#lumberjack!price

[thedevillovesflowers]

“John?”

What are you hiding?

[konigsblog]

hi orla!!! ive been absolutely o b s es s e d with lumberjack!price but oh my god I just want some sweet, soft moments with him. he’s the perfect pillow. Early morning cuddles with him, slotting yourself underneath his chin and pressing your face into his chest, snuggling and comforted by each others breathing. he has this little rumbling snore that gently shakes your cheek that’s pressed to his chest. legs wrapped around each other, unable to tell whose is whose and where who begins and ends where. It does stop him from stealing all the blankets he can, though.

- ♟️

mm', i need it so badly :( he's basically a human furnace, always boiling hot and warm like a hot water bottle!! cuddled into him with his burly arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close while resting his eyes. your fingertips trailing up his neck to his bearded jaw, feeling his other hand ruffle your hair and cup the crown of your neck with a soft grip. the blankets once wrapped around you now at your feet, tangled between your intertwined legs, one trapped beneath his and his hairy forearms rubbing against your back.

your cheek rested against his shoulder, rolling onto his chest as you whimper from your sleepy haze. his body moves slighty, gripping you tighter as his snores pick up in volume, kissing the tip of his nose while he snores deeply :( the cold, misty clouds peaking through the window, a winter morning with the sky still murky and dark. you know by 5am he'll be awake and away to cut some wood around the village, putting on his snow boots and thick jacket while you'd prepare dinner in advance :(

but, for now, you embrace in eachothers warmth, safe and coddled as the rain hits and taps against the glass. hoping for an extra hour or two with him in bed, in the safety of his arms.

[celenawrites]

almost 500 words into the Lumberjack Price fic

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

As requested by anon, a few screencaps of Vincent Price in Brigham Young (1940) - the wood chopping scene. The movie quality is pretty terrible, so I did the best I could!

[yeyinde]

“Price is three days away from a much-deserved retirement to the mountains and sitting on his hands to keep from snatching up the pretty conservation officer who moons at him whenever he passes by.”

even in someone else’s fanfiction he still makes me insane, like sorry if i moaned thinking about him in those beige ass wildlife officer uniforms

this was an (unsubtle) ref to my first Alpha/Omega fic with him because i love a shared universe lmao

those beige ass uniforms are so hot, ngl. esp at Yellowstone when they wear them w blue jeans. hnnnnggg. delicious.

but when i wrote it (esp Ghost), i was imagining them in our Parks Canada uniform (which isn't too dissimilar, really!! just a bit more green/blue) because i just think they'd both look so good in it. and also. vests.

yum. and the "summer" version of this is shorts and a polo. so. you know. even better.

[marmaladevibez]

playing through TPOF and man... i hate mason. not because of his character, not because of anything else but because of his fucking secret achievement, making me want to commit murder

anyways ren is my beloved and I watched mason die with glee once i got the ending. sucks to suck, suck my weenie mason <33333

[crrtite]

cw: pure smut lol, missionary, Price is built like a big sexy lumberjack, 18+!!

John is so big and burly that when he has you in missionary, your inner thighs burn from how wide they’re spread to accompany him. He tries to make it better by propping your legs up on his shoulders and leans forward so you’re tummy to tummy, knees hiked up to your chest with all of his weight on you and he hits so much deeper which dissolves the pain into intense pleasure and it’s just so overwhelming ‘cause you know you can’t run from him…and he smells so good—like musk, settled cologne and the faint ashes of his expensive cigars….. ughghhhhgh

[konigsblog]

you guys already know what im thinking... 🎀🎀

the NEED to rub my cunny against his hairy stomach, to coat him in my slick and cum while he guides my hips and slaps my ass whenever i slow down my pace, being all mean to me and degrading!!! :((((((((

Been seeing a lot of lumberjack!price stuff lately, and decided to give my take on it!

[oceantornadoo]

ch 1 of the wrong john: masterlist | next

john price x f!reader (johnny's twin)

--

You figure one whiskey in the fancy bar across from your hotel can’t hurt.

Johnny put you up in a nice hotel, considerate with all the travel and logistics it took to get here. Two days of your PTO gone, an almost-argument with the gate agent who lost your luggage, chasing down an AirTag with said luggage, and a very uncomfortable taxi ride. But it was fine. It was for Johnny.

