards your orgasm.

“Shit.” you hiss as you approach that edge, it makes your toes curl in your sneakers. “G’na cum.” you mumble.

“Is that right?” Changbin says in your ear and immediately his pace increases.

You cry out and throw your head back, but Changbin forces it back down.

“No, you’re going to watch,” he growls. “You’re going to watch yourself fucking cum all over my cock. And then you’re going to watch me cum in this tight pussy.”

All you can do is pant and keep your eyes focused on his thrusts, the way his balls smack against your skin with each one.

More and more and more the pressure builds until it's too much and you finally topple over the edge.

You cry out and try to look away, but Changbin’s firm grip keeps you there.

“Holy fucking shit, fuck fuck, ah shit!”

Immediately after your orgasm you feel your insides flood with something warm and sticky. Within seconds you watch as it begins to leak out of you around Changbin’s now softening cock. 

Both of you sit there for a moment, panting in silence. No other sounds fill the gym until Changbin finally speaks up.

“Next time, don’t slam the weights in my gym.”

Of fucking course he was the owner. 

[katz-rambles]

Hello again, lovely writer! It's a new day, and I have a new idea for you. Especially since you did such a beautiful job bringing my previous ideas to life. Thank you for that <3

How about the ghoul of your choice being locked away in their room during their heats/ruts because they become a bit feral during that time, and what if reader accidently got locked with them ? How would that go down ?

(Again feel free to ignore this if you wish <3)

Hii! I'm so so glad you liked the others, that means so much to me!! I wanted to try something new with this one, so I've put them into headcannon form, so I can do multiple ghouls, so I apologize if it's not the best. This includes all the current ghouls/ghoulettes because why not.

(NSFW, ruts/heats, gn!reader for the most part but there is some fem!reader, reader gets tied up, some dub-con elements if you squint, theres a fuck-machine, threesome/gangbang mention, possessiveness, knotting, some dom!reader. I think this is it!)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

• Now we all know that he's already aggressive and ungodly horny,

Dewdrop/Sodo

• Now times that by 10. He goes insane during ruts.

• Humping everything, constantly hard, he's more grumpy and stompy than usual as well. All because he's horny and has blue balls lmfao.

• So.. now we've added his favorite person, you.

• He's on his knees. Begging for you to let him fuck you, breed you, touch you. Basically, anything his horny brain can come up with. (heavy on breeding, even if you can't get pregnant, he'll still try.)

• He has a constant possessiveness to him during his ruts, so once you're in there, you're not getting out until it's over. Don't expect to walk after.

• He has no glamor or mask on at all during his rut so if you really want to rile him up so he'll rail you, pull on his horns while he gives you head or tug on his tail. He'll go absolutely bat shit insane.

• He'll cover you in hickeys and bite marks so everyone knows you're his. Like I said, possessive.

• He'll knot you, and he won't stop knotting you until he thinks it's the one that'll get you round with his kits.

• I'm sure that if you ask nicely, he might sub for you during his rut. He hates to admit it, but he probably gets off on the thought of being a sub. Tie him up, sexually torture him, and humiliate him. He loves it.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• Where do I start.. he's going to he so whiney his whole rut. He might even spam call/text you because he needs you.

Rain

• Obviously, you're not going to give in, you know the rules.

• But if you did, by accident or on purpose, he's going to go insane.

• He'll do anything you ask of him. He gets off on your pleasure. But if you tease him, he may lose his patience.

• If he does lose his patience, he'll fuck you into the mattress, he might even tie you up if you're into that, he'll mark you like crazy... he's a horny bitch (just like me frfr.)

• So let's say you've found yourself with a Rain in a rut. Good luck. He'll rail you like there's no tomorrow, because to him, there's not, he thinks you will leave at any second so he won't stop until you physically can't anymore.

• His stamina is INSANE when he's in a rut.

• He could probably smell you from a mile away, so if you do accidentally find yourself locked in the same room as him, don't try and lie to him, or do.. who knows, maybe he'll punish you.

• If you don't have a dick, grab a strap on, he'll be the subbiest little bitch for you. (he's probably into fem doms). And he probably has a dildo/strap that he uses on himself anyways. He could probably cum just from the thought of you on top of him, and he will.

