(anon pls)
Something something line cook!ghost and hostess!reader
ghost as the line cook who has nicotine stains on his fingers no matter how much he washes them, and somehow thats the first thing you notice when he hands you a plate over the pass through. not the skull on the back of his hand or the mishmash of weaponry and warfare that decorates the rest of his arm —though you should have because the tight roll of his shirt sleeve around his bicep had been for no one's benefit but yours— but the slightly yellowed tips of his thick fingers.
you're new to the waitress game, new to the city too, and if anyone had told you falling for a line cook was a defining moment in every waitress' life you forgot it as soon as you saw Simon Riley's hands. something about them seemed so... suckable.
and then he'd barked at you to watch your plate and you'd nearly spilled the already tipping dish all over your front. you scurried out with your humiliation following quickly behind, and tried to keep from making eye contact the rest of the night.
the other waitresses gossip while you sit rolling silverware, and when you ask about Simon they all give you a knowing look.
"he always has a wrong order if you're hungry," one of them supplies after you insist it's just professional curiosity.
"and he'll walk you to your car if a customer is hanging around," another chimes in.
"stinks like a chimney," a third grumbles, and you press your thighs together thinking about his stained fingers.
it gets easier to interact with the kitchen staff, the cooks are nice enough once you get past the sharp tongues and annoyed tones. the younger guys working the line make kissy noises every time Simon hands you a plate, and you have to listen to the head chef yell at them just to get your table's food. Simon always stays quiet.
he's a quiet guy. at least around you. the bus boy calls you a headcase when you mention it, claims getting the man to shut up is a feat.
"always has some shite joke," he groans, "two legs and bleeds- i nearly killed 'im fer that one."
you consume information about him ravenously, you ask questions sparingly, make observations frequently, and spend as little time as possible actually interacting with the man. you barely know what he looks like, not just because he always seems to be wearing something dark and food safe over the lower half of his face, but because you cant look him in the eye. you're too scared he'll see right down to the core of you, that you'll twitch or blink and he'll know in an instant that you want him in a stupid way.
so, you keep your head down. you listen to the line tease Simon about bullying you. you live on scraps, on the curve of his fingers on the edge of a plate, on the press of his thumb, on the neat blunt trim of his nails, and on imagining the way he would push those fingers into you. you're starting to get a little dizzy whenever you have to grab food.
apparently dizzy enough for one of the other servers to steady you with a concerned look in their eye.
"why dont you go outside and grab some fresh air?" she offers and you nod, swallowing down the guilt that you're not sick just irreparably horny and failing to hide it.
it's only when the scent of tobacco hits you that you realize how unfresh the air behind the restaurant really is. it makes your nose wrinkle, its easy to forget in a fantasy how bad cigarettes smell, but standing between the dumpsters you don't know how you could have forgotten.
you won't forget now, not with Simon attached to the memory.
not with smoke swirling from between parted, scarred lips as he stares you down from across the alley.
"what d'ya need girl?" he asks, his words still smoking and his vocal cords rough with use. the sound of it makes your knees weak. he asks it like you followed him out here, like you came looking for him. as if it wasn't just bad luck that brought you out here with him.
the words die on your tongue, mind working overtime to come up with something to say to a man who you've never said two words to outside a squeaked 'thanks.'
"air," you mutter dumbly. simon hums around his cigarette, the smoldering stick held tight between four fingers as he holds it to his lips. your eyes keep flicking between the skull on the back of his hand and the sunken depths of his eyes, so dark they're almost black. you wonder if that's a trick of the streetlight or if you'd have found the same cursed coloration under the kitchen lights had you ever dared to look up from the offered plates.
"right," he says after a long exhale. he eyes you warily, letting silence lapse between you with a raise of one pale eyebrow. he doesn't believe you.
"i didn't follow you." you watch his lips curl back over his teeth at your hasty attempt to explain yourself.
"didn't say ya did."
"but you were thinking it."
another hum, another burning inhale, the light from his cigarette more potent, more damning than the churn of emotion in your gut. "didn't know ya were psychic too." he exhales. the smoke curls between you. "gonna guess what i'm thinkin' all night?"
"n-no, i-" he jerks his head, nods you closer, and when you don't move he bears his teeth.
"c'mere."
you're quick to comply, a shuddering prey instinct rising in the back of your throat as he seems to consume the alley with his demand. your hands shake, your breath held. you don't move fast enough, and flinch when he reaches to drag you closer.
he grabs your jaw, his thumb forcing its way between your lips to sit between your teeth. he presses down on your tongue until your jaw hurts, but the grip of his other fingers keep you from following the pressure. his thumb tastes like tobacco and soap, and you cant stop yourself from sucking it, dragging your tongue over the thick digit even as your eyes start to sting from the ache.
"you wanna stare, you do it from 'ere." simon warns you, "can't enjoy a cunt that keeps runnin' away from me."
a/n: this is all @chvoswxtch's fault. you know what you did, babe! whispering in my ear like a slutty little devil…
summary: briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.
warnings: frank castle x diner waitress!reader, smut, mutual pining, kissing, public sex, clothed sex (the uniform stays on, hehe), dirty talk, size kink (the return of mr castle's canon coke can cock, hallelujah), manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spit kink, oral, fingering, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie
word count: 3643
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A soft hum vibrated quietly in your throat as you cleaned out the table in the corner where the last remaining customers had just departed from, leaving you all alone in the dark diner as the rest of the small staff too had gone home at this late hour since next to no one ever frequented the establishment in the time slot before closing.
After wiping down the table, the interior dimly illuminated by mostly just the neon lights scattered around the walls as well as the big one out front that glimmered through the windows, you then balanced the dirty plates out into the kitchen. Though when you sat the dishes down by the sink, the chime of the door out front found your ears.
However, when you twisted your neck to glance out of the wide hole in the wall, that divided the kitchen from the dining area, to spot the individual who had just entered the low-lit diner, the gentle melody that warmed up your chest promptly seized from your lips as your eyes began to widen.
Briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.
You still remembered two months back when the gruff-looking man had first set foot into the diner. It had been like you’d been transformed into one of those wooden dolls where you press a button at the very base and its legs just collapse.
You still weren’t sure if it was a gift or a curse that the establishment had swiftly grown into a regular spot for him to frequent, seeing as you now spent most of your days either eye-fucking him from a distance as he sat in your section, or stumbled over your words as you tried to take his order. You’d even dropped all of his change one of the times he’d paid, sending the coins clanging across the linoleum floor, only for him to duck down and join you on the ground, the simple kindness sending such a shiver down your spine that you had crashed your skull up into the table like the true stumble fuck you felt like whenever he was near.
And when you finally managed to force your feet to shift, the advice, that one of your coworkers had recently given you on your little predicament, echoed quietly on your lips as you exited the kitchen, “okay, be bold... be bold…” in a feeble attempt at hyping yourself up.
Your fingers dipped into the pocket of the little apron tied around your waist, fishing out a small notepad and pencil, before you neared the spot he sat at.
“Hi, Frank,” you uttered, offering him a smile as his eyes flickered up to settle upon you.
“Evening, sweetheart,” he exhaled, the surely meaningless term of endearment that he had begun to drop into your short chats over the past few weeks still caused your ragged breath to hitch.
“You’re up late,” you briefly glanced to the round clock on the wall before reuniting your gaze with his unwavering one.
Tilting his head, the corners of his lips twitched slightly as he murmured, “yeah, well at least I’m not still stuck at work.”
“Touché,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth and wiggled the pencil in your grasp before asking, “so, what can I get you tonight?”
“Just some coffee,” his head nodded slightly as his gaze briefly averted, “and keep it coming.”
“Coffee as usual,” you slipped your notepad back into your pocket, “you and your endless cups of coffee, okay… perhaps I should just start pouring automatically whenever I see you come in, like it’s pavlovian or something.”
“Well,” his tongue fleetingly flickered out to wet his slight smile, “it would save me the breath, not having to ask for what I want if you just give it to me straight out of the gate.”
Heat promptly rose in your cheeks as your dirty mind played tricks on you and warped his words. Clearing your throat lightly as you swiftly choked on a tiny giggle, “uhm, yeah–, so, uh…” you stared down at the counter, though quickly darted them away when his hands that rested there began to distract you as well and make you that much more dizzy, “just the coffee, nothing else?” you uttered hazily as you then twisted around to snatch up the half-empty pot behind you and fill up a mug for him.
“Just the coffee,” he drawled quietly like a gentle crackling fire behind you.
“You sure?” you tilted your head as you spun back around and slid the cup across the counter towards him, “it’s Friday night. Why not go crazy and treat yourself to a piece of pie or something.”