Johnny: the brother, the twin, you hadn’t seen face-to-face in over a year. The one who got in a screaming match with your Catholic family last Christmas over who he can love. Nevermind the sacrifices he makes for the safety of the world, it’s where he puts his dick that matters to them. You told him it was bullshit and thus remained the only family member he contacts. You were worried for a second that he’d group you in with them, would sever your holy twin connection for it, but you should have remembered who you were thinking about. If anything, you’d do that to Johnny before he did it to you, a fact you both pretended did not exist. That scrappy self-awareness that somehow only you had been born with, mistaking protection with isolation. So when he said he had a slow week, said he had a partner (a boyfriend!) he wanted you to meet, you couldn’t say no. That was as good as siding with your family.

The meeting was tomorrow (“1000 sharp, m'eudail. Come t’ base an’ we’ll show ye around. Yer gonna love Simon, ‘es all claws like you.”) For the oddest reason, you were nervous. It wasn’t like Johnny needed his family’s approval, if anything, you needed to meet the approval of his found family. The one he created when he left, the one he was slowly opening to you like a secret garden. One sense of a parasite and the gate would be locked forever. He never said as much, too happy-go-lucky for that, but you could sense the protectiveness behind his words during glitchy monthly phone calls. “Price, Gaz, an’ there’s the L.T. Calls himself Ghost but ‘es more bark tha’ bite. You’ll see, m'eudail.” And so you ordered a whiskey to quell the nerves.

“Miss, a drink for you.” The bartender placed a gin and tonic down that was certainly not what you ordered. “I’m sorry, I wanted a whiskey? You can take this back, I haven’t touched it, I swear.” He shook his head, reaching down to grab a whiskey glass. “‘S from the gentleman on the corner. Told me to say our gin is better than our whiskey, which I disagree with, but whatever pays the tips.” He placed a glass of whiskey (on the rocks) in front of you. ���Both are on the house, courtesy of your admirer. Let me know if ya need anything or he bothers you.” You nodded your thanks, glancing around for this mystery man. The bar wasn’t too packed but with a game of football on, there were more single men than not.

Finally, you felt a pair of eyes on you, sticking to the back of your head like honey. You turn and there he is, icy blue eyes and a lumberjack look, bearded in flannel. He’s broad and he knows it, carrying himself with the grace of self-confidence. To add to it, he’s sitting alone in a back corner table, perfect view of all exits (like how Johnny told you to look for one tipsy night eons ago.) When you catch his eyes, he raises a glass, giving you a glimpse of hands you want to examine. Are they soft or worn? What about his beard? You promised yourself a drink to settle you nerves, a bubble bath and lights out before 11, but he’s throwing a wrench into your plans. It feels like foreshadowing, to what you don’t know.

“Bit rude to tell the bartender you don’t like his whiskey. Doesn’t give a good first impression.” Somehow, your feet took you over to his table without your permission. You’re standing while he’s sitting and somehow you’re still tilting your head to meet his eyes. They’re darker than they were on first glance, swimming with something that sends a shiver down your spine. You purposefully take a sip of whiskey, your gin and tonic abandoned at the bar, to will that feeling away.

“Jus’ givin’ some advice to a pretty traveler. Can’t have y’ thinkin’ this part of London has no drinks f’ a woman like you.” You find a gray hair in his beard and track it to the curve of his lips as he speaks, taking in the small details you couldn’t see from the bar. Like the way his eyes crinkle in a world-weary manner or the gruffness of his tone, like he’s used to giving orders rather than initiating conversation. It’s your new mission to unpeel the layers of this man tonight.

“And how did you know I’m a traveler? Could be a local for all you know.” He snorts, and in any other man, the arrogance would put you off, but it’s somehow attractive on him. “Well, sweetheart, everyone’s payin’ attention t’ Arsenal playin’ an’ y’ve barely given ‘em a glance. And any local worth their salt knows the whiskey here is watered down an’ grimy.” You take a sip of your drink, again, to prove a point, biting back a grimace at the taste. You can’t let him win.

“Does that make you a local?” Gracefully, he ignores how you could barely swallow down the last drop in your cup. Instead of answering, he signals the bartender for two gin and tonics, then gestures at you to sit in the other seat at his table. His silent command, and consequential dismal of your question, pulls at a string in your belly you didn’t know existed. Perhaps it’s the whiskey.