• Huge on your tits by the way. You're a guy, it doesn't matter, you're flat, he doesn't care, you have bigger tits, he's begging for you to ride him so he can watch them. He loves your tits.

• MARK HIM BACK. Please. He loves to feel you sink your teeth into him. He loves to see the marks the day after even more thought, a reminder of how he's going to pay you back with twice as many marks.

• Aftercare king, though. Even during a rut. I mean, you have to be in good shape if you're going to be the one to have his kits.. right?

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• Big boy, and not with just his height.

Mountain

• But if you happen to stumble upon a Mountain in a rut, it's not that someone's locked the door from the outside or something.. no, he's locked the door. You're not leaving until he's done with you.

• All this man is thinking about right now is how fucking hard he is, and how good you'd feel around him. So he's not going to be nice.

• He might degrade you.. but that's okay, because he'll apologize by fucking you until you're dumb.

• You better hope you're not wearing any expensive clothes, the second he gets his hands on your they're torn up and on the ground. He'll replace them when his rut is done, though, don't worry.

• Pull his hair. That's it. You want to get railed into oblivion, pull his hair. It's a one way ticket.

• He probably won't sub, but on the off chance he does, he will put up a fight. Now, if you've found yourself locked with Mountain in a rut and you want to keep your ability to walk, you can get him to sub for you, and he gets super sensitive when he does so, please, edge him.

• He'll knot you, and there's just so much. He'll whisper to you about how this'll be the knot that'll get you round with his kits.

• If you call him Sir, it could be out of fear/intimidation, or you're just teasing him, you're done for. There's no way you'll be able to walk after, so I wish you luck.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• Already horny ghoul, somehow, even hornier (is that even possible??) you're in for a wild ride (literally and figuratively).

Swiss

• You're in a room with him. Before you can even say anything, he'll have you pinned to the ground, and your clothes will be off.

• Mating press, missionary, cowgirl. Anything where he can see your face as he fucks you dumb you'll be put in, doesn't matter if your flexible or not, he'll find a way.

• You want to rile him up even more (again, is that even fucking possible?!) beg for him, get on your knees and beg. He will go insane, and you won't be able to walk, but it's not like he was planning to let you go. No, no, you're his now.

• If and when he knots you, it's inevitable he will, he will probably fall asleep with his cock half-hard inside you and if you fall asleep as well ans shuffle a bit with him inside you, sweetheart now he's wide awake and ready for round two.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• Omfg. He's so needy. He might as well be worshiping the ground you stand on, he loves you and he needs you.

Phantom

• He needs you to sit on his face, btw, now that he's in a rut it's just doubled.

• So you've found yourself in quite the predicament. You've found your way to a rut Phantom, so what's the next step (back to where you came from, turn around, and leave), honestly, just you acknowledging him during his rut could probably make him cum, he's that needy.

• He'll bend you over any and every surface known to man. Don't expect to be safe anywhere.

• If you're kind enough to help him through his rut, then he'll, probably get on one knee and propose, do anything you need him to as long as he gets to fuck you when you're done.

• Rub his horns, and he'll bust. Trust me.

• He's dominant during his rut, so don't expect normal subby, needy, Phantom. No, not you've got, dom, needy, and unbearably horny, Phantom whose prepared to stuff you full of his seed in every hole you'll let him.

• He's going to knot you. This isn't even a question. He will. It doesn't matter if you can't get pregnant because you don't have the proper biology, he will try his absolute hardest, and you won't complain because this means Phantom constantly breeding him, he has a breeding kink.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• I'm in love with her.

Cumulus

• She's quite dominant. She has a strap on, probably one of the double-ended ones, too.

• If you offer to use it on her, she might just go crazy. I hope your stamina is good because she won't be letting you go for a while.

• If you have female anatomy, scissor her. I beg of you, she'll beg you too. He might reward you by eating you out after..

• Her tits are ungodly sensitive during her ruts, so any type of touch on them, and she'll immediately be on top of you.

• Please let her tie you up. You'll look so pretty tied up and begging for her.