Gliding his fingers into place around the warm mug, his eyes fluttered back up to capture your own, “I’m good, thanks.”
“Really? You don’t even wanna hear what the options are?” your teeth gently dug into your bottom lip, “I made them all myself, fresh this morning…”
Blinking back at you a moment, he then bowed his head as he gave in, “alright, sure, why the hell not.”
“Well,” you propped down your forearms on the counter directly across from where he sat, “there’s rhubarb pie with a meringue topping,” you uttered softly as you leaned against the table, slowly inching closer and closer to him, “there’s apple if you’re into the classics,” your gaze licked him up as your heart hammered in your chest like it was trying to escape, “and then today’s special, cherry pie…”
“Cherry, huh?” he hummed as he stared back into your eyes, even as you gradually tilted closer. You knew that if he dared to let his unwavering gaze stray, he’d surely be able to look straight down the neckline of your uniform from how you bent over the counter.
Dipping your vision down to his lips, you dreamily sucked in a breath as you added, “with extra whip cream on top…”
A smirk bloomed on his lips as an exhale then slipped from his lungs, “well how ‘bout that…”
The next thing you knew, it was as if your brain shut off completely as you then found yourself closing the short distance between you two and crashing your lips against his own. The kiss was short and rather clumsy before you then regained your senses and pulled back just as quickly as you had dived in.
“Oh my goodness,” you swiftly gasped as your hands soared up to briefly shield the lower half of your face, “I’m sorry, that was–, I shouldn't have just–, out of the blue without–,” you stumbled over your own words, “I'm sorry, please don’t tell my boss, I really need this job–”
But then, before you could crumble before him, Frank suddenly seized both sides of your face and pulled you back in for not only a kiss, but one that made your feeble attempt pale in comparison. Melting completely under the scorching warmth of his lips, you damn near crawled straight across the counter to scramble into his lap. However, when he finally withdrew, the kiss somehow seeming both as if it had stretched out an eternity, as well as only feeling like the blink of an eye, you stumbled slightly, and if it hadn’t been for his palms that remained on the sides of your jaw, you surely would have taken a nosedive right in front of him.
“Fuck…” you dizzily blinked back at him as only his hands cupping your features in a gentle grip kept you upright, “how–… how are you even better at that than I imagined?” your jello-like knees wobbled beneath you.
“Oh, you’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about me kissing you,” he chuckled softly, “have you?”
“Well,” you sucked in a ragged breath as you noticed how the dull throb he always triggered between your thighs worsened, “it’s not just that my brain has been thinking about ever since you first came in here…”
“Oh yeah?” he shared your breath as his fingertips slowly strayed into your hairline, “what else has that pretty little head been thinking about, huh?”
And as the corners of your lips twitched into a smile, you gathered up the courage to utter, “…how about you come back here and I show you instead?”
With a soft smirk on his lips, his fingers then slipped from your face before he rose from his seat. Panting, your eyes tracked him as he took his sweet time making his way around the long counter to stand on the same side as you.
Tangling your fingers in his dark shirt as soon as he came in reach, you yanked him to you till his lips crashed against your own once again. Though the ravenous kiss didn’t last too long before you then tilted away as your legs began to bend and you sank down on the ground before him. You still stayed so close to him that your cheek pressed up against his thick thigh as you blinked up at him, a question twinkling in your eyes as your fingers slowly clawed closer to his belt.
But before your lips managed to part in order to ask for permission, Frank caught on and, as he breathlessly gazed down at your kneeling frame, offered you a nod.
Your mouth fell apart in an airy giggle as your stunned eyes widened at his girth that sprung forth as soon as you tugged down the zipper of his dark jeans.
It was soft, rather timid but sweet, as you began to pepper pecks along his length, smiling against the hardness as it twitched at your feathery touch before you soothed it with your glistening tongue.
And though you had a hard time ripping your gaze away from his cock, it more often than not drifted back up to Frank’s own stare as he leaned back against the counter.
When your lips eventually were stretched around his cock and drool was gurgling up your efforts as you bobbed your head, his fingers gently found your hair as his hips stopped resisting the greedy thrusts they craved in order to bury his dick further into your warmth.
A low growl rumbled in his chest when your sweet mouth became too much for him to bear, and he swiftly plucked you back up onto your feet. Spinning you both around till the counter pressed against the small of your back, he then picked you up and planted you on the edge of the tabletop.
Pressing your lips to his own, you then purred against his tongue as his touch wandered down your frame and disappeared up under the dress of your uniform to discover the soaked state of your panties beneath. To you, his fingertips fluttered over your covered core for way too long till he finally yanked the cotton to the side to sweep his touch directly against your aching pussy.
“Holy fucking shit,” you panted as he finally rolled your puffy pearl beneath the rough pads of his fingers, and you had to tilt away from his kiss a moment to reel in the ecstasy. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as you arched your back, though a smirk only bloomed on Frank’s features as he gazed back at your blissed-out features.
“You like that?” he uttered huskily, still so close that he shared your breath.
“I–, fucking–, yes!” you panted before reuniting your lips with his own just as a whimper crawled its way out of your lungs.
Soon his pinkie and forefinger flexed against your centre as the ones in between methodically pumped in and out of your pussy, caressing your velvety walls till you were on the verge of exploding.
But instead of unravelling and creaming all over his thick fingers, you gasped, “wait,” as you painstakingly yanked his touch out from beneath your skirt, “I-I need you inside of me, please, I wanna feel you, I can’t wait any longer,” a dizzy pout quivered at your lip as you begged. Answering your prayer, Frank then slid you off of the counter and spun you around for the curve of your ass to arch back against him.
“Then do it,” his deep voice tickled the shell of your ear as he slid a palm down over your frame before finding your clit once more in a rub that caused your eyes to roll, “go ahead, take what you want, sweetheart,” he uttered, encouraging your fingers to reach back to grasp his girth.
His digits kept on drawing patterns over your puffy pearl as you then slowly slipped his fat cock inside, “f-fuck…” you whined shakily as your eyes fell shut, your whole body freezing up for a second as your cunt clenched around the bulbous tip of him, struggling a moment before relaxing around his size and letting him in.
You felt his lips flutter against the side of your neck as the hand he didn’t have slotted between your trembling thighs, floated up around the curve of your ass, spreading his hand wide across it as he gently gathered up the skirt of your uniform to grant himself a peek of how you stretched for him.
“Atta girl, that’s it,” he groaned as you slowly began to move and fill your pussy up further, “you got it, sweet girl,” his own hips all the while staying locked and letting you control the pace, “keep going.”
Though it didn’t take long after you’d picked up a desperate rhythm, bouncing your ass back against him, that your upper body gave out, bending down over the counter and melting against it as you finally came undone, your loud moans echoing throughout the empty diner.
And though your greedy efforts tried to keep going through your high, your shaky movements still degraded into trembling rocks as you slowly tilted back against him till your sensitivity began to fade away. However, when Frank finally began to move, his palm first gliding up along your horizontal spine before he let himself go, a crinkle found your brow as your body jostled against the counter at each zealous thrust he offered you, his heavy balls smacking against your buzzing clit each time he bottomed out and the tip of him kissed the deepest parts of you.
However, as you fought to keep your eyes open and one of your hands fluttered back to claw needily against one of Frank’s belt loops, your hazy gaze suddenly snapped open as you spotted the figure out on the dark street that came marching directly towards the front door of the diner.
“Shit!” you yelped before you shakily shot up and, in your panic, shoved Frank down behind the counter before the patron could enter. Smoothing down your uniform as the door chimed, your eyes were wide as you squeaked, “hello,” doing everything in your power to seem completely normal and not let your stare stray down to the man hiding by your feet, his throbbing cock still glistening with your juices.
“Hi,” the elderly man offered a tight-lipped smile before glancing around at all of the empty seats and uttering, “are you still serving pancakes?”
And though in actuality you weren’t still serving breakfast at this hour, your mind swiftly short-circuited as you felt Frank sneak a hand up under your uniform, “s-sure, but it’ll take a bit,” you breathed shakily as his touch teasingly traced the mess between your thighs, making you shiver with each light pet, “it’s just me working here right now.”
“Oh, that’s alright, I don’t mind waiting,” the customer murmured, though just as he did, you sucked in a sharp breath as the gruff man kneeling beside you let himself tilt closer and grant himself a brief taste, momentarily parting your petals with his tongue as his nose nudged against your pearl, lapping ravenously at your leaky hole that still quivered for his cock, before his mouth then soared up and captured your clit, wasting no time to suck down on it making your entire frame jump jaggedly at the dizzying sensation.