“Nah, ‘v been around. Been in London for work a while an’ hav’ learned about whiskey choices the hard way. And you? Not from ‘ere, can tell by the accent.” You write that down in your imaginary notebook, hoping a whiskey enthusiast doesn’t equal a reliance on alcohol. You’re fast to determine red flags, especially with strangers. “From Scotland but haven’t been home in a while so the accent’s a bit over the place. What’s your work?”

He takes a sip of the newly arrived gin and tonic, savoring the taste with his tongue. It darts out to catch a drop the edge of his lip and you’re hit with visions of where else he could put it. God, you don’t even know his name yet. “Security consultant. Protectin’ whatever they pay me to protect. An’ you?” It’s a lie. His eyes don’t stray from your face but your bullshit-o-meter is ringing somewhere. You let him have it, deciding a lie for a lie is the best way to go.

“I’m interviewing with a company around here, so I’m currently in between jobs. But I trade in corporate bullshit.” He chuckles, smooth and low like good whiskey, and it’s enough that you forgive the lie, letting it gather dust in the back of your mind. “My name’s John, sweetheart. An’ yours?” You murmur it sweet and slow, fluttering your lashes to lock in the deal. It’s near 10 now, and you don’t want to be yawning when you meet Johnny tomorrow. You have a feeling the man in front of you could keep you up all night if you let him.

John pulls your chair into his until your thighs are slotted in between each other like puzzle pieces. “Got any plans tonight?” You shake your head no, pressing your leg into his own. The harsh denim of his jeans scrapes against your well-worn ones, reminding you of how rugged he seems. You want to see how untamed he can be, and your panties dampen at the thought.

“Well, John,” you overemphasize the last syllable of his name to make sure he’s paying attention. “My hotel is across the street if you need to expand your London knowledge. Really give you that local aura.” His thumb grazes your knee, stroking against the grain pattern. “Sounds good t’ me, sweetheart. Let’s give it a go.”

–

Few thoughts:

m'eudail - my darling, my dear

The base is on the outskirts of London but the hotel is in the city because I said so.

I don’t know anything about London football, Arsenal was the first team that showed up. Thanks google

This was all build up but the next chapter will have some smut! 

This is more for a plot based audience so here’s my AO3 if you’d like to subscribe

Comment if you want to be tagged 🙂

[sunlitsunflowers]

Reading this curled up under a blanket with the biggest smile on my face!!! This is so cute!!! I love how you write Bucky and his joy, it's infectious!!!💛💛💛

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing დ  Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count დ  1.0k Warnings დ  Swearing, pet names, Bucky is passionate, tooth rotting fluff Author’s Note დ I died from the cuteness, ngl. Event დ  @rookthorne's Fright Night | Masterlist

Sturdy Roots, Strong Hearts Masterlist

You had always had the biggest Halloween and spooky spirit – every fall was a haven for you, and this year, you had the opportunity to harness the ultimate joy of surprising James when he came home after a long day. His reaction, however, left you speechless and stunned; wishing for every season to become fall. 

The air was warm and filled with the aromas of a freshly cooked dinner. Wood cracked and burned in the fireplace as you sat on the couch, legs tucked under you with a blanket on your lap. It was late in the afternoon and Bucky was due home any minute now – Sam had called him on site for just a favour that ended up taking up the whole of his day. 

You weren’t mad, though. In the time that Bucky had spent on site, you had elected to have some Halloween fun with Sarge and Koda – both of which were cuddled on the couch next to you. Sarge’s head rested on your thigh, and Koda’s head was propped up on Sarge’s back. 

It would have been peaceful. No different than any other night that you spent reading or relaxing, if it weren’t for your stifled giggles. 

Sarge – looking as broody as he always did – was indifferent to the small hat that had black horns sticking up and out from between his ears. Or the red vest with two wings sprouting from his shoulders. A red, pointed tail was sewn onto the end of it and it laid curled next to his own fluffy (and still) tail. 

Behind Sarge, Koda stirred, blinking and huffing as she woke up from her nap. The orange hat she wore had a green stump, perfectly resembling a pumpkin top. Her brown, fluffy body was covered in an orange vest, striped with a darker hued orange to give the illusion of a round pumpkin. She stared at you with her soft, dark eyes, and you smiled. “You’re so adorable, baby girl.” 