• She's going to mark you, so don't be alarmed when you see the dark marks the next day. And she will mark you anywhere she can, your neck, thighs, tits, anywhere.

• If you're good she might get Cirrius to fuck you along side her, and don't worry, Cirrius is just as good, and she's mean so you better be ready. (I'm head over heels for both of them, I love women.)

• She will overstimulate you until it hurts. She's just so mean sometimes.

• She will make you squirt. That's her goal. Even in a rut, she's still determined to see you squirt.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• She's mean. That's it.

Cirrius

• She'll tie you up and attach a vibrator to you and she will fuck herself as she watches you writhe.

• She might even put a gag on you if you start to get too loud.

• Once she gets her hands on you, she won't let you go until she's had her fill.

• If you call her mommy, get ready for a night full of fun because, baby, you've just fucked yourself. She won't let up. Her stamina is insane, and it combats Rains.

• So, if you ever find yourself locked in a room with Cirrius in a rut, don't expect to leave any time soon. Even after her ruts over, she might keep you there.

• If you're being good for her, maybe just maybe if she's in the mood for sharing, she'll get Cumulus or Swiss in there. (maybe even both)

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊

• I unfortunately don't know too much about her, so I apologize if she's ooc.

Aurora

• She's got a pretty firey personality as it is, so now she's got that personality AND an unbearable feeling of being constantly horny, and you'll be the only one on her mind.

• Okay.. now you're with her, she might sub..? If you ask nicely, that is.

• But she will also fuck you dumb with a double-ended dildo. So be ready for a wild night. She has a bunch of things you've only heard of, and she plans to use them.

• It's not a question that she'll tie you up. We already know she will. But if you're into it, she might put you on a fuck-machine while she rides your face until she's satisfied.

• You can probably turn the tables and switch positions, and if you do, expect her to be loud. It's okay though, she sounds so pretty.

• She will scissor you. She probably can for hours. So by the end of her rut, you'll be sore and marked, and everything will hurt. But it will be worth it.

[nuitnotions]

Task Force 141 ; Call Me Mr Sandman

It grates at him, the way you slink out of bed at ungodly hours of the night to sit up alone in the living room so as not to disturb him. Little do you know that the cold sheets and vacancy of your side of the bed will always wake him. A plan is in order and he is eager to execute it and have you back in his arms to walk you hand in hand to the land of dreams.

{ flufff ; gn reader }

john price worries, and deeply so. insomnia is no stranger to him, he’s been around that very block a good number of times but in his line of work, sleep deprivation walks you straight into the coffin. he had to twart it and quickly and fucking hell, if he could just recall how. if he could just hand you the antidote and tuck you into the fold of his arm beneath the covers, it would be the Hail Mary. but he can’t and he doesn’t and so he takes up his mind’s attempt at the next best thing.

the white noise machine is obnoxious at first and you try to tell him what a waste of money it is considering you could just find the damn noise on YouTube and play it from the tv but he shushes you softly and asks you to just give it a try, little love, please? and you can’t deny him, it hurts to do so anyways when he’s doing so for your sake. for the dark rings surrounding your eyes. for the headache that has your head feeling hollowed out. for the snappish irritation that coats you like an oily bubble from days of exhaustion.

so you lay there, facing john and trying very hard to not mind the machine humming on your bedside table as you two talk softly with one another. it’s mindless chatter, talk of your earlier day and recounts of your days apart when he’s deployed and then just the silliness that wriggles beneath your skin as the hours dwindles on and you start to feel like a school child staying up way past their bedtime.

it’s inevitable. john’s eyes growing heavy as his words become more spaced out until his mumblings are entirely nonsensical and replaced by his snoring, head falling further on his pillow in your direction and you cannot help but smile. the poor man tries so desperately to fight his body clock in order to see you through to sleep but he cannot be blamed. you shuffle quietly closer and kiss at the corner of his mouth with a whisper good night before you’re turning over, already swinging your leg out to get out of bed. but that damned machine is immediately in your eyesight and the guilt sprouts from a seed in the pit of your stomach until it’s the size of a watermelon.