“A-alright,” you puffed unsteadily as you watched the stranger take a seat in a far-off booth, “I’ll be right back,” you murmured and lightly shoved Frank’s head away from beneath your skirt before you shakily made your way into the back.
Clutching a hand over your chest as you tried to catch your breath, you didn’t get the chance to glance over your shoulder before you felt Frank catch up to you after he’d snuck into the kitchen as well.
“You are terrible,” you whispered through a hazy giggle as he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, his beard still glistening from the greedy taste he’d offered himself.
“Oh, you have no idea,” he exhaled before you caught onto his shirt and dragged him around the corner with you, into the pantry at the very bottom of the kitchen.
Twisting you around to face him, he kissed you once more, though it only broke when he plucked you up off the ground to sit you up on the steel table that stood between the many open shelves, all brimming with dried and canned goods.
Slotting himself in between your legs, he stole one last peck before his fingers enveloped his girth and offered it a silky stroke. Glancing down between your thighs as you began to shimmy your dress back up, his thumb hooked in the gusset of your panties before it could stray back into place and cover you back up.
Letting a dollop of spit drop from his lips and down upon your glistening pussy as he continued to stare, he uttered gravelly, “you want it?” before he tapped the hefty weight of himself against your puff.
“Yes,” you panted as you too blinked down at how he dragged the bulbous head of his cock through your folds, teasingly tracing the seam of your cunt and making you squirm beneath him.
“Oh, yeah?” he tried to make you beg for it, flicking his hardness crudely against your clit, “tell me how bad.”
“So bad,” you whined as his teasing swiftly became too much for you to bear, “please, Frank,” you nearly felt yourself drool as your eyebrows knitted tightly together, “just shove it back in.”
Huffing out a short chuckle, “okay,” he then took your breath away as he didn’t just slide the tip back inside, but instead slammed the entirety of his length back inside, burying himself completely in your haven, “like that?” he smirked as you struggled to breathe.
“I-I–,” your eyes fluttered as your fingers soared up to dent his shoulders, “o-oh god… that’s so much…”
“What?” he grinned as he tilted closer to you for his nose to ghost against your own, “I thought you said you wanted it,” he murmured cockily before pulling all of the way back out, “is it too much dick for you, huh?” your dripping essence clung to his girth as he slipped out and some of your desperation even dribbled onto the tabletop below.
“It’s–, shit,” you tried to keep up with his dizzying game, but your molten mind just wouldn’t let you, “Frank, please just fuck me. I can’t–, I–, urgh!” a shrill moan promptly escaped you as he then sank back inside, making your eyes roll in your skull as he swiftly slipped into a slow yet rough rhythm, “f-fuck… thank you…”
Smiling against your breathless lips, he uttered, “god, you’re cute…” before his hips snapped against you, offering you long and deep strokes that made it tough for you both to last much longer.
Though once you’d both tumbled over the edge, your cunt choking his cock and milking him for all of his worth, the slow and smouldering kisses that drew out over your lips eventually faded as he slipped his length out of you.
Blinking back at him, your eyes widened slightly in gentle puzzlement as he then sank down before you and began to clean up the mess you’d both turned you into, holding your gaze and eating you out till you had no other choice but to clamper a palm over your mouth to keep quiet as he made you cum one last time.
Hand slipping from your lips as you fell back onto your forearms and caught your breath, you scarcely saw as Frank then rose back up to his full height, his lips briefly dancing up the length of your thigh on his way back up, before his gaze caught sight of the row of pies lined up on a nearby shelf. They were all mostly gone, though what was left was covered by a layer of cling film.
Stretching out an arm, he ducked a finger beneath the plastic that covered the last remaining piece of the cherry one and then brashly dipped his digit into the crimson berry filling, before bringing it up to his lips to suck it clean, the display of which somehow making your sensitive core throb once more for him as he let his tongue lap up the greedy taste he’d granted himself.
As his lips let go of his finger with a pop, a hum rumbled in his broad chest, “that’s good,” before his eyes flickered down to his digit and he twisted it into a different angle to lick up the remaining pie filling. Though as he savoured every last drop, his dark eyes flickered back to capture your stare as he then added with a soft smirk, “but I think I prefer the one that you gave me…”
A/N: line cook!logan x waitress!reader, ft. host!wade, fluffy, comfort, pregnancy, protective!logan, mild suggestive nsfw towards the end
Once the drugstore tests proved Logan’s suspicions of pregnancy to be true, he started to delegate much like he does at work. An appointment with an obgyn is already set for two weeks from now, the fridge in your shared apartment is cleared that night of any deli meats and leftovers, “Only fresh ingredients from now on.” Logan had decided as he cleaned out even the pantry of anything he deem unsuitable for you or his child.
At the apartment, he’s so calm and attentive always kissing on you and asking if you’re hungry, which you have been a lot lately.
“Want some of that truffle carbonara from last night’s dinner service?” He asks, caressing your legs which are draped across his lap while you’re reading. Logan can’t help contemplating you whenever there’s a moment of peace. Maybe it’s just because he knows, but he swears you’re already glowing. Secure and confident in the changes your body is no doubt already making to prepare for growth.
“Ooo, can you make that here?” You ask, looking away from the page and at him with hopeful eyes. He nods, kissing your knee sweetly before lifting your legs and sliding out from under them.
“I can make you anything you want, darlin’.” He says, leaning over and kissing your lips as you grin. “Just gotta ask.”
At work, he’s not quite as calm, but still very attentive. There are so many distractions and hazardous situations that could potentially hurt you. Things he’s always been aware of, but now he has to make nothing harms the evolution of life you’re carrying. He wishes he could only focus on you, but that simply can’t ever be the case with a menace like Wade around.
“Don’t!” Logan says, pointing a knife at Wade who had been about to make a humping gesture while you were bent over in the storage closet, grabbing more cloth table napkins. Wade freezes, his hands just inches above your hips when you turn to look up and immediately laugh at him. “Get back to the host stand, Wade.”
“Wow, I’ve never been cockblocked that quickly before.” Wade says, shaking his head while helping you up. “Is he PMSing?” Wade asks you in a whispered voice just loudly enough for Logan to hear whether he chooses to or not.
“Not yet, I think you have 2 more weeks of light treading.” You reassure him, patting his shoulder and dipping your chin to the front where some customers are wandering in. “Go try air humping them, might make you feel better.”
Wade looks over and gives an optimistic nod. “I hope Gammy doesn’t have her good high waisted panties on cause they’re about to get wet.” He says, rolling his shoulders like he’s hyping himself up.
“Gross.” You laugh, lightly shoving him forward to greet the guests while you go check on your still-scowling boyfriend in the kitchen. “You okay?”
“Wade plays too rough sometimes. Just didn’t want him hurting you.” Logan explains with a sheepishly tint on his ears and you smile, kissing the corner of his lips gently. One of his large hands rests on your waist and his thumb light brushes over your soft belly. “You still feeling okay?”
“I feel fine, Logan.” You say, running a hand through the sides of his hair and nodding in reassurance when he gives you a skeptic look. “I’m going to be fine, don’t worry. We’ve got time before I get bi-”
All of a sudden, your mouth fills up with saliva and you get an uncomfortable tightness at the top of your belly. Logan’s eyes widen and you shake your head, trying to ward him off as you hurry to the staff restroom in the back.
“Joey, man the grill and don’t let those lobsters overcook.” You hear Logan instruct while he follows you anyway, heavy boots hurrying behind you as you burst into the thankfully vacant restroom.
Once inside you’re hunched over and puking into the toilet while Logan holds your hair back and soothing rubs your lower back with a large hand. He doesn’t say anything, just watches and offers comfort while your body does what it has to do. As you flush, you groan softly and Logan helps you onto your feet, letting you make your on way to the sink where you wash your hands and rinse your mouth.
“Guess it won’t be long before Wade and the others figure out you’ve gone and gotten the waitress pregnant.” You tease while drying your hand and patting your chin dry, making him laugh softly.
“Still fine?” Logan asks with a small smirk he can’t help as you toss your paper towel and pout, shaking your head at him. That’s his kid alright, already making things difficult.
“No, I wanna go home.” You give him a sigh, feeling exhausted from that ordeal alone, and he chuckles, sliding a hand around your waist and pulling you into a kiss and a tender hug.
“I’ve got you, darlin’, let me take care of you. This is what I do best.”
You know he’s right. He’s always been such a good partner, always thoughtful and respectful of your wants and needs. You have always been able to turn your brain off around him, letting him take care of everything that requires planning or physical effort. Now, with a baby on the way, you shouldn’t feel like you need to handle it all on your own just because it’s happening in your body. You can share even this task with him by letting him worry and care — you know he’s going to regardless.