Tires crunched over gravel outside and then light flooded the living room of the cabin – Bucky’s truck had just pulled in. Your heart skipped a beat as you struggled to move under the weight of a still slumbering Sarge. “He’s home–daddy’s home, wake up, Sarge.” 

Both dogs sprung to life and ambled to the front door just as the engine of the truck cut out, and the thud of the driver’s door closing sounded. It was music to your ears after such a long day. The dogs yipped and jumped over one another in their excitement. “Down, down, settle–here,” you said, rushing to open the door. “Go on.”

“Hey, love,” Bucky called from the stone path to the front door, but he was looking towards his truck as the alarm chirped. He was still wearing his red plaid jacket and light denim jeans, though they were covered in wood dust, and the bun he had thrown his hair up in that morning before he left was gone, instead, his long hair flowed down his neck and over the collar of his shirt. 

You sighed softly as you watched him shove his truck keys in his back pocket. “I’m so sorry I was gone so long, sweetheart. I tried gettin’ away but you know Sam. And then fuckin’ Steve, I swear to- What the–?” He stopped by the flower bed, his widening eyes downcast towards the dogs that were jumping up at him for attention. 

“Welcome home, babe,” you said, cocking out a hip to lean against the porch rail. “I made dinner–you hungry?”

Bucky stared up at you, slack jawed. “What did you do to them?”

“The dogs?” you asked, arching a brow. “I got them ready for Halloween, James.”

“Halloween,” he repeated as he glanced back down again. “You- When did you get these coats? And the hats?”

“Wands helped me.” The wood beneath your feet creaked as you stepped down onto the path. Sarge and Koda paid no mind to you as you neared – their attention entirely captivated by Bucky. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Slowly, Bucky looked back up at you, then back at the dogs that jumped up his legs. Suddenly, he dropped his work bag and fell to his knees, a wide smile on his face that made his nose scrunch and eyes squint. “They are more than adorable,” he cooed, holding Koda’s face in his callused hands. He kissed her nose then hugged Sarge. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, baby? I would’a picked up some pumpkins or somethin’!”

You watched, amused, when Bucky’s bright eyes widened just as they always did when he had an idea, or a plan. “We need a photoshoot–get your camera!”

“Babe, wait,” you called, laughing as Bucky sprang to his feet and ran inside, presumably to look for your camera. “I can go get some pumpkins tomorrow.”

“No!” Bucky’s yell was muffled, like he was on the other side of the cabin. “We gotta do it now, just look at ‘em.” He popped his head around the door and you laughed – he looked just like his dogs when they were excited about something, a treat or a toy. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just adorable.” Bucky blushed and bounded down the steps. “Do you want to take photos now, or wait for tomorrow–when I get the pumpkins?”

“Both.” He shrugged and looked down at his dogs. “They deserve that–do it every day, if you could. You’re so good at it, sweetheart.”

“Flattery will get you somewhere,” you teased, and you grabbed the camera from his hands. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Let’s take some before it gets too dark and then you can help me plan tomorrow’s shoot.”

Bucky grinned, a beautiful sight, and before he could change his expression, you snapped a photo. “For my personal collection.”

“You can take as many as you want, Clover,” he promised earnestly. “So long as I get to see your pretty face light up while you do it. Fuck, I love you.” You blinked at his words, unable to take them in, and then Bucky kissed you on the cheek before he ran off with the two costumed pooches in tow. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Your fingers brushed where his lips had connected, and your heart bloomed with warmth. If you got to experience his joy just from taking photographs – you decided then and there that you would never put your camera down. “Coming!”

↠  𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ↞

[vunblr]

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

The Weight of Choices (Slight angst. Smut.) Oneshot.

Summary: Torn between his instinct to protect his family and his desire to be a part of their lives, Bucky tries to deal with the reality of his ex-wife going on a date while he stays home caring for their son.

An Unfinished Goodbye (Slight Angst. Story before The Weight of Choices events, it would still be good to read that one first.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky tells himself he’s only watching over his ex-wife and son for their safety. But when someone threatens to alter the status quo, his quiet vigilance falters.