the poor man is trying, trying so hard to keep you in bed when you should be and here you are, ready to annul those efforts by simply reverting back to your usual habits. so you let out a sigh and retract your leg back under the covers and you glare at the machine for but a second before you’re turning over and nestling into john. your heart all but splinters at the way even unconsciously, his body responds to your warmth and touch, opening up his chest for you to crawl into and nestle there.

it’s not antidotal to your insomnia but it settles that restless energy in your head that speaks of you being a bother to him and his sleep. there’s a new set of eyes, opening up to the word, within you, head tilted back to look up at your significant other. you realise then that you are master of self implosion, unnecessary punishment to a cause beyond your control. and this very man, this man snoring away with his fingers splayed across your back, has been trying to steer you to that reflection in the mirror for a good while now. so you snuggle as close to him as possible and close your eyes. sleep may escape you but this love a breath away from you certainly won’t.

kyle garrick pads out of your shared bedroom in sock clad feet, two jumpers thrown across his forearm and sleep tucking itself away at the edges of his lashes. it’s the droopy look he gives you as he blinks slowly that causes the network of fissures spreading across the warmth of your body. a quick glance at the clock mounted above the kitchen’s arch tells you that it’s nearing 4am and everything within you sags. kyle comes to stand beside your head at the backrest of the couch, bending at the waist to kiss your temple and he murmurs in a soft voice, “let’s go for a drive.”

you protest adamantly, getting up to steer him back to bed with bracketing apologies to each of your protests, hands on his shoulders meant to shove him lovingly back. of course, kyle does not miss the opportunity to point out the irony, something about it just about bordering hypocrisy and you scowl up at him. you’re so utterly mistaken to think you’d win this argument, with kyle pulling you a step closer, laying imploring kisses to your lips and before you know it, he’s slipping the jumper over your head. it’s too tender, the cracks within have seeped out enough heat but the strong hands with slender fingers that tug the sleeves down and fix the collar of his jumper are molding molten gold into those very cracks.

he leads you down to the basement parking with your hand in his, thumb stroking at your skin in a slow and gentle movement that mimics the flow of a cradle rocking. you begin to ache as he opens the car door for you, only closing it after he kisses your cheek. you have bare seconds to yourself in the car as he crosses in front of it and your eyes track him as he does and your heart is stuck in a prayer of his name that doesn’t dull out even as he slips into the leather of the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

it’s quiet, the world. so much so that you almost flinch at the rumble of the engine and the shift of gears as your boyfriend pulls away, the nose of the car breaching reality in its amble to dawn. you’re tense for a good 9 minutes, back too straight and muscles tight as you take in the roads kyle leads the car down. you don’t even notice how on edge you are until his warm palm leaves the center console to find its perch on your thigh, fingers massaging at the muscle there. you hear the movements for the words they press into your skin. i’ve got you, it’s okay.

the tears slip down the side of your face silently and you are torn between brushing them away and calling kyle’s attention to the movement or leaning back and closing your eyes to their existence. you opt for the latter, a sigh breaks through your parted jaw and you let your head cradle into the headrest. you feels his eyes on you briefly, but the fight has left your body and you keep them closed. “stop trying to deal with it alone.” his reprimand is stern and still manages to feel like the stroke to your hair when he hugs you to his chest. so you turn your head in his direction and peer at him through wet lashes. there is a lot to say but you manage the most important of it,

“i love you.” he looks at you for as long as he deems safe before he turns back to the road ahead, the hand on your thigh flips over in a request. your own palm meets his and you curl your fingers with the last of your strength into him as you close your eyes again. the radio is off and you much prefer it, the quiet and warm atmosphere along with the drone of the vehicle is enough to settle your bones into the leather. the echo of your words finds you in the voice you prefer it in and smile softly at the insistence in it, the cadence meant to embed the meaning of the words into you viscerally.

it’s a little less than an hour of sleep that you manage, but you’re so thankful for it. you wake up in a neighboring town, so much green breaking in the bleary light of dawn it snatches at the breath halfway up your throat. you scramble up in your seat and peer around at the narrow road kyle is driving down between a number of hills. he smiles at you from the corner of his eye, says something about the sunrise and you feel that prayer in your heart become so fervent, that you swear you can hear it in the speakers of the car. it sings of your love, it sings of a fate you will twist the fabric of thread yourself to tie the two of you together if it came down to it.