“Are you nervous?” You ask Logan that night as you are both in the bathroom getting ready for bed. You sit on the counter of your His and Hers sinks, brushing your hair leisurely while he finishes brushing his teeth. “About being a dad?”
Logan takes his time as he rinses his mouth and sets his toothbrush back in its cup next to yours, methodically washing his face and hands before drying off with a hand towel. His eyes take you in where you sit smiling happily at him as you twist your hair into a long braid — you look exactly the same as you did that morning before work. His little waitress with a kind heart and playful smile, but now carrying the potential of new life.
“I thought I would be,” Logan finally admits, moving over to you as you finish your braid and he stands between your thighs. Your arms wrap around his bare, broad shoulders and you look up at him sweetly. “Thought I’d be terrified, to be honest. Raisin’ a kid‘s no walk in the park and I don’t have the skill set.” You laugh softly, shaking your head in amusement. “But with you, darlin’,” He sighs, caressing your cheek softly with his thumb, making you instinctively nuzzle into his palm. “I haven’t been nervous about anything since you came along.”
“Good, because I’m not nervous either,” You murmur, kissing him softly and leaning into him. Logan moans softly as your warm body presses against his bare torso, the thin material of your camisole doing little to insulate the heat of his own body. “Logan, I’m so excited. We’re going to have a baby!” You grin, pecking his jaw and neck, “I wanna make sure.” You whisper against his lips, your hands cupping his face as you kiss him firmly.
“Sweetheart, you’re so warm, smell so damn good.” He groans, easily lifting you off the counter and carrying you into the bedroom. “My sweet girl’s gonna have my baby.” He murmurs, sweetly kissing you while lying you on the bed. His warmth follows, not abandoning you for a moment as the kisses heat up and clothes is blindly displaced.
“Oh, fuck, that’s so hot when you say it.” You groan making Logan laugh, your hands slide into his sweats and you kiss his neck. “You’re gonna be a daddy.”
“Careful, sweetheart,” Logan growls, recapturing your lips while sliding a large, warm hand up your camisole and gently cupping your breast. “You’re gonna be too tender to rough up in a few weeks time.”
“Better take advantage of my resilience now then.” You tease, rolling your hips inviting against his hard cock. “C’mon, daddy, I need it.”
And what his pregnant girl needs, she gets.
Really needed something fluffy and positive to share. It has been a difficult couple of days as someone who wants to both stay informed and has too much empathy:(
And I hope everyone affected by this winter weather on the East Coast has been staying safe and warm!🫶
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ you were in desperate need of a job, and one day you just happened to walk into the beef. the owner; michael offered you the job almost on the spot. mikey was the like the big brother you wished you’d had.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ when michael passed, and you finally met carmen for the first time. it was like two different worlds colliding. like a meteor landing on impact. in other words it was bad.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ arguments happened often. harsh words thrown like darts until it landed and stuck. you were angry, and so was carmy.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ when carmen first showed up and wanted to change the place you thought like richie, you thought that carmen was just a big fucking baby. and that he was messing with the system that mikey already put in place.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ you were good with people; like richie. but you had a short fuse sometimes, you got irritated quickly…mostly with carmy.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ but once carmen found all the money in the tomato cans, it was like a switch almost flipped. you began to mellow out, everything went smoother in the kitchen. and then carmy proposed the idea for the bear. and you agreed.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ you were good at what you did, and so was carmen. there was a mutual respect. but sometimes you felt that carmy held something against you.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ when you first started working at the beef mikey had given you a nickname. and it stuck like superglue. everyone calls you by it. mikey had called you “cub” like a bear cub, cause you in his words before he passed “you act like a baby bear. you growl and you bite but you’re all soft”
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ you were serious when you needed to be. you were work obsessed, you believed in perfection. you were also slightly neurotic. you were good at the things that most people were bad at. you analyzed every scenario that could possibly happen.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ carmy thought that you were the biggest pain in the ass. sometimes he had these fleeting thoughts that he should fire you..then he thought of mikey and how you had been there for all the things he was never there for. you both together were tethered in more ways than one.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ you and sydney were practically partners in crime. you and richie fought and argued like siblings. you and marcus were each others rock. tina was like your work mom, who always asked if you were okay. ebra, sweeps, and fak were like your annoying cousins. and carmy..carmy was carmy. all of you put together were one big dysfunctional family, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚ you loved the beef. you loved working there. and you loved it even more when it turned into the bear. in richie’s words “you’re one of the best goddamn people that work front of house, mikey believed it. carmy believes it. and i sure as hell do.”
explicit language, spoilers for the movie ‘68 Kill’, smoking, alcohol mention, murder mention (canon compliant), both fade-to-black and explicit smut (protected penetrative sex [condom], oral [female & male receiving], fingering), slight exhibitionism
SUMMARY
the man of her dreams pops into reader’s life when she least expects it, and she finds herself ignoring all possible red flags.
A/N } soooo so sorry for the wait! i promise, i will make it up to you guys. i have so many fics planned, and i cannot wait to share them with you! this fic was written so i could get the feel of writing Chip as a cowboy, but isn’t connected to the ‘Secrets to Keep’ universe! also trying out a slightly different layout for this fic, so let me know what you think. xoxo, harlow 🫶 | gif by @reidgif
✯ ✯ ✯
I’ll never forget the day I met Chip Taylor.
It was a late Thursday morning when I’d first heard the name uttered. A regular to the diner, Phil Tucker – a local rancher who owned a few acres on the outskirts of town, had been having brunch with his wife Debbie. Neighboring their property was another ranch. It’d been up for sale for roughly 6 months at that point, collecting tumbleweeds and cacti like dust.
“Oh, Y/n! Did’ya hear that someone bought the Aster property?” He’d inquired as I refilled his coffee.
One thing about towns as small as Moapa Valley – the gossip is horrendous. Everyone is involved in everyone else’s business. Buck Aster, the previous owner of the uninhabited property, had passed away a little over seven months prior. That was what led to the ranch being placed on the market. Buck had drank himself to death, unsurprisingly, and didn’t have any relatives willing to take the land.
Maybe that was why it took so long to sell. Nobody who knew Buck, even just as an acquaintance, wanted to purchase dead man’s land.
I’d shaken my head in response to the question, an undeniable surprise plastered to my face.
“Yeah… guy who moved in is pretty strange. His name’s Chip. Chip Taylor, I think.” Phil had continued, only to be cut off by his wife.
“Phil’s right. Got all sheepish when we asked where he was from. You ever just get that feeling someone has somethin’ to hide?”
I met Chip a little over a week later.
Every other Sunday, Moapa Valley has a Farmer’s Market. Locals bring their goods – eggs, milk, lamb’s wool. Butchers will bring portions of their slaughter, a nice older woman named Florence sells flowers from her garden. Beekeepers bring their honey; you get the jist.
Most people in town go to the Farmer’s Market, myself included. To me, I see it as the better equivalent to the grocery store. Everything’s fresh, straight from the source, and supporting local businesses just makes me feel good.
Plus, you flash a smile, odds are you’ll get a discount. The Walmart two towns over doesn’t have that luxury.
There was a new stand at the market that day, one I didn’t recognize – nor did I recognize the man running it.
He looked somewhat disheveled, in a charming way. Honey eyes were enclosed around dark circles, chestnut curls blew about every which way as result of the wind, stubble prickled at his curved upper lip and along the sharp slope of his jaw.
He was wearing a plaid shirt; top few buttons unclasped, revealing prominent collarbones and a sliver of chest, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
And despite that being the standard wardrobe for the people of Moapa Valley, he just looked out of place.
He had the smallest selection of goods out of everyone, and I had a feeling that wasn’t due to selling out. He anxiously fidgeted with his hands every couple seconds, and his shoulders tightened whenever the wind picked up – as if he were afraid of being carried away.
Don’t get me wrong, the guy was scrawny, but not that scrawny.
Whether it was out of pity or curiosity, I didn’t quite know. But whichever the cause, I made my way over to him.
He was selling lamb’s wool and eggs. Nothing too crazy, and nothing that I needed.
That didn’t stop me.
He, without a doubt, noticed me approaching. I knew this because he glanced at me once, his eyes widened and quickly darted away, though they returned just as fast. It was like a child with a crush in a way.
It made me smile.
“Hi.” I’d said, and the sound of my voice had led him to visibly flinch.
Skittish little thing.
All he’d said in return was “Uhm… hey- uhh, hi.”
I’d asked how much for two eggs, he’d said 4 bucks.
