HE LOOKS LIKE HE WORKS WITH HIS HANDS
pairing: Chip Taylor x rich girl!reader Summary: You’re used to getting what you want. When you experience rejection for the first time, it shakes you so deeply that you end up in a random handyman’s shitty apartment for the night. Contents: 3.9k words, SMUT MDNI!!!, mentions of alcohol and smoking, explicit sexual content, nipple stimulation, fingering, p in v, birth control, Chip has a big dick sorry i love big dicks what can I say, mention, reader is a nepo baby who doesn’t know how to deal with rejection a/n: sorry the writing is so wonky, i haven’t written for Chip, or smut in mooooonths. Hope u still enjoy! Also, do we want more of them? I think there’s potential for more idk lemme know.
Low lights make everything hazy, tinting your hair with neon red and yellows. Your perfectly tailored wool slacks keep sticking to the pleather cushion of the stool upon which you’ve perched yourself. You’d left the matching blazer in the office, a thoughtless accident done in your hurry which ends up being a good thing, for the dive bar is hot. An air conditioner whirls in the corner, but it’s not enough to cool the mass of bodies clinking glasses, dancing blindly on the makeshift dance floor, or playing pool in the dark corner.
You try your hardest not to shift uncomfortably.
You’re already overdressed—the silk blouse and trousers stand out in a crowd of tees and denim, not just because of their style but also because they scream money. Paired with the sleek, maroon pumps and the matching handbag you’ve strung on the back of your stool, you’ve already earned quite a few curious looks thrown by the other patrons.
Admittedly, this establishment normally wouldn’t be your first choice.
Hell, it probably wouldn’t even make it to the top ten. Or top fifteen.
Which is precisely why you’d chosen it. Well, that, and the fact that you hadn’t paid that much attention to where you were going when you left the office. You simply wanted to disappear for a little bit, but without your driver navigating through traffic, the city and its sidewalks are an indecipherable maze. Especially at night. Especially at night, to a woman who’s heartbroken over a promotion that should have been hers.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t always guaranteed, and in the business world, there’s nothing owed to you. And maybe your father only ever hinted at giving you the promotion without ever confirming anything.
But he’d put it in your mind, made you want it. And your whole life, you’d gotten what you want, and more.
“You should’ve worked harder for it, then.” he’d said when you confronted him after the meeting had adjourned.
Rich words coming from the man who’d taught you that you deserved everything handed to you on a silver plate.
So you’d congratulated Mr. what’s-his-face for his promotion, declined every invitation for cocktails from the rest of your colleagues, and speed walked out of the business district. Perhaps your subconscious led you here, in the grungier part of downtown, because you knew they’d be hitting up all the places you enjoy going to.
The bartender slides another whiskey neat over to you.
It’s shitty whiskey, tastes like straight gasoline without the refined, woody afternotes you’re used to, but the burning line down your throat is welcome. Tangible pain. You’re aware this is cliche—rich girl drinking her feelings in some unknown bar—but it’s your third glass of the night, which means you’re too far gone to care.
Halfway through this glass, the music changes to something upbeat and fun. With a squeal to no one in particular, you slide off your chair to join the small crowd in the middle of the room, swinging your hips this way and that.
A couple of girls accept you into their fray, wrapping an arm around your waist and yelling the lyrics at each other over the speakers. Sweat drips down your back, along your temples, but the world is a blur of lights and shadows and the promotion is promptly forgotten. Everything is forgotten, every worry, every thought.
That is, until a slight altercation happens over at the bar. Yelling, two men shuffling over a chair, and then a bouncer. You wouldn’t have cared, would have continued dancing with these two girls who smell like vanilla and cigarette smoke, if it weren’t for the bartender yelling and pointing at you.
“Girl, I think they’re calling you over.” one of your dance partners says, glittery eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh,” you giggle, and extricate yourself from the other girl, who pouts but continues dancing, “Yeah, I guess they are.”
Stumbling in your heels, you manage to walk back to the bar in one piece. A soft, confused smile stretches your lips, eyes glancing between the bartender and another taller man with light brown hair.