What If?... (Fluff. Smut) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

The Memory Remains (Fluff. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: An unexpected encounter brings Bucky face-to-face with someone from his past, stirring memories he thought were long buried.

Wounds and Walls (Slight angst. Smut.) Oneshot

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Crumbs of Connection (Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: When Bucky wanders into a quirky late-night bakery, he doesn’t expect the warmhearted owner to challenge his defenses.

A Heart in Hiding (Angst-Hurt/Comfort) Oneshot

Summary: Caught between the shadows of his past and an unexpected connection, Bucky wrestles with his demons and his growing feelings for a new Avenger.

To Mend a Soldier (Slight angst. Comfort. Fluff.) Oneshot

Summary: Pressed by a worried Sam, Bucky reluctantly agrees to try an alternative -and, if you ask him, weird- therapy program: rent-a-mom. What starts as an obligation soon turns into something far more meaningful than he ever expected.

Toy Soldier (Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Smut) Ended.

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

The Price of Silence (Blue-collar Bucky #1)

Summary: Porn with a little plot. I'll think for a propper summary later.

Discipline (Blue-collar Bucky #2)

Summary: Bucky made the rules, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t break them. And when he does, she’s more than ready to make him pay for it.

The Aftermatch (Blue-collar Bucky #2.5)

Summary: The taser's effects dissapear.

Retribution (Blue-collar Bucky #3)

Summary: Bucky crossed the line first, and she pushed back harder. Now, payback comes with fogged-up windows in a rocking van.

A Hand in the Dark (Angst. Hurt/Comfort.) Ongoing

Summary: In a brief moment of lucidity, Soldat makes a choice. And some choices echo across time, shaping the future in ways no one could predict.

Foundations (Slight Angst. Fluff) Ongoing

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Lumberjack AU Masterlist

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price - Brigham Young (1940)

[yeyinde]

PRAIRIE WOLF | masterlist

John tucks his hand over your nape, pulling you into the warm bracket of his neck where his pulse beats steady under your forehead. Firm. Strong. All heat.

"I'll protect you," he rasps, chest rumbling under the swell of your belly. The growl—brassbound, ferric: a promise and a threat—glues to his words. Sinking deep. "Both of you, Coyote. Always."

And despite everything that tries to convince you otherwise, you believe him.

[OR: in an attempt to run from your abusive ex, you find yourself crashing into the arms of John Price, a man determined to keep you, and your unborn baby, safe. at all costs. but you're not the only one with secrets or scars.]

18+. past abuse (emotional, physical, mental). sexual trauma. unplanned pregnancy. childhood abuse. healing. eventual smut. protective John Price. gruff lumberjack Price and the stray he picks up. eventual Dom!Price (more in essence than act). divorced!John Price. implied child death (not reader's baby). age gap. grief. cultural differences. set in the early 90s. nonlinear narrative. Reader has an unconventional nickname (plot-important). Reader has a backstory. tags will be added as the series progresses.

AO3. MOODBOARD.

prologue part one | hinterland part two | moose meat part three | mîscacâkanis part four | salt cure part five | teeth and claws part six | pack epilogue

[the-californicationist]

Ursa Major

Lumberjack John Price, retired British Army captain, owns and operates 5,000 acres of selective harvesting land for his logging company. Unfortunately, you work for an environmental firm as a consultant, and it’s your job to tell him he has to stop logging at once since his harvest is encroaching on rare bear habitats. But, something’s not quite right about the bears, or about these lumberjacks, and you’re determined to get to the bottom of it.

Bear Price is here! Hope y'all enjoy it. Make sure to subscribe on AO3 or check back here for (hopefully) weekly updates.

Huge thanks to my alpha reader, @vampirekilmerfic for sticking with me through the planning stages, and to my faithful betas, @gemmahale and @eclecticgrimlin 🩷 Love y'all so much.

Another long fic, here we go!

[ink-n-shadow]

Hi, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a bit of mountain men/ tribe 141 where they find the reader lost in their neck of the woods? Because if it's on their land, its fair game after all...

why does this scream lumberjack!141 for some reason??