john mactavish acts with sundown. there are candles lit around the bedroom, the curtains are drawn and the bed itself looks like your linen closet may have thrown up on it. “all to set the mood, hon”, he tells you with his hands on your shoulders as he steers you into the room after your shower. goodness, the man had even gone as far as picking out your favorite pair of pjs, fresh out of the dryer to make it that little mile more comfier. your heart is in knots of adoration and anticipation and you’d hate to tell him that your heart rate might act against his plans to have you at complete and utter ease. so you say nothing, falling into the cloud of blankets and pillows.

you’re watching him with wide eyes, smile excited as he shuffles through the three soft covers in his hand. there’s a furrow to his brows as he reads the titles to himself, repeating each of them as if they will whisper the secrets of their content to him if he calls on them long enough. you’re torn. between staying snuggled away in your personalized cloud and throwing yourself at your boyfriend to litter his face with the kisses that burn at your lips. you settle for a third option; waiting for him to choose his challenger and tuck himself against you so you can smother him in the love that bubbles from you like a shaken bottle of champagne.

johnny had been pouting at you all week, sitting across the breakfast table from you with sad puppy eyes that took two measly attempts from you the morning prior to get him to talk before he was whining at you. expressing the absolute heartache of walking up alone, your side of the bed, so unbearably cold and untouched. it was enough that you had gotten up from your chair to sit astride his lap, pulling his head to your chest as you cooed your apologies into his ear, kissing at his neck. the two of you had a good talk then, you finally explaining your fears of being a disturbance to his sleep if you stayed in bed and him smack at your buttocks in indignation.

johnny had come to a clear conviction that morning, and no one could say that the man had issues in execution. he had spent a good portion of the day putting his money where his mouth is, maneuvering by you with fast and determined steps, murmuring little excuse me’s and leaving quick kisses to your cheek with his arms full. there had been a better part of two hours where the bedroom door had been closed and you had been barred from entry. your boyfriend then returned to you as you sat on the couch with a shitty reality show to entertain you, standing at your feet and smiling down at you.

“where’ye keep those books of yours, baby?” that had been an adventure on its own, walking johnny through your trove, breaking down the genres and tropes and plot lines as he nodded and assessed the covers with a level of scrutiny that betrayed his line of thinking. you pushed to the balls of your feet and laid a kiss to his lips before you left him to his dissection. and from that, you spy three titles johnny had managed to narrow it down to.

he taps one against the flat of his palm twice and sets the other two aside before his eyes flick up at you and they’re bright and brilliant in that blue of them as they speak of his pride in all that he has arranged for this and having finally come to the crux of it as he crawls into bed beside you. johnny wriggles this way and that before those large arms are pulling you flush against his chest and he cracks open the book in his right hand while his left is laid against your stomach. he asks you softly if you’re comfortable and upon your nod, he announces the title and author.

the deep, gruff of his voice reads the story to you, and it’s not only in your ears, but against your cheek and hand, echoing into the marrow of your bones and fucking hell, this man could have chosen to read the terms and conditions you’re prone to ignore and accept anyway across the web and you’d still be entranced. maybe it’s the very abundant feelings you have for him, maybe it’s the accent and just sheer attraction to his voice, but your body is a stringed instrument that his intonations pluck at lovingly. johnny gets to chapter 4 as you start to feel the droop of your eyes, a heaviness that feels so nostalgic that you almost want the word to pause for you to indulge in it.

his voice grows distant, your attention the finicky flame of candle on a windy night and you want to thank him, want to love on him for this coaxing into dreamland and even more so, you want to grab him at the hand and pull him into your dreams because you are so very certain that your reality before these dozing moments will make any imagination of your subconscious so utterly bleak.

simon riley takes on a two birds, one stone approach to your frustrations. it’s so typical of him that you offer him a soft laugh when he finally divulges his plan to you, shaking your head against his bicep with loving amusement. teas. or more specifically, tea blending. he tells you, of which he has already stocked up for and done the needed research for. you do not doubt him for a second, because the man is meticulous to a fault. for goodness’ sake, simon has even completed a course on it.