“That’s cheap compared to most of the other vendors.”
“Oh… do- d’you want me to charge more?”
I’d laughed, and much to my relief so did he. I’d taken that as a sign of him relaxing in my presence, even if the difference was subtle.
“I’m Chip, by the way. I don’t know if that’s relevant, cause as you can see I have no idea what I’m doing, but…”
Chip.
His name was Chip.
I didn’t connect the dots until after I’d purchased the eggs.
That was roughly two months ago.
Our next encounter was a few days after the Farmer’s Market.
He came into the diner by himself. Sat down in a booth in the corner, right beside a window. I assigned myself to his table.
I felt my stomach twist as recognition flashed over his eyes.
“Oh, hey… you again.”
“Me again.”
He’d smiled at that, lacing his veiny hands together and resting them lightly atop the smooth tabletop.
“I didn’t know you worked here.”
To that, I’d replied, “Well, I’d hope not. That’s some crazy murderer type o’ shit.”
The shift in his expression was subtle enough that you wouldn’t pick up on it if you weren’t paying close enough attention, but I noticed.
His skin paled. His jaw clenched. He slouched in on himself slightly, almost as if he was subconsciously trying to make himself appear smaller.
He didn’t relax again until I asked for his drink order. And even then, he appeared guarded – tense. On edge.
He’d ordered a coffee and a breakfast combo; scrambled eggs, bacon, two waffles. Pretty standard.
Naturally, he wasn’t the only table I waited on that morning. While in the process of wiping down a table across the diner from Chip, I’d overheard a conversation between 4 local men.
“Who’s pretty boy over there? I don’t recognize him.” One of them had said, gesturing to Chip.
I knew I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but in my defense, they shouldn’t have been talking so loud if they wanted to keep their discussion private.
“Ah… pretty sure that’s the guy who bought Buck’s ranch.”
“Rick, didn’t ya see him at the Farmer’s Market? Little guy only made one sale. And it was Y/n, so we all know she was probably just doin’ it cause she felt bad.”
“That guy bought Buck’s ranch? How the hell is he payin’ for that?”
“Phil said he bought it upfront. $36,000, he gave Connie in cash.”
“What’s he do for work?”
“I ain’t gotta clue. He’s not employed by anybody here, I know that.”
“Trust fund kid?”
“Dunno. Maybe.”
I’d be lying if I said that hadn’t gotten me thinking.
Chip, who most likely didn’t have experience running a ranch or a farm, paid for Aster’s ranch upfront? Where’d he get that kind of money?
I didn’t let myself dwell on it too much. Especially after he tipped me $20.00.
Across the street from the diner is a gas station. Attached is a convenience store. Most locals purchase their contraband from there – cigarettes, cigars, liquor.
I work Friday nights at the diner. It’s a 24 hour establishment, which serves alcohol. That translates to douchebag men getting drunk with their buddies and eating way too much fried food, which I’m burdened with serving them.
And douchebag drunks means harassment. Shocker, I know.
There was a group of 6 men about my age that night, maybe a little older. Drinking cheap beer and trashing the floors. The type of people that have me thinking chivalry really is dead.
I was already in a shit mood that day. I’d barely gotten any sleep the night prior, and Friday nights are always pretty busy. Always stacked to the brim with the worst kinds of customers.
Case in point – when scrubbing down a table not too far from the wannabe fraternity boys, I knocked a napkin holder to the ground. And when I bent down to retrieve it, I heard a whistle from behind me. Immediately followed by a, “Careful, princess. Almost got a peek at your panties.”
That was nowhere near the first sexual innuendo of the night, particularly from that table. And it certainly wasn’t the last.
The worst part? That table barely tipped.
Luckily, after I finished clearing the table, I was on my fifteen minute break.
As usual, I decided to go out back and have a cigarette – a much deserved one, might I add. Directly across the street from the back of the diner is that gas station I mentioned earlier.
Much to my annoyance, initially at least, a figure emerged from the convenience store. His figure was a tall, dark silhouette holding a six pack of beer.
I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything. Which is why I didn’t even bother fighting off the eyeroll when the man started approaching me with awfully weary footsteps.
Inhaling a deep drag of my cigarette, I watched as the smoke curled around my face with the sigh I let out.
“...you okay?” The figure had piped up. I just gave a halfhearted nod in response.
I recognized the voice, but I couldn’t pinpoint who it belonged to. Not at first.
“Y/n, right?”
“That’s me.” I’d murmured just loud enough for him to hear. He continued approaching until the dim lamplight beside me finally illuminated his face.
Oh. It was him.
“It’s, uhh… Chip. I doubt you remember me, but-”
“I remember you.”
Though his grip on his beer tightened at my words, the smile on his face was pure enough to bring one to mine. It was then that I felt a little bad for being so bitchy.
I’d tapped some of the ash away from the edge of my Marlboro, gesturing to the alcoholic beverages in his clutch.
“Long night?”
He’d huffed a laugh, setting the cans down on the concrete beside his feet and stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“I was just about to ask you that question, actually.” Chip had retorted.
It was almost admirable, really, his attempts at subtlety when raking my figure with his doe eyes. And for the first time that night, the ogling didn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
Still leant up against the brick wall, I’d stubbed my cigarette out with the heel of my boot and draped my arms comfortably over my stomach.
The air was thick suddenly. I wasn’t sure whether I was making it up initially, but the occasional nervous shift Chip gave was confirmation enough that he felt it too.
The lingering scent of nicotine added to the ambiance, weirdly.
“You wanna talk about it?” He’d offered. The curvature of his brows let me know he was sincere when asking.
There was such mystery to him… and part of me liked that.
Maybe I was just afraid of what answers I’d get if I inquired.
“Just… scummy men, ‘s all.”
We’d hummed laughter in synchrony. Chip had taken another step closer.
“Not all of ‘em are like that, I promise.”
I laughed again – couldn’t help it. The nervous tone to his voice combined with his eyes lingering on my cleavage were both awfully amusing.
“Are you like that?”
“I try not to be.”
That’s where the details of that night get a little fuzzy.
I can’t quite recall if he kissed me, or visa versa. Because the next thing I knew, I could taste his chapstick. And that was enough to knock me off my guard.
Before I could fully reground myself, my hands were already clawing at the collar of his shirt – a desperate effort at preventing him from pulling away.
Not that he was showing any sign of doing that. He was suckling at my lower lip like it was second nature, his large and veiny hands securing themselves around my waist.
One of my hands had slid up to twine with his hair while I hooked one thigh over his hip.
In turn, the erection that had been (somewhat) concealed by his jeans lightly pressed against the crook where my hip meets my thigh.
In response? He whimpered.
Maybe I was just ridiculously horny. It’d been a while since I’d been with anyone at that point, but there was no prior instance where I can recall being that affected by a mere sound.
His thumbs were lightly tracing over my ribs as his lips pulled back from mine, only to find their home on my neck.
I remember being incredibly grateful for the wall behind me, for that action alone had my knees growing weak.
“Feeling better yet…?” Chip had mumbled against my pulse point. His teeth had just barely scraped my skin, but that small prick had my lips parting in a gasp.
“We’re getting there…”
He’d continued to pepper kisses across my neck, down to my collarbones, between the exposed portion of my cleavage. All the while, his hands had been migrating down to my hips, about to hike my skirt up before hesitating.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but…” Chip had mumbled against my skin, trailing messy albeit hungry kisses back up to the opposite side of my neck.
“Please… wanna make you feel good.”
And that night, he did just that.
He’d knelt to the ground without a care for how the concrete would hurt his knees, slipped my lace panties down to my thighs with a delicacy nothing short of admirable, and buried his face between my legs like I was his last meal.
Looking back on it, it’s rather amusing – finding out that he eats pussy like a god before finding out much else.
He’d secured his lips around my clit like it was second nature, moaning into my mound as if the taste of me was heaven.
When I managed to pry my eyes open again, I was met with golden flecked irises that held nothing but adoration.
After he’d made me cum (embarrassingly quickly, but that’s not important), I’d taunted him about his rock hard dick; asked if he wanted me to return the favor between heavy pants and light grins.
He’d simply shaken his head, wiped the remnants of my slick from his stubble.
“My treat.”
That was certainly new for me — a man prioritizing my pleasure, going as far as to neglect their own.
I’d watched with nothing short of awe as he retrieved his six pack from the ground beside him, flashing a light smile and a quick wave.
“See’ya around, pretty girl.”
Our next passing was the wallet incident — the following Sunday. I work afternoons on the weekends, so I didn’t have to clock in until roughly 12:30.