𝜗𝜚 cw: slightly dark!141 (minors—DNI), just mountain men doing mountain things, idk where this went either

like please just imagine they have this successful lumbering business in the middle of the mountains, multiple simple cabins scattered throughout 200 acres of forest and surrounding a lumbering complex that they all work out of. it’s a simple life for them: wake up, eat whatever breakfast gaz makes for all of them, go to the lumbering complex to process the ginormous trunks ghost chopped down yesterday, chop down some more trees, send them off to a distributor, and repeat.

so when soap is lumbering through the trees one day with his axe balanced over the back of his neck, he almost can’t believe his eyes when he sees a pretty little thing like you, cheeks caked in tears and covered in dirt and grime. he can’t help the way he shamefully rakes his eyes down your sweat-slicked body as you blubber softly about how you had been on a hike, had taken a wrong turn and somehow got lost in the middle of the mountains.

but there’s no need to worry now, bunny. you’re more than welcome to come back to the cabins with him. there’s hot food and clean cloths. maybe price will let you use the phone to call for rescue.

maybe the four for them will decide to keep you after all.

[cryptidvaquero]

wip wednesday? don't mind if i do

here's an excerpt from a park ranger/bear shifter! john price/waitress! reader fic im writing

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You liked the evening shifts for a few reasons. Usually, the crankier older residents retired at 7 pm when the sun had barely started to set; thank God for that. Things were quieter, more laid back. You didn’t get paid shit, but at least no one would wish death upon you and your lineage for bringing them a plate with eggs over easy instead of garnished with liquid-fucking-gold.

And your final, favorite reason? You hear the jingle of the bell, and here he is.

“Hey John. Rough night?”

Your manager greets the rugged-looking man who walks through the door. Six-foot-something, brown hair and beard, built like a brick shithouse, and dressed like a damned lumberjack. Like clockwork, local park ranger John Price blesses your godforsaken job at 11:00 pm and leaves within the hour.

It’s the best 30-45 minutes of your shift.

John gives a rough grunt, nodding his head in greeting toward your manager before making a beeline to his favorite corner booth. Rough night indeed.

“He’s in your section, hon. Don’t forget he likes his t-”

“-Likes his tea unsweet. Yes, I know.”

He gets the same thing each time. Unsweetened iced tea, two waffles, a batch of scrambled eggs, three pieces of bacon. The guy eats like he’s starving, yet he’s built like he climbs trees and catches fish with his bare hands. Hell, he’s a park ranger, he probably does.

You disappear into the back, pouring an unsweet tea before ushering it out to John’s table.

“Hey! How are you tonight?” Same song and dance, same fake smile. The life of a food service worker. John glances up at you, drowsy blue eyes sitting under thick eyebrows. The corner of his lips tilts up in a similarly forced smile, and he gives you a nod.

“S’Alright,” he grumbles. His voice is deep and growly - it’s like he’s perpetually stuck in a post-cigarette bedroom voice. Which, of course, you don’t mind in the slightest. He could read off a ransom note and you’d probably swoon. You place the unsweet tea in front of him and he eyes it like water in the middle of a scorching desert.

“Same as usual? Two waffles, scrambled eggs, three-”

“Ah- uhm. No, actually. A bit different tonight.”

Your eye twitches, an instinctual response to being interrupted by a customer. John doesn’t notice, he’s too busy looking out the diner windows toward the treeline. You’d think he’d leave work at work, but apparently, old pines are interesting enough to warrant his lack of conversational engagement. He’s a grown man, you tell yourself, it’s kind of how they are.

You tear off the ticket you were already writing down, stuffing the crumpled yellow sheet in an apron pocket before placing the tip of your pen on the new sheet. “Alright,” you huff. “What’s it gonna be tonight?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Jesus fucking Christ, kid.”

The cook in the back looks at the ticket, his eyes growing as wide as saucers. An hour before closing, and he’s practically cooking a Thanksgiving feast.

“This is John’s order? John Price? The same guy we see almost nightly?”

You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“That’s what I was thinking, Phil! I wrote down his usual and everything, and he interrupts me and proceeds to order half the goddamn menu!”

  Phil hangs up the ticket in front of him, and you can see the chicken scratch you quickly applied to the paper, almost completely covering it. John had ordered… and kept ordering. It’s not like you’ve never dealt with large orders before, but from park ranger John Price? This was completely out of his norm.

The back door opens and shuts, and a younger line cook walks in smelling like cigarettes.

