#don't cut those nicely ordered warp ends when you're done warping!!

[crookedtines]

Too many projects! Ran out of heddles! Learning so much about how NOT to weave with string heddles!!

Enjoying my very low tech set up though

[the-californicationist]

Ok but imagine price being a dockworker and coming to the bar the reader is a server at after long days. Smelling like the salt on salt, chest hair peeking thru his shirt. She knows his exact order down to how much froth he wants on his beer and he just melts into his chair once he sees her on shift but their asses won’t even kiss yet (they wanna fuck diiiirty in between all the barrels out back tho)

Thank you so much for the ask!! I wish I got more of these <3 I love impromptu writings!! ^_^

MDNI

Somehow, you knew it was him by the sound of your door. The way that it creaked and popped, and the force with which it knocked the tinkling little bell at the top - all of these noises were the same, or at least they should have been, no matter who was coming or going from your bar. The way the metal bolt clicked out of the frame, the way the warped wood of the threshold whined and bent, the way that one pane of glass shuddered in the top left corner... it shouldn't have sounded different when he walked in. But, it did.

He sat in his seat, objectively the worst one in your bar. It was out of the line of sight from the television, and it was down at the fruit-filled service end, far from the keg taps. It was where you ran credit cards and kept your phone to take breaks, and you flattered yourself that the reason he sat there was to spend time with you.

John Price was a piece of work, that was for sure. He would come by right before close and linger. It was nice to have someone walk you to your car, especially on cold nights, since you were so close to the docks. He'd ride his old Triumph over from his work as a shipping and receiving foreman in the harbor, and he'd smell like sweat and the salt from the sea. His clothes would reek of tobacco from those fat cigars he'd always smoke, and you knew his beard would smell like it, too.

You wondered what it felt like, his beard. You wondered if it was as soft as it looked. You wondered what he would say if you asked him to give you a ride back to his place on that old, worn-out bike and lay you on his bed so he could kiss you from behind that beard all night. You wondered, over and over when you lay in your own sheets alone, what it would feel like for him to drag that rough-shaven chin over the swell of your breast. How would it feel on the insides of your thighs? Would it hurt you?

"You want the usual?" You asked him, trying your best to concentrate on shining the glass in your hand and not about having his body between your legs.

He smiled up at you and nodded,

"Sure, love. The usual."

As you poured his lager, keeping a little extra foam at the top, just how he liked it, you caught yourself staring again.

It was cold out, so he was in a thick coat, but he never had his collar buttoned up. There was always a bit of his chest on view for you through the drab plaid shirts he wore. He had a cut tonight, and you could see it soaking through the white of his undershirt.

"You okay, John?" You set his beer down and motioned to his gash.

"Oh," he chuckled warmly, "Yeah. Just got a little too close to the off-loader crane and paid for it. No harm, really."

"Let me clean it up for you. C'mon," you opened the bar's side door and lifted it so he could duck underneath, taking his beer with him and following you upstairs to your office.

Your barback would take care of the two other patrons you had. It was a Tuesday after midnight. You could close without any harm done.

As John wandered into your space, he noticed your makeshift cot in the corner.

"Surely you're not sleepin' at work, love?"

You laughed a little nervously,

"Don't tell the health inspector on me. Have a seat in that chair. Lemme get the first-aid kit."

He sat. Your heart pounded in your throat. As you dug around for the kit, you felt your nerves fraying. Maybe you liked John a little more than you thought.

"Here. Alright, can you show me the cut?"

You knelt in front of him so you could be in line with the wound. You tried to clean it, but his clothes were getting wet.

"Oh, sorry. Uh -"

"Here, love," he shucked his jacket off and peeled his shirt off from his back, leaving it around his arms, pinned in the sleeves, "That better?"

You nodded, feeling your breath catch in your throat.

He was huge. It was almost monstrous, the way his body bulged out around his bones, enormous snapping muscles rolling around his shoulders and neck, making him look like an animal. He was covered in soft, brown fur, and as you went to touch him, you made a grave mistake.

You hesitated.

Ever observant, you knew he caught you stumbling over him, frozen in place like a scared doe. But, mercifully, he said nothing, and allowed you to get to work.

Clean. Dry. Salve. Bandage. Smooth the edges. Make an excuse to do it again, once more to seal it down.

"There, all done. You have been a very brave patient," you smiled up at him and went to box up the supplies back in their little tin.

"You know," he purred, "Brave patients usually get some sort of prize."

You laughed softly,

"Fresh out of lollies and peppermints, I'm afraid."

"Sure there isn't anything else you'd offer me to suck on, love?"

His voice was low, dark, and deep. It crawled to you on its belly from the bottom of the sea, from the pressures and the cold, black hell of the fathoms of the water, lapping at the sides of your boat, threatening to sink you. He looked at you like a tiger shark studies a diver, with a chilling curiosity from the mighty to the fragile, wondering what you taste like and deciding if he'll bite.

John's arms were still bound by his clothes. If you wanted to flee, you would've had plenty of head-start. But, you didn't. You were moving outside of your own volition. It was as if you were dreaming, watching yourself be piloted by an unknown force. You stared him down and stood, stepping right between his knees, forcing him to look up at you and wait for your reply.

You peeled off your white tee shirt, revealing your bare breasts to him. Going bra-less meant usually meant more tips, but tonight you weren't concerned about the money. You wanted him to praise you. You wanted to call his bluff. You wanted him to fuck you on the stack of kegs in the corner of your office and let the sharp metal rims dig into your belly as he stuffed his cock into you from behind.

His shirts were gone from his arms in a second, and he leaned forward just enough to put his face to your breast, letting you feel the heat of his breath on your skin, sighing into you. John held your eyes captive in his the whole time, as if he may look away and break the spell. Then, he watched you watch him take your nipple into his mouth, suckling on it as gently as he possibly could, as gently as anyone had ever done.

You trembled, letting go of a breath you'd been holding, looking down at him as he sucked your flesh between his wet lips. You were right about the smell of the tobacco.