When I did show up, my coworkers Wendy and Soleil were gathered in our boss’s office. Gordon, our boss, was watching the security cameras while they stood behind him.
I didn’t wanna be nosy, so I simply went into the back room to grab my apron and put my bag in my cubby. When I made my way back to the main floor, Gordon was standing in the front by the podium. I’ve worked for him long enough to know when he’s anxious, and boy was he right then.
That was when I saw the wallet in his hand. It wasn’t his.
When I approached, I murmured a hesitant “You okay…?”
He responded with the explanation that a customer had left his wallet behind, and another customer had tried walking off with it. When reviewing security footage, he came to the determination that it was Chip’s wallet.
“Now, I gotta run by Buck’s ranch on my lunch to give pretty boy bac-“
“I can do it!”
So, I did. With the simple instructions of ‘make it quick, we need you here’, I was on my way back out the door with Chip’s wallet.
The drive didn’t take more than 15 minutes. When I pulled into the dirt driveway that led to the one-story house on the property, I parked alongside Chip’s truck — which he was actively seated in, shoveling through his glovebox with an obvious panic.
I remember letting out a laugh at the sight, climbing out of my vehicle without a second thought.
“Lookin’ for this?” I’d remarked with a teasing smile, holding up his wallet and watching the relief wash over his pretty face.
“Yeah, actually… thank you.”
“You should really keep a better eye on that thing. Someone tried stealing it.”
I managed to catch a glimpse into his glovebox. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But on second glance, that was definitely a revolver.
Who keeps a gun in their glovebox…?
Maybe I just haven’t been around enough gloveboxes to know the answer to that…?
Closing the compartment, he clumsily managed to climb back to the driver’s side of the car, stepping onto the dirt and taking his wallet from my hand. Our fingers grazed — just barely, and that same spark, that same tension from outside the diner made a very sudden comeback.
He was the one to break the silence.
“I, uhh… I didn’t see you at the diner.” Chip admitted, somewhat-nervously fiddling with his wallet as my hands playfully found my hips.
“Yeah, I don’t work Sunday mornings…” a pause, my brows rising in a coy nature before I resumed, “y’were looking for me?”
Chip’s right hand reached down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear with his middle and ring fingers. That confidence, the sheer need from before? That made its return too. It was all shown on his face.
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to, honey.”
And just like that, we were kissing again. We didn’t make it to his house — we settled for his truck.
The wallet? Very handy, considering he already had a condom stowed away in there. I got a talking-to from Gordon for taking so long on my side quest, and some inquiries about me walking unsteadily, but fuck- was it worth it.
That became a common occurrence from that moment forward – practically every other day, Chip would show up to the diner just before my shifts ended, driving me home and spending the night.
The first night that he took me back to his place sticks out in my mind, though. Upon entering the small home, Chip taking my hand and leading me towards his bedroom, I caught a glimpse of a safe in the corner. Not a small safe, either, but one of those fancy steel ones with a padlock combination and a key.
That got lost in my mind the moment I started to ride him.
Now, we’ve choreographed a dance of sorts. Whenever we ended up at his house, we’d laugh into each other’s mouths between kisses and stumble onto his mattress. The safe wasn’t to be mentioned, nor the gun in his glovebox, questions weren’t to be asked.
Somehow, those unspoken boundaries remained, and I didn’t feel like I was walking on eggshells. It was simple.
By tonight, we had things memorized. Chip’s thighs were slotted on either side of my hips, the crown of his head resting against mine while he scooped his fingers inside of me. The heel of his palm rocked in synchronization with his fingers, stimulating my clit with ease.
He tilted his head as my lips parted in a whine, swallowing up the sound with a tender kiss.
One of my hands was pressed between his shoulder blades while the other reached between us, attempting to shove his jeans down.
He’d already unbuttoned and unzipped the pants, unbuckled his belt; the metal jingled as he took the hint, removing his fingers from my heat and bringing them to his lips – sucking my slick off of them and shimmying his jeans down his legs.
The denim, along with his boxers, joined my discarded clothing on his bedroom floor.
I reached for the condom on his nightstand with practiced success, already beginning to tear the wrapper.
Within a few brief moments, the trojan was rolled onto his erection. His stubble tickled my cheek as he planted a kiss there, his right hand reaching between our bodies to grab hold of his dick.
Swiping his latex-covered tip along my entrance for good measure, he murmured, “You ready…?”
I didn’t bother responding verbally. Rather, I hooked my leg over his hip — pressing my heel into his lower back, between the dimples that sat there, and in turn forcing him inside.
He whimpered in result, golden eyes rolling back in pleasure.
“Oh-kay… gonna take that as a yes.”
“Shut up and start moving…” I retorted with a giddy, breathy tone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bracing himself with his forearms on opposing sides of my head, he began to fuck himself in and out of me. Initially, like always, he started with simply rocking his hips — easing himself fully inside of me to ensure my comfort coexisted with his enjoyment.
Chip’s big — that’s not an exaggeration. He knows this (and is weirdly embarrassed of the fact, which I find cute) and in turn, he knows to take his time.
Bucking his hips shallowly, gentle sobs accompanying each movement, he took my amplifying volume and increased squirming as a sign to progress; to give me more.
His fingers were aimlessly tracing along the side of my scalp, twirling a strand of my hair around his index as he began to thrust with more fervor.
“Mmh- fuck, Chip…” I found myself sputtering, arching into his chest as my arms hooked under his shoulders.
Large hands clawed clumsily at the pillow on either side of my head as he began to pound. In turn, he lightly tugged on my hair. I yelped instinctively, the sound trailing off into another laugh — signifying my lack of discomfort from the action. I weirdly liked that…?
What I liked more was that it was accidental. Chip, from what I know of him, would never intentionally hurt anyone. Even in the bedroom. Not in a sadistic way.
“God- you’re always so f-fucking tight… ‘s so good, baby…”
The sounds filling the room were filthy; wet sticky noises from where we were connected, clashing of his headboard with the wall, cries of ecstasy (his louder than mine), skin smacking against skin. The smell of sex and light sweat filled the air, adding to the intimate aroma.
Chip’s whole body shifted back and forth as he rammed his cock in and out of my pussy, my nails scraping at the freckled flesh on his back. His hand didn’t leave my hair — he was holding onto it like a lifeline, the sting to my scalp drawing me closer to orgasm.
My ankles locked around his waist, shifting the angle in the bestest of ways.
His tip collided with my cervix as I choked on a moan, brows curving, eyes fluttering closed.
“Hah- Chip, right there-!”
“I know, baby, I know…”
He kept up with his relentless pace. When my eyes reopened, locking with his through my lashes, I was met with an unspoken question.
Harder?
I nodded.
Chip smoothed down the piece of hair he’d taken hold of in a delicate manner before refastening it in his clutch, tipping my head back in the process — granting him access to secure his lips (and teeth, soon after) around my pulse point.
Despite my reassurances that his vocal nature in the bedroom was insanely sexy to me, he was still quite shy in regards to it. Always tried to muffle himself whenever he grew close.
That small hint of pain mixed with his consistent pounding is what finally granted me my climax — just as I felt him spill himself into the condom.
“Mmf- oh, baby…” Chip’s voice sounded from the crook of my neck, his lips brushing over the bruised skin as he fucked me through my high.
He didn’t still himself inside of me until he was certain I’d come down. Once that moment came, he shifted his torso to meet my eyes properly — blissed out smile plastered to those stupidly plush lips.
“Hi…” he panted, smoothing down my hair once more as I let out an airy chuckle before parroting the greeting.
It was then, in the aftershocks, the moments when he removed his dick from my walls and ran his fingers lovingly across my pinkened skin, endorphins running through our systems that I knew; Chip Taylor was a mystery. Uncannily wealthy with no reasonable explanation for how that came to be, a fancy safe in his living room and a Smith & Weston in his glovebox, a sheepish demeanor when questioned about his past.
After a long shift in the bar you finally go outside to have a cigarette. There you find a man you served earlier that night.
Tags: alcohol & smoking, cuss words, age gap (Dean's in his early 40s, reader's in mid-late 20s), flirting, tension, reader low-key simps for Dean (who wouldn't, tbh?), Montana, reader doesn't like hipsters, me trying to write about american countryside culture without being too cliché, english isn't my first language, i'm sorry if writing looks too poor, haven't written in a while.
Word count: 1.4k
"Jimmy, mark my words, if you harass young ladies one more time, you will be dragged out of the bar by Ethan. Understood?"
Named Jimmy lifted his hands in mock surrender. The threat totally worked. You had zero patience with an old farmer, who thought he could still be "in the game".