you ask if you’re allowed to watch as he gets to work on setting up his station as the sun begins to sink and he pulls out the barstool for you in invitation. you’re easily transfixed at the sight of it all; your shared kitchen becoming a pop-up apothecary that is fronted by a behemoth of a man that dons a skull mask on his days of work. it’s enough to draw another titter out of you as you rest your chin on your hand. simon only arches an eyebrow at you briefly before he gets swept up in his work again.

the floral and herbal notes are a burst to your senses and it’s comical to watch simon measure out his determined dosages of each, the tea vials an unlikely sight in hands you are well and truly acquainted with. you ask soft questions, watch as he notes down his measurements for the chamomile, lavender and lemon peel, loops and run-on letters that only he will ever be able to decipher. he gets the kettle boiling only as he stirs through his dry blend and funnels it into the infuser and he briefly mentions to you the careful deliberation on his decided temperature for the tea.

he settled on 95°C, he tells you, the tea being a herbal one with the flourish of refreshing lemon. simon does not walk you through his decided measurements however, he shushes you and brushes a hand over your hair as he sets your favorite mug in front of you as the kettle clicks off and he allows it the allocated time to steep. your boyfriend folds himself down to lean his weight on the kitchen counter after having tidied up after himself, grunting at you to stay seated as it was his mess to see to. a generous phrasing, considering how steady those hands are, how particular he is about his work. now, he simply looks at you, slow blinks as he takes you in and you grow self-conscious at the way those dark eyes linger on the dark circles beneath your own and the wane of your cheeks.

you drop your gaze to the quartz of the countertop instead, forefinger tracing a vein of it in order to appear more casual than you feel. the silence presses upon the both of you with the weight of mist against your skin. clammy and all consuming and you wonder if you projected your insecurity so far into the atmosphere that it now rains down on the both of you in heavy contrast to the steam coming off of the tea kettle not even half a meter from the two of you. the smell hits you sharply, the earthy, floral notes of chamomile laces itself into the crisp and clean of lavender with a tail of twang from the lemon peel. you can’t deny that your muscles prickle as they begin to loosen at the second inhalation of the scent.

“a great deal of tea blending is scenting. it’s the first impression of your blend.” he tells you when he notes the subtle shift in your body, a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he straightens and grabs the kettle to fill both of your cups. it’s a very pale amber, like bleak sunlight just as the dawn cracks at the seam of the earth and you can’t help but smile at the irony of it. you wait for the last drop from the spout before you gather the mug into your palms and look up at simon, thank him as you stretch over to kiss at his cheekbone. when you pull away and fall back into your seat, he remains quiet for a while.

finally, he responds with “i miss you during the night. but i don’t blame you.” your frown is an automatic response to the clench of your breath, seized by your ribs at his words and you shutter against the warmth of his attempts. attempts to coax you back into your shared bed, to keep you there, at rest with him. you open a mouth to apologize to him, to offer words that had melded to the roof of your mouth for much too long. you don’t get to free them though, because simon drags the barstool beside you even closer so that his thighs bracket you and he can drape himself across you like a security blanket.

“no apologies. might as well just snatch unwarranted blame then.” the words are crass in the same way that they are affectionate. equal measures of both and purely a blend of simon. so you nod, you lean back into him and you finally take slow sips of your tea. it’s good and it engulfs your body in a serenity that you has no belief of it being capable of. you hum quietly in approval, slouching further into the strength of your boyfriend and mutter halfheartedly that your weight against him is a consequences of his own goodwill. he only clicks his tongue and drags your chair further into him.

you drink a second cup as the two of you migrate to the couch, simon stretched out for your comfort as you curl into him like a kitten discovering its mother’s milk for the first time. the pair of you don’t talk much, it’s an easy silence as he feathers your hair between his fingers and stares at the ceiling. it’s when your eyelids grow heavier in weight that you lift your head at him and request one last move. you barely get the words out before he’s sitting up with you still tucked into his chest. you’re under the covers and in his arms with a content sigh barely two minutes later and the cotton fluff of sleep almost has you delirious but just before it claims you, you manage to speak the words that burned the back of your teeth for hours,

“i missed you too.”