“Hey!” you exclaim, pointing at his hands, “Why do you have my bag?”
The bartender bristles, blue eyes turning sharp as he regards you. “Lady, he saved your bag from that asshole.”
“Huh?”
The tall man moves behind you, guiding you back to the stool. “Easy, I think she’s drunk.”
“Yeah, clearly. Fucking out of her mind, leaving her fancy ass designer bag laying around.” the bartender grumbles.
You plop on the stool with a groan, still glancing between the two of them. “What’re you talking about? I’m not that drunk.” And you aren’t. You’re still able to dance in your pumps, that counts for something.
The bartender rolls his eyes. “You got her, Chip? I don’t wanna babysit.”
The tall man nods, crowding behind you in a way that feels oddly protective. Like he’s just there to make sure you’re okay. “Grab her some water?”
“Gotcha.”
“I’m not drunk!” you insist, twisting in your seat to face this mystery man called Chip. You come face to face with him hovering by your temple, a corner of his lips tilted up in a smirk. Up close, you see that he’s handsome, some weird, compelling mix of rugged and boyish that makes your stomach twist into knots.
“No?” he sounds amused, a little exasperated, “Then why’d you just leave your bag on your chair?”
“Because it’s my chair! I was going to come back for it after the song.”
“Lady, that’s the drunkest excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“No, it makes perfect sense!”
“Sure it does.” he reaches forward, closing the gap between you as he grabs the glass of water that the bartender had provided. Something leathery and spicy hits your nose. The knot in your stomach grows more uncomfortable. “Here, baby, drink up.”
You grumble, but oblige, sipping at the water for a few moments. “What even happened?”
“Some asshole was trying to take your bag and I stopped him, that’s what.”
Comically, your eyes grow wide. “What, like to steal?”
His head tilts, and the smile grows confused. “Yeah, what else?”
“Don’t you guys have security around here?”
“There’s Dave outside, but I doubt he’d think twice if someone walked out with your bag under their coat.”
“Oh my god, so someone tried to steal my bag.”
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s bound to happen if you leave it on a random chair.”
You look at him bewildered, never even considering it like that. Most of the places you frequent have such high security detail that no one would even dare. Besides, the people in those places would have their own designer bags, and wouldn't even blink twice at yours. It never occurred to you to worry about your stuff, simply because you’ve really never had to.
The man stares back, equally bemused, eyes dragging down the length of you, taking in your fancy ensemble with a more critical gaze. His grin returns, crooked and teasing. “Now, what’s a rich girl like you doing here? Got lost?”
You huff, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “No. This was a very intentional choice.”
“Ah, you just wanted to what? Mingle with us poor people?”
“No!”
“Then what, trying to act up so daddy pays attention to you?”
“No.” this time, you slap his shoulder.
He laughs, but doesn’t seem deterred. “I’m just saying, doll face, we don’t get folks like you around here very often.”
“I was in the area, and wanted a drink.” you lie, sipping at the water again. The way he called you doll face made your throat go dry.
“Well,” he shifts, moving beside you now that he can see you can still keep yourself upright. “You shouldn’t leave your shit lying around like that. You’re lucky I saw him.”
Your brain finally catches up to what has happened. Someone tried to steal your bag. With a panicked jump, you go through your belongings, rifling through to make sure everything is still inside. Wallet, your phone, a leather journal that you use as a planner, the small bottle of perfume you can’t live without.
“Everything there?” his eyes have softened, like sunlight warming the earth.
“Yeah, it’s all here. God.” you run a hand over your forehead, a sudden tiredness washing over you. “Thank you, that would have actually ruined my life if he took my stuff.”
“Hey, no worries baby.”
The pet name makes you scoff, your name leaving your lips as an introduction.
“Pretty name, but I think I’ll stick to baby.” he winces when you smack his shoulder again. “All right, damn. I’m Chip, if you care.”
“Chip?”
“It’s a nickname.”
“Sure.” you giggle, wondering what sort of name could possibly warrant a nickname like Chip. “I should buy you a drink, Chip.”