The bar, you worked in, was surprisingly crowded for Tuesday evening. Jukeboxes were playing old rock and country hits. Smoke of cigarettes was flowing under the ceiling. The smell was mixed with alcohol, sweat, perfume and something else.
Did you like to work here? Absolutely not. But your mom's favour to come to your family's ranch in Montana after graduating from college wasn't taking any declines. Your parents were getting old and couldn't look after everything on their own, your siblings moved out to different states so that's how you popped up here. But in godforsaken town there wasn't any job that suited your major. Sometimes it made you think if four years of college were even worth it.
With loud thud you place tray on the surface. Ethan - bartender you threatened that man with - looked up at you from wiping glasses and smirked.
"Stay strong, little soldier. Your shift will be over in three hours."
"Didn't get better, but thanks." You sit on the bar stool, taking deep breath.
You knew Ethan almost your whole life. The bar might've been older than you. This was the place where you tried whiskey and got drunk for the first time. Now you're the one who kicks out youngsters. How ironic.
He lifted his eyes up to take a look over the hall and went back to his work.
"New comings." He says to you calmly. "Fifth table."
"How do they look like?" You ask automatically.
"Two tall men. Might be travelers, but they don't look like hipsters"
You jumped off the stool, opening notebook with a pen.
"Good thing they aren't hipsters."
When Ethan said they were tall, he forgot to mention they're just big. One was taller and the other...
God gracious
He was attractive as hell. His outgrown dirty blond hair was falling on his forehead and eyes. Stubble on his chin and jaws. And he was older. They both were way older.
With a rehearsed smile you approached their table.
"Welcome to the bar. What would you like to drink?"
Standing closer to them, you noticed how on the finger of the taller one flickered a wedding ring. Man smiled, tugging his hair behind the ear.
"Beer please"
You quickly made a note and turned to the second. You took a quick glance at his left hand.
Not married.
"Whiskey on the rocks." His voice was deep and green eyes looked directly at you.
Stay calm
After making a second note you smiled at them again and went to the bar counter. After a few minutes you brought them their orders and continued serving other guests.
. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.
Three hours went so fast you almost didn't notice it. Now you finally had the opportunity to go out. All you've been thinking about how you will take smoke break after shift. How you will come back home and take a hot bath. Smells from the bar soaked in your clothes so much you thought will throw up. It's quiet outside, the only sounds are sounds of insects and faint hum of music from the bar. The cool night air makes you shiver a little a bit.
You pressed cigarette between your lips, trying to light the end. Lightener flickered a few times and fire still didn't came out. You groaned in irritation and just right in time fire from the match appears before you. Your cigarette catches it and you take the long drag, letting out the smoke.
"Thanks" you mumble and hear the person near you smirking. You turn your head and see that handsome man you served earlier this evening. Yellow light of the lamp softly frames his tall figure.
The man takes cigarettes too and lightens one. You smoke in silence.
"Long day?" he asks, letting out cloud of smoke.
You snort
"That's a one way to put it in."
His studying look on you makes your skin cover with shivers.
"Saw how you talked with that old idiot. Might be hard to serve to people like him"
"It's gotten casual, to be honest." you smirk. "But when they're screaming during the football game on the tv, then yeah, it's a fucking hell.
Man chuckles deeply, taking a new drag. Spellbound you look at him, at his broad shoulders. Hems of the flannel tugged to elbows, what allows you to see small scars that are covering his forearms. Some are bigger than others, angled in different forms, some are barely visible on his slightly tanned skin.
He smirks again and it makes you snap out. You take new drag, exhaling smoke through nose.
"Travel with your friend?" You ask curiously.
"You can say that," he replies "and he's my brother."
"And what do you do with your brother?" You couldn't hold it back.
He smirks. "Let's just say. If there are problems, we solve them. Friend of ours is local and asked for help. That's why we're."
You tilt your head, studying his face. The reply is so abstract he could've been criminal and a fed. And something about it was attractive.
Literally, how old are you? 19?
"Solve problems, huh? Does it have a professional name?" you turn to him fully, leaning on the wall. Your voice is teasing, almost flirtatious.
He doesn't answer holding your gaze. You squint your eyes a little bit.
But then next second he raises his eyebrow, the face keeps its calm look with a small twitch of lips. "Do you have the name, beautiful?"
Beautiful.
Your low belly makes a thing. You prayed to God, that he won't notice how your cheeks flushed.
You were called like earlier. By guys in college, ex classmates, young farmers that worked with your father. But the way he said it hit differently. With rasp in his voice and flirty tone.
Though you didn't miss the way he changed topic of the conversation. Your lips twitched in amusement.
Yeah, could've fooled me.
Forgotten cigarette is slowly smoldering between your fingertips. And he patiently watches you, waiting for your answer. He turns his head from face, exhaling smoke through one corner of his lips.
You tell him your name, taking last drag. You toss the cigarette on the ground, pressing on it with a heel of your boots.
The man echoes your name, like tasting the sound of it on his tongue and hums. "I'm Dean"
Now it was your turn to taste the name. "Dean... suits you."
"You think so?" He gives you an amused look.
You nod and feel a little braver, taking one step closer to him. Dean doesn't take his eyes off you and your belly does that thing again. Continuing gazing at you, he exhales last cloud of smoke, tossing cigarette and put it out.
"You still haven't told what you do for a living, Dean." You smile with corners of your lips.
You feel his eyes on your lips. "Nothing's special about my job, trust me."
You scoff at his answer and roll your eyes, Dean laughs quietly. Mysteriousness reminds you of that main couple from "Twilight", Bella and Edward. But instead of Edward, it's Carlisle.
"Careful, I might actually think you're dangerous." You joke.
"Do you feel i'm dangerous?" He teases.
"We don't trust strangers there that easy." You replied with the same tone.
He looks over you, licking his lips. His eyes drift and look around and then he nods someone from afar. You follow his gaze. The tall man, who's with him, stands near vintage classic black car. It's for him to go. You take your phone out of the pocket. Yeah, time to go for you too, it's getting past midnight.
Dean glances back at you and takes from the package another cigarette, extending it to you. Under the light of wall lamp you recognise the phone number.
"Do you want it?" He asks, patiently waiting for your answer.
You know it's wrong. He's older than you, might be dangerous and overall he gives impression of a man you definitely shouldn't get along with.
But God it was so tempting.
So you palmed it and carefully put it in your bag.
"Do you always give girls your number like that?" You tilt your head.
"Only to pretty ones." He winks and goes to his brother and car. "See you around sweetheart."
You stay on your place with smile on your face, butterflies in your stomach and cigarette with his number on it in your bag.
Fucking awesome.
a/n: guess it can count as my official comeback in writing (?). let's see how long it will last before i'll start procrastinate my hobby again. lmk if you wanna be tagged in my further dean winchester works so i can do a taglist. fair warning: do NOT repeat reader's actions in real life. my gal has no survival instincts, okay? love you, byeee
waitress!reader tells linecook!barry that shes pregnant
you catch him between smoke breaks— back in the break room, shirt clinging to his chest, sweat at his temples from the lunch rush. he’s got that pissed-off look already, like someone breathing wrong might set him off.
you don’t say anything at first. just stand in front of the table where he’s leaning, arms crossed, jaw tense, tapping one boot heel against the tile. he glances up, then down. “the hell’s this face for?”
“i need to tell you something.” he stubs out the cigarette in a cracked little ashtray someone probably stole from the waffle house down the road, then leans back with a sigh.
“if it’s about the fryer again, don’t. not right now. swear to god i’ll walk.” you open your mouth, then close it. you didn’t plan this part. didn’t plan any of it, really. he squints. “you good?”
your throat tightens. “i’m pregnant.” he freezes. no smartass comment. no sarcastic exhale. just still. his brows furrow like he didn’t hear you right. “…what?”
“it’s yours.” silence. his face doesn’t move at first. his mouth twitches like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out. he shifts his weight, standing a little straighter, arms falling from his chest. “you’re serious?” you nod. your fingers are cold now, and your knees feel hollow.
he rubs a hand over his face, looks away, mutters under his breath, “fuck.” and you know him well enough to know what’s coming. the shutdown. the blame. the version of him that makes everything harder just so it doesn’t have the chance to hurt.
“i’m not askin’ you for anything,” you say quickly. “i’m just—i didn’t wanna keep it from you.” he doesn’t respond. not right away. but his face is different. not angry. just— scared. unreadable. like his brain’s moving ten miles a minute behind his eyes. finally, he mutters, “how far?”