“Hey, Alex, come look at this!” Alex shuffles in, looking over Phil’s shoulder. You watch as his eyes go from indifferent to indignant. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s an hour till closing and

you’re serving a party? Tell them to go the hell ho-”

“No no no- this is John, man. Mr. Price. Can you even believe it?”

Alex looks from the ticket and to you. You watch as his lips move under his mustache, like he’s trying to get some sort of response out. Phil just pats him roughly on the back before hanging the ticket on the line.

“Let’s get started, bud. Mr. Shepherd’ll have our asses handed to us if we don’t close on time.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It’s about 11:45 pm. About 25 minutes ago, you had to pull out the old dolly like some sort of dumbass to push out the huge order to John. He owed you for that. He really fucking did. And now, 25 minutes later, the entire fuckass meal is gone. Nowhere to be found. He ate it all.

Perched behind the counter, you pretend to wipe things down while Alex comes out of the back of the house. He perches next to you, shoulders bumping together. He smells a bit like bacon grease and menthol.

“You think we can add gratuity to his check?” He murmurs.

“Do you wanna be the one asking Herschel ‘we-go-way-back’ Shepherd to upcharge our regular?”

Alex purses his lips, head nodding back and forth. Finally, he settles on a comfortable “no,” before stalking back into the kitchen. With a sigh, you toss the rag you were holding to the side and push yourself from the counter. You walk to the back of house to ring John up, emerging shortly thereafter and slipping it on his table. “You gonna need anything to go?” You’re not really sure why you asked - he ate enough to sustain a damned bear for the winter. If he asked for anything to go, you might punch him.

Lucky for you, he shakes his head.

“No ma’am,” he says, his voice gravelly.

You feel a bit guilty, then. All he was trying to do was order a meal, but you’ve been groveling all evening over walking a couple of plates in his direction. For all you knew, he could’ve missed lunch or something, too busy doing… whatever the hell a park ranger does.

He’s not very chatty tonight, either. Usually, you can fish a bit out of him if you bat your eyelashes and don’t look too busy. He doesn’t mind small talk if he doesn’t feel like he’s getting in your way. But this whole night has felt like pulling teeth.

“Alex made a joke about charging you gratuity for that meal of yours,” You laugh.

The joke quickly slips and falls flat when John looks at the check with a blank expression. Lord almighty.

“Sorry for the trouble,” He replies.

You want to tear your hair out. Does he actually think you were trying to guilt-trip him? Jesus Christ, you want to go hide in a hole and quit forever.

“No no!” You raise your hands to wave off his apology. “It was a joke. He was just being a dick, y’know?”

John reaches for his wallet, tucked away safely in a Carhartt jacket that’s seen better days. He slips his card to you, and you know that it’s time to run off before you say another stupid thing.

Alex and Phil are ragging on each other when you scramble to the back of house, and Phil flashes you a grin. However, your mood is soured. You punch in the numbers and get John’s receipt before they can try and drag you into one of their stupid conversations.

“Here you go,” You mumble, handing John his receipt and card back. Your throat itches with the compulsory ‘thank you for coming, have a good night,’ but you hold it back. Putting on another smile might just make you sick to your stomach tonight.

John rises from his seat, stuffing his card back in his wallet and then his jacket. He nods in acknowledgment, stepping from the booth. He’s taller than you by a long shot as he stands, and he’s even hunched over a bit. If he’d stand up straight, he’d practically cast a shadow over you.

“You have a good night, love. Drive safe.” The most words he’s spoken all night, and they’re telling you to be safe. In that growly accent of his. He’s not even making eye contact, practically bristling at the prospect of socialization, but you feel like your knees are about to give out just from his words.

“Yeah,” You breathe. “You too, okay? Watch out for animals in the road.”

Mentally, you compartmentalize a thought that says buying a book on local wildlife to talk about with him next time is a good idea. It might be a bit weird, but he’s a bit weird. He’d probably dig it.

John nods, finally meeting your eyes as that caterpillar of facial hair quirks up in a small smile.

“Bears right now, mainly. Most know better than to run around the roads, though.”

Why the hell is that little fact enough to make you starstruck? You barely muster a nod before he’s out the diner door, the bell ringing behind him and signaling that the last customer of your shift has left.