His grin returns. “You coming onto me now?”
“I meant as a thank you.” you huff, glaring at him. Up close, he’s actually very handsome, cheeks dimpled, with an angular face that’s framed by floppy brown hair. Bad idea, but then again, tonight has been filled with pretty classic bad ideas. Your back straightens and something shifts in your smile. “You know what, maybe I am.”
His grin stalls for half a second, like he wasn’t expecting you to own it so easily. Then it comes back wider, slower, eyes dipping to your mouth before meeting your gaze again. “Oh,” he says, voice dropping just enough to feel intentional, “Careful, doll face, that sounds an awful lot like an invitation.”
“You think?” your eyes roll dramatically, “What, do you need a billboard with massive neon letters too?”
He laughs, the sound easy and unguarded, and for a moment you forget about the noise around you—the music, the crowd, the sticky floor beneath your shoes. He crowds you into the bar again, one arm moving to the back of your stool, while the other rests on the counter.
“I’ll just have a beer, then,” he says.
“Lame.” you quip.
“Baby,” his breath tickles your neck, warm and smelling like menthol cigarettes. “If you’re serious about this, then I don’t want to be drunk and stumbling around.”
You suppress a shudder, teeth sinking into your lower lip. “Oh. Oh, uh, okay.”
Chip flags down the bartender, ordering a beer for himself, and another water for you. You’re parched, but you know it’s the sort of thirst that can only be quelled by one thing.
Chip’s studio apartment is the size of your bedroom. An unmade bed is pushed to one corner. Beside it sits a dresser, the top bearing an ashtray and a couple loose sticks of cigarettes. Another corner is turned into a makeshift kitchenette, complete with a stovetop and a minifridge, and to your left, a half opened door that leads to a small bathroom.
On the drive here, he’d mentioned being a handyman, taking jobs all over the city. You didn’t really know how that would reflect his living situation, and now it’s staring you in the face.
“It’s not much.” he laughs as he closes the door behind you, “But it’s home.”
Not much feels like an understatement. It’s bare. Clean in a way that suggests he doesn’t have much money for the frill, only the most basic necessities to survive. You slip your heels off, following Chip’s lead as he kicks his shoes right by the door. His tool box sits there, deep green and black, filled to the brim with things you’ve never touched before. It sobers you slightly, your two-bedroom penthouse suddenly feeling excessive.
“It’s cozy.” you say, and it’s true. The space is small, but it doesn’t feel suffocating. He’s decorated it with vinyls on the walls, which brings a smile to your face. Well, at least that’s one luxury. “You like music, huh?”
“Yeah,” he grins, coming up behind you, “You wanna play something?”
“Not really,” you giggle, spinning around to face him, “I wanna see you good you are with your hands.”
“Eager, huh?” his head dips, lips finding your jaw as he backs you deeper into the room.
“Well, you talked big game.” you yelp in surprise when the backs of your knees hit his bed, but Chip’s hands tighten over your waist before you could fall.
“I guess I did.” he mumbles, lips traveling down the length of your neck, his stubble rough against the sensitive skin. Something warm and wet moves over the juncture beneath your ear, eliciting a low moan from your lips.
“Fuck,” you breathe, arms wrapping around his neck as he tongues at that spot again, slowly licking his way down. “Good with your tongue too.”
“Barely even started, baby.” he chuckles. Big, calloused hands keep you steady, one firmly planted on the small of your back, while the other explores. Up your sides, squeezing your hips tentatively, like he’s giving you room to say stop, but all the sounds that leave your lips are soft, pretty moans.
He groans, kissing his way back up your neck, finally finding your lips for the first time tonight. Your knees nearly buckle at how deeply he kisses you, mouth moving slow and languid against yours. He sucks at your bottom lip greedily, and you’re already gasping for breath, body buzzing with the remnants of alcohol and the smell of cigarette smoke, and something even more addictive.
Finally, his roaming hand lands on your ass, squeezing handfuls of you through the slacks.
It’s embarrassing, how high your voice goes when he does it again. And again. And again, until he swallows your moans with another kiss, tongue pushing past lips and teeth, licking deep into your mouth.