“seven weeks, maybe eight.” his eyes flick up. “you okay?” the question catches you off guard. your lip parts. “i think so.” he stares at the wall for a moment. then he nods, slow. you think maybe he’s gonna walk out, like he usually does when shit gets too real. but he doesn’t. instead, he says, “you tell anyone else?”
“no.” he nods again, just as slow. “you plan to?” you shrug. “eventually.” he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, jaw ticking. his voice is quieter when he speaks again. rough. “you thinkin’ about keepin’ it?” you nod.
he nods back, like he’s still trying to catch up. you’re not sure what to say next. you’re bracing for him to get cold. cruel. start saying things that’ll hurt on purpose, like he always does when he’s cornered. like this isn’t already hard enough.
but then his eyes flick back to you— and this time, they stay there. dark and unreadable, but not empty. not mean. “you should’ve told me sooner,” he says. “i was scared.” he swallows. “of me?” you don’t answer. his face twists. a second of regret flashes across it. maybe guilt. “shit.”
he rakes a hand through his hair. exhales hard. “fuck.” you watch him— barry, the same guy who always has a short fuse and no filter, who rolls his eyes when you talk too much and calls you a pain in the ass more than your own name— and for once, he looks like he might actually be thinking before speaking.
you clear your throat. “you don’t have to be involved. seriously. i know this wasn’t part of anything. we weren’t even—”
“don’t.” his voice cuts sharp, but not angry. just final. you blink. he looks up at you again. this time there’s something real behind it. tired, but real. “don’t talk like i don’t fuckin’ care.” your breath catches. he shakes his head. “i don’t know what the hell this is. you ‘n me. i didn’t think it was— more than what it was.”
“i know. me neither,” you say. “not really.”
“but you’re— he shrugs. “you’re not just some girl i screw in the walk-in. you’re not. i swear.” it’s quiet. so quiet. you step a little closer, heart beating loud. “then what am i?” he looks at you. just looks. and for once, the sarcasm’s gone. the mask. all of it.
“you’re the only person i care about,” he says. your chest aches. he blinks hard, clears his throat. “if this kid’s mine, if it’s really happening— then i’ll be there.” your eyes burn. “you don’t have to say that.”
“i’m not sayin’ it for you,” he mutters. “i’m sayin’ it ‘cause i will be.” you stare at him. at this man who’s never said anything real without barbed wire wrapped around it. and for once, he’s not running. he glances at the clock on the wall. “i gotta get back on the line. they’re probably burnin’ the place down without me.”
“yeah.” you turn to go, but before you reach the door, he says your name. not harsh. not teasing. just soft. you pause. he’s watching you. fidgeting with a cigarette he doesn’t light. “you eaten today?”
you shake your head. he gestures with his chin. “go sit at booth three. i’ll make you somethin’. something real.” your throat clenches. you nod once, quickly. “okay.”
you walk out, heart pounding. and even though nothing’s solved— not really— you feel a little less alone than you did ten minutes ago. and in the kitchen, barry ties his apron tighter and starts the grill with shaky hands. he doesn’t say anything, but in his chest, something’s shifted.
he might not know how to love. but he knows he wants to keep you safe.
and maybe, just maybe, that’s a start.
a/n : should i write an intro for this au even tho i already have wrote two drabbles for it 🥹
I loved the new Jobe fic you wrote it’s very nice! I was wondering if I could request a Jude one….if not you could write it for Jobe I don’t mind. One where you’re in a secret relationship and you end up being in the same place as him and his family. You both just staring at each other. Maybe you work somewhere or something else. But you can’t let anyone know you both know each other or that you’re together. So it’s just to sad and heartbreaking. Later you guys have a call or meet and it’s just breaking you both down but it’s still not a good idea to go public because of the public and their reactions. If you can and want to id love to read something similar. Thanks a lot
Ripples — Jude Bellingham.
Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Fem!Reader
Summary: Having a famous boyfriend wasn’t easy, what wasn’t making it any easier, was how adored he was by fans. Any spark of dating rumors sent them spiraling, and Jude never wanted you to be subjected to that. You’d hit your breaking point when you had to seat him and his family at a table, and all the while, pretend as if you didn’t know him.
Word count: 1k+
Disclaimer/s: Angst with resolve + hopeful ending.
A/N: I hope I did this justice.. idk
Tightening the waist apron around you, you make your way to the front. It was shift change, and you were now taking over for your coworker. She handed you the notepad and pen, wishing you a quick, ‘good luck’ before leaving.
You let out a loud sigh, making your way to the front as there was certainly customers waiting. It was noon after all.
You’re too busy making sure everything was in your apron pockets to notice the family of four at the front. “Hello, I’m—“ You look up, breath hitching in your throat. You stutter out your name, swallowing thickly to calm your nerves, “and I will be your waitress today. Please, follow me.”
Your boyfriend and his parents, along with his younger brother Jobe, did just that. Jude seemed to be the only one who noticed your reaction, his heart thumped in his chest the second he saw your face. You’d stiffened instantly, tension clear in the way you held yourself.
Taking them to a booth, your eyes flicker to Jude’s. You watch him sit down, sending you a quick smile. Nothing significant, he’d do it even if you were just another worker.
You set out the menu’s, forcing a smile onto your face. “Can I start you off with drinks?” You ask, taking out the note pad and pen.
Denise started off with the ordering, and when it came to Jude.. well! You couldn’t even look at him. He was watching you though, trying to hide the upset in his voice as he spoke. Of course you noticed, you’d heard that tone multiple times.
“I’ll be back in a moment.” You nod, hastily making your way to the back.
The first thing you do, is hand the notepad to a co worker. “I’m not feeling well, could you take over my table?” She had nodded, concerned, but didn’t press further.
The rest of your shift went smoothly. You had unsuccessfully avoided the Bellingham’s table completely, somehow always in sight of your boyfriend. He stole glances your way, and the few times you caught them, you immediately looked away. That same thing went back and forth for the whole hour his family had dined there.
The second your shift ended, the grey cloud that had followed you around the whole day, somewhat lifted. You’d finally started to chill out when you got back in your car and drove home.
Jude had texted you multiple times, but you’d ignored them until you got into your apartment. Collapsing on your bed, you shoot him a quick text, asking him to come over.
Within seconds he replied, ‘already on my way’ and that was that. You had to impatiently wait to see your boyfriend in the safety of your apartment. No cameras to see you, no fans, no family.
The few soft knocks on the front door tells you Jude had arrived. A swarm of nerves hit you like bullets as you made your way to the entrance. You unlock it, pulling it open in the process. You’re immediately met with a half-smiling Jude. Half as in it didn’t seem to reach his eyes, which you knew meant you were in for a talk.
“Hey.” You say, opening the door wider to let him in before shutting it behind him.
Jude makes his way toward your couch, plopping down before replying. “We should talk. About today.” He adds the last part as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Yeah.” You nod, sitting down a few feet away from him. “Why would you willingly bring your family to that restaurant? You knew I worked there!” Your voice was raising slightly out of frustration, which you immediately tried to stop. It was no use to get angry about this.
Jude straightens, his eyebrows pulling together. “It wasn’t my choice? My parents wanted to go, so we went. And I tried to give you a heads up, but you weren’t answering.”
“Yeah, well, I was working.” You chuckle humorlessly. “It’s fine, though. I just hate having to hide like this. Do you know how upsetting that was for me? To see you with your family and for them to not even know who I am?”
Jude nods in understanding, his lips pulling into a frown. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t like this, but the fans—“
“I’m a grown woman, I can handle it! I’d rather be harassed online than have to duck and hide every time we’re in the same vicinity.” Desperation clings onto your voice, your eyes softening as they dart up to meet your boyfriends.
He plays with the couch cushion mindlessly and chews on his bottom lip. “What if.. we compromise?”
This peaked your interest, your eyebrows lifting slightly. “How?”
“You meet my family and a few of my friends, but we keep it private still? And if it ends up getting out… it gets out.” It was a half assed attempt at fixing things. He couldn’t lose you, but he also couldn’t bear to think about how the public would react, which would inevitably lead to you getting hurt. And if he had to choose, Jude would rather lose you than you getting hurt in that way. “Plus, not being able to talk about you to my family is killing me.”
Half way was better than no way, so you sigh. “Fine. I can deal with that.” Scooting closer to your boyfriend, he meets you half way, using his long arms to pull you into his side. The last part of what he said suddenly clicked, a smile making its way onto your face, but you don’t say anything about it.
You two lay like that silently for a few moments, Jude’s hand coming up to play with the ends of your hair. “Y’know… my mum gave me that look at the restaurant when you walked away. I think she may have a hint of whats going on.”
Chuckling into your boyfriend’s chest, you smile. “And here I thought we were always so subtle.”
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