You clutch handfuls of his hair and try to keep up.
He’s right. He’s barely even started, and you already feel gone.
He pulls back, laughing hoarsely as you lean forward, nearly tipping over in your attempt to latch on his lips again.
“Easy, baby.” he cooes, making sure you’re upright before his hands leave your hips to unbutton your blouse. “We’ve got all night, I promise.” he says, making quick work of your top. You shimmy out of them, the fabric sliding like a breath off your shoulders, while he unzips your pants.
Long, gentle fingers ease the pants down, and a breath whooshes from Chip’s lips as he takes you in. The underwear you’ve chosen aren’t your best set, they aren’t even lace for heaven’s sake, you’d worn the most boring pair to feel professional today, but Chip’s looking at you with such an open adoration and desire that it makes your entire body hum.
“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, hands returning to your ass, fingers sinking deep before he hoists you up.
Your legs wind around his hips automatically. “Thanks.”
You’re airborne for all of five seconds, because he lays you back down on his bed, slow and careful. Long, heavy limbs settle atop you, presses you into the mattress as his head dips and he’s kissing you again, kissing you like he’s trying to steal your breath and your very soul. Rough fingers draw patterns over your neck and collar, and then his lips are following, open and sucking with a desperation that makes your toes curl.
When those lips lick at your chest, your nipples pebble, peaking even through the padded fabric of your bra. Chip tugs the offensive scrap down, too distracted now to even think of taking it off completely, and wraps his mouth over one nipple.
If his body weren’t pressing into you, you would have arched right off the bed.
Instead, you content yourself in twisting beneath him, fingers scrambling all over his back, fisting into his t-shirt. He groans in complaint when you pull at the fabric, forcing him to part from your pert, heaving chest.
“Off.” you demand, tugging his shirt over his head.
Chip eases himself up, just enough to pull it off, and then eagerly returns his attention to your chest. His skin is slick against yours, body lean with muscle that’s obviously used to long hours of hard labor.
“Fuck, you’re so soft.” he breathes, moving to lave your other nipple with equal fervor as his free hand cups you through your panties. He moans at the wetness he finds there, warm and messy even with the barrier of fabric. “And so wet, baby, this all for me?”
“Yeah.” you don’t bother with denial, with coyness, too far gone you would have started begging if he asked you to. And begging has never even been part of your vocabulary. “All for you, Chip.”
He hums. Slides his hand down the front of your underwear and finds a throbbing slickness that makes his own shaft twitch. A finger slides in, slow and careful, before a second follows. You clench around them instinctively, neck baring as your spine curves upwards.
“There you go,” he whispers against your breast, teeth closing around the pebbled nipple the same time his fingers curl, pumping in and out. “Feel good?” When you nod, a third finger slides in, stretches you out easily.
Stars explode behind your eyes.
“So good.” You’re sobbing, all the pent up disappointment of today dissolving into pure, aching bliss. “More, please, I need more.”
Suddenly his fingers are gone, leaving you fluttering around emptiness. Another sob wracks from your throat, though there’s no tears, not really, just sweat and a gnawing need that has you feeling like floating.
“I’ve got you,” he shushes, shifting over your body to kiss your lips again, featherlight touches meant to soothe rather than work you up. “Shh, baby, just let me-”
You hear a zipper, and rustling clothes, feel his legs kicking around against yours until the unmistakable weight of his erection settles on your thigh. A gasp escapes your lips at the sheer heft of it, and then it’s gone again, and Chip is sitting on his haunches, cursing under his breath.
“What now?” you whine.
“Condom.” He grunts, searching the pockets of his discarded jeans.
Oh. He’s right, it’s the responsible thing to do, after all, but you’re so desperate to continue you find yourself tugging him back down.
“I’m on the pill, don’t worry about it.”
“You- fuck, baby, you sure?”
Your legs wrap around his hips as you nod. “Positive.”
He groans again, hands running up your thighs. “Okay, if you’re sure.” His fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties, drags them down your legs. You free one leg from his hips, just enough to unhook your underwear off and get it out of the way, unwilling to completely let go.
Chip laughs. Leans back over your body slowly, one arm bracing himself by your head, the other wrapped around his base. He drags the tip over your soaked folds, gliding through the wetness until he’s covered with your arousal. The friction is delicious, makes your fingers fist into his sheets and your hips cant up, seeking more of the sensation.
Every slow drag hits your clit, and you whimper. “Damn it, Chip, stop teasing.”
He laughs. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it, you look so pretty, writhin’ like that.”
“I assure you, I’ll still be writhing even with your cock inside me.”
His laughter rings out alongside yours. It’s a crude little joke, nothing you’d say in different circumstances, but this is Chip, and this feels special. At least, you think it is. He bends down, kisses you softly as he finally guides himself to your entrance, replacing the space his fingers had previously occupied.
And oh, the stretch is even more delicious than before. There’s no room to clench around him, not initially, not while you’re still adjusting and he’s easing torturously slowly into your tight heat.
“Jesus Christ.” he hisses, dragging his shaft out, then thrusts back in shallowly. He doesn’t bottom out just yet. “God, baby, I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No,” you whimper, half lying. It does sting, the fullness just on the edge of too much, but there’s also so much pleasure from being stretched taut, of being stuffed. “It’s good, just don’t move too fast.”
“Okay,” he nods, allowing himself another inch, eyes trained on your face with every thrust in. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
You nod, though you doubt you’ll actually do it. How can something be too much when you want even more? And you’re used to getting what you want, after all.
Chip thrusts back into you, groaning as your walls flutter with more ease now, sinking deeper than before, moving slowly until his pelvis is flush with yours. His hips stutter, letting you adjust when he finally bottoms out.
“Fuck,” you moan, “Oh my god, Chip.”
“Good?” he asks, lips pressed against your jaw. He starts a slow, shallow rhythm, like he’s testing how much you can take.
“Yeah.” Your ankles lock together at the base of his back, keeping him deep inside you. “Yeah, just like that.”
His groan rumbles through his entire body, thrusts growing more confident when he feels you relaxing around him enough to properly fuck into you. Your body seizes with pleasure when his rhythm grows a little harsher, squeezing around the length of him like you never want him to leave.
“God,” he groans, “Fuck!” his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as his pace gets faster, deeper, pulling out nearly all the way before slamming hard into you. Loud, wanton sounds fall from your lips, only to be muffled when you bury your face into the crook of his shoulder.
“Chip!”
“I know, baby.” he grunts, an arm coming around your waist and lifting your hips up. The angle drives him even deeper somehow, lets his hips grind against your exposed clit. Beneath you, the bed creaks dangerously, the frame hitting the wall with dull thuds in time with each thrust.
You feel delirious. Drunk. Eyes half-lidded as you watch him take you, over and over until the pleasure curls and swells, flooding your body from your lower belly, to the tips of your fingers, till there’s nowhere else to go but out.
Your orgasm shakes your body, squeezes hard around Chip’s already twitching length, and he groans, falling over you as he chases his own high. His pace is sloppy now, quick bursts, skin slapping into skin until he bites down hard against your shoulder, hard.
Heat floods inside you, filling you so much you could feel it leaking out as he keeps thrusting, riding out the intense high. And then he slumps. Apologizes.
“What for?” you whisper, breathless in the sudden stillness. His apartment smells of sex and sweat.
“Didn’t pull out.”
You laugh. “Oh. Don’t worry about it. Told you, I’m on the pill.”
He hums, soothing over the bite mark with his lips, gentle and sweet. “Right. Guess I forgot.”
“S’okay.”
He pulls out with a hiss, rubbing your hips gently with his large palms. The emptiness is staggering. You already miss the way he’d made you feel, but you don’t say any of that, not tonight.
“Can I stay?” you whisper, afraid to disturb whatever aftershocks are present.
“Doll face, did you really think I was gonna make you leave?” his arms close around you, piling your boneless body over him, until you’re cradled against his lean frame. “Stay. Stay as long as you like.”
pls reblog, thank you!!!!